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Chapter Sixteen - Chapter Sixteen

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At Home with Cousin Innocet

Chris reached a decision before they even reached the room. The best way to understand this place was to play neutral. Don't talk, just watch. Play the invalid for all it was worth.

Easier said than done. The voices in his head had started their whispering again. One word came through strongly, called over and over. It sounded like Muljermeen.

As for the visions and dreams, some were psychic echoes recorded in the stones and wood of the House, he was sure of that. But the other dreams had started before he got to Lungbarrow. They were brightly coloured and smelt and tasted. Not like his own dreams at all. They had the Doctor's prints all over them. They were the Doctor's dreams, but Chris was unsure whether they were projected deliberately or were just leaking out of a hole in the Time Lord's head.

He felt dizzy and slightly nauseous. He groaned and put all his considerable weight on the Doctor and Innocet. Good job I'm not in armour too, he thought.

'I'm sure that Drudge is following us,' muttered the Doctor. 'Don't look back.'

Innocet stumbled and nearly dropped Chris.

'I'll take him.' Chris was astonished to find himself being hefted up into the Doctor's arms.

'There's nothing behind us,' said Innocet.

'Speak for yourself,' complained the Doctor as they set off again. 'What a place. It's a wonder we haven't all evolved with rearview eyes.'

'Who is this?' said Innocet.

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'Chris? He's my friend. He trusts me. Now tell me about the buried House? And the murder?'

'What murder?' Innocet said sharply. 'There's been no murder. Quences is in stasis.'

No one mentioned Quences, thought Chris.

'I was thinking about Arkhew,' said the Doctor.

So was I, thought Chris. My chief witness. And now he's dead. Funny that.

'He was always an inoffensive sort of chap, as I recall. Gentle, unassuming. Unusual for this Family. Didn't he want to be a cloud-sculptor?'

'He did,' said Innocet. 'But this business put a stop to that.'

They trudged on in silence. The House seemed to go for miles.

At last Innocet said, 'Where did you get a TARDIS from?'

'Ah,' said the Doctor. 'You overheard.'

'I suppose it was the only way to get in here.'

He grunted. 'I assume the transmat booth was rendered inoperable whenever whatever happened happened.' Her only response was 'Yes', so he said, 'Anyway, now I'm here, we can wake Quences up and sort this whole business out.'

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No response. Chris, with his eyes shut, heard a door handle turn.

'And I hope I was worth waiting for,' the Doctor added. As he swung Chris round to negotiate the doorway, he muttered, 'I hope you're noting all this down.'

Inside, Chris heard another familiar voice start to say, 'I've brought Maljamin, just as you. . .' The voice faltered.

Chris half opened one eye and saw Cousin Owis, raggedly dressed, but still full-faced, almost chubby, compared with the other inmates of the place.

Owis was staring at the newcomers like an outsize schoolboy with his mouth wide open.

'Decorum,' snapped Innocet to no avail. She straightened a torn shawl that was draped over a large mirror.

Chris could feel the Doctor itching to raise his hat and introduce himself, but his hands were full. He lifted Chris gently up into a chair.

The room, like all the rooms in the House of Lungbarrow, had cavernously high ceilings and distant walls framed by whitewood branches. A sepia gloom pervaded everything as if the air was stained by centuries of nicotine.

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Owis raised a finger and pointed. 'People,' he said. Beside him, seated in another big chair, was a second man. He was covered in soot and was staring sadly at the floor.

'I told you to make sure he was secure,' Innocet told Owis. 'Go outside and watch for Drudges.'

'Why?' said Owis, without taking his eyes off the Doctor. 'Who are they? Are we going to get out? Have they come to get us out?'

'Just do as you're told!'

The Cousin grimaced his way to the door and went out backward.

The Doctor took off his hat and played awkwardly with the brim. 'That young man, I don't recognize him. I take it he's a Replacement. But if Quences is still alive, then who has died?'

'You have,' she said bluntly.

'Ah.' The Doctor peered inside his hat as if he was looking for a name tag. 'You didn't tell me that.'

'And, now you're back, Owis has no legal right to exist.' She was rummaging through a drawer and finally produced a length of cord.

