Doctor Who_ Eye Of Heaven Part 7

'Oh.'

'Exactly. We reach Easter Island from the west.'

'That's clever.'

'Well, you couldn't do it if the world was flat, that's for sure. We'd all fall off the edge.'

'Hm.' I looked closely at Stuart. He was smiling faintly. Was he making fun of me? I couldn't tell, so decided to ignore it. Stuart finished eating his breakfast and then suggested that I go back to the crow's nest and keep an eye out for icebergs. 'What's an iceberg?'

'Ask Jack. He'll tell you. And make sure you shout if you see one. I've no wish for Tweed Tweed to go missing with all hands.' to go missing with all hands.'

'I will shout.'

'Good. Until later then.'

Stuart moved the globe and began to look at the pieces of paper on his desk.

I found the Doctor waiting for me as I left the cabin. He was lounging against the part of the mizzenmast that pa.s.sed through this deck. 'How was the lesson?'

'Confusing. Captain Stuart told me the Earth was round like a ball but he had maps on his desk which were flat.'

The Doctor sighed. 'I told him. I told Columbus and told him. All you need is an orange and a biro. n.o.body listens to me.' He wandered off, muttering to himself.

I walked through the central companionway towards the forward hatches and the galley. I was beginning to feel hemmed in below decks. I needed some fresh air. Whatever his ideas about the shape of the world, the Captain's instruction to climb to the crow's nest and watch out for icebergs was probably a very good one.

That was when I saw Royston emerging from one of the cabins on the port side. Richards was with him. Without really knowing why I ducked back behind the mizzenmast, using its bulk to hide myself. Royston and Richards walked the other way and did not see me. But I had seen something important. Royston was carrying was carrying some cloth.

Bandages. They were stained with blood. And smelled of sickness. I crept towards the cabin they had come out of and tried to open the door.

It was locked. But I could smell the sickness inside the cabin. I wondered what was in there.

And how I could find out.

6.

Ticket to Ride

The Atmosphere Monitoring Subsystem didn't want to let me out of the TARDIS.

I gave the system a rea.s.suring pat, told it the atmosphere was perfectly normal for Portsmouth Harbour circa circa 1872 and that such an important subsystem really shouldn't worry itself over so trivial a matter as my continued health. I had a respiratory bypa.s.s system, didn't I? 1872 and that such an important subsystem really shouldn't worry itself over so trivial a matter as my continued health. I had a respiratory bypa.s.s system, didn't I?

After a moment or two of gentle cajoling the AMS grudgingly consented to open the TARDIS doors and allow me to leave. I smiled, trying to seem grateful. The Old Thing is such a worriwort sometimes.

I took a good look around as I left the TARDIS. The docks had evolved somewhat since I had last visited, that being the occasion of breakfast with Nelson at the George. That had been in 1805, the day before his final contretemps with Napoleon at Trafalgar. Stalwart chap, Nelson. Good four-dimensional visualisation of events, for a human, though his grasp of the French tactic of 'advancing in a rearward direction' tended to leave him a little flat-footed on many occasions.

Liked his eggs sunny side up, as I recall.

Putting aside my memories, I took in a little more of the present.

The TARDIS had arrived on Victoria Pier, a new addition to the harbour landscape. The pier consisted of a rather attractive wooden jetty projecting out into the harbour, bordered to the west by the spit of land encompa.s.sing the inner and outer camber, along which Broad Street ran, and to the east by the Fortifications - a high wall encompa.s.sing the old town. The town itself nestled behind the wall, snug as the proverbial bug in the proverbial rug. Further to the east I saw the gently tilting movement of windmill sails. I smiled. I liked windmills. I seemed to remember there being a great many more on Portsea Island the last time I had visited. Ah, well. That was progress for you. Today the windmill, tomorrow geothermal energy and the electric toothbrush.

Beyond the pier, the harbour was clogged with boats of every description.

I found my gaze drawn towards HMS Victory - Victory - and was saddened at the changes wreaked upon her since that day in 1805 when I had seen Nelson for the last time. Her bow had been built up and the cheerful yellow bands along her gun ports had now been replaced with a rather pedestrian coat of white paint. Beyond the dazzling array of masts and sails I could see the slopes of Wight, somewhat pert and attractively wrapped in the shawl of evening. and was saddened at the changes wreaked upon her since that day in 1805 when I had seen Nelson for the last time. Her bow had been built up and the cheerful yellow bands along her gun ports had now been replaced with a rather pedestrian coat of white paint. Beyond the dazzling array of masts and sails I could see the slopes of Wight, somewhat pert and attractively wrapped in the shawl of evening.

