Doctor Who_ St. Anthony's Fire - Mark Gatiss [47]
Liso regarded her with his eye and bit into his thin black lips. ‘No. I don’t believe it is.’
‘What’re we going to do?’
Liso stroked his socket in his familiar way. ‘If we can get sufficiently far away to see –’
‘But it’s following us!’ she cried. ‘Whatever it is. Don’t you have any weapons? Or was this purely a pleasure cruise?’
The helmsman swung round, peering into the darkness. ‘It’s… er, she’s right, sir. It’s shadowing us. As soon as we move back it seems to alter its position. I could bring the starboard guns to bear.’
‘No,’ said Liso flatly. ‘It’s pointless unless we know what we’re firing at.’
Bernice stiffened suddenly. ‘What’s that? Can you –’
There was a tangible change in the atmosphere.
‘It’s getting hotter,’ said the helmsman.
Liso looked about, his crest bathed in glutinous sweat. ‘The fire from Porsim, that’s all. Bound to affect us.’
‘No,’ said Bernice in a frightened whisper. ‘Look.’
Outside the window, a strange, ghostly light was refracting off the rattling glass like a torch beam. In an instant, the glass fragmented and the beams of light shot through, prodding at every available surface.
The helmsman threw a terrified look at his commander. Liso looked round wildly and then bellowed, ‘Take us down! Quick, man!’
The cabin was suddenly alive with shouted orders as the crew surged around the gondola.
‘No good, sir. It’s forcing us down. We’ll crash before we can make landfall.’
Liso clenched his claws together, his gloves creaking. With a hiss of anger, he spat out his next order: ‘Very well. You know what you must do.’
The crew stood suddenly to attention at their posts and saluted.
‘Try and get to ground level,’ said Liso with regret. ‘Good luck.’
‘For the Greater Glory!’ chorused the crew. Liso saluted and walked swiftly to the rear of the cabin.
‘Hang on!’ shouted Bernice. ‘Where’re you going?’
Liso ignored her and opened up the hatchway which led into the heart of the balloon.
Bernice looked at the stoic faces of the crew, illuminated red by the fires of Porsim below.
‘There’s a distinct whiff of martyrdom in the air,’ she muttered to herself. ‘I think I’ll stick with the winning side.’
Without further hesitation, she dashed after the one‐eyed Portrone, squeezing herself through the hatch and entering a gangplanked area of enormous size. In the darkness, she could just see the gas‐filled balloons which held the ship aloft glinting dully beneath a fine mesh of copper, similar to that which covered the exterior skin of the vessel. Four catwalks spread through the chamber towards the ceiling.
Bernice squinted and gave a little cry of satisfaction. Perched on one of the catwalks was Liso.
Another hatchway was fixed into the outer skin of the dirigible. As he threw it open, wind howled through the ship and the tremendous roaring of their unknown assailant blocked out all other sound.
Liso swung his legs through the hatch and began to clamber outside.
Bernice raced after him through the darkness, tottering over the narrow catwalks, the deadly bags of gas only a few feet below. She clambered hand over hand to the hatchway.
‘Hang on!’ she called. ‘I’m coming with you!’
Liso looked back and almost smiled. ‘I’m sorry, beast. I must return to my command. The men can take their chances. It is the received wisdom that officers must survive.’
Bernice staggered towards him, her hands gripping the hatchway determinedly. ‘But we don’t know what’s happening.’
Liso looked out into empty air, at the fire raging below and, finally revealed, at an impossibly vast black ship, hovering half a mile above them.
‘Don’t we?’ he said in an awed whisper.
Bernice swallowed hard.
The ship was phenomenally sized, its sleek structure mottled with strange spiny protuberances. Massive engines took up most of the stern but the bow was shaped into a kind of clawed hollow like a crab’s pincer. The smoke‐filled night air was swirling like diabolical sulphur all around it.
Bernice looked down out of the hatchway. Another dirigible was directly below them. The third, above