Doctor Who_ Wooden Heart - Martin Day [57]
‘Doctor…’
‘Hmm?’
‘The choice before us… I know which way to go.’
‘Really?’
Jude pointed – at the far end of the corridor they faced, where shadows thrived and merged, she could just make out the angelic creature that had attacked the Doctor.
‘Any corridor but that one,’ she said simply.
‘He’s gone!’ shouted Martha. Desperate, she was trying to pull Petr’s hands from his brother’s throat. ‘Your boy, Thorn – he’s disappeared!’
She tugged at Petr’s arms, seemingly in vain. Though less well built than Saul, Petr was no desk-bound wimp. He was as strong as anyone in the village, given that all lived in harsh conditions and had to struggle to survive. Martha could barely get a grip on his arms, and she was worried that he might throw her aside again. Her lip was sore from where she’d hit the ground, and one hand and elbow were grazed.
‘Gone?’ said Petr suddenly. The manic look drained from his face like drawn poison. His arms dropped, limp, to his sides.
Saul collapsed, choking and gasping for air.
‘You could have killed him!’ said Martha, more angry now than anything. ‘You stupid, stupid man! We’ve got to get to that island – together.’
Petr looked around, desperate to get one last glimpse of his son, but the wall of fog was opaque now. He looked down at his brother, though his eyes didn’t seem t us on him. ‘We’ll talk later,’ he growled, and marched off into the fog.
Martha helped Saul to his feet. ‘Is it true?’ she asked, not sure if they should trust the apparition they had just seen. ‘You and Kristine…’
Saul got up, looking guilty – and grateful to be alive. ‘We’ve always been very close,’ he explained, clear in his throat and dusting himself down. ‘We saw each other for months before Petr even noticed her – always had his head in the clouds, you see. Even then.’
‘And, even though she married Petr…’
‘He’s always been suspicious of me.’
‘Sounds like he has every right to be,’ said Martha. She didn’t mean to be so harsh, but the last thing she needed – when the world was about to end – was a domestic feud. Saul said nothing in response.
They soon came across Petr, stooped by a handful of small boats that were moored behind a large house on stilts, right at the lake’s edge. The fog was a little less thick here, and Petr was already waist-deep in the water, struggling to untie one of the boats.
Saul wordlessly waded into the lake, helping his brother with the rope, which was matted and the colour of algae. Soon both men were in the boat and trying to help Martha to join them without tipping the whole thing over.
Martha wasn’t overly keen on ships of any size, still less this rickety vessel that seemed little more advanced than a coracle from a museum. It was far larger than she might have expected, though, with a definite prow and stern, and places set up for oars, and plenty of room in the centre for fish – or, in this case, a bedraggled woman convinced she’d left her sea legs behind. Martha flopped into the middle of the boat with all the grace and finesse of a harpooned seal.
As she struggled to sit, Saul and Petr began to row the boat across the lake. Without talking, without even looking at each other, they established a decent, sustainable rhythm. Soon the shoreline, and the cluster of shapes that represented the village, slipped back into the fog.
The boat lurched suddenly. Perhaps the lake wasn’t as calm as it appeared.
‘You said you had to be brave to fish in the lake,’ said Martha. ‘Why’s that, then?’ In truth, she was just desperate to break the silence that the brothers had lapsed into.
‘Oh, you’re safe enough if you stay near the shore,’ said Saul, after a rare glance at Petr as if asking for permission to speak.
‘Given that we’re heading out towards the island,’ said Martha, ‘that doesn’t entirely answer my question.’
‘You’ll find out soon enough,’ said Saul. He turned his gaze back to the lake in front of him. The water was calm again, as flat as a sheet of glass, and the fog that drifted