Doctor Who_ Camera Obscura - Lloyd Rose [59]
‘Yes.’
‘Anything – I realise how this must sound to you, after the way I behaved, but is there anything you’d not mind sharing with me? For it’s a wonderful thing, and I know so little about it.’
‘It’s a bit complicated,’ said the Doctor.
‘Well, sir, if you have the time, I’d be more than pleased to buy you a drink to tell the story over.’
Can you spell ‘trap’? thought the Doctor. T-R‐A-P. ‘Why yes,’ he said aloud. ‘That’s very generous of you.’
Scale led him to a somewhat down-at‐heel pub called the Flower and Dragon, a smoky, noisy place with a beer-slick floor. He deposited the Doctor at a table against the wall and pushed through the crowd to the bar, returning shortly with two whiskies. He set the Doctor’s in front of him and pulled up his own chair. The Doctor noticed that Scale favoured his right hand, which was red and slightly swollen. He looked at his glass, wondering what had been put In it. Nothing expensive or hard to get. Probably laudanum.
‘Here’s to your forgiving nature, sir.’ Scale raised his glass. The Doctor touched it with his and took a swallow. Definitely laudanum. At one time, he’d simply have drunk and swiftly metabolised it, but he wasn’t confident that would work now in his new, unimproved condition. And he didn’t want to be groggy while Scale carried out his no-doubt‐nefarious plan.
‘Drink up,’ said Scale with ghastly bonhomie. ‘There’s another where that one came from.’
The Doctor wondered briefly if he were wearing a little sign stuck in the band of his hat that read ‘Stupid.’ Apparently so. ‘You say the mirror was one of a set?’
‘A set of eight, sir.’
‘And you acquired them where?’
‘From an Eye-talian. But he said he come across them in Switzerland.’
The Doctor nodded wisely, wondering how they had got to Switzerland. Not that it really mattered. ‘What do you think your mirror reflects?’
‘Well,’ Scale looked sly, ‘don’t like to guess, really, not being an educated man.’
‘But you must have speculated.’
‘Here now,’ said Scale with an attempt at joviality, ‘it’s you who was supposed to have things to tell me.’
The Doctor smiled. ‘Why yes, you’re right. All right: Your mirror is part of a time machine.’
Scale’s jaw fell. It would have been comic except for the glint of something cunning in his eyes. ‘Now, you’re playing with me, sir.’
‘I assure you, I’m not. It’s part of a time machine. Get me another drink,’ the Doctor shoved his empty glass across, ‘and I’ll tell you all about it.’
Scale looked at the glass, surprised at how quickly the Doctor had drained it. Then he grinned. ‘Right away.’ As he shoved back through the crowd, the Doctor glanced at the floor, but it was so wet that his own dumped drink made no visible difference. Should he pass out now, or wait? There was really no necessity for further conversation: the mention of the time machine should have established his credentials as someone knowledgeable enough to carry through with kidnapping. Passing out now saved him from any more of Scale’s fawning. And Scale would be extremely annoyed at having wasted money on an unnecessary second drink. He slumped over the table.
Sure enough, when Scale returned and found his victim already unconscious, he swore under his breath. Then he looked on the bright side – at least the plan was underway – and, draining off his own glass, dragged the Doctor up and assisted him out the side door into a smelly alley, where he relieved him of his wallet.
The Doctor exhibited just enough consciousness to wobble along if supported. He wondered whether he should sing but decided against it. He and Scale made their way to the mouth of the alley where Scale, after some difficulty, managed to persuade