Doctor Who_ Companion Piece - Mike Tucker [12]
There was the sharp crack of a whip, and the cart carrying the Docto started to move, pulled along by huge, bull-like creatures. Cat pushe her way back down the steps, looking around desperately for somethin that she could use as a weapon, something that might stop this madness Around her, people were chattering excitedly, as if what was about t take place was part of the day's festivities, an entertainment.
Across the square, in the shelter of the city wall, a blacksmith's forg stood empty, its owner part of the jostling crowd. Cat eyed the selectio of ironmongery hanging from the smithy ceiling. Scythes, ploughshare hoes. Items more suited to keeping a well-groomed farm than fightin off a murderous city mob. W ith a bravado born of desperation, sh slipped inside the forge, checking over her shoulder that she wasn't bein watched.
Bladed tools of every description lined the craftsman's workshop. C hefted one in her hands, already knowing in her heart that any gestur she made was liable to be a futile one. Undoing her robes, she slid tw wicked-looking scythe blades into her belt and took a deep breath.
`Remind me never to take you shopping again, Doctor . . . '
The Doctor gave a grunt of pain as his hands were wrenched painful behind his back. Every part of him ached and protested at the men rough handling. Through puffy and streaming eyes, he could see a hug pyre being constructed on the scrubland just outside the city walls.
`Having a barbecue?' he croaked. 'Lovely weather for it:
`Quiet, witch!' A hand cuffed him sharply over the back of the head `The only sounds we want to hear from you are the screams as the flame reach you:
`That's a shame. I've got such a lovely singing voice.'
`Oh, you'll sing, witch.' A grimy face filled the Doctor's vision. 'And a terrible song it will be. The song that my wife sang when your box took her mind from her.'
`Listen to me . . . ' The Doctor kept his voice low and soothing, steel eyes fixed with those of his captor. 'Your people have suffered some terrible catastrophe, something that you cannot comprehend. You look for someone to blame, someone to punish, but I'm not the one . . . '
A frown flickered over the man's mud-flecked face. The Doctor leaned forward, straining against his bonds. 'I'm a traveller, an explorer, a Doctor. I came here with my friend. I can help you . . . '
`Help?'
`Yes. Help you to understand what happened here, help you to learn . . . ' The Doctor could hear startled cries from around him now, shouts of panic and alarm. He didn't have much time. His head was pounding with the effort. He needed just a few more seconds.
`Leave him, witch!' Blows rained down on the Doctor as men swarmed over the cart, pulling their comrade away from him. The Doctor saw him shaking his head, clearing his mind. Anger flared in the man's face.
`Thought you could put a spell on me, did you?' He lashed out at the Doctor, sending him crashing to the floor of the cart. 'W ell, you've cast your last hex.'
He looked around at the expectant crowd. 'Take him!'
A dozen pairs of hands dragged the Doctor from the cart, sending him sprawling in the mud. He tried to stagger to his feet, but his legs gave way under him. A blow from a staff cracked across his back, making him cry out. There was ugly laughter from the crowd. A rough noose was slipped around his shoulders and, with a jerk, he was hauled forward across the wet ground.
The Doctor's world became a blur of whirling faces and taunting cries. He tried to shut down his mind, centre himself for the ordeal to come, but with every jerk of the rope pain flared through him. The noise was deafening now: screaming women, jeering children, the harsh guttural chant of the menfolk. He felt himself being hauled upwards, his arms wrenched backwards, sharp ropes biting into his wrists.
The mass of bodies pressing around him eventually melted away, and a hush fell over the throng. The Doctor forced his eyes open. He was lashed firmly to a thick wooden