Doctor Who_ Ghost Light - Marc Platt [46]
‘It must be very, very old,’ he mused. ‘Perhaps even older.’ He looked at her with imploring eyes. ‘Just a little chat...’
‘Professor!’ she protested, but she knew it was a lost battle. She sat on the couch and then noticed that Nimrod had vanished. ‘Where’s Tarzan?’ she asked.
The Doctor sniffed. ‘Gone to see a man about a god,’ he said sulkily.
Something chirruped. Both the Doctor and Ace suddenly became conscious of a high stridulant sound that was coming from one of the display cabinets. Before Ace could stop him, the Doctor had pulled open a drawer.
Ace jumped back in disgust as the wing of a large moth brushed her face. The drawer was crawling with insects which were no longer in their regimented, preserved tanks, but very much alive. Several emerald-winged butterflies littered past her; crickets sprang from their prison; huge Amazonian cockroaches and a repulsive millipede wer scrambling over the edge, antennae waving. Ace was revolted.
‘It’s the energy from the spaceship, isn’t it?’ she guessed.
‘It’s bringing it all alive!’
‘Go and find Mackenzie,’ ordered the Doctor. ‘Things are hotting up sooner than I anticipated.’
Journal Entry. September 20th, 1883.
... precious little has gone right with me since I left England. No sign of Redvers, nor will there ever be now, but I glimpsed the Doctor earlier and greeted him as best I could in my doleful state. He called me Redvers and says I am naturally of a
melancholy disposition. I beseeched him to join my expedition, but he declined,
preferring to travel alone.
The moon is setting over the veldt. In these parts, night is often as bright as day.
Earlier, a scorpion crawled out from behind the brass bedrail. It scuttled towards me, but I crushed it with Redvers’ boot. The forest is alive with noise tonight. The chorus of cicadas is enough to drive any man to
madness.
To my astonishment, a native in full
dinner-jacket has emerged from a door in the undergrowth. Am I then to perish on the spear of this barbarous savage? He falters. By heaven, I believe that salvation is at hand!
Nimrod saw Redvers Fenn-Cooper watching the sunset from the window. He was seated on the bare floor, still bound in the strait-jacket. On seeing the manservant, he looked startled for a moment and then cried, ‘Redvers knew the relief column would arrive!’
Nimrod reverently bowed to the mad explorer. A great fear had come upon him since he had seen his people once again. Their stern eyes had warned him: you carry our memories, we must not be lost. Bewildered, he knew he must seek advice, but his new ways, the ways of the servant, were not easily cast aside.
‘Excuse me, sir,’ he asked, ‘you speak with the wildness of the old world. Is it appropriate to seek your wisdom?’
‘You won’t get far without good supplies,’ began Redvers. ‘Baggage animals, porters...’
‘The one I serve sir, the Burning One, is waking. What should I do?’
Redvers knew the answer immediately. ‘Stanley found Livingstone. I found Redvers... once. You must hunt the dark continent, seek out what you desire. But be warned...
you may find it!’
From his jacket, Nimrod produced a large hunting knife. Redvers pulled back, fearing betrayal. ‘I must free you from your bonds, sir,’ insisted the manservant.
Redvers flung his jacketed arms wide. ‘The Doctor did that hours ago!’ he laughed. ‘Redvers only wears this against the cold of the night air.’
There was a click behind them. The handle on the door in the undergrowth turned back and forth.
Inspector Mackenzie cursed; every room in this wretched house was sealed up. He left the door and stamped further along the passage. The air was humid and he felt as if he was suffering from prickly heat. He climbed to the second floor but it was just as deserted. It seemed to have been a long day, but he must find Lady Margaret again before he went to fetch reinforcements from Scotland Yard.
He was trying another door when a nightbird shrieked and heavy wings beat over his head. He ducked and