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Lungbarrow - Chapter Twenty-four

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Chancing an Arm

The House was too quiet, as if it had a secret to keep. Innocet had hardly reached the end of the passage when Glospin caught up with her.

She almost smiled. 'I'm glad it's you.'

'Cousin?' He seemed genuinely taken aback by her warmth.

'Don't be surprised,' she continued. 'The Doctor, or whatever we are expected to call him, is still the most insufferably arrogant, aggravating person I have ever encountered.'

Glospin's eyes glinted. 'We have to get out, Innocet.'

'Yes.'

'How old do you think he is, in terms of regeneration?'

She manoeuvred him into an alcove. 'Older than he looks. But, with no tally in the Loom, how can we tell?'

'Did he say what he's been doing, while we all were rotting down here?'

'He's been away. But I thought you knew that, Glospin.' She watched the old rancour creep back into his expression. 'Your arm, how is it?' she asked pointedly.

'He told you?' He fumbled his scarred hand into a pocket.

'Not verbally. He would never have been so truthful.'

Glospin's eyes narrowed. 'Surely he didn't let you into his thoughts?' He laughed. 'No, I don't believe you're that gullible. You know how he can twist things.'

'I know how deplorably you both behaved, Glospin. All those years ago, when you visited his rooms in the Capitol.'

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'Then you know what attacked me.'

'I saw. . . something. I'm not sure what it was.'

A smirk curled on his mouth. 'For days, there had been a major alert in the Capitol. Alarms were triggered everywhere. Antiquated alarms that no one even knew existed. There were unexplained sightings. And rumours started up that the Hand of Omega itself had returned. But no one could prove it.'

'Agency rumours, of course.'

'When I confronted Wormhole with my theories, he summoned that thing. It was the mythical Hand of Omega. It came to him like a faithful pet. Like that Badger thing of his.'

She turned to go. 'That was not the way that I saw it.'

'What else did you see?' He was walking behind her. 'Do you really still believe he's just your Cousin?'

'No.'

'Did he tell you where he's been? Or why he's really come home?'

'No.' She reached her own door, went inside and slammed it in his face.

As she leant her back against the door, praying to keep it shut, Glospin's thoughts came spiking through into her head.

'He came home to claim his inheritance, Cousin. He assumed we'd all be dead by now. He called you an old Pythia. And he said he'd make sure you never assumed your position as the next Housekeeper... I just thought you should know.'

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At last the backwash that has rippled through the House in angry gusts of engine noise, converges and explodes in a single golden thunderclap.

A machine roars its arrival and dies.

'Who's there?' cries Satthralope. Her fingers tangle in the laces of her boots. 'Who else has crossed the threshold uninvited?'

Dorothée parked the bike out of the way, under the tallest table she had ever seen.

'St Rewth,' she stage-whispered. 'For a minute I thought something had gone haywire with our dimensions.'

'I thought that the first time I visited Andred's House.' said Leela. 'Wait here.'

She moved cautiously towards the tall doorway leading off the chamber.

Dorothée ignored the instruction and headed for the boarded-up window. She squinted though a crack in the wood, but it was black as night outside. Romana was wrong. They weren't underground at all.

The heavy air in the House smelt of oil. Somehow, the bizarre tree-trunk architecture didn't surprise her. It was the Doctor's House after all. The dust-laden place could have been mistaken for derelict, but for the lamps that burnt along the walls. She went to join Leela, who was peering into the depths of a shadowy passage.

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'The Gallifreyans are sad people,' Leela said. 'There are no true children on their world.'

'Oh, the Loom business,' said Dorothée. 'I never understood that. I mean, if you're born, surely you're born as a kid.'

Leela shook her head. 'They are all born from the Family Loom as full-grown adults. They are like children at first and have to learn like children. Andred calls that time brain-buffing. He says the things they live with in the House are deliberately big, so that they feel as if they have been small.'

'Hang on,' said Dorothée. 'So you're not a Time Lady at all.'

