Doctor Who_ The Banquo Legacy - Andy Lane [87]
‘How do you –’
‘Never mind that. Can it?’
‘I think so. So long as I don’t fall on it.’ He still looked puzzled and I confess I rather enjoyed his confusion.
‘The hall could still be dangerous,’ I said confidently. ‘You can leave through the French windows. We’ll barricade them after you. I’ll light you a lamp before you go.’
Hopkinson moved towards the windows. The Doctor moved with him. I looked at him quizzically.
‘I’m going with him,’ he said in a tone that brooked no argument. ‘After all, I’m dead already. What else can happen to me?’
I looked around the drawing room. There were two ornamental oil lamps on the mantelpiece. I hoped they were more than just ornaments and crossed to the fireplace.
Behind me the French windows exploded open.
Flailing his arms wildly, Richard Harries staggered into the room. Snow had built up on his shoulders, his head and the folds of his jacket, and the skin had started to peel from his face in long strips. With an inarticulate noise he lunged for the first person in his field of view. The Doctor.
‘Quick, sir,’ yelled Baker as the Doctor fell back with Harries’s hands clamped around his throat. ‘Do something.’
His words snapped me out of my frozen horror and I reached for the nearest heavy object and threw it at Harries. The impact of the heavy oil lamp knocked him back a few paces in a flurry of snow. Before he moved towards the Doctor again, Harries quite calmly crumpled the oil lamp into a useless mass before throwing it with venomous force at my head. I ducked and the brass weapon tore into the painting that we had placed on the table after removing the chain. The canvass ripped directly across the face and body of the portrait, knocking it to the floor.
My eyes focused on the table.
‘Baker, over here,’ I shouted. Baker lumbered over and together we picked up the table, one on either side. Harries was almost on to the Doctor as we staggered towards them, but he turned towards us as he caught sight of the movement. The heavy table hit Harries squarely in the chest. The momentum carried both him and us back towards the French windows. Harries was pushed inexorably out into the grounds, and Baker and I released the table as soon as he was over the threshold. The front two legs caught on the sill and the table cartwheeled its way after Harries.
While the Doctor recovered his breath and Hopkinson shut the windows again, Baker and I pushed all the furniture in the room over against them. After a few seconds we stood back, confident that Harries would take some time to smash his way through the barrier. Little if anything of the French windows was visible.
‘Wait a second,’ I said. ‘If Harries is out there…’ I didn’t complete my train of thought. If I had, perhaps someone would have stopped me. I thought that if Harries was outside, then his sister would be as well – controlling his body. But I had not thought far enough along that track, so I crossed quietly to the door and said, ‘Over here, quickly.’
I opened the door ‐
To find Catherine Harries directly in front of me with George Wallace’s gun pointed straight at my face.
She fired.
Perhaps I moved slightly. Perhaps the weapon jumped in her hand. Revolvers are notoriously inaccurate and Catherine Harries was inexperienced in their use. Maybe killing a person with her own hands was far more difficult than using her brother’s. I don’t know. The period between seeing Catherine Harries pointing a weapon at me that could easily take my head off and waking up with Hopkinson and the Doctor looming over me like mountains and the door securely locked is a blank in my mind. I cannot even remember the gun going off.
‘How is he?’ whispered Hopkinson. At least, I think he whispered. My mind seemed to be wrapped in layer upon layer of wool and my left shoulder ached like a rotting tooth.
‘No lasting effects,’ said the Doctor. His voice was louder. Did that mean he was closer, or was I coming back to consciousness? Or perhaps his voice was naturally louder than Hopkinson’s. I tried