Doctor Who_ The Infinity Doctors - Lance Parkin [6]
Raimor always took a minute to stare down at the Panopticon at night. He could hear Peltroc shuffling impatiently at his side. The lad would have to wait.
A Time Lord in a violet robe was walking down the gallery, his head bowed. He almost collided with the two Watchmen.
‘I’m sorry, my Lord,’ they both muttered.
‘I couldn’t sleep,’ the Time Lord said, almost apologetically. ‘I say, Captain, there isn’t anything the matter, is there?’ The Time Lord automatically addressed Peltroc, because Peltroc looked the right age. Raimor recognised the man as Lord Wratfac, an expert on cosmic radiation who’d been lecturing at Patrex College since the decoupling era. He was probably taking a short cut on his way to one of the Infinity Chambers.
‘Don’t worry, my Lord, it’s nothing we can’t handle.’
Lord Wratfac had bushy eyebrows and a rasping voice.
‘It’s not something to do with the aliens, is it?’
‘That’s what we are trying to establish,’ Raimor said.
‘You’re going to see him, are you? The troublemaker?’
‘That’s right, my Lord.’
‘It’s very late, he’ll probably be asleep.’ But before Raimor could respond, Wratfac gave a cackling laugh. He jabbed a finger into Raimor’s chest. ‘Serve the young fool right! Carry on the good work.’ He walked off, still chuckling to himself.
A short walk later, they had reached their destination.
Raimor rapped at the door. There was no reply. He tapped his foot.
‘His servant’s a bit slow,’ Raimor remarked.
‘Doesn’t have one,’ Peltroc sniffed. ‘Doesn’t believe in them.’
‘Doing some poor bloke out a job, then, isn’t he? Not that anyone would work for him.’
The door still hadn’t opened.
‘He’s asleep,’ Peltroc said. ‘We should leave our cards and wait till morning.’
‘We’ll do no such thing,’ Raimor replied stubbornly. ‘You heard what Old Ratface said.’
He knocked again. This time, the door unbolted itself.
Warily, trying to show the appropriate respect, they stepped into the anteroom. The door closed itself behind them. They made their way through into the main part of the lodgings, all too conscious of their boots squeaking against the varnished floor. It was a rare privilege for ordinary Gallifreyans to be allowed into the chambers of a Council member. In nine centuries’ service, Captain Raimor had only been in such a place three times. From the look on Peltroc’s face, this was the first time he’d had such an honour, but it was clear that he had been expecting something elaborate: peristyles and fountains. But this room was only a little larger than a guard’s berth. All six walls were lined with bookcases, making it seem even smaller. A staircase led up to the upper level.
Raimor stepped past a large wooden globe. He didn’t recognise the planet it represented, and the globe itself looked like the product of a non-Gallifreyan civilisation. It was typical of this particular Councillor that he would have a map of an alien planet as such a prominent feature of his room.
An odd world, too, with the landmasses broken up into colourful jigsaw pieces.
‘He’s not here,’ Raimor snorted, careful not to raise his voice. He turned back to his companion. ‘Look at this place.
It’s all wrong.’
Peltroc was examining himself in an ornately framed mirror. ‘How do you mean, Captain?’
Raimor fished for the right words. ‘A room like this… it should strive for mathematical simplicity.’
Peltroc frowned at his own reflection. ‘I never got the hang of maths,’ he said softly. ‘All that adding and subtracting.
Never got the hang of it. Maths is anything but simple in my book.’
‘What it means,’ Raimor sighed, ‘is that a room such as this should have clean, straight lines. It should look like it was designed by a computer. If there absolutely has to be a curve it ought to be a parabola, or an arc. There’s no excuse whatsoever for colour. This room is gloomy, it’s cluttered.’
‘I see what you mean now,’ Peltroc whispered. He’d turned his attention away from the mirror and towards the shelves.
‘Does this bloke