Doctor Who_ Relative Dementias - Mark Michalowski [70]
‘Shouldn’t one of us keep a look out for Zorg and Zeta?’ he said. ‘Who?’
‘Them two – well, they’re probably aliens, aren’t they?’
‘I hope so,’ Ace grinned. ‘But Zorg and Zeta? What TV
programmes have you been watching? Can you see ‘em from here?’
Alexander scuffled across the unkempt garden, snagging his jeans in a tangle of weeds, and poked his head around the side of the building.
‘We’re fine. They’re miles away.’
‘Good! Keep watching them just in case.’ Ace made her way to the window.
Despite its appearance, the flaking dark green paint and rotting woodwork, the window was securely shut. She stepped back and looked the cottage over: it was a single storey building, so no conveniently open upstairs window. The other one on the ground floor – the kitchen from what she could see through the oily, smeared glass – was firm, but Ace noticed that the putty holding the glass in was crumbling along the bottom edge. She scratched at it with her fingers.
Alexander pressed a chunky penknife into her hand.
‘Nice,’ Ace said admiringly. Now this was what she called a penknife. As she set to work on the window, she made a mental note of what she wanted for Christmas from the Doctor. No doubt he’d add a few things to it: a laser and an alien lifeform detector would be good. Ten minutes later, she’d cleared enough of the putty away to be able to get her fingernails under the edge of the glass, and she began alternately pulling and pushing it, loosening it. Alexander watched, occasionally nipping back to the corner of the cottage to check that the tweedies were still away.
With a gritty crack, the window split in two, one half shattering noisily on the flagstones at their feet. Carefully – and, she realised, a bit pointlessly – she laid the other piece of the window down on the ground. Alexander gave her a leg up onto the window sill, and from there she squeezed in. Balancing awkwardly on her hands on the stone sink, she wriggled her legs through and caught sight of Alexander’s grinning face on the other side of the glass.
‘You’d better get the door open,’ he laughed. ‘If you think I’m coming through that way, you’ve got another think coming.’
Ace jumped down onto the floor, wrinkling her nose at the smell – like a combination of rotting meat and vegetables mixed with sweat and urine. For a moment, she hesitated, wondering if she really wanted to see what lay in the rest of the cottage.
Cautiously, in case there was some sort of alarm, she stepped over to the living-room door. A manky curtain had been nailed over it. She pulled it aside, felt her stomach heave at the stench, and had to back away. She leaned on the sink, breathing deeply through her mouth. Alexander had gone – presumably round to the front door. She needed to get it open in case the tweedies were on their way back and saw him. Taking a deep breath, she held her nose and raced into the lounge.
The room was dark, the air thick with the stink that had crawled into the kitchen. Catching her feet on the furniture, she crossed to the front door. And as she reached for the handle, the door opened inwards, and she stumbled backwards.
‘It wasn’t even locked,’ Alexander said breezily, standing in the doorway.
‘Typical.’ Ace stuck her head out, sucking in huge lungfuls of fresh air.
‘God!’ she heard Alexander exclaim in disgust.’What’s that stink? And what’s that?’
She looked where he was pointing – a wide, coffin-shaped box with rounded edges and corners lay against the wall. It was translucent and pale grey, and in the dim light of the room, Ace could see lights twinkling on its side.
‘Is it the transmat?’ breathed Alexander softly
‘If it is, it’s not like the one I used this morning.’
Leaving the door ajar now that her eyes were acclimatizing to the darkness, Ace crossed to the coffin and knelt down next to it, almost too scared to open the lid for fear of what it might contain. The smell was stronger, and she noticed an