Doctor Who_ The Sleep of Reason - Martin Day [118]
‘Did you meet Dr Christie or the vicar?’ said Laska, amazed. It was like trying to imagine fictional characters coming to life.
‘Later on,’ said Smith. ‘Splendid fellows, both of them. Of course, I was very discreet. The odd conversation here and there. After both men died I followed the diaries for a few years, made sure they stayed together.’
‘So it wasn’t a coincidence that the dog tooth ended up with me – and back here.’
‘That’s hard to say,’ said Smith evasively. ‘But you know what I think about coincidences. . . ’ He paused for a moment, as if weighing up what he was about to say. ‘I did notice some odd things about the Sholem-Luz seed,’ he added in a hushed whisper. ‘Some owners of the necklace became obsessed by it, triggering – in extreme cases – a type of schizophrenia. In others it appeared to give extraordinary longevity or resistance to illness. It’s as if the pendant became what its wearer willed it to be.’
Laska nodded, thinking of her father, his decline into cancer when separated from the necklace. His death, and all that that meant to her. ‘How did you end up in the casket?’ she asked, not wanting to become maudlin. Not today.
‘After a few months I got a little bored, I must admit,’ said Smith. ‘I had things to do elsewhere – I always have things to do! – but it was proving inconvenient having to hang around this place so much. People kept thinking I was a ghost!’
‘It does have a reputation,’ said Laska.
‘Given what’s happened here, you can understand why,’ said Smith. ‘I had other reasons to want to keep a low profile – one of the dangers of being a traveller in time and space, shall we say.’
‘You don’t want to meet yourself.’
Smith nodded. ‘Anyway, I thought I’d better find somewhere to rest.’
‘So you fell asleep, for decades. . . in a stone sarcophagus?’
220
‘It’s comfortable enough, after a while,’ said Smith. ‘It seemed as good a place as any – right at the heart of the action.’
‘Good job the fire alarms woke you,’ said Laska. ‘Or you’d have been burnt to a crisp.’
‘Indeed,’ said Smith. ‘And my presence there, sleeping soundly near the chapel. . . It explains why I hated the place so much!’
‘Why’s that?’ said Laska.
‘I’m not usually supposed to meet myself – not under circumstances like these, anyway. Can cause all sorts of trouble. So, every time I came down to the basement, I was gripped by an instinctive fear. It was a warning, if you will, triggered by the proximity of my future self – a warning that I was already there! Or would be, in any event.’
‘I’m confused,’ said Laska.
‘I’d draw you a time map,’ said Smith, ‘but I’m not sure it would help.’ He got to his feet. ‘It’s nearly time we were both going.’
Laska laid a hand on Smith’s arm. Just before you do,’ she said. ‘One thing’s been bugging me ever since the fire. You know about Liz’s husband, that he was having an affair with one of the nurses. . . ’
Smith nodded impassively.
‘I found out about that, before the first murder. Well, I suspected, anyway. I should have told Liz, but I was so wrapped up in myself, my desire to get out of here. . . ’
‘Normal life carries on, even in the midst of trauma and suffering,’ observed Smith. ‘We still have our own agendas, our own desires – and sometimes that’s no bad thing.’ He smiled. ‘In the midst of war, you’d almost expect the crime rate to decline, for people to be so swamped by the enormity of what’s going on that there are no murders, no betrayals, no theft. . . The truth is rather different.’
‘Even so, would it have made any difference if I’d warned Liz?’
‘It might have avoided a sticky situation on the floor of her office,’ said Fitz loudly. He and Trix had clearly bored of playing benign gooseberry. Both stood on the driveway, smiling at Laska.
Laska wasn’t about to be sidetracked by Fitz’s sledgehammer humour.
‘And. . . what if I’d told you about the dog earlier?’
Smith sighed. ‘These things may have helped,’ he said, ‘but, ultimately, who can tell now? We’re talking about nuances of time, of energy. I don’t