Doctor Who_ Lungbarrow - Marc Platt [31]
Arkhew thought for a moment. 'I can't remember. I know it's a fair age. He must be over seven thousand by now.'
'What?' exploded Chris. 'Seven thousand years?'
44
'Give or take a hundred,' said Arkhew, taken aback. 'Don't forget that later regenerations tend to be shorter in their longevity.'
'Hang on a minute,' said Chris in gathering realization. 'Is this Gallifrey by any chance?'
Arkhew's jaw dropped in incomprehension.
'Silence!' shouted Satthralope and banged her staff on the floor. 'The House of Lungbarrow greets the reunion of its kith on this occasion of solemnity, the thirteenth and final Deathday of its four hundred and twenty-second Kithriarch Quencessetianobayolocaturgrathadeyyilungbarrowmas.'
A hand-like chair slid sedately up behind her and she climbed up into its palm. Staring ahead, she waited for the old man enthroned on the massive bier to begin.
Chris moved forward through the gathering, sometimes literal y through them, guiding Arkhew in front of him. He pointed to a stack of objects piled beside Quences's bier. 'His Deathday presents,' said Arkhew. 'They're interred with him in his vault.'
Quences, his head nodding slightly, focused his watery eye on each of the crowd in turn.
After a while, the Family began to mutter among themselves. Satthralope's chair shifted its fingers irritably.
'Well?' hissed the Housekeeper. 'Your audience is waiting. Deliver that interminable speech you've been composing for the past year.'
Quences cleared the phlegm from his throat. 'No,' he croaked.
'No? What do you mean "No"?'
The old man gave a curdled moan. 'Not until all the Cousins are assembled.'
'We are waiting,' she said emphatically as if the old man was half senile and deaf. 'All forty-four of us. Do you want a roll-call?'
He shook his head. 'No. No will-reading until al the Cousins are here.' There was a loud animal snort of disapproval. The bestial catafalque on which the old man sat shuddered irritably.
'Drudge!' called Satthralope to one of the servants. 'Bring me the Family register.' As the creature glided away, the Housekeeper leant sideways in her chair towards Quences. Her face was lit with fury. Chris moved in closer to hear as she muttered at the old man. 'I know what you're up to. I know who you mean. This has been argued before. That miscreant has been disinherited and banished from the Family. You did it yourself.'
'The matter was never settled,' growled Quences.
'Oh, yes it was. He is dead - or as good as - and he has been replaced.'
A number of the Cousins turned to look at Owis, who was smiling gormlessly beside Innocet.
'The matter is not settled,' repeated Quences. 'No will. Not until I'm ready.'
More rumours started to run through the crowd. It was reported that the House of Lungbarrow was on the agenda at an emergency session of the Council of Cardinals at Prydon Chapterhouse.
Somebody called out, 'What about the birth of a Replacement Cousin? Isn't that il egal if no one's died?'
Satthralope's chair reared up, raising the old woman high above the crowd. 'Who's insulting the House? Rassilon's Death! Anyone who questions this House's probity will answer to me! How many more disinherited do you want?'
'How high can you count to?' heckled another voice.
'What about our inheritance?' shouted another. And others called out in agreement.
Arkhew sank to the floor, his hands dithering, shaking, imploring in the onset of a new panic. 'Please stop it,' he whispered. 'I don't want to see. I can't bear it. Not again!' He made a sudden lunge and clamped himself to Chris's ankle. The young Adjudicator was transfixed, unable to move as the little man clung on, unable not to witness the approaching horror.
45
Silence fell suddenly. Quences was struggling to descend from his bier. He allowed the remaining Drudge to help him to the floor and then brushed it away with contempt. Satthralope made no attempt to help as he hobbled towards her chair and leant his weight on its back. 'You mob of milky, self-scraping whiners. Where's your