Leela had begun to prowl around the room, studying the ancient weaponry, guns and swords, that hung from the walls. 'My tribe live on a world far from here in both space and time.' She hiked up her robe, climbed on to a chair and pulled an angular knife down from its harness.

'Tribe?' grinned Dorothée.

The chair squirmed, there was no other word for it. Leela jumped clear and landed, catlike, next to Dorothée.

'And be careful of the furniture,' she warned, hefting the knife in her hand. 'It can be as fierce or cunning as any beast in the forest.'

They both froze at the sound of scraping footsteps.

They simultaneously pulled each other behind a large cabinet as something very tall stalked into the room.

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Chris watched the Doctor trying to leave the library. Every time the Time Lord got near the door, the tables and chairs jostled viciously into his path.

The Doctor said nothing. Chris couldn't exactly read him like a book. Instead, he was a captive audience as about a dozen intertwining texts were forcibly jacked into his head. Maybe he was getting used to it; he was beginning to separate the threads and focus on any one at a time.

'Suppose I did come back to murder Quences and then wiped my own memory. Would that account for all this twitchiness? Do I or could I ever have had a doppelganger Cousin? No, no, no. The Loom always weaves at random on the basic template. You can never choose what you look like. The chances of a double are infinitely remote.'

This was against a background of thoughts that included the reciting of a historical text in what sounded like pigbin Orculqui, singing along with some sort of operatic heroine, pomming along with a honky-tonk jazz band, rehearsing a speech on the cultural dynamics of the planet Blue Profundis in the twin-sunned Sappho System and a list of ingredients for home-made trumpberry wine.

'Arkhew never said it was me. Perhaps Arkhew recognized the murderer as someone else. Perhaps he went and confronted them and then got spiked.'

Chris said, 'How could Arkhew recognize someone else when the murderer looked like you? Who else was there?'

'Is there no privacy?' complained the Doctor's thoughts, but out loud, he said, 'Innocet saw someone leaving the room.'

'She said it was you,' said Chris. 'Unless you think she had a hand in killing Quences.'

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'I can't read her mind.'

'But she can read yours through me.'

The Doctor gave up talking altogether. 'Why does she carry her guilt around in a long plait on her back? I don't know what she would have done if she thought Quences threatened the House. It's an extreme situation. And then there's Glospin.'

'He was at death's door, remember?' interrupted Chris. 'But I'd give a month's credit to nail it on him. And what about Satthralope?'

'Will you stop interrogating me as if I'm the number-one suspect?'

'You are, Doctor,' apologized Chris. 'Both for Quences's murder and Arkhew's.'

'I've been framed! / Nothing of the sort!'

Chris shrugged. 'If this was Overcity, you'd be wired up in the termination cell by now.'

The Doctor tried to reach the door by ducking under the table, but it deliberately crouched to block his path. One of its clawed feet grabbed the tail of his jacket.

'Satthralope couldn't kill Quences,' he said, struggling to free his clothing. 'No matter how much they've always loathed each other.' With a furious twist, he slid out of his sleeves, leaving the jacket still in the grip of the table's claw. He sat back on the floor exasperated. 'Don't forget she's already lied to the House about his death. And done it so convincingly, she believes it herself.'

'They're going to find out he's dead sooner or later.'

'Sooner,' said the Doctor glumly. 'She plans to wake him herself. I wonder who'll be more traumatized.'

Chris edged slowly towards the door. The furniture ignored him. 'I'm off to make a few enquiries. I just got an idea from something you were thinking.'

The Doctor slapped the side of his head. 'Which was?'

Chris smiled and thought, 'Where there's a will, there's a way. . . out.'

'Ah,' said the Doctor. He watched him go and then turned his attention to rescuing his jacket from the crouching table.

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'It took my shopping,' said Dorothée. 'What the freak was it?'

They had watched the tall, wooden creature from behind the big cabinet. Leela had held Dorothée back, while she stroked a carved panel on the furniture. Like distracting a dog, thought Dorothée.

The tall thing had no head. Just a splintered neck, around which hung a mirror on a chain. It had discovered the bike and carried off the plastic M&S bags.

