Doctor Who_ Nightshade - Mark Gatiss [36]
Grey flinched and stepped back.
‘There’s someone there, sir. I swear it. Down there, by the Cooke sighed and looked at Grey more kindly.
gates.’
‘I am sorry, Ralph. We lost many good lads today. If any Jackson strained his eyes. Was that a figure - no, two -in man is out of sorts then it is I. To your bed now, old friend.’
the shadows by the castle’s sturdy entrance? He sat up in Grey bowed slightly and disappeared down the steps, his his saddle but whatever had been there was lost in the deep boots echoing hollowly around the stones. Cooke rubbed blue shadows.
his tired face with his injured hand and looked down at his
‘I see nothing,’ he said wearily. ‘But we’ll stop here and men as they wrapped horse blankets around themselves.
rest awhile.’
The tiny fire they had lit was flickering into extinction and, 100
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His men flopped gratefully from their saddles and led crashed down. This time, Cooke screamed and felt the air their horses to a little circle of trees. Within moments they vomiting from his lungs in an unstoppable screech.
were stretched out on the hard ground, asleep.
The night exploded around him like a dam-burst. He sat Jackson himself stayed in his saddle for a time, gazing up, shaking with fear and grief, looking about him like a over at the darkened battlements some five hundred yards startled animal. Dark ruins. Sleeping men. Warm night distant. The night was warm, silent, expectant.
breeze. He sighed. They were still in that damned castle.
He rubbed his face and neck, already feeling the sweat Sunlight streamed through the children’s hair as they growing clammy on his flesh. Ralph Grey was asleep nearby, jumped and capered about. Harry Cooke watched their his blanketed form undisturbed.
smiling faces and felt himself laugh silently. His daughters, Cooke let his head sink on to his chest. Why had he Bridget and tiny Mary with her big brown eyes, so happy dreamed about them tonight? It was two years now since and content in the gardens, hiding in the old stables and they’d been taken from him, and by brain fever, not the amongst the fragrant bushes.
sword of some treacherous Roundhead. He thought once Then the sky seemed to darken. A solid, warty face again of his daughters’ golden ringlets and their clear, loomed out of the shadows, casting gloom over the happy smiling faces.
scene. The children turned and screamed, running to their Something moved on the battlements.
father for protection. Cooke held out his arms but his Cooke craned his neck and got to his feet, groaning with daughters seemed to make little progress, as though they effort. He picked his way through the sleeping soldiers and were wading through molasses.
dragged himself up the stone steps to the battlements. The The ominous face seemed to swell, blotting out the night was silent now, save for a distant rustling as if the sunshine. Cooke narrowed his eyes and glared at the breeze were stirring the blossom-laden branches of distant apparition. It was Cromwell.
trees.
Of course, it was always Cromwell.
He could see no one on the walkway. As he turned to Now there were soldiers in the garden, faceless make his way back into the ruined hall, there was a soft Roundheads in dull, pewter-coloured armour. Light flashed giggle from the shadows. Cooke seemed to recognise it at on their swords as they raised their weapons high in the air.
once and spun round.
Cooke tried to scream but could feel only a silent
‘Who’s there? Come out!’
tightening in his chest. Mary looked up at the shimmering Now he could hear a gentle voice ringing in his ears.
blade and shot a desperate look at her father. The Some sweet lullaby he remembered his wife singing to the Roundhead stepped forward, his dark figure a hazy children. The sound seemed to buzz around his head, silhouette against the white light of the sun. The sword making him swoon and tremble. It was beautiful. And so sad.
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Two shapes detached themselves from the