Doctor Who_ Warchild - Andrew Cartmel [110]
said Roz. ‘One minute it was a pack, all the members working together, and then it was just a bunch of dogs.’
‘A very large bunch of dogs.’
‘It was like they were suddenly all looking around, wondering where they were. What they were doing here.’
‘Like they were waking from a spell,’ insisted Benny.
‘All looking around, confused. And then they started to wander off. Going home, I suppose. All those dogs. All at once. There were a few fights that broke out amongst them.
But only a few.’
‘So for the most part they dispersed peacefully?’ said Redmond, smiling.
‘That’s right. Thousands of dogs.’
‘You know,’ said Benny. ‘We could even hear them howling in Kent. There must have been tens of thousands of them, all over the country. Hundreds of packs.’
‘Or just one big pack.’
‘All under the control of the White King.’
At the mention of the name all three of them looked up at the dog.
It was the only dog still in sight, frail and old, its long scrawny body sprawled on the pavement beside the hearse.
It lay there limp and motionless. The only sign of life was the lazy twitching of his tail, sweeping back and forth in doggy contentment.
‘He’s been lying there since we arrived,’ said Benny. ‘Did you see him when he first went near the hearse?’ Redmond shook his head. ‘I’ve never seen a dog act like that. It was like he was going crazy with joy.’
The White King stirred lazily to make way for the Doctor as he stepped over him.
‘He did, didn’t he?’
Dawn sunlight was angling into the front of the hearse, showing the Doctor inside, bent over, evidently looking for something. The rear of the vehicle, however, remained shielded from view, with its dark curtains still tightly sealed.
Redmond nodded towards the hearse. ‘What’s in the back of it?’ he said.
‘No one you know,’ said Benny.
The highly polished exterior of the hearse gleamed in the early morning light. The Doctor’s legs protruded from the vehicle’s open front door; they wiggled as he writhed around inside, looking for something.
‘Do you want a hand?’ said Creed.
‘No,’ said the Doctor’s voice from inside. ‘It’s just this rather annoying glove compartment. It’s stuck. I suppose the glove compartment doesn’t get used much in a vehicle like this. Ah. There we go.’ There was a clunking sound and the Doctor emerged from the front of the hearse, smiling.
He leant out, his hand extended, offering a small enamelled box to Creed.
Creed took it and examined it. The box was a chunky hinged cube, surprisingly heavy, as if it was made of lead.
The exterior of the box was lacquered a shiny black, with gold-coloured lettering cut into it.
The lettering was ridiculously elaborate and Creed doubted he would’ve been able to read it even if it had been in English.
But the lettering appeared to be Russian. What they call Cyrillic script. Creed hefted the small box. It was cool to the touch.
The Doctor slammed the glove compartment shut and scrambled back out of the hearse. Creed looked up as he came over.
‘Is it made of lead?’
‘No. Another metal similar in weight,’ said the Doctor.
‘Gold.’
Creed traced the antique Russian lettering with his fingers. ‘What’s inside?’
The Doctor drew a small gold key out of his pocket and waggled it. ‘I could tell you,’ he said, handing the key to Creed. ‘But I won’t need to. As soon as you open the box you’ll know. Even before you see it, you’ll know what’s inside.’
Creed took the key. The Doctor was right. He knew what was in it as soon as he unlocked it and opened it the merest crack.
Because suddenly there was a strong liquorice aroma all around them, hanging on the clean morning air. Under the hearse the old white dog suddenly whined.
‘Warlock,’ said Creed. He opened the box the rest of the way and saw that the drug was in its unprocessed form: a couple of withered mushrooms; the distinctive yellow, green and purple splotches faded an almost uniform brown on the dried folds of the fungi.
‘Yes, I’m afraid the past has come back to haunt us,’ said the Doctor.
He took another key from his pocket, but this one was