Doctor Who_ The Algebra of Ice - Lloyd Rose [76]
‘Nothing good. But I can fix it.’
Unwin handed him the jacket. The Doctor searched frantically through the pockets. Unwin sat on the bed, then lay down. He began to snore. The Doctor found the laser and severed the handcuff’s chain. Quickly refilling his pockets, he gave Unwin a nudge. No response. Completely unconscious.
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The Algebra of Ice
The Doctor stood and pulled on his jacket, biting his lip. ‘Unwin,’ he hissed.
He followed the hiss with a couple of slaps and a good shake. ‘Unwin, it’s you he’ll kill now. You have to come with me. Wake up.’ Reluctantly, he found and pressed a cluster of nerves in Unwin’s neck. The only reaction was a small jerk.
The Doctor shook him again. ‘Wake up!’ Useless. The Doctor tried to lift him, but the dead weight was too awkward for a good grip. There was no way he’d ever get him out the window and away. But to leave Unwin here was to kill him.
Of course, there were advantages to that.
The Doctor abruptly stepped back, as if Unwin were infected. The computations were finished, he told himself, Unwin’s work done – there was no need for him to die. He couldn’t do any further damage. Except. . . The Doctor had begun to sweat again. . . except, possibly, with that mysterious second set of equations. A back-up if the first set failed? Ethan had said he didn’t think Unwin could solve those, but that was no guarantee. The equations might not even be dangerous. But there was no guarantee of that either. Without realising it, the Doctor had been backing away from Unwin. Now he hit the wall.
Beside him was the window. In front of him lay a man he almost certainly couldn’t carry through the snow but who would certainly die if he left him. ‘He meant no harm,’ the Doctor muttered. But harm had been done. And would be done. And whatever could stop it must be done. The Doctor raised the window, swung a leg over the sill, and dropped into the night.
‘It’s bloody cold,’ said Ace. ‘Why are we out in the cold like this?’
‘Because we’re drunk,’ Ethan explained.
They were walking, with a somewhat casual approach to direction, along the snowy street, having searched every inn in the village for the Doctor. At the final one, they’d sat down to rest and consumed some warming drinks, the exact number of which temporarily escaped Ethan.
‘I’m not drunk!’ she said indignantly.
‘As you like.’
‘In Perivale, I used to put back twice that of an evening.’
‘As you may have noticed, we’re not in Perivale. There’s an altitude difference. And cheap ale isn’t exactly as strong as what you’ve been having.’
‘Bollocks,’ she sniffed. ‘I’m well sober.’
If there were any justice, Ethan thought, she would now slip and fall. But she continued agilely on. They passed lozange-paned windows glowing warmly Chapter Eighteen
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gold; the cold modern glare of the corner streetlights was dulled behind curtains of snow. A thick-maned pony passed by, pulling a wagon-sled of milk canisters, its bundled-up owner hurrying beside it.
‘You ought to tell me about this maths stuff sometime.’
‘Next time you need to get to sleep.’
‘No, I’m serious. I hated maths in school, but you’re talking about a whole other thing, aren’t you?’
‘All right,’ he said resignedly. ‘But you won’t like it.’
She took his hand.
Using a torch from his pocket, the Doctor picked his way among low-hanging branches. Should he have attempted to retrieve the disk? No. Brett probably had it with him. A branch dropped its snow down his neck. He must get that umbrella back. Of course, he didn’t want to run into Brett again, who might go up to the glacier and start scrabbling desperately beneath the snow, trying to find the obstructing tin lid. More luck to him. The adage about the needle and the haystack came to mind. And as long as any circle was on their landing field, they were blocked.
Of course, that only meant that the whole operation would move again, as soon as this weak spot closed up. Brett needed to be hobbled. But Brett was nothing