Doctor Who_ Lungbarrow - Marc Platt [74]
After an indecently short wait, he began to poke about among the Housekeeper's effects.
Satthralope leant heavily on her cane. She watched, secure behind a mirror gauze of free-standing reflections that showed an empty room to the casual observer. Glospin was watching beside her. She approved of the hatred in his glare.
The prodigal wretch was scarcely imposing in his bearing and his sense of attire had deteriorated lamentably. His manner however, stil had all the old domineering disrespect that she recalled. She had clearly missed three or four of his lives - a small boon for which she must be grateful. He was crouching on the floor, squinting at the strands of web that hung from her chair. Then he took some different strands from his pocket and compared them.
Unaccountable. He had not even removed his excuse for a hat. How could any Family live with such a scapegrace?
His attention was caught by the mirrors on her dressing table. To her indignation, he began to finger the manual control levers with their crystal tops.
She started to move forward, but Glospin's hand held her back.
Views of the House flickered across the centre glass. On one passage, something large blocked the view. It seemed to be furry with zigzag stripes. The wretch gave a chortle and flicked on.
The next view reflected a first-level parlour where two people were in deep conversation. One was a young man with hair the colour of sulphur flowers - another uninvited intruder, and wearing particularly offensive apparel. The first outsider she had seen since the dark began. How dare he come here? How dare he be brought in? And he was talking to Innocet. Innocet again! She, of all Cousins, should know better.
Innocet invited him in, whispered Glospin's voice in Satthralope's thoughts. She invited both of them.
The Housekeeper stamped her cane in anger, but the wretch at her mirrors was too absorbed in trying to lip-read the reflected conversation to notice.
***
Chris helped pull the dusty cloth down from the picture frame.
Innocet stood back and surveyed the family portrait on the wall behind it. 'It's the only one I could think of that hasn't been defaced.'
The dust stung in Chris's eyes and nose. Again the sounds of the House were amplified in his head. He tried to concentrate on the three-dimensional portrait with its formal rows of people, many of whom he knew from the Deathday dream. Ordinal-General Quences sat at the centre of the group - a crusty old man with a fierce eye.
Satthralope was next to him, small and malevolent, locked into a black fortress of a dress, a huge ring of keys in her fist. Beside her, staring fixedly, was the old black-haired version of Glospin. Venomous, thought Chris. On Quences's other side, sat Innocet, still young, still red-haired, a model of dutiful composure. Among the ranks of other Cousins, Chris finally spotted Arkhew's head, peering out, half obscured by the broad shoulder of a portly lady who was taking up nearly two seats.
109
He remembered his own graduation class of 2975. Twenty-six young, grinning Squires ready to sort out the Universe. Three that he knew about were prematurely retired injured and two more were dead.
But amongst this line-up of the Doctor's Cousins, not one of the suspects was smiling.
'So many of them have gone away,' said Innocet quietly.
'Are they really dead?' Chris asked. 'Or are they just skulking about somewhere?'
He was met by a cold barrier of frosty denial. The sort of thing he'd got when Roz had been at that time of the month. He gave himself a minus grade for tact, but he understood what the Doctor meant about monuments.
'What else did you dream about the Deathday?' she said carefully.
'We saw you and Glospin arguing,' said Chris, determined to get some reaction. 'You'd taken some secret information about the Doctor's birth from Glospin's room. He thought it affected the Family. More than the Family.
He was very angry.'
Innocet was shaking her head. She opened her mouth, but seemed lost for words. 'How. . . how did you...'
Chris suddenly felt ashamed.