The King's Dragon (8 page)

'Impress me.'

'Good man! Good choice!'

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THE KING’S DRAGON

Rory came to stand next to Amy. 'Did we nearly find ourselves in the stocks?'

'Nearly. But not actually. And, you know, in a case like that it really isn't the thought that counts.'

'Hm.' Rory was not mollified.

The Doctor rubbed his hands together, cracked some knuckles, and then turned the sonic screwdriver onto the dragon.

The Teller made an anxious movement towards him. 'Don't damage it!'

'I won't damage it! Well, not so as you'd notice...

Ah, here we go! Come and take a look at this, both of you.'

It was another dragon-scale. Hilthe raised her eyebrows at Rory, who nodded encouragingly, and she stepped towards the Doctor. The Teller came to look, too, and, as he stared down at the scrap of Enamour lying in the Doctor's palm, his face changed. Everything distinctive about him -

his wit, his intelligence - leached away. He became absent. Amy shivered. Was that how she and Rory had looked? From the moment she had picked up the dragon-hammer on the gate and resented the Doctor touching it, the metal had been working on them.

The Doctor, watching the Teller, nodded. 'I thought that you hadn't been on the receiving end
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before. Feels different, this way round, doesn't it?' 'I feel nothing,' Hilthe said. 'What is this? Some kind of conjuring trick?'

The Doctor closed his hand.

The Teller shuddered and pulled back. 'No, something definitely happened then.' He looked at the Doctor with new respect — and then at the dragon, with new apprehension.

'I don't know where you found it,' the Doctor said. 'I wonder if you could tell me even if you wanted to. Enamour — that's its name — it makes people possessive, jealous. Makes them keep secrets.' He glanced at Amy and gave her a rueful look. 'Even from people they can trust. Right, Amy?'

'Oh,' Amy said. 'I know. I guess there was...

something... sort of. Maybe.' She tried to speak, but the words wouldn't form. 'Why can't I say what it was?'

'Amy...' The Doctor pressed two long fingers gently against her cheek. 'It's not your fault — it's what Enamour does. There's no harm done. But try to concentrate now. Try to tell me what it was you saw in the dark. Was it big? Was it scary? Animal?

Vegetable? Mineral? Accidental?'

Amy struggled to get past the mist descending around her and to ignore the gentle lulling hum rising steadily inside her head. 'It was big... No,
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not at first. It grew. It got bigger and bigger. All the lamps went out - it made them go out. There was a howling sound. Well, you heard that. It sort of came towards me. I thought it was going to attack me!'

Rory took hold of her hand. 'Then it stopped. It loomed for a while. It made me feel afraid, and alone. Then it went away. I put my hand through it, and it just went away. Like it wasn't really there.'

Through the haze, the Doctor was smiling at her; approvingly, encouragingly. Another memory came back, in a flash. 'Doctor, I think people were whispering about it earlier, in the chamber.

They've seen it here before!' It was, as Rory was no doubt thinking, weird. As if, knowing that it was real for others, she was suddenly able to admit its existence to herself. The humming was quieter, and the Doctor was frowning, thoughtfully. 'Go on, tell us,' Amy said. 'What is it?'

'A scout, probably. Trying to find the metal.

Question now - is it an automatic manifestation, or is there someone behind it? Has somebody sent it?

Because if they have, our sleeping dragon over there might not be quite as quiescent as we'd like.'

The Teller looked anxiously at the dragon. 'Is it dangerous?'

'Dangerous?' Hilthe turned to the Doctor. 'Is it?

What does this mean for the city?'

'The dragon alone is danger enough,' the Doctor
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said, looking pointedly at the Teller, who looked away guiltily. 'But... if it's automatic, no. And if there's someone behind it...' The Doctor thought for a moment. 'They'll follow the old protocols.

They'll send a Herald to ask for the return of the metal before they try to take it by force.'

'Ah,' said Rory, quietly. 'I think we may already have seen that.'

The Doctor gave him a 'you-took-your-time'

look. 'Did it ask for its Enamour back?'

'Yes, but – Doctor, I said there wasn't any here! I couldn't stop myself!'

