Doctor Who_ Lungbarrow - Marc Platt [51]
Chris yanked his arm behind him. 'None of your business!'
Glospin was laughing again. 'So that's how you got in. Very clever! And it's also a way out!'
'Way out?' the Doctor said. 'What "way out"? You need to get out a bit more yourself, Glospin. You and this place are pale shadows of your former nasty selves. I don't even want to know what's happened to you and your brood.
70
Something horrible, no doubt. I don't really care. It's no longer my business. I have better things to do.'
Chris pul ed him aside. 'Doctor, I think you should lay off a bit.'
'Why? There's nothing here for me. That's always been plain.' He tugged himself free and set off towards the far end of the Hall.
Two distant lamps threw a pool of light around the raised stone bier and the translucent casket that rested on top of it.
'He was always like that,' said Glospin. 'Always switching moods like this or like that... or like the other.'
Chris hurried after the Doctor. The little figure had slowed and final y stopped a few feet from the bier. There was a figure lying silhouetted inside the glass coffin. The Doctor stood, head bowed, for a moment and then walked solemnly up to the casket.
'Quences,' he said as he peered over the top of the bier at the figure.
Chris waited awkwardly, watching Glospin, until the Doctor turned and beckoned him over.
'Chris, you know, don't you?' he said quietly.
'Yes, Doctor. I told you. This is your home.'
The Doctor sighed. 'Yes. This is my home - the ancient House of Lungbarrow in the Southern Ranges of Gallifrey, where I grew up. A wild and beautiful setting for the worst place in the Universe.' He gestured at the coffin. 'And this was Ordinal-General Quencessetianobayolocaturgrathadadeyyilungbarrowmas, to give him his full title and decoration. He was the head of the Family and my benefactor.'
Chris came closer and studied the old man in the coffin. Quences appeared serenely peaceful as he lay in state.
There were fresh flowers laid on his chest, roses with petals like grey silk. Droplets of fresh dew clung to the petals. Chris could see no immediately apparent signs of the brutal murder the old man had suffered.
The Doctor turned to Glospin. 'How long?' he said. 'Why is he still so well preserved?'
'Six hundred and seventy-three years,' said Glospin. 'To the day.'
The Doctor squatted to examine a small panel at the base of the bier.
71
'How did he die?' asked Chris.
Glospin raised an eyebrow.
'He's not dead,' said the Doctor. He tapped the panel. 'This is a static field generator.'
'Very good,' said Glospin. 'The Kithriarch is waiting in stasis.'
'Waiting? Why would he be waiting? What for?'
'You,' said Glospin. He turned to Chris. 'The Doctor is six hundred and seventy-three years late for Quences's deathday. The poor old man refused to read his own wil until his favourite was here. The whole Family has been kept waiting al that time.'
To Chris's surprise, the Doctor smiled at Glospin. 'That's not my problem, Cousin. As I recall, you were at pains to stop me from coming. No doubt, you were worried about what you'd miss out on. Though I can't imagine why. The Ordinal-General cast me out and disinherited me long ago.'
'That's right, Wormhole. But we're still waiting.'
'Why? Did Satthralope lock the doors and swallow the key?'
'You'l soon see,' Glospin said. 'The company you fell in with at the Capitol was fascinating. It gave me a lot to think about. How old did you say you were now?'
The Doctor snorted in indignation.
'Oh, and a word of warning,' Glospin continued. 'Be very careful of Cousin Owis.'
'Never heard of him,' said the Doctor.
'Exactly.'
A scowl spread across the Doctor's face. He looked from the coffin, around the Hall and up to his TARDIS, suspended out of reach. 'I'm sick of this dark. I need air. Let's get some air into this House before we al suffocate!
It must be light soon.'
He marched to the side of the Hal and began to haul away a heavy tapestry. Behind it, the arch of the tall window