Doctor Who_ The Infinity Doctors - Lance Parkin [10]
Peltroc thought about elephants, and wondered how they could possibly play four-dimensional snooker.
He shook his head. What was that all about?
Holding the cues would present a particular challenge, and they’d probably object on moral grounds if the balls were made of ivory.
As he moved to sit down, his chair was kicked away from him. There was something sharp at his throat before he’d hit the ground.
‘This is a force knife. It can cut through anything. In the right hands it can split an –’
‘– an atom,’ Peltroc stammered. ‘I know. I’ve just had this conversation.’
The knife blade pressed into his skin, drawing blood. ‘Then you should know to treat whoever is holding one with respect.’ The voice was calm, too calm to be natural.
‘Release the mental blocks.’
The hand holding the knife drew back a little, giving Peltroc his first glimpse of his attacker. Black cotton gloves, loose sleeves in heavy grey material. The hum of the knife filled the air, hovering like a wasp over his neck.
Realisation dawned over Peltroc. ‘Oh, now I get it. You were trying to read my mind, and you couldn’t. You just saw gibberish. Elephants, was it?’
The man stepped back. He was wearing a thick grey cloak that swamped his body. His head was concealed beneath a heavy hood. ‘All the Chancellery Watch are trained to resist the mind probe,’ the voice said calmly. ‘But there are ways to break through your conditioning, if you know how. Chamber 403. I was there.’
The room had been so dark, Peltroc realised. There could have been an army hiding in there. Why hadn’t it occurred to them to look? He was thinking about it again… remembering everything and a particularly surly-looking bull elephant potted the black, and gathered up the row of coins stacked up along the side of the table, grinning smugly at his mates.
His hypnotic conditioning was kicking in again.
‘Show me your face, and we’ll talk,’ Peltroc replied.
There was a sound something like a roar, something like a cry of anguish.
The knife swept through the air, slicing the leather-bound Iliad in two.
‘Everything is at stake, Constable Peltroc, and your life is unimportant. You will tell me what I want to know, one way or the other.’
The guard whispered something. The hooded man leant closer to catch it.
Peltroc grabbed the cowl. ‘Let’s see who you are.’ He tugged down. The head was blank, an egg of smoothly polished chrome. Peltroc took a step back, his terror reflected back at him. Whatever it was gave a gurgling laugh and began advancing towards him, arm raised.
Before Peltroc could scream or call for help, everything went black.
The fire was dying down, the teapot had grown cold, the night was nearly over and the Doctor hadn’t slept. Wycliff wasn’t having any such problem, and was still fast asleep on his rug.
Something was wrong.
Water was seeping into the Doctor’s shoes. He scolded himself for standing right at the edge of the shore, with the sea lapping around him. The Doctor looked down at his feet for a moment, before turning to gaze around his surroundings.
The landscape here was timeless. It was Earth, of course, unmistakably Earth. No other planet had the same light, the same smells or sounds. There was no confusing the Sun that hung in this clear winter’s sky with another sun, and there was literally nothing quite like this sea breeze anywhere else in the universe. The Doctor guessed that it was the English coast. A couple of hundred yards away, seagulls circled the cliffs, their cries drifting across the beach.
And then there was something else here, something fearful. The Doctor could sense it closing in on him, surrounding him. It was watching him with ancient eyes.
The world was blood-red, the Sun was swollen, twice as old as it should be. Red light filled the sky,