Doctor Who_ Rags - Mick Lewis [61]
‘What kind of place do you think this is? I only opened the door to collect the milk.’
‘Naturally. Actually it wasn’t alcohol I was interested in.’
‘And if you’re expecting breakfast you can carry on doing just that: expecting. You won’t get it, that’s for damn sure. This surely ain’tno transport café. Does it look like one?’
The Doctor was becoming a little irritated himself now ‘No, madam, and I wasn’t suggesting for a moment that it was one.
Now, would you be kind enough to allow me to make a simple inquiry?’
‘You want to ask me directions!’ the harridan thundered. ‘Now you’re thinking this is a tourist information bureau!’
‘No, madam, I was thinking nothing of the sort!’ He glowered right back at her, bullying her into silence with his imposing stature and indomitable gaze. When he was sure she was not going to open her mouth again, he allowed her a charming beam.
‘Now, if you’ve quite finished making assumptions, what I was going to ask you was simply if you knew the origin of the name of your establishment.’
She gaped at him blankly.
‘Where did you get the unusual name of your pub?’ he elaborated patiently.
‘What, the Ragged Staff?’ the landlady said, obviously perplexed. ‘What on earth’s so unusual about that? Why there’s at least three of ‘em in Bristol alone, never mind Bath.’
The Doctor blinked at her, momentarily lost for words. The hand pulls caught his eye, and of course the foxes were not grinning at all. He spun on his heel and left the pub.
Outside, the full blaze of a midsummer’s day was engulfing the countryside and gilding the black-and-white exterior of the inn, 147
including the wooden sign which, quite unequivocally, bore the name the Ragged Staff as well as a prosaic depiction of a bearded but blatantly benign shepherd clutching a gnarled old stick and nothing more.
He sat in the driver’s seat and turned the ignition angrily.
Now it was no longer just himself that was causing him to procrastinate. Someone, or something, else was playing little mind games with him.
One hour later he pulled up in front of the police cordon that blocked all traffic from entering the road leading to Amos Vale cemetery.
He patiently explained exactly who he was to the officer in charge, and waited with a little less patience while the policeman ducked inside his car to contact UNIT and check the credentials of what he obviously believed to be a flaky eccentric wanting to spy on the hippies from hell.
The officer came back a moment later with a rather politer attitude and waved him through. The Doctor drove past more police cars and then UNIT trucks and jeeps, all parked alongside the high cemetery walls. He stopped directly outside the imposing spiked gates and leapt out of the roadster. He spotted Benton immediately and strode over to him.
‘Doctor!’ the sergeant greeted him with the unconstrained relief he always displayed whenever UNIT’s scientific adviser popped up in the middle of a crisis.
‘Good morning, sergeant. How is everything? Any news from Jo?’
‘The convoy situation’s entirely under control, Doctor, but we’ve heard no reports from Jo. But then we don’t need to’
‘Oh, and why is that?’
Benton jerked his head towards the encampment beyond the gates. ‘Because we can see her most of the time, that’s why.’ Then his broad face cracked into a cheeky grin. ‘And we can see Captain Yates rather more often than I’m sure he’d like, as well.’
The Doctor let that pass. ‘Right, well you’d better let me in.’
148
Benton looked unhappy at the idea. ‘You want to go in there? Is that wise?’
‘Whether it’s wise or not is no longer the issue. It’s become a necessity, and one I’ve put off for far too long already.’ The Doctor ignored Benton’s misgivings and appeals for him to alert the Brigadier first, and waited for one of the soldiers to unlock the padlocks strung round the metal bars.
The huge gate swung open, complaining all the way, and he was in the hippie encampment.
Jeers greeted him. Punks spat near his feet. Someone tossed a joint in front of him inviting him to ‘Toke on that,