The Ghosts of N-Space - Barry Letts [49]
'I can look after myself,' she said in a manly voice, putting her hand on the hilt of the dagger; and then she ruined the whole effect by beginning to giggle uncontrollably. The Doctor frowned. 'What?' he said. 'What is it?'
She managed to abate her laughter a little. 'Honestly, Doctor, you look like Santa Claus.'
He did too. Although he was dressed in a long black robe, his surcoat was a rich red; he'd combed his hair down past his ears and attached a massive white beard to his chin.
'Nonsense,' he said. 'I've modelled myself on the famous self-portrait of my old friend Leonardo, who was an exact contemporary. So it's absolutely accurate.'
'Then your old friend Leonardo looked like Santa Claus too,' she said. 'In any case, if we're going back to his time, do you think it's wise? I mean, suppose you bump into him?
He'll think you're sending him up.'
The Doctor stood up. 'Breakfast, I think you said.'
Perhaps she'd gone too far. She'd hate to offend him.
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But when she was sitting solemnly munching her ration of two green pills and a red jelly baby, she peeped out of the corner of her eyes at him and knew that it was going to be all right.
He was peering into the mirror again and murmuring to himself.
'Ho, ho, ho,' he was saying in an experimental sort of way.
Dawn was breaking when they ran out of petrol. Their destination was no longer a mere loom of light over the edge of the world. The silhouette of the castle-topped island was quite clear - and clearly too far away for them to paddle.
Yet what was the alternative? Maggie had told Jeremy of Max's intention to take the castle. They had to warn the Brigadier.
But after half an hour, when Jeremy was starting to feel that his arm muscles were turning into lumps of jelly and the island seemed if anything to be even further away, Maggie suddenly threw her paddle onto the bottom of the boat and burst into tears.
'What's the freaking good of kidding ourselves?' she said. 'He's going to catch us up; and that means curtains for both.'
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Jeremy stopped paddling too and put out a tentative hand to touch her shoulder. She looked really pretty in the rosy glow of the sunrise, even though her nose was alrealdy starting to turn red and she'd got a smudge of oil on her cheek left over from when they were trying to get the engine to go; but that just made her !ook as if she needed sort of looking after and stuff. 'Don t cry,' he said. 'I'll think of something. I mean, there must be something we can do.'
He looked vaguely round the boat. Even if there'd been some sort of radio, they wouldn't have had a clue how to use it. In any case, there wasn't. It looked as if he was wrong and Maggie was right.
Hang on, though!
He got down on his knees and started to rummage iluough the tangle of ropes and assorted cans of oil and tools and whatnot under the front deck.
'What are you looking for?' asked Maggie damply.
'In films, they always send up rockets and flares and things. I thought that ...' His voice trailed away as he realized that there wasn't a sign of anything of the sort.
It wasn't fair! Even James Bond would be able to do anything in these circumstances. He turned round to Maggie, knowing that not even a comforting hug would really help either of them, desirable as it might be on other grounds.
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His eyes lit up. 'Hey! Get up.'
'What?'
Under Maggie's bum, that's where they must be!
After a deal of confusion as she stood up, and nearly fell out of the boat as they changed places, he opened the lid of the box she'd been sitting on - and yesl A special fat pistol thingy with all the bits and pieces; and on the underside of the lid instructions on what to do.
Maggie was transformed. Grabbing hold of him, she gave him a smacking kiss on the cheek.
'You know what? You're a real smart cookie,' she said, and though he was blushing with pleasure and embarrasment, he decided that all in all she was