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The Doctor put his hat back on. 'Well, perhaps this would be a good time to make my farewells\x85 again.'

'Oh, no,' she said, testing the strength of the cord between her hands. She bent over the soot-covered man and started to tie him to the chair. He made no effort to resist. He just wrinkled his nose and made tiny rodent clicking noises with his teeth.

'Isn't that rather extreme,' said the Doctor. He crouched beside them to watch. 'It's Cousin Maljamin, isn't it? What are they doing to you?'

Again Chris heard the voices calling in his head. Maljamin, Maljamin...

Innocet bit on her tongue as she tightened a knot. 'I have to do this. I'm stopping him from going away. There are too many who have passed away.'

The Doctor put a restraining hand gently on hers. 'Innocet, you can't go round tying your Cousins up. That isn't the answer. What Maljamin needs is medical attention.'

'Where from?' she said, pushing him away. 'I told you. I have to stop him from going. Especially if we're all going to be out of here soon. There. That should do it.' She stood creakily, apparently satisfied with her work. 'And don't talk to me as if I'm mad.'

The Doctor softened his voice. 'Where do you think he's going to, Innocet? You didn't say. Where can he possibly go when there's no way out? Up the chimney?'

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She shook her head.

Maljamin gave a little squeak.

Chris, his head awash with the voices, felt a hand on his arm.

A tiny old lady, whom he hadn't noticed before, was gazing up at him. She looked like the old lady in a film called The Producers. The touch me, hold me old lady. Only smaller. He and Roz had watched the film at a late-night show in Sydney, 1996. Neither of them got many of the jokes. It made it worse when the rest of the audience were killing themselves laughing.

'Take me home, dear,' said the old lady. Her voice was frail and plaintive. 'I'm Jobiska. This isn't my home. We can't get out, you see. It's all wrong.'

Her pale eyes reddened with tears. Chris thought of Arkhew's bout of weeping and didn't know what to say. He squeezed her hand gently. After a moment, she hobbled away and climbed up into the arms of another chair.

Innocet had finally taken off her cloak. The Doctor was staring in disbelief at the huge shell that she carried on her back. 'What are you doing, Cousin?' he asked. 'What does all this mean?' He touched the ginger-grey shell and Chris realized that it was living hair. Her hair, wound continuously as a single plait that must stretch for yards if it was ever unravelled.

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She raised and lowered her shoulders as if testing the weight of her burden. 'It will not be cut until we are all released. It is my guilt.'

'Why?' said the Doctor gently. He glanced across at the covered mirror. 'What mustn't Satthralope know about?'

Innocet suddenly turned her head towards Maljamin.

Simultaneously, the rush of voices inside Chris's head exploded.

The Cousin's head had slumped forward on to his chest.

Jobiska made a little whimpering sound.

'I'm sorry,' said the Doctor and took off his hat again. He stood quietly for a moment, apparently paying his respects. 'I can't remember how many generations he was.'

Innocet laid her hand on Maljamin's head. She closed his eyes.

Chris picked awkwardly at the nasty scrape on his knee. In his head, the voices were growing desperate.

The Doctor leant forward and started to pick at the knots that tied Maljamin to the chair.

'Leave it!' snapped Innocet.

'He can't be left like this while he regenerates.'

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'He's not going to regenerate.'

'What? He's not that old.'

She grabbed the Doctor's hands and started to pull him away. 'You must leave him.'

Maljamin's body tensed. His head jerked up and he strained against his bonds. The loosened knot unravelled. He lurched up out of his seat and lumbered towards the door. Innocet reached for him, but he pushed her roughly backward and she collided with the Doctor.

Chris catapulted out of his chair and grabbed Maljamin, wrestling him to the ground. The skinny Cousin struggled with the strength of an Ogron, but Chris forced his arms back behind him and held him transfixed. His head swivelled to stare at his captor. His eyes were dead to the world.

'Let him go,' called Innocet.

'What?' chorused Chris and the Doctor.

'Don't try to stop him. It's too late for that.' She moved towards the door. 'Please, allow him at least some dignity in his passing.'

Chris set a knee on Maljamin's back and looked to the Doctor for instruction.

'Hold on to him,' said the Time Lord and turned to Innocet. 'I want to know where he's going.'

