NSA01 The Clockwise Man (Justin Richards) (v1.0) Page 8

  Wyse was a clever and skilful opponent, and the Doctor was just itching to move something and be done with it.

  'Al right as an ideal, I suppose. But where's it going to end? I mean, look what's happened in Ireland, and that's not over by a long chalk, I'l warrant.'

  'Wel , quite.' The Doctor knew where it was going to end, and he was careful to neither agree nor disagree.

  'A strong central government, that's what we need. An overriding philosophy, with some local leeway.'

  'You reckon?'

  'Wel , it's that or let them slip back to barbarity. Take the United States, fr'instance.'

  Barbarous,' the Doctor agreed with a smile.

  'No, no. I mean they manage to maintain a federal system. Albeit with a rather more cohesive geography and an approximation at least of the English language.'

  'Isn't that what the Commonwealth is al about?'

  'Is it?' Wyse moved one of his knights forward. 'Thought that was about giving up power while trying to keep face. Recipe for disaster, in my opinion. Loss of control. Seems to me we're in danger of feeling ashamed of an empire we should be proud of. Oh, and that's check, by the way,' he pointed out.

  'Maybe there are things to be ashamed of too.' Without bothering to look at the board, the Doctor moved his king out of check.

  'Oh, undoubtedly,' Wyse agreed. 'Lots of 'em, I'm sure. But denying the good things doesn't make the bad ones any better, does it? Best to own up to everything, good and bad. Always a trade-off.' He removed the Doctor's queen and put his knight on the square where she had been. 'See what I mean?'

  'Sure you wanted to do that?' the Doctor asked, eyes glittering in the firelight.

  'What?' Wyse inspected the board, and frowned. 'Blast it.' He leaned back in his chair, pushed his monocle into his eye, and smiled. 'You know, Doctor, you should try running an empire. I've a feeling you'd be rather good at it.'

  The Doctor smiled back. Another game?'

  The moon was hidden behind smoky clouds so that the only light was from the street lamps as they struggled to cast a glow through the thin, swirling fog. The Imperial Club was locked up, the doorman gone, the lights out. Asleep for the night. Or so Cheshunt and Matty hoped as they made their way cautiously to the back of the building.

  Matty was carrying a heavy bullseye lantern which he contrived to shine everywhere except where Cheshunt wanted it. It would be easier for Cheshunt to take it himself, he knew. But what was the point of being in charge if you did everything yourself?

  'Seems quiet enough,' he grunted, jabbing a meaty finger at the back door in an effort to persuade Matty to hold the light over the lock. Once he could see, it was a matter of a few moments with a picklock, and they were inside.

  Cheshunt had a rough sketch map of the interior. He had not asked the woman in the mask where she'd got it. He was not sure he wanted to know the answer – or what had happened to the person who had provided it. But it served to show the way through the service areas and servants' quarters at the back of the building.

  They had decided to start with the foyer and the club's records. If al went according to plan, they could then move on to the Doctor's rooms. Both Cheshunt and Matty were used to searching rooms while their owners slept on in their nearby beds, oblivious. Each of them was carrying a small hessian sack which had accompanied them on many previous expeditions of a similar nature.

  It al started to go wrong as they emerged into the main foyer. Cheshunt held up his hand to stop Matty in the doorway. They stared out across the marbled floor and the huge staircase that swept imposingly upwards.

  'What is it?' Matty whispered.

  'Voices,' Cheshunt said quietly. 'Listen.'

  Right at the edge of his hearing, Cheshunt could make out the sound of people talking. Laughter. He led Matty to each of the several doorways off the foyer in turn. Eventual y they found where the voices were coming from. The doorway gave into an oak-panel ed corridor with paintings hanging on the walls. The two men crept slowly down the passageway, ready to turn and run at any moment. When they reached the end, Cheshunt motioned for Matty to stay put while he peered round the doorway and into the large, panel ed room.

  There were two men, quite a way across the room. They seemed to be playing some game on a table – draughts or dominoes or something. Between taking their turns, they talked and laughed together. They seemed wel occupied, and if they had sat there until three in the morning, Cheshunt expected and hoped they were not about to move now. He gestured for Matty to retreat down the corridor, the voices fading behind them.

