Doctor Who_ Father Time - Lance Parkin [1]
His shoulder was aching again. He had a sharp pain in his stomach. The headache that had prevented him from sleeping hadn’t subsided, despite the pills. None of this mattered.
He heard the footsteps, identified their owner while he was still fifty paces away. He didn’t rise, but kept his gaze fixed firmly on the knife that sat on the family shrine. He resumed his prayers of dedication, staring into the pitted blade, remembering.
Five paces away, and the footsteps stopped, as he knew they would.
‘There is news, Eminence,’ the Deputy announced.
He closed his eyes, prayed that after a lifetime this was the end.
‘Tell me,’ he commanded quietly.
‘The Hunters are here. They say they have located the Last One.’
He nodded, gave silent thanks to the gods, and turned to face the Deputy. The old man was in his fatigues, ready for combat, even here. After all this time, the Deputy still relished the fight. This old man had been his rock all these years. There had been times – forgive him – when he had thought of abandoning his mission, renouncing his sacred duty, times when he thought there had already been too much killing, too much blood.
But you cannot escape the past: the great weight of decades of history and memory that shape you, make you what you are. Fate was the inevitable result of genetics and politics. The Deputy shared none of this heritage, at least not by birth, but knew what was important. What sort of man would the Deputy have been without the war? The Deputy wouldn’t have the scar, but what about his permanently narrowed eyes or his hunched physique?
Only one more killing, and it would be over. He would have played his role to its conclusion.
‘Where?’
‘The planet Earth, in the twentieth century of the Humanian Era.’
‘A precise fix?’
‘To within ten square kilometres.’ The Deputy sounded impressed, despite himself.
‘They have done well. Authorise the second payment.’
‘Sir...’
He laughed. ‘I know: you are worried that they’ll take the money without finishing the job. Authorise the second payment, but don’t let them leave the palace.’
‘I am uncertain of their loyalties.’
‘You are right to be, they are not part of this. They require someone to keep them in check. We both know who would be best for that role. Commission him.’
‘Yes, Eminence.’
He turned to the shrine, took the knife from its reliquary and slotted it into the sheath on his belt.
He took a deep breath. ‘It’s nearly over, old friend. Soon the last of our enemies will be dead.’
‘It will be a new beginning,’ the Deputy told him. ‘The poison will have been drawn, the empire will flourish, we will prevent anarchy. We will be great again.’
He could barely remember what it had been like before the civil war. He looked around, saw the great cracks in the floor, the patches where the roof and walls had been crudely repaired. At least inside here the air was breathable. It was difficult to believe that they had been on the winning side.
The anger surged within him. He remembered what his enemies had done; he remembered his vow to end their rule, to hunt them down, to exterminate them.
‘We will at least have that chance,’ he agreed. ‘Prepare for departure, prepare the timegate.’
* * *
* * *
Part One
‘Battle of the Planets’
The Early 1980s
* * *
Chapter One
Knights and Castles
It was a planet of darkness, snow and hills.
Or so anyone arriving in Derbyshire that night would have thought.
* * *
There comes a time when the fall of snow is no longer the start of a marvellous adventure. There comes a time when it means scraping your windscreen and hoping your car starts. It means aching joints and throbbing sinuses and cold hands and feet. It means taking longer to get to work and spending all day sitting in an office where the heating isn’t on. Grey slush and cracked pipes, cancelled trains and influenza, that’s what snow means. You’ll wake up feeling like that, one day, and it will mean you are grown up. I hope that day doesn’t come soon.