Doctor Who_ Companion Piece - Mike Tucker [18]
Abruptly, a coarse voice broke the stillness of the building. Barked orders from one of the soldiers to his colleagues. Armed men started to make their way down the nave. Cat's heart leapt in her chest. Surely they couldn't have spotted her? Not yet . . .
Trying to keep her panic under control, she stared around for somewhere to hide. In the shadows of the wall ahead of her were rows of wooden doors. Confessionals. W ith slow, measured steps, Cat made her way towards one of the delicately carved boxes, opened the door and slipped gratefully inside.
Through the filigree of carvings she watched as half a dozen of the soldiers hurried down the passageway from which she had just escaped. They emerged moments later with their injured colleague hoisted between them. The man's foot was a bloody mess, and his groans of pain echoed throughout the cavernous cathedral, to the irritation of the Bishop and his entourage. Cat nodded in satisfaction. It was the guard who had been treating them so roughly.
`Serves you bloody well right,' she murmured.
`Hardly a charitable sentiment.'
Cat jumped, scrabbling for the door latch.
`There's no need for alarm. You act as if you need sanctuary, and I will certainly not deny you that.'
The voice was old and mellow. Cat could make out the figure of a man on the other side of the screen. She struggled to see his features, but the candlelight kept his face in darkness. Cat tightened her shawl, keeping her own face hidden, her voice muffled.
`There was an accident. One of the guards got hurt. I was frightened.'
`Frightened, but not very sympathetic.' The voice was tinged with amusement.
`The man was a thug.' Cat felt herself bristle. 'He'd been given a bit of
power and it had gone to his head:
`The secular arm of the Inquisition. Most seek to avoid their gaze.'
Aware that she was being drawn into a conversation that she didn't have time for, Cat eased open the door of the confessional. 'I've got to go:
`And where will you go?'
`I've a stall. In the marketplace, Cat blustered. 'I've got to go and see to that.'
`Ah, a stall holder.' The voice was thoughtful. 'Strange, since from your clothes I would have taken you for one of the prairie folk, who are not permitted to own stalls in the marketplace.'
Cat let out a heavy breath.
`Look, uh, Father — what's going on?'
`In what sense?'
`W ell all this . . . cathedrals in space stuff. Priests in spaceships.'
`How else would they travel?'
`But . . . this is the future! Surely people don't still believe . . . '
`In God? In the Holy Trinity? Christ's sacrifice? Look around you, my dear.'
`They've taken my friend aboard their ship.'
`Yes . . . I heard talk. A Time Lord.'
`Yes:
`That's very bad.' He coughed slightly. 'Oh, I'm sorry. I meant no offence. That is . . . I take it you're also . . . '
`I'm not a Time Lord, no said Cat. 'I'm human. From Earth.'
`Ah. It is many years since I visited Earth . . . Or Rome: he added sadly.
`Look — ' This guy, Cat concluded, had only half his marbles. 'My friend . . . in the ship . . . '
`Ah ... yes, yes, your friend. I will do what I can for him, but a Grand Inquisitor answers only to the Pope. I fear my poor prayers have never stayed the hand of Milord Guii del Toro.'
`It's not prayers I need, it's a way into that ship! Can you help me or not?' she demanded, respectfully adding, `uh ... Father,' a moment later.
She heard the old man behind the grille chuckle.
`You are Roman Catholic, my child.'
`I . . . yes.' Cat smiled and quivered slightly with the intensity of the
memory. She couldn't even recall when she'd last given the Church any thought at all. Her first communion . . . 'Yes. But I haven't been to church in years.' She shook herself. 'Father . . . what will they do to