  As he turned to fol ow, Cheshunt noticed the third occupant of the room. A cat. A black cat with triangular white markings on its front. The cat leaped down from the leather sofa where it had been stretched out. It stared across the room, as though it had seen Cheshunt, though he was sure it could not have done. Then it started across the room towards him. He turned and hurried after Matty.

  Back in the foyer, Matty was already starting work on the small wooden desk that stood discreetly to the side of the main doors. The lights were turned down low, and Matty was holding the lantern in one hand while he worked on the lock with the other. Cheshunt hurried to join him, the cat already forgotten.

  But he was soon reminded of it. Forcefully. The cat emerged from the corridor and hurled itself across the foyer, claws clicking a rapid rhythm on the stone floor like the ticking of a clock. It gave a screeching yowl of anger as it leaped at Cheshunt and Matty.

  Cheshunt swore and stepped aside, hand raised in front of his face. Matty, intent on breaking the lock, had not seen the cat. He looked up, startled by the sound. The lamp swung wildly as he tried to get up a hand to protect himself. Claws slashed at his face. Shadows stretched and loomed in the lamplight.

  Matty was shouting to Cheshunt for help as the creature crashed into him, tearing and slashing and yowling.

  The noise echoed round the foyer. Soon it was joined by running feet from the passageway.

  Cheshunt was pulling at the heavy bundle of fur that was clamped to Matty's face, ripping it away and hurling it to the floor. The cat landed on all four feet, turned in an instant, launched itself at Cheshunt.

  The men from the panelled room were there now, running, shouting. Cheshunt considered bluffing, pretending he and Matty had every right to be there and asking for help to get the dratted animal away from them. But from the expression of boiling anger on the face of the man wearing the monocle, he knew there was no point.

  For a moment they confronted each other. The cat was on the desk, hissing at Cheshunt. Matty was sobbing with pain, scratched head in hands. The two men stood facing them across the foyer.

  Then suddenly, bizarrely, the other man – the one in the dark leather jacket – grinned like an amused schoolboy.

  'Hel o,' he said brightly.

  Somehow that was more frightening than the first man's anger or the cat's claws. The confidence and amusement of the man told Cheshunt in an instant that he had no chance of intimidating him, and little chance of escape.

  'What's going on?' The voice came from the main stairs. 'Doctor?'

  It distracted the two men, just for a second. Long enough for Cheshunt to grab Matty and push him roughly towards the main doors.

  The cat hissed again, and leaped. But Cheshunt was ready for it now. He ignored the young woman running down the stairs, the two men starting across the foyer. He let the sack he was holding fall open in one hand. With the other he caught the cat in mid-air, felt its uncanny strength, somehow managed to bundle it into the sack and pul the strings at the top closed.

  Matty had opened the door, bolts scraping and lock protesting. The two of them tumbled out, down the steps, and ran.

  'Thanks, Rose,' came the sarcastic voice of the man from behind them. There was a clatter of feet in pursuit, rapid down the steps behind them. Cheshunt did not turn to see who was fol owing. He ran after Matty, holding the sack at arm's length, desperate not to be scratched by the frantic, dagger
-sharp claws that lashed through the heavy material. He would dump the wretched animal as soon as he got the chance. And he knew exactly where, he thought – the only pleasant thought in his mind right now.

  What are you doing? Rose asked herself. There was no way she could catch the two intruders, and even if she did they were hardly going to come quietly back to the imperial Club to apologise and explain themselves. She slowed to a jog as the two men ahead of her reached the end of the bridge.

  The moon was struggling through the thin clouds and the start of a rain shower had dispel ed the last wisps of fog, so she could see them clearly. The smal man stil had his hands over his face. The larger man was talking to him. As Rose watched, he held up the bag. She could see it moving, struggling, squirming as the cat inside struggled to be free.

  In a moment, she knew what the man was going to do, and she was running again. But there was no way she could get there in time. With a loud bel ow of laughter, the man let the bag drop. Then the two of them were running again.

  Rose reached the bridge and looked over. She could see the murky water below reflecting back a broken image of the moon. The rain was getting heavier, peppering the surface of the river. The pale neck of the bag was just disappearing under the water, the strings hesitating a moment before fol owing it down.

