Doctor Who_ St. Anthony's Fire - Mark Gatiss [32]
He had struggled to maintain his composure. Discipline had to be maintained. He could never show weakness in front of the men.
The tics had begun under his right eye, slowly, then growing, week by week, until his whole face was a mass of writhing muscles.
Sometimes he wanted to plough his claws into his own flesh. Anything, anything to stop the infernal, incessant movement in his face.
That had also been the day when he really began to believe in the Cause. To wipe those bastard Cutch from the face of Betrushia. For the Greater Glory. And for revenge.
* * *
Grek marched down the dingy corridors, inordinately pleased with himself. He had taken a firm grasp of the situation and appointed personnel to deal with it.
The earthquakes and meteorite showers were something else entirely but a deep, almost instinctual feeling told him that the beast called the Doctor might be able to shed some light on things. If it really did have something to do with the Faith then old Thoss from the Temple might be the man to consult but for now –
Grek stopped dead at the sight of the conference room door, suspiciously ajar. He pushed at it with a clawed finger and it creaked open.
Bernice looked up sheepishly as Grek was revealed in the doorway.
‘Ah,’ she said. ‘Hello.’
‘Where is he?’ hissed Grek.
‘Who?’
Grek strode into the room, peering into the shadowed corners, all his good humour evaporated.
‘Don’t play games, beast,’ he spat, upturning a chair with a sweep of his arm. ‘I am Commander Grek. I ordered him to stay here. He may be… needed.’
Bernice sat down on the edge of the table, defeated. ‘To be honest, he hasn’t gone far. We’re… we were trying to find a way out. We’ve had rather enough of your planet.’
Grek looked up. ‘You were trying to escape?’
‘Prisoner of war’s prerogative, isn’t it?’ said Bernice, half smiling.
Grek put his claws behind his back and breathed in deeply.
‘Your… Doctor knows a good deal more than he’s saying.’ He gazed curiously at Bernice’s smooth face, like a puzzled zoologist.
‘He’ll be returning for you, no doubt?’
‘I sincerely hope so.’
‘Good. Good.’
Grek plugged in a speecher to the mass of wires hanging from the wall. He powered up the device with a few turns of the brass handle.
‘This is Grek. Get me Portrone Liso.’
He clapped the speecher to his chest like a telephonist asking a caller to hold. ‘I’m arranging a little trip for you.’
‘What?’ Bernice was immediately worried.
Grek put the speecher to his snout. ‘Liso? Yes. Hold on a moment.’
He turned back to Bernice and contorted his face into what she took to be a smile. ‘I have to ensure that the Doctor co‐operates.’
He put one half of the instrument to his ear and spoke confidently into the other: ‘Liso. I have a surprise for you.’
* * *
‘It’s always nice to be expected,’ said the Doctor, doffing his hat. ‘Have you baked me a cake?’
The old reptile shuffled out of the shadows, a garland of pale blue flowers in his claws. He advanced towards a monolithic structure at the end of the chamber, but it was so shrouded in darkness that the Doctor was unable to make it out.
‘I’m Thoss, by the way,’ confided the old creature in a high, piping voice, chomping at his lower lip. He began to relume a host of yellow candles.
The Doctor rushed to his aid. ‘May I help?’
‘No,’ said Thoss evenly. ‘Only an anointed representative of the Temple can do these things. I imagine you are not anointed?’
‘Not to my knowledge. I’m the Doctor. Tell me…’ He gazed about the darkened room and up at the monolith as it was revealed by increasing candle‐light. ‘Tell me how you knew I was coming.’
Thoss let out a little squeal of amusement. ‘Don’t flatter yourself. It wasn’t you I expected but one like you.’ He bent down to light a particularly stubborn candle.
‘A stranger?’
‘In a way. A mammal certainly. It is spoken of in the Faith.’
The Doctor pulled a face. ‘Commander Grek doesn’t know his scriptures then. He found me very surprising.’
‘It is a forbidden text,’ muttered Thoss,