Doctor Who: The Reign of Terror (19 page)

The others were strangely impressed by
this simple and honest statement and by Stirling's air of dedicated
courage. Barbara moved closer to Ian. 'I think we should help,' she
murmured.

Ian saw that she was fired by the same
curiosity as he was himself. He nodded enthusiastically.

The Doctor saw that they were
determined to get involved. 'Very well,' he agreed. 'It's risky, but
we do have Susan's welfare to consider.'

Stirling seized Ian's and Barbara's
arms. 'Then you agree to go?'

'We agree,' Barbara grinned.

Stirling heaved a tremendous sigh of
relief. 'The Doctor and I will remain here,' he decided. 'If we were
seen it could be disastrous.'

Jules had replaced his pistol in his
pocket. '1 will escort Ian and Barbara to the rendezvous, Stirling,
if you are not objecting,' he proposed in halting English.

Stirling smiled gratefully. 'Thank you,
Jules. I was about to suggest it myself.'

The Frenchman hurried to the cabinet
and took out a map which he spread on the dining table. 'It is a ride
of a good two hours,' he told them as they gathered round. 'We take
the Calais road north until this wood. Then we turn left and ride to
the west ... '

'You shouldn't have any trouble
reaching the inn tonight,' Stirling told them. 'Stay the night and
return in the morning. That way you will be less likely to meet any
patrols.'

The Doctor sniffed doubtfully as he
studied the map over Ian's and Barbara's shoulders. He was clearly
unhappy about the plan, but he realised that Susan's future depended
entirely upon Stirling obtaining what he wanted. He also knew that
terrestrial history depended on it too ... And he was forbidden to
interfere with history.

Stirling sat down at the table in a
business-like mood. 'Now. I suggest you take care of the innkeeper
first ... ' he began.

Ian raised his hand. 'Don't worry,
Stirling, you can leave everything to us,' he assured him, nodding at
Barbara and Jules.

Stirling laughed. 'Of course. Forgive
me, but this could be the most vital operation in my whole mission
here,' he admitted. 'I don't want it to fail.'

'Neither do I!' remarked the Doctor
drily, with a significant wink at Ian and Barbara. 'So let's make
sure it doesn't, shall we?'

The rotting wooden sign of The Sinking
Ship inn creaked violently in the fiercely gusting wind. Thick storm
clouds raced across the pale moon and the rain lashed this way and
that in drenching curtains across the deserted countryside. The
bleak, rolling hills resembled monstrous waves in a troubled sea and
the dilapidated inn certainly looked like a sinking ship. It was
almost as gloomy inside, deep shadows falling between the feeble
pools of light cast by one or two guttering oil lamps. The bare
floorboards and rough timber walls of the low-ceilinged bar were very
unwelcoming, and there were only a couple of shady customers crouched
over their wineglasses in the grubby little alcove seats, listening
to the lash of the rain and the hiss of the wind around the edges of
the door.

Muffled in a greatcoat, with a tricorn
hat pulled down over his eyes, Jules Renan sat alone watching the
rain trickle down the filthy panes and occasionally glancing warily
at the other two customers. He looked up as Barbara brought over a
bottle and a glass on a tray and set them down in front of him. She
was wearing a crinkly-edged mobcap over her thick dark hair and a
plain dress with a shawl and a bib.

'Thank you, Barbara,' Jules muttered in
French, tossing a few coins onto her tray.

Barbara scratched her head under the
itchy cap and yawned. 'If this is a typical night's trade I'm not
surprised this place was chosen for a secret meeting,' she said,
picking up the coins.

Jules grinned under his hat. 'I hope I
gagged the innkeeper securely enough. We do not want him yelling up
from the cellar and spoiling everything.'

There was a sudden clinking sound from
among the bottles haphazardly arranged on the lopsided shelving
behind the bar. Jules and Barbara glanced quickly across at the other
customers and then back at each other.

'Ian must be through ... ' Barbara
murmured nervously.

Jules nodded and poured himself some
wine.

'If Barras leaves it much longer he
will find the place closed,' Barbara remarked, picking up her tray.

Jules shrugged. 'Perhaps that is what
he is waiting for.'

