Doctor Who_ Rags - Mick Lewis [57]
‘Take them far; the mayor roared into the night, charging three villagers with the arduous task.’Take them to the furthest corner of the land, from where the stink of their evil can no longer pollute our village. Dispose of them like the midden heap they are, where there be no goodness, where nature ends. Let this rock of horrors be their memorial’ The three villagers boarded the cart and began their journey. That journey took them beyond the edge of the frame, beyond the edge...
Off the page, and into Kane’s mind.
138
Chapter Thirteen
‘Found something interesting, old chap?’
The Doctor leant against a shelf and gave Kane a reassuring smile as the young man looked up. The smile vanished as he took in the evil illustrations inside the book Kane was holding. Kane’s eyes did nothing to alleviate the Doctor’s uneasiness: they were haunted, branded by terror.
‘It’s all right, there’s nothing here to scare you,’ the Doctor tried to reassure him. He leant forward to take the book and Kane reacted violently. Leaping to his feet, he snatched it away from the Doctor’s grasp and scuttled over to a far corner of the library, where he sat on a window seat clutching the book and glaring at the Time Lord like a dog jealous of a juicy bone. The Doctor considered approaching him again, and then thought better of it.
The long-haired young man looked capable of anything right now; the mania in his eyes could explode into physical violence at the slightest excuse.
Better let him lie.
Besides, the Doctor had seen those gruesome pages, and Kane’s resultant transformation upon reading them, and that rather confirmed his theory.
The cleaning lady at the church had fired his curiosity. It wasn’t much of a mental leap to suspect some link between the woman’s hints of a dark history to this village and the source of the energy pulse. Maybe Kane, or more precisely the book, held the key. Acting on impulse, the Doctor crossed over to the ageing librarian positioned behind her counter which smelt of old hardback hooks and gave her his warmest smile. She eyed his velvet smoking jacket and frilly shirt dubiously, but returned his smile Mier a moment. She was every inch the librarian: horn-rimmed spectacles, severe white bun pulling the skin of her rosacea-flushed face back into a red mask.
‘Can I help you, sir?’ she held a book stamp in mid-air rather 139
than putting it down, as if by wielding the tool of her trade she could justify her existence to this elegant if flashy stranger.
The Doctor inclined his head towards the corner where Kane sat alone, once more engrossed in the book. He could see the cover from here and it depicted shadowy men with blunderbusses and a gaunt grey creature stalking them. He could see no title.
‘I was wondering about the book that young man is reading...’
He beamed at her with full-throttle charm. ‘I was interested in exactly how long it has been on the shelves here.’
The librarian, despite her formidable glasses, obviously couldn’t see as well as the Doctor could, because she came from behind the counter and took a few steps towards Kane before halting.
The Doctor noticed her back tense, as if she’d been touched by someone she really didn’t like. She returned to the counter, deliberately not looking at the Doctor. Her face had lost its redness completely.
She picked up another book and flipped open the cover to stamp it.
The Doctor waited patiently.
‘Well?’
‘I’m sorry sir,’ she said without looking up.
‘And what are you sorry for exactly?’
‘I’ve never seen that book before in my life,’ she stammered, furiously stamping the book.
The Doctor inclined his head and pursed his lips ruminatively.
‘I think we both know that’s not entirely the truth, don’t we?’ he said gently.
The librarian looked up, her eyes wide. Her chin wobbled a moment, and then she blurted out:
‘I was sure it had been burnt. Long ago, when I was a child.’ she paused,