NSA01 The Clockwise Man (Justin Richards) (v1.0) Read online

  'The library?' Sir George suggested. The two men each nodded politely to the Doctor and Rose as they left.

  Dickson had returned and was col ecting empty glasses. The Doctor stopped him as he passed.

  'Sir?'

  'This evening – tel us again exactly what happened. As much detail as you can.'

  If he was surprised or unwil ing, he gave no sign. 'I heard a strange sound, saw a light coming from the yard.

  So I went to look.'

  'Then what?' Rose asked.

  He shrugged. 'A hand grabbed me from behind. Clamped over my mouth, turning me round. Then another hand was on my throat. it was cold, I remember. Very cold.'

  'Cold as metal,' the Doctor murmured.

  Dickson nodded. 'I struggled, but they were too strong. I could not break away. Then there was a voice, quiet, almost melodic...' He frowned into the distance as he remembered. 'Tel ing me that I had to answer questions. It asked me about Sir George and the guests due this evening, but before I could reply you came along.' He shrugged and took the glass the Doctor offered.

  'Nothing else? No smal detail you might've overlooked?'

  'There was something odd, yes. A sound.'

  The door opened again before he could go on. Sir George was looking grave, Aske apologetic, as they returned.

  'I do understand,' Sir George said as they crossed the room. 'Unfortunate, but it cannot be helped.'

  'You are very kind, sir,' Aske replied. 'Of course, anything we can do to help...'

  'It is time we were going,' Repple announced.

  Colonel Oblonsky saluted and Repple nodded in acknowledgement.

  'Doctor, Miss Tyler,' Repple said as he came over, 'it is a short walk to the imperial Club. Or we can cal for a car if you would rather.'

  'Short walk sounds great,' the Doctor said. 'I'l get my coat.' He froze, midway to the door. 'You hear that?'

  'What?' Sir George asked, cocking his head to one side.

  'I thought...' The Doctor frowned. 'Yeah, there it is again. Ticking.'

  Rose could hear it too, now that the Doctor mentioned it. A low, dul clicking, barely audible. 'It's a clock,' she said.

  'There is no clock,' Colonel Oblonsky replied quietly.

  'That's right,' Sir George agreed. 'No clocks in the drawing room. There was one. It broke.' He shrugged, apologetical y. 'Can't hear anything myself.'

  'It's very quiet,' the Doctor said.

  Aske and Repple exchanged looks. Both shrugged, not convinced.

  But Dickson was standing alert and stil . 'That's it, sir,' he said, his voice a hoarse whisper. 'That's what I heard. When I was attacked.'

  'Must be coming from the hal ,' Sir George said. 'There's the grandfather out there.'

  'The hal ,' the Doctor murmured, 'of course.' He put his finger to his lips, and went quickly and quietly to the door. He paused a moment, then yanked it suddenly open.

  There was no one there.

  'Tempus fugit,' the Doctor said.

  THREE

  The Doctor, typicaly, was more concerned about finding his jacket than the fact someone might have been listening at the door. Despite Dickson's assurances that he would ask the staff in the morning and he was sure it would turn up, the Doctor was quiet.

  He walked the mile through the cold dark streets with his arms folded and a vanil a expression on his face. He said almost nothing. Rose offered to lend him her cloak, but he told her not to be daft.

  'I'm not cold. it's the principle.' Bizarrely, he was also more upset about his jacket disappearing from the dining room than he had seemed at the loss of the TARDIS, though it might be some sort of displaced anxiety. And his sonic screwdriver was in the pocket. But Rose was with Dickson, who reckoned someone had simply tidied it away and the thing would turn up in the morning. Sir George, apologetic and polite, promised to have it sent over as soon as it was found.

  But the net result was that the walk to the Imperial Club was rather subdued. Repple seemed lost in a world of his own, rather like the Doctor. Aske talked politely to Rose, wondering how wel she knew London. He seemed interested to hear that she was going to the British Empire Exhibition, confessing that he had not been himself, but several of the people staying at the club had and proclaimed it to be a great success and very impressive.

  The Doctor brightened when Aske pointed out a large, imposing building ahead of them as the imperial Club.

  'We have to be members?' he wondered.

  'I shal vouch for you,' Repple announced.

