Doctor Who_ St. Anthony's Fire - Mark Gatiss [33]
The Doctor put his hands behind his back. ‘I see.’
The monolith was revealed now in all its glory, standing perhaps nine or ten feet tall, its surface encrusted with precious stones.
‘Some kind of shrine?’ offered the Doctor.
Thoss turned to him slowly, examining the Doctor with his cool blue eyes. ‘It is a monument to God. A symbol of the Faith. Don’t you know anything?’
‘I’m new,’ said the Doctor. ‘Tell me more about the Faith.’
‘Of course,’ said Thoss. ‘You must have more primitive beliefs.’ He narrowed his eyes. ‘If you are who you claim to be.’
‘I don’t claim to be anyone.’
Thoss rubbed his palms together in contemplative fashion, making a sound like rustling leaves. ‘The Faith is central to the Ismetch race. It is the foundation of all systems of justice and truth. One God and one chosen people.’
‘And no room for anything else?’
‘Blasphemy even to think it. That’s why the Cutch can’t be allowed to spread their heinous beliefs over the world.’
The Doctor cocked his head to one side, the candlelight turning his eyes into shadowed hollows. ‘The Cutch don’t believe as you do?’
‘They have a number of strange little gods,’ said Thoss with a dismissive wave of his claw. ‘Gods for this. Gods for that. They are a most curious people. I find them intriguing.’
The Doctor smiled humourlessly. ‘But not intriguing enough to let them survive?’
Thoss turned his gaze to the little stranger and, for the first time, there was a trace of steel in his voice.
‘A war has been fought, Doctor. A war the Ismetch have won. We are not barbarians. If the Cutch wish to survive they must adapt to our practices.’
The Doctor rubbed his eyes tiredly. ‘Well, conversion of heathens aside, Thoss, you may have other problems. When I arrived here, I noticed a few anomalies in your planet’s readings…’
‘“When the earth turns over in its sleep and the rain turns to stone”,’ interrupted Thoss, his voice dropping to a whisper. ‘“Then the Keth shall come again. And come. And come”.’
The Doctor’s eyes brightened. ‘The Keth?’
Thoss straightened up as much as his crooked old back would allow. ‘All this was foreseen thousands of years ago, Doctor. The texts speak of it. The war. The round engines filling the air. The end of all things.’
‘That’s what I wanted to tell you,’ said the Doctor gravely. ‘You may not be far wrong.’
* * *
Bernice Summerfield felt sick. A prickling sensation stole over her scalp as she gazed at the sight before her with ill‐disguised terror.
‘You’re not getting me up in that thing,’ she breathed hoarsely.
The young soldier appointed to deal with her merely grunted and dragged her further into the clearing.
An area about half a mile in diameter had been cleared, the horse‐tail trees and fecund outcrops of giant‐leaved plants cropped or incinerated.
In the centre of the scorched earth stood the dirigible, three bladder‐like balloons strung together under a kind of coppery mesh. A fragile‐looking gondola was slung underneath.
As Bernice advanced gingerly towards it, the dirigible began to hover upwards, the motion of its brass propellers flattening the new shoots of the already recovering jungle.
The soldier pointed to the gondola with his claw. ‘Inside.’
Reluctantly, Bernice clambered through a hatchway into the gondola. It was about the size of her old room back at college, with panels of unreassuringly crude instrumentation taking up most of the space. She thought briefly of the mechanical splendour of the Silurian airships and decided that technology, no matter how alien, always made her feel more secure.
As if to confirm her fears, the dirigible gave a sudden lurch, slightly unbalancing the five other Ismetch who were fussing at the controls.
Only one stood aloof, his broad back turned defiantly away from her. Liso spoke without turning round.
‘I am ordered to return to Porsim, our capital, in order to find out what is going on there. I am ordered to take you along with me to ensure the co‐operation of the animal known as “Doctor” and