Doctor Who_ Warchild - Andrew Cartmel [101]
‘No, I’ll wait back here and keep an eye on things. Just tell me what you’re up to.’
‘The White King,’ whispered Redmond. ‘He’s in the front yard. I think I can get a clear shot at him.’ He patted the side of his weapon affectionately. Night-scope and all that.’
‘But Creed is coming in the armoured car. That’s what I arranged. He’s going to cover the front yard and pick off the White King if he can.’
‘Sure, that’s the plan,’ said Redmond. ‘But why should he have all the fun? More to the point, why should he get all the glory?’
‘Glory? I knew it. It’s some kind of male competitive thing.
Can’t you keep your hormones under control?’
‘I guess not,’ said Redmond happily. ‘It must be my time of the month.’ He began crawling towards the edge of the roof, his gun cradled over his folded elbows.
As soon as he reached the lip of the roof he paused and checked his weapon, making sure that it was fully loaded and the sight was calibrated accurately. No mistakes, now. Only when he was satisfied with the gun did he allow himself to peer over the edge of the roof.
Down below in the front garden of the house the dogs were scattered in small groups, kneeling patiently, waiting.
The White King was sitting on his own by the front steps of the house, all of the other animals keeping a respectful distance from him. The nearest cluster of dogs were three or four metres away; they sat watching the White King, quietly awaiting some action from him. Like courtiers, thought Redmond.
As he looked beyond the small front garden of the house he saw the innumerable other groups of dogs scattered across the roads and yards of the estate, until they vanished in the dark distance. Redmond had the dizzying feeling that if he could just see the position of the entire pack all at once it would form a pattern, a pattern of cosmic significance. A swirling mandala with the White King at its centre.
Now, this is no time to get imaginative, thought Redmond.
He raised his gun and took aim at the dog called the White King. The night-scope immediately brought it zooming into close, sharp detail.
The old dog shook itself wearily and slowly raised its head, its long ears trailing back on its wedge-shaped skull. It lifted its muzzle and peered up into the night. Redmond knew that it couldn’t possibly see him but nonetheless he had the eerie feeling that the White King knew he was there.
It was staring up at him through the night-scope with a strange sort of awareness in its dark eyes. The dog peered unwaveringly up at Redmond as he switched his weapon to single fire and jacked a round silently into the chamber. It was as if the White King knew exactly what he was doing.
Redmond suppressed a shudder.
But that couldn’t be true. If the dog knew he was aiming a gun at it, surely it would try and escape? Get up and run.
Summon its courtiers to help. Do something.
Wouldn’t it?
The dark eyes of the dog stared up at Redmond, full of knowledge and resignation. And despair. Redmond squeezed his own eyes shut and silently cursed himself. This was worse than imaginative. He was going round the twist.
All he could see below him was a gaunt animal, eyes an unreadable black in the processed moonlight of the telescopic sight. But he was reading a world-weariness and suicidal resignation into the eyes of the creature. He was reading intelligence there. It was as if the dog knew what he was doing, and that he was doing it a favour.
Sheer madness.
Well, there was one easy cure for it. Pull the trigger and be done with the whole thing.
Redmond saw some of the dogs sitting near the roadside begin to stir restlessly. He realized that for some moments now he’d been hearing a sound. His subconscious mind had already detected and identified it as the raw rattling noise of the armoured car’s engine.
The big vehicle was approaching along the curved perimeter road of the estate. All the more reason to shoot the White