Doctor Who_ Camera Obscura - Lloyd Rose [94]
‘No.’
‘What is there?’
‘A monster and a machine.’
‘And will you kill this monster?’
‘If I can.’
‘And if you cannot, will it kill you?’
‘Yes.’
‘It is a good bargain for me either way.’
‘As you say.’
‘How polite you are.’ The touch again, at the nape of his neck. ‘Perhaps I will mark you, so that I know you when you come again. Are you afraid?’
‘We all fear you,’ he whispered. ‘Every one of us.’
‘Another pretty answer. I think I will let you speak to this Chiltern.’
‘To thank you would be to insult you.’
‘Very wise. One would think you had done this before.’
Perhaps I have, thought the Doctor, though he hoped not. Throughout the conversation a feeling had been growing in him so intense that he’d become certain that, even without flesh, he was freezing to death. Now he realised that what he had taken for a physical sensation was terror. He had been near Death too long, and its dark radiation was poisoning him, burning the fabric of what he thought of as his self. He clutched frantically at the empty side of his chest. There, just there, the shimmer and shiver, the thread of life. So fragile, stretched so thin – what had he done?!
‘Ask your questions,’ said Chiltern.
* * *
Chapter Twenty-one
The Angel-Maker wept, a sniffling, gulping series of sobs, punctuated by wipes of her nose on her sleeve and raking tears at her hair. Roused from sleep, the landlord threatened to throw her out if she didn’t quiet down, so she pulled the pillow from the bed and buried her face in it. Sabbath didn’t notice.
She had realised there was trouble even before her knife went into the Doctor. He had helped her – helped her! – and what could that mean? – and then when he had fallen with the blood coming out of him, he hadn’t died. The Angel-Maker knew something about lethal wounds, and he should have been dead instead of lying there all pale and his blood black in the moonlight and him still moving a little, and moaning.
She had run. Sure and he was one of the Gentry after all, and what would become of her? They never forgave, and their vengeance was cruel. For herself, she didn’t care. But what if they punished her by punishing Sabbath?
And they had. She rocked back and forth on the bedside chair, bent over, pressed into the pillow, half-smothering herself. Around her, the inn was in an uproar. Still furious at her hysterics over what looked to him like a simple case of a man’s having a drop too much, the landlord was forced to tuck his nightshirt into his trousers and fetch the dog-cart when Fitz came panting in with news of the Doctor’s injury. Miss Jane had passed by in the hall, looking in at her timidly. The Oxford don on a fern-collecting holiday was wandering around asking what was going on. Anji had initially tried, without success, to calm her, but after talking with Fitz she had returned and started yelling at her.
‘You did it, didn’t you? Look at me, look at me! You little bitch, it was you, I know it was you!’ In some part of her mind, Anji was appalled at her rage, even frightened. But she reeled with it like a drunk. She grabbed the Angel-Maker’s tangled hair and pulled her face from the pillow ‘You tried to kill him! That’s your solution to everything, yours and this bastard here. Did he set you on to it? Well, did he? It’s backfired, then, hasn’t it? Not as smart as he thought, is he?’
The Angel-Maker didn’t seem to know Anji was there. Certainly, nothing Anji shouted was registering with her. Her eyes were fixed on Sabbath, and she continued to cry as loudly as a child. Anji finally looked at Sabbath too. He was on his back, a hand resting on his chest, sweating and breathing harshly. Anji stared at his hand. Over his heart. Hearts. Her anger drained out of her. What had the Doctor done?
* * *
The Doctor sat and Chiltern stood. A stream flowed between them. It was only a few inches wide but when the Doctor had peered into its lead-coloured waters he couldn’t see the bottom.
Chiltern was grey too, as if he were made of the drab mist through which the Doctor had passed