Doctor Who_ Daemons - Barry Letts [51]
A hooded figure struck a large gong. As the booming clang resounded through the distant corners of the Cavern, the dust of centuries-floated down like smoke into the light of the candles. The Master turned to the figure behind him who, diving a hand beneath his black robe, produced a feebly flapping white hen. Squawking an ineffectual protest, it was laid out on the black cloth before the Master.
'Azal!' he cried, 'we have power over life, thou and I. Accept this life, which I dedicate to thee...'
Jo started forward. 'No!' hissed Mike, grabbing her arm.
The Master raised the knife high above his head while two of his acolytes stretched the neck of the chicken, which was now lying quite still as if resigned to its fate.
'EKO, EKO, AZAL!' cried the Master, exultantly.
'EKO, EKO, AZAL!' responded the coven.
The knife started to descend, its blade flashing in the light of the multitude of candles.
It was too much for Jo to bear. Wrenching herself free from Mike's grasp, she rushed through the circle of chanting figures and thrust herself between the Master and the Stone of Sacrifice.
'No! No, stop it!' she sobbed. 'It's evil! Can't you see that? It's evil!' Seizing the hapless bird from the hands of its guardians she held it in her arms as if to protect it from the knife, but it struggled free and ran clucking to safety.
'How very touching,' said the Master, 'but you see, my dear, you're too late...' He raised his arms once more and stared into the darkness behind Jo.
'Azal!' he cried in triumph, 'I welcome thee!'
Jo spun round. She could feel the unearthly cold, the shaking of the ground and hear the weird howling which she had experienced the night before. And now she saw the cause. Growing rapidly to a height of over twenty feet, a figure with the legs of a great animal was stamping the rocky floor with its cloven hooves; its face, with its hooked nose, its cruel eyes, its fanged teeth, was the face of a devil; while from its brow swept two magnificent goat horns.
The Dæmon had appeared for the last time...
11 The Rescue
'Are you sure you know what you're up to?' asked the desperately worried Sergeant Benton, as he watched the last few bundles of wood being added to the pile which buried the Doctor's feet.
'Of course I do; replied Miss Hawthorne, a trifle aggrieved 'The working of the human soul is my subject, after all. As a witch, I am an expert.'
'That's all very well, ma'am,' replied Benton , 'but if we wait much longer, the Doc won't care very much either way.'
'There is such a thing as the Psychological Moment, Sergeant,' answered Miss Hawthorne, leaving him at the window and crossing to the door of the pub. 'If our plan is to work...'
'Hang on,' broke in the Sergeant, 'I think your Psychological Moment's arrived...' One of the villagers who was standing around the pinioned Doctor, had picked up a stick with a bundle of rags tied to the top. Bert Walker, still incongruously dressed in his costume of torn paper, was pouring something out of a can onto the rags. Then, striking a match, he lit the rags, which flared up into a smoky torch.
'That's it,' snapped the Sergeant. 'For Pete's sake get a move on!'
'Good luck,' said Miss Hawthorne, and opened the door.
'Right, Mr. Thorpe,' said Bert. Followed by the fascinated but horrified eyes of the silent people, Thorpe walked towards the pyre, where the Doctor awaited his fate, his chin held defiantly high.
'Now,' said Bert.
Thorpe stretched out his arm, but before he could actually set alight the pile of wood, a shout from the direction of 'The Cloven Hoof' made his and every other head swing round.
'Stop! Stop, I say!'
It was Miss Hawthome, her cloak flying out behind her, her arms waving frantically as she ran surprisingly fast across the green. 'Stop! Or you will bring a terrible retribution upon yourself!'
Thorpe stood up, nervously awaiting the arrival of the eccentric figure. Her hair, recently disciplined, was asserting its freedom and shedding hairpins around her as she panted to a standstill. She fumbled desperately