Doctor Who_ St. Anthony's Fire - Mark Gatiss [53]
‘Quickly!’ Liso screamed up at her. The throbbing roar of the black ship and the fire‐storm hundreds of feet below raged at her senses.
Bernice looked from right to left, to Porsim beneath, and then straight out in front of her.
‘Well,’ she mumbled to herself, ‘it’s not been a bad life. Quite interesting in places.’
She hurled herself off the dirigible. There was a brief, giddy, horrifying moment which seemed to last forever, her arms and legs windmilling as she dropped. The night and the stench of smoke shot past her and she slammed onto the back of the other dirigible.
Immediately, she hooked her arms and legs into the mesh, struggling for purchase. She almost bit into the balloon’s outer skin.
Suddenly there was an arm around her waist. Her eyes flicked upwards. Liso was holding her.
‘You made it,’ he whispered hoarsely. ‘Well done.’
He was on his feet in an instant, crouching low as he made his way towards the rear of the vessel.
Bernice stayed where she was for a while, breathing in grateful sobs of air, then scrambled to her feet, feeling inordinately pleased with herself. She ran towards Liso, her flushed face bathed in a sheen of sweat.
Liso was already at the copter, checking over its wooden and brass structure as best he could in the near darkness.
‘Is it coming any nearer?’ he asked.
Bernice couldn’t help but look up, although the black ship was virtually indistinguishable from the night sky. The pounding throb of its engines, however, made its presence all too obvious.
‘I don’t know,’ confessed Bernice. ‘I think so.’
Liso’s claws fumbled over the copter’s moorings. ‘There’s not much time. Get in.’
Deciding that she could no longer be fazed by anything, Bernice clambered into the rear of the three seats inside the copter. The same short runway of parallel brass tracks was laid out over the back of the balloon. As Liso hopped inside the machine and started the engines, they slid along them towards empty air.
‘Hold on!’ he called. Bernice clung to her seat, gritted her teeth and screwed up her eyes. The tiny craft trundled towards the edge of the dirigible, its blades chopping noisily through the air.
In the middle of a fervent prayer, Bernice realized they were airborne.
Liso swung the craft downwards and they swooped over the devastation of Porsim, leaving the three dirigibles to their fate.
The light from the fires made the Portrone’s face light up warmly. ‘Are you all right?’ he asked, twisting round in his seat.
‘Yes. Yes, I am,’ said Bernice with relief. It could have been her imagination, but was that genuine concern in Liso’s voice?
* * *
pain – hard cold pain – arms held down – tight – too tight – hurts – cold stone – water – dripping – somewhere – somewhere – someone – screaming – hands over hands – digging – scraping – pressure – on eyes – behind eyes – deep pain – pain – black pain – lightning – fire – oh, the fire – christ the fire!
The woman sat bolt upright in her tiny bed, breathing in great choking gulps. She pressed a hand to her face and forced herself to calm down. She could feel her eyelashes brushing against the sweating palms of her hands.
Where were these visions coming from? Had she so sinned, so offended Saint Anthony that she was to be tortured by demons now?
The woman stretched and got out of bed. As her bare feet clapped onto the stone floor, she noticed the livid bruising on her wrists and ankles. Could these have anything to do with her visions?
Something nagged at her mind, something terribly important that she should not have forgotten.
The door was suddenly flung open and, framed in the doorway, stood the tiny figure of Parva De Hooch. He flexed his sausage‐like fingers as his beady eyes took in the woman’s nubile body.
She made a grab for her hessian robe but then remembered that personal modesty was a sin. Instead she stood bold and upright, her head bowed slightly in the Parva’s presence.
‘That is good, my child. We are all of us naked in the eyes of Saint Anthony.