Doctor Who_ The Roundheads - Mark Gatiss [21]
The Doctor shivered and pulled his cloak tightly around his throat. ‘Yes. I wonder what Ben and Polly have been getting up to. I hope they’re not too tired. We have an appointment with our friend Scrope, remember?’
‘I’m not going to forget a fellow like him,’ said Jamie with a laugh.
As they began to move off, a bulky figure appeared out of the mist and blocked their path. He carried a vicious-looking pikestaff and was dressed in some kind of watchman’s uniform, black tunic and breeches with a wide, plain white collar and big stovepipe hat jammed on to his head. His piggy eyes were screwed up in a frown of permanent suspicion.
‘Now then,’ he grunted, his three chins wobbling like a turkey’s wattle. ‘What do we have here?’
The Doctor looked worried. ‘Oh, lor. The law.’ He fixed a cheery grin on to his face. ‘I beg your pardon?’
The newcomer looked the little man up and down.
‘There’s been a lot of queer things happens in this city of late.
And I’ve been told to keep me eyes peeled for anything out of the common.’
‘Well, we may be uncommon,’ said the Doctor with a small smile, ‘but there’s nothing odd about us.’
‘That’s right,’ chimed in Jamie. ‘What is he, Doctor? A sheriff?’
‘Something like that.’ said the Doctor without switching off his smile. He pulled himself up to his full, not very considerable height and peered at the watchman. ‘Now look here, my good fellow. We’re late for an appointment.’
‘An appointment?’
Jamie put on his most superior expression. ‘Aye. We’re meeting friends and then we have to see someone. On important matters of state.’
The watchman cocked his head to one side. ‘You’re a Scot, are you?’
Jamie folded his arms proudly. ‘That I am.’
The Doctor sighed. ‘Oh, dear.’
The watchman nodded to himself. ‘I think you two’d better come with me.’
Holding up his hands in protest, the Doctor began to look about for a quick exit. ‘Now don’t do anything hasty. We’re perfectly respectable.’
The watchman was decidedly unconvinced. He lowered his pikestaff so that the blade was uncomfortably close to the Doctor’s throat. ‘What’s this important state business then?’
The Doctor hesitated a fraction too long and Jamie blurted out, ‘We’re to see Mr Nathaniel Scrope.’
The watchman looked at him as if he were mad and then burst out laughing, his florid smile widening like the spread of melting fat in a pan. ‘Are you now?’ he chuckled. ‘Well, you come along with me and we’ll see if we can’t find Mr Scrope for you.’
The Doctor almost stamped his feet in frustration. ‘But you don’t understand,’ he pleaded. ‘Mr Scrope is engaged on vital Parliamentary matters!’
‘Hold your tongue!’ barked the watchman. ‘Are you lunatic? Nat Scrope’s a saltpetre man.’
‘A what?’
‘A saltpetre man!’ shouted the watchman. ‘He’s paid to dig up the privies and chicken runs.’
Jamie frowned. ‘That explains why he smells so bad.’
‘Saltpetre, you say?’ said the Doctor.
The watchman nodded. ‘Of course. For the gunpowder.
There’s never enough.’ He laughed again. ‘Aye, that’s state business, for sure!’ He moved his pikestaff so it threatened both Jamie and the Doctor. ‘Now move!’
The time travellers began to shuffle away from the river, their feet sinking deep into the snow drifts.
The Doctor held his hands above his head and sighed deeply. ‘So much for our friends in high places.’
As the shadows had lengthened, the atmosphere in the inn improved considerably. The fire in the grate had been stoked up to huge proportions and an assortment of people warmed themselves around it. A couple of mangy-looking dogs had wandered inside and were snuffling under the tables in search of scraps and there was a not unpleasant haze of pipe smoke hanging in the air. Above all, there was chatter, some about the activity outside Parliament, some concerned with more mundane matters.
Polly tried to listen in as discreetly as she could while Ben sat by her side, sinking slowly into warm, rum-induced oblivion.
Turning away from the fire, Polly smiled and shook her head as she took in the slack, distant