Doctor Who_ Cats Cradle_ Witch Mark - Andrew Hunt [73]
‘Greetings Ace.’
‘How do you know my name? What are you? Are you a unicorn?’
‘I am called Bat. I am one of the Ceffyl.’
‘You are a unicorn!’
‘Get away from her!’
The unicorn’s head whipped up and it turned its kind eyes on Chulainn. He had snatched up his scabbard and now pulled out his sword.’
‘Get away from her, Ceffyl!’ Chulainn used the word as an insult.
‘Tell him there are demons coming.’
‘She says there are demons coming.’ Ace told Chulainn.
‘Led here by the Ceffyl, no doubt.’ He raised his sword to strike at the unicorn.
Ace moved so that she was between Chulainn and Bat.
‘I have come to offer the protection of the herd for your journey back to Dinorben.’
‘She says that we can journey with her herd back to Dinorben.’
‘Never! Consort with demon spawn, never!’
The unicorn’s voice was as mild as ever. Ace wondered if this was entirely due to it being only a voice in her mind.
‘Ace, what about you? Will you return with the herd?’
Ace looked at Chulainn, his prejudices against this beautiful creature fully revealed.
‘I’m going with Bat,’ she told him.
‘No Ace. I made a promise to the Doctor.’ He dropped his sword and took hold of her arm. She shook his hand off.
‘Well, I didn’t!’ she told him. She picked up her sleeping bag and stuffed it into her rucksack. She climbed on to Bat’s back.
‘Tell him again that there are demons coming this way,’ Bat asked her.
Ace told Chulainn, ‘She says that there are definitely demons coming.’
'Ha!'
Bat began to move. Ace turned to look at Chulainn, standing amongst the trees. Suddenly her vision blurred and her head was jolted forwards as Bat gathered speed.
‘I’m sorry Chulainn,’ she whispered. 'Goodbye.'
9:
Rissole Time
Old Davy paused in his climb up the hill from the Black Swan and took a few breaths of the Welsh air.
He sucked it in between his teeth, let it play momentarily over his tongue and then drank it into his lungs. Having carried its burden to the delicate exchange membranes, it swirled out again in dizzying whirlwinds.
He lifted his head to look at the house, white with moonlight, that he had occupied for most of his natural life. For the first time in nearly fifty years his head reeled. Something had changed, something major, something fundamental in his life. The wall of his cottage had collapsed. Old Davy almost ran up the remaining few yards of the path and gazed with dismay at the ruins of the wall. There was no doubt about it - the supporting stone had been pulled out and the rest of the structure left to fall down. He realized now what the marks on the path had been.
He had built the wall out of rocks dug up from a field that needed ploughing. The largest, the one that had been stolen, had been the inspiration. It might have been smashed up and used as gravel, but something about the markings on its surface made Old Davy want to preserve it - and so the wall had been born.
He let the dust shaken from the rafters of his brain settle and then he gave a small shrug. It was only a wall after all, just a collection of miscellaneous stones. It may have had some value to him because he had made it but nothing more. He only hoped the thieves had left his house intact.
Confident that there was no one still present, Old Davy pottered up to his house and pushed open the permanently unlocked front door. Inside, the house was unlit. Nor did it need any illumination, for he knew every inch of it. He wandered into his bedroom, switched on the bedside lamp for reassurance, and looked at his other treasure possessions. They were all there, leaning against each other on the tiny shelf that clung precariously to the plastered wall.