Doctor Who_ Christmas on a Rational Planet - Lawrence Miles [38]
She shook her head, and felt her back press itself against the wall. ‘S’OK,’ the man said. ‘You don’t have to be afraid of me. Er. Hang on. Am I supposed to be afraid of you?’
The question took Duquesne by surprise. ‘I’m sorry?’
‘I mean, you’re not the one who’s causing the TARDIS to...
oh, are you French?’
Ahh, he was a fast one. ‘But I do speak English, sir.’
‘Don’t worry about it. In here, you speak everything.’ His eyes danced across her face for a moment, then settled on her left cheek. Staring at the burn, Duquesne realized. She caught his eye, and he looked away, embarrassed.
She decided to take the advantage. ‘Pardon me, Mr...?’
‘What? Oh. Cwej. Er. Christopher.’
‘Christopher.’ Duquesne smiled weakly, urging herself into
‘flirt’ mode. Acting the agent provocateur. ‘Am I to take it that this... place... is your property?’
The man shrugged. ‘Well, I live here, if that’s any help.
Listen, do you know how you got in? Did you come through the door? Has someone left it open?’
‘Door? No, Mr Cwej. Christopher. There was no door. The box simply opened itself up to me.’ She batted her eyelids. He was a caillou, no doubt about it. Then why couldn’t she feel anything? ‘I am but a simple-minded Frenchwoman, here to see the wonders of the New World. If I have stumbled upon your property, I apologize.’
Duquesne realized she was over-acting, but there was something in this Cwej’s face – something young and stupid –
which suggested that he might fall for it. He didn’t answer for a while, and Duquesne wondered what he might be thinking Then she followed his gaze up the corridor.
At first sight, it seemed that the corridor was shrinking, with the dark wall at the far end advancing towards them. That would have been alarming enough in itself; but then Duquesne realized that it wasn’t a wall, at least not a solid one. It was a wave of darkness, rolling up the passage, carrying with it a tumult of chattering clockwork mouths and snapping mechanical joints.
She felt Christopher Cwej’s hand close around her wrist, saw him turn and start to run, trying to pull her along behind him. Halfway along the corridor, the wave broke. Darkness washed over them, droplets bursting against their skins and exploding into childish nightmares.
‘This had better be good,’ said Mr Wolcott, settling in his chair.
‘They’re burning down the church,’ said Mr Van DeVanter.
Mr Wolcott gawped. Evidently, that was good enough.
If there was one word that could describe the meeting hall of the local council, that word was ‘cheap’. Woodwicke was a small and unremarkable town, a fact which made the Romanesque architecture of the hall seem laughable rather than grandiose. Similarly, the four individuals gathered around the table made distinctly unimpressive VIPs.
‘What church?’ demanded Mr Wolcott. ‘ Our church?’
Mr Van DeVanter nodded.
‘They can’t do that! Who told them they could do that?’
Mrs Wilson made an unpleasant snorting sound. ‘ If we could follow the proper procedure? Thank you. I would like to call to order this emergency meeting of the Wood wicke town council –’
‘Just a moment. Who’s burning down the church, exactly?’
Mr Van DeVanter shrugged. ‘Jesuits?’
Mrs Wilson cleared her throat. Viciously. ‘That is the item on the agenda, gentlemen. We have heard that the church became in fest ed with, er...’
‘The minions of Baalzebub,’ cut in Mr Van DeVanter.
‘Peter McLeod told me he saw them himself. About quarter of an hour ago. Like something out of Hell, he said.’
‘Rot,’ said Mr Wolcott.
Mr Van DeVanter nodded again. ‘Never believed a word McLeod ever said. The way he tells it, though, some of the people set light to the building just to flush out this devil-thing. You know what that bunch on Hazelrow Avenue are like. Catholic upbringing. Show ‘em something they don’t understand, they’ll set light to it.’
‘ If we can bring this meeting to order,’ Mrs Wilson whined.
‘It does seem that we may have a pub lic order problem, and that we may have some other, er, disturbance. Now, as I’m sure you