Doctor Who: Ribos Operation (7 page)

Unstoffe rapped the flagstones with his tike. ‘My own poor
father spent his life seeking that mine, and I reckon as how he
must have found it just before he died,’ he said solemnly.

Garron had meanwhile edged closer to his reckless young
friend. Suddenly he trod heavily on Unstoffe’s foot.

‘This is sheer fantasy, Highness,’ Sholakh scoffed. The
Graff’s cold blue eyes narrowed to dangerously glinting slits. ‘No
one jests with me, Sholakh. No one,’ he hissed.

Quite unabashed, Unstoffe pushed past Garron and went
right up to the Graff Vynda Ka. ‘That there nugget was found
on my poor father’s frozen body, sir, wrapped up in this,’ he said
holding out a ragged skin parchment.

The Graff and Sholakh carefully scanned the mouldy, faded
sketch. ‘A crude map,’ the Graff breathed, eagerly reaching out
to take the parchment, his eyes widening in anticipation.

‘Maybe sir... maybe....’ Unstoffe grinned, quickly thrusting
the disintegrating sketch into his furs. A shadow of fury passed
over the Levithian Prince’s face as he nodded significantly to
Sholakh.

Just then a group of Shrieve Guards entered the chamber to
relieve those on duty.

‘Change of the Watch,’ Unstoffe said, bowing briefly to the
Graff and to the boggle-eyed Garron before tagging on to the
departing picket. As he left, he managed to wink at Garcon,
unseen by the others.

‘What a fascinating story. My friend and I could not help
overhearing,’ the Doctor said amiably, appearing round the
corner of the Relic Cabinet. ‘It had the ring of truth about it,
don’t you think?’ he added, turning to Romana.

She smiled ironically. ‘The fellow certainly had an honest,
open face,’ she agreed.

Overcoming his anger and frustration with Unstoffe, Garron
gave the Doctor a brazen look. ‘Do you live in Shurr?’ he
enquired politely in his most polished manner.

The Doctor grinned broadly. ‘No. We are from the Norff,’
he replied, in a mixture of East End and Knightsbridge accents.

The Graff Vynda Ka stirred impatiently. ‘Garron, we should
be moving on,’ he rapped.

When they had gone, the Doctor went over and peered into
the cabinet. ‘Fascinating,’ he muttered. ‘That’s quite the biggest
piece of Jethryk I have ever seen. I wonder if our multilingual
friend, Garron, is aware of its value?’ He frowned,
surreptitiously examining the resealed edge of the glass panel
which Unstoffe had replaced earlier. ‘Found in a dead man’s
pocket... a lost mine... a faded map...’ he murmured doubtfully
to himself.

Suddenly the Doctor put his mouth close to Romana’s ear.
‘Someone has broken into this cabinet.. and recently,’ he
whispered, pointing to the edge of the panel.

Romana instantly drew the Locatormutor Core from under
her cloak. ‘We must not lose track of the Segment, Doctor,’ she
breathed. ‘If it has been taken there is no time to...’

‘Nor is this the time to get ourselves turned into glue,’ the
Doctor intrrmpied quietly, noticing that one of the Shrieve
Guards was eyeing them suspiciously, ‘so kindly put that infernal
gadget away...’

‘Eight million opeks, my final offer, Garron,’ the Graff Vynda Ka
cried, turning his back contemptuously and staring into the
fire—his thoughts fixed on the future.

Garron nodded resignedly. ‘I shall have to go to Skythros
and contact the Magellanic Conglomerate by hypercable,
Highness,’ he said.

‘That will take at least a month!’ Sholakh protested.

And, of course, my clients will require a deposit...’ Garron
went on, ignoring Sholakh. ‘Say two million opeks.’

‘A deposit?’ Sholakh spat out the word incredulously. ‘His
Highness is a Prince of the Greater Cyrrhenic Empire. His word
is his bond.’

A sharp, high-pitched whine suddenly burst momentarily
through the chamber. Garron whipped round. Seated at the
table, Sholakh was holding his laser-spear and checking its
charging circuits connected to the Thermite unit attached to his
belt. The Levithian Commander’s steely eyes bore relentlessly
into his. Garron started to sweat as he searched desperately for
words to calm the situation.

‘One million opeks,’ the Graff, suddenly rapped without
turning round.

Garron beamed with relief, his hands clasping and
unclasping nervously over his large belly. ‘I am sure that a
deposit of one million will be entirely acceptable to my clients,
Highness,’ he said, licking his dry lips.

