Doctor Who_ Battlefield - Marc Platt [37]
She had to walk sideways to ask questions and keep up with him. ‘If it’s grown, how does it fly then?’
‘Magic!’
‘Oh, what! Be feasible, Doctor.’
‘I thought I was a Professor. What’s Clarke’s Law?’
They had reached an iris-shaped portal through which the light was filtered. She wondered why he always picked the most idiotic places to give her a science test. Since there was plainly no chance of going through until she had answered the question, she said in a singsong voice, ‘Any sufficiently advanced technology is indistinguishable from magic.’
‘Well, the reverse is also true.’ He glanced at the portal and said, ‘Come on, then!’
The grey sinews of the iris contracted. A circular hole opened through which light came in a mote-filled wave of greeting. He stepped through, and as Ace followed, she could not help saying aloud: ‘Any sufficiently advanced form of magic is indistinguishable... from technology.’
‘Impressive,’ said the Doctor. ‘I knew you’d like it.’
The glare faded, leaving a single central beam of light descending from the high roof. It lit a great sword which stood upright, its blade embedded in a block of obsidian.
Its hilt was ornamented with a single pommel amethyst.
Beyond the sword, half in shadow, was a raised plinth on which a knight in black armour lay, still as a statue. His mail-gloved hands were laid on his breast in an attitude of prayer.
The Doctor and Ace slowly approached the pool of light. Little eddies of centuries-old dust swirled up from the floor as they passed. Their footsteps echoed high into the rib-vaulted roof,
‘That’s Arthur. King of the Britons, isn’t it?’ whispered Ace.
The Doctor stopped and laid a hand on her arm. His voice, so often mocking, was full with a quiet awe. ‘This is the legendary King Arthur. From another dimension, where the man is closer to the myth.’ He frowned. ‘I wonder what he’s doing here.’
‘Not a lot,’ said Ace.
As he suspected, the filigree inlay on the sword’s blade was reminiscent of circuitry in the TARDIS. This was what had summoned him. ‘The King’s in suspended animation,’ he said.
Ace placed one hand on the sword hilt and threw out the other in mock declamation. ‘In eternal sleep until the hour of England’s greatest need!’
‘Ace, leave that alone!’ scolded the Doctor.
She planted her other hand on the hilt as well. ‘Don’t worry, Professor. I’ve seen The Sword in the Stone. It’s not like I’m the King of England.’
She gave a playful tug at the sword.
‘Ace, no!’
The sword slid, almost sprang, out of the stone.
‘Gordon Bennett!’ She fell backwards under the weapon’s weight, throwing up a whole cumulus of dust.
The Doctor began to help her up, his eyes darting around the vast shadowy chamber. ‘I hope you didn’t disturb anything,’ he snapped.
It disturbed me,’ complained Ace as she dusted herself down.
‘I hope you didn’t disturb anything else!’ He could already hear a low keening in the darkness.
He searched around again. If he was Merlin, what sort of defences would he put into such a ship? And where would he put its fail-safe systems? It was bound not to be a straightforward job. His predilection to be too clever for his own good had earned him a certain notoriety amongst his companions. So many regenerations in so short a span could not be good for the brain.
And why had Merlin forgotten, as he designed the wretched thing, that one day in the future he had been its victim? Bother! There was too much here that he did not like. He hated temporal paradoxes and he particularly disliked working with organic technology: a nasty, messy business.
Who said that he had to be Merlin anyway? There was an infinite number of possibilities.But it seemed that the more he struggled, the more tangled he became in the web of the very thing that he always denied.
He caught a flicker of green light at the edge of his vision. That thing was already stalking him in the darkness and whatever trick he tried, he doubted he would escape it.
What had Ancelyn said so merrily? That he knew Merlin by his manner, not his aspect?