I closed and locked the TARDIS doors. The Old Thing sometimes gets nervous if I forget to secure the doors. I took several deep breaths just to prove the AMS wrong and then in very short order wished I hadn't. I stopped breathing for a minute or two, long enough to a.n.a.lyse the rather pungent c.o.c.ktail I had just inhaled.

Fish.

Birds. Oil. Smoke. Rotting vegetable matter. Rotting animal matter.

Burning wood. Hot pitch. Manganese. Rats. Dogs.

I concentrated.

The fish were a day old, the birds were tern, recently arrived on their yearly migration, the oil needed changing, the smoke was derived from cannabis, the rotting vegetable matter was carrot, the animal matter was dead rat (being eaten by several more live rats), the pitch was cooling upon the hull of a nearby s.h.i.+p, the dog was old, a canny purebreed turned to the wild (rather like myself, I fancied), and the burning wood was laced with human sweat and with teak oil, normally used to seal the decking of a s.h.i.+p.

All of which told me that somewhere nearby, a sailor had just thrown part of his lunch to a stray dog before grinding a strong toke out beneath his bare heel upon the deck of a s.h.i.+p recently arrived from the Indies, whose hull he was currently engaged in repairing. The Manganese I had detected came, no doubt, from tiny nodules lodged within the damaged section of hull. The nodules definitely originated on the sea bed and could only have been disturbed by a major storm. The fish go without saying, obviously. And the rats? Well... there are rats at the docks in any century.

Not all of them are animals.

I compressed my sensory input to human normal. This is something I do from time to time, a little game which keeps me entertained and alert, and I stepped away from the TARDIS.

The wooden dock creaked beneath my feet. Greasy water lapped at wooden supports. The sun was slipping away to westwards, leaving room in the sky for a wind. It was an interesting wind. The kind the French might refer to as tu, tu, rather than rather than vous. vous. No familiar summer phantom, this, but a stranger of a breeze, a zephyr born in exotic lat.i.tudes, perhaps the offspring of some frightful hurricane or tornado, a wind of frightening and compelling potential, and one worthy of respect. It was a wind Columbus and Darwin and Phineas Fogg would have understood. I smiled up at it and waggled my fingers through it and twirled my scarf happily at the thought that such an apparently simple thing could provoke such wonder. No familiar summer phantom, this, but a stranger of a breeze, a zephyr born in exotic lat.i.tudes, perhaps the offspring of some frightful hurricane or tornado, a wind of frightening and compelling potential, and one worthy of respect. It was a wind Columbus and Darwin and Phineas Fogg would have understood. I smiled up at it and waggled my fingers through it and twirled my scarf happily at the thought that such an apparently simple thing could provoke such wonder.

'Oi!' The voice was rough, and it was punctuated by a phlegmy tobacco-related cough. Wotcher doin' 'ere then? Pa.s.sengers ain't allowed 'ere, are they?'

I turned. The dock handler was short, thick-set, with a brow that commanded attention as much for its obvious temporal proximity to his simian ancestors as for the thick mop of ginger hair that covered it. He wore the usual clothes one might expect of a dock worker, rough, smelly, dark. He was walking towards me self-importantly. Swaggering might be a better word. In one hand was a cargo manifest, in the other a hip flask from which I clearly detected the aroma of a rather dubious malt whisky.

I smiled. 'I was just admiring the wind.'

The man looked at me with an expression I had come to be quite familiar with in the last couple of centuries of dealings with humans.

'You can admire the boats from the other side of the harbour. Or buy yerself a whisky in the Three Tuns on the 'igh street.'

'That sounds rather splendid. Tell me, do they serve ginger beer?'

'Ginger...? Wa'ss at then? Some foreign muck, issit?'

I checked my watch. Ah yes. I was forgetting. It hasn't been discovered yet.'

The handler clearly lacked either the time or ability to be confused.

'Look, mate, it's easy. Move along or I'll dump y'in the dock and then then you can move along. Only not so sweet smellin', if y'take me meaning.' you can move along. Only not so sweet smellin', if y'take me meaning.'