Sholakh was gaping at his master in shocked amazement.
‘Highness, if this creature gets his hands on a million opeks and
is allowed to leave Ribos—what guarantee do we have?’

‘A prudent question, Highness,’ Garron interrupted, ‘and I
can set your mind entirely at rest: the deposit money will be
lodged here in Shurr under the protection of the Captain of the
Shrievalty, guarded night and day.’

Unknown to Garron, the Graff had turned his gaze upward
and was at that moment staring at something jammed into a
soot-filled crevice inside the chimney shaft. He considered a
moment. Then, still without turning round, he instructed
Sholakh to return to the Stellacruiser and fetch the money for
the deposit. When Sholakh protested strongly, the Graff raised
his hand sharply. Sholakh hesitated, then bowed, picked up his
helmet and went to the door, his eyes constantly on Garron’s.

‘I will accompany you to the City Wall,’ Garron proposed
with a gracious smile.

As soon as he was alone, the Graff Vynda Ka slipped off one
of his gauntlets, reached carefully up into the blackened
chimney and took down a small metal object about the size and
shape of a matchbox. He studied it with a grim stare, his cheek
twitching in rapid spasms and his jaw clenched like a sprung
trap. ‘No one crosses the Graff Vynda Ka...’ he muttered,
muffling the device in his sinewy hand. ‘No one.’

Romana stood staring angrily at the mass of glittering treasures
in the Relic Cabinet. Her impatience with the Doctor was rapidly
approaching the limits of endurance. He was pacing the
flagstones of the chamber with his chin sunk onto his chest, deep
in thought. He moved from the cabinet to the door, then back to
the cabinet, then across to the shutter in the far wall and finally
back to the cabinet—as if in some kind of trance. But whenever
he passed one of the Shrieve Guards he looked up with an
affable smile and a nod.

At last Romana could stand it no longer. ‘What is
happening?’ she demanded in a furious whisper, trying hard to
keep up with the Doctor’s erratic steps across the huge
chequered floor.

‘A Triple Alpha Graduate surely does not need to have the
situation explained,’ he muttered. ‘You have all the facts:
examine them.’

Romana folded her arms as if to stop herself provoking a
showdown. ‘Doctor, I refuse to give way to your obvious
attempts to trigger an inadequacy syndrome in my behaviour,’
she said with forced calmness.

‘Knight to Queen’s Bishop Three...’ the Doctor replied,
glancing down at his feet which were planted widely and
awkwardly apart on the flagstones, and then glancing up at the
vaulted roof above them.

‘We are not making any progress at all...’ Romana pleaded.

The Doctor turned to face her. ‘I agree—we need some
fresh air at once,’ he cried, and with a hasty bow towards the
Relics, he marched straight out of the chamber.

Romana caught up with him at the foot of the steps outside.
‘Now where?’ she asked plaintively.

‘Up onto the roof, my dear,’ the Doctor said, bounding up
three steps at a time. ‘I’m told there’s a staggering view...’

The sky was a lurid pattern of green streaks and orange
spirals as the Doctor and Romana huddled over the trap,
struggling to shift the iron plate aside. Suddenly, above the
tortured moan of the wind, a monstrous bellow of rage and
hunger rose from the shaft and echoed in the eerie light around
them.

‘Yes, this is the back door all right,’ the Doctor said, peering
into the darkness below. ‘They must have used a rope ladder.’

‘Who?’ Romana cried impatiently.

‘Garron, of course, and that ferret-faced fellow with the
map,’ the Doctor explained. ‘They obviously planted the Jethryk
in the Relic Cabinet.’

‘Fascinating,’ Romana murmured with heavy sarcasm.

‘Indeed,’ the Doctor nodded. ‘They are trying to sell a fake
map showing the position of a non-existent Jethryk mine.’

Romana leaped to her feet. ‘That is no concern of ours,’ she
shouted. ‘We have no time to meddle in local petty crime.’

Another ear-splitting snarl shook the tower.

‘Please don’t shout,’ the Doctor winced. ‘I have a headache.’

‘All right: how did they get past that... that thing down
there?’ Romana demanded with a shudder, stamping her feet
against the cold.

‘They doped it,’ the Doctor replied simply, replacing the
trap and locking the four tabs. ‘I really ought to thank them for
saving our lives...’

