Doctor Who_ Bad Therapy - Matthew Jones [118]
What should he do? His first reaction was just to take the masked figure in his arms and let himself be drawn into the rhythm of the dance. He couldn’t deny the part of him that, despite knowing what Eddy really was, simply wanted to be with him. He imagined pulling off the Harlequin mask to see Eddy’s deep blue eyes shining back at him. His shining eyes and wicked, impish grin.
The Harlequin stood before him. It was carrying something in its hand.
Something metal. At exactly the same time that the masked figure let out a high-pitched giggle, Jack realized that it was carrying a cut-throat razor.
‘We’ve been looking for you, Jack Bartlett,’ the Harlequin said.
204
14
London Burning
The Doctor sat on the bar watching the newly made couples dancing in each others’ arms. The dancefloor was a riot of noise and colour and laughter.
Tilda’s barman, Andrew, handed him a glass of wine. ‘Looks like you chose well, darling,’ he shouted over the noise of music.
The Doctor looked down at the glass in his hand. He sniffed it, took a small sip and then put it down on the bar. ‘I hope so,’ he shouted back.
The Doctor became aware of another sound competing with the noise from the stage: a low repetitive thumping sound. Ripples began to appear on the surface of the Doctor’s wine. Scanning the room, he was alarmed to see the firedoors rattling on their hinges, before they finally cracked open and collapsed inwards.
A dozen blank-faced creatures charged through the doors into the room wielding their twin-headed metal spears above their heads. The dancefloor emptied in seconds, the music dying away as the band caught sight of the sprinting figures. Costumed dancers screamed in panic as they tried to get away.
The Doctor leapt off the bar and quickly ran over to face the unwelcome guests. He’d been expecting this. Part of him had actually been hoping for it.
Somehow a confrontation with Moriah felt easier to deal with than another fight with young Christopher.
The Doctor wasn’t surprised to see the huge figure of Moriah follow the creatures into the room, striding confidently into the centre of the dancefloor.
The Doctor had suspected that Moriah wasn’t going to allow the Toys to enjoy new lives outside of his influence.
Moriah’s impact on the occupants of the room was dramatic: the Toys scuttled away from him, sheltering behind tables and chairs, while others hurried to the far exits. Only Tilda and the young black man born out of the dance remained standing defiantly where they were.
‘I thought I told you to bugger off? It’s members only and you’re gate-crashing.’
Moriah pointed at her companion. ‘What is that?’ he demanded with obvious disgust.
205
‘The future, deah.’
The Doctor joined Tilda at her side. It’s over, Moriah. Why don’t you just leave.’
The huge man towered over the Doctor. ‘If I cannot have my queen, then no one shall. All these creatures are mine. I created them and I have come here to destroy them.’
‘We are free of you now,’ Tilda told him.
‘Free of me?’ he laughed, without humour. ‘What could you possibly understand of freedom? You are nothing more than the lingering residue of my desire. An animated shell. Nothing more. Even as I stand in front of you, you’re entire being is affected by my will, you cannot help but react to my desire.’
‘You overestimate your appeal, husband,’ Tilda snapped. ‘I’m afraid you’re going to have to be responsible for satisfying your desires on your own from now on,’ she quipped, making a rude gesture with her right hand.
A low chuckle spread through the crowd. Tilda bowed slightly, ever the performer.
The Doctor watched as Moriah closed his eyes and frowned in concentration. The Doctor felt the impact of the huge man’s efforts, as his empathic instructions washed through the room, attempting to influence the Toys.
Moriah opened his eyes, only to see Tilda standing in front of him, tapping her foot impatiently. ‘I think you’ll find it’s a little late for that, deah. We’re far beyond your reach now.’ She narrowed her eyes. ‘In fact, I wonder. . . ’ Her