Doctor Who_ The Sleep of Reason - Martin Day [101]
‘Oh, Mike, I’m so sorry,’ said Liz under her breath.
James held the lighter high up in the air.
It was only now that Liz could smell the oil that tainted the air, the fumes that seemed to pour off every solid surface near her. She could not understand how she, or the others, had managed to miss the smell before – or how James, or what controlled him, had disguised the flammable liquid.
Everything was soaked with petrol.
‘Here we go again,’ said James.
And he dropped the lighter to the floor.
185
Twenty-one
The Sweet Unknown
(Mausoleum)
Extract from the Diary of Dr Thomas Christie Friday 25th December 1903 (continued)
I have almost no recollection of the events of the evening. It is as if a page has been torn from the book of my mind and memory. I remember instructing Mr Torby to fetch the Reverend Macksey from the vicarage; the next thing I truly recall is waking, as if from a deep sleep, on the floor of the chapel.
Torby tells me that, by his return, Mausolus was in uproar, and my own senses were lost utterly to this great Evil. I had planned to destroy the bodies in the chapel, as if this simple act of purging might rid us all of the malevolent wickedness that sought our very lives. Instead, I myself was deceived: the Evil wanted Mausolus in flames, and I was merely a tool to achieve this.
I do remember Mr Fern – utterly filled by this vile intent – swearing to complete the job that I had started; I also remember seeing the debased remains of my beloved hound following in his wake. Indeed, my clearest memory of that time is not my own recollection at all, but a vision – if you will – of Mr Fern’s callous murder of Jones. I thought at first – even as I wrote, only a page or two previously – that he must have described to me what happened. Now I wonder if, in part, I was granted – or cursed – with some extraordinary insight into that man, the lusts that drove him, the evil that eventually consumed him utterly.
The Evil that had even cast its shadow over me.
If I am unclear as to what happened within the chapel, I have no difficulty in remembering our escape from the smouldering wreck of Mausolus. Avoiding falling beams and the worst of the fire, we emerged, coughing and eyes streaming, to see a fire engine coming down the great driveway towards us.
The firemen set about their task almost without words. I was delighted –
and amazed – by their appearance. I assumed Mr Sands had called for them, but he later denied this. Indeed, he was reticent to talk about his arrival, or to declare what it was that drew him – with an axe – to the chapel door, deep in the cellars of Mausolus.
187
I exchanged brief words with the officer from the fire brigade, then left them to their business. I walked towards Mr Torby, who was tending to young Craig. Craig had sustained a bite to the shoulder. At first the flesh around the bite seemed grey and necrotic, then – as the fire that burned at the heart of Mausolus began to die down – the wound seemed almost to heal itself. We both viewed this miracle with a nonchalant shrug; we had seen too much, and were too tired, to be greatly amazed by this latest flash of phantasmagoria.
As we treated Craig’s injuries on the lawn in front of the house, I watched Mr Sands as he stood by the horses of the fire engine, calming them against the cracking noise of burning timber and the sparks that mined down in the evening air like falling stars. The steam engine was working well, pumping water directly on to the conflagration, which ebbed away moment by moment.
In the literal heat of this terrible occurrence Mr Joseph Sands had proved himself a valiant and, remarkable man. When first I met the fellow I considered him a little stiff, a little formal, for my own tastes; now I considered him brave, a man of steely, hidden resolve, and I was thankful for all these aspects of his character.
In turn I noticed that Macksey stood watching all that ensued with a grateful eye. Perhaps he was praying. At that moment, I could forgive him – and these brave few others who stood with