  'The club was established after the Great War as a focal point, a meeting place, for the dispossessed nobility of Europe and the Commonwealth,' Aske said. 'So many things ended in Flanders, not just here and in France and Germany but right across the world.'

  'So many lives,' the Doctor reminded him quietly.

  Aske nodded grimly, one hand thrust deep in his jacket pocket. 'The ultimate sacrifice.'

  'Such a waste,' Repple added. 'And it precipitated so much more. The Russian Revolution, for example. There wil be so much more blood before al this is ended.'

  'To answer your question, Doctor, you do not have to be members,' Aske said. 'Though if you desire to stay for more than a few days, then you wil be expected to provide evidence that you are of noble birth, dispossessed by conflict.'

  The Doctor nodded, sombre again for a moment. 'Anything's possible,' he murmured, staring into the distance.

  'The Great War.'

  'So who runs this place?' Rose wanted to know as Repple led them up the steps to the imposing double doors.

  The doors opened for them, and a man in a smart doorman's uniform saluted. Repple nodded, and Aske saluted in return. The Doctor smiled and waved his hand in acknowledgement.

  'Cheers,' Rose said.

  The doorman closed the doors behind them, and took their coats.

  'I don't have one,' the Doctor said glumly.

  'Very good, sir,' the doorman replied.

  'No, it's not.'

  Aske caught the doorman's attention before the Doctor could continue. 'Is Mr Wyse stil up?'

  'You'l find him in the Bastil e Room, sir.'

  'Wyse runs the place, in effect,' Aske explained as he led them through the large foyer. Marble columns rose up to a vaulted roof, and a wide stone staircase curved up to the floors above. There were several corridors off from the entrance hal , al of them panel ed with dark wood and hung with paintings and pictures. The corridor he led them through was decorated with woodcuts and watercolours depicting events of the French Revolution.

  The Doctor paused to inspect one of the pictures. 'That's not right,' he told Rose. But he moved on without elaborating.

  'Wyse is a resident here,' Aske was saying. 'I'm not sure exactly what his status is, but the staff seem to defer to him.'

  They emerged into an enormous room. The wooden panel ing continued round the wal s to shoulder height, making it seem very dark, despite the many wal lights. A chandelier hung down in the middle of the room, sparkling like a cluster of stars in the night sky. A large fire crackled and spat in an enormous stone fireplace, on the opposite wal to the door they had come in by. Leather armchairs and smal leather sofas were arranged round low tables so that each of the many seating areas was an island in the large room. At first glance the place seemed empty.

  Then a head appeared round the back of one of the armchairs. A hand waved. 'Evening to you,' a cheery voice cal ed. 'Care to join me for a nightcap or whatever?' The head disappeared, and a moment later the man had got to his feet and emerged from the other side of the chair.

  He was a tal , wel -built man in his mid-forties with short brown hair that could have been better behaved. Like Aske and Repple, he was dressed in a dark suit. Unlike them, and to Rose's amusement, he was wearing a monocle. She hoped he would do that thing where the monocle fel out and dangled on a chain. But, to her disappointment, he pushed it firmly into place and regarded them al with interest.

  'Wel , what have we here?' the man declar
ed as he looked at the Doctor and Rose. 'More refugees from the palaces and mansions of Europe, or just a couple of visitors, what?'

  'You must be Mr Wyse,' the Doctor decided, striding through the furniture to shake his outstretched hand.

  'Lord Wyse as a point of actual fact. But we don't stand on ceremony, dear me no. Just Wyse wil do very nicely, thankee. Too many people like Repple here have lost too much for those of us with anything left to flaunt it in their faces.' He gestured for them to sit down. Rose saw that there was a chess set on a board on the table in front of where Wyse had been sitting, in the middle of a game.

  'Oh, ignore my rather inept attempt to beat meself at chess, won't you?' Wyse said, smiling, and to Rose's il -

  concealed delight the monocle did pop out of his eye and swing on a thin chain. 'And shift that drafted cat out of the way. Old Hector was sitting there earlier, and I think the thing likes the residual warmth.'

