Doctor Who_ The City of the Dead - Lloyd Rose [37]
Dupre turned his head. His eyes were like molten obsidian. He said, 'I did it.'
'Right,' said the Doctor briskly. He stood up, lightly brushed himself down, and headed for the stairs. At the door, he turned. 'At least stop telling that silly story about the "casket girls". "Casket" is an old word for a box. Those women - who weren't prostitutes, by the way - were each given a little box of goods and money by the French king in thanks for immigrating here to be wives, and naturally they brought those boxes with them. That's what the nickname means. Nothing to do with coffins.'
Dupre just glared. The Doctor sighed and left him again.
The girl with the chartreuse shoes - whose name, when she reluctantly gave it, turned out to be Amy - lived west of the city in Kenner, so the Doctor drove her there. She wasn't inclined to conversation and he kept his mouth shut. He knew that with adolescents advice, even when sincerely meant, was bound to be taken as a criticism or an attempt to run their lives.
Where had he learned that, exactly? Not from Miranda. He had the distinct impression of having known a human teenaged girl well for several years.
Had there been another daughter once? A granddaughter? Had he once been married to a woman that young? It seemed extremely unlikely, given even the apparent age difference, yet he had an elusive sense of intimacy.
The image of a handsome dark-haired girl flashed into his mind. When it flashed out again, he didn't try to follow it. His memory was always throwing these teasing hints his way, and pursuing them always led straight into a wall. He'd stopped wasting his time.
Kenner was a blandly unremarkable suburb, Amy lived on a tree-lined street in a brick house almost identical to its neighbours. She jumped out as soon as the Doctor stopped the car, but he insisted on walking her to the door and being sure she got in. He watched in the light from the door lamp as she searched her handbag for keys. She was quite pretty, with short dark hair and green eyes. He wanted to say something to her, something like, 'It will be all right.' But he had no idea whether it would be all right.
'Thanks,' she mumbled, not looking up, as the lock clicked. She pushed the door open, slipped quickly in, and closed it, but not before the Doctor glimpsed a middle-aged woman lying in a drunken stupor on a couch in the bluish glare of a television set. An on-screen announcer was yelling'- only forty-nine dollars and ninety-five cents! Only forty-nine, ninety-five! Yes, this incredible offer can be yours for -'. The door shut. Probably it wasn't going to be all right.
PART TWO
Memory Lane
"The dead past isn't dead. It isn't even past.' - William Faulkner Chapter Eight
The Starling's Lament
The Doctor was still depressed when he returned to his room at Owl. He didn't bother to turn on the lights but just went and lay down on the bed, fully clothed, gazing unseeingly towards the ceiling. What had happened at Dupre's? Was it his presence and brief unconsciousness alone that had caused the manifestation? Or did Dupre really have some sort of natural gift that the Doctor's being there had augmented? Was Dupre his hunter, and therefore his quarry? He seemed too stupid for the task, but perhaps he was a variant on the idiot savant. Why not? II n'y a pas des sots si incommodes que ceux ont de I'esprit. A talent for magic? would be like a talent for music or mathematics, independent of other brain functionings, and of what human beings called character.
But if that were the case, why had Dupre been so excited and surprised?
Whoever was after him was controlling that - the Doctor wasn't sure what to call it - that& void. Unless Dupre had just clumsily let something loose that was now off on its own track, a heat-seeking missile set to the Doctor's unhuman temperature. Or perhaps Chic had unleashed some force and died before he was able to send it back. Was something going on with Thales? How did Flood fit in? What about Teddy Acree? The Doctor hadn't been able to