The Empire of Glass - Andy Lane [101]
A slight ripple of eager interest ran through the audience as they recognized Shakespeare standing there in the robes of a lady. The noise roused Shakespeare from his trance, and he raised the parchment as if to read from it. Desperately he tried to recall the words that he had so carelessly dashed off all those months ago.
What was he supposed to be doing? Macbeth had met with the three witches who had told him that he would be King, and he had sent a letter to his wife. This was the scene where Lady Macbeth read her husband's letter and realized that, for Macbeth to be King, the present King had to be murdered.
"They met me in the day of success," he said, his voice hesitant,
"and I have learned by the perfectest report that they have more in them than mortal knowledge. When I burned in desire to question them further, they made themselves air, into which they vanished..."
James was nodding now, a thin line of saliva glistening on his chin.
The play had been written for him and him alone, pandering to his hatred of witchcraft and his fear of assassination.
"While I stood rapt in the wonder of it," Shakespeare continued,
"came missives from the King -"
He stopped, for the doors at the rear of the hall, behind the dais, had opened, and two figures had entered. Two familiar figures.
It was the Doctor and his companion, Vicki.
Braxiatel dragged his mind away from thoughts of impending destruction and glanced over at the virtual screen again. A silvery disc was spinning rapidly towards the island. Quickly he manipulated his control box with his fingers and his mind, and the view shifted to the landing area, where he was unsurprised to see a group of slender silhouettes standing and arguing. Two of them were engaged in shoving each other back and forth across the pad, and the whole thing looked as if it might degenerate into a fight. "There's trouble in the ranks," he said.
"Do I take it that your plan was for those creatures to be stuck here?" Galileo asked.
"It was," Braxiatel replied. "That's why I sent the other skiffs away.
One problem at a time, I thought - sort the bomb out first and deal with the Jamarians at my leisure - but if they hijack that skiff from whoever is piloting it, we're finished." His fingers and his mind played across his control box. "And unfortunately whoever is piloting that skiff has set it on automatic homing mode. I can't override it until it arrives."
"And is there any way of determining who that pilot is?" Braxiatel thought for a moment, then touched a stud on his control box and caressed it with a thought. The virtual screen blurred, then cleared to show the padded interior of the skiff. A dark-haired, square-jawed man wearing a brown, embroidered jacket was sitting at the controls with his head in his hands. Braxiatel, unsure whether the man was a native of Venice or a companion of the Doctor, set up a two-way channel directly to the viewscreen in the skiff. Before he could say anything, the man looked up.
"Are you Braxiatel?" the man asked. There was despair in his eyes.
"I am," Braxiatel replied. "And you are?"
"Steven Taylor. Is the Doctor with you?"
"Not quite. He's -" Braxiatel suddenly noticed the body slumped behind Steven. "Who's your friend?"
Steven grimaced. "His name is - was - Christopher Marlowe. Look, there's some kind of metal device in his chest. I don't know what it is, but it's been getting warmer as we've been getting closer to the island."
Braxiatel suddenly felt very old and very tired. "The fuse," he muttered, "it had to be, of course. When things can't get any worse, they always do." He rubbed a hand across his forehead, and was about to say something when Envoy Albrellian pushed him to one side.
"The hatch open, then the meta-cobalt fragment from the man's chest try to remove," he said, the ruff of hair around his eyes fluffed up with some strong emotion. "To join you flying out am I.
One chance to wrap this whole thing up, and one chance only, have we." Turning