The King's Dragon (18 page)

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The Teller stopped speaking. He backed away from Hilthe and went to lean back against the door. He was trembling with emotion. Hilthe sat with her hands folded before her and her head bowed. Rory could not see how angry she was, but perhaps there was something he could still say to persuade her.

'Hilthe,' he began hesitantly. 'We really do need your help. We're not spies, we're not enemies, and we're trying to do the right thing. But we need your help.'

'Please, Mother,' the Teller said. His tone was much gentler. 'Let us set aside our differences.

The people of Geath have put themselves in our hands. We have to do right by them. I know that you believe I took your power unfairly—'

Hilthe winced.

'You're right,' the Teller went on. 'I did. And I'm sorry. But we are in desperate straits and the people in our care need you. They need to hear your voice again.

Please, come and speak to them.'

Hilthe lifted her hand to stop him speaking. To Rory, she said, 'Ten standard time units.'

Rory nodded.

'And we still don't know what one standard time unit is?'

Rory shook his head.

'And you're not going to kill me?'

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Rory opened his mouth to protest, and then caught the twinkle in Hilthe's eye. 'No,' he said.

'That definitely wasn't on the agenda.'

'Then I suppose we ought to hurry.' Hilthe rose from her chair. She took a long look around the room and then she strode towards the door. When she reached the Teller, she stopped and looked him up and down. A slow and not wholly grudging smile crept across her lips. 'You do have a great gift,' she said. 'I hope, when this is over, you'll put it to better use.'

'Second chances all round,' said the Teller. 'We should each of us be grateful.' He opened the door and stepped back so that Hilthe could sweep through majestically ahead of him.

'Hurry up!' she called back to Rory and the Teller from the corridor. 'No time to lose! Follow me!'

On the way back to the plaza, Rory explained the satellite dish to Hilthe and what he needed her to do. She clearly didn't believe a word he was saying, even when he demonstrated how the transmitter worked and projected her image onto the enamel of the steps, but she didn't raise any objections. 'If you claim that this will work, I shall take you at your word.' She contemplated her own face. 'Strange metals, strange noises - and now
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strange devices. A very strange tale.' She twitched her collar straight and smoothed down her cap of silver hair. 'Shall we begin?'

Facing the dish, Hilthe gave a smile of great beauty. 'My dear friends,' she said. 'It is a pleasure to be able to speak to you again, even in a time of such suffering and confusion. You know what it is that I must say to you. You know what has caused us such grief. The metal, my dear friends. The metal.

And I am speaking to you now to ask you to give it up. Dear friends, I know how hard this will be, but it has to be done. Only then will Geath be restored to itself. Only then will we be safe.'

As she spoke, Rory kept a close eye out for activity below. As he watched, first one person, then another, darted out, carrying an armful of jewellery, or a pile of golden plates, dumping them in front of the chamber and hurrying home to collect more. Rory gestured with his thumb so that Hilthe could see what was happening.

'Already I see that many of you are answering my call!' Hilthe cried. 'My dear friends, I knew that I was right to put my trust in you! Hurry, please! Bring the metal to the grand plaza! Remember that the true wealth of our city has never been in riches or display, but in kindness, generosity and a desire to live a full and varied life. A life that everyone in the city or under her protection deserves.' She
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looked at the Teller as she said this, and rested her hand briefly upon her chest, in a silent promise.

The Teller nodded to show that he had understood. 'So let us give up this strange metal,' Hilthe went on.

'Geath does not need it! Let us restore our city to its true self!'

Watching the steady trickle of people entering the plaza, Rory felt for the first time optimistic about their chances of success.

The Teller gave him a hopeful smile. 'I think it's working,' he whispered.

'She's a natural politician,' Rory said. 'Knows how to get people to hand over their money.' He played with some of the controls on the satellite dish, and found some of the images of the war that the Doctor had shown him.

'See what happens when this metal is allowed to cover everything around it,' Hilthe said. 'Dear friends, I do not mean to frighten you, but I cannot hide the truth from you.'

Watching the grand plaza so closely, Rory saw Amy and the Doctor the second they emerged from the council chamber. Leaving the satellite dish and Hilthe under the Teller's direction, he ran down the steps and over to Amy. Before he reached her, Rory knew what had happened. There was the same aura, the same faint pearlescent after-image that had surrounded Hilthe after the Herald spoke
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through her. They reached each other and hugged.

'Are you all right?' Rory said. 'What happened?'

'Amy beat the bad guy!' the Doctor carolled.

'I thought there weren't any bad guys?'

'Did I say that, Rory? I did? Well, this time there is! And when I say "Amy beat the bad guy", what I mean is "she fended it off for the moment".

The Herald will be back. How's your Enamour-collecting going?'

Rory turned to Amy. 'What really happened?'

'The Herald decided to make me her mouthpiece.' Amy pulled a face. 'I decided I wasn't having any of it.'

He hugged her even harder. Why had they quarrelled earlier? Why did they ever quarrel? She was brilliant. He would never quarrel with her again.

Probably.

'Here's Beol,' said the Doctor quietly.

Rory and Amy turned to look. The King walked slowly down the steps into the grand plaza. Behind him, his knights carried their two murdered comrades on biers. Behind them came the dragon.

The crowd of people stopped piling up their possessions and bowed their heads in respect. The dragon shone beneath the moon; heart-stoppingly beautiful and infinitely desirable. Rory felt a pang of regret that it was leaving. Perhaps it always felt this way when an enchantment ended.

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'I hope the Teller is getting all this,' the Doctor said, watching Beol's progress.

'I think he must be.' Rory pointed at the pile in front of them, which was working as a receiver.

Beol's image appeared above it, and Rory was able to watch both transmission and real event, as the King came towards them.

