Falls the Shadow (29 page)

The Cruakh of Cathedral was a place of dust and silence. Tragedy hung in the air, infusing the place with an understanding of its loss. A silent whisper descended on the city, drowning the alleys and the towers and the factories. Cathedral heard the rumours of death.

The Set knew. The grey Mandelbrot faces were still stone slabs. A frightened silence sapped their arrogance.

Bernice Summerfield knew. She knew because she was now as much a part of the city as the Set. Her anger was reserved for the Mandelbrot Set. Benny stared up at them, seeing cancerous grey stains spread across the wall. They had sent the grey man to die in a war which he did not want and could not win. Benny herself had been the lever with which they forced him to act. She felt used. The grey man’s body lay at her feet, there was grey blood on her hands. She was upset. And angry.

She turned, prepared to march out of the Cruakh, but found the exit blocked by citizens dressed in elaborate robes decorated with stark death’s‐
head shapes. Their masks were blank metal.

One of the Mandelbrot heads rumbled uneasily, as if clearing its throat. When it spoke, its voice was light, without the normal self‐
assurance.

‘He dies,’ it said, slurring through a ghastly parody of a memorial address. ‘These Gabriel and Tanith have killed him. Evident it is that Cathedral may not stand up to these. We are confounded. Where is our course?’

Another Mandelbrot spoke, its voice retaining some arrogance. This was the first time Benny had heard one Mandelbrot address another. It was like listening to a schizophrenic arguing with themself.

‘He stepped into the bounds of death. His soul was willingly spent. To spite
us
! His care for the programme is sham! He destabilizes our efforts. He seeks the ruin of Cathedral! He betrays
us
!’ The Mandelbrot voice screamed into higher pitches of hysteria. A third head took over.

‘Courses of action should be deciding upon of an immediacy,’ it droned. ‘Otherwise Cathedral gives way to entropy. Survival of the programme is imperative.’

‘Close ranks! Close ranks!’ warbled a smaller face on the edge of the ranks of the Set. The others inclined their fixed faces towards it and strained to nod.

‘We must conserve. Seal Cathedral ’gainst the outer realities. We must be
fasces
. Bound rods become, axe‐
strike when threatened.’

At this the entire Set screamed its agreement and Benny felt a ghost headache twinging inside her reconstituted skull. Then she felt heavy hands falling on her shoulders and locking her forearms.

‘Take this one,’ a Mandelbrot called. ‘Her existence threatens the city. She is outsider, alien. Worse, she conspires with the traitor‐
builder. For her, execution!’

Benny’s mouth opened, but there was a rag‐
gloved hand clasped over her face and her yells were blocked. Thrashing ineffectually, Benny felt herself being borne away, dragged outside by the citizens. The harsh voices of the Mandelbrot Set squawked behind her, echoing across the soulless city.

‘Protect and survive! Protect and survive!’

Benny was dead and Ace felt angry. At first it had been a sentimental, irrational anger that left her screaming inside. That had changed. Numb disbelief had given way to a sad, pragmatic acceptance of the reality of her friend’s death. Her anger became cold and callous – geared to rage, to revenge. She stopped thinking about who she could blame for Benny’s death. She began to consider her actions.

Ace’s anger focused on Gabriel and Tanith, and the best ways to kill them.

Open aggression was out. She’d tried it – it didn’t work. She needed a more imaginative approach. Ruthlessly logical, she decided that her efforts would be best served by bringing the survivors of TARDIS and household together for a brainstorming session. Even if no one else could come up with anything, the Doctor would have some scheme up his sleeve.

Shit. Cliché.

The Doctor wasn’t interested.

That was great, that was just bloody great.

Ace had never seen him so disinterested. He squatted in the cellar, withdrawn into contemplation. He answered questions with a unintelligibly low murmur. Ace guessed he was wallowing in self‐
examination and angst and similar psychoanalytical crap. Ace had gone through patches of depression in the past, but she’d been a kid and she’d grown out of it. Watching a grown man endure the same was embarrassing.

No, she was being cruel. Benny’s death had got right to the core of him. Ace didn’t like it, but she understood. She just wished he’d snap out of it and
do
something. But then the Doctor had never been very practical. She’d seen his moods before but nothing quite as dense and disturbing as this. Here was a Time Lord on the verge of neurosis, Ace decided, and she felt bitter.

