Doctor Who_ The City of the Dead - Lloyd Rose [91]
'A lightning ball.' Rust gently passed the object from one hand to another.
'There were all sorts. Blue and clear ones. Ones made of milk glass.
Different patterns too. They fit down over lightning rods. Just decorative, really. No practical purpose. But every one of them -' he raised the sphere and looked into it - 'has held the lightning.'
He lifted his eyes and the Doctor followed his gaze. Above them, in the shadows of the tall ceiling, a dozen of the glass balls were slowly spinning.
Each of them glowed dimly, as if it caged fireflies.
'So,' said Rust, standing up. 'I figured they were fit to hold you.' He tossed the ball lightly into the air and it settled among its fellows and began to turn. 'Or at least your psychic energy'
'Artron,' the Doctor corrected automatically, watching the little globes. He fancied he could hear the noise they made as they spun, a sweet musical hum. The song of his self. No. That would have more dissonance. That would shatter the glass. 'So now what? Mrs Flood, as we knew her, has gone back to where she came from.'
'For the time being.'
'Oh give it up!' said the Doctor impatiently. 'You can't do it. Your father had you to use as a medium.'
'I have you.'
'I'm not a child,' murmured the Doctor. Rust was caught by his eyes, ancient and innocent, pale as the moon. 'What are you doing, Rust, Delesormes, Alan, August? Can't you tell me? I'm your prisoner, I can't hurt you. Come over here and sit down, talk to me face to face. Tell me what you want, what dream you're dreaming. What your thoughts are when no one knows what you're thinking.'
At this point Rust, who had sunk down beside him, grabbed him by the throat and smacked his head into the wall. The Doctor gasped and choked.
Rust jerked him close. 'If you do that again, I'll put your eyes out. Do you understand me?'
'Yes,' the Doctor croaked. Rust flung him aside and got to his feet. 'You can spend the rest of your time here tied and blindfolded. Is that what you want?'
'And how long a time is that?' the Doctor rasped. 'Surely you're not implying I'm actually going to get out of here. Alive, that is.'
Rust clenched his teeth angrily and walked away to the end of the room.
The Doctor lay on his side, catching his breath and massaging his throat.
'That tree fell that night; Rust said, looking out of the window. "That's how I know when we are. That and the dinosaur poster. I got the dinosaur bug when I was three.'
The Doctor had sat up shakily against the wall. Now he was breathing slowly and deeply, gazing up at the rotating spheres. Almost imperceptibly, they began to turn more slowly. He returned his eyes to Rust, still waiting, as he had been since he'd woken, to be recognised. 'How much do you remember? About that night?'
'Some of it vividly. The rest not at all. I was so young.'
'When did you start to age?'
'Not until I started practising seriously.' Rust remained at the window. 'It's not just how I look. Everything's wearing out. My heart's no good. My prostate's the size of a golf ball. I suppose I should count myself lucky I don't have haemorrhoids yet.' He turned back to the Doctor. 'You don't really age, do you?'
'I do, I think. But very slowly by human standards.'
'How long since you lost your memory?'
'About a hundred years.'
'You hardly seem forty,' Rust said in awe. 'Can you even die?'
The Doctor was silent for a while. 'Yes,' he said finally.
'You don't sound very certain.'
'I am, though. I'm as certain as if I'd died once already' The Doctor smiled vaguely. 'Isn't that strange?'
'You're strange altogether,' Rust said. 'You're the damnedest thing I've ever run across, and I've run across some things.'
'Oh, I'll bet you have,' murmured the Doctor. His eyes were far away.
'Looks can be deceiving. As you know. I think Mrs Flood is an excellent example.'
'Did she look like they said? Like a kid?'