  The cat that was stretched out on the sofa blinked its eyes open at the noise. It rol ed on to its back and Rose watched its claws extend, curl, then retract as it yawned. It was a black cat, with a pale triangle of lighter fur under its chin. She reached down and stroked the pale fur, and was rewarded with a purr and the intense stare of the cat's deep glassy eyes. After a moment it stretched again, then leaped down from the sofa and slunk off under the chair where Wyse had sat himself down again.

  'What's its name?' Rose asked.

  'Oh dear, you've got me there.' Wyse smiled. 'Just cal it "the cat" meself. Been here longer than I have, that cat. But speaking of names...'

  'I'm Rose. This is the Doctor.'

  'Hi,' the Doctor said, slumping himself down where the cat had been. 'We're told you're the man to ask about a room for the night. Maybe two nights.'

  Wyse laughed. 'Nothing much to do with me, but I can put in a word if you think it wil help. I've been here longer than anyone else, so when Mr Pooter's away they listen to me. I'l tel Crowther to make up a couple of rooms. Have to be on the third floor, mind. Pretty ful at the moment, and we're not terribly big real y, you know.'

  'Mr Pooter,' Aske said, 'is the gentleman who endowed the club original y. It is run by a board of trustees that meets regularly. Mr Pooter is the chairman of that board.'

  'Not here now, though,' Wyse said. 'He lives on the fourth floor, top of the building, and he likes his privacy. Bit of a recluse, I think. When he's not travel ing. Likes his own company.'

  'Yeah, don't we al ,' the Doctor agreed.

  'You al right, Repple?' Wyse asked, leaning forwards. Repple was sitting in the armchair opposite with his eyes closed. They opened slowly at Wyse's words, and he stared back at the other man.

  'I have had a busy day,' he said. 'It's late.' His eyes closed again, and his head slipped to one side.

  'Yes, you're looking a bit run down,' Wyse decided. 'I'l give him a hand getting to his room.'

  'There's no need,' Aske said quickly.

  'Oh, no trouble. You stay and talk to your friends here. I'l have Crowther let you know where their rooms are soon as they're ready.'

  'Thanks.' Rose smiled at the man as he got up, and he grinned back.

  He made a futile attempt to smooth down his hair. 'Goodnight to you then.' Wyse tapped Repple gently on the knee, and the eyes opened again. 'Come along, time to turn in, I think.'

  Repple nodded, and Aske helped him up out of the chair. 'My apologies, Doctor, Miss Tyler,' Repple said. 'I just need some sleep. I shal see you perhaps for breakfast.'

  Aske made to help Repple, but Wyse waved him away. 'It's no trouble.' He helped Repple across the room.

  The cat watched their progress al the way to the door, then it sprang to its feet and ran after them.

  The Doctor was leaning forward, chin on his hands and elbows on his knees, looking at the chess game.

  'Who's winning?' Rose asked.

  'Since he is playing against himself, Wyse is winning.' He leaned back, hands clasped behind his head.

  'Interesting.'

  'Is he any good?'

  'I'd say so.' The Doctor nodded, then turned towards Aske. 'Nice of you to bring us here.' He stood up abruptly and turned a ful circle, inspecting the room before sitting down again. 'Yes, very nice indeed.'

  'Is Repple al right?' Rose asked.

  'He gets tired,' Aske said. 'Part of his condition, I'm afraid.'

  The Doctor frowned. 'Condition?'

  Aske nodded. He was looking pale and drained. 'I'm not sure quite how to explain, but I have a confession to make to you both. I'm afraid that things are not quite as they seem.'

  The Doctor was ful y attentive now, eyes focused sharply on Aske. 'Things are never quite as they seem.'

  'Is this about Repple's condition?' Rose wondered.

  Aske nodded. 'Tel me,' he said, fixing each of them in turn with his gaze, 'has either of you ever actual y heard of Dastaria?'

  'No,' Rose admitted. 'But I'm rubbish at geography.'

  'I'm rather good at it,' the Doctor retorted. 'But no. No, I haven't.'

  This was obviously the answer Aske had expected. 'You have never heard of it, because there is no such place.'

  'Playing his cards close to his chest, is he?' the Doctor said.

  'You mean he didn't want us to know exactly where he is in exile from?' Rose said. If there real y were assassins after him, then he would hardly advertise his presence, but why would he lie to the people who were supposed to be helping him?

  Aske was still looking serious. 'It is more complicated than that.'

