Doctor Who_ Wolfsbane - Jac Rayner [40]
Mean to say, Lucinda‟s the only girl for me. Lucinda‟s dead now. No girl for me now. No girl for George. George going to sleep now.‟
George Stanton laid his head down on the table, and began to snore softly.
„I think it‟s time for me to join the ladies,‟ Harry said.
Sarah was still exhausted, but once she had woken she just could not turn over and go back to sleep. She staggered out of bed, attempted to wash but the water was so cold she couldn‟t bear it, and didn‟t even really manage what her mother used to call a „cat‟s lick and a promise‟. She swilled the ice water around her mouth, desperately wishing for toothpaste. She wouldn‟t be kissing anyone today.
She took the porridge bowl and spoon back downstairs, and thanked the landlord properly this time. He thawed enough to offer to prepare her some sandwiches, even though it was no longer what he would call lunchtime. She gratefully accepted, deciding not to mention payment until he did.
Nothing had been heard of the Doctor, she learned, as she tucked into a plate of thickly-sliced corned beef on slightly stale bread. He couldn‟t tell her of anywhere where she might buy woollen gloves or scarves or the like - not anywhere she could get to before closing time, at least. Unspoken but obvious was the thought that if people were intending to stay out all night and sleep all day, they should really consider their clothing requirements beforehand. Considering this, Sarah decided not to ask him where she might find a shovel.
The evening was strained and uncomfortable. Harry was desperately trying to avoid the predatory Emmeline Neuberger, which with only three people in the room was not easy. He wished he‟d stayed in the dining room with the drunken and unconscious George Stanton. The grass is always greener.
„Here‟s an amusing story I heard the other day,‟ he began desperately, and then half way through the opening remarks realised the punchline would make absolutely no sense to anyone who had no awareness of the 1966 world cup, and had to hurriedly change to an anecdote about a strange encounter with a whale.
Harry wasn‟t sure about the etiquette of leaving a house where you were a guest to go werewolf hunting in the middle of the night. (Or rather, late evening. Thankfully, everyone had decided on an early night.) Did one just pop out with a blithe „cheerio‟, or was it better to sneak out surreptitiously?
In the end, his detective streak won over his open streak, and he sneaked.
Stealth did not come naturally to Harry. It was a strange thing, but the more he tried to be quiet, the more likely he was to make a noise. Vases he would have breezed past in the normal course of events took unaccountable tumbles when he was trying particularly hard not to disturb them.
Carefully trod-on floorboards let out their most ferocious squeaks. Pictures dived from walls, and ankle-height objects suddenly popped up in the middle of hallways. The culprit today was a rug that had been inexpertly smoothed out.
Harry hadn‟t even reached the end of the corridor before he found himself crashing into a door.
There was a click from the other side, and a fraction of a second later a sliver of light shone out from beneath the door.
Harry held his breath, not daring to move from his hands and knees for fear of making more noise. But the door opened.
He scrabbled to his feet, and stood gaping at Emmeline Neuberger, who was dressed in what Harry knew