Who else?

Sandra was no use. The last time Ace saw her she was a panicking whirlwind figure, disappearing from the cellar in an unco‐
ordinated rush. Ace heard her later, sobbing behind the security of a locked bedroom door. Just like a little girl. Ace realized she was judging too harshly. Her frustration was taking over.

Cranleigh: too far gone to help.

Ace had no idea where Gabriel had taken Page but Ace doubted that she would think of anything constructive. She was locked into a cycle of vicious, unthinking aggression. Ace was a big fan of aggression but she knew when to give it a rest. She was beginning to think she was the only one left without severe emotional problems, or with the balls to deal with a practical problem in a practical way.

There was Winterdawn. She didn’t like him, but he was in better spirits than most others in this house. She believed the Doctor had a quiet respect for his intelligence and expertise. She’d find Winterdawn. If nothing else, he might be able to draw the Doctor back into the game.

Winterdawn had disappeared into the labyrinthine house the moment he’d reacclimatized himself to the sensation of walking. Briefly Ace wondered why Gabriel and Tanith had restored movement to him but she didn’t dwell on it. She doubted they had any good reason; it’d probably seemed like a good idea at the time. It made Winterdawn happy, and happiness was rare. He’d probably disappeared off for a good long walk through the house, regaining his feel for its floors and stairways. Good for him, Ace thought. Winterdawn had a lot of energy. She could use that.

The passages were empty. Silent too. They were dead, Ace realized as she prowled in search of her quarry. Gabriel and Tanith had torn its heart out. It was no longer a fit place to live. No way was Winterdawn staying here once this was over.

She didn’t like him, but he didn’t deserve this.

Winterdawn’s voice carried through the stillness, indistinct but audible. Ace caught the sound on the air and crouched, eagerly searching for its source. This was just like hunting, like tracking. Ace felt a little better.

Winterdawn was talking earnestly in low tones. He was in one of the better furnished rooms at the front of the house. Once she had a voice to follow, Ace found it quickly. She reached the door, reached for the handle.

Let her hand fall.

She held back. No particular reason. Just instinct and lingering suspicion. And a question.

Who is he talking to?

‘That’s not mine. I,’ (a long, indistinct passage), ‘…tetrahedron. I don’t know anything about a tardis… what…?’

Ace could feel her heart – a steady thump beneath her ribs. She could hear her breathing – her lungs were like wheezing engines inhaling and expelling whole atmospheres in one go. It was an irrational thought, but she was certain Winterdawn could hear.

This was stupid. She was just scared.

‘You can have the tetrahedron and my promise that we won’t harm you.’

‘That’s not much. We could have all that and leave you with nothing.’

Tanith’s voice.

Ace’s eyes narrowed. She’d been right, she’d been right all along. A tide of anger welled inside her. She rode it with vicious enthusiasm.

It was nice to have someone easy to kill.

‘So what d’you want?’ Winterdawn growled.

‘Oh, we don’t want anything,’ Gabriel replied smoothly. ‘Your way is more interesting.’

‘And it touches us inside deep down,’ Tanith purred, ‘to know that in our short time in this cosmos we’ll have done something truly good.’ There was far too much charm, far too much sincerity in that voice.

‘You mean you will…?’ Winterdawn’s tone was almost incredulous. Ace wasn’t impressed.

‘My dear fellow, yes!’ Gabriel enthused. ‘We have a small matter to deal with first.’

‘How long?’ Winterdawn asked cautiously.

‘Half an hour. Perhaps less,’ Tanith estimated. ‘Your acquiescence over the tetrahedron was most generous. It will bring matters to a swifter conclusion than we expected.’

‘And then…?’

‘Then, Professor.
Then
.’

Winterdawn coughed and Ace could picture him shuffling uneasily in the room beyond the door. It was a particularly vivid picture given that the last time she’d seen him he’d barely been able to stand.

‘This is… far more important to me than you can understand. More important than
this
. Thank you.’

‘Don’t thank us now.’

‘We’ll be off then.’

Silence. Ace strained to listen.

‘Where are you going?’ Winterdawn asked, suspicion trembling on his lips. Ace frowned, pondering on the precise nature of their deal. It didn’t deflect her rage. The moment Winterdawn was alone, she would be there.

He’d never walk again.

‘Nowhere!’

‘Goodbye Professor.’

Silence.

