Doctor Who_ Cats Cradle_ Witch Mark - Andrew Hunt [55]
Ace gave a gasp of surprise - a figure sat in front of the tent, half hidden by the voluminous flaps of canvas. In the dim light, the creature's skin seemed grey as the stones of Dinorben and utterly hairless.
The head was wide and squat, almost Neanderthal in its appearance. Eyes burned like coals beneath a protruding forehead.
'Why doesn't it do anything?' Ace asked.
'You heard Captain Rhys,' the Doctor answered. 'They're inactive when the sun is at its height. Maybe it's a Circadian rhythm built into their metabolism to conserve energy.'
'But surely that wouldn't stop it attacking us? I mean, we can be woken from sleep and that's a bit like a, er, a ... '
'Circadian rhythm? Well, luckily for us, it can't do anything about us.'
They continued through the camp. Many eyes were on them, but nothing was done to halt their progress. At one point, Ace thought she saw an arm twitch towards its weapon, but whether or not it was just a trick of her mind, nothing came of it. She felt uncomfortable with all those eyes following her slowly - she could almost feel them probing into her and said so to the Doctor.
Maybe they have some latent telepathic ability?' he suggested. ‘Who can tell? We’re dealing with an unknown species here, so it’s too early to say.’
Ace shivered at the sensation and glanced around uneasily. The feeling was becoming oppressive when, at last, they reached the other edge of the camp.
‘Time for a gallop,’ the Doctor said. ‘We should get away from here now.’
‘Halt, men-people!’ a commanding voice rang out. From out of the gloom rode a troop of soldiers.
Ace looked again and her eyes widened.
‘Professor, they’re centaurs!’ she exclaimed.
‘Firbolg, I believe the local name is,’ that Doctor reminded her.
‘Men-people,’ the leader saluted them with a double-stamp of his forefeet. He was tall and well-muscled. The long hair hanging from his head matched the colour of his coat. ‘Men-people,’ he repeated, ‘you are foolish to ride out here. The Firbolg have been sorely insulted by your attitude towards us and your refusal to treaty. Under the circumstances there is no reason why we should not cut you down where you stand.’ He pulled an arrow from a quiver slung over his back and put it in his bow.
The Doctor bowed deeply in his saddle before the centaur. ‘Good Master?’
The Firbolg straightened his back and stood proudly. Ace could only admire his handsome physique, so perfectly formed. His yes, reflecting the dim light of the sun, were red pools of blood and Ace thought that this warrior must surely be well versed in the spilling of life’s fluid. ‘I am Chawradd of Teiron,’ he declared.
‘Good Master Chawradd, you are quite correct in your summing-up of the situation, but we two humble travellers have no bonds with the men of Dinorben. We came from the world beyond the stone circle and have been cast into Tír na n-Óg to fend for ourselves.’
‘You are from the place that the men-people call Earth?’
‘I’m from Perivale,’ Ace told him belligerently, as though challenging him to find fault with her place of birth. She shook her head, tossing her long brown hair over her shoulder.
‘A village in Earth,’ the Doctor said obsequiously. Ace wondered why the Doctor was being so sickeningly polite to the centaur. ‘And I am from another world, far from both Tír na n-Óg and Earth.
We want no part in your quarrel with the humans of Dinorben and ask only that you allow us to go on our way so that we may seek an audience with the one called Goibhnie.'
‘You see to visit Goibhnie?' Chawradd asked with some surprise. His tail struck out at an imaginary fly
‘It is a matter of some urgency.’ The Doctor nervously fingered his paisley tie. ‘Although Goibhnie has shown himself to be a cruel man, we have been instructed that our only hope of salvation rests with him. We do not hold much hope.