Doctor Who_ The Room With No Doors - Kate Orman [81]
‘No,’ he said. The word was tiny and flat. He thrust the jacket into her hands. She was surprised by the weight of it – the pockets were filled with objects. There was something ghoulish about retaining it, but who knew what might be of use to them? Penelope bowed her head.
And Mr Cwej had begun to shovel the scattered dirt back into the hole.
The battlefield was quiet.
Te Yene Rana sat on the daimyo’s war stool, whistling while she replaced the power pack of her laser rifle. Umemi’s headless body was a little distance away, being fussed over by his advisers.
She had a great view of the plain from here. It was jammed with bodies, men and horses, a great pile of meat. Hundreds of them, maybe thousands.
Te Yene Rana was fond of sims of primitive violence, but they seldom showed this part of the battle, when the bacteria and the carrion birds were the only moving things.
Shame none of the cadavers were Kapteynian. On the other hand, it meant she’d get another crack at them. Especially that damned Gardener. This time there wouldn’t be any of this cutesy personal-combat stuff. She’d blow the damned chattels into the middle of next week, first chance she got.
She supposed you could call Gufuu-sama the winner of this little skirmish.
He was still alive, after all, and more of his warriors had survived. Mind you, even he was holding his ground, waiting for reinforcements before he proceeded to the monastery and his rightful prize.
She looked up at the great craggy rock, crowned by Doa-no-naiheya Monastery. No doubt, in all the confusion, the Doctor and his company had 164
made it up there by now. If Gufuu-sama wanted the ‘Pod’, he’d have to lay siege to the monastery.
No doubt he could use an additional warrior.
She slung the laser rifle over her arm and started picking her way through the bodies, heading down the ridge. If the samurai saw her, they took no notice.
A gold pocket watch which tinkled like a music box when you opened it.
Kadoguchiroshi was watching the proceedings in the monastery courtyard.
He didn’t seem surprised, even though the place was full of peasants and aliens, and there was a large Penelope-shaped hole in his vegetable garden.
Kame had bowed to him with great deference, and as it turned out had once been his student. He explained the situation while Mr Cwej made sure the peasants were fed and their wounds treated.
A transparent, folding wallet, filled with nonsensical business cards.
A group of shaven-headed monks and the Kapteynians were carefully unloading the pod from the cart. Two more were leading the weary horses away.
The monks were trying hard to look as nonchalant as their Roshi, even though they were surrounded by giant, chattering black chickens.
A hand-knitted toy bear.
They carefully laid the pod on the ground.
The Kapteynians crowded
around it.
Mr Cwej said to Talker, ‘Now what?’ His voice was as tight as a bowstring.
‘Now nothing,’ said Talker sadly. ‘Technician is dead, and he was the only one who could have opened it. Except. . . ’
Penelope put down the tweed jacket, and carefully began arranging the objects she’d found in its pockets. ‘OK,’ said Mr Cwej. ‘We’ll have to think of something. For a start: what is it?’
Talker shook her head. ‘I can’t tell you.’
‘Why not?’ Mr Cwej’s voice was getting quieter. ‘After all the people who’ve died because of it, I think we deserve an explanation.’
Talker stood up. ‘We’ll have to know one another far better first.’
‘Come on, Talker,’ said Penelope. ‘Surely you know you can trust us?’
The bird looked at her with black eyes. ‘I’ve seen what kind of people you are,’ she said.
And how do you answer that?
Kame had been carefully cleaning and checking his sword and armour. The sword was in the same superb shape as when he had first received it, the only part of his equipment issued by his lord. Despite the number of lives it had 165
taken, the armour and bones it had sliced through, the edge was unnotched and perfect.
The rest of his equipment was not in such good condition. Straps were worn, several