Doctor Who_ Cat's Cradle_ Warhead Part 15

16.

The bedroom had evidently once been used for some other purpose. There were special fittings on the windowsills for mounting a telescope, the kind you had in seaside houses to watch the s.h.i.+pping.

But this house was fifty miles from the sea in every direction.

Fat oldfas.h.i.+oned lead wiring entered the room through corroded lengths of pipe which had been set into the walls, high up, in three corners of the room. At night the wind came through the pipes with all kinds of odd atonal noises. The lead wiring ran along the moulding near the ceiling of the room, lines of wire connecting with the crude pipe ducting in the three corners. In the fourth corner of the ceiling the wires met and ran down the wall in parallel. They ended halfway down the wall, curling raggedly. There was a large stained s.p.a.ce on the wall just below where a large piece of machinery had once been attached.

You could get on to the red tiled roof of the house from the windows and Ace had often climbed out there with a blanket to sunbathe. Once she had tried following the wires. They had led her across the roof to a large lump of cement that had been trowelled crudely on to the tiles at the base of one of the chimneys. The wires ran into the lump and disappeared. The cement looked like it had been slapped down in a hurry and there was something simultaneously familiar and disturbing about the shape of the lump. It certainly looked too large to be cement all the way through. It was hard to tell, standing there on the roof with the birds singing and the sound of the wind, but Ace had thought she could hear a faint electrical humming sound. The low buzz of something like a transformer.

Ace had crouched by the chimney, the sum warm on the skin of her back, and studied the cement shape for about five minutes before she came to a decision. She'd wiped sunbathing sweat from her eyes and reached out to touch the cement.

Luckily she'd been able to pull her hand back quickly, before it had been too badly burned.

She looked at the burn now, on the edge of her hand between her wrist and the knuckle of her little finger. A slightly swollen red line of scar tissue. She'd climbed back through the window and gone down to the kitchen. There had been plenty of ice in the refrigerator and she'd spent the next hour with her hand in a bowl of ice cubes, telling herself that on a summer's day like that, with sun bright and constant, a piece of cement could naturally acquire a very high temperature.

'He's breathing too fast,' said Justine.

Ace looked up from her hand, over to where Justine was standing by the bed. The girl was looking at Ace, frowning with concern. The emotion made her look younger and Ace revised her estimate of the girl's age downwards again. At first she'd guessed early twenties. Now she thought maybe sixteen or seventeen. 'Don't panic,' said Ace. She went over and stood beside the girl, looking down at the bed. 'At least he's breathing.'

The boy, Vincent, was lying under a dusty floral quilt in a bed that Ace sometimes used. He was propped up on two fat pillows. His eyes were shut but he didn't look as if he was asleep. He looked like a runner who had just finished a difficult race, lying with his eyes shut, trying to get his breath back. Ace went over and sat in a wicker chair beside a window that was open to the cool night air. Justine stayed by the bed, watching over the boy.

There was an old card table covered with boxes beside Ace's chair. She put her feet up on it now, trying to look casual. She wished Justine would sit down or something, get away from the thing in the bed.

The boy, rather.

Ace remembered the sound the Kharman Ghia had made when the gas tank went. She had spent the last three months restoring the car and had just fitted it with a new automatic Porsche transmission. All that was left of it now was a slug of melted metal cooling under the pear trees.

Justine was standing bent over the bed listening to the kid's breathing. Ace found herself listening as well, and staring blankly at her wrist.w.a.tch, unable to register what time it said. 'Just relax, would you? The Doctor said he'll be fine. Everything will be fine.'

The other girl didn't reply and Ace made herself look away. She turned to the card table and studied the boxes piled on it. Ace had looked through them once before. She'd found jigsaw puzzles from the 1930s, oddly shaped chunky pieces with garish colours on them. Fragments of movie stars' faces and paintings of country estate gardens. In the other boxes she'd found kids' games. Cluedo, Monopoly, Snakes and Ladders. All from the 1930s and '40s. In one box under a yellowing playing board and a dice shaker she'd also found a miniature pair of Zeiss binoculars. Now she opened a box at random. Inside was half a playing board for some forgotten prewar game and, underneath it, an octagonalbarrelled service revolver with a lanyard attached and five bullets. Beside the gun was a heavy chrome syringe, dried blood crusted in its gla.s.s barrel. Ace set the box aside and turned away from the table.

In the daytime this room was s.p.a.cious and full of light. It had windows on two sides and caught the sun through most of the day. The walls were covered with floral wallpaper of yellow roses. At least, the roses had faded to yellow years ago. There were large patches of damp spreading down the walls from the ceiling, engulfing the pale flower patterns. Ace liked this room in the summer.

She went over and joined Justine at the bed again. The boy's colour was a little more normal now. You could see adolescent patterns of acne around his mouth and on his forehead.

'Hard to believe that he has so much power.'

