Doctor Who_ Bunker Soldiers - Martin Day [13]
‘You see?’ said Taras. ‘It is a machine of some sort – and it recognises an engineer’s touch!’
Yevhen was sure Taras’s fumblings at the controls were random guesswork, rather than the studied experimentation of a scientist, but he said nothing. It mattered not if they were being blessed by God, or simply lucky. Something was happening.
There was a final pulse of light that made the entire casket burn briefly like a fire, and a clicking noise that they felt rather than heard.
Taras stood back, and Yevhen found himself gripping the hilt of his knife tightly.
The entire top half of the casket began to hinge smoothly upwards. Within, Yevhen could only see darkness, the inky darkness of a night sky with no stars.
Taras was saying something – babbling prayers or simply babbling, Yevhen could not tell which. Yevhen concentrated instead on the motion of the ‘lid’, which at last came to rest when it was vertical.
There was a sigh as the awesome machinery became silent.
Yevhen could feel his heart pumping; could hear the pounding of blood in his ears. His mouth was dry, his mind reeling.
Something moved within the casket.
Yevhen felt movement at his side. He half-turned, to see Taras falling to his knees in superstitious awe.
‘Get up, man!’ hissed Yevhen. ‘We do not know for sure –’
Something came at Taras in a rush of light and shadow.
Yevhen caught only glimpses of slender limbs, a sinewy back –
and a soulless face angled at Taras’s head.
Taras’s screams were brutally cut short. His lantern tumbled away, flickered for a moment, and was then swallowed by the darkness.
Yevhen, frozen for a moment, saw the creature turn. He glimpsed a purplish, rounded mouth like that of a leech, and specks of blood over heavily lidded eyes.
With a whip-crack of legs, the creature hurled itself towards him.
III
In truitina mentis dubia fluctuant contraria Dodo was just finishing lacing up the front of her dress. I couldn’t help but notice that each tug on the leather strip was more harsh than the last.
‘There are servants who will help you get dressed,’ I observed. Dodo snorted in response, but said nothing.
‘And perhaps you should consider covering your hair. You don’t want to attract too much attention.’
‘Steven,’ said Dodo with feigned patience. ‘We might be here for ever. Perhaps I should think about attracting a husband!’
She was obviously in one of her moods, but I didn’t blame her for a moment. There’s a world of a difference between examining another culture and actually living it. For both of us, the novelty had long since worn off.
For my part, I didn’t like the food, my clothes made me itch constantly, and I shared my bed with numerous fleas and ticks.
However, the Doctor was adamant. We were not going to return to the TARDIS for food or clothing, and therefore we had to make the best of it.
Dodo didn’t see it that way. ‘I can’t stand these shoes,’ she commented, sitting on a bench to do up the buckles. ‘The soles are so thin. I may as well walk around barefoot!’
‘There are plenty in the streets who do.’
Dodo paused. We’d had this argument before, and it normally progressed along similar lines. ‘Yes, I know I should be grateful!’ she continued, indicating her room with its bed covered with thick woollen blankets, its hanging tapestries, its exquisitely carved tables and stools. ‘I know this is luxury as far as most people are concerned.’
‘And something worse than poverty awaits them.’
Dodo nodded. ‘I know, I spoke to the Doctor yesterday. I just wish there was something we could do!’ She glanced away. ‘I reckon it would be better if we poisoned the lot of them. At least it would save them from the Mongols!’
I put my arm around her shoulders. ‘I know. That’s why we must help in whatever