When Beol reached the pile of treasure, he stopped. He raised his hand and the cortege halted behind him. The carriers lowered the biers and the dragon to the ground.

'Enough,' Beol said simply. 'It is not worth the price. It is not worth it.'

He stripped off his dragon armour and added it to the pile. He placed the helmet on top and took a step back. He looked no less extraordinary without it.

Then he bowed his head to his fallen knights.

'Ratings winner,' Amy said sombrely.

The King had barely finished his small ritual, when the people of Geath began to converge upon the plaza, carrying their Enamoured possessions with them. A little girl staggered under the weight of four huge candlesticks. Beside her, her grandmother brought a golden bedpan, which she placed like a cap on the top of the dragon helmet.

Soon Beol's armour disappeared from sight, completely covered with the riches that the city was relinquishing. A team was despatched to strip
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the veneer from the dome of the council chamber.

Throughout the rest of the night, as the full and distant moon passed across the sky, the people of Geath stripped their city bare.

At last, a massive heap of golden metal, as big as an earthwork, dominated the main plaza. The whole city had come to see what would happen next, no longer able to watch the images the Teller had steadfastly transmitted or hear Hilthe's firm and friendly

encouragement.

They

filled

the

remaining space in the plaza, backing onto the stone stairways that led up the hill. Others hung out of the windows of those grand houses that overlooked the council buildings.

The moon set. A brief chill descended upon the city; a still silent moment before the dawn.

Then came the distant whine of engines and the unmistakable makings of the Regulator's howl.

The crowd shivered, en masse. The two gunships soared across the valley, beautiful and lethal. In the very centre of the plaza, right beside the dragon, the Regulator started to take shape.

From his vantage point on the steps leading up to the council chamber, the Doctor watched its appearance with a cold eye. 'I do hate being coerced,' he said. Then he went forward to hear the Regulator's claim.

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The Regulator grew until
it towered over the council building.

'All parties assembled here. Your ten standard time units have now elapsed. In accordance with Clause 9.4b (subsection 12.2) of the Regulation of Psycho-Manipulatory Metals Act (30673.26), you must now surrender all substances covered by said Act.'

Its great voice boomed round the bowl of the valley and, when some people screamed, the Regulator responded with a nightmarish screech that froze the heart and drowned out all competition.

One of the knights' horses — terrified beyond understanding at the monstrous apparition
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ahead and scared beyond anything that its rider could do to soothe it — bolted into the crowd.

It was nearly a disaster. It was still a tragedy.

The crowd scattered as best it could in the confined space but there was a danger that people would get crushed.

'Stay calm!' cried Beol. 'Clear away as quickly as you can! But stay calm!'

People pressed back against each other in order to open up room for the panicking horse to ride through. The rider, bravely keeping her nerve, guided her horse as best she could through this space, trying to keep it from trampling anyone.

The poor frightened beast, seeing no way clearing ahead, did not respond to its rider's soothing words and gentle hands, and came skidding to a halt, its hooves slipping on the stone. The rider was catapulted from its back and crash-landed against a pillar with a sickening crack.

A terrible hush followed. Rory sprinted over to the knight but it was clear to him at once that she was dead. Behind him, the horse, trembling and snorting, was caught and steadied. Rory closed the young woman's eyes. A gabble of talk broke out, turning quickly from confusion into anger, as the townsfolk grasped that they had complied with all the demands made of them but one of their number still lay dead.

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The Doctor rounded on the Regulator like a force of nature. He ran across the plaza and came to a halt in front of the giant creature. 'Is this your new order?' he shouted up at the monster. He flung out his arms, encompassing the plaza and the whole city of Geath. 'Is this what you wanted?

Striking terror into the hearts of people who can barely understand your powers? Driving them to death through fear? Is this why you fought your war?' Quietly, turning away with a wave of the hand, he delivered his final blow. 'You're no better than the masters you rejected.'

The Regulator hovered silently above. Amy held her breath. The crowd, too, grew silent again; people were watchful and fearful. Had the Doctor gone too far? Was this the moment when the reprisals started, that reasonable force that the Regulator had promised? The whole city was here. It would not take much for the two gunships to wipe out every living thing in Geath.

As Amy watched, the Regulator shrank. When it was roughly human size, it took a step or two to stand before the Doctor, almost as if it was coming forwards for judgement. Its form, too, altered subtly: the sharp edges smoothed; the long muzzle, the fierce hinged jaw, and the extended clawing hands all changed. Soon quite an ordinary humanoid stood there; a little more elongated than
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Amy was used to and with a few more fingers than seemed to her to be strictly necessary. The Regulator's carapace was obviously armour; sleek dark armour, worn as much for protection as for show. The alien reached up and removed the helmet. Amy leaned forward for a closer look. The alien shook out long dark braids and lifted her head. Her cheeks were reddish-brown and wet. The alien was crying.

'We meant you no harm!' the alien said. The moonlight glistened on her tears. 'This was only meant as a display of strength.' Her voice, without the modulation that had hitherto been making it come out monotone, was distraught. She looked around the plaza to where the horse was still stamping and snorting. 'Is the soldier dead?'

'Yes,' the Doctor replied flatly.

The alien wiped her gloved hand across her face.

'We meant you no harm.'

The Doctor pointed at the dead knight. 'Yet harm is what you've caused.'

The alien shifted her helmet from hand to hand. 'Don't you understand? We have to remove the metal, as quickly as we can!' she said urgently. 'There might be others in league with the Herald that would seize it before we have the chance to take it. That's why we use these tactics! Enamour binds itself to people's souls!

We could not risk a

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delay. We could not risk being refused—'

'All you had to do was
ask.'
The Doctor pointed at the council chamber. 'That building, there — that's where their council meets. That's where their King holds his court. You could have sent a delegation. An envoy.