'Away from the misery you've caused,' she declared.

'Arrant nonsense, Cousin!'

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'Just let him go!' Innocet threw open the door and froze.

A huge figure was standing outside. The dim lamplight threw half its shape into darkness. It made no move at all.

Maljamin burst out of Chris's grasp, sending the Adjudicator sprawling. He stumbled away out of the room, past the waiting Drudge.

The Doctor and Innocet stood framed in the doorway, waiting to see what the servant would do. By the time Chris joined them, Maljamin had already vanished in the gloom.

The Drudge made no move. It just stared ahead at the Doctor.

'What does it want?' whispered Chris.

'Well, it hasn't brought the cheese and biscuits, that's for certain,' said the Doctor.

Innocet drew them inside and shut the door quickly. 'Owis was meant to warn us. Wait until I find him.'

The door opened itself again and the silent Drudge stared in.

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Owis stood on the landing listening to the skinless skulls. The skulls that lived under the House. They were noisy tonight, whispering through the passages and corridors. Always just out of sight. In the shadows. Behind the curtains. When they wanted you, they called your name. Tonight, they were calling Maljamin.

Owis chewed nervously on a dried feathergill. He must tell Glospin about the intruders. He had to know what it meant. He hadn't seen real people since the start of the dark. He'd forgotten what they looked like. And he had to know where they got in.

He headed for the transmat booth in the Hall of the South wing. It was untouched, its control console blackened with centuries-old carbon residue. The door was covered in web. Inside, shimmering slightly, was the intangible ghost, a uniformed figure that had stood there since the dark started.

Owis was sure it should be candleday by now, but the passages stayed resolutely dark. He held out his arm and a fledershrew flittered in and hung on the underside. The little animal squeaked and took a morsel of mushroom. 'Where are the others?' said Owis, stroking its leathery wings.

It flew away.

As he hurried to tell Glospin, he was touched by memories that dwelt in every shadow of the House. Places he had watched from; places he had stolen food from; places he had been caught stealing food. He might be seeing all of them for the last time. He wasn't sure how he felt. The fizzing feeling inside might be excitement, or it could be indigestion.

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Glospin's stove was empty. The metal door hung open as if the dejected stove had despaired at its loss of prisoner.

Owis ran along the passage to the funguretum. The wall of the fungi pen was broken. Boot marks had trudged mushrooms across the tiles. The crop was slithering its way out of the gap over the floor and up the walls. The pen was almost empty. Arkhew's body had gone.

Relieved, Owis scooped up some of the fattest fungi and pocketed them. The skinless skulls had gone quiet. The whole House was silent. Unnervingly silent. No creaking or squeaking or shuffling. No one crying.

In the sudden chill, he knew why Innocet had sent him away. It was deliberate. They were all going without him leaving him behind. Innocet and Glospin and Arkhew. The fledershrews. Even the skulls had gone. It was revenge. They'd all gone without calling him.

The Drudge hadn't moved. The wooden sentinel glared through the doorway into Innocet's room, its attention focussed entirely on the Doctor. Chris guessed that it could probably wait for ever.

The semblance of accord in which the Doctor and Innocet slowly took a turn around the huge room, might well have been for the Drudge's benefit. They ignored its the presence at the door. The air, thick enough with silent accusation to carve, told a different story.

Jobiska had fallen asleep in her chair. A tiny bundle of bones in a filthy and ragged doll's dress. Chris wondered how anything so frail could still be alive. He could see the thin blood moving under her gauze-like skin.

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The voices in his head had cut short as soon as Maljamin left the room. But he was certain that Innocet had heard them too. As for the Doctor, well, the Doctor was the Doctor. Impossible to tell what he was thinking - never fewer than three things at once, Chris was sure. And that was when he was asleep.

Chris picked up some old, scratched counters that were scattered over what looked like a mountainous relief map set on a pedestal. There were miniature models of strangely organic houses set on the mountainsides, which were linked by a faded path divided into tiny coloured squares. He found an eight-sided die among the counters and let it tumble across the board.

The clatter made the Doctor and Innocet turn and shush him irritably. On the board, the counters shifted themselves and settled by the houses according to colour. The old lady had woken too. As soon as she saw what Chris was doing, she leant forward eagerly.

