Doctor Who_ Nightshade - Mark Gatiss [69]
obviously didn’t work in practice. He could show them that.
‘Klaxon?’ said Cooper.
Vijay Degun had admitted to taking illegal substances, had
‘Fence breached again.’ Holly looked up from her work.
risked the entire project!
The Doctor glanced at Trevithick. ‘Not now, not now.’ He Hawthorne was disappointed in Cooper. He’d expected ran to the window and peered out into the darkness. Light more. Didn’t she realise where it would all lead? Powell was was pouring from the silhouetted monastery.
right. ‘Rivers of blood,’ he’d promised. Rivers of blood.
Cooper pulled on a parka. ‘I’m going to check the fence.
What was he doing skulking in his room? Who were they Won’t be five minutes.’
to tell him how to behave? They weren’t his teachers. They
‘No!’ cried Holly. ‘It’s not safe.’
weren’t his mother. Hawthorne wished she were here now
‘Be careful,’ said Vijay.
so he could bury his head into the secure, perfumed folds of Cooper threw a glance at the bewildered Trevithick and her dress. Perhaps she would read him a bedtime story. He Medway, and then disappeared through the doors. ‘There’s stiffened. No. Not that. Not... now.
something happening at the monastery!’ cried the Doctor, He could hear the frantic activity in the control room but covering his ears as the klaxon honked deafeningly.
didn’t move from his bed. If they were so clever, they could Then the lights went out.
manage without him. Couldn’t they?
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Hawthorne lay back on his bed, chuckling to himself. He could hear the klaxon wailing now. They had got themselves into a pickle.
Well, crisis or no crisis, he wasn’t going to offer any advice. First thing in the morning he would take the Land Rover, drive to York and get the first train out of this rancid county. Then he would deliver his official letter of complaint and...
He turned over and pushed his hands under the pillow then jumped up in shock. There was a pool of sticky black liquid spreading across the sheet.
Surprised, he lifted his coated fingers to his face and sniffed. What was it? Pitch? Bitumen? No, it was... it was...
Tar.
Hawthorne’s spine froze. For several long minutes he was Winstanley didn’t move. There had been a voice in his quite unable to move. The harsh, unshaded light above his head. No words. Just a voice. A presence. Answering his head flickered, brightened and died.
prayers. He glanced around his cell quickly. A corona of He listened to the sound of his own stertorous breathing light sparkled round the door. With his heart in his mouth, and then swung his legs over the side of the bed.
he put a pudgy hand on the door and slowly opened it. He He would get up. Run to the door. Down the corridor. To yelped in shock at the wall of energy which filled the the control room. Everything would be all right.
corridor like sheet-lightning.
Everything...
It was beautiful. Beautiful...
Strangely, he wasn’t at all surprised when the tacky black Backing into the room, he stumbled against a chair and paw grasped his ankle.
fell to his knees.
Yes, that was only right. On your knees, he thought. He had doubted. His faith had been weak but now, oh now, his prayers had been answered. Winstanley prostrated himself before the light. Slowly, scarcely daring to breathe, he opened his eyes.
The energy before him had begun to assume a shape, pixels of delicate light swirling and swirling until a man stood before him, robed arms outstretched. The face was 194
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pale, bearded, ascetic. Light shivered over the shoulder-length hair.
‘Oh my Christ!’ sobbed Winstanley, reaching out trembling hands. ‘Oh, Christ! Christ!’
He stumbled forwards on his knees. The man’s face was Chapter Eight
kindly, the brown eyes warm and forgiving. He extended a hand: a long, finely boned hand in which a ragged hole had been torn. Blood oozed from the wound.
Winstanley took the man’s hand and pressed it to his face.
‘Blessed blood,’ he wept. ‘Sweet