Doctor Who_ Foreign Devils - Andrew Cartmel [11]
Alive, the vehicle started to vary his location in the universe, shifting him like a joker in a shuffled deck of quantum possibilities. The concepts of 'here' and 'now' began to blur. Certainties dwindled to uncertainties then snuffed out altogether.
Lights flickered in the control room as if threatening to go out permanently and there was a faint smell of burning circuitry. 'Excellent,' said the Doctor and the TARDIS moved with a convulsive shudder. With a weirdly thrilling surge they were shifted, displaced and then emphatically elsewhere . . .
Chapter Three
The Doctor examined the strange procession of cuneiform figures that danced across the top of the screen. 'England, December
1900 . . . That's interesting.' His brows knotted in a considering frown. 'Precisely a century later . . . '
On the screen the view shifted, showing first a maze of hedgerows, then a rambling mansion standing against a pale winter sky that spread above the snow-shrouded fields of Kent. Looming in the broad white garden, incongruously, stood what looked like the spirit gate from Canton. The Doctor's fingers danced across the console and the spirit gate loomed large on the screen. He studied the markings on it. 'Can it be?' said the Doctor.
'Thomas,' shouted the young woman sitting beside Carnacki, 'What's that thing?'
Carnacki smiled at her as he threw the brake on, easing the Panhard-Levassor to a smooth halt. The 12 horsepower, royal blue automobile was the newest model, imported from France, and had behaved like a dream on this, its maiden voyage from London. Carnacki steered the horseless carriage with aplomb, coming to a halt on the shale driveway outside the huge country house. He glanced back over his shoulder and saw what Celandine had been referring to. The black stone Chinese gate that stood in the middle of the snow covered garden.
'Apparently it's a little souvenir from the Far East brought back by Roderick Upcott in the course of his colourful adventures.' 'Roderick you say?'
'Yes, the late great Roderick. It's his descendant, the distinguished surgeon Pemberton Upcott and his shrewish wife Millicent who are to be our hosts this weekend.'
'Not too shrewish, I hope,' said Celandine, smiling. 'You're painting her a perfect ogre.' She was a plump, pretty blonde with pink cheeks and striking cobalt eyes.
Carnacki smiled back. He was a tall powerfully built young man with a faintly military demeanour. He applied the hand brake, a large lever of an affair, locking the four handmade wheels firmly into place on the icy drive, then climbed out of the car and offered his companion a hand.
'Even if she is, I am sure we'll find some other convivial companions. There'll be plenty of people here.' He looked to the front steps of the house, where a cadre of black clad servants were hurrying out to greet them and smooth their arrival.
He turned back to Celandine, looking charming in her muffler and fur hat in the sharp clean winter air. 'Including the entire Upcott clan. They are compelled to attend this annual Christmas gathering under pain of excommunication. A three line whip, so to speak.' They watched as the servants took their luggage from the car and bustled back into the house, no doubt in a hurry to get out of the cold. But Carnacki and Celandine were enjoying the winter afternoon and took a turn around the garden, past the austere black shape of the spirit gate. She held his arm as they walked, and their breath fogged in the crisp air.
'Who else can we expect to see this weekend?'
'Besides the Upcotts? Well, the guests this year include Celandine Gilbert, a beautiful