'I don't know the rules,' Chris said quietly.

'Then play solo, dear. That's the only way to learn Sepulchasm.'

Chris threw the die again. It showed a spiralled glyph, which somehow he knew to be the Gallifreyan equivalent of a 7.

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One once-green counter shuffled along the requisite number of places.

Chris threw again and a brown counter moved along four squares. 'Is this all?' Chris asked. 'What's the objective?'

'You'll see,' she said, so he threw again and again. As he watched the counters tussling round the board, he listened to Innocet and the Doctor, who had reached the fireplace at the distant end of the room.

'But Maljamin was the second to go today,' she protested.

'That's a very emotive analysis of events,' the Doctor said. 'And very unlike you, Innocet.' He lowered his voice, but Chris could still hear clearly. 'Arkhew was murdered. He's not going anywhere. But that's a separate problem for us to deal with. So where's Maljamin gone?'

Innocet paused. 'He's taken the path into oblivion. They all take it when they can't endure the dark any longer.'

'What dark? The dark that Satthralope's inflicted on you all and blamed on me?' Irritation was needling into the Doctor's tone. 'Where are all the rest of my Cousins? Do you mean they've left the House?' She was silent. 'Were they all here when this nonsense started?'

'They were,' she said.

'All forty-four? Then how many are left?'

'Six.'

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The Doctor pulled off his hat. 'Six? Which six? How can it be only six?'

'Owis, Jobiska, Rynde and myself,' she listed. 'Glospin and Satthralope.'

'And Quences,' said the Doctor.

'Yes, Quences of course,' she said quickly, turning to glance at the door.

'And the Doctor,' called Chris. 'That makes eight.'

The die came up forty-five.

'So where are the others, Innocet?'

'I don't know.'

'I think you do. What have they been saying about me? Worst of all, what's Satthralope been saying?'

Chris turned to see the Doctor fix her with that stare again. But after a few seconds, he scowled and looked away. 'Innocet, you have a mind of adamantine marble. It's like taking tea with a monument.'

'Play,' insisted Jobiska and poked Chris with a finger.

'Just a second,' he said.

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The Doctor was making his way back across the room. He straightened his tie and waistcoat. 'I'm going to see Satthralope. On my terms, not hers.'

Innocet was following. 'You can't go. She'll set the Drudges on you the first opportunity she gets.'

'And break her own rules? Thanks to you I'm an honoured guest, Cousin. Besides which, Chris will keep an eye on me.'

Thanks, thought Chris. I feel fine now.

'Sepulchasm!' called Jobiska and started to laugh. The mountainous game board had cracked across and yawned. Chris's counters hovered mockingly in the air over the wide crack. Then they slowly tumbled into the depths. The board snapped shut.

'You're supposed to hover them,' complained Jobiska.

'All consigned to the pit,' said the Doctor. 'How apt.' He went to the door and scrutinized the Drudge outside. 'Let's see how far the sacred rules of Housepitality will stretch.'

He stepped out into the passage and up to the waiting servant.

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His nose was just below the level of the Drudge's carved cummerbund. The only movement from the creature came from two curving images of the Doctor reflected in its mirrored eyes.

'Ah, there you are,' he said. 'My friend and I would like some breakfast, please. I'm a vegetarian and my friend is allergic to dead rodents. Since the reputation of the kitchens at Lungbarrow is justly fabled, I leave the choice of delicacy up to you. But please, no mushrooms.'

The servant never moved.

'And when you've done that, I noticed a nasty mess in the North annexe. You'll need a mop, I expect.'

The Drudge remained indifferent.

'Run along now,' instructed the Doctor. 'Chop, chop.'

That, thought Chris, is surely the last thing you say to anything made of wood.

The Doctor, having elicited no response, turned to Chris. 'Come on.' He began to saunter along the passage, puffing Chris behind him. Immediately, the Drudge turned to follow.

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Chris, looking back, saw Innocet step into the Drudge's path. She pushed the large gruel pot into its arms.

'This is finished with,' she said. 'Please remove it.'

Chris didn't see any more, because the Doctor's hand gripped his shoulder and, he wasn't sure how, he found himself in an alcove behind a curtain.

