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

  Crowther showed them through the rooms, then handed them each a key. 'Just one thing, sir and madam,' he said in his dry voice.

  'Just one? 'The Doctor smiled.

  Crowther ignored this. 'Mr Pooter's rooms are directly above you. I would request that you make as little unnecessary noise as possible.'

  'I thought Mr Pooter was away,' Rose said.

  'Indeed. But he often returns at very short notice or unexpectedly. We have a trustees' meeting coming up shortly.'

  'No wild parties, Rose,' the Doctor warned. 'No raves or binges or barn-dancing.'

  'And of course, you wil respect his privacy.'

  'Of course,' Rose said. She was finding the man more than a little creepy and wished he'd just leave them. 'I thought he'd never go,' she whispered as soon as Crowther had left the Doctor's room.

  'Never is a very long time,' the Doctor said.

  They both flinched at the knock at the door.

  'I think he heard you,' Rose said.

  The Doctor raised his eyebrows, not convinced. He strode across the room and opened the door.

  Repple was standing there, and the Doctor motioned for him to come in. The black cat slipped in behind him, before the Doctor could close the door. It stretched out on the floor inside the door and watched them.

  The Doctor shrugged, and left the door open. 'Feeling better?' he asked.

  'I had to speak to you,' Repple said. He looked round, as if checking there were only the three of them there. 'Even now he may be listening. Somewhere, somehow. I pretended to be tired, so as to get away, just for a few minutes.'

  'From Major Aske?'

  Repple nodded. 'I'm sorry,' he said, looking from the Doctor to Rose, 'but I have not been entirely honest with you.'

  'There's a thing,' Rose muttered.

  'You mean,' the Doctor said brightly, 'you're not actual y the rightful leader of Dastaria?'

  Repple stared at them, his expression not changing. He seemed about to speak, but then there was a sound from outside. A gentle thud – like the wind blowing a window shut, or a door closing distantly on another floor. Or a furtive footfal .

  'I misled you in some details,' Repple said quietly, glancing again over his shoulder. 'I am not the Elector of Dastaria, exiled and even now planning my glorious return to power.'

  The Doctor looked at Rose and raised an eyebrow in an 'I told you so' way.

  'What?' she retorted.

  Repple seemed not to notice. 'I cannot begin to plan my return, glorious or otherwise. You see, the truth is, I am a prisoner in al but name.'

  'Hang about,' Rose said. 'Are you the ruler of this place or not?'

  'I am. But as you know, I was deposed in an il egal coup. The rebels seized power without any warning or legitimacy. And one day I shal reclaim my title. But first, I must escape.'

  'Escape?'

  'From him. From Aske – my jailer.'

  'Ah.' The Doctor made it sound as if everything was now clear, but he mouthed 'Eh?!' at Rose.

  Repple turned away. 'He watches me all the time. Only occasional y, like now, can I slip away for a few moments. But I must get back, before he becomes suspicious. I can plan nothing, talk to no one without him knowing. And if I step out of line for a moment, if he even begins to think I have violated the terms of my exile...' He shook his head at the thought. 'The man is a fanatic.'

  'Yes,' the Doctor said slowly, 'I'm sure.'

  'But what can he do?' Rose demanded.

  'You have noticed how he stands?' Repple demonstrated, mimicking Aske's distinctive posture – one hand tucked into his jacket pocket. 'A knife or a smal pistol is never far away. I can take no chances. Not for myself, you understand. I do not fear death.' He looked from Rose to the Doctor. 'I fear for my people.

  Those left behind in the country that despite everything stil flies our flag.'

  'Course you do,' the Doctor said, clapping his arm round Repple's shoulder. 'So, what's the flag of Dastaria look like?'

  Was he trying to catch the man out, Rose wondered? If so, it did not seem to work. Repple answered immediately. 'It is a white triangle emblazoned on a background of the night sky. And one day soon, despite what Aske and those he answers to might think, I shal return in glory at the head of an army that marches under that flag. For freedom. For Dastaria.' He stepped away from the Doctor, regarded him for a moment, then enfolded him in an embrace. Rose stepped quickly out of range. But Repple made no attempt to give her the same treatment. instead he clicked his heels together and bowed in her direction.

