Doctor Who_ Set Piece - Kate Orman [47]
The littleboy bit through the centre of his biscuit with a snap.
‘I’m sorry,’ said Kadiatu. She had washed and put on a new dress, the maids silently taking away her bloodied clothes, their lips pressed together with distaste. ‘In front of le petit.’
Thierry looked from her to the Doctor and back again, a peculiar half-grin showing the tips of his teeth. She was watching the little man anxiously –
well, not watching him, but her eyes kept going back to him. It was as though he was the dangerous one.
Thierry patted the child on the head. ‘He doesn’t seem any the worse for it,’
he said.
The Doctor said, ‘Who else knows you’re here?’
‘M Thierry saw me crash. Er, land.’
‘Right in the middle of my apples,’ Thierry joked quietly.
He had the
strangest feeling that he was attending some sort of trial. He got up, still holding his hat and sauntered over to the birdcage that stood in the corner. ‘I take it the Doctor is also from votre siècle?’
‘You weren’t too discreet yourself,’ Kadiatu was saying, ‘not if Stone Mountain is anything to go by.’
‘Who have you told about Kadiatu, M Thierry?’ asked the Doctor softly.
The song-bird had died through neglect. It lay in a tiny heap on the bottom of the cage. ‘No-one. She is too large a secret to share. I want her all to 89
myself.’ He half-smiled again. Was it he or Kadiatu who was being judged? ‘I helped her to move her vehicle and to conceal her equipment.’
‘Why?’
‘I saw a human being in need, and I came to her assistance,’ said Thierry.
He patted Kadiatu on the shoulder, paternally. ‘What would you do without me, my dear?’
‘That’s a good question,’ said Kadiatu, but Thierry missed her irony. He opened the package he’d brought with him and took out a sheaf of paper.
‘Receipts and records for the house, Mademoiselle,’ he said. ‘I wanted to make sure you had these papers, as well as a few fresh vegetables. Alas, they were commandeered by soldiers at the gates, wanting to be sure I was not a spy from Versailles. I expect they imagined the parsnips were filled with gunpowder.’
Kadiatu took the papers and locked them in her writing desk. ‘You took a hell of a risk coming here,’ she said, and her eyes were on the little man. ‘It’s not that I’m not grateful, but the shells, you must look after the boy –
‘I understand,’ said Thierry. ‘I’ll postpone my next visit until conditions are a little more favourable. Please, if Paris becomes intolerable, you must come and stay with me. I will take good care of you. Good care of you both.’
The Doctor looked across at the littleboy. For a few moments their eyes met.
The little man drew his hand back sharply from the flowers, and absently sucked on the finger pierced by the thorn.
He hadn’t meant to go to sleep.
The book slowly slid out of the Doctor’s hand. He was lying on Kadiatu’s chaise longue, head propped up by an embroidered cushion, trying to read Les Misérables . Outside the sky was golden, shuddering with the sound of cannons.
Normally he only slept an hour or so in every forty-eight, and wasn’t in the habit of dozing off, except when he really needed to conserve his energy, but tonight, after supper, his head was fuzzy and his limbs were heavy. Sometimes it was pleasant to let things take their own course, not to plan every minute.
Sometimes.
Half-awake, he saw the face of the child-soldier whose head Kadiatu had smashed. The thrill of the kill had been hardwired into her genes long before she’d been born. He imagined himself falling past a giant strand of her DNA, wondering if he could change it, rewrite it. Rewrite her. It was because of him she was here, and he could not let her do any more damage.
The book teetered, just held by his fingertips, as the last wave of weariness overwhelmed him. He muttered something in his sleep about tea.
∗ ∗ ∗
90
Like most people, Kadiatu forgot her dreams. But when you have the same dream again and