Doctor Who_ Bunker Soldiers - Martin Day [40]
I placed my feet carefully on the first step and began to descend, holding on to the central stone spine, around which the stairs rotated, for dear life. The masonry felt wet beneath my palms, though I could not tell if it was the result of condensation or merely the cold sweat on my hands. I wondered how far the stairs descended, but thought better of this unhelpful speculation and instead concentrated on my slow, careful descent.
I was soon in absolute darkness, unable even to see my hands in front of my face. I decided that, undignified though it might be, the only safe way to descend was on my bottom, shuffling with agonising slowness from one stair to another, arcing into the depths of the earth like a mote of dust. I kept a strong grip on each chiselled step as I made my way deeper into what I assumed were the catacombs under the cathedral.
I knew Olexander had come this way but, having seen him with Yevhen, I was no longer sure if I relished the prospect of running into him again. I was wondering what I would say to him when I heard a noise high above my head.
I looked up, gripping the clammy stonework even more tightly, and for a moment my vision reeled in the darkness. High over my head – I was surprised at how far I had already come – I could make out the faintest patch of light. It was a peaked rectangle, and I surmised it was torchlight reflected on one of the walls that surrounded the twisting stairway. Someone was standing in the doorway.
Whoever it was could not see me, nor I them. I remained motionless, however, wondering what would happen next.
The answer was not long in coming. The light blinked out and was followed by the sound of the door slamming back into its frame.
And, even where I was, I could hear a key being turned in the lock.
VIII
Lamenta
The Doctor crawled towards Mykola, his breathing shallow. He tugged the soldier’s arm, and he awoke instantly, swinging round suddenly.
‘Who’s there?’
The Doctor put his fingers to his lips, hushing him. ‘There are wolves,’ he said, pointing. ‘They’re coming closer.’
‘Curiosity, I’ll warrant,’ said Mykola, getting to his feet.
He roused a few nearby soldiers and ordered that lanterns be lit. He then unsheathed his sword and strode over to the knot of horses, who had sensed the pad-footed approach of the wolves and were fidgeting.
‘Quickly,’ snapped Mykola. ‘Bring the lights!’
The Doctor stood at the young captain’s side. He could see the creatures more clearly now, sleek and purposeful and the colour of ash. Their ears were flat against their heads, lips pulled back slightly to reveal their perfect ivory-white teeth.
Mykola grabbed a pair of burning torches from one of the men, and strode forward, waving them high above his head. The horses began to murmur and stamp their feet. One of the soldiers quickly went over and patted them, whispering soothing noises into their ears.
Mykola took another two steps towards the wolves, who had stopped in their tracks. He lowered the torches and began shouting, punctuating his words with whoops and flaming stabs in their direction.
The wolves – the Doctor could see four of them, though there might be others in the area – took another step forward.
One began to growl deep in its throat.
Mykola whooped again, cutting arcs in the darkness with the torches.
At last, the wolves turned as one, and trotted elegantly away from the camp. The Doctor watched them until they faded into the night.
‘You see?’ said Mykola confidently. ‘Show them no fear, and they will respect you. Make it plain to them that you are frightened, and they will feed on your doubt, moments before they feed on you.’
‘Have you no fear, sir?’ queried the Doctor.
‘None that I would reveal to a pack of wolves,’ said Mykola, with a bitter smile.
The sound of many footsteps running in the corridor roused Isaac from his sleep. There was no little commotion outside: raised voices, calling for lanterns; shouted instructions; hysterical inquiries.