Doctor Who_ Lungbarrow - Marc Platt [131]
'The extractor,' croaked the Doctor, pointing to the Loom. 'That'll stop it.'
Chris yanked the device out of the open Loom.
The pulse died within the web.
The Doctor tried to stand, and fell against Chris. A tear of blood ran from his eye.
But the House kept shuddering.
From the window, they watched the earth still churning past. The cliff was less than fifty metres away.
'Headless chicken syndrome,' muttered the Doctor and turned unsteadily towards the TARDIS.
213
The undulating floor ruptured and split under the ship.
'Sepulchasm!' gasped the Doctor, and tensed as the police box keeled into the abyss.
It froze, half into the crack.
The Doctor stared ahead, veins etched out on his forehead, grasping Chris's arm like a vice.
Swaying sickeningly, the TARDIS slowly rose in the air. It hovered, gradually moving away from the crack and settled back on the rubble-strewn floor.
The Doctor, wreathed in sweat, al but collapsed into Chris's arms. The young adjudicator carried him to the ship's door.
'Get ready for a shock,' said the Time Lord as they stumbled inside.
The House was giving out a determined shriek of death.
***
The survivors of the House of Lungbarrow stood on the cold mountainside, watching in silence.
The whitewood building slowed momentarily in its progress, and then, with a final splintering scream of despair, the entire vast, many-tiered edifice careered with horrible purpose over the edge of the cliff and plunged deep into the valley below.
214
Chapter Thirty-four
One Fine Day
The final ember of the sun of Extans Superior sank below the sea. Stars were already sprinkling the lavender-dark sky. The air was scented like passion-fruit.
Chris angled an arm out of his hover-hammock and reached for his glass. He drained the last of his Indigo Moonrise cocktail and made gurgling noises through the straw.
The Doctor hadn't touched his drink. The slice of magenta fruit garnishing the glass was starting to dry and curl.
He sat in a deckchair, staring at the sea, absently turning a set of heavy keys round and round on their thick metal ring.
Chris laid back and tried to relax, to do al the summery holiday things that the lapping waves and rustling palms and beat of distant music told him he should be doing. Along the beach, the locals had started a bonfire. Their laughter and singing echoed along the sand. Chris clunked his glass back on the antigrav tray hanging in the air beside him and sighed in resignation. 'It doesn't work, does it? I thought it might have helped.'
Little birds ran back and forth at the water's edge. And the Doctor's keys turned over and over. Click... click... click.
'Doctor?'
'It's supposed to be a release.' The Time Lord's voice sounded miles away, fathoms deep.
Oh Goddess, thought Chris, here we go. 'What's that?' he asked aloud.
The Doctor sighed. 'An old lullaby crooned by a skull-faced nurse. Death and the eternal peace of oblivion. That's how it usually ends...'
'Um... I suppose that's one way of putting it.'
'Except for Time Lords, when it just goes on and on.' Click... click... click.
Two of the locals, a girl and a boy, both with scarlet trumpet flowers in their hair, ran past waving. 'Come to the feast. The feast is starting.'
Chris waved back. 'We'll be along later.' He let his arm drop.
'You go if you want to,' said the Doctor. He stood up, folded his deckchair and headed back to the TARDIS. A little figure, still in his hat, silhouetted against the glow seeping from the police box door.
The palm leaves clacked overhead like applause in the warm breeze. A crab scuttled away across the sand, one claw waving its farewel . Chris took one last look at the sea and the rose-coral beach as they slid into the dusk. Then he hurried after the Doctor.
It was cool inside. The Doctor had put up his deckchair again. He sat and watched the new TARDIS console, apparently waiting for it to react. Or was he just admiring the antique rosewood and tortoiseshell finish? Or wondering how to make the thing work? 'Shut the door, Chris,' he said