Doctor Who_ Bunker Soldiers - Martin Day [84]
‘Are you mad?’ Nahum exclaimed. ‘The creature lives there!’
Yevhen shook his head. ‘You said yourself: the creature came into this building. You will be quite safe – safe, perhaps, even from the Mongols.’
‘But...’ stammered Isaac, ‘I cannot leave Rebekah behind.
And ... I am needed here.’
‘You are needed here if the rest of us perish,’ said Yevhen.
‘You want us out of the way!’ I shouted. ‘You’ve always had designs on the governor’s position.’
‘Perhaps you are right,’ said Yevhen. ‘But what do I govern?
A terrified city, riddled with pestilence and soon to be attacked by a great army. This is not what I had in mind!’ He raised a hand to summon the soldiers, underlining his intentions. ‘Go,’
he said. ‘Go down into the depths. It will be a more comfortable domain than this.’
‘Yes,’ said the Doctor. ‘I think a trip to these catacombs is long overdue. Let us do what the acting governor says.’
He moved as if to lead me away, but I was having none of it.
‘But, Doctor!’ I hissed. ‘Yevhen must have an ulterior motive!’
‘It is no use arguing,’ said the Doctor. ‘Come along, now.
Come along. We will need your help in the tunnels.’
‘You may take the madman with you,’ said Yevhen, pointing at Dmitri. ‘He is of no use to us here.’
And with that, and with the soldiers at our heels to ensure our compliance, we took up torches and lanterns, and bags of food, and went back into the tunnels that lead to the cathedral.
And I heard the door being locked firmly behind us.
Codex II
Est hic finis fabulae?
A lithe trapper led our group through the thick darkness of the trees, along ancient trails invisible to untrained eyes. As we followed, we were wary, every sense straining against the silence and the gathering twilight. The trapper; though, was confident in his own abilities, and he forged on remorselessly, leaving some of us floundering in his wake.
The smell of scorched wood and earth grew stronger; and in time the first of the fire-damaged trees became visible, dark fingers of twig standing out amongst the vibrant pines that covered much of the slope. I watched the trapper drop to his knees and examine the outer edge of the conflagration, crumbling a small plant between his fingers. Once lush and green and full of sap, it was now little more than a desiccated stick of soft charcoal.
The trapper grunted, but said nothing. He waited for the group to assemble, and then, as one, we stepped through the blackened trees and into the clearing.
The firestorm had burnt a precise circle, obliterating everything from the soil up to the treetops. Now all that was left was a covering of ash and a dark emptiness where the heart of the forest had been. The blackened trees at the edge gave an impression of solidity, and it seemed to me that we were within some strange arboreal building, its roof open to the shifting sky.
The air was heavy and oppressive within this church of blackened trees, the ef ects of the last whispers of smoke and the cloying warmth of extinguished fire made worse by the fear we all felt. And, at the centre of this chamber; resting on an untidy plinth of scorched branch, lay a metal casket.
We approached the metal object cautiously, Petrov’s brow was furrowed in puzzlement.
It was about the size of a burial casket, though this was no simple metal box. Like a smooth quicksilver seed, it lacked any trace of edge or line that might imply human construction, though there were areas pockmarked with shallow depressions and grooves. It was an almost uniform grey, with occasional splashes of red as if to remind us of its fiery arrival.
Petrov reached out a hand to touch the object.
‘Is it hot?’ asked someone at his side.
Petrov brushed his fingtertips against the metal, then pressed down more firmly. He shook his head. ‘No, though it is metal. Some sort of fine iron, I’ll warrant.’
Others now touched the casket, emboldened by the blacksmith’s actions.
‘It is like a tear; from God Himself,’ said one man,