The Ghosts of N-Space - Barry Letts [16]
‘You all saw what has been trying to get through those cracks,’ he said at last. ‘When the catastrophe point is reached and the barrier gives way, this planet will be flooded by all the evil in N-Space; all the fear, greed, anger, hate; all the sheer malevolence the world has experienced since the beginning of time will pour out into the world in an overwhelming torrent.
‘And, at the moment, I have no idea how to stop it.’
55
Five
Umberto Callanti – and his father before him – had served the Barone – and his father before him – for most of his seventy-nine years. The master’s long dead parent had if anything been even more eccentric than his son – as witness the time he had invited his favourite mule to dinner, entertaining it with a critique (philosophical rather than literary) of La Divina Commedia, with particular reference to Dante’s descent into the Inferno, whilst Umberto’s father served the creature with oats on a chased silver dish. So it would have been difficult to surprise him.
So when the Doctor had politely asked him to bring two beds or couches and place them in the cloister of the rear courtyard, where he appeared to be constructing some sort of wireless apparatus – Umberto’s brother had built one in 1929, so he knew what they looked like – he had contented himself with a request for help. His back was hurting already and he had quite enough on his hands, especially now that the two youngsters had been invited to stay. At least the Signorina had made her own bed.
‘But what are they for, Doctor? They’re jolly heavy, I can tell you that!’ said the young Signore as he dropped his end of the second truckle bed they had carried down the spiral staircase from the store room in the East Tower. He 56
had done nothing but grumble ever since he was asked to help.
‘Thank you, Umberto, I’m most grateful,’ said the Doctor.
Umberto bowed and departed for the kitchen, waiting until he was safely hidden behind the Doctor’s blue box (which had mysteriously transported itself from the great hall) before he stopped and put his hands on his back to stretch his aching spine.
‘Well, I’m bushed!’ said Jeremy, sitting down on the little low bed he’d just brought down all those stairs. He didn’t get any thanks, he noticed – and he’d had the difficult end too, at the front. And why hadn’t the Brigadier volunteered to give a hand, instead of just hanging around chatting to the Doctor? And where was Sarah, for that matter?
He swung his legs up, lay back and stretched out with a sigh of relief.
‘I shouldn’t lie there if I were you,’ said the Doctor, who was rigging a network of wires across the arched ceiling of the cloister above his head. ‘Not unless you want a trip into N-Space.’
57
What! With all those nasties trying to get at you?
Jeremy leapt to his feet and backed away. The Doctor laughed. ‘It’s all right. The power isn’t attached yet.’
Typical, thought Jeremy. Scaring a chap out of his wits just for a joke.
‘One thing I don’t quite understand, Doctor,’ said the Brigadier. ‘Your explanation of ghosts seemed to make a sort of sense, I suppose –’
‘Thank you,’ said the Doctor. Jeremy could see he didn’t like that.
‘Yes, well…’ went on the Brigadier, who was clearly aware that the Doctor wasn’t too chuffed. ‘It’s those beasties. The – ah – the fiends. You seemed to imply that they share N-Space with the spirits who are stuck there. Are we to take it that the expression N-Space is just a euphemism for plain old-fashioned Hell?’
‘Not exactly,’ said the Doctor. ‘Here, Jeremy, catch hold of this.’ He passed a wire under the pair of beds, came round to take it and threaded it through the tangle of wires climbing up the nearest pillar like the tendrils of a creeping plant.
‘You see,’ he went on, ‘the spirits, as you call them –
the selves? – aren’t condemned to stay there by a vengeful God or anything like that. If they’re condemned at all, it’s only