Doctor Who_ Christmas on a Rational Planet - Lawrence Miles [89]
‘There,’ said the Watchmaker King. ‘Now We Are Things of Reason Absolute. Our... Demons... Are Safely Confined, Beyond The Reach Of Man Or Machine. We Are Perfect. We Are Whole.’
Chris let his attention wander across the galaxies, briefly wondering how much of this was supposed to be real and how much of it was just a fairy-tale. He found the point where the great shadow had vanished. There. There, in a little corner of creation cut off from the rest of the universe, in the dark places on the other side of Reason. The shadow had been trapped there, in the prison-realm of the Watchmaker King, for... for how long, now? How long since the time of the Watchmakers?
– About three-and-a-half billion years, said the shadow.
Chris jumped. He tried to focus, tried to pin his attention down, but all he could see was the Carnival Queen’s face.
‘It’s you,’ Chris said. ‘It’s you.’
– Who else? said the Carnival Queen.
I am not a Godless man. You could not call me a Godless man.
Isaac Penley was lost. The whole town looked different in the rain, and besides, the streets didn’t always stay in the same places, the way they used to.
Dear Lord, when I joined the Renewal Society, I did not do it to spite you. To spite thee, I mean. I am not like them. I am no Catholic, but I have never made fun of His late Holiness the Pope as the others have.
He tried to remember the way back to the council hall, but couldn’t. There was a splinter, right in the middle of his head, and it was stopping some of his memories getting past. He’d tried asking passers-by for directions, but they didn’t seem to want to talk. Most of them were running, screaming about things hiding in shadows and the spawn of Baalzebub falling from the skies. Some of them had seen him and screamed even harder, which seemed peculiar.
I merely wanted assurance, Lord. For the world seemed to be falling to pieces, with all this talk of the age of reason and the death of religion, and anarchy abroad all across Europe. I trusted the rationalists to provide us with the answers. That is why I joined them, Lord. That is the only reason, I swear.
He continued along the street, dragging his limp left leg behind him, listening to the scrapings of the nails that held his muscles together. This was wrong, very wrong, but he couldn’t quite say why.
I may never have really trusted in you, Lord... trusted in thee... but I am not a Godless man even so, and I am sorry and I am in the land of the mad and I want to get OUT -
– then, suddenly he was face-to-face with the man in the white suit. The man was covered in mud and rainwater, his face wrinkled and concerned. Cautiously, he tipped his hat.
‘Good evening,’ he said.
‘Goo’ e’eing,’ said Isaac, and was surprised by the way the splinters caught in his throat. ‘I wonn... wonnered ifh you knoo ... wha... what was goinng on?’
The man frowned. ‘I’m sorry?’
‘If you know what was... go-ing... on.’ Isaac looked up at the sky, and his brow furrowed, ‘I wonn-dered... is this... wha’
it’s like? Is this the fu... the fu... the future?’
The man looked grave, but didn’t reply.
‘Everything see... seems changed,’ Isaac continued. ‘Theyy said everything would be differ... different... in the future. Is this wha’ it’ll be like? Is this it? Only... it woub... would... be nice to know. For a change.’
The man in the hat thought for a moment.
‘What’s your name?’ he asked.
Once, the stones that made up the walls of the old King George had been used as burial markers by the American Indians. Nobody remembered that now, of course. The Indians were either dead or moved to far-away places, and the men who’d taken the stones hadn’t known (or cared) what their purpose had been.
But the stones remembered. The storm called to them, singing them back into wakefulness.
Comecomecallinguscallawaybacktotimebacktotime, sang the stones.
Firstwewereburiedfirstwewereneededfirstwewerefound.
‘Sodomy,’ Erskine