Doctor Who_ Ghost Light - Marc Platt [47]
‘Inspector,’ called Ace, and he jumped. ‘Found anything?’ she asked, rounding the corner.
Mackenzie clutched his heart and longed for something simple, like a reassuring brawl in a chop-house.
‘Nothing,’ he said. ‘This house has more locked doors than Reading jail.’
Immediately, the door he had just tried opened slowly of its own volition to reveal a flight of stairs leading upwards.
‘It’s to the upper observatory,’ said Ace and led the way.
Mackenzie followed her. Once he was through the door closed silently after them.
The Doctor sensed the welling of energy beneath the house, like a dam about to burst. He had set the wheels in motion and was reduced to waiting for the outcome. It had been a busy day, but as long as he could trust Control, and as long as it — or rather she — trusted him, then it might yet prove worthwhile. He said she, because he was sure that was what the unfortunate creature was becoming. She had snarled and hissed through the locked gates of the mended lift when he had visited the basement earlier for one of his little chats. But she must find her own way to complete their bargain if she wanted what he had offered; he would not help. Ace would be furious of course, but he had to know what was sleeping in the spaceship, and there seemed no better way of stopping Josiah’s meddling.
He passed the time in the study consoling one of the South American cockroaches; he assured it that all civilisation started with hunting and foraging. Everything had a chance to work its way up.
That’ll be the phone, he thought. He put the insect down and after a moment the device rang.
‘No, I haven’t forgotten our agreement,’ he told the caller. ‘I’m ready when you are.’ He was alerted by a sudden click and said, ‘Wait. There’s someone else on the line.’ But Control had gone. The line clicked once more and the Doctor knew that his bargain had been overheard.
Again he felt the surge of energy as it moved through the fabric of the house. It was too late to stop now.
The glowing miasma in the lower observatory swirled with gold and the crystal outcrops pulsed with energy. The ship groaned its birth pangs as the blinding effulgence centred on the membrane core; the shadow inside convulsed in furious spasms. Before it, crouched over the crystal console, was Control, angrily summoning the husks to her side and her support.
‘Move! Move! Time moving faster than you!’
The great brutes lumbered up, rocking from one foot to the other like a monstrous guard of honour.
‘Light angry, burning angry! But not with poor Control!’
Her gloved claws moved with certainty over the crystals.
She was afraid, but the Doctor had promised and she would bind him to his word. She was changing too. No longer trapped, she had a new purpose.
‘Control going showing light way up. Then Control on way up too!’
The crystals were moving by themselves now. The ship roared in pain, spurting steam. Control screamed and the membrane split across, flooding the ship with the blazing rage of Light.
The hand that snapped the telephone receiver back onto its stand was fleshy pink and well manicured. The third finger wore a signet ring bearing the entwined initials G and M.
It tapped the stand in contemplation and then withdrew as the stairs clattered with ascending feet.
Ace hardly recognized the upper observatory as she led the inspector up into the high, domed chamber. The TARDIS still stood to the side, but other items of furniture had been covered by dust sheets, as if the owner was planning to spend winter away.
‘No one up here either,’ observed Mackenzie, but Ace was not convinced. She tugged away a sheet, unleashing a cloud of dust. A grey, translucent shape lay in a chair, inert in its filthy velvet jacket.
‘Disgusting object,’ said Mackenzie. ‘What is it?’
The object’s features were all too familiar to Ace; she began to feel ill.
‘It’s what’s left of Josiah Smith. It’s just a husk.’ She knew the