  'There is a degree of honour in you both,' he said. 'I know I can count on you.'

  Then, with a curt nod, he turned and walked from the room.

  The cat turned lazily without getting up and watched him go. Then it turned back towards Rose, and she gasped as she noticed its neck. A white triangle on its black fur.

  'Doctor – look. The markings on the cat.'

  'Yeah. Could be a coincidence.'

  'Or,' Rose said, completing both their thoughts, 'could be that's where he got the idea for the design of the flag. If he's making it up.'

  'Trouble is,' the Doctor said, 'it could be where he got it even if he's not making it up. A subconscious image.'

  'Is he lying? And if he is, does he know it?'

  'And if he isn't, why is Aske lying?' The Doctor tapped his index finger against his teeth. 'Curiouser and curiouser. Know what we need?'

  Rose nodded. 'A good night's sleep fol owed by a hearty breakfast.'

  'Spot on. See you in the morning.' He nodded at their feline visitor, stil stretched out on the carpet.

  'And knowing what curiosity did...'

  Rose grinned. 'Yes, you'd better put the cat out.'

  FOUR

  The view from the Doctor's window was of an icy morning in London. If he leaned out, breathing in the crisp air, he could see the Palace of Westminster. He could not actual y see the icicles hanging from the clock face of Big Ben, as the clock tower at the Houses of Parliament was popularly cal ed. But he could imagine them –slivers of frozen glass, glistening in the early light as the first drips thawed and rol ed and fel from the ends.

  Beside the Palace of Westminster was the calm, gunmetal-grey surface of the Thames. He noted the position where the Mil ennium Wheel was conspicuous by its absence, and smiled at his memories of what was yet to come. Apart from the wheel, the general shape of the skyline would not change that much. Lower down it would

  – among the glass and concrete and neon that was not yet built. But the general impression of London, what made it instantly recognisable, was already set. With the addition of Tower Bridge, the image was complete. It had been there less than thirty-five years, yet already the bridge was a timeless emblem of the city. Like Big Ben, which had itself been there less than a century. Iconic and distinctive.

  Anyone looking up from the street below would see the Doctor's head and shoulders emerging from his window. His chin was resting in his hands, elbows on the wide sil . The eyes were ever alert, flicking to and fro, taking in every last detail. One might imagine, looking up and discovering him there, that the Doctor had been like this al night. Frozen like an icicle, staring out and thinking. And perhaps he had.

  But now he moved. Straightening up and withdrawing inside, the Doctor blew on his pale, cold hands and rubbed them vigorously together. It was morning, he could hear the distant sounds of the docks and the clatter of traffic in the street. London was waking, even if Rose was not. It was time to get started, time to get some answers, time for breakfast.

  The first Rose knew of morning was when the door opened. She grunted something incoherent as she disentangled her head from the heavy blankets and sheet. It was meant to be 'Go away', but evidently it hadn't come out like that as someone had come into the room.

  Rose grabbed the blankets and pul ed them up again, retreating. They seemed to separate and go everywhere – didn't they have duvets? Her gran used to cal a duvet a 'continental quilt' so maybe co
nvenience bedlinen had only got as far as France. She peeped over the sheet, and saw that there was a girl of about her own age or younger standing in the doorway. She had a bob of dark hair and a round face with a dot of a nose and wide brown eyes. She was wearing a dark uniform with a white apron.

  'Oh, I do beg your pardon, miss.' The girl curtsied awkwardly, as embarrassed as Rose was. 'The gentleman said it was al right to make up the beds and do the rooms, I didn't realise you was stil asleep.'

  'I wasn't,' Rose lied. 'Come in, it's fine,' she decided. Trust the Doctor to get the maid to wake her. Or maybe he'd just forgotten she existed. Typical.

  'I couldn't do that.' The girl looked pale at the thought.

  'Don't be daft. It's time I got up.'

  The girl's name was Beth, and once she had got over the embarrassment she was quite chatty.

  Rose bombarded her with questions about the Imperial Club, but learned little more than she already knew. Getting dressed in her one and only set of clothes, Rose asked about where to go shopping for more. She hoped the Doctor had some cash that worked here – she couldn't see any of the rather staid-sounding shops that Beth suggested taking Galactic Express Gold Card or whatever.