'It was a Drudge,' said Leela. 'One of the House's servants.'

'I hate staff with attitude,' said Dorothée. She found Leela's assumption of the role of leader a bit galling. 'We'd better get moving if we're going to find the Doctor.'

'Wait,' Leela said. She crouched and touched and sniffed at one of the white tree trunks set in the wall. 'This House of Lungbarrow is sickly. I can smell it.'

'No kidding. The place is actually alive?'

Leela started to undo her long robe. 'And if the House is sick, then the sickness passes to the furniture and the servants too. They are all part of the House.'

She discarded the robe completely. Underneath, she wore minimal, roughly stitched, leather garments. Her body was sinewy and taut, finely toned; not an elegant society lady at all or even a Gallifreyan grisette. She slid her knife into an empty sheath on her belt.

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Dead tribal, thought the Ace bit of Dorothée. She was impressed. She glanced at herself in a big ornate mirror. The shadowy face that stared back looked a wreck. But it was her own face, moulded by her own battles and cares. Not cold. Not accusing or questioning. Both Ace and Dorothée.

She let Leela lead the way along the passage until they reached a neglected hall. At one end, something glimmered inside a dusty glass booth. A ghost in a scarlet uniform - half materialized.

'It's him,' said Leela, squinting through the glass. 'It must be Redred, Andred's missing Cousin.'

Dorothée poked about in the burnt-out console. 'This wouldn't take long to fix if the replacement units were around. I've seen similar stuff in the TARDIS. Wonder why no one's done it before now.' She studied the ghost in the machine. 'How long's he been in there?'

Leela fingered the hilt of her knife. 'He has been missing for six hundred and seventy-three years,' she said solemnly.

Satthralope poked at the contents of the white bags. She tore open one of the wrappings and broke off some of the pliant brown substance with her fingers.

Had someone brought them food packages for Otherstide? Or was this some joke of the Doctor's? The stuff was chewy and richly flavoured with herbs - the sort of rough bread that wandering Shobogans bake in ember fires.

There were strange-coloured fruits in the bags and boxes that contained square paper envelopes of a herbal mixture that smelt vaguely like tea.

'Use them,' she told the headless Drudge. 'They'll suffice for supper. And find the intruders!'

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There was a sudden knocking noise.

An image of the Doctor, reflected up from the library, was banging its knuckle insolently on the inside of her mirror.

He was mouthing noiselessly at her, but his thoughts came through clearly.

'Satthralope? End this charade now, or I'll tell the House about Quences!'

Her hands gripped the finger arms of her chair in fury. The arrogance of it! How dare he?

She was about to send a Drudge, when she saw, through the mirror, the figure who was standing behind the Doctor.

It was Glospin.

Chris nearly tripped over Jobiska. He thought she was dead, but the old lady eased herself out of the deep fireplace and handed him her telescope.

'Have a look, dear. Looks like rain.'

Chris lay on his back and squinted up the chimney at a distant punch-hole of light far above.

'These candledays you can only see up the West chimney,' Jobiska said sadly. 'Cousin Luton thought he could climb up the East chimney, but he got stuck. We could hear him regenerating for eleven candledays. That was five hundred and six years ago and he's still there.' She pawed Chris's arm. 'I'm two hundred and ninety-nine, you know. And no one will take me home.'

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Chris sat up. 'Who would you like to take you home?'

Jobiska's eyes filled with tears again. 'Arkhew, dear. We used to play Sepulchasm together. Where's he gone?'

'He's gone away,' said Chris gently.

She moaned a little. 'No, dear. He always said he couldn't afford to go away.'

'What?'

'He owed too much. He tried to clear the debt, but the wagers got bigger.'

Chris felt that little tug inside his head that always said, you're on to something. It felt like a hug from Roz. 'What can you bet down here? Who was screwing him? I bet it was Glospin.'

She choked back her tears. 'Arkhew said there was nothing else to bet. Glospin already owned him.'

