Doctor Who_ Halflife - Mark Michalowski [26]
and nodded, and Calamee thought herself quite the most interesting person on the planet.
In turn, as they strode down Rue de la Passion, almost – but not quite –
oblivious to the turning heads, the Doctor wanted to know about everything: from what the Saiarossans ate to why they had such an obsession with washing (and through his eyes, Calamee suddenly saw what she’d taken for granted all her life – the fluttering streamers and flags of shirts and sheets and trousers that adorned every balcony, every railing) – and all she could think of to say was ‘Cleanliness is next to Godliness’.
He drank it all in without comment, without judgement, like a child, and the thought occurred to her that maybe he’d been here before, and her guided tour was just reacquainting him with a world lying buried in the bottom drawer of his memory.
She showed him roofs adorned with glistening moisture-traps, and she showed him dry, dusty fountains and pools. And, finally, when it seemed that he’d soaked up enough, he’d declared that he was famished and that he
‘could eat a horse’. Only once they’d sat down at the best horse-meat restaurant that Calamee knew had his face fallen, and he’d explained that it was just a figure of speech. He’d settled for lamb stew and a huge mound of salad and had stuffed it into his face like he hadn’t eaten for a week, eating it with a relish that Calamee’s parents would have found crude. Calamee, however, just found it exciting. She’d watched him as he’d cleared his plate and then ordered pudding.
The restaurant, like many in Saiarossa, doubled as a bar, and as the evening had drawn on, the place had begun to fill up with revellers preparing for a night of celebrations. The Imperator’s official birthday wasn’t until tomorrow, but the Saiarossans were making an early start. Anything to liven up the mundanity of living on Espero. People were watching the two of them, muttering to themselves. But rather than feel threatened, Calamee felt a silly little thrill of excitement and pride that she was the one eating with this offworlder. She hoped that they were just a bit jealous, although most of them were probably just puzzled and suspicious.
The Doctor had seemed quite fired up at the prospect of finding this Madame Xing – and Calamee wondered, slightly glumly, whether it wasn’t as much at the prospect of meeting another offworlder as it was at getting his memory back. Perhaps she was destined to lose him almost as soon as she’d found him. It felt a bit grubby and childish to be so possessive of him, but didn’t she deserve a bit of fun, a bit of happiness? She watched him eating and wondered how she could ever go back to being an ordinary schoolgirl after all of this. Half of her, guiltily, hoped that Father Roberto wouldn’t have any luck in finding Madame Xing.
47
‘So,’ he said, as if he’d read her mind, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. ‘What do you know about our mystery woman?’
‘Not much. From what I know, she’s been on Espero for a month or two.
Few people have seen her – although lots of people make out that they have.
I’ve heard it said that she’s a viropractor, whatever one of those is.’
‘Viropractor. . . ? Hmm. . . someone who works with viruses, I imagine.’
‘I think I’d worked that out. Apart from that, nothing really.’
‘Oh well – maybe Father Roberto has had more – oh, hello?’
Calamee realised that the Doctor’s comment was addressed to a man, standing solicitously by their table. He was relatively pale-skinned for an Esperon
– nowhere near the sickly looking whiteness of the Doctor, of course – and probably in his twenties. He was dressed rather formally in a dark suit with a high collar, his hands clasped in front of him. Calamee felt sure she saw an odd, metallic glint in his eye as he looked down at them.
‘I understand that