Doctor Who_ The Paradise of Death - Barry Letts [34]
Even more fearsome than the sabre-toothed rottweiler guessed at in the pathologist’s report, it stood nearer to seven foot than six. Its overall shape was dog-like, with the muscles of a pit-fighter rippling under a leather skin denuded of all but a few hairs. But its face, a mongrel mix of demon and dinosaur, could have been used as a model by Hieronymus Bosch in his most graphic depictions of the denizens of hell gnawing at the entrails of those eternally abandoned by God. Its eyes, blood red, seemed to glow with the fire of an internal furnace; its teeth, unlike any earthly creature’s, were jagged and long, each with a number of stiletto points to pierce and tear. It smelt of decay.
‘Well, well. It’s the journalist girl.’
‘I warn you,’ said Sarah, the fluttering of her diaphragm belying the courage of her words, ‘the Brigadier knows that I’m here.’
‘Is that so?’ said Tragan. ‘And where’s the Brigadier?’
Sarah could find no answer. Even if Jeremy had managed to get through to him, it was going to be some time before he could do anything to help her.
‘Exactly,’ said Tragan, his pale face inexpressive.
The snarls behind him had doubled since Sarah’s appearance from behind the sofa. It was apparent that it was only the presence of its master that inhibited the brute.
Its own preference would have been to make a meal of her.
‘Could you... Would you... please put that... creature away?’ she said.
‘By all means,’ he said and turned to the beast. Then he turned back. ‘You won’t run away, will you? Sit down: make yourself at home,’ he said.
Oh, ha ha, thought Sarah as Tragan, with a combination of gestures and quiet commands, drove the animal back down the short passageway. Quite the comic, wasn’t he? As if he’d ever let her go now that she’d seen that thing. But she did sit down, sinking into the depths of the velvet sofa, because she was afraid that if she didn’t, her knees really would give out.
As he returned, the intercom crackled again. ‘Vice-Chairman,’ said Crestin, ‘the weight ratio has changed.
We’re carrying more than we should. I think we should check.’
‘We have a stowaway,’ Tragan answered.
‘Everything all right, sir?’
‘Thank you, yes. Everything’s under control. The lady has decided to come with us. Haven’t you, my dear?’
Sarah said nothing. She hadn’t much choice, had she?
‘Stand by for take-off then, Vice-Chairman,’
said Crestin.
Only the slightest of vibrations, very nearly masked by the trembling of her body, told Sarah that they had left the ground. ‘Where... where are we going?’ she managed to say.
‘To my home planet, Parakon. Though, to be honest, to arrive with you as a passenger might prove something of an embarrassment.’
‘What are you going to do with me?’
‘A good question, to which I’m sure I shall find an answer. But in the meantime, we must try to make you comfortable.’
Eh?
‘Or would it be more fun to make you uncomfortable?’
That’s right, stay in character, mate.
‘You see,’ continued Tragan, sitting down opposite her and arching his fingers like a pedantic bank manager discussing an overdraft, ‘although by definition the journey through hyper-space takes no time at all, subjectively, it’s tediously long.’
‘So?’ said Sarah, not wanting to hear the answer.
‘I shall he glad to have something to distract me. We must think up some little games.’
He looked at her with heavy eyes.
‘I’m very good at thinking up little games,’ he said.
Chapter Twelve
The Brigadier would remember the ride back to UNIT in Bessie as one of the most hair-raising experiences of his life. Having established who it was that Sarah had followed, the Doctor swung the little car around, barely giving Jeremy time to jump in, and took off even faster than when he left the mortuary.
It wasn’t too bad while they were still shooting through the broad empty avenues and squares of the theme park, but once they were out into the narrow crowded streets of upper Hampstead their lives were in the hands of the Doctor. It could not be said that his skill was unquestionable, as it was questioned innumerable times