  'How long have you worked here?' Rose wondered, sitting on the newly made bed and swinging her legs so that her pale-green dress seemed to blow out around her.

  'Oh, I've been in service for five years now.'

  'Five years?' She must be older than she looked, Rose thought. But she was wrong.

  'Yes, I started at Lord and Lady Hutchinson's when I was fourteen. Had a poky little room under the eaves. This time of year it was perishing, it was.'

  'Isn't that a bit young?'

  'Oh, not really, miss. And me mum needed the money. I send home half my pay every week. I got two younger brothers and a sister, you see. So it al helps.'

  Rose nodded. 'I suppose.' She could recal Gwyneth at the undertaker's in Cardiff had gone into 'service'

  when very young. Clearly things hadn't exactly moved on since the end of the last century.

  'I'm glad I live in here, though,' Beth went on. 'We al have rooms in the other wing. Not allowed through here except when we're working, you see. Mr Crowther would have a fit if he caught us loitering about with nothing to do. But what with the rumours and everything, I don't go out more than I have to.'

  'Rumours?'

  'They say there's someone going about attacking people in service round here. Old Mrs Fewsham's maid was approached the other week by a stranger in a dark street and she fainted clean away. Mind you,' Beth said, thinking about it, 'she's like that. But then there was Mary from the Lawrences'. Week in hospital she got, and she can stil barely talk. Says it was something horrible.'

  'She can manage a bit then,' Rose murmured.

  'Shadowy figures reaching for your throat and asking questions about the other staff and who you work for...' She shuddered at the idea. 'Don't bear thinking about.'

  Rose shuddered too as she recal ed the events of the previous evening – the shadowy figure and the marks on Dickson's neck. 'No,' she agreed. 'It don't.' It was time she got some food. Maybe the Doctor would have saved her a bacon sandwich. 'I'l leave you to do the Doctor's room,' she told Beth.

  'Oh, I've been in there already, miss,' Beth admitted. 'But there weren't much to do. The bed's not been slept in.'

  Breakfast was long gone, and the Doctor seemed more amused than sympathetic. He was sitting in the panel ed room playing chess with Wyse. He had a finger raised in the air for silence even before Rose saw him, but she had no doubt it was for her benefit.

  She slumped down on one of the leather chairs in the otherwise deserted room and watched as the Doctor mul ed over various moves. A slight movement at the edge of her vision made her turn, and she saw that the cat was lying on the adjacent sofa. It raised its lazy head and regarded her with interest for a moment. But only a moment, then it lowered its head again and seemed to go to sleep.

  Rose kissed the air in the cat's direction encouragingly. The Doctor spared her a glare, and she stopped. 'Sorry,' she muttered just loud enough for him to hear, though he ignored it.

  Wyse caught Rose's eye, and winked. 'Think I've got him on the run,' he whispered.

  The Doctor looked up at them, eyes narrowed. Then he returned his attention to the board. 'Oh, stuff it,' he decided, and moved a bishop forwards.

  Wyse frowned. 'Or not,' he admitted.

  'Breakfast?' Rose asked.

  'Was great,' the Doctor told her. Bad luck.' He tapped the edge of the chessboard. 'Mate in three,' he finished glumly.

  Wyse nodded. 'I'l find Crowther and have him get you some bacon and eggs,' he said to Rose.

  'Thanks. But why not stay and finish him off first? If it's only three moves.'

  Wyse smiled sadly. 'I'm afraid it's three moves until he finishes me off. Bril iant move there with the bishop, I have to say.' He stood up and stretched. 'Right then, back in a tick.'

  The cat mirrored Wyse's movements, stretching, getting to its feet and walking from the room in its long, easy manner.

  'Having fun?' Rose asked.

  The Doctor grinned. 'Yeah. Takes my mind off faceless kil ers and missing time machines. He's very good,' he went on, picking up Wyse's black king and examining it.

  'Not up to your standard, though.'

  'I dunno.' He put the king back, laying it on its side. 'He missed an easy way to beat me early on.'

  'Giving you a chance?'

  'I wonder. P'raps he felt sorry for me. I was going to return the favour just now, but I couldn't see a move that didn't leave my king exposed.'

