Doctor Who_ Daemons - Barry Letts [29]
'Of course. The leaders; the front-runners; the... er... though I hesitate to use an unfashionable word... the élite.'
The Squire raised an eyebrow. What was the fellow getting at?
'I feel the people of the village are becoming restive. Since the unfortunate events of last night there has been an ugly smell of panic in the air. I think it's up to us... to you, in fact... to set an example; to give a lead...'
Sounded like sense. Got the root of the matter in him this fellow, even if he was a padre. 'Er... what are you suggesting?' asked the Squire.
'Well, that's up to you, of course. After all, you're the Squire.'
Winstanley took an uneasy swig of his drink, 'Open to suggestions, vicar.'
'Well non, I would suggest that you should call a little meeting. Not too large, you understand, say thirty or forty of the more prominent villagers—why, you could have the meeting in here—and make it clear the attitude they should take. What do you say?'
The Squire was staring at him with glazed eyes.
'What do you say, Squire?' repeated the Vicar.
The Squire seemed to wake up. 'Hens,' he said.
'Hens?'
'What I wanted the word about, Elsie Bates's hens. Bewitched, apparently.'
The Vicar took a deep breath, 'Precisely the sort of thing I meant,' he said, 'such nonsense must be nipped in the bud. These people must be told what to think and what to do. They must learn to obey. Now, if we were to hold this meeting...'
'Yes, yes, I heard you. It's all fixed up. Chairing the wretched thing myself. Five o'clock in the village hall, if Lilly Watts has no objection.'
The Vicar seemed irritated. 'No, no, no! I'm talking about action, decisive action, action now , not a W.I. gossip party.'
'Well, really!'
'It's quite time you started acting like the Squire, Winstanley.'
Winstanley sat up. 'You may be the Vicar, Vicar, but I'll thank you not to take that tone with me.'
'Aha,' cried Mr. Magister, 'a man of spirit! Exactly what's needed at a time like this.'
The Squire was a little mollified. 'Mm... be that as it may, I still don't see what you're getting at.'
The Vicar jumped to his feet and started to pace up and down. 'Decadence. That's what I can see on every side. All this talk of democracy, equality, freedom. What this country needs is decision, power, strength. Strong men, men of power, men of decision; men like you , Winstanley.'
No getting away from it, he was a sensible chap. 'Go on,' said the Squire.
The Vicar came close to him. 'Listen to me. Listen to my words. I know .'
Extraordinary eyes the fellow had. Big and black... or no... more like a deep purple... 'Who... who are you?' said the Squire.
'I am the Master,' said the Vicar, softly. 'I control a power which can save the world. And if you choose, you can share my triumph.'
With an effort the Squire tore his eyes from the Master's gaze. 'Power? What power?'
A flicker of anger crossed the Master's face. 'I control the forces which have been unleashed in Devil's End during the last few hours.'
'What?' said Winstanley, 'all that business at the dig? Are you trying to tell me you were behind all that?'
'Exactly,' said the Master.
'Ridiculous,' said the Squire and burst out laughing.
The Master flushed. 'You require proof. Very well, proof you shall have.' Closing his eyes and lifting his head, the Master started to mutter strange words, words compounded of sounds powerful in themselves, words to send a shudder down the spine. At once the room seemed to come alive. The curtains fluttered as if in strong breeze. The a sideboard tilted and fell over, depositing its load of glass on the floor with a cash. The priceless Meissen china figure on the grand piano flew up in the air and hurled itself into the hearth. The portrait of the nineteenth-century Admiral Winstanley over the fireplace split neatly down the middle and fell to the ground. And all the time the door was slamming open and shut and the windows were breaking pane by pane. The very air seemed to quiver, as a whining sound like a thin shriek grew louder and louder until it threatened