'Oh dear.'

'I couldn't!'

Hilthe interrupted. 'It's all right, Rory.' She looked at the Doctor. 'I should imagine the Doctor will tell us that it is the work of this metal again.'

'But... if they take it by force—'

Hilthe laid her hand upon Rory's shoulder. 'I'm sure that we will be given another chance before any assault is made upon us.' She reached into her pocket and held out the ring for the Doctor to see. 'This is the means by which their messenger spoke to me, Doctor. Do not ask me how. I believe, however, that I could understand a little of her mind.'

The Doctor peered at the ring. 'May I?'

'Of course.'

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The Doctor picked up the ring. He held it up to the light - his eye, dark and intelligent, was briefly visible through it - and then he tested it with the sonic screwdriver. 'Definitely the same material. You say it spoke to you?'

'Through
me would be nearer the mark.' 'So it could still be an automatic system...'

'Automatic,' the Teller said. 'You keep saying that. But what does it mean?'

'Ooh, good one. Not easy to explain. Let's see what you make of this. Imagine, if you can, machines that don't need people to operate them.

Machines that can be told in advance what to do, and then left to get on with it.' He grinned at the Teller, whose eyes widened as the idea sank in.

'You
are
imagining it, aren't you? Good for you!'

'Doctor,' Hilthe said, 'I have a question. Why does this material... What did you call it?'

'Enamour.'

'Enamour.'
She experimented with the word.

'Why does it not affect me, when the rest of the city is enthralled?'

The Doctor shrugged. 'Wisdom? You've seen it all before?'

Hilthe laughed. 'You mean I'm old!'

'Why are
you
not affected?' the Teller asked the Doctor.

The Doctor winked at him. 'Same reason.'

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The Teller stared at him, fascinated and bewildered, like he was watching a magician whose tricks he could not understand.

'Now,' said Hilthe briskly, returning to the business at hand, 'tell me if I have misunderstood, but as I see it, what we ought to do now is determine whether the makers of this dragon are indeed trying to speak to us, or whether an echo of their voice has in some way travelled down the long years to us.'

'I'm impressed!' said the Doctor. 'You're impressive!'

'Thank you, Doctor, I know that already. Now, given that I am in some way impervious to this metal's deleterious effects, surely what I ought to do next is try this ring once again in order to summon its makers?'

'Too dangerous, Doctor,' Rory said, quickly.

'Anything might happen.'

The Doctor frowned. 'He's right, Mother—'

'Nevertheless, the decision is mine and mine alone,' Hilthe took the ring back from him. 'Besides, for the city of Geath, I would do anything.'

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Hilthe cupped the ring
in her hands and was bathed once again in the rings of golden light. Amy was amazed. 'It's beautiful! Is that what happened before?'

'Just wait till she starts speaking.' Rory felt his stomach knotting with anticipation. Somehow, the fear he had felt for Hilthe dissipated, and he was eager for Amy to see what he had seen, and anxious to see it again himself.

When the Herald returned, the show was even more impressive than he remembered. The light was more intense, the experience more involving, more complete. The Herald's voice rang around the high chamber like a peal of bells. 'I am the Herald. I speak for my masters, the Bright Nobles of the
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Feond. I have come to claim what is rightfully theirs.'

The Doctor walked slowly all the way round the apparition, fascinated, his head tilted to one side as he studied her. 'You're amazing. And you're here, aren't you? Well, not
here
here, because this is a transmission. But it isn't a recording. You're not a voice from the past. You're speaking to us now, aren't you?'

The Herald turned her head to follow the Doctor as he moved, watching him with her fire-lit eyes. 'I am speaking to you now,' she confirmed. 'I am speaking to you for my masters, the Bright Nobles of the Feond. I have come to claim what is rightfully theirs. Who is the Noble here? Who has authority to speak?'

The Teller took a step forwards, but the Doctor got in first. 'You can speak to me. Where have you come from?'

'I am the Herald. I speak for my masters, the Bright Nobles of the Feond. I have come to claim what is rightfully theirs.'

'Yes, I've got that already. You want your treasure and I have to say I'll be glad to see the back of it. So will the people of Geath. Not at first, probably.' The Doctor glanced quickly at the Teller.