Barbara strolled casually back to the
bar, collecting a few empty glasses from the tables on the way. She
set the tray down on the counter and turned, pretending to arrange
the bottles on the shelves behind her. Level with her eyes she saw a
sharp threaded spike, like the tip of a drill, sticking out of the
wall from the other side. Stealthily she moved a bottle that was in
danger of being knocked off the shelf by the revolving tool. Again
she glanced at the customers in the alcove seats and was relieved
that they seemed totally oblivious of the furtive activity in the
small private room next door.

Humming nonchalantly to herself to
conceal her uneasiness, Barbara opened the door at the side of the
bar and slipped quietly into the neighbouring room.

She found Ian Chesterton - wearing the
innkeeper's floppy brimmed hat, calico shirt and leather apron
-standing beside the wall separating the private room from the bar.
He was carefully turning the handle of a large awl, and boring a hole
about a centimetre in diameter in the wooden planking behind some
bookshelves.

'You're through, Ian,' she told him,
closing the door behind her.

'Good. I'm just enlarging the hole a
little bit,' Ian replied. 'Many out there now?'

'Just two apart from Jules. I don't
think they'll stay much longer. The storm's getting worse.'

Ian gingerly removed the sharp end of
the awl from the wall and squinted through the hole into the bar.
'We're all set then,' he murmured. 'Now all we
have to do is get rid of the clientele somehow.'

Barbara nodded. 'Jules says the
innkeeper shouldn't give us any trouble?'

Ian replaced several books around the
hole so that it was not obstructed but also not visible except to
someone who knew it was there. Then he made a quick check around the
sparsely-furnished little room to make sure that everything was in
order for the secret meeting. 'Come on, Barbara ... ' he said,
leading the way back into the bar. 'Everything's ready now.'

No sooner had they closed the door to
the private room than the outer door burst open in a flurry of rain
and wind and a soaking wet figure strode into the dimly-lit bar. As
the newcomer slammed the door against the turbulent night. Jules
Renan gave a furtive signal with his little finger.

Catching Jules's sign, Ian hurried to
greet the windblown visitor. 'Allow me to take your cloak, Citizen .
. . ' he said respectfully in a gruff voice, hoping that his crude
accent would be accepted as the local idiom.

Paul Barras hesitated for a second and
Barbara felt a cold wave of panic sweep over her in case their
deception had been discovered because of some glaring mistake.

'Where is Monsieur Jacques?' Barras
demanded in a deep bass voice, removing his hat with its tricolour
cockade.

Ian thought quickly. 'Jacques sends his
sincere apologies, Citizen. He has been stricken with fever. He asked
me and my good wife here to take care of things in his absence.' Ian
took Barras's hat. 'You must be the Citizen who reserved the private
room. Everything is ready for you.'

Barras stared around the bar. He had a
square, heavy face with fleshy jowls and sunken eyes slightly too
close together. His long brown hair was gathered in a large bow of
ribbon at the back. He wore a huge tricolour sash across his chest
under a severely square-cut coat. Removing his enormous cloak, he
handed it to Ian and then strode through into the private room
followed by Barbara.

Barras glanced briefly around the small
room furnished with a rug, a table and a few chairs. Then he went
over to look out of the window, as if to make
sure that there were no spies lurking outside. Apparently satisfied,
he approached the bookshelves and began to leaf through the handful
of dusty volumes. As his browsing brought him nearer and nearer to
the hole gouged by Ian, Barbara edged nervously up to him.

'Can I bring the Citizen some
refreshment?' she inquired with a respectful smile.

Barras turned and moved to the table.
'Yes, a bottle of wine and two glasses,' he replied.

'Is the Citizen expecting many guests?'
Barbara asked, trying to judge whether Barras had spotted the hole or
not.

Barras glared at her. 'Two glasses,' he
repeated, as if the answer were obvious.

Barbara nodded and did a sort of
fumbled curtsey. 'Of course, Citizen ... ' she murmured, hurrying
out to the bar.

Ian had been making a great performance
of clearing empty bottles and washing glasses at the bar and at last
the two furtive customers had taken the hint. They put on their hats
and shuffled out, nodding goodnight to Jules and slamming the door.