'a.s.suredly I do, Mr...?'

'Just do as yer told, afore Mr Harper takes it outta both our hides with a whaling 'poon'.

'And Mr Harper, he would be the Captain of this fine clipper here, the Tweed, Tweed, would he?' would he?'

'No, that'd be Cap'n Stuart. Mr Harper is the harbour master. He's much worse. So y'best be getting along, like I said.'

'I shall certainly take your advice.' I started away from the dock handler with what I hoped he would consider a sprightly step. 'If you'd just be so kind as to direct me to his office...?'

Actually, I didn't need to be directed. There was only one place the harbour master's office would be located in a port such as this. 'No, never mind,' I added over my shoulder to the annoyed dock handler. 'I'll just follow the smell of corruption, shall I?'

I marched along the dockside, through a forest of packing crates, past several s.h.i.+ps lying at anchor. At no time did I walk fast enough to quite lose the handler. I was relying on his presence to get me through the ranks. And very effective he was, too, because, as fit as he obviously was, I was fitter, and I moved at such a speed that he expended all his energy keeping up, with none left in reserve for protestation, which might have caused me some bother if many of the other workers had heard him.

The harbour master's office was set back from the inner camber, a hundred yards from the greasy swells lapping against the jetties. Gulls flapped indolently above the wooden building, a speckled cloud through which the town of Portsmouth could be seen rising in angular clumps towards a dusty sky. Dock handler in tow, I strode towards the office, knocked sharply on the door and, without waiting for an answer, opened it and strode inside. I closed the door behind me just in time to prevent the dock worker entering. I a.s.sume he decided business elsewhere was the better part of valour.

I turned from the door to find the harbour master looking at me with cold eyes. Mr Harper, I presume?' I beamed expansively to show him I was friendly, then made a mental note not to try this any more. It seemed to have the exact opposite effect from that desired. 'Smith. John Smith, at your service.'

Harper was a small man, and like small men throughout history seemed to have a disproportionately large opinion of himself. His clothes were immaculate, his cap so level you could set a foundation stone with it. 'Your business, sir?' he asked brusquely. I fear I am a busy man today, and indeed every day. And I take no pleasure in being interrupted so peremptorily, I can a.s.sure you.'

Well, he obviously had an education. One somewhat elevated above his station, I ventured. Interesting. 'Sir, I beg your indulgence for both my manner and my rather impromptu arrival. But there is a pressing matter of some urgency which requires our joint attention.'

The man's expression did not change. 'Indeed.'

'Yes. I wish to buy a s.h.i.+p.'

Harper sniffed, opened a ledger to a blank page, lifted a quill pen from the inkwell and prepared to make an entry. 'You mean you wish to buy buy pa.s.sage pa.s.sage on a s.h.i.+p,' he corrected smugly. on a s.h.i.+p,' he corrected smugly.

I extracted a large bag from my pocket and let it fall to the desk with just enough force for it to split, spilling coins across the ledger. The coins were of course gold. There were rather a lot of them.

'No,' I replied even more smugly. 'I wish to buy a s.h.i.+p.' Harper stared at the gold. 'There's a rather nice clipper berthed at dock two. I believe her Captain's name is Stuart.'

Harper continued to stare at the gold. He reached out a finger to touch one piece. I noticed that the finger was shaking.

'It's called Tweed,' Tweed,' I added helpfully. I added helpfully.

Harper slowly pushed the gold pieces back into the bag and weighed it in his hand. 'I can get you a s.h.i.+p. But you'll need a captain, a crew, fuel, provisions, insurance, compensation for cancellation of cargo to previous contractor -'

I reached out, took the quill pen from his moneyless hand, put the pen back into the inkwell, opened his hand out flat and dumped a second bag of gold into it.

'To go where, sir?' Harper's voice held a slight quaver.

'East of the sun, west of the moon.' I told him with a smile. Then reached into my pocket and pulled out my favourite bag of all. 'Mint humbug?' I offered the bag to Harper, whose hands, of course, were full of gold. 'Ah. I dare say not.'

Harper took me, in something of a daze, I fear, back along the docks to the clipper that had caught my eye, the rather captivating Tweed . Tweed .

