Doctor Who_ The King of Terror - Keith Topping [11]
‘I was worried you wouldn’t see my message for decades.’
‘I didn’t,’ replied the Doctor.
Age suits certain men. There comes with it a dignity and elegance. Clothes become sharper and reflect a history of sartorial taste suddenly freed from the oppression of fashion statements. The hair is tinged with silver and the face turns rugged and weather-beaten which, for some reason, really seems to impress the ladies. That had all happened to Alistair Lethbridge-Stewart ten years ago. Now he just looked like Stewart Granger.
Handsome.
‘Oh, it’s you,’ Lethbridge-Stewart noted, with perhaps a touch of disappointment in his voice. ‘I was wondering which one of you would turn up. Random factors, I expect?’
‘There’s nothing random about the universe,’ the Doctor said brightly, moving past the Brigadier to look closely at a portrait of Edward VIII. ‘For instance, I know this is a forgery. I suspect the gallery does too, but they still hang it because nobody who comes here really cares. The fact that it’s not genuine doesn’t detract from its beauty.’
‘That’s one way of looking at it.’
‘Perception, however,’ continued the Doctor, dumping his half-eaten apple into the Brigadier’s hand, ‘ is random. Shall we walk?’
The day had become even hotter and more humid as the Doctor and Lethbridge-Stewart wandered through a crowded Trafalgar Square.
‘I love London,’ said the Doctor. ‘So . . . ’
‘Busy?’ asked the Brigadier. ‘The place I love is nowhere near here.’
The Doctor cast a curious glance at his old friend. ‘You’ve changed a great deal,’ he said simply.
23
‘As have you,’ replied the Brigadier. ‘I encountered one of your successors a few weeks ago.’
The Doctor wagged a finger. ‘Brigadier, you know the rules. The future is an open book to me . . . How many have you worked with now? Just out of curiosity!’
‘Nine.’
‘Interesting. I bumped into one of them myself some time ago. Curious little chap.’
‘What have you been up to recently?’ asked the Brigadier as the pair found an empty bench.
The square was an oasis of calm in the blur of modern London. A few tired-looking pigeons fluttered around them and the Brigadier pulled the remains of a cheese sandwich from his overcoat pocket and tossed a handful of crumbs in their direction. The Doctor raised his eyebrows. ‘My lunch.’ explained Lethbridge-Stewart. ‘Forgot I hadn’t finished it. The birds’ need is greater than mine.’
‘For the last month,’ began the Doctor with an ambiguous smile, ‘I’ve been trying to get a young chap back home to 1643. And what a right how-do-you-do that turned into. We were on a planet populated by walking reptiles, very intelligent but warlike, don’t you know? The ruler wanted to execute me. I told him he couldn’t do that and he said “Doctor, I am the Lizard King, I can do anything”.’ The Doctor paused, delving into one of his numerous pockets. ‘Before that, I saved a village in the West Country from annihilation by blowing up the church and destroying an alien representation of the devil.
Sound familiar?’
‘Terrifyingly,’ noted the Brigadier drily as the Doctor finally found what he was looking for and pulled out a small package wrapped in brown paper and string which he handed to his old friend.
Inside, the Brigadier found a thin leather-bound volume.
‘It’s The Revolt of Islam. A first edition, signed by the author. I know how much you adore Shelley so I thought . . . ’
The Brigadier seemed genuinely touched and stammered a ‘thank you’, but he was spared any further embarrassment by a bleeping sound from within his jacket. ‘Excuse me,’ he said, removing the mobile phone. ‘Lethbridge-Stewart.
Yes? Yes, I’m with him now. The . . . ’ he looked at the Doctor, quizzically.
‘Fifth.’ His companion answered the unasked question.
‘Fifth,’ continued the Brigadier. ‘I know you haven’t met him yet. He’s very nice.’ He rolled his eyes upwards in exasperation. ‘I’ll be home around six.
Yes. Yes, I love you too.’ He disconnected and tutted. ‘Infernal machine.