Doctor Who_ Warchild - Andrew Cartmel [88]
‘How did Ace manage it without ruining her entire wardrobe?’
‘I believe she got undressed. And in any case, Ace never worried too much about her wardrobe.’ The Doctor frowned thoughtfully. ‘In fact, that was Vincent she was reviving. He seemed to spend half his existence in life-support tanks.
Vincent, and now Jack.’ He looked down at the body on the billiard table, green fluid slowly draining from it. ‘Odd how patterns weave themselves. Vincent and Justine and Creed.
Jack and Shell.’
The Doctor leant over the billiard table and injected Jack with the adrenaline. For a moment nothing happened, and then the man on the table abruptly spread his fingers, splaying them out in a convulsive, spastic fashion. Benny looked down and saw that his toes were curling too, the arch of his foot straining back painfully.
After a moment the spasm subsided and Jack lay still again.
‘Excellent,’ said the Doctor.
‘Is that it?’ said Benny, who’d been expecting Jack to at least open his eyes.
‘Don’t you notice anything?’
Benny looked at the body on the billiard table. The naked man was lying sprawled and quite motionless except for the slight rise and fall of his chest. ‘No,’ she said.
‘Look again.’
Benny scrutinized the man and found her eyes returning again and again to the shaggy mat of damp copper hair on his chest, and the tiny subtle movements as he breathed in and out.
Then she got it. ‘He’s breathing again.’
‘He never really stopped. Or, at least, there was always some low level of respiration continuing while he was in the tank. But now, yes, he’s breathing properly again. Breathing air.’
‘So when will he wake up?’
‘Oh, I’m afraid he has some way to go yet,’ said the Doctor. He had half turned away from Benny and he was taking something out of his pocket.
‘What’s that?’
‘Oh, nothing.’ The Doctor turned to her and showed her the battered gold pocket-watch he was holding. ‘Just checking on the time.’ But he made no move to open the watch. Instead, he bent over and picked up the silver tray which he had perched on top of a pile of books. On it was the ham sandwich, the bottle of brandy and the air-pistol. ‘You know, this may take longer than I expected.’ He offered the tray to Benny.
‘No thanks. I don’t need a gun.’
The Doctor smiled. ‘You really ought to eat this sandwich before it gets stale. I can make another one for Jack when he revives. And why not have a drop of Armagnac, too? You’ve earned it.’
‘Don’t try to distract me.’ Benny ignored the tray. ‘You’re up to something. I can tell by the furtive way you were fishing around in your pocket.’
The Doctor shrugged forlornly and set the tray aside.
‘Why is it that I have no gift for deception?’
‘Don’t come that with me, Doctor. Some would say that you’re the prince of deception. Now let’s see what you’ve really got hidden in your pocket.’
‘It’s not in my pocket, actually. It’s hidden in here.’ The Doctor pressed the fob on the gold watch and its lid clicked neatly open. ‘I just wasn’t sure how you would react to it.’ He held the watch for Benny’s inspection. Inside, pressed against its glass face, was a small, white tablet. There was nothing printed on it to disclose its identity but Benny knew exactly what the tablet was.
‘Warlock,’ she said.
‘I’m afraid so. I know you had some disquieting experiences with this substance so I wasn’t sure you’d welcome its presence.’
Benny could smell the heavy liquorice odour of the drug.
Now that the pocket-watch was open the smell from the pill seemed to be filling the room. It brought back a rapid stream of memories. The apartment of the Mayan brothers in New York and a long afternoon of drinking and drugs as grey storm clouds had rolled across the sky outside. Creed had been there and they had all taken warlock. The drug had come into the room, into their minds like a living presence. It had presided over the strange seance during which a man had died.
Benny had watched him die and hadn’t lifted a finger