Doctor Who_ Bunker Soldiers - Martin Day [34]
Even one salvaged weapon, one jury-rigged bomb, could change the course of human history.
The Mongols had already carved out an enormous empire, built in no small part on the expertise and invention of the lands and races they had conquered. The Chin dynasty had provided them with gunpowder, the most advanced weapon the Earth had yet seen, and the Mongol hordes had proved more than adept at finding new ways to exploit the resource. If they were to find themselves in the position to exploit a truly advanced technology, the consequences would be unthinkable.
His thoughts were interrupted by Mykola’s order to slow the pace a little. Some of the horses were tiring, and the young captain had every reason to believe the Mongol army was still a distance away.
The Doctor turned to him. ‘I imagine you’re glad to leave the governor in such safe hands.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘His advisers, Isaac and... What is the other fellow’s name?’
‘Yevhen.’
‘Yevhen.Yes, that’s right. That’s right. Do you know him?’
Mykola shook his head, plainly irritated by the Doctor’s whispered conversation.
‘Well, he seems perfectly capable. If I have a concern, however, it is that Yevhen is quite prepared to do things his way.
Bend the rules, the law, if necessary.’
‘I know nothing of the work of the advisers.’ Mykola paused.
‘I do what I am asked.’
‘As indeed we all must,’ said the Doctor with a smile, furiously trying to build a bridge of understanding with the man.
‘Yes, yes. But if different people ask us different things...’ ‘Then we must decide which voice to listen to.’
‘But that can be difficult...’
Mykola shook his head. ‘I listen to God, God’s people on Earth, the authorities He has placed here... Only then do I listen to the voices of men.’
‘But what if the authorities are mistaken, hmm?’ The Doctor paused. ‘An adviser like Yevhen is no less likely to make an error of judgement than anyone else. These are difficult times. We all might be called upon to perform actions we would rather not perform.’
‘Perhaps.’ Mykola edged his horse away from the Doctor’s.
‘But then our consciences must remain strong and hearty. As is mine.’ He paused. ‘You are asking who told me to lie about Steven, no?’
‘Well, I...’ mumbled the Doctor.
‘I cannot tell you, but rest assured, it was not adviser Yevhen.’
Whatever the Doctor was about to say next was lost to the cloudless sky as a great cry went up over the plains. Man and horse becaine tense; the Doctor felt his blood run cold.
There was a blissful moment of silence, then the wolves began howling again.
There was a muffled thump at the front door of the governor’s residence. The guards, roused from their slumber, looked round in surprise, then guffawed loudly at their ridiculous reaction.
Should the Mongols attack, it would doubtless not be prefaced with so polite a sound.
There was another sound, this time a much more precise tap.
One of the soldiers pulled open the wooden door. A dark, cloaked figure stood framed against the pitch-black of the street beyond.
‘Who is there?’ called one of the soldiers, hefting a cumbersome poleaxe in both hands.
The figure stepped forward, and pulled back its cloak.
‘It is Taras’s widow,’ whispered an old soldier to a less knowledgeable companion. He stepped forward, half-bowing in respect. ‘We have heard of the death of your husband, he said.
‘It is a terrible tragedy.’
The woman nodded mutely, her eyes darting from side to side as she took in the chamber, its racks of weapons, its rough mats for sleeping, the small pot of food that bubbled over a dying flame.
‘You should go home, Elisabet,’ the man continued. ‘The kitchen will survive without you... especially when it is so late.’
‘There is much to prepare,’ said the woman, her voice made husky by grief.
‘I am sure. But you need to rest, to grieve.’
The woman turned to the old soldier, touched him lightly on the shoulder, on his cheek. ‘You will let me in?’
‘Of course, of course,’ said the man, blushing