Doctor Who_ Lungbarrow - Marc Platt [72]
105
Two ruby needles stabbed through the air and floored the guards. Two familiar tin dogs rounded the corner.
'Thanks, boys,' shouted Dorothée.
Simultaneously, something slid on to the saddle behind her. 'Go, quickly,' said Leela's voice.
More footsteps behind them. More guards.
'Go!' yelled Leela.
Dorothée pulled away. Sparks tore from the machine as she wove it up the passage. Bolts of fizzing light overtook them, exploding on the wall that loomed ahead.
The bust of a previous President detonated in front of them.
'Pandak the Original!' shouted Leela and the wall vanished in a clap of golden thunder.
***
The staff of the Tharil Embassy watched the door. They had barricaded themselves in only to find that there were already guards posted outside to keep them from leaving.
They waited for news from the President, but no news came.
Prince Whitecub, his noble mane unkempt, paced his office like a caged beast. 'Are we political hostages?' he asked the guards, but they were low-born creatures with no scent of honour or protocol.
To confound the passing of time, he listened to his ambassadorial attaches as they told tales of ancient deeds from the nether past of their own universe.
'And Vlasolf the Timewalker walked the wind back to the very dawn of all hunting. And in that first ferment, he saw the Night Hunter and the Light Hunter divided. Black and white prides arrayed to begin their eternal battle. But laughter cut through the roaring of their chal enges. And between them padded the Blood Thief. The red-handed Jackal whose cunning balances the scales of war.'
The communication screen on the Prince's table opened like an eye, revealing the anxious features of Chancellor Theorasdavoramilonithene.
'Chancellor, are you safe?'
'My Lord Prince, we need your help.'
He spread his paws wide. 'We are prisoners here. There is little we can do.'
'Yes, yes, you can.' Her eyes were darting round. 'I must ask for sanctuary in the bounds of your Embassy.'
'For you, Chancellor?'
'No, Your Excel ency.' She paused to compose her request. 'No. I ask for sanctuary for the President of Gal ifrey from her own people.'
She turned away, startled, to look at something. The screen crackled and went dead.
106
Chapter Eighteen
Home Truths
'He's stopped,' said Glospin. 'What's he doing?'
Satthralope squinted at her mirror. It reflected an image of the Doctor on one of the gal eries. He was stooping to examine one of the tree pillars.
'More pomade,' she croaked and the Drudge sprayed more of the unguent on to her white hair. She snapped her bony fingers and the chair that held Glospin in its fist relaxed its grip. 'Come and sit by me,' she said.
Glospin slid from the chair and sat dutiful y at the old woman's feet, letting her fondle his long hair. 'My wicked one.
My naughty boy.' She felt him flinch as she squeezed her fingers over his head.
The Drudge snipped at the whiskers on her chin with ornate scissors. It reminded her of her wedding devotions.
Just three hundred and two she had been. Just a girl still when the summons came, hardly ready for her vows and duties.
I shall serve you might and main, mortar and mortice.
The plain wooden ring on her finger, sometimes tight with possessiveness, sometimes hot with rage.
I shall guard your bounds, your chattels and your progeny from Loom to Tomb.
Then she and the House were one. Blood and brick in union.
The Doctor was on the move again. Now that the candleday was up and lit, he no longer seemed worried about being seen. He was heading in the direction of her room. As he passed the mirror, he raised his hat in mockery.
'I'd know that arrogance anywhere,' muttered the Housekeeper. The rhythm of strokes on Glospin's hair slowed and hardened.
'He told me he'd come home to be the next Kithriarch,' said Glospin. 'He wants his due.' He cringed as she dug in her nails.
'If you want your inheritance,' she said, 'you'd better make sure he doesn't get a chance to wake Quences.'
There was a knock at the door.
She groaned