Doctor Who_ Atom Bomb Blues - Andrew Cartmel [75]
That was weird.
Ace turned to Albert, who was following close behind her, to ask him about it. As she turned she saw Albert stepping away from her, pulling his arm sharply back, then lunging at her in a violent blur of movement. There was a look of vicious glee in his eyes. His fist slammed into her face, high on her right cheekbone, and Ace felt her head snap back. The pain was intense, as though the whole side of her face was collapsing, and the blow knocked her off her feet. She fell backwards, hitting the wall, dragging framed photographs down off it. One of the pictures, in a large heavy metal frame crashed down on her head and bounced off, the glass shattering. The blow from the heavy picture frame felt like it was pushing Ace down into deep, muddy water. She fought to retain consciousness.
All she could think was that she had to warn the Doctor. She opened her mouth and tried to scream, and Albert stepped forward and kicked her in the pit of the stomach. Ace heard the breath whoop out of her mouth and felt her 131
body hinge forward at the waist, a broken toy. Consciousness began to melt away redly at the edges. She distantly felt Albert continuing to pummel her, but it was all irrelevant now.
She stared at her feet as she blacked out.
‘Ace. Ace.’ The voice was a low, insistent whisper. It kept coming at her. It wouldn’t leave her alone. The voice was familiar, but that didn’t make her any more eager to listen to it. Ace tried to go back to sleep. She tried to roll over and pull the covers over her head. But she couldn’t move. There were no covers. She wasn’t in bed.
She was sitting in a chair with her hands tied behind the back of it. Ace raised her head and wearily opened her eyes. The Doctor was sitting opposite her, also tied to a chair. They were in a circular room with a spiral staircase descending through a well in the centre of the floor. There was a raised semi-circular platform at one end of the room with a telescope perched on a tripod upon it. The telescope was pointed at a wide curving window that revealed an expanse of sky, full of clouds stained with sunset colours. That was all Ace could take in. She shut her eyes again.
‘Ace. Wake up. Please. You must wake up.’ The Doctor was persistent, pleading, wheedling but she just ignored him. What was the point waking up when you were tied to a chair in some kind of observatory with a telescope?
The only sensible thing to do was to go back to sleep and hope you’d wake up somewhere else.
‘Ace!’ The Doctor’s voice was imperative, relentless. It was like trying to sleep while your neighbours were drilling the walls. Ace opened her eyes again. She was staring at the floor now, at her feet. They were tied to the front legs of the chair. Staring at her feet reminded her of something.
The last thing she’d seen before she blacked out. Sitting there in the upstairs hall with her back against the wall, broken pictures all around her and Albert beating the hell out of her. With the memory came fear and anger, but mostly anger.
‘The little creep sucker-punched me,’ she said. Her voice sounded strangely quiet, rusty. Her mouth was dry.
‘Good girl, Ace,’ said the Doctor fiercely. ‘You’re awake now. Stay awake.’
‘Oh God. I feel sick. My head hurts.’
‘They’ve been dosing you with chloroform every time you woke up.’
‘The toerags.’ Ace stared across the room at the Doctor. She tried to smile but her lips wouldn’t move. She could feel the swelling of a black eye on her right cheek. It felt tight and hot. Then something the Doctor had said began to alarm her. ‘Chloroform?’
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‘Yes, although I think they might be using ether,