Doctor Who_ The Gallifrey Chronicles - Lance Parkin [12]
Trix smiled. ‘Yeah, I knew that. He didn’t, though.’
‘Damn,’ said Fitz. ‘Now I owe her a fiver. So. . . what’s your plan?’
The creature looked at them suspiciously, then clearly decided they weren’t a threat. ‘I am Thorgan of the Sulumians. Three hundred and seventeen thousand years from now, your human species will encroach on our domain in the eighth dimension. I have a sacred vow to deflect the course of human history to stop that incursion. And what I will do tonight will prevent the Treaty of Brundusium from ever being signed.’ He gave a triumphant laugh.
‘Eh?’ Fitz replied, speaking for both himself and Trix.
‘If the treaty isn’t signed, Octavian will never divorce Scribonia!’ the monster explained.
‘Eh?’
The creature’s eyes narrowed. ‘So he won’t marry Livia.’
Fitz shrugged. He looked over to Trix, who shrugged in turn.
Thorgan waved a hoof impatiently. ‘Don’t you see? If that happens, then Antonius won’t be allotted the eastern imperial territories, and won’t abandon Octavia for Cleopatra VII.’
‘I’ve heard of Cleopatra,’ Fitz said helpfully. ‘I didn’t realise there were seven of her, though.’
‘Oh, come on – none of this is exactly obscure,’ the creature growled.
Trix was also puzzled. ‘Brian Blessed!’ she exclaimed finally.
‘Eh?’ Fitz repeated.
‘He played Augustus in I, Claudius,’ Trix told him.
‘Eh? I thought he was on about Octavian?’
‘They’re the same person,’ the creature said, clearly aggravated. ‘After he wins the Battle of Actium, he renames himself Augustus.’
‘That’s a gross simplification of the history,’ the Doctor said. He was standing behind the creature, and had changed back into his normal, velvet frock-coat.
‘But exactly what I’ve come to expect from a Sulumian.’
‘Doc-tor!’ the creature snarled. ‘I might have known.’
27
The Doctor moved to shake the monster’s hoof. ‘Hello, Thorgan. I’d offer you a jelly baby but, you know: gelatine.’ He glanced at the hoof then let go of it, a little embarrassed. ‘Gosh, it must be – what? – minus twelve hundred years since I saw you last.’
‘Pisa,’ Thorgan replied.
‘There’s no need to be like that, he was only saying –’ Fitz chipped in.
The Doctor pointed at the mule-man. ‘Thorgan was trying to kill Fibonacci before he wrote the Liber quadratorum. Imagine it, Trix: western culture without the ability to solve diophantine equations of the second degree.’
‘Why, the whole face of human history would have been changed,’ she dead-panned.
‘Yes,’ Thorgan cackled. ‘And I vowed when you defeated me then, Doc-tor, that there would be a reckoning.’
He tugged a small silver box from his belt and held it in his hoof.
‘Before I discreate you, Doc-tor, I will allow you to watch as I detonate the strontium grenade I planted in the peristyle of Octavian’s villa.’
‘I understood some of that!’ Fitz announced happily. ‘Watch out, Doctor, he’s got a bomb!’
‘Don’t do it Thorgan.’
‘Too late. . . Doc-tor!’ The mule-man squeezed the control box.
‘Run,’ the Doctor suggested to Fitz and Trix, already practising what he preached.
There was a huge, sharp explosion behind them, and they were showered with a combination of mosaic tiles, plaster and a smattering of minced mule.
‘You usually give a bit more warning than that,’ Trix complained, brushing debris from her shoulder and turning back to look at the crater.
‘Sorry,’ the Doctor said sheepishly. ‘I managed to plant –’
‘– the grenade on Thorgan when –’ Fitz interrupted,
‘– you shook his hoof,’ Trix finished.
The Doctor looked a little crestfallen. ‘Oh.’
‘As long as he didn’t see it coming,’ Trix said. ‘That’s all that matters.’
‘We should get back to the TARDIS,’ the Doctor said.
‘Don’t you want to check the villa, to make sure everyone’s OK?’ Trix asked.
Fitz brightened. ‘Yeah, perhaps we could go to the org– the villa, after all?’
‘Fitz. . . ’ Trix warned gently.
‘Don’t worry. We’d only observe, not interfere,’ he assured her.
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