Chris would have hugged the tiny old woman, but he feared she might snap in two. So he leant in and gently touched her spindly arm.

Something sliced past his head, nicking his ear.

A knife clattered across the floor.

The sharp pain brought everything into focus. Chris was surrounded by people. All the Cousins in the portrait, all calling him.

They seemed to think he was the Doctor.

'There he is!'

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The Cousins had gone. Jobiska was pointing at someone trying to hide behind a sofa.

'Glospin!'

Chris lunged down, and yanked out the figure by the collar. It was Owis. 'I didn't do it!' he squealed.

'Nice try anyway,' said Chris. 'Did you kill Arkhew too?'

'Why should I?' He was damp with sweat.

'They used to look for the missing will together,' said Jobiska.

'What was it worth?' Chris growled. 'Did you ever have a bet with Glospin?'

Owis swallowed hard. 'Sometimes.'

'Nothing much exciting to bet with down here though.'

'There's enough.'

'Yes?'

'Arkhew was my friend. And we never found the will.'

'Arkhew hated Owis,' added Jobiska.

'Shut up,' said Owis. 'Shut up!' He raised a hand to hit the old woman. Chris knocked him to the floor.

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Somewhere near, something struggled in a tight space.

'Arkhew had a pet scrubbler,' continued Jobiska. 'It fell in through a window one day. All silvery grey and blind, with a twinkly nose and big digger claws. Arkhew kept it in a box, fed it on worms. It was his best friend. Then Owis ate it.'

'Did not!' protested Owis. 'It's all the Doctor's fault. He wants to kill everyone!'

Innocet walked in through the door. Rynde was with her. She glared accusingly at Chris. 'Why has the Doctor come back? He should have left us buried in peace.'

'While you wager your lives away in idiot games?' said Chris.

Owis affected disinterest. 'He could afford a life or two.'

At that moment, something fell out of the chimney and slapped on to the hearth.

It was a fish. A big glassy fish with finny claws. A barrage of hailstones clattered around it. It struggled for a moment, off the hearth, onto the filthy rug, and then lay still, mouth gasping.

The Cousins stood in silence as three more fish tumbled down among the hailstones.

'Is it a sign?' said Owis excitedly. 'Or a miracle?'

Innocet clasped her hand to her throat. 'Perhaps,' she said slowly. 'The Doctor always attracted strangeness.'

'Chris!' hissed a voice.

Chris turned and saw Dorothée and another woman standing in the doorway.

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The others stared.

Fish flapped around their feet, drowning in the air.

'Dorothée? How did you get in here?'

Hailstones clattered down.

'Don't ask,' she said. 'Where is he?'

The two Drudges came from both directions.

'These are my guests,' declared Innocet. 'By the Laws...'

A Drudge pushed Innocet roughly aside. She turned and ran from the room.

'Get behind me,' said Chris, as the huge servants edged the guests into a corner.

Too late. The woman in a bikini stuck a knife into the headless Drudge, but even with three against two, there was no contest.

One Drudge picked up both women. The other put Chris under one arm and still had a hand free to snatch up the fish and store them in wooden drawers in its bodice.

'It's a precarious time,' said Glospin. He was setting out the pieces on the Sepulchasm board. 'One false move and the House could destroy all of us.' He held up the counters. 'What colour?'

'Patrexes.' The Doctor tapped the faded purple discs. 'Do you plan to kill me too?'

'What?'

'The way you killed Quences. How else can you stop the House from finding out he's dead?'

Glospin selected the silver-grey Dromeian counters for himself. 'Everyone says you murdered him.'

'Boring,' the Doctor said. 'What do you think?'

'I was too ill to know about it.'

'Oh, yes. You were busy regenerating.' He studied Glospin. 'You've worn very well.'

'Yes. I put it down to the lack of sunlight.' Glospin smiled. 'Don't worry, Wormhole. Something with your provenance and questionable ancestry is far too precious to be killed.'

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'Coming home is so reassuring,' said the Doctor. 'However long I've been away, I know we'll still pick up exactly where we left off. I'm your Cousin, Glospin.'

