Doctor Who_ Companion Piece - Mike Tucker [9]
`But Father, the people must be warned!' Philippo rose from his seat. `These creatures . . . '
`W ill be dealt with!' snapped the voice. 'Now do as I have asked.'
Philippo bowed his head. 'Of course, Father. I'm sorry. It's just, the memories of the last time . . . '
`I understand.' The deep voice softened again. 'But trust me. You are in no danger. W atch the strangers. Follow their movements. W e shall attend to everything else:
Philippo pushed open the door of the confessional and scurried off into the candlelit gloom. He stepped out into the morning light with a gasp of relief. He was terrified of the task that he had been given, but more terrified still of the cloaked and silent priests that had watched him as he left. He clutched at the cross under his jerkin. The Church would deal with the strangers.
He just had to have faith.
In his office, Bishop Agatho leaned back into his seat, stroking a hand through his beard. He played the recording again, then hit the com-button.
`You've listened to it?'
`Yes . . . ' The reply crackled and spluttered through the hidden speaker.
`Of course, the trader might be mistaken. Every few months some peasant sees Our Blessed Lady in his barn:
No. His description is too accurate, and his fear sounded genuine:
`You think that they have been sent?' Agatho's voice cracked slightly. His nerves were showing. He reached for the crystal glass of deep red communion wine that stood on his desk, and took a sip.
`I'm not sure. I would have expected more than two if they knew anything. It might just be coincidence.'
`Are you willing to take that chance?'
No, I think that would be foolish, Agatho: said the voice. 'Someone will be sent to investigate:
at where the Doctor stood in the middle of the market square. The little Time Lord was juggling with nearly a dozen pieces of brightly coloured local fruit, and the kids were loving it. Cat grinned. He could be such a show-off when he wanted to be.
After wandering back and forth through the market for a while, the Doctor had led her to a large tent lined with rough benches, and with a huge open grill blazing in the centre. There the two of them had breakfasted on hot spicy bread, a rich yellow yoghurt and a strong cinnamonflavoured brew that the locals seemed to drink by the gallon.
Suitably fortified, they had decided to split up. The Doctor had wandered aimlessly off through the bustle, peering at stalls and chatting with the traders, while Cat had started in earnest on her quest for a replacement Gladstone bag. The variety of goods on display had astounded her. Food and spices, animals and clothing. Tools and trinkets and more varieties of fruit and grain that she would have thought possible.
Eventually she had found her way to a quarter of the market that seemed to specialise in fabrics and clothing and leather goods. The Doctor had given her a small purse filled with what he promised was a good selection of local coinage, and Cat had been sorely tempted to blow it all on one of the gorgeously coloured saris that the local women wore. She had made the mistake of trying on one of the elegant robes, admiring herself in front of a large sheet of polished metal. It was only when she had turned around that she had realised that she wasn't the only one doing the admiring. A crowd of appreciative men had gathered, and it had taken a great deal of gentle persuasion, and a lot of less-thangentle slapping by the owner of the dress stall, for her to get back into her jeans and sweater without a dozen sets of eager hands assisting.
Ignoring the pleas of her would-be suitors, Cat had headed off through the stalls, determined that she was going to find something for the Doctor before the day was out. Eventually a large, heavily laden trestle had caught her eye and she had pushed her way through the chattering crowds for a closer look. The stall had been piled high with different bags. Heavy waterproof panniers big enough to carry a person hung alongside delicately beaded