Doctor Who_ Left-Handed Hummingbird - Kate Orman [92]
The Indian pushed his forehead against the palms of his hands. One strand of greying hair fell between his fingers. ‘I keep thinking,’ he said, and his voice wobbled. ‘I keep thinking, if only you would give me a pill, something to stop me from being afraid.’
The Doctor listened silently. ‘And then I think of all the pills I’ve been given, all the therapy. The doctors and nurses have helped me as much as they can, and it’s not enough.’ Cristián looked up at the Time Lord. ‘We both need an exorcism.’
‘What I need,’ said the Doctor gravely, ‘is a haircut.’
* * *
8.49 pm
Anna saw the Mexican gentleman before he saw her. He was standing at the railing, looking out over the ocean. The stars blazed incredibly over the Atlantic, billions of them. It was so different to London’s featureless night sky. Anna imagined she could read just by the light of those stars.
She did not see the man’s face until she was almost upon him She recognized his features at once; her father did a great deal of business with South American Indians of one breed or another. It seemed a curious contrast, the primitive face and the dinner dress.
She had not seen the Mexican before, and yet he was clearly a first class passenger. And now here he was, staring out at the glassy ocean all alone. He could only be aboard for one purpose. Anna wondered if she could slip past without his noticing, go and tell her father at once.
Then she changed her mind. No Indian, no matter how well‐heeled, would push her or her father around. Better to confront him at once and get to the bottom of the matter.
So she gathered her shawl about her, strode up to the Indian and put on her sternest voice. ‘I know why you’re on board,’ she said sharply.
He started so badly that for a moment she thought he would fall overboard. ‘You do?’ he said, astonishment written all over his dark face.
Aha, I have scored a point already, thought Anna. ‘There’s no use lurking about here like some sort of spy. You should speak to father immediately, and we can clear it all up before we reach New York.’
‘Yes?’
He seemed to be having trouble with his English. She wondered if she should address him in Spanish. ‘We’ve dealt with your sort before, you see,’ she said boldly, ‘and we’ve always been able to come to an amenable arrangement all round.’ She lowered her voice a little. You may come and see the things tonight, and then we can sort you out.’
‘The things.’
‘The ar‐tee‐facts,’ said Anna, as though speaking to a backward child.
‘Yes? Yes? The artefacts. Brilliant. Excellent.’ The Indian suddenly broke into a tremendous grin. It looked peculiar in his dusky face. ‘Mexican artefacts, right?’
‘Right,’ said Anna. ‘So, you come along to my cabin at about ten.’ She told him the number and walked off without looking back.
‘Yes, ma’am!’ said the Indian to no one in particular.
* * *
9.07 pm
‘Best to keep still if you value your ears, sir,’ joked the barber dourly.
The Doctor rearranged himself and settled into the chair, putting his feet up on the stool. It had taken a little effort to arrange a haircut this late in the evening, but the first class passengers were accustomed to getting what they wanted when they wanted it.
The barber paused, scissors hovering above the Doctor’s head. ‘There are feathers growing out of your scalp, sir.’
‘No there aren’t.’
‘Oh. Sorry, sir, you’re right. There aren’t.’
The Doctor let himself drift, just let it all go, feeling the easy rhythm of the boat underneath him. There was nothing on earth quite so relaxing as having one’s hair cut.
But he was still as tense as a crushed spring. He could sense the Blue, and the colour itched at the back of his neck, surging and sparking at random moments. The Codex Atlaca, somewhere on board. And something else, elusive Blue fingers tickling up and down his spine, something he hadn’t encountered before.
The