Silhouette (18 page)

The Senior Deputy smiled. ‘A lucky escape for both of us, perhaps. You see, we have been watching your progress very carefully.’

‘You know where I am?’

‘Oh, please. We’ve known for weeks.’

‘Then why haven’t you—’

‘Arrested you?
Executed
you? Because your work intrigued us. This latest experiment, the cloud now dissipating over the city of London, is especially interesting.’

Milton was surprised. ‘Interesting? To the Shadow Proclamation?’

‘Assuming the cloud could be used to dispense any emotion in concentrated form it might provide a useful way of, what shall we say? Of calming populations in times of crisis. Ensuring that cool heads prevail. Of course, I appreciate you are demonstrating the exact opposite here, but I would assume the principle holds good?’

‘Er, yes,’ Milton said quickly. ‘Yes, of course. I’m sorry,’ he went on, ‘but am I to take it that the Shadow Proclamation is interested in coming to some sort of
understanding? You did sentence me to death, as I recall.’

The Senior Deputy Shadow Architect waved a hand. ‘Oh, please. A misunderstanding. Forget all about it. The sentence has been rescinded. Or at least, postponed.’

‘Postponed, I see. And what do I need to do to ensure it is lifted permanently? I hope you don’t want me to stop the cloud from consuming London, because I have to admit that I can’t. It’s too late for that.’

The Senior Deputy nodded. ‘We suspected that was the case. Clearly there are some enhancements that can still be made to the weapon.’

‘It is a project that is very much under development,’ Milton agreed.

‘Then our proposition is simple. Come and work for us, finish the development of this and perhaps other weapons under the auspices of the Shadow Proclamation and you will also be assured our protection. Along with a full pardon for any past misdemeanours.’

‘Including any you don’t already know about?’ Milton asked.

‘Are there any we don’t already know about?’

‘Modesty forbids.’ Milton smiled. This was turning out better than he had ever expected. Perhaps under that righteous façade, the Shadow Proclamation was rather more draconian than people thought.
He turned to retrieve his pile of notes from a nearby control console. ‘I do already have a few ideas that might be of interest in the areas of population control and the upholding of justice. If we can call it that.’

The Senior Deputy Shadow Architect smiled back as he saw Milton brandishing the sheaf of papers. ‘I see that you understand exactly what is required.’

The further into the mass of people Empath went, the more their emotions pressed in upon him. By the time he emerged, to see the Doctor standing in front of him, he was confused and disoriented. The Doctor – he had been looking for the Doctor, and now here he was. But why? There was a vague sense that he should be angry with the Doctor. But the anger that had been welling up inside Empath and ready to burst out was now buried deep beneath the feelings he had absorbed as he pushed through the crowd.

The Doctor grabbed Empath by the hand and pulled him into the performance area. He hardly noticed as the Doctor slipped the ring from his middle finger. Didn’t see the way the red crystal first cracked and then shattered as the Doctor touched it with the glowing end of his sonic screwdriver. All around him, people were laughing, clapping, enjoying themselves. Jugglers, acrobats, clowns, the Strong Man, everyone was brimming over with good humour.

‘Do you feel it?’ the Doctor said, shouting to be
heard above the appreciative roar of the crowd.

Behind him a fire-eater blew flames out of his mouth, toasting a marshmallow held out on a sword by his assistant who then offered it to a small boy standing nearby.

‘Can you feel the emotion, the excitement, the well-being? Can you feel the love tonight?’ The Doctor frowned. ‘No, hang on, that’s not right. Well, maybe it is.’

Empath was grinning as it flowed into him, looking round in childlike amazement and glee. ‘It
is
wonderful,’ he admitted.

‘A happy undertaker.’ The Doctor laughed. ‘Not something you see every day.’

The sky was getting darker. A shadow passing over the Carnival. Empath looked up to see a huge dark pall of what looked like smoke. It seemed to gather itself above them.

‘What’s that?’ he said, pointing upwards. Lots of people were pointing at the cloud now as it slowly drifted lower.

‘Ah, well,’ the Doctor said. ‘That’s something I need your help with. Take a deep breath.’

‘What?’

