Doctor Who_ Camera Obscura - Lloyd Rose [97]
Sabbath walked down a hall formed by a double line of tall-case clocks. Some of their faces were painted with flowers, some with the moon and the sun, some with nautical scenes, while others were plain brass or enamel, or even wood. At the end of this passage, he came to an imposing timepiece nearly eight feet tall, its ebony case flanked by slender green marble pillars. Its four pinnacles were topped with malachite and its face casing leafed with engraved gold, while the face itself was illustrated with the phases of the moon. He pulled open the door, and where the pendulum and weights should have been was a set of steps carved out of solid rock. Not without difficulty, Sabbath climbed into the clock, and followed these down.
They led to a domed chamber, like a bowl laid upside down, with obsidian walls in whose smooth black surfaces the flames of the numerous torches reflected. The place was charged with a terrible silence. Atop an obsidian ziggurat stood a heavy, square-cut black throne, and on this sat a creature so horrifying that even Sabbath’s eyes winced away.
Her skin was black and papery, like something burned. Her eyes were gelatinous as raw eggs. Large square teeth, the colour of old ivory, not only hung below her upper lip but cut through the skin to jut from her cheekbones. In the bottom of her mouth, her tongue lay curled like a red snake.
She said in a voice like razors, ‘Not another one!’
Sabbath inclined his head. ‘I do not come of my own will.’
‘More excuses,’ she spat. ‘Look at me.’ He did. ‘Hm. Even more alive than the other one. You nauseate me.’
Had the moment been more appropriate, Sabbath would have allowed himself several ripe eighteenth-century obscenities. The Doctor! He might have known. He should have known. What had the damned imp done now? But all he said was, ‘I return the compliment.’
She pulled her feet up and rested them on the seat of the throne, her knees apart. Her flat breasts fell to her belly, and the way into her was deep and black as the grave.
‘Man of flesh,’ she said, ‘are you not afraid?’
‘I may or may not be afraid when my time comes, but that time is not yet.’
‘The other was more respectful.’
‘I imagine the other wanted something from you. I do not.’
‘Do you not even want him, your friend?’
‘He is not my friend, and I do not want him. But if I live, he lives.’
‘Ah.’ She slipped off the throne and padded over to him, and he saw that she wore a girdle made of the skulls of little animals knotted to one another. The long nails of the hand that reached towards him had specks of blood and flesh beneath them. She wriggled her fingers, and an iridescent thread, elusive as a bit of spiderweb, glistened among them.
‘Look,’ she whispered. ‘Here it is. You can sever it. I can give you the power. Then you will be free of him.’ Sabbath shook his head. ‘He tricked you here. He counted on you to help him and did not care that he put you in peril.’
‘I am not in peril.’
‘Do not be so confident, my learned friend. You do not know what you may suffer bearing him back.’ She dangled the thread in front of him. ‘Take it. Snap it. You will be rid of him at last.’
‘No.’
‘Hypocrite! You who boast of never flinching from sacrificing a life when necessary.’
‘The Doctor is still of use to me. If you want him dead so badly, why not snap the thread