  'Except winning.'

  'Winning's easy.,

  'So, maybe he forced you to win.'

  The Doctor considered this. 'Which is lots more difficult,' he decided quietly.

  The chief steward, or whatever Crowther was, brought through a tray of breakfast for Rose. If he disapproved of her eating it off her lap, he said nothing. Rose couldn't believe how much she had missed bacon – something so simple, yet her mouth was watering in anticipation just at the smel as she lifted the silver lid from her plate. The poached egg looked good too, but she gave the black pudding a miss.

  There was toast, and a pot of tea, and cups for all three of them on another tray, brought by an unsmiling maid who seemed barely older than Beth.

  'It's a rum do,' Wyse said when Rose mentioned the attacks that Beth had told her about. 'Don't seem to be any call for it. No clear motive. Very sad.' He shook his head. 'Repple was saying something about Sir George Harding's man being attacked last night, right outside his house. Terrible, terrible.'

  'We were there,' Rose admitted through a mouthful of toast.

  'Or perhaps it was Aske,' Wyse went on. 'Don't remember offhand.' He looked up, as if realising what Rose had said. 'You were there?'

  'No big deal,' she assured him. 'Saved the good guy, fought off the baddies. The usual, you know.'

  The Doctor was setting up the chessboard again. 'How many attacks have there been?'

  Wyse was staring at Rose, surprised at her dismissive attitude. 'Six or seven, I suppose. That we know about, anyway. One fatality, otherwise men in service just rather frightened and shaken up. Even a couple of women, one scarcely more than a girl, poor thing. You wonder what the world is coming to sometimes, don't you?'

  Rose glanced at the Doctor, smiling at the fact that they did not need to wonder, they knew. The Doctor smiled back. But it was fleeting, gone in a moment. 'What was Repple's interest?' he wondered.

  'Or Aske's,' Wyse said. 'Those two are like those Shakespearean characters, Rosencrantz and Guildenstern. Can't always tell them apart. Or maybe I mean Hamlet and Horatio,' he decided. 'Got to remember the royalty aspect.' He leaned forward, grinning suddenly, and gave a huge wink.

  'You're winking at me,' the Doctor said.

  'Er, yes. S'pose I am.'

  'So I assume Aske has told you that Repple isn't real y the king in exile or whatever.,
Wyse sat back in his chair and regarded them both with interest. 'He has indeed. He tells everyone that, then swears them to secrecy. Just as Repple tel s everyone he is indeed the rightful Elector of Dastaria.'

  'But which of them is tel ing the truth?' Rose asked. 'Repple told us he's a prisoner.'

  'Tel me,' Wyse said, 'was Aske listening when he told you this?'

  'Is that important?'

  'Oh yes, Doctor. You wanted to know which of them had told you the truth.'

  'Yep.'

  'Wel , it sounds as if the answer is: neither of them.'

  'So what is the truth?' Rose put the cover back on her plate – empty save for the slices of black pudding –and set down the tray on the table beside the chessboard.

  'An excel ent question, my dear. And I relate only what has been told to me, so I cannot directly vouch for its veracity either.'

  'Get on with it,' the Doctor mumbled.

  Wyse smiled affably at the interruption. 'Very wel , my friend. Now, I asked if Repple believed he could be overheard when he told you his story. I know from the story he chose to tel that the answer is yes.'

  Rose nodded. 'He seemed to be going to tel us something last night, then there was a noise and he got nervous.'

  'You mean his story varies depending who's listening?' the Doctor said.

  'Something like that.'

  'So is he or isn't he?' Rose demanded.

  'That is the question,' Wyse agreed. 'And no, I'm afraid he isn't.' As he spoke, the cat jumped up into Wyse's lap. It purred contentedly, snuggling in and almost immediately going to sleep. Wyse rubbed at the cat's head with his knuckles.

  'So Aske told us the truth. It's all a delusion,' Rose realised.

  'Wel , that's not quite true either. You see, it's no delusion. Repple is in perfect mental health and he knows full well that he is no more the Elector of Dastaria than you or I.'

  'So why lie?' the Doctor asked.

  'Because Aske is the one with the delusions, and Repple wants nothing more than to humour his friend and allow him to continue with the life he believes he is leading.'