Doctor Who_ The Infinity Doctors - Lance Parkin [5]
‘Just boxes. Nothing special.’ He pulled out one of the caskets and waved it around by way of demonstration.
‘Some mischief-makers from Low Town.’
‘They don’t usually come up this far.’
‘There’s not much farther up for them to go unless they fancy a stint walking around on the Dome.’
‘Could be the aliens.’
Raimor nodded thoughtfully. ‘Aliens might not realise that there’s nothing important in this room. Either way, we need to report this. Remember? “Investigate and Advise”. We’ve investigated.’
Peltroc held up the casket. ‘Who do we advise about all this, then?’
Raimor looked around, as if the answer to the question might emerge from the gloom. ‘This part of the building is owned by Prydon College. We need to tell a senior Prydonian.’
Peltroc grinned. ‘He’s a Prydonian, isn’t he?’
‘He consorts with aliens, too. He practically is an alien.
That settles it. Bring the box and the brick.’
The cloaked figure heard the two guards leaving the room, heard their footsteps receding.
Alone once again, he edged around the cabinet, found the hole he had made. He reached in, carefully, to avoid the jagged glass. His hands ran across the tops of the caskets, sitting in their rows, letters and numbers embossed on them.
The one casket he was looking for wasn’t there.
His hand probed the gap on the shelf where it should have been.
He remembered the Watchman saying that he would take a casket with him.
‘No,’ he hissed. ‘No!’
The red eyes were upon him, staring at him, not saying a word or needing to.
Raimor and Peltroc made their way to the elevators and down fifty storeys.
This time of night, the Citadel was virtually deserted. There were a couple of other patrols on duty, a handful of Time Lords in Temporal Monitoring and the night porters at the Colleges, but that was it. Tonight, they passed about half a dozen Time Lords. More than usual, probably preparing for the arrival of the aliens.
As a member of the High Council, his rooms were right at the heart of the Citadel. Although it was a little distance from the Council chambers, they had to cut across one of the galleries that overlooked the Panopticon to get there. There was no chance of hearing the rain this far under the Dome.
Few Time Lords ever saw the public areas of the Citadel at night. The fountains still ran, there was still the ever-present humming of machinery, but the lighting was lower, shadows were cast from every transept and alcove.
Everything became unfamiliar.
Perhaps the best example was the Panopticon itself, the enormous hexagonal hall that occupied the entire central area of the Citadel. During the day, even on a minor feast day like Harrenenmas, colourful banners would be waving from every column. The centre of the floor was inlaid with the omniscate, the Seal of Rassilon, an ancient, swirling, circular design that symbolised infinity and eternity. Far, far, beneath there was the Eye of Harmony; the black hole that the ancient Time Lords had harnessed. The power from that was infinite, to all intents and purposes, providing every erg of Gallifrey’s energy; and plenty to spare. Around this focal point would be a couple of dozen Time Lords in their robes, along with their attendants and pupils. A choir might be singing, there would certainly be music or chanting of some kind. One group would be making an offering, there would be ten serious philosophical discussions underway and twice as many games of chess. By any right, the Gallifreyans should have been dwarfed by the architecture, but instead they filled the vast space. The Panopticon would be alive.
By night, the Panopticon was the largest tomb in the universe. Silence hung like cobwebs, the slightest scrape or clatter echoing guiltily around forever. The same places that seemed gay and airy at day seemed murky and stagnant by night. The floor, an expanse of marble large enough to land aircraft on, was the colour of bone. A vast statue of one of the Gallifreyan Founders stood in each corner of the Panopticon.
At night they looked like giant