Doctor Who_ Cat's Cradle_ Warhead - Andrew Cartmel [92]
Now she stopped, sitting there on the bed and staring at Ace’s face. Then she laughed with genuine pleasure.
‘He’s from another planet! That’s what you believe.’
‘Shut up,’ said Ace.
‘You don’t believe in magic but you believe he’s from another planet and you’re his girl companion.’
‘Shut up.’ Ace was turning away from the window.
‘And that thing in the cellar. The door. The gateway to other worlds. How does he account for that? A space ship? A time machine?’
‘Shut up,’ shouted Ace, but it came out as a howl. She lunged across the bedroom and lashed out at Justine. The girl made no attempt to fight back. She just held up her arms to protect her face. When Ace stopped hitting her, she lowered her arms. Her face was flushed but her eyes were calm. Ace stood panting in front of her.
Justine began to undress. She tugged off her shirt and shucked off her jeans. Her eyes were cold and ugly. ‘You insulted me and you thought you could walk away unscathed. As punishment I have begun to peel away your view of reality. It was easy.’ Justine was naked now except for a tarnished silver locket that swayed at her throat. She turned away from Ace and climbed on to the bed where the boy was sleeping. ‘Now get out of here,’ said Justine, ‘before I tear your world apart completely.’
As Ace fled the room she saw the boy’s arm drift sleepily around Justine. Running down the corridor she heard the sound of bedsprings beginning. The sound seemed to pursue her down the stairs.
* * *
17
‘No appetite, Ace?’
Ace stared at the plate in front of her and shook her head. In the centre of the kitchen table was a large platter with fried eggs, bacon, sausages and fried slices of potato heaped on it. The Doctor stepped away from the stove, holding a heavy black frying pan. He scraped brown crescents of mushrooms out of the pan on to the platter.
‘No thanks,’ said Ace.
‘I’ll have some more, sir,’ said Vincent. The boy was wearing a frayed velvet smoking jacket which Ace usually wore. His hair was tousled and his eyes were bleary. He wiped a piece of bread across his plate, mopping up a yellow smear of egg yolk.
‘He’s worked up quite an appetite,’ said Justine. She tried to catch Ace’s eyes, but Ace refused to look at her. Justine shook her head as the Doctor offered her the frying pan. ‘I’m all right,’ she said.
‘He hasn’t eaten anything for a long time,’ said the Doctor, watching Vincent. ‘And he’s going to need his strength for what lies ahead.’ Justine nodded, listening carefully to what the Doctor said. She took a last drag on her handrolled cigarette and ground the butt out on her plate.
Ace said nothing. She sat looking out the kitchen window, a small slit high on the tiled wall. The sky outside was a deep dawn blue and birds had begun to sing in the dark garden.
When Vincent had finished the Doctor cleared the table and placed a tin box on it. The box was old‐fashioned, brightly painted with a hinged lid. Then he ceremoniously placed a stemmed glass in front of Justine, Ace and Vincent and poured a small amount of red wine into each one. He sat down at the table, opposite Justine, and opened the tin box. Inside were small Italian biscuits wrapped in coloured tissue paper. The four of them ate the bittersweet biscuits, dipping them in the wine and then, at the Doctor’s instruction, each of them took one of the discarded wrappers and carefully smoothed it out.
They rolled the squares of tissue paper into cylinders and set them upright on the table. Then the Doctor took out a box of matches and each of them set the biscuit papers alight.
The wrappers were different colours but they all burned the same intense eerie blue‐green shade. As they burned, the papers became delicate charred black cylinders which rose weightlessly off the table, ghost husks that drifted up towards the ceiling.
The Doctor looked across the table at Ace.
‘Make a wish,’ he said.
* * *
PART TWO: Detonation
* * *
18
Men and women mixed spices and stirred pots of curried goat over open fires.