Doctor Who_ Halflife - Mark Michalowski [17]
‘You’re sure he remembers you?’ the Doctor whispered.
‘Well, he’s let us in, hasn’t he?’
They stepped out into a stunningly beautiful little courtyard. The walls were high and painted white, the ground beneath them paved with huge, cream-coloured flagstones. All around them were vast pots and basins and tubs, gushing forth a giddying variety of flowers. Some crawled across the flags beneath them; others struggled up wires and makeshift trellises, fastened to the walls. Some just burst from their pots, like living fibre-optic lamps. The 29
scent was dizzying. Up above them, high, high above, was a small square of vivid indigo sky, like a lid on this magical world.
‘This is quite, quite beautiful,’ said the Doctor, almost breathlessly, realising that Father Roberto was waiting patiently, hands clasped behind his back. For a moment, the sternness of his expression melted, and he gave a little nod. He was wearing an old pair of brown leather trousers and a matching waistcoat, under which he had on a dark green shirt, rolled up at the sleeves. He looked, thought the Doctor, more like a down-at-heel country gentleman than a priest.
‘Can I get you something to drink?’ Roberto asked, and they both gratefully accepted a cup of tea. Father Roberto slipped away while the Doctor and Calamee found a small, cast-iron bench to sit on. Nessus peered around curiously, sniffing the air, following the weaving of insects with his big, expressive eyes.
‘Wow,’ Calamee said, lifting him down and setting him on her knee. ‘This is something, isn’t it?’
‘A keen gardener,’ said the Doctor. ‘How long ago did you last see Father Roberto?’
Calamee gave a shrug, reaching up to sniff a huge clot of velvety purple flowers dangling from a basket on the wall above her. ‘Probably about five or six years ago.’
‘He must have made quite an impression on you, if this was where you thought to bring me.’
‘I s’pose. He always seemed a decent sort – and anyway, our new church is miles away. If the Guard are still after you, it doesn’t make much sense to stay out in the open any longer than we have to.’
The Doctor looked at her.
‘You’re rather enjoying this, aren’t you?’
‘What?’
‘All this – the running around, the hiding, the escaping. All this tedious stuff.’
Calamee snorted and smiled. ‘Tedious? This is the most fun I’ve had in years.’ She obviously realised what she was saying and pulled an apologetic face. ‘Sorry – I know this is important. I’ll try to take it seriously. Honest.’
The Doctor hmmed good-naturedly ‘So what’s your plan?’
‘Plan?’
‘Well, you’ve brought me here. What do I do now?’
‘Um. . . I hadn’t thought that far ahead.’ She gave an awkward smile. ‘But Father Roberto will know what to do.’
‘Father Roberto will know what to do about what, child?’ came Roberto’s voice from the corridor as he returned with a wicker tray of tea things. He set 30
them down on a tiny table that the two of them hadn’t noticed, hidden away under sprays of creamy yellow blossoms.
‘About me, Father,’ said the Doctor.
‘And how, exactly, do you think I can help?’ The Doctor noticed that Roberto seemed to be addressing Calamee, and ignoring him, as he poured the tea into tiny bone china cups and handed it to them, indicating the sugar bowl. The Doctor shook his head.
‘I feel light-headed enough in this beautiful garden already,’ he said with what he hoped was his most winning smile. ‘I don’t think I could cope with the sugar rush.’
Roberto didn’t seem to warm to the Doctor’s attempt at humour, and pulled up a little stool from opposite them. The Doctor noticed he wasn’t drinking himself. He sipped at the mint tea as Roberto pulled out a little leather pouch of tobacco, and set about rolling himself a match-thin cigarette.
‘The Doctor’s an offworlder,’ began Calamee, all of a sudden. ‘And he needs help.’
‘You don’t say?’ replied Roberto archly, looking at the Doctor directly for almost the first time since he’d let them