Barbara put a fresh bottle of wine and
two clean glasses on her tray. 'There will just be the two of them
apparently,' she told Ian before hurrying back to the private room.

Ian nodded to Jules, signalling that it
was time for him to depart. Jules drained his glass after raising it
in a silent toast of good luck. Then he stood up and went out into
the storm. Ian peered cautiously through the hole in the wall behind
the bar and watched Barbara place the tray in front of Barras.

Barras inspected the bottle and the
clean glasses carefully while Barbara hovered nearby.

'Will there be anything else, Citizen?'
she inquired.

Barras glanced at his fob watch. 'No,'
he grunted. 'My guest should arrive very soon. Just make sure we are
not disturbed.'

Barbara curtsied. 'Of course, Citizen,'
she smiled and hurried out, leaving Barras walking restlessly round
and round the table.

'As soon as his guest arrives you can
lock up.' Ian told her as she rejoined him at the bar. 'I'll
keep an eye on what goes on next door.'

While Barbara flitted nervously around
doing unnecessary-tidying up, Ian made one last check to make sure he
had a good view of the private room through the wall. Fortunately,
Barras had not obscured the hole when he replaced the books.

After what felt like an interminable
delay, they heard the jangle of harnesses and the rumble of wheels in
the muddy yard outside. Ian squeezed Barbara's trembling hand and
they stood at the bar with their eyes fixed on the outside door.
Meanwhile the door to the private room opened and Paul Barras waited
impatiently for his visitor. There was a splash of boots across the
yard and the door flew open with a bang.

In swept a short, muffled figure
wearing the uniform of a Brigadier-General. A tall triangular hat
pulled well down and a voluminous cape and muffler concealed most of
his face, except for a pair of intense brown eyes. Barbara hurried
over to shut and bolt the door.

Barras came forward to great the
stranger. 'I am delighted that you were able to get here,' he smiled.
'Please come this way.' And he ushered the muffled figure into the
small room and shut the door.

Barbara ran across to Ian. 'Did you
recognise who it was?' she asked breathlessly.

'No. Did you?'

Barbara shook her head and nodded at
the tiny spyhole.

Just as Ian was about to take a peek,
the door to the private room suddenly opened again and the stranger
stared intently around the bar before going back inside and shutting
the door.

Ian waited for a few moments and then
he cautiously put his eye to the hole. What he witnessed in the
following seconds made him gasp in astonishment. Next door, the
stranger had removed his hat, greatcoat and muffler. As the man
turned to face Paul Barras, Ian found himself squinting at the
twenty-five year old Corsican warrior, Napoleon Bonaparte.

'Barbara ... Barbara, it's ... it's
Napoleon!' Ian whispered, almost loudly enough to be heard in the
next room. 'It's Napoleon Bonaparte!'

Barbara flung down her dishcloth and
Ian made way for her to take a look. She saw the squat, almost
neckless figure, as if in a portrait come miraculously to life. There
was the famous fringe brushed forward over the high forehead, the
twin curls in front of the ears, the arched nose and the small,
rather mean mouth. The gold braid on his collar and epaulettes and
the broad sash knotted around his waist gave Napoleon an impressive
air despite his short stature. For Barbara, the only disappointment
was the fact that the future First Consul and Emperor of France did
not have his hand tucked into the opposite flap of his tunic.

'It's history in the making ... '
Barbara whispered, reluctantly moving aside to allow Ian to eavesdrop
and obtain the information James Stirling so desperately wanted in
exchange for Susan's safe release.

Bonaparte sat down opposite Barras at
the table and pulled off his gloves. 'The meeting place was ideally
chosen,' he declared in heavily-accented French.

Barras nodded. 'We are quite secure
here. I made certain I was not followed.' He offered his guest wine.

Napoleon shook his head resolutely.

Barras poured himself a glass.
'General, may I assume that your presence here signifies that you are
interested in my proposition?' he inquired.

Napoleon's face remained
expressionless. 'Interested, but no more than that,' he agreed,
'until I have all the details.'

Barras drank some wine. 'Robespierre
will be arrested after tomorrow's meeting of the Convention,' he
revealed.

Bonaparte's mouth twitched sceptically.
'Will be?' he echoed mockingly. 'It will not be the first attempt.'