Doctor Who_ Lungbarrow - Marc Platt [87]
'Who?' the Doctor exploded. 'I don't know what petty loophole you've dug up, Glospin. But I am your Cousin. And don't think I'm not aware of your nasty Gallifreyan Allegiance proclivities. Or your involvement with the Intervention Agency.'
'Not exactly true,' said the persecutor, smiling. 'But I am ready to fascinate them with my discovery. . . for the correct remuneration.'
'Insanity!' The old Doctor shook his head. 'Haven't you had enough from me already?'
'No,' said Glospin. 'I want everything.'
'Out! Get out!' shouted the Doctor. He raised his stick and brought it down on Glospin. But his opponent was ready to give as he good as he got. The two old men were soon fighting like mongrels over an old bone.
The box came through the wal with a crash. Glospin screamed as a flare of light scorched his right arm.
He stared at the box, choking with pain. 'I'll see you ruined! Lungbarrow wil never take you back again!'
The box slid towards him, but he fell at the door and stumbled out into the Capitol.
'Lies.' The old Doctor was shaking. His cheek was bleeding where Glospin had clawed him. He swept his cane across the litter of damaged books. The strewn wreckage of a life's work. 'Lies.'
From the city outside came a new jangle of alarms. The box hovered by the open door, clicking excitedly.
'What are you?' demanded the Doctor.
In answer, the thing opened its lid. Inside sat a fierce, icy-white furnace. As the Doctor stared into it, his frightened expression turned to astonishment and wonder. His voice trembled. 'Of course, of course. Extraordinary. I understand. But why choose me?'
The watchers hovered above the rushing procession of time.
'Did Glospin talk to you about this?' The voice of the Doctor's sixth regeneration was drained and flat.
'Yes,' said Innocet.
'It's al lies, you know. Haven't you seen enough?'
'Whose lies?' she asked. 'Glospin's lies? Or yours?'
132
***
For the attention of the Cardinal Prime, Prydon Chapterhouse My Lord Cardinal,
I wish to draw your attention to a most contentious matter concerning the Prydonian House of Lungbarrow. I understand that the aforementioned House is allotted a statute quota of forty-five extant Cousins. I gather, however, that this quota has recently been breached by the birth from that House's Loom of an uncertificated Cousin.
I trust that you will share my concern.
The first Doctor had scrolled the letter tightly. He sealed it with the official Prydonian seal that he kept from his time in the Chapterhouse's Bureau of Possibility. A post he had left after disagreements about his overzealous political involvements.
Hooded in a black cloak, he pushed the scroll into the open beak of the great stone owl that guarded the Chapterhouse gate.
The alarms were still sounding as he made his way across the Citadel's broad edifice. The rainswept bridges and walkways were deserted. No one steps out on Otherstide night.
He carried one bag with him. A few belongings and keepsakes. The rest he left to the guards and the scavengers.
He hurried along the windy colonnades known as Gesyevva's Fingers and paused on the wide square where the ancient memorial to Omega stood. For a moment, he saw a shape flit across the burnt orange sky above the monument.
The TT embarkation port was on Under-level 15 of the Citadel. A group of watchful citizens was seated in the waiting zone. Several were busy trying far too hard not to be conspicuous.
'Agency guards,' mused the Doctor to himself.
He ducked into the dry dimension dockyard on the next level up. On a neural construction palette stood a gleaming new TARDIS ready for service installation. A technician's chart listed its immaculate specifications and latest safety precedent - a remote recall override system. 'A type fifty-three?'