Doctor Who_ The Infinity Doctors - Lance Parkin [60]
Or perhaps this Savar had transferred from a parallel universe, one where he hadn’t been cured, or… This was the man who had killed Waym, stabbed him through the hearts.
He’d kidnapped a guard at knife point, stolen property.
He took a step towards her. There was nowhere to run.
‘My name is Larna,’ she said.
‘I know.’ He was her height, with slim build.
There were a dozen folds in his thick cloak to hide a knife, it could be concealed in either boot. She glanced down. The shoes were part of a spacesuit, she recognised the heavy silvery material.
‘Are you going to kill me?’ she asked.
‘Only if you try to stop me,’ he said. His voice was deep, with an edge of panic.
‘I may even help you,’ she replied, trying to keep him calm.
‘What are you planning to do?’
‘The key.’
Larna felt Savar’s mind brush against her. She readied her mental defences, then saw the expression on his face. Block his thoughts and she would be killed, she knew that. She let Savar remember for her. It took him a moment to find what he was looking for. A couple of memories from her childhood; familiar images of landmarks from the Capitol; a few abstract principles of Infinity Chamber operation; the faces of some of her tutors.
The image of the Doctor lingered for a moment.
The Doctor’s chair faced the fireplace, framed by a heavy marble mantel, with a number of ornaments. There was only one timepiece in the whole room, an ormolu clock from Earth that sat on the mantelpiece, its day divided up into twelve hours of equal length. The longer of the two hands was between the two and the three, the shorter sat about a quarter of the way between five and six. At the side of the chair was an occasional table, and it was littered with junk. A tea service was surrounded by bric‐ a‐ brac: computer cards, a bunch of keys.
Savar smiled.
Nifcol looked around the TARDIS cradle he was guarding.
This was one of the most secure areas of the Citadel, and only the oldest and wiliest of the Watch were given duties here. A dozen TARDISes were dotted around the room, each in their own pool of light. Nifcol wasn’t a Time Lord, but even he could sense the power that each of these machines contained. They hummed to themselves, and Nifcol caught a faint telepathic buzz out of the comer of his mind.
One of the TARDISes in particular. Nifcol stepped over, running his hand down its side. It was warm, there was a very slight vibration. At that moment, the pitch changed.
There was someone else in the room. A Time Lord. The Doctor. This was his TARDIS.
‘My Lord,’ Nifcol began. ‘Entry to this area is only allowed with approval from the Castellan’s office.’
The Doctor smiled. ‘If you’ll check your screen, you’ll see that I have that authorisation.’
‘I checked earlier, sir, no one has that clearance tonight.’
‘If you could just check again.’
Nifcol nodded, and took his hand terminal from his belt.
Sure enough, the Doctor had been granted the authority by the Castellan himself.
He looked up. The Doctor was beaming sweetly at him.
But there was something odd here. Nifcol looked him up and down. The Doctor had short hair, which wasn’t covered, and he was wearing odd clothes, but he always did.
‘What’s that under your arm?’ he asked him finally.
‘This arm?’ the Doctor said, holding up a carry case.
‘No sir, the other one.’
‘Oh, nothing.’
‘It looks unusual, sir.’
‘Well, yes.’ The Doctor held it out. It was a large toy tafelshrew, a big blue fluffy thing with goggly eyes and a big red smile. It was about a foot long.
Nifcol took it from him, examined it. ‘Why are you taking this with you?’
The Doctor looked down at his boots, then back up, but he wasn’t able to look Nifcol in the eye. ‘No reason,’ he said.
Nifcol tucked the tafelshrew under his arm. ‘With respect, sir, I really think that I should look after this, don’t you?’
‘I need it… for my research,’ the Doctor said quickly, Nifcol shook his head, moving the stuffed tafelshrew out of the Doctor’s reach. ‘No you don’t, sir.