Sick of the silence, Ace pushed herself into the room, determined to make a dramatic entrance. She screwed up. Neither of her feet ended up where they were supposed to be. Ace tried to compensate, swayed uneasily then toppled forward. In an act of treachery, the floor slipped from beneath her, came up and hit her in the face. Suddenly there was the hairy taste of carpet in her mouth and a textured bruise running down one side of her face. She groaned, not so much with the pain as with shame.

Awkwardly, she looked up and saw Gabriel and Tanith standing over her, their lowered faces fixed into gloating smiles and their arms raised towards heaven.

And suddenly Ace could no longer hear the thump of her heart and she was terrified that the beat had stopped for good.

‘If you can meet with triumph and disaster, and treat those two impostors just the same,’ the Doctor murmured. ‘Then yours is the Earth, and everything that’s in it. And – which is more – you’ll be a man, my son.’ He smiled sourly. He rubbed his face with the flat of his palm, detesting the worn, ugly texture of his flesh.

He had left the cellar for no good reason and was wandering the house for no good purpose. He was up to no good. No good could come of it. In his left hand he held a cracked and abandoned object – a mask that grinned incessantly despite the absence of any face behind it. In his right hand was a pyramidal object that glowed with blue light. Its edges were almost razor sharp.

He was thinking about what he should do.

A door opened ahead of him, becoming a room.

Lying before him on a bed was the corpse of Bernice Summerfield.

He would have to arrange her burial. That would be an experience. He’d never buried friends before. They had so many interesting ways of dying, they rarely left corpses behind. Reduced to dust, incinerated in antimatter explosions… No evidence. No corpse discipline. This time was different.

‘What am I going to do?’ he asked, sitting by the body.

‘I don’t know.’ Benny was beside him, radiating sympathy. ‘There’s that place in Norfolk. You know the vicar…’

‘Yes,’ the Doctor nodded. ‘Reverend Trelaw. I could ask him, but it would have to be done in secret, otherwise the Church would start asking awkward questions.’

Benny smiled and sat beside him.

‘I’m going to have to stop Gabriel and Tanith,’ the Doctor mused, wondering if the dead could offer suggestions.

The dead? She looked healthy enough.

‘You’d need a weapon of some variety,’ Benny told him. The Doctor frowned, wondering why he had never noticed the Scots tinge to her accent before. He let it pass.

‘What sort of weapon? Ace says nothing works. Gabriel and Tanith are the universe. How do you kill the universe?’

‘With a weapon that can kill universes,’ Benny said brightly.

‘I’ll ask Winterdawn. He’s bound to have one stashed away somewhere.’

Benny laughed. It was pleasant, but it seemed to lack something. A vital, animating spark. Her smile. It wasn’t Benny’s. It was a smile he had only seen in mirrors.

‘Bernice,’ he said slowly. ‘Do you think, perhaps, that it might be better, if I… died? Would that be a good way out?’

‘That would be shameful and cowardly and wasteful,’ Benny told him in strict tones. ‘It’s not good for anyone to die, Doctor.’

‘Not even Gabriel and Tanith?’

‘Not even them. You might have to kill them. But you respect life, in all its forms. Bloody little hypocrite.’

The Doctor smiled wearily.

‘Then I need a weapon,’ he said.

Gabriel and Tanith didn’t move. They had even stopped breathing. They smiled, but serenely, vacuously. Their eyes were closed.

They didn’t move.

Ace gave Gabriel a shove. He swayed unsteadily, then righted himself. Ace allowed herself a callous smile. She placed a finger‐
nail against Tanith’s chin and made a small scratch. The woman didn’t stir.

‘They’re like statues.’ Winterdawn was at her side and for a moment she forgot her antipathy. ‘They’ve just been standing there.’

Statues. Right.

Gabriel and Tanith were gone. They’d put themselves into a trance, or let their minds wander. They’d left their bodies as monuments to themselves. Ace stared from one to the other, wondering what she could do. She remembered seeing these bodies broken by gunfire. There was no sign of that now – these bodies were whole and unblemished. And, without their guiding minds to repair them, they were vulnerable.

There was a fireplace set in one wall, ready for cold winter’s nights. The hearth was empty and cold, devoid even of ashes. Ace stared at the implements gathered around it. She reached for the poker. Quite heavy, nice swing. Could do a lot of damage if applied in the right manner.