Doctor Who_ The City of the Dead - Lloyd Rose [100]
The idea was for Rust's consciousness to supplant his. But here he was.
The Doctor gently rotated until he was right side up. The old man's tiny eyes were darting around the room, glittering in panic. The Doctor spotted the charm on the table. This must be Pierre Bal, then, the Lyon collector.
Everything would be so easy if he could just snatch up the charm and go, pulled back to Rust like a lure on a fishing line. But the Doctor could tell that wasn't possible, that his ability to perform physical actions was severely constrained, even with his power and Rust's skill combined. He might move the charm within the room, but he could never carry it back to New Orleans. The Doctor felt Rust's frustration moving up and down his spine like a series of small electric shocks. Best give it up, he advised silently, but he had little faith in his persuasiveness, even assuming Rust could in some way 'hear' him.
He turned his head and looked at the shelf of books nearest him. Abra-Melin. Paracelsus. De Rerum Varietate. The usual, though in exceptionally fine editions. He wondered if it would be possible actually to lift one from the shelf. He was just reaching out when the pain clutched his back. He writhed like a cat held by the scruff of its neck. The pangs surged up his spine and shot through to the bones of his face. He sobbed. I'm not going to do it, he raged soundlessly. / will not! He was turning, being turned, almost lazily towards his target. / will not! But he knew he would. Rust was strong and frighteningly ybcwsed. He hung skewered on that savage will like a body jammed on a meat hook.
Desperately, the Doctor twisted to face the bookshelves. Was there anything he could hold on to? Would it even help if he could? He grabbed for an unlit lamp bracketed to the shelves but before he could reach it his back arched like a bow, throwing his head back, snapping his teeth together. Slowly he turned in the air. You cannot make me! -he no longer knew whether he was raging or pleading. You cannot make me do this!
And then a response, the faintest whisper, hardly a noise at all, pierced his mind:
What's one more time?
An instant later anyone watching would have thought, puzzled, that they were witnessing some cinematic special effect as, for no discernible reason, M. Bal's chest ruptured and his heart popped out.
'What happened?' Rust was shouting. 'Tell me!'
The Doctor sprawled on the hearth. Rust had a knee in his stomach and was slapping his head back and forth. The Doctor caught his arm.
'Tell me,' Rust breathed. 'I was blind. Did you do it? Is he dead?' The Doctor only glared. Rust looked at the hand clenched around his wrist.
'Never mind,' he whispered. 'I see. You tore his heart out for me. My bird of prey. My peregrine falcon.'
The Doctor saw that his hand was shiny with blood. He let go of Rust as if he'd been burned.
'Get off of me!' he roared. 'Don't touch me!'
Rust lithely stood up. The Doctor rolled into a shuddering ball and moaned.
The sound went on and on, longer than a human being could have sustained it, longer than Rust could stand. He grabbed the Doctor's hair, wrenching him up.
'Shut up!'
The Doctor's head snapped around and Rust jerked back as if he were dodging a bite. 'You!' The Doctor seized Rust's collar. 'You made me '
Then he saw an expression in Rust's eyes so unfamiliar it stopped him.
Fear.
The Doctor let go. Rust immediately backed away. The Doctor stared at his hand, then began to wipe it frantically on his trouser leg.
'You can't do it,' Rust said. His voice was oddly distant. 'All the perfumes of Arabia couldn't clean that hand. I was in there. With you. I saw it all.'
The Doctor froze. 'No wonder you've forgotten. "After such knowledge, what forgiveness?"' The Doctor raised his anguished face. "That's why the shadow found you so easily. Bone to your bone.'
'No ' the Doctor said hollowly.
Rust shrugged, though the fear remained at the back of his eyes. 'It's not me you need to