Doctor Who_ The Banquo Legacy - Andy Lane [88]
‘Caught him in the shoulder,’ the Doctor continued. I wondered if I had missed anything he had said. He scratched the side of his head and I saw his hands were red. Was that my blood? There seemed an awful lot of it.
‘Bind it with this,’ said Hopkinson, waving a handkerchief. ‘It should cover the wound.’
They busied themselves with their task and as they did so I could feel myself drifting back to full consciousness.
‘You’re lucky, sir,’ said Baker, bending over me. ‘The bullet came out of the other side. Missed the shoulder bone, fortunately.’
‘At least while they’re besieging us they can’t get at Susan, Kreiner and Simpson,’ said Hopkinson looking towards the door. I became aware of a familiar hammering.
‘Yes, but for how long?’ I asked muzzily. ‘They are just as trapped as we are.’
The Doctor, Baker and Hopkinson continued their conversation, but I lost interest and drifted in and out of consciousness. At some stage the hammering on the door stopped, but I don’t know when. Time ceased to have any meaning for me.
Eventually, half an hour or half a day later, I came back into consciousness temporarily to hear Hopkinson ask, ‘Haven’t you got any idea what’s happening out there, Sergeant?’
‘There’s some movement, sir,’ came Baker’s heavy voice, ‘but I can’t tell what it’s all about. Nothing good, though, I’ll be bound.’
‘You surprise me,’ muttered Hopkinson. I tried to say something, but all that came out was a croak. My throat was dry, and a dull ache had settled across my forehead like an iron band. Hopkinson reached for a decanter of water and poured out a glass. A layer of dust drifted across the surface. He raised it to my lips and I sipped, grateful for the coolness.
The three of them had raised me on to one of the couches that made up the barrier across the French windows while I had been unconscious. Now they helped me to sit up. My arm had been strapped across my chest with strips of material cut from the curtain. Ingenious, and probably the Doctor’s idea. Underneath the rough bandages and Hopkinson’s handkerchief there was a lot of dried blood. The shoulder and arm were numb, thank God, but the effort of sitting up caused little spots of fresh crimson to appear on the handkerchief, welling up from the wound below.
‘Better than it looks, sir,’ comforted Baker.
‘She’s still out there,’ said Hopkinson.
‘And presumably her brother is still outside the window?’
‘Yes, just standing there.’
‘Then there’s only one chance, isn’t there?’ I said weakly. Hopkinson gave me a look that plainly said he thought I was delirious.
It was good old Baker who said, ‘What’s that then, sir?’
‘The chimney.’
‘The… Are you serious?’ replied Hopkinson aghast.
The Doctor merely looked at me and smiled. ‘Why didn’t I think of that? If I remember correctly the study is next door, and the fireplace in the study is on this side of the room – the opposite side of that wall.’
I started to speak, but broke off into a fit of dry coughing. Hopkinson refilled the glass and replied for me.
‘It’s possible that the two fireplaces are connected,’ he said, following my reasoning. ‘They might share a chimney flu once they’ve started upwards.’
Baker finally got it. ‘You mean you could climb from one room…’
‘…into the other. Exactly.’
I felt well enough to continue, and said, ‘Then you can get out through the study windows.’
‘Me again?’ said Hopkinson.
‘Both of us, Mr Hopkinson,’ the Doctor agreed. ‘I’m used to being in tight squeezes.’
‘Well, I can’t manage with just one arm,’ I said, ‘and with all due respect I’m not sure Baker could get up the chimney too easily.’
Hopkinson considered briefly. ‘All right, then. Give us a hand, will you, Sergeant?’
‘Right-ho, sir. Do you want a light of some sort?’
‘No, I think it’ll be easier to climb without.’
While I remained propped upright on the couch, Baker, the Doctor and Hopkinson walked over to the