Doctor Who_ So Vile a Sin - Ben Aaronovitch [102]
‘Armand,’ he said.
‘Look,’ said Iaomnet. ‘Do you mind?’
‘OK, Doctor,’ said Chris. ‘What’s the plan?’
‘Oh, rhubarb to the plan,’ said the Time Lord. ‘Let’s just ask him.’
Iaomnet said, ‘What?’
Roz rolled her eyes. ‘How did I know you were going to say that?’
The Duke Armand was sitting around in one of his parlours. It had been decorated in a heavily ornamental ancient French style.
The name of the period escaped the Lord High Sheriff, who was sitting at an antique writing desk with his boots up on the blotter, dreaming of the Empire.
The Council – what was left of it – had voted to crown Duke Walid the Emperor. Surprising no one. He hadn’t heard from the Brotherhood since that bit of news had appeared on Centcomp, but they’d warned him that Walid might spend some time on the throne before their plans came to fruition.
Still, it was galling. Walid must be sitting in his palace on Callisto, smirking. Let him smirk, Armand told himself over and over. Smirk smirk smirk. There’d be nothing for it after the coup than to kill Walid and much of his house, eliminating the legal threat to Armand’s succession.
Once it was all sorted out, thought Armand, he was going to have a sim made about it. With a suitably aristocratic-looking actor in his role. Perhaps –
A servant knocked quietly on the door. Armand looked up.
236
‘Your Excellency,’ said the servant, ‘a visitor requests an urgent audience.’
‘Don’t they have a card to present? Who is it, then?’
‘Your Excellency, he says his name is Emil Zatopek, and that you would know who he was.’
Armand took his feet off the desk.
‘This should be interesting. Take him to the drawing room with the best view. And bring us coffee and condensed milk, and some fruit tarts.’
‘Very good, Your Excellency.’
The little man was waiting for him in the drawing room, looking out at the Alps with his hands clasped behind his back.
‘Are you well?’ said the Duke, taking a chair. This room had modern furnishings among the antique curtains and paintings.
‘I’ve been receiving your messages for some time. I’m glad to see you made it here safely.’
Zatopek turned. Armand could believe this was a telepath, cool blue eyes moving over him. He had an urge to finger the dampening bug he wore behind his ear, a sliver of technology which was supposed to protect him from psychic intrusion. Best not to give it away, even if Zatopek was supposedly only a psychokinetic.
‘Thank you,’ said Zatopek. ‘Our enemies have been close behind me ever since I escaped them. But I’m sure I’m safe now I’m here.’
‘Has there been any word from the Brotherhood?’
Zatopek shook his head. ‘Be patient, Your Excellency. Every kind of wheel is in motion.’
‘You warned me about your disguise,’ said Armand, ‘but this is a transformation. You’re a different man to the one I met in Zanzibar.’ He looked at Zatopek, considering. ‘Is it some kind of telepathic illusion, perhaps?’
‘I don’t understand it myself,’ said Zatopek. He sank into a chair, a servant proffering a tray with coffee. He took a cup, spooning condensed milk into the strong stuff. 'Not fully. It’s as though someone else’s existence has simply been imprinted over mine. It took a long time to regain control of myself. I’m not sure 237
even the Brotherhood is prepared to deal with technology that powerful.’
‘And the enemy?’ said Armand. ‘You’ve told me little about them.’
‘Oh,’ said Zatopek, ‘They’re too busy looking for me to worry about what’s really going on.’
‘Yes,’ persisted Armand, ‘but who are they? You said the Brotherhood had encountered this Doctor before.’
‘They have,’ he replied. ‘Many times throughout our long history.’
‘How is that possible?’
‘Because compared to the Doctor,’ said Zatopek, ‘the Brotherhood are a bunch of half-witted, incompetent meddlers who ought to know better than to cook up vast schemes to conquer the universe.’
Armand stared at him. Zatopek picked up a fruit tart