Doctor Who_ Companion Piece - Mike Tucker [16]
No. Her only chance now was to lie low and try to get to the TARDIS when things were quieter. But she had a horrible feeling that the hawkfaced Inquisitor would probably have thought of that.
As she approached the overhanging section of city wall where they had landed, her fears were confirmed. Spurred on by the urgings of the priests — and the presence of the Inquisition guards — a less-than-willing party of market traders was manhandling the bulky police box shape of the TARDIS onto the back of the same cart that had earlier held the Doctor. As Cat watched, it was lowered onto its side, the pair of huge bull-like creatures whose job it was to pull this load bellowing in discomfort as their harnesses stretched under the weight.
There was a harsh whip-crack and the two animals started to strain at their yokes. The cart gave a groan of protest, wheels cracking alarmingly on the cobbles. The guards shouted orders, commandeering more and more passers-by to help move the unwieldy shape.
W ith a sudden flash of inspiration, Cat hurried forward to help. Any time now, guards would be combing the streets looking for her. The last place they would be expecting her to be was in the crowd moving the `Devil-box. Let the guards search the city; this way, she would know exactly where the TARDIS was being held, and with any luck, would be able to lose herself as soon as they were inside the cathedral walls. It was a plan worthy of the Doctor himself.
W ith the first glimmer of hope she had felt in hours, Cat put her shoulder to the back of the wagon and heaved with all her strength.
The Doctor's world swam back into focus as he struggled to shake off the numbing effects of the tranquilliser that had flooded his system. He ran his tongue over his parched lips. There was a bitter taste in his mouth, a trace of the drug they had used.
`Terelexin:
A shrill voice cut across the room.
`Unpleasant for a while, but harmless, I assure you.'
The Doctor opened his eyes. The Grand Inquisitor was seated opposite him, watching him with faint amusement.
`Unpleasant and unnecessary; said the Doctor 'There was no need to drug me.'
`I won't allow you to spread your perfidies among these simple, faithful people, Time Lord:
`These simple, faithful people were going to burn me as a witch.'
`But you are a witch. The Pope has declared all Time Lords to be witches:
The Inquisitor pulled the stopper from a crystal decanter and poured a generous quantity of deep red wine into a tall, slender goblet. The Doctor tugged experimentally at the bonds that held him to the chair. His eyes flicked around the room. The craft was a gaudy mix of high technology and high church. Plastisteel bulkheads draped with heavy tapestries; deckplates lined with deep carpets; art and jewellery and sculpture ranged amongst airlock controls and power relays. The chair to which he was strapped was of ornately carved mahogany, but the shackles that bound his wrists crackled and flickered as energy from a force-field generator coursed through them.
`Now that you have me safely tucked away from the eyes of your . . . flock, is there any need to keep me restrained?'
`Oh, yes, I think so: The Inquisitor took a sip of his wine. 'Yours is a particularly resourceful race. I know only too well what trouble you might cause.'
`W hat do you know of my race?' The Doctor was puzzled.
`All in good time, uh, Time Lord:
`Doctor.'
`Doctor. All in good time. For the moment, all you need to know is
that I am Guii del Toro, Grand Inquisitor for all of this sector of Roman Catholic space, working under special dispensation from His Holiness Pope John Paul XXIII, and that you and your ship — your TARDIS — are now in my custody:
The Doctor frowned. 'You've been visited by a TARDIS before, haven't you?'
Del Toro pursed his lips. 'The . . . event that took place here left deep scars in the minds of these people, and alerted us to the presence of your race. Sadly, it also