Doctor Who_ Daemons - Barry Letts [49]
'Very handy. I'm much obliged to you,' said Benton , picking up his automatic and going towards the door again.
Miss Hawthorne stopped him once more. 'Please, Sergeant, I know those people well. They're not really wicked. Most of them, anyway.'
'So? They've still got the Doctor, haven't they?'
'You can't take them all on.'
'What are you suggesting?'
Miss Hawthorne stared earnestly up at him. 'It's up to us to show them how mistaken they are. Now listen carefully...'
It was useless for the Doctor to struggle as he was bound to the Maypole. Held firmly by four of the largest of the locals and with Bert's gun held within inches of his face, he had no chance of a surprise escape. His best hope, perhaps, was to talk them out of it...
'You're all making very grave mistake; he said, raising his voice so that as any as possible could hear his words. 'Mr. Magister is planning to make you all his slaves,' he went on. 'I am the only one who has a chance of stopping him.' The Doctor looked around to see the effect of his words. Several of the villagers were obviously ready to hear more.
'He's lying. He is your enemy,' Bert said angrily. 'Slaves! He most be crazed to think you'd believe that. Why, you know that Mr. Magister will protect you, care for you—aye, and give you everything you've ever wanted.'
A murmur of approval came from his listeners.
'This foolishness most stop!' cried the Doctor urgently. 'Mr. Magister will bring disaster on us all...'
'Don't listen to him. He's the enemy, I tell you. He's a black witch!'
Quite taken aback at this, the assembly stared at him blankly. The Doctor was quick to seize the advantage. 'That's nonsense and he knows it,' he said loudly. 'I'm no witch. It's Mr. Magister who...' He stopped abruptly as one of his guards gave him a hefty backhander across the mouth.
'A witch. Do you understand?' continued Ben as if the Doctor hadn't spoken. 'A witch! And you've always known what you should do with a witch, haven't you? “Thou shalt not suffer a witch to live!” '
The crowd stirred uneasily. Their old folk still handed down stories, some three hundred years old or more they must have been, dark tales of witch hunts, tales of neighbour denouncing neighbour, tales of old women taken by night, tales of torture and death.
'Are you out of your mind?' gasped the Doctor and was silenced by a heavy hand.
'That's right, friends. “Thou shalt not suffer a witch to live.” ' Bert looked round his audience as a shudder of delighted fear ran through them. 'Burn him...' he said.
There was a moment of stupefied silence. Then, from the back came a voice. 'Aye. Burn him!' it cried. Then another. And another. And from all sides came an ever increasing chorus, 'Burn him! Burn him! Burn him.'
Bert smiled with satisfaction. Things were going well.
Jo Grant opened her eyes. She was looking into the depths of a cool green forest. She could hear the distant hum of a bumble by, in the warm silence. How peaceful it was...
Suddenly she sat up, the forest dwindling to a patch of long grass. Her fear came back with a rush, making her head swim. She must get away... Struggling to her feet she stumbled on still wobbly legs to the churchyard gate. There she stopped. No. The Doctor was in danger. She most go to him. Resolutely turning, she made her way to the vestry door, went straight in without a pause, crossed to the Cavern entrance and walked down the steps. But then her resolution faltered. She looked round the Cavern with its flickering shadows. Where was he, this creature from another world, this Dæmon? Or was Miss Hawthorne right? Was he really the King of Hell himself, conjured from his fiery realm by the secret arts of the Master? Almost she turned to run away, but her still confused mind insisted that somewhere here, in this disquieting place, the Doctor needed her. She walked timidly forward; where could he be? She rounded a pillar—and started back with a barely stifled scream. Squatting on his pedestal, Bok, the gargoyle figure, stared at her evilly. But