Doctor Who_ Longest Day - Michael Collier [53]
'Don't believe me, then. Doesn't matter to me. You can let me go, can't you?'
The commissioner smiled again, displaying his yellowing teeth. 'How do you come to be here? Felbaac picked you up somewhere?'
'I suppose that would follow if you believed I wasn't Felbaac, wouldn't it?'
Sam was trying so hard to think what the Doctor would say, but could feel any illusions of cool fading fast. Another gunshot from the next building. A scream that was high, almost theatrical, replaced by a noisy sobbing and a further warning from that bitch Fettal. It sounded like the last victim was Yast. She'd rarely felt so helpless.
'Yes,' announced the old man. 'You're some inbred freak from an Outer World Felbaac has picked up to lend sympathy to his cause.You know nothing. I have no use for you.'
Traxes tightened his grip on the weapon and Sam let slip an involuntary moan of fear. Her hand moved to her mouth as if she was afraid she would be sick.
'However,' interceded Sangton, waving Traxes' arm away, 'you clearly must know who the real Felbaac is.' He leaned closer to her, and it took all her willpower not to recoil. 'And I hope you will lead me to him sensibly. I'm going to arrange a little show for my men. After all, we have travelled far through difficult and dangerous terrain, and we have not yet had enough entertainment to warrant such a journey.'
He slapped Sam hard around the face, licking his lips, as she felt a sting and then a glow fill her right cheek.
'Not nearly enough.'
***
The Doctor helped Anstaar down to the bottom of the steep slope, then motioned her to stay back while he advanced on the strange pair. The screaming man was clutching mindlessly at the stony soil with bleeding fingers. His skin was a pale blue and covered in scratches and sores; a thick metal nail was hammered through each arm above the elbow; and his eyes rolled in his head as he yelled out in agony. His legs, emaciated and bent into shaking, angular shapes, were gradually burying themselves in the mud.
The Doctor wasted no more time and ran to the screaming man's side, cradling his head in his arms. Anstaar stared angrily at the man's silent companion. He was old, with a balding head, a little ridge of stubbly pale-blue flesh forming a helmet over the jug ears. A patchy beard sprouted from scarred flesh, and bushy white eyebrows threatened to obscure the eyes themselves. There was a terrible stench in the air, but Anstaar could not decide which of them it was coming from.
'I don't think these people are from Thannos,' she announced.
'Really?' said the Doctor uninterestedly. He was looking at the old man, who was apparently deep in contemplation of his companion's suffering.
'What does he think he's doing?' cried Anstaar angrily.
'Why don't you ask him yourself?'
Anstaar watched the thick mud slopping over the terrible wounds in the injured man's arms like a mucky poultice. She ignored the Doctor's suggestion and crouched down in front of the tortured man to try to soothe him. But his injured arms flailed out at her, beating her back. Fearing he would inflict further damage on himself, she moved away. Impotently, she shook the old man by his skinny legs instead.
'Let me be,' he whined. His voice was high-pitched and reedy, and he swallowed hard between each barely recognisable word.
Anstaar instantly softened a little. 'Are you deaf?' she said, as he looked at her with wet, blank eyes.
'No,' he said.'Nor am I blind. I see this man.'
'Then how can you just sit there -'
'There is something of the demon in you too, I fear.' The old man looked her up and down, and she turned to the Doctor, bewildered. He was wiping a handkerchief