Doctor Who_ Prime Time - Mike Tucker [50]
‘Quite a collection of unanswered questions. You really are an inquisitive pair aren’t you?’
Ace spun, lashing out with her foot, and caught the figure that loomed over them behind the knees. There was a muffled thump as it crashed to the floor.
Ace was on it in a trice, fist poised. ‘What are you doing down here?’
An elderly Blinnati man squinted up at her through half-moon spectacles. ‘An interesting question with a long and interesting answer.’ He smiled at her. ‘Would you care to retire somewhere more comfortable whilst I explain?’
Ace and Gatti stepped through into a bizarre room.
Everywhere there were books, hundreds of thousands of them.
The walls were invisible under shelves stacked two deep, the floor was piled high with only a narrow path snaking from the doorway to the desk. The desk itself was barely visible. Books and magazines flowed over the sides. The far window was almost completely blocked, the only light coming from a battered angle-poise lamp perched precariously on a pile of magazines.
The man bustled through the chaos, trying to clear a space for them to sit.
‘When is a chair not a chair?’ He stopped, looking puzzled. ‘Must think of an answer to that one.’
Ace and Gatti looked at each other in puzzlement.
‘Who the hell are you?’ asked Ace.
‘Good question, good question. A starter for ten!’ The figure danced over to them. ‘Too easy though. Simple observation.’
Gatti picked up a nameplate from the desk. ‘Gartrold Breame. Quizmaster, perhaps?’
The figure pressed his nose and made a buzzing noise.
‘First blood to the home team!’ He shook Gatti’s hand Vigorously. ‘Delighted to meet you. Gartrold Breame at your service, questions devised, conundrums set, riddles...’ He paused, then smiled. ‘Riddled, I suppose.’ He perched on the edge of the groaning desk. ‘What brings you to my humble abode?’
Ace took a look out into the corridor and closed the door.
‘We’re looking for someone, a friend of mine.’
Breame clapped his hands. ‘A treasure hunt, fabulous.
Haven’t done one of those for, oooh, absolutely ages.’ He shook his head. ‘They weren’t very popular with the masses –
not enough to win from the comfort of your own home.’ He held up a garish trophy,‘Very stylish, but not as popular as credits.’ His face fell. ‘I always preferred it when they won trophies.’
Gatti took the trophy from him. ‘So you devise the questions for the game shows?’
Breame waggled a finger at her. ‘I’m the one who asks the questions, remember.’
‘That was hardly a difficult one to guess,’ said Ace. She stared around at the books. ‘You must have devised a hell of a lot of questions.’
‘Twelve game shows a day, fourteen if you count the omnibus repeat editions, special bumper celebrity quizzes on all the Harvest Days, seasonal extras if budgets allow. I’ve been with the company for eight years. For a bonus point, how many questions do you think I’ve devised since I started?’
Ace shook her head. ‘I’m not even going to try. Why the hell are you stuck down here in the basement?’
‘Ah.’ Breame lowered himself into a chair. ‘Now that is a question with a very sad answer. I’m afraid that I don’t quite fit into Mr Lukos’s ideal of the perfect televisual host. I’m of use to him, make no mistake, but as for my appearance...’ He tugged at his threadbare cardigan. ‘No amount of costume and make-up skill is ever going to prepare me for a starring role.
I’m an embarrassment, and one that he likes to keep well out of the way.’
The door swung open. Ace swung the piton gun around.
Trasker stared angrily at her. ‘What the hell do you think you’re doing? I thought I’d lost you.’
‘It seemed a safer bet than just hanging around in the basement,’ snapped Ace. ‘How are you doing with those passes?’
‘It’s done, now come on.’
The two girls crossed back through the piles of books.
Trasker caught Gatti’s arm. ‘I think you’d better stay here.’
‘You’re kidding me!’ Gatti flushed with anger. ‘If you think you are going to leave me out...’
‘I could only