Doctor Who_ The Paradise of Death - Barry Letts [45]
It was a problem postponed, however, for through the door came Captain Rudley, his mission successfully completed.
‘Doctor!’ cried Sarah, running forward.
Thank the Lord, thought the Brigadier.
‘I can’t tell you how relieved I am, Sarah,’ beamed the Doctor.
‘Same here,’ she said, a great grin spreading across her face. ‘Why aren’t you dead? Oh Doctor, am I glad you’re not!’
‘I’d have to admit, if pressed, that I’m quite chuffed myself,’ he replied. ‘And you? You’re sure you’re quite all right?’
‘Sort of. I am now. I must admit I nearly freaked out a couple of times. That Tragan – ’
A warning cough came from the Brigadier; Sarah stopped abruptly. ‘Well, let’s just say that he has some weird ideas,’ she finished, with a glance at the President, who had been benignly watching the happy reunion.
‘Don’t let him worry you,’ he said. ‘Vice-Chairman Tragan has a somewhat bizarre sense of humour.’
‘Oh sure,’ said Sarah. ‘I never stopped laughing.’
The arrival of Sarah seemed to have provided the President with enough momentum for him to be able to give his guests leave to depart, by inviting the Doctor and the Brigadier to dinner that evening. Sarah and Jeremy were confided to the particular care of ‘my brave Captain Rudley’, who had then escorted them all to the magnificence of the Ambassadorial Suite, which was in one of the other buildings clustered round the palace like a brood of ducklings round their mother. Sarah and Jeremy, as obvious underlings, were to be relegated to the smaller suite adjoining.
The guest-house seemed to be outside the jurisdiction of the Presidential Guard; the purple tunics of the Security Force could be seen lurking in the entrance hall. Captain Rudley agreed to arrange the moving of the TARDIS to the courtyard behind the guest-house and disappeared.
Almost as soon as the captain had left them, to their surprise the woman addressed by the President as Onya turned up to ask, with the gracious hospitality of a hostess, whether they would like some food.
‘Who’s she?’ asked Sarah, impressed, sinking into the depths of a luxurious armchair. ‘The President’s daughter or something?’
‘Lord knows,’ said the Brigadier. ‘And frankly, my dear, I don’t give a damn. If she can provide us with a boiled egg or a ham sandwich or whatever, she could be the Princess Baldroubadour for all I care. I’ve had nothing since breakfast.’
I gave you a perfectly good meal in the TARDIS,’ said the Doctor, mortally offended.
‘Two red pills – and a green jelly baby for pudding?’
‘Quite adequate, nutritionally speaking.’
‘Try telling my stomach. Roll on the steak and chips.’
‘Hear, hear,’ said Jeremy in a small voice.
Sarah could only agree with them. In Earth terms, it was now long past Sarah’s bedtime, and yet here on Parakon, it was the middle of the day. She must be suffering from hyper-lag or something, she thought to herself. All she wanted to do was grab a bite to eat and zonk out for a few hours.
But, of course, first she had to tell the others all about Tragan with his purple face and general yukkiness (’A Naglon,’ said the Doctor. ‘I’ve had trouble with them a number of times.’) and about the dog thing and all.
‘Fascinating!’ said the Doctor. ‘Parallel evolution. A reptilian canine! Did you notice the skin of the Blestinu soldier, Lethbridge-Stewart?’
‘Can’t say I did. I had other things on my mind at the time.’
‘Ya,’ said Jeremy. ‘Like being blown up.’
‘His face was leathery, like the dog’s skin. Reptilian.
The very word that leapt to my mind.’
‘Anyway,’ said the Brigadier, ‘this is the proof we needed. Tragan and Freeth were responsible for the killing on Hampstead Heath. We’ve got them.’
‘Have we indeed?’ The Doctor was not going to forgive the Brigadier in a hurry, thought Sarah. ‘So we can go home now, can we?’
‘Well, that was the object of the exercise, after all.’
‘True. May I come and watch when you arrest Tragan?
You mustn’t forget