‘A deep breath, go on. Not real breath, of course. But draw in as much of that good feeling as you can. All the laughter and the mirth and the happiness. The confidence and appreciation and delight. Exhilaration
and joy and elation. This is your world, after all – don’t you remember? Don’t you remember who you used to be? Who you
are
. Go on. Do it now.’

The cloud dipped lower. Empath breathed in the atmosphere around him. He could feel himself filling with emotion, overflowing with happiness. He was David Rutherford. He belonged here, along with the performers, along with his friends, bringing people joy and happiness …

Then, suddenly, it was dark. The cloud rushed towards the Doctor, towards Empath standing beside him, spilling over them like a waterfall. Cold and damp and unpleasant, deadening every thought. Somewhere, muffled by the heavy air, someone screamed.

‘Now,’ the Doctor said close to Empath’s ear. ‘Let it out. Just like you let the anger out into Milton’s sphere. Let all the emotion of the crowd out now. Do it!’

Empath let it out. A great breath of emotion. The muffled screams had become cheers as the crowd watched what they thought was the latest act. He could hear the Doctor’s voice, though he could not make out the words. But it felt good, it felt like the Doctor was encouraging and praising him as the darkness faded and cleared.

The effect rippled out across the sky. A wave running through the dark smog of anger and despair,
washing it clean. The cloud faded, thinned, dissipated – its anger and rage cancelled out by the concentrated force of the joy and elation from the crowd.

The people applauded as they watched the air clear. For the first time in a while, the sun shone down through a hole in the fog, illuminating the Carnival of Curiosities like a spotlight shining down at a huge circus ring filled with performers and watched by the laughing audience.

‘Well done,’ the Doctor said, and he was laughing as well. ‘Really –
really
well done.’

Empath – David – was laughing too. He took a bow, sweeping off his hat. The Doctor caught hold of the long, black silk that trailed from it, unwinding the material and pulling it away. So that when David replaced the top hat on his head it was no longer swathed in black.

Transformed from undertaker, the Ringmaster raised his hands above his head for calm and quiet. They waited expectantly.

‘And for our next trick …’ he began.

They had moved from Milton’s study to the library. Clara and Jenny stood at the window, the curtains drawn back and the shutters open. Vastra was talking quietly to Affinity and Silhouette, who had activated a small viewing screen close to the now empty glass sphere.

‘I think it’s clearing,’ Clara said, staring up at the sky. ‘It’s not as dark as it was.’

Vastra was working at the screen. ‘You are right. Milton has this calibrated to track the progress of the cloud. It has dissipated.’

‘So the Doctor’s done it,’ Jenny said, elated. ‘Well,’ she added more calmly, ‘no surprise there.’

‘Which just leaves us Milton to deal with.’ Vastra said. ‘I rerouted the communications feed to the study terminal here, so I expect we’ll hear from him soon.’

‘Let’s see him put a positive spin on this, then,’ Clara said.

Milton did indeed seem in a good mood when his
face appeared on the screen a few moments later. Or at least, he was not too downhearted.

‘My congratulations,’ he announced. ‘It seems I did indeed underestimate the Doctor.’

‘You are not the first to make that mistake,’ Vastra told him.

‘I doubt I shall be the last either. But we must all learn from our mistakes. So when I’ve analysed the observation data I can set about eliminating whatever weakness the Doctor found in my weapon.’

‘Really?’ Clara said. ‘You’re trapped down there. You don’t really think you can just carry on like this never happened do you?’

‘What would you suggest, my dear?’

‘Well for starters,’ Clara said, ‘I’d suggest you don’t call me “my dear” if you value your kneecaps. Then it seems to me that surrender is your best option.’

‘Surrender?’ Milton seemed to consider this. ‘No, sorry. Not an option I like at all, actually. And if I may say so, I think perhaps you are overestimating the extent of your little victory.’

‘We’ve got you trapped like a rat in your own basement,’ Jenny said. ‘Your so-called weapons are all gone. So you tell us what exactly we’ve overestimated.’

‘If you stay down there, you will eventually starve,’ Vastra added. ‘If you leave in your ship, the Shadow Proclamation will immediately spot the engine signature. I imagine they have forces in the area as
they must have tracked you to this system or you’d have left a long time ago. So surrender to us and let the Doctor plead your case.’

