Doctor Who_ Daemons - Barry Letts [38]
'Even rock,' said the Doctor.
'Wood, rock, four-inch armour-plate; you name it, we've tried it. It's impenetrable.'
'A hasty and probably inaccurate ayessment. Now then, I can't stand about gossiping. Have you enough cable to reach those high-tension pylons over there?'
The Brigadier estimated the distance. 'Should have, why?'
'We'll need at least 10,000 volts to get through the barrier. After that the machine will be charged sufficiently for what I have in mind.'
At the Doctor's request, the Brigadier called Sergeant Osgood over to listen to the explanation. He came, all his worries in abeyance, happily clutching a large pad to take down his instructions from the famous Doctor.
'What's the principle of it, sir?'
'Negative diathermy. Buffer the molecular movement of air with reverse-phase short-waves.'
'Beyond me,' said the Brigadier.
'It's just like a large version of those microwave ovens they use to heat up meat pies, Lethbridge Stewart. Difference is, we'll use it to cool the air down. Quite simple, really.'
'Simple,' gasped Osgood, all his worries returning. 'It's impossible!'
'Sergeant Osgood,' replied the Doctor, gently, 'according to classical aerodynamics, it's impossible for a bumble bee to fly! Let's get on with it, shall we?'
Young Stan Wilkins, unaware of his uncle's death in the helicopter, gritted his teeth. What was he, a baby then, to be afeared of the dark? Moving quickly to the first of the candlesticks, he relit the big black candles with their shrouds of melted wax, trying not to look at the menacing shadows the light conjured from the depths of the Cavern. As he lit more and more candles—about half would do, so Mr. Magister had said—his nerve began to return. Magic! It was difficult to believe that he was mixed up in it. He'd always heard tell of secrets not to be spoken out loud; of the love-spells and recipes for potions, for instance, which the girls whispered to each other when the menfolk weren't around—pretended to laugh at them they did, with their mini-skirts and their perfume, but Stan knew better. Another thing he knew—because Bob Woods had told him and she was Bob's Gran after all—was that when old Mrs. Slenter inherited that £2,000 from her brother Josiah, it was on account of her having got fed-up waiting and made a little doll of candle grease and christened it Josiah, and then shoved a darning needle through its heart. And nobody could deny, could they, that it was his heart killed him? Just stopped. Proof, that was... So when his Uncle Tom said to come along to the coven like, well he'd jumped at it. Get anything he wanted, Tom said, when he'd learnt how. Didn't want to kill nobody, though he wouldn't mind making old Prune-face jump a bit, putting up the rent like that. His Mam hadn't cried so much since Dad died. Last straw, like. No, he knew what he wanted. Just enough money to put down on a cottage, and a good job so that his Mam wouldn't have to go out scrubbing no more. What was the good of being an apprentice? Learning a trade! Huh! Cheap labour for Uncle Tom, more like.
He finished lighting the last candle on the Stone of Sacrifice and arranged the ritual vessels neatly on their black cloth. There. Just about in time, too. He'd better get going, before Mr. Magister showed up. Here, hang on a moment. If he didn't go; if he hid somewhere in the Cavern, then he could watch Mr. Magister. Learn some of his secrets, like!
Hearing a noise outside the door, he quickly slipped into the alcove behind him and hid behind the right-hand pillar.
The door swung open...
The Master, quite pleased with the day so far, walked briskly down the lane leading to the side gate into the churchyard. He smiled. A very fitting end for the Doctor, to be blown up in that stupid car of his. Pity about Miss Grant. She could have been useful in many ways.
A distant explosion. The Master's head swung round. There it was, away to the south-east, an ugly cloud