The Ghosts of N-Space - Barry Letts [25]
‘No, Signore, it’s God’s truth. It was a man. He just appeared from nowhere. Dressed all in black with white hair and mad staring eyes.’
The Doctor, to Sarah’s surprise, turned and winked at her.
‘You’ve been listening to Signorina Louisa and her foolish tales,’ said the man.
‘No, no. I saw him, I saw him.’
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‘You’ll be telling me next that the pots jumped off the table by themselves. To be sure, I’m getting a little tired of these fancies.’
The servant was screwing her apron into a little ball, so agitated was she, so intent on making her master believe her.
‘No, Signore! When the glasses flew across the room and broke themselves, we all saw it. Even Signor Berino.’
The Doctor raised an eyebrow and mouthed a word at Sarah. What was he trying to say? Potter something? Oh no, of course. Poltergeist!
‘And the walking cupboard? And the dancing saucepans? I’ll have no more of it, do you hear? Go back to the kitchen and get on with your work.’
His voice softened as the woman dissolved into gasping tears. ‘Begone with you,’ he said. ‘I’ll tell Signor Berino not to stop the broken pots from your wages.’ But she only sobbed harder.
‘Come along,’ he said, rising to his feet, ‘I’ll go with you. I’ll warrant there’s nothing more frightening in the kitchen than the old tabbycat.’
He threw the paper down and took her arm. She suffered him to draw her gently towards the door.
‘Hide!’ mouthed the Doctor. Sarah looked around wildly. Where? There just wasn’t anywhere near enough.
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But as she looked, she saw the Doctor melt into the wall behind him and with an inward grin at herself she followed suit through her own wall.
She found herself in, of all places, the library; though now it was clean and tidy with all the books in the right place. Right down the other end was sitting (luckily three-quarter turned away) a young female in a sprigged lilac dress, reading. Sarah kept very still.
‘You can come out now,’ she heard the Doctor s voice saying quietly; and when she returned, his head was sticking through the stones opposite for all the world as if somebody had shot him and mounted his stuffed head on the wall like a Bengal tiger.
‘Nothing but a simple poltergeist, it seems,’ he said, stepping out and going into the great hall.
‘Now, if there were a youngster, an adolescent, in the castle we’d have our confirmation.’
‘I just saw her. In the library. About fifteen, I’d say.’
‘Well, there you are then,’ said the Doctor, picking up the newspaper. Sarah caught a glimpse of one of the headings – you could hardly call it a headline. The Corsican Tyrant Ailing, it said.
‘Eighteen eighteen,’ said the Doctor. ‘A time of hope: and a long way away from our other port of call. Ready?’
‘Where are we going now?’ asked Sarah.
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Of course, they were going to the castle yet again – but a seemingly newer castle than either of the others, though it was difficult to see it in any great detail as they arrived during the hours of darkness.
Again the Doctor tested the opening with his scope; again it yielded a moderate glow; again they entered the castle through the wall into the courtyard.
This time, however, their trip was curtailed. Before they could reach the house door, the sound of hurrying footsteps came to their ears. With a gesture, the Doctor slipped into the shadow of the cloisters Sarah close behind him.
From the archway which led into the garden, a monk-like figure came scurrying, carrying with great care and even greater difficulty a small but heavy jar. It seemed as though his greatest fear was that the contents might spill over the rim – and yet he scuttled along as though the consequences of being late would be far worse.
They watched him disappear into the store-room under the wall.
‘Where have you been?’
The harsh voice could be clearly heard from inside. The Doctor pointed to the door, which had been left open. She nodded and followed him as he floated gently to the opening. Stopping when he stopped, she found that if she 90
went