Doctor Who_ Bunker Soldiers - Martin Day [58]
‘Can I help you?’ he asked, masking his surprise with politeness.
‘I am...’ The soldier struggled to find the words. ‘I am patrolling the corridors and rooms. On Yevhen’s instructions.’
‘Yevhen?’ Isaac arched his eyebrows. ‘Even Yevhen should respect the privacy of those around him.’ He smiled good-naturedly. ‘Still, orders are there to be obeyed, no?’
The soldier found himself nodding curtly.
‘I am looking for my wife,’ continued Isaac, looking vaguely around the room, as if she were hiding in the shadows. ‘You have not seen her?’
‘No, sir, I have not.’ The soldier stepped towards Isaac.
‘Hmm.’
The man watched Isaac’s gaze rest on the shuttered windows.
‘It is dark in here,’ the old man said. ‘I thought I had opened the shutters, but am clearly in error. If you permit me to do so, my friend, then you will have little need for the torch you carry.’
‘I have every need for it,’ said the soldier, bringing his mail-covered fist on to the back of the adviser’s head.
Isaac slumped to the floor with a throttled groan.
The man turned, taking one last look at the room – the room of the heretic.
Then he dropped the torch on to a pile of papers, and made for the door.
XIII
Dies irae, dies illa, solvet saeclum in favilla Dmitri asked me to accompany a small group of soldiers in their search for the disgraced Archbishop Vasil. I couldn’t believe how quickly things had changed: less than twenty-four hours before I had been a fugitive, wanted for murder, hiding in the darkness under the cathedral. Now, it seemed, I was known to be innocent and was trusted by the governor – so much so, in fact, that he seemed to have a role for me in his plans.
Of course, I am sure the trust only went so far. Doubtless I would not be allowed to enter the TARDIS, and I had the lingering suspicion that the men who searched so diligently for Vasil had also been instructed to watch over me. However, I did feel that some sort of bond existed between Dmitri and myself –
and, if I had felt for him in the past, my overwhelming sadness at the impossibility of his position was now complete.
A thorough examination of Vasil’s quarters indicated that he had expected trouble of some sort. Servants in the residential quarters attached to the great cathedral indicated that the bishop had not been seen for some hours, and that he had neglected his ecclesiastical duties that morning. The last person to see him had observed a desperate attempt to pack a few possessions. You don’t have to be Sherlock Holmes to work out that he was either in hiding, or had fled the city – it was unlikely, in either case, that we would find him easily.
We emerged from the semidarkness of the church buildings, and knew at once that something was very wrong. The air was rich with the awful aroma of fire, and a column of grey smoke hung over some nearby buildings.
‘We are indeed doomed,’ muttered one soldier with awful gallows humour. ‘It seems they are burning the victims of disease now.’
I wasn’t so sure. I pointed in the direction of the smoke, still unfamiliar with the geography of this vast city. ‘Where is that?’ I queried.
Sudden panic registered on the faces of many of the guards.
‘Governor Dmitri!’ exclaimed one.
We set off as one across the square and towards the great, dark building that housed the debating chambers, civil offices and residential quarters of the rulers of Kiev. We ran through narrow streets, hemmed in by buildings and overflowing with people who were either scurrying away in pointless panic or standing rock solid in the road, rooted to the spot in impotent terror.
The picture was much the same once we entered the building. Soldiers and servants rushed everywhere, or stood mutely in the shadows, but no one could tells us exactly where the fire was, and what was being done about it.
It was impossible to see the focus of the blaze from the front of the building, so we moved instinctively through the passageways towards the rear. All the while, the stench of burning grew stronger, prickling