Ace and Justine both spun around, startled by the Doctor's voice. He came into the room and walked over to the card table. He looked into the box Ace had opened. He picked up the syringe. 'I've been looking for that,' he said, putting it into his pocket as he walked over to the bed.

'What is it, anyway,' said Ace, 'this power?'

'It seems to be an odd hybrid form of psi talent. Telepathy combined with some kind of telekinesis.' The Doctor reached down and put a hand on the boy's forehead. The boy stirred in his sleep and muttered something. 'Vincent has the power to make things happen with his mind.'

'I noticed,' said Ace.

'But he is only a kind of conduit. He channels power from elsewhere. It is the emotions and memories of others which provide the raw energy.' The girl, Justine, was listening carefully to the Doctor. He looked at her and smiled. 'You might say Vincent's power is a kind of midwife's power.' He walked to the door, checking his watch. 'Give him another three hours' sleep, then wake him up. We'll all have supper together.'

'Breakfast,' said Ace, looking out at the night sky. She looked back at the Doctor but he was already gone. The boy rolled over in his sleep, one bare arm flopping over the side of the bed. The muscles in his arms were slack and flabby. He was snoring wetly into the pillows.

'He's an ugly little creep, isn't he?'

'Look within,' said Justine.

'Look what?'

'Deeper than the skin. That's what love is, after all.'

'I don't think we're talking about love here.'

'It's the same thing. It isn't the outer surface that matters. It's the ent.i.ty within.'

'Ent.i.ty?'

'The demon that dwells inside this boy.'

'He's not a demon. He's a kid. An American. His name is Vincent, for Christ's sake. His friends probably call him Vinnie.'

'He's a creature of power. A demon.'

Ace sighed. If it hadn't been so late and she hadn't been so tired, she might have let it pa.s.s. It was dangerous to tamper with someone's beliefs. People cherished their delusions. But it was late, and Ace was bone tired, and she didn't feel like letting it pa.s.s. 'c.r.a.p,' she said. 'c.r.a.p and superst.i.tion. You heard what the Doctor said.'

'He said that for your benefit. Didn't you see the way he looked at me when he said it? Didn't you see him smile at me? He was talking about midwives. Midwives were the wise women. They used the sacred herbs and poisons. They wielded power. He was talking about witchcraft.'

'Maybe. But he was just conning you.'

'He was conning someone.'

'He's using the things you believe in. Demons, witches, all that black magic c.r.a.p. He knows it's c.r.a.p but he's using it to manipulate you.'

The girl looked thoughtful. 'Demons. Witches. Black magic c.r.a.p,' she said. There was a wistful note in her voice, a hint of sadness. 'Well, it certainly is one way of describing reality.'

Ace began to feel a little guilty. It was cruel to attack someone's beliefs. Sometimes they were all a person had.

'Just words to cover the truth,' said Justine. 'You're saying he chose those words because he knows they're a necessary illusion for me.'

'That's right,' said Ace.

'That's the way a sorcerer behaves,' said Justine.

Ace sighed. 'Sorcerer, sure. I thought we were beginning to make some progress here. There aren't any sorcerers, there aren't demons. There is no black magic. I'm sorry if that hurts. I'm sorry if it scares you. But why don't you try wrapping your tiny brain around the concept?'

'He is a sorcerer. He makes realities to accommodate belief systems. He knows you couldn't stand the truth. That's why he had to invent that story about Vincent's powers. All those words like telepathy and telekinesis. Do they explain anything? Those powers are clearly a black blessing. They're conferred by the Lords of h.e.l.l for use on this plane of reality.' Justine sat on the bed and took the sleeping boy's hand in hers.

'Plane of reality, right,' said Ace. 'You know, I just feel sorry for you.'

'Don't try and make me angry.' Justine brushed a strand of hair away from the boy's face.

'It seems pretty easy to do. I suppose you believe in elves and unicorns, too.'

'Of course not.'

'Why not? You believe in everything else. You go dancing in the moonlight naked, don't you? Where do you go? Down in Deptford every midsummer? Up on the Isle of Dogs?'

'Have you been there?'

'No. And I haven't been to the ma.s.ses in Blackheath, either. I just read about it in the Mirror Mirror. I think they're just a bunch of kids with nothing better to believe in. And you're just like the rest of them except maybe you haven't quite gone the full leatheranddeath metal trip. You sit around listening to Kate Bush in the forests and oathing to the earth mother. I feel sorry for you.'

'You're right. It is quite easy to make me angry.' Justine looked up and Ace could see for the first time just how upset the girl was. Once again she began to regret what she was doing.

'You didn't have to do this to me, did you?' said Justine.

'Look, all right, I'm sorry.'

'A person's belief system is their world. And it can be a delicate thing.'

'I know.'

'It can be devastating to have your view of reality challenged.'

'I know. All right. I'm sorry.'

'And now you've made me angry. So that's what I'm going to do to you.' She looked up at Ace and Ace found it hard to meet that unwavering dark stare. 'The Doctor. Your friend. He has powers.' said Justine.

