Doctor Who_ The Taint - Michael Collier [39]
'But how?'
'Some kind of unconscious knowledge, a hidden connection... You know, in the same way plants always grow faster before a thunderstorm.'
Sam looked at him. 'You think a storm's coming.'
4.3
Sam had watched the Doctor pack a ludicrous assortment of technical bric-a-brac into an unfeasibly small metal carry-case that wasn't even bulging. It looked like a cheap gag on a comedy show.
'And for your next trick?'
The Doctor smiled beguilingly. 'I get you to carry it for me.'He made a great show of hefting it off the floor, then passed it to her quite casually. She held it, a surprised grin forming on her face. Years ago she would've made out she was too cool to question how it worked. That was before she'd realised life was too short.
'You levitating all this, then?'
'It's cleverer than that,' said the Doctor, still smiling. 'I've put a pocket dimension inside with zero gravity, with an interface regulator in the clasp.
Space and weightlessness. A boon to those who can't travel light.'
'Or those who have to set up their own lab in Castle Frankenstein?'
Soon they were walking back through the grounds to Roley's mansion. The sky was a pale blue and the sun was warm on Sam's skin. Even so, she had goose pimples. Her talk in the TARDIS had left her feeling calmer but as they drew nearer to Roley's she was feeling apprehensive again.
'So Roley's agreed to give his little devils a break, then?' she asked with forced levity.
'Apparently.' He patted her on the back. 'And I don't believe him for a moment. I'd like you to keep an eye on him. And particularly on Nurse Bulwell.'
'Nasty bit of work, that one.'
'Hmm. Of course, another way of making sure they leave the patients alone
-'
'- is to stay with the patients?' Sam sighed. 'Yeah. I thought you might say that.'
***
Watson sat on his bed, surrounded by books. There were cases full of them in his room; one of the provisos he'd insisted on if he was to remain cooped up here and poked about at was that his library be here with him.
He'd never had much time for books before the war. He was always out and about, always active. Never been tied to a wife, or to children. They'd envied him that in the army. He suspected it was how he'd made rank so fast - not so much to lose, always up in the front line, always taking the biggest risks. Too much too soon.
That world was sealed off now, behind frosted glass thick with grime. For all the years he'd been unable to live life, he had read about others doing so instead. It was a passable substitute, he decided, and seemed as real as anything else.
Watson reached for a black book on his dresser, but was distracted by a yellowing photograph in a silver frame next to it. Eli, proud as you like in his stripes, just before he'd gone off to Korea. His poor little brother Elijah, who, like his namesake in the Bible, had gone off into the wilderness and should've been fed by the ravens, not to them. Torn apart in battle. Watson could picture the scene too easily, knew who to blame, shrank from doing so in fear.
Watson swallowed hard and picked up the book. Eli had sent him it to help him make sense of his condition. Aleister Crowley, The Book of the Law .
He turned to a heavily thumbed page and read aloud to himself in the quiet of the room.
Strong and successful men always express themselves fully, and when they are sufficiently strong no harm comes of it to themselves or others.
He closed the book again, reverentially. 'Sufficiently strong'. He'd waited all his life to feel that way, to finally make some sense of the pain and the chaos. Perhaps he was still striding away from the One, away from God, away from the light and into the night. But as long as he was strong, as long as he could remain in charge of his energies, no harm could ever come of it again.
More Crowley came back to Watson, the words spurs to his potential. How many long nights had he lain awake muttering the words? 'Every man and woman is a star.'
There was a knock at the door.
Watson put