Doctor Who_ The Zarbi - Bill Strutton [44]
Ian exchanged a startled glance with Vrestin – who, in spite of his lofty contempt of these creatures, was clearly surprised. Suddenly Ian felt his arms seized and he struggled wildly, wincing and giving a groan as a spear jabbed mercilessly into his side. He was borne, fighting, feet dragging to the brim of the cauldron – and there a dozen creatures gripped him, locked his hands together, and plunged them into the seething liquid.
He flinched against the expected agony of terrible scalding, and then his face cleared wonderingly.
‘It’s just... warm...!’ he muttered in relief.
Vrestin was subjected to the same treatment. The pigmy-like creatures brought Ian’s hands out, now dripping with the gluey wax.
‘... a sort of gum! What for?’
He tried to free his hands. They were stuck tight, clamped in a ball of substance that was quickly hardening.
Suddenly Ian understood its purpose. He shrugged.
‘Ah, well – better than handcuffs, I suppose...’
But the proud Vrestin was resisting and storming scornfully. ‘Barbarians! What is it that you want with us?’
The creature who had directed this operation gestured again and uttered an order in his cracked sing-song.
‘Over here...!’
The spears urged Vrestin and Ian to their feet and they were forced towards a rough seat. They were shoved on to it, surrounded by spears while one of the creatures ladled some more of the wax from the cauldron and approached.
He poured this around Ian’s ankles, patting it into a solid, rock-hard lump as it cooled.
During all this one of their captors, heavily lined about its narrow eyes and appearing infinitely older than its companions now moved forward, and the thicket of spears parted respectfully to allow him through.
‘Make way for Hetra!’ the leader with the cracked voice ordered.
The aged creature who had been called Hetra drew himself up, with some dignity, and stared at Ian and Vrestin.
‘We will test your reasons for entering our nest,’ he announced, in a hollow voice that trembled with age. He turned and beckoned to the other leader, then pointed to three of their guards.
‘A trial?’ Ian said. ‘Without listening to us?’
Hetra halted and turned. He gave Ian a look of withering mistrust. ‘You would not tell the truth — so your appearance is unnecessary. If we consider you hostile, and enemies — you will die!’
The creature they called Hetra gestured to those of his companions he had chosen and stalked away.
In the control room of the Zarbi Headquarters there was now such furious activity that the guards ignored the presence of Doctor Who and Vicki. The Zarbi manning the control panel were busy relaying streams of instructions to all sections of the planet. This was clear as they flicked different controls, and lights glowed on different segments of the web indicator.
In silence, Doctor Who nudged Vicki. He held a finger to his lips and signed to her to watch the distracted Zarbi control room operators.
Then keeping his own eye on the distant control panel, Doctor Who stole sidelong glances towards the heap of wishbone necklets a guard had piled on the floor not far from them. He reached it without attracting attention and cautiously bent towards the pile.
With a pencil between his outstretched fingers, the Doctor carefully lifted a necklet, balancing it with difficulty and taking care that it should not touch his skin.
Suddenly his eye lit on the strange gun-like weapon he had seen a Zarbi bring into the Headquarters and lay down. He stretched and reached for the gun, too.
Now, while Vicki watched the Zarbi with her breath held, Doctor Who tiptoed back towards their astral table.
There, with a sly smile of triumph, he tipped the necklet off his pencil on to the table, then dropped a paper over it as a shield from the gaze of any inquisitive Zarbi who might wander