Doctor Who_ Toy Soldiers Part 15

The two Ogrons pulled with all their strength, and the arm snapped out of its socket. Deep red blood sprayed Urggh in the face. The victim made a terrible gurgling sound.

Benny felt her stomach heave. Without thinking, she raised her rifle, aimed it at Urggh.

The Ogron looked at her. 'Save your ammunition for the other one,' he said, then took the child's head in both hands and twisted.

There was a hollow snap. The head lolled and a trickle of dark blood issued from the mouth.

Words rose in Benny's throat, words and an incoherent, blazing anger. But they never made it to her mouth.

Something choked them off, blocked her throat, stifling her.

The girl was the enemy, after all.

But - She crumpled to the ground, felt the mud against her cheek, her hands. 'Doctor,' she muttered. 'Doctor, we're going to have to stop this.'

She coughed, then was violently sick. She stared at the steaming vomit for several seconds, then looked up, saw Ji'taj standing over her, his teeth bared in puzzlement.

'What are you instructions, Sergeant?' he asked. 'Should we pursue the fugitive?'

But Benny only shook her head, wiped her lips with her sleeve. 'Peace,' she said. 'There has to be peace.'

Ji'taj bared his teeth again. 'I'm sorry, Sergeant. I don't understand your order. What does that word mean, "Peace"?'

The Doctor would know, thought Benny. Ask the Doctor.

If only she could remember who the Doctor was.

The girl in the red dress folded her arms around herself and tried to remember who she was. She had a name: Amanda, or Manda. And another name: Sutton. She had a teddy bear, called Frederick. Except that - she held the furry toy up and looked into its green eyes - this one wasn't Frederick. There was another one called Frederick. Somewhere. Somewhere before - Before here.

She looked around her, trying to make sense of it. There were four walls, made of orange brick, and a stone-flagged floor, which was rather muddy. Dull daylight came in from a high, barred window. A rusty metal door was set into one wall. Manda went over to the door and pulled at it, but wasn't surprised to find it was locked.

That was bad. She was sure of it. She ought to be afraid.

She ought to be outraged. But the words bounced off her mind, bringing only echoes of the emotions they were supposed to evoke, like the rumbling of a distant storm.

Manda put her hand to her forehead, felt the two strange marks there. They itched slightly. She remembered the drill touching her forehead, digging into her. The pain, her own voice screaming, screaming for Mummy, for Charles, for Daddy, for anyone to please please help - Best not to think of it.

But why not? demanded Manda fiercely of the inner voice. The voice kept telling her not to think of things. But what had happened was terrible. It was frightening. She had to know the truth about it. She had to know or she would never get out of here. Never ever go back to - Mummy? Charles?

But no images came to mind. She must have known these people when she'd screamed their names.

There was a mistake. But it's best not to think about it.

The mistake will be corrected soon.

Shut up, she told the inner voice.

Best not to - Manda imagined the voice coming from the green-eyed teddy bear and in a sudden temper threw the toy across the cell. It bounced off the wall and landed on its head, continued to stare at her.

Mistakes are always corrected.

It's best not to think about it.

You will be rea.s.signed shortly.

Manda closed her eyes, clenched her fists so that her long nails bit into the palms of her hands.

Two days, she thought. I've been wearing this dress for two two days. This is my days. This is my second second day here. I've got to remember that. It's day here. I've got to remember that. It's important important. And Charles - there was a photograph - There were sounds outside the cell. Manda opened her eyes and stood up. Her legs felt shaky, weak. When did I last have anything to eat? she thought.

There was the sound of bolts being drawn, and the door clattered open. Two of the big teddy bear animals - animals, thought Manda fiercely, stifling some internal correction - came into the cell. One carried a gun, the other took Manda's arms and lifted her up off the ground. She struggled, kicking at the horrible thing, but her feet hit hard metal armour.

'Let me go!' she bawled. 'Let me go! Take me back to where I came from!'

'There's nothing to worry about,' said the animal in a booming voice. 'You are to be rea.s.signed now.'

The second animal had unrolled something on the floor.

Manda saw a canvas stretcher, restraining straps, bloodstains.

She screamed. 'No! No! No!'

Mistakes are always corrected. It's best not to think about it. Mistakes are always corrected. about it. Mistakes are always corrected.

Struggling, Manda was strapped down. She managed to bite one of her captors, got a mouthful of silky hair and almost choked.

Then she was being carried, strapped to the stretcher, out through the metal door and into a brick-walled corridor.

Globes on the ceiling gave a dim yellow illumination. Manda watched them, counted them. Anything to fight back the hysteria. Anything that she would be able to hold on to, to remember remember.

After - after - Mistakes are always corrected.

The stretcher stopped, turned. A doorway, metal frame.

Another dimly lit room. The stretcher was placed on a hard surface, some way above ground level.

A voice: 'This is the one that's been causing you problems?'

A human voice. A man's voice. Manda's heart surged with hope. Perhaps - 'There was a mistake with the training, Sergeant - Doctor Smith. She isn't ready for combat.'

'Oh, well then, we'll have to see what we can do about that.'

The voice had a slight Scottish accent. It was the voice of an educated man. A gentleman.

'Please,' said Manda. 'Please, sir, don't do this to me. Let me go home.'

