Doctor Who_ The Sleep of Reason - Martin Day [112]
blazing block of flame that licked at the stone archway. Even through the fire Liz could see that the golden haze of the alien sheen seemed brighter than ever before.
They set about keeping the fire from spreading further. The body of the poor security guard – laughably left in place for the police who had never appeared – was a distance down one of the corridors that edged the chapel.
Some kind soul had draped a sheet over the corpse; the ends of this were now beginning to smoulder. Liz could imagine the evil presence striving to reach out for another body.
She struggled with the instructions on her extinguisher, ignoring Thomson’s unhelpful shouted words of advice, and finally got the thing working. A huge spray of stifling foam arced through the air and landed on the smouldering sheet.
The filing cabinets next to Liz were radiating heat. They were against the wall that formed one boundary of the chapel room, and it was as if the entire place was just a ball of fire only temporarily held in check by the stone walls.
They wouldn’t hold much longer; great orange cracks were starting to appear in the masonry.
In quick succession two things happened.
Firstly, one of the portals appeared, just in front of her. Immediately a body was forced through, and someone slumped to the floor. Equally quickly, the tunnel snapped shut, and was gone.
Secondly, an alarm sounded. It was one of the many fire alarms, a great whirring chime like an alarm clock from hell. It was situated about six inches from Liz’s left ear.
The combination of both actions was enough to make Liz jump, momentarily dropping the extinguisher, which fell to the floor like an uncoiled, spitting cobra.
The noise of the bell near Liz was soon joined by others, all around the Retreat.
She reached down for the extinguisher just as the sprinklers kicked into life.
It was like the breaking of a tropical storm.
Drenched, Trix came over to Liz, beaming brightly. ‘They’ve done it!’ she said. ‘Fitz and the others – they’ve reconnected everything.’ It was only then that she noticed the body slumped at Liz’s feet. ‘Who’s that?’ she asked.
Liz was already trying to find out. She bent down, turning the body over on to its back.
It was James Abel. And he was still breathing.
Supporting his unconscious body between them, Trix and Liz headed back to the stairs. As they passed they glanced into the chapel. Although there was no way the sprinklers were going to entirely extinguish the fire, they 208
were clearly already having an effect. Most importantly of all, the golden mist seemed, abruptly, to have vanished. Just for a moment the undeveloped form of the newborn centaur seemed defiant; then it too blinked out of sight.
Mike Thomson joined them, seemingly unperturbed by James’s sudden appearance. Perhaps he had by now seen enough strange things to last a lifetime.
‘I think this is the moment where we beat a hasty retreat,’ he said. ‘We’d better leave this fire to the experts.’
No one was about to argue with that.
Thomson took over from Trix, draping one of James’s limp arms about his shoulders. As he did so he suddenly exclaimed, ‘Bloody hell. . . ’
He’d seen something that the others had missed. Leaving James with the women he ran to the far end of the corridor, which formed one outer corner of the chapel. It was usually in semidarkness down here – a dumping ground for stuff that couldn’t be accommodated elsewhere – but Thomson found a light and switched it on.
At the far end stood two stone sarcophagi. Liz seemed to remember seeing, on the original plans, that the chapel area was once much more extensive than it was now, encompassing most of the basement. As befitted a Victorian crypt there were caskets dotted around, though Liz wasn’t sure if anyone was actually buried there.
It wasn’t immediately clear from Liz’s vantage point what Thomson had seen.
‘What?’ shouted Trix, exasperated