‘Plead my case?’ Milton echoed. ‘Oh, you mean argue for some sort of reduced sentence so that instead of being executed I just get locked up for ever. Mmmm.’ He stroked his beard thoughtfully. ‘No, doesn’t sound that great, actually. Especially as I’ve had a better offer. So if you’ll excuse me, I’ll just be on my way.’

‘A better offer?’ Vastra said. ‘What offer would that be?’

‘Someone else wants your horrible weapons?’ Clara asked.

‘Oh I’m sorry, I should have mentioned it earlier. But well, one doesn’t like to boast. The Senior Deputy Shadow Architect has just been in touch. Offering complete immunity. A pardon. In fact, the Shadow Proclamation would rather like me to go and develop my horrible weapons for them.’

‘The Doctor always offers last chances,’ Clara said. ‘So this is yours. Just give up the weapons. Come out of your bunker down there and we can help you find some other way to make a fortune or whatever it is you want to do.’

‘Not very tempted, I’m afraid. So if it’s all right with you, I’ll just say my goodbyes and be on my way. Oh, and it actually is “goodbye”, I’m afraid. You see, I
really can’t let any of you live after this. I suppose it’s to do with pride.’

‘What do you mean?’ Vastra demanded.

‘Well, pride and also of course I do so hate anyone to get the better of me,’ Milton went on, as if she hadn’t spoken. ‘So I’m afraid the Doctor and all of you really have to go. Once I’m well clear I shall be launching distronic missiles to destroy this whole area.’

‘You’re going to destroy London?’ Clara said, appalled.

‘Well, most of southern Britain, really. Sorry about that. Anyway, I’d better be going. And I imagine you have some goodbyes of your own to say to each other. I wish I could say it’s been a pleasure.’

The screen went black.

The pre-flight checks were complete. While the computer went through the final activation sequence, Milton leafed through his notes. Yes, there were some ideas in here that would certainly interest the Shadow Proclamation. He gathered the notes together and rested them on the console in front of him as the ship slowly turned on its axis and started along the gentle slope that led up to the launch ramp.

The ramp was concealed inside the coach house. The horses in the stables beside it would get a shock, though the blast shielding would make sure they were unharmed. At least until he launched his missiles. It
was a shame, Milton thought, as he had quite enjoyed his enforced stay here. That said, the city was a mess – maybe levelling it, together with much of the surrounding countryside, would allow the primitive natives to rebuild something rather better in its place. He was probably doing them a favour, in the long run.

He checked his safety harness was securely fastened as the ship tilted backwards. A few moments later there was a burst of thrust from behind. Milton was slammed back into his seat as the ship shot up the ramp. His papers slipped from the console, falling to the floor.

The wooden doors shattered into splintered fragments as the ship exploded out of the coach house. Smoke and flame trailing behind it, the small craft climbed rapidly through the smoggy air before bursting through the clouds and into open sky.

Clara watched from the window.

‘There he goes,’ she said.

‘Don’t feel bad about what’s going to happen,’ Silhouette told her, resting a hand gently on Clara’s shoulder. ‘He had a choice. For all his charm, he is a sadistic murderer.’

‘Will he launch the missiles?’ Jenny asked.

‘He won’t have time,’ Vastra told her.

‘We hope,’ Clara murmured.

*

The G-force eased off as the ship reached the upper atmosphere. Milton quickly checked the instruments.

‘All systems are online and functioning normally,’ the computer reported in a husky female voice. Milton had selected it from an option palette of over a hundred possible voices.

‘Alone at last,’ he said. ‘Just you and me.’

‘And the Dekseller-class Smart Torpedoes approaching rapidly from sector nine,’ the computer reported.

‘What? Show me!’ Milton stared at the main screen, his brow furrowed with worry and disbelief as he watched two tiny points of light approaching the marker that represented his own ship.

‘Analysis confirms that the torpedoes are standard smart weapons as deployed by the Shadow Proclamation. Impact in 57 seconds. Evasive action advised.’

Milton switched to manual control. The computer was predictable, and the torpedoes would be programmed to expect the standard responses, evasion techniques and countermeasures.’

‘Seems someone at the Shadow Proclamation didn’t get the message,’ he said as he swung the ship in a wide arc. ‘Open a communications channel to the Senior Deputy Shadow Architect. Call him back at the communications node he contacted me from before.’