  Rose stared in disbelief. He'd done it, he'd real y done it – chucked the poor thing into the river. She stared down, wondering if it was too late to jump in and try to find the bag. She thought of the cold, murky water, the length of the drop to the river, how she would ever get out again – or not. No bubbles broke the surface of the Thames. Rose stood there, staring down at the river, half expecting – hoping, wil ing – the cat to come struggling to the surface spitting water and hissing with fear. But there was nothing. She shivered, swal owed, and turned reluctantly away.

  The lights were on and the doors were open back at the Imperial Club. The unflappable Crowther was in the foyer, examining the desk that the men had been trying to open. He nodded at Rose, not at al surprised to see her come in, hair slicked down by the rain.

  'There's tea in the Bastil e Room, miss,' he said, as if serving tea at gone three in the morning was as natural as breathing.

  'What do you think they were after?' Rose asked.

  Crowther sniffed. 'Money, I expect, miss. Not that they would have found any.'

  'I thought they might be after something of Mr Pooter's,' Rose said.

  'Real y, miss, why is that?'

  She shrugged. 'I heard he was back, that's all. I thought maybe he'd brought something valuable with him.'

  Crowther was shaking his head. 'I'm afraid you're mistaken. There is a trustees' meeting tomorrow, but Mr Pooter has not yet returned. I don't expect him until the meeting, late tomorrow morning. That is,' he corrected himself, 'late this morning.'

  'But I heard someone in his room. Above mine. Tonight. I'm sure.'

  Crowther was frowning now. 'That isn't possible, miss. Mr Pooter isn't here, and no one else would be in his rooms. I can assure you of that. Unless the intruders...'

  Rose shook her head. 'No, no, before that. Ages ago.' She shrugged. 'I must be wrong,' she said, though she knew she wasn't. Something to tel the Doctor, Rose decided.

  But when she arrived in the Bastil e Room al thoughts of the noises from the room above were driven from her mind. The Doctor and Wyse were sitting with Aske and Repple and several other members of the club who looked as if they had dressed in haste when they heard the disturbance. Most of them were sipping tea and staring at each other through bleary eyes. Only the Doctor, Wyse and Repple seemed awake and alert. Aske was yawning.

  And on the sofa beside Wyse, stretched out so he could tickle it under the chin, was a black cat. It turned as Rose approached, watching her through its emerald eyes, the triangular patch of white fur on its front catching the glow of the firelight as it purred contentedly.

  SEVEN

  It was a crisp morning. The Doctor was able to blow long streams of mist from his mouth into the cold air. He took pleasure in stepping on last night's puddles, his feet breaking through the thin crust of ice and splashing into the water below. Once he misjudged it and his foot skidded on the ice without breaking the surface. He struggled to retain his balance, arms flailing like a windmil . He laughed long and loud, drawing the bemused attention of several other people hurrying through the cold of the morning.

  The Doctor and Rose had sat up most of the rest of the night with Wyse before Rose final y went to catch some more sleep after a bite of breakfast and a mouthful of coffee. Wyse, like the Doctor, seemed none the worse for having been up al night.

  'Often took the night watch in the trenches,' he confessed. 'The lads seemed to appreciate it.'

  'You were an officer?' the Doctor asked.

  'Lowly captain. Spent three years staring at mud and bloodshed. Got to the point where you couldn't tell one from the other, you know.'

  The Doctor nodded. 'I know,' he said quietly.

  'You in the war?' Wyse wanted to know.

  'Been in many wars. Far too many.,

  'Thought as much. You can tel . It's there in the eyes. And the attitude too. A sort of enthusiasm for life between the ennui. Like we can't quite believe we're stil here, but we must make the most of it while we are.' He sighed and nodded at the chess set on the table between them. 'Best stick to chess. Far less dangerous.'

  'Usual y,' the Doctor agreed with a smile.

  Life itself was taking on some of the more intriguing aspects of a game of chess, the Doctor decided as he made his way to Sir George's. The break-in the previous night would appear to have as little to do with the loss of the TARDIS as would the advance of an outlying pawn on the fate of a king. But there was a connection, he was sure. Just as the loss and return of his coat were something more than they seemed. You had to start somewhere, and the coat was as good a place as any.

