Doctor Who_ Battlefield - Marc Platt [23]
‘Touch it.’
He reached out cautiously and pulled away his hand fast. ‘It’s hot.’
At a second attempt, the scabbard was cold as stone.
Elizabeth nodded. ‘Sometimes I get the strangest feeling about it.’
‘What sort of feeling?’
‘I can hear its quietness. It’s as if it’s waiting for something.’
‘Something?’ the Doctor muttered. ‘Or someone.’
A car pulled abruptly to a halt outside and a door slammed. Peter Warmsly burst into the lounge.
‘Elizabeth, I need to use your phone. The one in my car’s not working.’
‘Doctor Warmsly,’ said the Doctor. ‘Just the man I’ve been looking for.’
Peter was already barking a number down the telephone at the electronic operator. He turned round and seeing the Doctor, snapped, ‘They’ve driven a bloody great rocket on to my land. My land!’ He slammed down the receiver and swore. ‘The line’s dead!’
‘I’m sorry, Peter, it must be the storm,’ said Elizabeth.
‘About this scabbard,’ butted in the Doctor. ‘Where was it found?’
Peter’s mind was elsewhere. ‘What are you saying?’
‘The scabbard.’ The Doctor began to unhitch the relic from the wall. ‘Do you remember where it was found?’
‘Careful with that?’ He lifted the scabbard away from the Doctor and cradled it protectively. "The scabbard’s worth..."’
‘"...worth ten of the sword," said Merlin,’ chorused the Doctor.
‘I found it at the dig by the lake.’
‘What period?’
‘Eighth century AD.’
The Doctor shook his head. ‘No, that can’t be right.’
Peter curbed his temper. ‘Excuse me Doctor, but getting that rocket off Trust land is a bit more important. The whole place is crawling with soldiers.’
‘No, the scabbard’s been waiting around longer than that.’ The Doctor looked through the window at the sunlit garden. Smashed trees and the empty sky above.
‘Waiting? Waiting for who?’ said Peter.
Smashed trees below and figures like ants in the confines of her crystal sphere. Seen from on high, as the world looks from a window in the High Tagel.
‘Waiting for me.’
The Black Knight waited until the two grey hunters had passed on the false trail. He had recognized Sir Comus and Sir Madlamor immediately. Both knights from Morgaine’s closest retinue; cronies of the ruffian Prince Mordred. And somewhere there was a third, the leader of the sortie.
He started to retrace his steps back to the road. Through his helmet’s receiver, he caught snatches of localized transmissions. Flashes of thought in the ether, but whether they were the spells and incantations of this world or glimpses of angels, this lowly knight had not the wit to understand them. But he could seek out someone who might.
He stepped out onto the path and the tree beside him exploded in flame.
The hunters had doubled back as well. Shots exploded round him as he ducked into the cover of the smoke.
He placed himself behind a fallen branch and waited, gun in hand. The Grey Knights were calling out ahead of him and another surly voice answered them from behind.
The sortie leader at last.
‘Do you have him?’
‘Yes, my lord. Pinned down yonder between us.’
The Black Knight rose to make a run, but another blast of fire scored across his flank. He crouched down again, feeling the heat of the blast through his armour.
Already his suit assessed the course of action. Its umberere screen scripted out a clear route to the left. He turned to run, but a movement in the bushes caught his attention. A metal-grey capsule clattered at his feet.
A firecone. No runner was swift enough to clear its scatter zone.
Only one course was open. With his armour only half-powered for the leap, he leapt. The blast caught him just hands high in the air and flung him into the sky like a projectile from a ballista.
Shou Yuing couldn’t fathom Ace out. The teenager defied all attempts at social stereotype categorizing that Shou Yuing’s amateur psychology could throw up. The clothes and the attitude were all wrong. The vernacular was bizzare. This one has problems, she thought, and liked Ace even better.
They pulled up a couple of overturned chairs and sat with their drinks at a damp garden table.
Ace never stopped