Doctor Who_ Enlightenment - Barbara Clegg [8]
‘Where’ve they taken him?’ he asked.
‘Poop quarters,’ came from a surly Collier.
‘First Mate wanted to see him, I daresay,’ Jackson added, and then, with a touch of sourness, ‘Living like lords they are, back there. Every luxury.’
‘While we make do with salt junk and hard tack,’ Collier added his grumble.
To his annoyance, Turlough found his concern for the Doctor growing. His basic philosophy learnt from life so far was to look after himself first and not to fall into the trap of caring too much about anybody else. But he found himself saying, in a slightly anxious voice, ‘He’ll be all right, won’t he?’
Jackson’s reply was not encouraging. ‘Who can tell?’ he said fatalistically, and shrugged his shoulders.
3
Here She Blows!
The room into which the Doctor was shown was in marked contrast to the fo’c’s’le. It had panelled walls and a polished floor; a long gleaming table ran down the centre of it, lit by candles, and laid formally for a meal. There was champagne on ice and there were tall fluted glasses. The officer nodded towards the wine and then withdrew. The Doctor took this as an invitation to help himself and was just debating whether or not he should, when out of the shadows stepped Tegan. Ignoring the Doctor’s startled exclamation, she burst into a frantic explanation of how the console had blown up and how she had seen the face on the scanner, how the White Guardian had failed to materialise fully and how his message had not made sense.
‘ “Winner takes all”,’ she quoted in scorn. ‘What does that mean?’
‘We are on a racing yacht,’ the Doctor observed thoughtfully. Tegan was startled. ‘How d’you know?’
‘We’ve been talking to the crew,’ he explained.
‘Well I hope they’re not as peculiar as the officers,’ was her rejoinder. ‘The one I’ve met is very strange.’
The door opened almost before she finished speaking, and they swung round, ready for anything. What they saw could have been a tableau from a waxworks. Three men stood there. The foremost was a tall distinguished figure, with a dark saturnine face, and a uniform covered in gold braid. Like the two officers at his heels, he stood motionless and expressionless for a second, then suddenly clicked into action and stepped forward with a courtly bow.
‘Welcome aboard. Delighted you could join us.’ His voice was smooth and reassuring, but there was an air of command about him, and a great reserve behind his easy authority. ‘Captain Striker, at your service.’
‘How d’you do,’ the Doctor began. I’m –’
‘– the Doctor –’ Striker interrupted smoothly, as though he knew all about them. ‘And Miss Tegan, I believe. Allow me to present my officers.’ Silently, the two officers saluted.
‘They’re a funny lot,’ Jackson said.
‘The after guard always are.’ Collier was as cynical as usual, but Turlough hardly heard him.
‘What d’you mean “funny”?’ he asked.
The men were not very articulate, but he gathered that few of them had set eyes on the Captain, and that the bosun got most of his orders from the First Mate.
‘Did he say where the ship was going?’ Turlough asked keenly.
They shuffled uneasily. ‘Don’t remember,’ someone muttered. Eyes slid away from his shiftily. They obviously did not want to discuss it.
‘We’re here for the race. That’s all that matters.’ But if Jackson thought he had changed the subject, he reckoned without their questioner. Turlough had decided to impress the Doctor by finding out as much as he could.
‘Where are we racing to?’ he repeated. ‘Where’s the finish?’
There was a sudden grinding jolt, and Jackson looked up. The oil lamps hanging from the ceiling were swaying from side to side, and from the distance came the sound of the bosun’s pipe. Immediately the men’s dazed expressions vanished and all was confidence and action again.
‘Here she blows,’ Jackson said. ‘This is what we’ve been waiting for. The wind.’
In the stateroom the wine in the glasses swished from side to side. One fell over, and a dark red stain spread over the linen. The Doctor put out a hand