Doctor Who_ The Bodysnatchers - Mark Morris [21]
He headed towards what appeared to be the main building, and entered via one of several doors. He found himself walking directly on to the shop floor, where the roar and the heat and the smell of hot metal swept over him in a wave. Though Seers's factory, compared with others, was as clean as it could be, and its workers well catered for, it still seemed like a living depiction of one kind of hell. The machines, dominating ninety per cent of the floor space, were a dark, oily mass of pistons, pulleys, levers and cogs.
The workers, standing in their narrow aisles, tending the machines, were thin and shabbily dressed, their pale, blank faces shiny with sweat, their eyes wide and staring. As a slab of daylight accompanied the Doctor into the building, shining through his long, curly hair in a glowing corona, one woman nearby turned and glanced at him for a moment, then looked almost fearfully away.
The Doctor closed the door behind him and approached the woman.
Though she did not acknowledge his presence directly, he saw her shoulders tense as he stepped up behind her.
'Excuse me,' he bellowed into her ear.
She flinched and half turned, her eyes flickers of fear, and he saw her mouth form the words, 'Yes, sir?'
'I'm sorry to trouble you. I wonder if you can help me. I'm inquiring about a man named Tom Donahue. I believe he worked here up until a few weeks ago. Did you know him, by any chance?'
The woman's eyes now seemed to be wanting to retreat like small, scared animals into the dark hollows of her eye sockets.
She shook her head slightly. 'No, sir.'
'Do you know of anyone who might have known him?'
'No, sir.'
'Then I won't trouble you any further. Many thanks for your help.'
The Doctor moved on, leaving the woman - who evidently was not used to being treated with such politeness and respect - gaping incredulously after him.
For the next few minutes the Doctor strolled along the aisles, questioning men and women at random. Nearly all reacted with the same fearful caution, and, though some were a little more forthcoming, he could find none who would admit to knowing Tom Donahue.
He had spoken to some two dozen people, and was currently questioning a youth of perhaps seventeen with a cluster of sores on his lips, whose gaze remained fixed on the pattern of the Doctor's waistcoat, when he became aware of someone standing at his shoulder. He turned and saw a squat, red-faced man whose sandy moustache and tousled hair were dark with grime.The man, who had evidently left his post, was glancing nervously around him, twirling a ragged cap in his stubby hands.
'Hello,' said the Doctor reassuringly.'Can I help you?
'Understand you was asking about Tom Donahue, sir?' the man shouted, just loud enough to be heard above the roar of the machines.
'Indeed I was. Did you know him?'
The man nodded. 'Reckon I did, sir. It was him what got me this job here.
But if you've come looking for him, sir, he ain't here. He had an accident a few weeks back, just before Christmas, and Mr Seers dismissed him on account of the fact that he was unable to work.'
'Ah,' said the Doctor. 'It was his hand he injured, wasn't it?'
'Yes, sir Proper mess it was. I was one of the ones who took him to the hospital, sir. There was blood all over the place.'
The Doctor thought of the bloodless, mangled corpse back at the Limehouse mortuary. 'What kind of a fellow would you say Tom Donahue was, Mr...?'
'Whitney, sir. But I'm not sure as I get your drift.'
'Well, would you say, for instance, Mr Whitney, that Tom Donahue was given to flights of fancy? Would you say that he was... unstable in any way?'
Whitney pushed out his lips, causing his moustache to bristle.'No, sir.
Leastways, not that you'd