The Ghosts of N-Space - Barry Letts [27]
‘I command thee and conjure thee that thou shalt obey me in all things,’ he continued in a tone of barely suppressed rage. ‘In the name of Astaroth, of Beelzebub, and of the great Lucifer himself, I command thee!’
The man stopped and faced the towering figure. His face was all bewilderment. ‘Of course, Master,’ he said.
‘Have I not always been faithful?’
He didn’t realize that he was dead! He must have forgotten everything that had led up to his terrible end.
Sarah, utterly caught up in the drama which was unfolding before her, leant forward the better to see the expression on the master’s face – and found herself floating out of the wall full into his view.
He turned at the movement, utter disbelief coming into his face, but before he could react further, the Doctor was by her side. He grasped her hand. ‘Come on!’ he said; and the pair of them shot backwards, through the half-open door, away across the courtyard to the cloistered darkness on the other side.
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They stopped. Sarah was gasping with the shock, the suddenness of it.
‘I’m sorry,’ she managed to say.
‘No harm done,’ said the Doctor. ‘I apologize for giving you such a shock. If I’d given him time to think…’ He stopped, shaking his head at the thought.
‘Why? What do you mean?’
‘The fellow’s a necromancer as well as an alchemist.
You saw how that poor creature was in his power. He could have enslaved you as well.’
The thought was overwhelming. Suddenly Sarah had had enough. ‘Let’s get out of here,’ she said, and her body started to shake.
‘We’ll have to give him time to get over it,’ answered the Doctor. ‘We’d have to go right past that door to get away. In any case, I need more information. Let’s go and see what we can find out.’
Reluctantly she followed him into the dark corridors, sparsely lit with torches.
‘Are you feeling better?’
‘I’ll survive.’
‘Good girl. Off we go then.’
Yes, she was feeling better. Better enough to be able to smile wrily at the fact that Sarah Jane Smith, bold investigative journalist, didn’t object at all to being told she 96
was a ‘good girl’ by the Doctor in that slightly patronizing manner he sometimes had. After all, there was a generation gap of something like seven hundred years!
After his experience with the kitchen-maid, he was much more cautious, peeping round comers (and out of walls) to make sure that the coast was clear – which quite often it was not. The castle was obviously the heart of a very busy community. There were not only servants, but soldiers in chain mail, monks like the one who died (‘They’re actually friars,’ whispered the Doctor), finely-dressed gentlemen and their ladies, and officials, mostly dressed in black robes, who were not quite gentlemen, but obviously of some importance in the household.
The conversations they overheard told them very little, being mostly trivial (like most conversations today, thought Sarah). But then they found themselves in a large room which was furnished with considerably more luxury than anything they had so far seen. There were rich tapestries hanging on the walls and the chairs were covered with embroidery of some complexity and beauty. Hanging over the fireplace was a portrait of a handsome young man.
Sitting by the smouldering log fire was a woman in a long robe, with a quite elaborate head-dress. She was dabbing at her eyes with a lace-trimmed handkerchief.
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‘I tell you, madam, it displeases me to see you weeping for him still. After so many years…’ The words were spoken by a grey-haired man who was sitting on a cross-legged chair on the other side of the fireplace.
‘I weep for us all,’ she replied. ‘I weep that his very inheritance should be in hazard to a stranger. Can this evil man – this sorcerer – be in truth your cousin?’
‘He seems to bear the proof. And he is no sorcerer,