'Listen, I think maybe it would be better if we just stopped talking,' said Ace.

'He has power and you know it. How did he account for that power? What did he tell you he was?'

'Let's talk about it in the morning.' Ace went to the window. 'It must be b.l.o.o.d.y nearly morning now.'

'You have your necessary illusions as well. But in your case they involve science. You don't believe in magic but you believe in machines. So when he explained himself to you, he used your terms of reference. That's the way a sorcerer behaves.'

Ace yawned. 'Why don't you just try to get some sleep?' she said. 'It's been a long night.'

'Let me tell you something about yourself,' said Justine, speaking quietly from the bed behind Ace. 'When you were a kid your favourite reading was science fiction. Maybe books, maybe comics. s.p.a.ce s.h.i.+ps, time travel, that sort of thing.'

Standing by the window Ace felt a cold chill along her spine and in the pit of her stomach.

'You work from a paradigm of technology. So when he encountered you he offered a description of reality which worked with your terms of reference. Let me guess... He said he was some kind of eccentric scientist? A mad inventor?'

Ace said nothing. She didn't shake her head. She didn't dare move at all. Maybe if she didn't move, Justine would stop speaking.

But Justine didn't stop.

'Did he say he was an android? A wise and powerful robot? An alien?'

Now she stopped, sitting there on the bed and staring at Ace's face. Then she laughed with genuine pleasure.

'He's from another planet! That's what you believe.'

'Shut up,' said Ace.

'You don't believe in magic but you believe he's from another planet and you're his girl companion.'

'Shut up.' Ace was turning away from the window.

'And that thing in the cellar. The door. The gateway to other worlds. How does he account for that? A s.p.a.ce s.h.i.+p? A time machine?'

'Shut up,' shouted Ace, but it came out as a howl. She lunged across the bedroom and lashed out at Justine. The girl made no attempt to fight back. She just held up her arms to protect her face. When Ace stopped hitting her, she lowered her arms. Her face was flushed but her eyes were calm. Ace stood panting in front of her.

Justine began to undress. She tugged off her s.h.i.+rt and shucked off her jeans. Her eyes were cold and ugly. 'You insulted me and you thought you could walk away unscathed. As punishment I have begun to peel away your view of reality. It was easy.' Justine was naked now except for a tarnished silver locket that swayed at her throat. She turned away from Ace and climbed on to the bed where the boy was sleeping. 'Now get out of here,' said Justine, 'before I tear your world apart completely.'

As Ace fled the room she saw the boy's arm drift sleepily around Justine. Running down the corridor she heard the sound of bedsprings beginning. The sound seemed to pursue her down the stairs.

17.

'No appet.i.te, Ace?'

Ace stared at the plate in front of her and shook her head. In the centre of the kitchen table was a large platter with fried eggs, bacon, sausages and fried slices of potato heaped on it. The Doctor stepped away from the stove, holding a heavy black frying pan. He sc.r.a.ped brown crescents of mushrooms out of the pan on to the platter.

'No thanks,' said Ace.

'I'll have some more, sir,' said Vincent. The boy was wearing a frayed velvet smoking jacket which Ace usually wore. His hair was tousled and his eyes were bleary. He wiped a piece of bread across his plate, mopping up a yellow smear of egg yolk.

'He's worked up quite an appet.i.te,' said Justine. She tried to catch Ace's eyes, but Ace refused to look at her. Justine shook her head as the Doctor offered her the frying pan. 'I'm all right,' she said.

'He hasn't eaten anything for a long time,' said the Doctor, watching Vincent. 'And he's going to need his strength for what lies ahead.' Justine nodded, listening carefully to what the Doctor said. She took a last drag on her handrolled cigarette and ground the b.u.t.t out on her plate.

Ace said nothing. She sat looking out the kitchen window, a small slit high on the tiled wall. The sky outside was a deep dawn blue and birds had begun to sing in the dark garden.

When Vincent had finished the Doctor cleared the table and placed a tin box on it. The box was oldfas.h.i.+oned, brightly painted with a hinged lid. Then he ceremoniously placed a stemmed gla.s.s in front of Justine, Ace and Vincent and poured a small amount of red wine into each one. He sat down at the table, opposite Justine, and opened the tin box. Inside were small Italian biscuits wrapped in coloured tissue paper. The four of them ate the bittersweet biscuits, dipping them in the wine and then, at the Doctor's instruction, each of them took one of the discarded wrappers and carefully smoothed it out.

They rolled the squares of tissue paper into cylinders and set them upright on the table. Then the Doctor took out a box of matches and each of them set the biscuit papers alight.

The wrappers were different colours but they all burned the same intense eerie bluegreen shade. As they burned, the papers became delicate charred black cylinders which rose weightlessly off the table, ghost husks that drifted up towards the ceiling.

The Doctor looked across the table at Ace.