'When I say "probably", I mean "definitely". Let's not worry about that right now. Why should I
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hand it over?'

'It belongs to my masters, the Bright Nobles of the Feond. It is rightfully theirs.'

'Yes, yes, so you say. But my problem with that is anyone can turn up and claim that old Smaug over there belongs to them.' The Doctor looked at the Teller again, pointedly this time. 'I'll admit that the light show is impressive — very whizz bang — but it's not proof of purchase, is it? So why should I hand it over to you?'

The Herald closed her eyes briefly, as if calculating, or perhaps receiving instructions. 'We can reward you well.'

'Oops,' said Amy. 'Bad move.'

The Doctor bared his teeth in a mirthless smile.

He strolled around the Herald one more time, coming to a halt slightly behind her left side. He put his hand flat against the sphere of light. It rippled almost imperceptibly but otherwise did not change. 'Problem is,' he said, drawing back his hand and examining his palm, 'Enamour is a banned substance. Banned by everyone. You name them, they've banned it. Outlawed within the Ancient Bounds of the League of Perpetual Accord.

Forbidden on every count across the Uncounted Constellations. The Hieromonks of the Hexagon preach against it from every pulpit in the Church of All the Levels, and the Bloodied Mercenaries of
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Metis IV ("may-their-name-be-accursed-throughthe-universe") wouldn't touch it, even if you paid them.

Which you have to. So why should you get it?'

'It belongs to my masters. When it is restored to them, they will treat it with care. They treat all that they own with care.'

'Oh, yes, you say that now! But dumping it here on Geath was hardly careful, was it? Talk about toxic waste! It's been making a right old mess of things around here! Fine republican tradition, twelve thousand years plus or minus, throw some Enamour at them and the next thing you know they're going all moon-faced over a king. A
king
of all things! And, to be fair, he's a nice chap, good shoulders, I'm sure he makes a very good king
—

but,'
the Doctor paused for breath and raised a reproving finger, 'where would we be without tradition?'

The light around the Herald began to grow in intensity. Urgently, she said, 'It belongs to my masters—'

'You do go on about your masters, did you know that? Anyone might suspect them of using a mind-controlling metal to make you go all wobbly.

Anyway, they're not my masters. I can take care of the stuff. I shall take care of the stuff. Won't hand it over. Shan't.'

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'They are coming!' cried the Herald.

The light was now dazzling. Amy had to shield her eyes. Rory and the Teller did the same. Amy heard the Teller whispering to himself,
'What is
this? What is this?'
She put her hand on his shoulder. 'Don't worry. The Doctor will sort it all out. Definitely. Probably.'

'Our enemies are close!' cried the Herald. 'They must not take it!'

'Enemies?' The Doctor came round to face her.

'Oh, now we're onto something. What enemies?'

'There was a war,' said the Herald.

'Oh, there usually is.'

'We lost. We lost our beloved worlds! A hundred thousand worlds, lost to us! We hid all that we could rather than let it fall into the hands of the enemies. They would not use it for peace; for beauty.'

'Said it was a war,' said Amy.

'I
said it was a war,' replied the Doctor.
'You
said it was a heist.'

'We became exiles.' The Herald's beautiful voice had turned piteous.

'I said it
might
be a heist,' Amy muttered.

'Nothing wrong with a spot of exile,' the Doctor said to the Herald. 'Not a bad way of life. See the sights, move on, see a few more sights—'

'Save the odd Star Whale,' said Amy.

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'Fight the odd vampire,' said Rory.

The Doctor turned on them. 'Technically speaking, they weren't vampires... Do I look like Buffy?' He nodded towards the Herald. 'Can I get on with talking to the bright shiny potential alien menace, please? Herald, what happened?'

'Our home was lost to us. We wandered for so long that we could barely remember what we had once owned. We wandered through the dark and the cold. We could barely remember our worlds, our homes. We began to forget the light and the music and the bliss.'

Amy bit her lip and looked at the Doctor. No more banter from him, no more questions. He looked old, very old, unspeakably sad, and alone.