The Empire of Glass - Andy Lane [33]
Twenty years. As he walked down the stairs towards the salon, he remembered the problems, the setbacks and the unmitigated disasters that had befallen him in that time. The whole thing had been on the verge of falling apart at one stage, until he had suggested, albeit reluctantly, involving the Doctor. That had turned the tide. The Doctor was integral to his plans now, and he would not, could not stop. Not when he was so close to success. It was a shame that the Doctor's name was so symboloc, but Braxiatel was enough of a realist to accept it, and work with it. He didn't have to like it, though.
Szaratak and Tzorogol, his two Jamarian aides, were standing in the salon waiting for him. As soon as he entered, they turned off their hologuise generators and returned to their thin, horned Jamarian forms.
"What has happened?" Braxiatel asked immediately. "I wasn't expecting a report until tomorrow morning."
"We have located the Doctor," Szaratak grunted. "The real Doctor,"
it added, flicking its head back so that its horn whistled through the air. "He's making his way by coach around the coastline. He'll be in Venice within a few hours."
"By coach?" Braxiatel frowned. "Are you sure?"
"Of course we are sure," Tzorogol snapped. "He's exactly the way you described him: an old man with sharp features and white hair."
"This is the only other person for miles around who fits the description," Szaratak added. "We did a full scan. How many people do you want around here who look like the Doctor before you decide which one you want?"
"All right," Braxiatel said, irritated by Szaratak's near insolence,
"send a welcoming committee of as many envoys as you can round up. Explain the situation to them first. Is the Doctor alone?"
Szaratak and Tzorogorol both shook their small heads. "He has company with him," Szaratak growled.
"Hmm," Braxiatel mused, "he does travel with companions, we know that, and his companions are used to dealing with aliens. Tell the envoys there's no point in using their hologuises. I don't want any misunderstandings on the Doctor's part, and besides, those things drain energy like nobody's business." He stared at the two Jamarians. "Was that it, or is there something else?"
They glanced at each other. "That's it," Szaratak growled.
"Then get going," Braxiatel snapped. The two Jamarians glared at him for a moment, then turned to leave. "And don't forget to turn on your hologuises before you leave the house," he shouted after them.
Jamarians. He shook his head sadly. To think that he was using a race too paranoid to develop anything more than a rudimentary civilisation. He'd have been better off using Ogrons.
"This is excellent," the Doctor said, waving his hand across the table. "A repast fit for a king."
Vicki smiled enthusiastically as Gallileo nodded his acknowledgement. "It's wonderful," she said. "What is everything?"
Galileo took a swig of his wine, and wiped the back of his hand across his mouth. "Red and yellow peppers in olive oil," he said, indicating a gaily coloured dish, "Tomatoes stuffed with anchovies, squid and a salad of mozzarella, aubergine and olives. A simple first course. There will be soup and potato dumplings to follow, then calves' brains and tongue."
Vicki looked over to where Steven was gazing morosely at the plate in front of him. Behind him, Galileo's dining room was in semi-darkness, with only the light from the candelabras illuminating the table and the food. In the shadows beyond, Vicki gained the impression of faded velvets and threadbare tapestries.
"Isn't it nice, Steven?" she said brightly, just to see his reaction.
She wasn't disappointed: he flinched, startled, then looked around the table.
"Er... that's right," he