Back in his own motheaten furs again, Unstoffe crunched
through the snow-clogged alleyways near the outskirts of the city
carrying a huge bundle. Making sure he was alone, he
approached a large covered cart and carefully pulled aside the
tattered awning. There spreadeagled among a pile of rags, lay
the enormous semi-naked body of the young Shrieve, snoring
loudly in deeply drugged sleep. Quickly Unstoffe opened the
bundle and spread the Guard’s uniform over him. As he did so,
the Shrieve stirred: Unstoffe glimpsed his massively bulging
muscles. At the same instant he was grabbed roughly from
behind, dragged off the cart and carried bodily into a
neighbouring alleyway where he was flung into a snowdrift.

‘All right, my fancy young friend—what was all that about
then?’ growled a familiar voice.

Unstoffe twisted round and lay there, clawing the snow out
of his eyes and trembling like a leaf. The bulky figure of Garron
was towering over him, his face purple with fury and his
clenched hands raised threateningly. ‘Skrynge stone... lost
mines... dead prospectors... phoney maps... What are you trying
to do—blow the whole scheme?’ he hissed, reaching down and
yanking Unstoffe up by the collar. ‘I should break your
miserable little neck, my lad.’

Unstoffe wriggled free. ‘Listen, you old fool, I was just using
my loaf...’ he protested, ‘a bit of initiative: we could sell the map
as an extra.’

Garron bore down on his cowering accomplice. ‘Listen, boy,
this is strictly a hit and run game—one bite and away—no
banquets,’ he said grimly. ‘How often have I dinned it into your
cloth ears: don’t get greedy and don’t give them time to think.’

Unstoffe bit his lip and looked sullen. Suddenly he flashed
an impish smile. ‘What did you think of the accent?’ he
chuckled.

Garron looked appalled. ‘I’m the linguist in this outfit,’ he
snapped. ‘I was sweating blood standing there while you did
your party piece dressed like some prehistoric clown. I thought
this Graff is no softy. He’s a big bad soldier and if he tumbles
that he’s being conned...’ Garron passed a stubby finger slowly
across his throat.

Unstoffe shivered and glanced around. ‘You’re right, boss,’
he murmured.

Garron pulled his fur hood tighter against the wind. ‘Listen,
Sholakh’s fetching the deposit,’ he said. ‘A million.’

Unstoffe’s beady eyes nearly popped out of his foxy little
face. ‘A mil... a million?’ he gasped.

‘So stick to the plan from now on—or else,’ Garron warned.
‘We’ll meet by the shaft in an hour.’

Unstoffe shuddered. ‘Go down there again... dope that beast
again...’ he whined. ‘You don’t know what it’s like.’

Garron waved goodbye and turned to go. ‘Just keep your
mind on one million gold opeks and it’ll be a doddle,’ he
retorted.

Suddenly Unstoffe’s face lit up. ‘That big, curly-headed
bloke with the girl...’ he called.

‘I’ve got my eye on them, don’t worry,’ Garron flung over
his shoulder as he waddled away.

‘Maybe I could sell them the map,’ Unstoffe chuckled to
himself watching Garron disappear in the direction of the
Citadel.

Just then there was a bellow of rage and the sound of
splintering wood from the adjacent alley as the young Shrieve
woke up. Unstoffe’s cheeky grin vanished at once, and he fled
away from the commotion as fast as he could scurry through the
snowdrifts, making for the Citadel by a roundabout route as
arranged.

The Graff Vynda Ka stared intently at the small circle of red-hot
ash he had made on the edge of the flagstone hearth. Inside the
glowing ring, facing each other on opposite sides, two scorpion-like creatures quivered with pincered stings raised for the attack.

Impatiently the Graff prodded one with his thick gauntlet. The
creature thrust its pincer into the glove several times and then
was still again. The Graff goaded the other. Nothing happened.
He tried again. And again. But the creatures refused to attack
each other. With a sigh of disappointment, the grim-faced young
Prince shovelled the hot ash over them and then ground them
with the heel of his boot.

Seconds later Sholakh entered, returning from the Levithian
spacecraft with the million gold opeks concealed in his armour.
Signalling to his Commander to keep silent, the Graff showed
him the bugging device which he had replaced in its blackened
niche inside the chimney. Then, without speaking, they hurried
from the chamber.

‘Is is not a product of this planet, Highness,’ Sholakh
frowned as soon as they were outside.

‘Garron planted it,’ the Graff Vynda Ka snapped, his face an
impassive mask. ‘He must know everything.’

Sholakh smashed a gauntleted fist against the wall. ‘I have
suspected that bloated hog from the start,’ he growled.

The Graff stalked off down the passage in the direction of
the Relic Chamber. ‘That Shrieve Guard whose father
discovered the Jethryk... a remarkable coincidence,’ he
murmured.