T here he introduced me to Captain Stuart, a mild-featured Scot, and then retired to the Captain's cabin, presumably to talk business. While they were discussing my offer, I spent ten minutes exploring the s.h.i.+p. She was a fine vessel. Trim, efficient, with no excess weight on her anywhere that I could see. Her masts were firm, her decks showed no sign of rot, her hull displayed a satisfyingly odorous layer of bitumen. From stern to prow, crow's nest to keel, she was the very epitome of a mid-cla.s.s sailing vessel. She was to sailing vessels what the Beatles would soon be to popular music. here he introduced me to Captain Stuart, a mild-featured Scot, and then retired to the Captain's cabin, presumably to talk business. While they were discussing my offer, I spent ten minutes exploring the s.h.i.+p. She was a fine vessel. Trim, efficient, with no excess weight on her anywhere that I could see. Her masts were firm, her decks showed no sign of rot, her hull displayed a satisfyingly odorous layer of bitumen. From stern to prow, crow's nest to keel, she was the very epitome of a mid-cla.s.s sailing vessel. She was to sailing vessels what the Beatles would soon be to popular music.

On the subject of music, I could hear singing from below decks. The crew warming up for a night out on the town, I presumed. One of them noticed me right off, and soon I had a curious crowd watching me as I poked and prodded various parts of the s.h.i.+p's structure, ascertaining its quality - and qualities - as one might ascertain those of a horse by checking its teeth. The crew, two-thirds drunk by this time, watched with growing interest and some amus.e.m.e.nt. I let them. A crew this relaxed was one that got on well with its captain. A happy crew was a good crew, and that was the kind I wanted. Ten minutes later Stuart emerged on to the deck. Harper had already left. Stuart glanced at his crew, who at this particular moment were haphazardly arranged along the deck and rigging, and singing with enthusiasm, but less than wildly impressive talent, the chorus from 'Ticket to Ride'.

'Catchy song.' Stuart said quietly. I noticed he didn't smile.

I smiled for him. 'Talent borrows, genius steals. Lennon told me that shortly after he died. I never did work out whether he was being facetious or simply enigmatic.'

Stuart blinked. It was the only sign of hesitation I ever saw him make.

Although he didn't smile, I could see him trying to work out if I had just made a joke and whether he should be laughing at it or not. 'Well, Mr - Doctor, I mean - you've got yourselves a s.h.i.+p, a captain, and a very happy crew by the looks of it.' Stuart added, shouting over my Beatles chorus, 'Well, lads, we got a new charter here. This here's the Doctor.

Says his name is John Smith, but I don't hold there's much truth in that.

Still, his money's good and that's what counts, am I right?'

A drunken cheer briefly interrupted the song.

'Glad t'hear it! Because we sail tomorrow on the midnight tide. So for tonight make as merry as y'like. Tomorrow we work fer our living. Are y'hearin' me, lads?'

A resounding ' Aye Aye, Captain Stuart!' Aye Aye, Captain Stuart!' thundered across the deck and out into the docks, disturbing the gulls roosting on the harbour master's office roof. thundered across the deck and out into the docks, disturbing the gulls roosting on the harbour master's office roof.

'b.l.o.o.d.y glad t'hear it, too! Now, Collins and Shaw, help Doctor Smith with his baggage and then you can all get royally quaffed on me!'

Another Aye Aye, Captain Stuart!' Aye Aye, Captain Stuart!' boomed upward into the rigging as the man in question handed a gold coin to the first mate. 'As soon as the gentleman's cargo is secure, go to the Three Tuns and bring back enough ale to sink a man o' war!' boomed upward into the rigging as the man in question handed a gold coin to the first mate. 'As soon as the gentleman's cargo is secure, go to the Three Tuns and bring back enough ale to sink a man o' war!'

'Aye Aye, Captain Stuart!'

'And then sink it yourself, lads, are y'hearin' me?' Stuart roared, at least as loudly as his entire crew put together.

'Aye Aye, Captain Stuart!'

The mate smiled through a mouthful of less than perfect teeth. The pleasure, Captain,' he said, 'will be all mine.'

Stuart looked at me. 'It's a good crew y've bought with y'r gold and fair song.'

I nodded. 'My dear fellow, any crew that can remain as intoxicated as this one and still co-ordinate more than three words more often than three times in the same three minutes is good enough for me.

Stuart stared hard at me for a moment, then clapped me on the back.