'Amongst other things.'

'Meaning?'

Glospin cupped the die in his hands and rotated it slowly. 'When we last met, all that time ago, at the Capitol, I knew you were something strange. Your genetic records bore that out. But it was more than that. Somehow you don't belong here.'

'You hoped,' said the Doctor. 'Cast the die.'

Glospin threw and got an eleven to start. 'I thought you were an infiltrator or a changeling. An un-Gallifreyan.'

'That's a good Agency word,' said the Doctor. He threw the die and got a six. 'I know another good word. Cuckoo. What do you think?'

'We haven't set a stake,' Glospin said.

'All right. I'll play you for the whereabouts of Quences's will.'

They crooked fingers. 'And I'll play you for your TARDIS,' said Glospin with a smile.

Satthralope tried to watch the game, but she could neither read Glospin's words nor catch the Doctor's thoughts.

Then he was in the way, blocking her view. Quences, staring at her out of her mirror, with that thing stuck into his chest, dribbling blood down his gore-soaked robe.

'I am dead, Satthralope. Dead and bloodied for revenge.'

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She would not believe the apparition. It did not exist. Quences had survived the Doctor's murderous attack. It had taken all her strength to console and convince the House.

The old man leered out of the mirror at her. No matter where in the House she directed the glass, he was always there, blocking her view, sluicing absurd quantities of blood.

'Quences, you old vampire!' she shouted. 'I wish you really were dead!'

For some unaccountable reason, she thought she could smell fish.

Glospin's counters scampered round the board. He was on a winning run.

'You were the only one Quences cared about,' he said.

The Doctor remained infuriatingly smug. 'You could have joined our Sepulchasm tournaments. You only had to ask. We were often in here, playing on this very board.

'Even after he threw you out, he still cared. If only he'd known what he was playing with.'

'Fire, Glospin. The same as you.' The Doctor shook and threw again. He groaned. 'Another six. Anyone would think this board was fixed.'

Glospin rubbed his scarred hand. 'It was only when that thing attacked me that I understood what you really are.'

'Do go on. Your fantasies are fascinating.'

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'It was the Hand, wasn't it? The legendary Hand of Omega, a power out of the past. And it came to find you!'

'Glospin,' said the Doctor, 'you've had nearly seven hundred years to dream up this nonsense.'

'Am I the first to find out? Is that why you're so frightened?'

The Doctor was calm and quiet. No tantrum or fierce denial. How telling that was.

The board boomed and cracked open under the Doctor's counters. He glared at the little discs, forbidding them to drop. As they hovered above the opening, he said, 'Glospin, take over.'

'What?'

'Keep it open for me.'

Glospin took over the mental reins, willing the chasm open as the Doctor leant in over the board. He slid his hand down into the depths of the pedastal and started to rummage around.

'I can't find.. . No wait, there's something here.'

Glospin let go.

The board's dimensions snapped shut on the Doctor's arm. He yelled with pain, struggling to escape.

'Where are your powers now?' said Glospin. 'Get yourself out of this!' He hit the Doctor across the face.

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And again.

Innocet burst into the room. She saw the trap and immediately set her mind to it.

The board cracked open and the Doctor fell clear clutching his arm. His nose and lip were bleeding. In his hand was a black data core, sealed with a crest.

'I think this is what we've been looking for,' he choked.

'Quences's will?' said Innocet, incredulous. 'Is that it?'

'It's a trick,' Glospin said. 'He had it all the time.'

He lunged for the core, but Innocet pushed him back.

'I don't care where it was,' she said. 'Now that we have it, we can confront Satthralope.'

'Confront her all you like. What happens when she tries to wake Quences? Or perhaps Wormhole has some legendary solution.'

The Doctor lay back, watching his Cousins squabble over him.

There was a commotion outside. The Drudges loomed in, carrying Chris Cwej and two new strangers with them. Two struggling women.

The Doctor sat up and stuffed the data core inside his jacket. 'What's this?' he said sourly. 'Prison Visitors Association?'