  Besides, he liked a mystery.

  It was a respectable hour by the time he arrived. Dickson was, as ever, courteous and unflappable.

  He offered to take the Doctor's coat, but the Doctor smiled and kept it. 'Not that I think it might go missing again,' he assured Dickson. 'But I want to talk to young Freddie about it. Among other things.'

  'You don't think...' Dickson blurted uncharacteristical y.

  The Doctor raised an eyebrow and cocked his head, inviting Dickson to continue. But the man cleared his throat, embarrassed, and said nothing more.

  'No, I don't,' the Doctor assured him. 'He's a good lad. I like him too. Thought he'd want to hear about the exhibition.'

  Dickson's mouth twitched in the ghost of a smile, as if acknowledging that he had been found out.

  'He'l be pleased to see you, Doctor. He doesn't get a lot of visitors. Shall I inform Sir George that you are visiting?'

  The Doctor smiled back. 'Do. There are no secrets here.'

  Dickson left the Doctor in the drawing room as he went to find Freddie.

  'Unlike some places,' the Doctor went on, quietly, to himself.

  Freddie was excited to see the Doctor. He asked him al about the British Empire Exhibition. The Doctor was happy to describe their visit and went through a catalogue of what they had seen, rewarded by Freddie's evident interest. The boy asked endless questions, and the Doctor patiently answered them.

  Sir George put his head round the door at one point, listened to the conversation for a few moments, then smiled and nodded at the Doctor, and left them to it.

  After more than an hour, the Doctor finished his description. He held up his hand to curtail any more questions, and told Freddie, 'Now I've something I want to ask you.'

  Freddie was sitting sideways on a sofa, with his weak leg up on a cushion. 'Anything.'

  'Remember yesterday, when Rose and I came to see you, I asked you about my coat?'

  Freddie nodded.

  'You said "I saw her with it."'

  'Yes. The Painted Lady. I saw her with your coat.'

&
nbsp; 'I didn't realise what you were telling me. I'm sorry. I know she didn't come here yesterday so you must have meant during the dinner party. You were watching from the landing, weren't you?'

  Freddie nodded. He was biting his lower lip anxiously.

  'You're not in trouble,' the Doctor assured him. 'You could be a hero.'

  'A hero?'

  The Doctor grinned. 'I'm very attached to my coat. Tell me about it.'

  'I was watching, from the landing. Listening to everyone talking. I could hear voices from the dining room when the door was open. That was when I heard...' He paused, looked away. 'Then everyone was leaving. Rose saw me watching. I thought she would give me away, tel Father.'

  'Rose wouldn't do that,' the Doctor said gently.

  'I know. But I was stil worried. Then, after Rose went, the lady in the mask was left alone. And she went back into the dining room. I was going to go back to bed, but I wanted to know what she was doing. She said she was leaving, then she stayed.'

  'Curious?'

  'Yes. She's mysterious. She needs investigating.'

  'You investigate lots of people?'

  'Loads. I have a notebook, I write down everything about them.'

  The Doctor smiled. 'Real y? What've you written about me?'

  Freddie grinned. 'She wasn't gone long, the Painted Lady. She had your coat. I like your coat. It looks so comfortable and warm and... right.'

  'What did she do then?'

  'She went.'

  'Taking my coat. Just like that?'

  Freddie nodded. 'She felt in the pockets first. She found something she was interested in. A silver rod or something.'

  'This?' He held up the sonic screwdriver for Freddie to see.

  'Yes, that's it. She looked at it. She seemed interested.'

  'I bet.'

  'Then she heard someone coming. Dickson with the port, I think. She left quickly. And I went back to bed.' He hesitated, then asked, 'Does that help? Is that what you wanted to hear?'

  The Doctor clicked his tongue. 'Yes and no,' he decided. 'It helps. It isn't what I wanted to hear.' He stood up and pul ed his coat tight about him as if checking it stil fitted. 'See you then,' he told Freddie. A thought occurred to him as he made to leave. The Doctor turned back, not surprised to find Freddie watching him attentively.