Doctor Who_ Warchild - Andrew Cartmel [87]
‘Don’t yank my chain, Saddler. Migraine is a fascinating psychological affliction. You’re not a sufficiently interesting individual to suffer from it.’
‘That’s a terrible thing to say, sir.’
‘And anyhow, I’ve seen your medical record. You’re as fit as a slave-trader’s mule. Now get to your class or you’re looking at a week of detention.’
Wally scooted off after Wolf, wondering if the old bastard was really familiar with his medical record. Weren’t those things supposed to be confidential?
He caught up with Wolf just as he was striding up the staircase and on to the second floor. They walked into their next lesson together. The teacher was busy at the front of the room, drawing something on the board, his saffron robes flopping around his arms as he drew. His back was to the class and some of the kids were fooling around at their desks. The fooling around stopped the instant that Wolf walked in. If there was any undisciplined behaviour in Wolf’s classes it was at his discretion. Otherwise, the kids would suffer punishments that scared them more than anything the teachers could ever dish out.
So, as Wolf walked in with Wally at his side, all the kids’
faces swivelled anxiously towards him, seeking to gauge his mood and get his approval. All the faces except one.
The kids in the classroom relaxed. Because Wolf suddenly had a huge happy grin on his face. And Wally knew the reason why.
It was because of the one kid who hadn’t looked up as they marched in. A dumb kid who sat looking at a text-book, absorbed in it.
The kid from the corridor. The kid from the lunchroom.
The one who’d been hugging Amy Cowan. He must have come up the stairs on the other side of the library while they’d been busy with Mr Pangbourne.
Wolf looked at the kid and smiled.
Outside in the school parking lot Wolf’s father was steering his old Chevrolet into a parking space. The first couple of times the car didn’t go in right. Francis Leemark liked to get his vehicle neatly between the painted lines, so he kept backing out and steering in until he got it just right.
The process seemed to take a long time, and the longer it took the angrier the old man became.
Finally he was satisfied, and switched off the engine. In the sudden silence and brilliant sunlight, the heat seemed to close in on him in the car. Along with the heat he felt his rage brewing in him, steady and powerful.
They said there was a storm coming and when it broke it would clear the air. Francis Leemark hoped so.
He popped the glove compartment to make sure his gun was still in there.
It was, still snug in its regulation army holster. He closed the glove compartment again, feeling better about things. The rage was still there and the afternoon heat enwrapped him like a physical presence, but he felt better.
It was good to know there was a gun handy. A man never knew when he might need one.
Francis Leemark locked the car and went into the school.
Chapter 28
‘Careful,’ said the Doctor. ‘Stand back.’
Benny moved away from the billiard table as the Doctor prepared the syringe.
The library was silent now; the chugging of the pump in the kitchen downstairs had ceased and the last of the liquid had been drained from the tall, glass cylinder.
Jack lay on top of the billiard table, sprawled out like a strange beached sea creature. The tarpaulin had been unrolled and spread underneath him to protect the green felt on the antique table. Small droplets of the liquid were scattered across the tarpaulin. It was gelid and slow to evaporate. Benny stared at the naked body, trying to stop her eyes fixing on the shrivelled tangle of Jack’s genitals.
It had been a considerable struggle to get him out of the cylinder and on to the table. Somehow the Doctor had managed it without getting too dishevelled but Benny knew she was looking a wreck.
‘Messy business,’ said the Doctor sympathetically. ‘Ace found that out when she had to revive someone from a life-support tank.’
Benny