Doctor Who_ Bunker Soldiers - Martin Day [36]
‘But I cannot bring myself to think of them more highly.’
Isaac got to his feet, stretching his weary limbs. ‘It is late. I shall return to my room.’
Nahum stood and glanced back at the table. ‘You should clear these away. We are not at home now, father.’
Isaac nodded. ‘You are right. The risks are greater while we reside here.’
‘That is my concern, father.’
‘Your concern is appreciated, but I think you worry too much.’ The old man reached up to run his gnarled fingers through his son’s hair. And I could also ask why you are up at so dark an hour!’
‘Young men’s business,’ answered Nahum evasively.
‘Young men’s business!’ exclaimed Isaac. ‘I hope with all my heart that this girl is worth your obvious affection for her.’ He began to sort through his papers and books before stowing them away. ‘And that both our secrets remain hidden.’
The Doctor woke with the sensation that he was being watched.
He was not aware of having fallen asleep, and yet clearly he had, and now something had roused him.
He partly opened his eyes, staring through his lashes into the darkness of the hastily created camp. It was warmer than before, with a grey blanket of cloud filling as much of the sky as he could see. But he could make out less than nothing beneath the slate-coloured heavens, merely darker shadows within shadows. Some might be distant hills, some the angles of shoulders and faces in sleep. He could not tell.
He risked opening his eyes completely and turned his head slowly in the direction of Mykola. The young captain had handed over to another soldier, the Doctor remembered dimly. The cloud frayed and allowed some moonlight to fall; the Doctor could see for the first time that Mykola’s dark form was turned away from him, and motionless but for the rhythm of his breathing.
The moonlight faded again, leaving the Doctor in darkness and wondering what had disturbed him.
Something made him turn his head in the opposite direction where a number of horses were resting, the air rich with the aroma from their earlier exertions.
He could dimly perceive the dark bulk of the animals. Most rested on the ground, but one stood nervously. Some distance away, visible between the slender silhouettes of its legs, were twin points of light. They were soon joined by another pair, and then another; binary stars ascending and descending and growing bigger all the time.
The wolves were coming closer.
Nahum tried again to make himself comfortable, but he knew that every twist and turn roused his mind and deepened his irritation. He collapsed back on to his pillow, letting out an exhausted sigh, and pondered the source of his irritation.
He and Lesia were living in the same house – but it was almost impossible to contrive an opportunity to see her in private.Yevhen watched her like a hawk – a fascinating image, Nahum decided. He could well imagine Yevhen’s teeth descending into bare flesh with all the savagery of a hunting bird attacking a day-old chick on a trainer’s glove. Isaac was playing a dangerous game, and Yevhen was an unpredictable foe; and, if that was not enough, the Tartar hordes were coming towards all of them through the shadows and the darkness.
All these concerns, and more, were melding together in Nahum’s mind, a bitter core of poison and resentment. They twisted into dreams, and were just calling him to sleep, when he heard the softest hint of movement beyond his door.
He pricked his ears, but heard nothing more. Doubtless it was only a soldier, coming off duty to be replaced by another.
Nahum rolled over to face the door, and was about to close his eyes again when he saw the looped iron door-handle twist.
He stared at the door, unblinking. His forehead was slick with cold sweat; he kept telling himself that he was imagining things and that, if he concentrated with enough conviction, he would be quite safe.
But no. As his fearful eyes widened still further, he saw the twisted handle start to rotate.
Almost unconsciously, Nahum pushed himself into the corner of his bed, wordless prayers on his lips.