Doctor Who_ Christmas on a Rational Planet - Lawrence Miles [63]
Isaac felt himself deflate. He’d trusted Catcher, hadn’t he?
‘What’s to discuss?’ asked Wolcott. ‘We’ve made a total balls-up of the whole situation. Old Silkwood’s had his head dented by some idiot flinging rocks about. Half of the watchmen don’t want anything to do with the situation, and the other half are siding with the troublemakers. If they are troublemakers. For all we know, the town might honestly be under siege from Satanists, and the rioters might be the only ones saving our immortal souls from the oncoming darkness.’
He shrugged.
‘You never know,’ he concluded.
‘So, what do we do now?’ asked Mr Van DeVanter.
What do we do now? The dread question. Isaac glanced at the door. He could easily slip out of the hall, run after Mr Catcher. I mean, yes, he’d seemed a little upset when the diabolist had vanished...
‘We could call in the militia,’ suggested Mr Wolcott.
... but he had a right to be, surely? Besides, at least the man seemed to have some idea of what was going on. Unlike the council.
‘ Gentle men,’ cut in Mrs Wilson. ‘If we could remember that this is a democratic council. If we could have suggestions in an order ly manner, then the four of us can vote on the outcome...
She looked along the table, noticing the empty seat at the end.
‘The three of us,’ she said. ‘The three of us can vote on the outcome.’
There was a light at the end of the tunnel. It was a very attractive light, covered in an elaborate paper shade that had been hand-painted with a scene of oriental gods hunting huge wild cats. Marielle Duquesne blinked. The room was much like any other she’d seen in this TARDIS complex, though the roundels in the walls were fashioned from brass instead of marble or wood, and there was the scent of incense in the air.
It reminded her of the ashrams of India, or of the temples she’d visited when the Directory had sent her to Egypt to investigate the Amarna Graffito. The floor was unfurnished and tiled with copper plates, but the walls were lined with stacks of childhood leftovers that touched the ceiling, heaps of model boats and rag dolls and broken toy drums Behind her, Cwej tumbled out of the tunnel. Stray books with titles like The Catcher in the Rye and Black Orchid 2; This Time It’s Personal flapped down the passage behind him and landed in an untidy pile.
‘Talk about getting lost in a good book;’ he said, annoyingly.
‘Where are we?’ Duquesne asked.
Cwej looked around, sniffing the air. His attention was caught by a large bottle, mounted on a stand in one corner.
There were shapes moving inside the glass.
‘Oh, wow,’ said Cwej. ‘Look, it’s a little universe in a bottle. You can see all the tiny people.’
‘Christopher!’
‘Hey, that one’s got a TARDIS just like the Doctor’s.
Maybe it is the Doctor. I wonder what he’s doing in San Francisco?’ He looked up from the bottle, but his gaze didn’t focus on Duquesne. ‘Oh. Hello, Interface.’
Duquesne spun round to follow his gaze. In the far wall, one of the roundels had opened up, revealing a huge and bloodshot eye. Then another opened, and another, and another.
Eyes. Ears. Mouths, both horizontal and vertical.
‘Help me,’ said Interface, with a dozen sick voices. ‘Help.
Personality. Please. Invaded. TARDIS.’
Cwej looked concerned. ‘What is it? What’s wrong?’
‘TARDIS. Big. Too. Personality. Invaded.’
‘The TARDIS has had its personality invaded?’ Cwej guessed.
‘No. My. Personality. My personality. Invaded. TARDIS.’
‘The TARDIS has invaded your...?’ Cwej’s eyes opened wide. ‘I don’t understand. What should we do?’ We, noted Duquesne. Good. He was starting to trust her, then.
‘It. It.