The Doctor peered through the dark at a small chair that was ensconced with them. 'One squeak from you. . .' he threatened.

Owis ran as fast as he could. Clamber up the giant steps. Pelt through the deserted rooms. Don't go. Don't leave me!

He stopped at a landing on the fourth floor, wheezing to catch his breath. Misery welled up inside. He was on his own. Who was going to feed him if they'd all gone? Soon he'd shrivel away and the House would feed on him.

He felt a sharp sting on his stomach. He pulled open his tunic in disgust. One of the fat feathergills he had scooped up had worked its way through the material and clamped on to his skin. He eased the fungus off and watched it do a slow squirm between his fingers. There was a red circle on his stomach where the feathergill had tried to ingest him. Fear had ruined his own appetite, so he trod on the little vermin instead.

Over his own gasps for breath, he heard the sound of footsteps. Someone was still here. Someone lumbering towards him. A dark shape rounded the corner.

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Owis recognized Maljamin, his head lopsided and his eyes dead. The Cousin pushed Owis roughly out of his path and disappeared into the gloom.

So Owis had been wrong. They were still here. He wasn't too late. And someone else was coming up the stairs, dragging a large sack behind him.

'Rynde,' he called. 'Have you seen them?'

'Clear off,' he growled. 'Innocet's looking for you.'

'They're here!'

'Who're here?'

'They've come to get us out!'

Rynde grabbed Owis by the pudgy neck. 'I know about you and Glospin's games. Getting dangerous, aren't they?'

'But it's true. Go and see for yourself. They're here.'

Rynde shoved Owis away. 'And I'm the Emperor Morbius. Play your games elsewhere.'

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'Innocet's with them now.' Owis was fighting back huge sobs. He grabbed Rynde's arm. 'Don't let them do it. They'll make us leave the House. I don't want to leave. Make them go away!'

There was a swish as something large passed by the curtain.

After a moment, the Doctor put his nose out into the corridor. 'It's gone,' he said.

Chris was ready to move, but the Doctor closed the curtain again. 'Sit down, Chris,' he whispered and pushed the Adjudicator gently on to the chair.

With a high degree of foreboding, Chris waited for the pyrotechnics.

The Doctor's voice was surprisingly gentle. The dark seemed to help. 'Tell me about Arkhew.'

'I didn't. . . I mean, it was difficult. You were so. . . Look, I'm really sorry.'

The Doctor sighed. 'One day, Chris, you must teach me about that word. It doesn't come easily, does it?'

'Not always. Look, about Arkhew. It was another dream. It's not substantial evidence.'

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'But you saw him?'

'I dreamed about him. Yes. Sorry.'

'There's that word again.'

'He was your Cousin.'

'Yes, I have a lot of Cousins. Or I did have.., once. So what happened?'

Chris floundered. 'Look... Well, I mean... Oh, hell. We saw Quences murdered.'

'Thank you.'

'What for?'

'You didn't say sorry.'

'Oh. You don't seem surprised.'

'About Quences? No. I don't think anyone round here would be surprised, despite that visual display downstairs in the Hall. Did you see who the murderer was?'

'Not clearly. It was an elderly man. About one metre seventy. Quite vigorous though. He wore black and he had longish swept-back white hair.'

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The Doctor was silent.

Chris couldn't see his expression, so he continued, 'He stabbed Quences with a sort of dagger with two parallel blades. Arkhew recognized him, but he didn't say a name.'

'Or wasn't allowed to,' said the Doctor.

'Quences seemed to recognize the murderer as well. Just before he was stabbed. If only Arkhew had said. And now he's dead.'

'Maybe the killer got to him too.'

'Maybe.'

The Doctor sighed deeply. 'How's your head now?'

'Fine. It's cleared.'

'Good. Then go and take another look at Arkhew.'

There was a sudden burst of light beyond the curtain. The Doctor drew back the heavy material and looked out. The lamps along the corridor had lit themselves.

'Candleday,' he said. 'And the coast is clear too.'

'What are you going to do?'

'Me?' The Doctor smiled with a grim determination. 'I'm going to talk daggers to Satthralope.'

He sauntered off along the passage, whistling his little two-note tune as he went.