A face appeared above hers. A tired, world-weary face, with two small but bright scars on the forehead. Blue-grey eyes regarded her calmly, dispa.s.sionately.

'Please,' said Manda again. She could see the drill now, a silver shape in the corner of her vision. She could hear it whining. The memory of pain made her feel sick.

'But it's for your own good,' said the Sergeant-Doctor softly. 'I know it hurts, but it's only for a while. Then you'll be trained, and you can be rea.s.signed.'

He stood up, spat on his hands and rubbed them together. Then he picked up the drill and lowered it towards Manda's forehead.

'No,' moaned Manda, but the man didn't pause. The pain began, and it was worse than last time. Manda tried to scream, couldn't.

Then the pain drowned everything.

Chapter 9.

It was no good, thought Madame Mathilde Detaze. She was going to have to do it.

She liked her job, as cook and housekeeper to Jean-Pierre and Nadienne Douel, but now that Louis had come out and actually asked her to marry him, she knew she had no choice but to make arrangements to leave and join him at his farm. There weren't very many men around, and she liked Louis well enough. Still, it was going to be difficult. She liked the Douels; especially she liked Amalie.

She felt so sorry for her, this woman who had lost her child, and who had not given up hope even after six months had pa.s.sed.

Mathilde took a deep breath of the night air, looked back for the last time at the lights of the farmhouse where Louis lived, then shook her head and walked on towards Larochepot.

As she pa.s.sed the new metal sign announcing the village she saw that the lamps were still lit at her mistress's house. Good. That meant that Amalie would still be up, then.

They could talk. Amalie talked a lot, sometimes about her missing daughter, sometimes about other things.

But she was always kind, she was always knowing, she saw into your soul and she usually liked what she saw. She would understand, she would make it easier for Mathilde to break the news to the Douels.

Mathilde was close enough to the house now to see that not only were the lamps alight, but the upstairs shutters were wide open, and the main door.

Now that was odd. It wasn't like Madame Douel to leave the shutters open - she hated the insects coming in and would often smoke the rooms to discourage them, even though it made everybody cough. But leaving the shutters open and the lamps lit like that was bound to encourage insects.

She stopped, there in the middle of the main street, and frowned. Was something wrong? Had something happened to Madame Douel - to the baby-?

She started to hurry towards the house, almost running.

When she reached the garden gate, breathing hard, she knew at once that something was was wrong. There was a silence about the place: too much silence. Even at night it wasn't this quiet. She walked slowly towards the open main door, leaning forward and peering into the hallway beyond. wrong. There was a silence about the place: too much silence. Even at night it wasn't this quiet. She walked slowly towards the open main door, leaning forward and peering into the hallway beyond.

'Madame!' she called. 'Monsieur! It's me, Mathilde!'

There was no response. Mathilde looked over her shoulder at the dark shape of the church. There was a lamp on in the priest's house: she wondered if she should fetch Father Duvalle.

But instead she carried on through the doorway into the hall. She frowned at a white lady's hat with pink ribbons abandoned at the bottom of the stairs, then picked it up and, carrying it in one hand, walked through to the kitchen. There was a cloying smell of herbs and meat in there: Mathilde recognized stew, the stew she had given Amalie the recipe for, the stew that should have been eaten long ago. It smelled stale, old. She looked on the stove, saw the pot sitting on the warming plate. Mathilde stared at it for a moment, then called again: 'Amalie! Madame Douel!'

There was still no answer. Mathilde's heart began to beat faster than was comfortable. Help, she thought. I must get help. She thought of the priest again and hurried out of the house, down the path and across the narrow street.

'Father Duvalle! Holy Father!' She was shouting it now, not caring if the whole village heard. Better if it did.

Something terrible had happened, Mathilde was sure of that.

She hurried through the gate, along the drive.

Hesitated when she saw that the front door was open.

'Holy Father!' she called again. Then went to the open door and knocked.

The hallway was dark and silent. Mathilde called out once more, then walked in, trying to still the sound of her breathing. The drawing-room door was ajar, the lamp lit; stepping inside she saw a book open on the table, a gla.s.s of red wine by its side. The chair was pushed back, as if the priest had got up hastily.

Perhaps he was at the Douels', thought Mathilde.

Perhaps someone had died and No. They would have heard her calling.

She returned to the hallway, called the priest's name again. She felt a cold breath of air on her back, realized that the back door of the house was also open. Had Father Duvalle gone to the church? She walked out of the back door and along the path, through the gate into the churchyard. As she reached the porch she tripped and almost fell over something large and soft.

She cried out, then halted, teetering to keep her balance.

Over the hammering of her heart and the heaving of her lungs she heard a faint, bubbling sigh coming from beneath her and realized that she was standing over the body of a man.

She could see a face now, a faint pale shape in the darkness. She struggled to control her breathing, kneeled down by the side of the figure and heard another breath, then a faint, whispery voice.

'- devils - '

'Father Duvalle?'

There was a moment's silence, another hoa.r.s.e breath, then, 'Go! Go before they take you too!' A pause. 'G.o.dless animals - servants of Lucifer himself - I refused them - I will die but I will not be taken-'

'Father, are you hurt?' But she knew he was. She searched below his face with her hands, found his neck. The skin was wet, and her hands came away sticky and dark.

'Go now - they have taken all the others -' the voice faded away.