Doctor Who_ The Infinity Doctors - Lance Parkin [4]
Raimor held up his lantern. The guard light probed the darkness, creeping into the nooks and crannies, but there was nothing there and the light quickly shuffled back into its cage. It was quiet here, and this part of the Capitol was always kept cooler than the occupied quarters. He knew every inch of it, and nothing ever changed, no one ever came here. Night after night he would go about this beat, pacing his way from the Watch quarters, through the Archives, to the edge of the Dome. He’d follow the dome around for three or four hundred yards, weaving through the honeycomb of cell-like rooms and long-deserted galleries until he found himself here. Then together with his partner they would trudge back to their dormitories.
Their wrist communicators chirped.
Peltroc was looking as shocked as Raimor felt.
They had never chirped before.
Raimor held it up, angling his wrist experimentally, wondering what to do next.
It chirped again, and a text message flashed across its face.
FOUR POINT SIX BELLS. BREAKIN AT ARCHIVE
CHAMBER FOUR ZERO THREE. INVESTIGATE AND
ADVISE.
Raimor frowned.
‘So what do we do?’ Peltroc asked.
‘Investigate and advise, I suppose.’
He had been past Archive Chamber 403 just a few minutes ago. Idly, as they made their way back there, Raimor wondered if he had managed to trip the alarm himself. Some of the security systems dated back to the Old Times, but whatever their pedigree, they were notoriously sensitive.
Notoriously erratic, too. As Raimor and Peltroc arrived at Chamber 403, they saw that at least one thing hadn’t worked.
Iron security shutters were meant to have slammed down when the alarm was activated, sealing the chamber until the guards arrived.
Raimor hesitated at the open archway into the chamber.
He couldn’t hear anything or anyone in there. He realised that he was resting his hand on the butt of his staser. It was a peculiar instinct, and – rather ashamed that Peltroc might notice – he withdrew it, placing his arm back at his side.
Peltroc stepped in first, and Raimor was happy to let him.
The room, like many in this part of the Capitol, was filled with dusty display cases and ancient lacquered cabinets.
Raimor knew that this was part of the Citadel that dated back to the time of Rassilon. It was still possible to see that from the angle of the roof, the quality of the masonry, the shape of the room. The brickwork and panelling along one wall was recent, a partition perhaps only ten millennia old, but it couldn’t hide the room’s heritage: in former times this had been an open balcony which had overlooked the old starharbour. Since then this room must have been a hundred things, from the office of a high-ranking Ordinal to student lodgings. Nowadays no one ever came here, except the patrol.
Peltroc and Raimor crossed the room, light from their lanterns nervously scouting the way.
There was a giant stuffed bird in one case, trapped aloft in a suspensor field along with a millennium’s worth of dust. It glared down at the two guards, three of its wings drawn back as if ready to lash out at them. A pile of oily cogwheels lay next to it – presumably they were discarded components of a giant clock mechanism. A battered wardrobe sat at an angle to the rest of the room. One comer was dominated by a vast suit of armour. A rusty plaque informed anyone who read it that it had once belonged to Tegorak, although the name meant nothing to Captain Raimor. Vast cupboards loomed along the walls, not giving away anything about their contents.
One of the clear-fronted cabinets lining the back wall had been disturbed. Glass lay in shards over the tiled floor. There had been a simple lock on the case, but the thief had bludgeoned it off. Raimor glanced around, and found the remains of the scanner alongside the brick that had been used to smash first it, then the glass. Rather a clumsy way to go about things.
Peltroc was occupying himself with the cabinet door, so Raimor began a quick search of the room.
Raimor grimaced. ‘What’s in there?’
Peltroc peered