Doctor Who_ Battlefield - Marc Platt [31]
‘Yes, quite. We’ll try raising them when we get closer.
Do you speak Czech?’
She grinned. ‘Only when I’m drunk, sir.’
He smiled and scrolled the information. The latest jargon took some getting used to. ‘The Brigadier who’s baby-sitting the missile. Bambera?’
‘Yes, sir. Bambera.’
‘Hmm... sounds African. Good man, is he?’
Lavel bit her tongue.
From the wooded hill over the village, the Doctor saw a squad of UNIT jeeps heading towards the lake.
He had been reading his copy of Malory by the first pale light of the morning, until the dawn chorus made it impossible to concentrate.
Through the garden, he followed a trail of broken furniture. Piece by piece, he picked up Ancelyn’s sword, Bambera’s automatic and her beret. He was grateful to see that Ace had retrieved the sack of nitro-nine that she assumed he knew nothing about.
In the darkened bar, he found Ancelyn still handcuffed and asleep on one of the wallseats. Beside him, Bambera had finally succumbed to sleep as well. Her head was resting on his shoulder. Again, the Doctor recalled that Winifred was a variation of Guenever, and doubtless Ancelyn was a direct descendant of Lancelot du Lac. He had just been reading of all the trouble that liaison had caused. Perhaps Arthur had needed all the help he could get.
The Doctor picked up one of Ace’s discarded crisp bags, blew it up and smacked it between his hands.
The loud bang had Ancelyn and Bambera on their feet, back to back, glancing round for enemies.
‘Good morning,’ said the Doctor as he disappeared into the hall.
The sword, gun and beret were set out on a table with a note saying If you must.
A car horn sounded from the front of the hotel.
Bambera scowled at Ancelyn and beat him through the door. By the time they had fought their way out to the front of the hotel, Peter Warmsly’s car was heading up the drive with the shapes of the Doctor and Ace in the back.
Shou Yuing’s car was already gone.
‘Doctor!’ yelled Bambera.
‘Such anger, my lady?’
‘I want that man back!’ She also wanted her convoy, her car and to know what was going on. She did not want to be stuck with this grinning idiot, who pretended to be a knight from a Hollywood epic.
Ancelyn nodded after the car. ‘Merlin cannot be held.
He makes the laws and goes where he will. It was always so.
If we would speak with him, my lady, we needs must follow.’
Lifting his handcuffed arms towards her, he began to jog backwards up the drive. He was holding his sword.
She swore loudly, because she had nearly laughed.
There was nothing for it; she set off up the drive after him.
There was no sign of Morgaine or her forces as they drove towards the lake. The Doctor was quiet, which Ace recognized as determination. But if he was mighty wizard Merlin, what did that make her? His familiar? Certainly no one knew as much about him as she did. Except it never seemed to work out that way.
Peter Warmsly was keen to show off the Carhury dig to the Doctor. But he never mentioned the previous night’s events. Ace wondered if he could cope with them.
He parked the car beside the lake and eyed the soldiers across the tape barriers surrounding the missile convoy.
Fresh troops seemed to have arrived bringing fresh activity with them. The Doctor gave them a sidelong glance, but put up a good show of being more interested in Peter’s work. ‘So you excavated all this by yourself,’ he said. ‘Very impressive.’
The site looked like a set of muddy squares to Ace. Peter skirted the edges of them and enthused, ‘Well, it was something of a labour of love. And lately I’ve had Shou Yuing to help.’
The Doctor peered at the mud as if he could read it like a book. ‘Where did you find the scabbard?’
Peter pointed to a red marker pennant and started walking towards it.
‘How long has it taken?’ called Ace.
‘About ten years.’
The Doctor nudged her. ‘Archaeology is a delicate and precise skill. History has to be eased out of the earth one painstaking layer at a time.’
‘Yeah, but ten years digging with a dustpan and brush...’
She looked down at the flat area of stone she