Doctor Who_ Daemons - Barry Letts [42]
Climbing laboriously out of the little dormer-window, she slid down the tiles to the flat roof of the garage, which had been built on at the side of the old stone budding. From here it was an easy climb, via a drain pipe and a handy pile of beer crates, to the cobbled yard. Grimly holding on to her senses, she made her may out of the yard to the green and set off, steering a somewhat erratic course, on her journey to the churchyard.
When Azal disappeared again, Stan was hiding his face, waiting in abject fear to be seized by the monster that Mr. Magister had conjured up from nowhere—or from the ground—or, could it be, from the Kingdom of Lucifer himself?
Azal had continued his dreadful warnings. He had talked of his centuries-long sleep in the barrow, awaiting the time when, as the last of his race to be left on Earth, he would awaken and judge the results of their 'experiment'. He told of the dead planets of Talkur and Yind where all life had been dispassionately destroyed by the race of Dæmons. Now perhaps it was to be the turn of Earth to suffer the same fate.
At length, he appeared to become uncomfortable. Charging the Master once more to bring 'the other not of this planet' before him, he started to turn on the spot like a dog about to sleep, the stamping of the great hooves making the echoes of the Cavern ring like bells, with a note so low as to be more felt than heard.
Stan shrank back behind his pillar of stone, convinced that this creature... could it be the Old One himself? ... would see him. What unimaginable punishment would be in store for him then? If Azal was in fact aware of Stan's presence he chose to ignore it. More likely, it was as far beneath his notice as the presence of a cockroach would have been to the terrified Stan. With the bellow of an angry bull, he silenced the Master's protest at his demand to see the Doctor.
'Go now!' he boomed, 'lest the manner of my leaving should strike the very breath from your body. I shall re-turn...'
Stan caught a glimpse of Mr. Magister's scarlet robe as it swirled past him. He heard hasty footsteps across the rocky floor. The heavy door creaked open; the slam of its closing echoed through every cell of Stan's quivering body. He was alone with the Creature. He buried his face in his hands and waited, all hope, all courage gone.
The ground began to shake once more as the strange noise started again, that strange shrieking like the thousand discordant voices of an infernal choir. Stan could feel it getting hotter... and hotter... and hotter. The sweat from his forehead mingled with the cold sweat of his hands and the tears of anguish and terror which forced their way past his clenched eyelids. Soon it was so hot that it hurt to breathe. Stan, gasping for his life, knew why the Master had been sent away. His mind battered by the sound, his body unbearably shaken by the earthquake, his throat and his lungs tortured by the searing heat, Stan at last slipped into merciful oblivion.
Outside the Cavern, in the churchyard, the heat and the quaking of the earth were by no means so bad. However, the high wind that sprang up at the same time made it impossible for Jo Grant to stay on her feet. Swept bodily sideways against the ivy-covered wall bordering the lane, she clutched at the branches of the creeper in an effort to hold her own against the pressure of the air. Suddenly, she realised that the tendrils of the ivy were squirming under her fingers like a fistful of serpents. Larger ones seemed to be reaching out to clutch her by the throat. 'Elementals!' she thought with terror, remembering Miss Hawthorn's description of the attack on the Sergeant. She pushed herself violently away from the wall.