Doctor Who_ Camera Obscura - Lloyd Rose [46]
‘Tell me,’ the Doctor said to Hugo, ‘this being a relatively small performing world – do you know anything about a fellow with a conjuring act who calls himself Octave?’
Hugo and the others exchanged sombre glances. ‘Only that he’s dead,’ the giant said.
‘Dead?’ repeated the Doctor. What colour he had blanched out of his face and Anji was afraid for a moment he was going to pass out again. ‘How? When?’
‘Last week. Dreadful thing – he was murdered. Knifed to death after his show, up in Liverpool. No one knows why. Why do you –’
But with a brief ‘Excuse me,’ the Doctor, white to the lips, had risen, slipped past him and was gone. Making awkward thank-yous, Anji and Fitz hurried after him. They came out of the back of the exhibit building, next to one of the towering glass walls. The Doctor’s green coat was just visible vanishing into the crowd, and they ran to catch up. Hugo and Vera stood in the doorway, looking after them.
‘His blood was queer,’ she said. ‘Queer colour. Orange-ish. And did you feel when you carried him in? His skin?’
‘Yes.’
‘Too cold. And his pulse wasn’t proper neither.’
‘No,’ said Hugo. ‘You’re right. He’s one of us.’
* * *
Chapter Ten
The Angel-Maker worried about Sabbath. She did this unreflectively, oblivious to any irony in her concern for the welfare of a man so obviously powerful. Nor, indeed, had she had any doubts about him personally. Her faith in him was perfect. But she suspected that he had dangerous enemies, more devious and capable than he realised.
She was particularly mistrustful of the pale man with pale eyes that Sabbath called the Doctor. He was wrong, why couldn’t Sabbath see that? He didn’t fit. Time warped so strangely around him, the way grass rippled when a wind passed through. It hurt her head to look at him. She didn’t like thinking about him either. Doing so now, she frowned and plucked at a loose thread on her bodice.
Was this Doctor perhaps one of the Gentry? They were said to be fair, and he was certainly very beautiful to the eye. His coat was green. He played tricks too, as they did, and his attitude was not respectful. But no, he must be mortal, for she could sense that he was ill and in pain. Still, there was something to him more than human. Since he was Sabbath’s enemy and Sabbath might perhaps be the Devil, he could not be the Devil. So he must be one of the unfallen, on the side of Heaven. This frightened the Angel-Maker a little. She was not herself on the side of Heaven, but she doubted her strength against a representative of that kingdom.
Contemptuously, she threw aside her fear and sat up straighter. He was mortal. He could be killed. That was all that mattered. She did not understand why Sabbath would not let her kill him now. He would have to die sooner or later. Sabbath had not said so, but she knew he believed that. Yet he hesitated. He seemed... not fond of the Doctor, but impersonally tender towards him, as a man might be towards a sick animal. She did not understand this at all. Sick or not, he was dangerous. She sighed. She must trust Sabbath, indeed she was very foolish and disrespectful not to. His dark wisdom was simply beyond her understanding.
And yet... did he truly understand this Doctor? Did he know everything about him? Did he know, for example, what the Angel-Maker had glimpsed – that when the two were together, something not unlike the distortion around the Doctor shimmered around Sabbath too? It was faint, very faint, at first she had thought it a trick of the light. But it was no trick. And her heart chilled when she remembered that she had seen it before.
It had been when he fell ill so frighteningly some ten days ago. She had been sitting on a little chair in the hallway outside the closed door of his study. He wanted her to spend her free time on things that amused her, or to study lessons he had set for her – but she didn’t like to let him get too far away. She