  The Doctor nodded. 'Tel us, Major.'

  Aske sighed. 'It isn't Major. In fact, like you, I am something of a doctor. I dabble in the new sciences of the mind, though I cannot pretend to be anything of an expert. I am no more a soldier than my friend Edward Repple is an exiled ruler.'

  It took Rose a moment to work out what he was talking about. 'Hang on – are you saying he's not what he claims at all? He's going round saying he's ruler of this place that doesn't exist, what, to get freebie dinners and stuff?'

  The Doctor was shaking his head. 'I think poor Repple doesn't know he's lying. Is that right?'

  Aske nodded sadly. 'I thought it was a game at first. But it became so compulsive.' He sighed. 'I had better start at the beginning. You see, my friend was in a pageant, a show. Part of the Empire celebrations last year before the exhibition was opened. There was a parade, and he was playing the part of the Elector of Dastaria – a fictitious role, one he and I invented together for the occasion. I was his aide-de-camp, a major in the Dastarian army.'

  Aske got to his feet, pacing up and down in front of the sofa, his shadow crossing and recrossing the half-played chess game, one hand in his jacket pocket. 'It was a hot day. We were there, in the ful sun for hours. Repple fainted. That was al , or so I thought. But when he came round... Perhaps it was the fal from the horse, I don't know. In fact, this interest of mine in the science of the mind, it stems from that moment.' His eyes were moist as he looked at Rose, as if begging her to understand.

  'His fiction became his reality,' the Doctor said.

  'Yes. As I say, I thought he was playing the fool, having a joke with us. But no, he real y believed – and stil believes – himself to be the Elector of Dastaria. He has somehow rationalised the fact that he is in London and not ruling his country by assuming he has been deposed and is preparing to return in glory.'

  'To a country that doesn't even exist,' Rose said. It was sad.

  'And you haven't told him the truth?'

  Aske gave a short bark of laughter, though it was empty of mirth. 'Oh, I have tried, Doctor. I have spent many hours trying to talk him out of this delusion. But without success. I thought it would be difficult to play along, but I have to confess it has been very easy, once I accepted we would have to move away from everything he knows, or rather knew.' He sighed. 'The trustees were happy to al ow us rooms here, and Wyse has been most eloquent on our behalf. Both Repple and I have modest private incomes that more than co
ver the costs.'

  'And you get invited to parties,' Rose added.

  Aske looked embarrassed. 'Yes. Wel . The evening was a little more complicated than I had expected.

  It seems that Sir George had already spoken with Repple about this Russian business. I knew nothing about it until tonight and Repple was already offering to help. Offering help he cannot give.'

  'And that's what you wanted to talk to Sir George about,' Rose realised.

  'You tel him everything?' the Doctor wondered.

  'To my shame, no,' Aske confessed. 'I warned him merely that Repple's support in Dastaria is nowhere near as great as he hopes and expects and believes. That it is very unlikely he will be able to offer any material help at al . Sir George was disappointed, of course. But I'm afraid he stil expects too much.'

  'I wouldn't worry about that,' the Doctor reassured him. 'Chances of Sir George's little adventure getting to the point where he'd want Repple's help must be slim to nothing.'

  'Yeah, no hope,' Rose agreed.

  Aske seemed to brighten at this. 'You think so?'

  'Don't worry about Sir George.'

  Further discussion was interrupted by the arrival of a tal man with thinning grey hair. He stood in the doorway and coughed artificial y.

  'Ah, Crowther,' Aske said. 'I gather you are sorting out rooms for our new guests.'

  Crowther's voice was abrupt and brittle. 'The rooms are ready. I shal be happy to show you to them.'

  'Ta,' the Doctor said. 'And thank you,' he said to Aske.

  'The least I could do.' He shuffled anxiously. 'Doctor, I have told few other people about this. You wil ...'

  'Mum's the word,' the Doctor assured him.

  Their rooms were next to each other, with a small lounge between that was reached from either room by a connecting door. Each had a smal bathroom en suite, which the Doctor murmured was as unusual as it was welcome. The rooms reminded Rose of what you might get in a posh country-house hotel.

  Not that she had ever been to such a place, but the four-poster bed and the worn leather furniture reeked of expense and comfort. She had not realised how tired she was until she saw the bed.