Doctor Who_ Companion Piece - Mike Tucker [26]
`I know, replied the Patriarch. 'Booty.'
Still, he allowed himself to be led away.
`W hat now?' Cat asked the Doctor when they were alone.
`W e relax and enjoy the hospitality of the Church, said the Doctor.
The lower decks seemed to consist entirely of pokey, empty cells and locked rooms containing equipment the precise purpose of which Cat didn't want to know. She peered through barred windows at the torture instruments, and shuddered.
The ship was throbbing as the power built up in preparation for its departure. The Doctor had settled himself in a corner and started playing around with the many sets of manacles that hung about the walls. He seemed quite undisturbed by his surroundings, or by recent events.
`I still can't get used to people being killed,' she said quietly.
`You will, I'm afraid; the Doctor said gently. 'I suppose you can get
used to anything, over time: He rattled the links. 'Perhaps even milord Grand Inquisitor had sleepless nights in the past:
`W hat's he going to do to us?'
`Hopefully nothing, until we reach Rome:
`And then what?'
`W e take advantage of the confusion and slip away.' The Doctor shuddered. 'I have no desire to get tied up in another papal conclave.'
Guii del Toro sipped his wine and watched a servant take the half-full plate away from his esteemed guest.
`I must thank you, del Toro. You eat too heartily for me here.'
`Out here among the backworlds we try to recapture a few of the comforts of home, Venerable Father.'
`Do they eat this well in Rome?' The Inquisitor didn't reply. 'Because I hear it is a very different story on Earth.'
`The people of Earth are schismatics. Any other view is . . . unwisely expressed. Even by a Patriarch.'
The Patriarch sighed. 'W e must pray that this conclave heals the many breaches in the Holy Mother Church:
`W ill you be attending, Father?'
`I am too old, del Toro. I have long-since retired from the world of Roman politics. I have cleansed myself of the mud, and have no wish to mire myself again:
`Once it is known that you are in the Vatican, many will seek your guidance. You will come under great pressure to declare for one of the candidates.'
`And who would you have me support, del Toro? The Frenchman Bonaventure? Once John Paul's lackey, now his embalmer?'
`A loyal servant of the legitimate Pontiff.'
The Patriarch shook his head impatiently.
`W hat of the other business? The murder. You can't seriously intend to bring the matter to Rome. Not at the present time. You had as well let your prisoners go.
`Rome expects us, said del Toro flatly. 'The spectacle might help to . . . focus the minds of the conclave. And, of course, there may be another possibility for the Papal chair . . . '
The Patriarch's eyes narrowed.
`W hat do you . . . ? You? You would stand as a candidate?'
Del Toro smiled across the rim of his glass. 'The Church needs firm leadership, and time to heal. I can offer both.'
The Patriarch laughed gently. 'And what makes you think anyone will listen?'
Del Toro set his glass down on the table. 'I will make them listen. W ith the Time Lord as proof of my loyalty and commitment to the Church.
Father Julian shook his head sadly. 'They will rend him limb from limb!'
Agatho, by the Grace of God, Bishop of Braak, sponged his face with an already-wet napkin and wished the workmen would get on with it. Once again they were shifting the Time Lord's transport — this time into the cargo hold of the Holy Inquisition's ship, where he had wanted it to go all along. The ship was nearly ready to leave. Agatho was glad — he always tried to keep the Holy Inquisition happy and at a distance, sent them the reports from the confessionals and got on with the job of extorting