Doctor Who_ Bunker Soldiers - Martin Day [68]
‘I suspect one man of a most awful betrayal,’ Isaac whispered under his breath.
‘My lord, I can scarce believe the news,’ Yevhen exclaimed as we approached. ‘A Tartar, in our midst!’ As he spoke, he glanced at Isaac and me – irritated, no doubt, by my ongoing liberty and the old man’s very existence.
‘I didn’t see you during the fire,’ I said, before the governor could speak. ‘I am pleased that you’re safe.’
‘I have been with my daughter,’ Yevhen explained. ‘What father would not apportion his time so?’
‘Is there any change in her condition?’ asked Dmitri.
Yevhen shook his head. ‘I am afraid not.’ He turned to me, and I thought I saw his features soften. ‘Your friend, Dodo, is proving an excellent and diligent nurse. Her affection for Lesia has touched me.’
I didn’t know what to say, but was saved from making any response by Dmitri’s impatient query. ‘This building contains the Tartar?’
‘Indeed, my lord,’ said Yevhen. ‘Let us go in.’
After all the build-up, our first contact with the Mongol Empire was something of a disappointment – to me, at least.
Within the building – a poor family’s dwelling that smelt of the animals that slept there – stood a small, brown-skinned man. A dark moustache drooped under his nose, giving him an almost comical air, but his eyes were bright with intelligence and determination. His robes were simple and brown – almost monk-like – but I recognised the tassels at their lower edge. I confirmed to the others that this was the man I had seen under ecclesiastical escort.
‘I am Dmitri, appointed by Prince Michael as the one governor of Kiev. I greet you with respect and, I hope, in peace.’
The small man nodded politely, but said nothing.
‘May we talk as representatives of our people?’ asked Dmitri.
The Mongol again gave no verbal response.
Dmitri turned to his advisers. ‘Does he speak?’
‘Let us assume that he did with the bishops,’ said Isaac, ‘but chooses not to do so now.’
‘You will be kept well and in safety,’ said Dmitri. ‘I hope that, soon, we will talk. I do not wish to use force against you.’
I was reminded of his polite intransigence when the Doctor had been here, but wondered how long his dignified refusal to use violence would last.
‘Bring him back with us,’ Dmitri ordered, turning for the door.
When we emerged the twilight had become the soulless dark of night. Torches were lit, casting fingers of light and dark against the city walls. I saw the soldiers on the battlements huddling around a sort of brazier. The autumn nights were bitter.
As I glanced up I noticed them becoming agitated, lighting lanterns and calling to their fellows further along the wall. Soon they were shouting, one even going as far as to put a cow horn to his lips to blow a shrill note of alarm.
‘What is going on?’ cried Yevhen.
Within moments, we could hear the soldiers’ exclamations for ourselves.
‘Torches, on the hillside!’ cried one.
A pause, and then: ‘The Tartars! They are here!’
XVI
Somnus ex sanitas
Reloading archive 76-FG-92-SD...
Complete.
Resume archive 76-FG-92-SD...
Initial summary:
Access to target BDR-997-XRF is still blocked. Other strategies are being formulated.
The hospital has the stench of a charnel house. Antiseptic-suited figures run from one operating theatre to another, striving to save lives or reuse the dead; their footsteps form the constant beat against which all other activities are monitored. Drills whine in distant rooms; the injured groan in nearby beds.
The spy feigns unconsciousness. Eyes closed in a parody of sleep, it listens to the innuendo and gossip of the medical staff, and pieces together plans and counterattacks best left unspoken.
Occasional hands roll the spy on to its side, or reattach it to the sedative. The drug must be filtered out of its blood stream, a process that requires concentration. Usually, however, the spy is left alone.
A day passes, every nonvisual sense straining for nuance and information. As expected, the spy’s target is due to inspect the wards,