Doctor Who_ The Hollow Men Part 39

Ace groaned as her stomach lurched. 'Fine,' she said.

'Wherever.'

They were coming down towards the village green. Ace's eyes opened in alarm. The whole area, encircled by lanes and cottages, was open, like some great wound. The centre of the green, now a deep pit, seemed as dark as midnight. The tarlike soil was alive with the fluid, alien ma.s.s.

The horse plunged down, as if impatient to be consumed by the open mouth of the creature.

Just as they were about to reach the ground, the Hunter swivelled in his saddle, pus.h.i.+ng at Ace with his broad hands.

Ace slipped from the horse, her hands scrabbling at thin air.

Then she fell into open s.p.a.ce, and the pit at Jack's heart.

Rebecca seemed to have been walking for ever. She did not know why she had left the unconscious Trevor and walked half a mile down the road to A Taste of the Orient. Neither could she recall exactly what emotions ran through her mind as she saw the bodies of Mr and Mrs Chen, lying in pools of their own blood in the road outside.

She couldn't even remember what prompted her to pick up the carving knife, which lay abandoned beside the jade lions, caked with blood. She knew only that she held it in her hands, and it was good.

She stumbled back towards the Land Rover. Her feet ached and her head was full of voices.

Do it.

Do it.

As she neared the vehicle, she could see Trevor stretched out on the gra.s.s verge. He was just beginning to stir, his face bruised and lacerated from the earlier attack.

Finish him off.

The sensation of falling had been as awful as in a dream, but Ace neither woke up nor lapsed into unconsciousness as the ground hit her.

Somehow, she had landed on her feet, and was unharmed.

She felt her legs and ankles gingerly. Not a bruise.

The pit extended fifty feet beneath the writhing surface of the green, and was the size of a house. The cavern walls - alive with the alien creature - were of natural rock, dominated by a large silver mirror.

Ace ran towards the mirror, but saw only her puzzled reflection staring back at her. 'What's this doing here?' she wondered aloud.

Suddenly something moved behind her, reflected in the mirror. She turned, and saw an impossibly tall man, dressed in white robes, held in place with a silver sash. His hair gleamed like gold.

'Right,' said Ace, 'I've had enough. Who the h.e.l.l are you?'

The tall man stooped to look down at Ace, as though he hadn't noticed her before. His face creased into a frown, and he didn't answer, seemingly unused to such communication.

'I watched the battle at Mons,' he said, obviously considering this explanation enough. His eyes were wet with an extraordinary sadness.

'The bloke who brought me here,' explained Ace, 'said I had something to do. A mission.'

The tall man nodded, but said nothing more.

Ace sighed. 'Well?'

'Smash the mirror,' said the man, as if that was the most obvious thing in the world.

'Why?' asked Ace.

The man smiled, his face lighting up like early-morning clouds. 'Because you want to.'

'Why can't you you do it?' do it?'

The man pushed his arm through the mirror, as if by way of demonstration. 'We can have no direct impact on Jack,' he said.

'Then the mirror is... Jack?'

The man shook his head. 'A mirror into his soul. It was an unwanted gift to Jeffreys, and was left in the pit when he sacrificed the villagers to Jack's greed.'

'Jeffreys?' asked Ace.

'Smash the mirror,' said the man, turning away from Ace.

Moments later he was out of the pit, and striding across the countryside.

'I thought you guys had halos and little wings,' called Ace after him, but the tall man was long since gone.

Ace scrabbled in the writhing soil for a rock.

The Red Lion was an old-fas.h.i.+oned-looking public house on the edge of the village of Yarcombe, some twelve miles from Hexen Bridge. Matthew Hatch caught a glimpse of the swinging sign out of the corner of his eye, and slammed on the brakes. With barely a glance in his rear-view mirror, he engaged reverse gear, and the limousine accelerated into the car park, throwing up gravel and splashes of mud.

Hatch got out, whistling and tossing his keys from hand to hand. The barman was equally pleased to see him.

'What can I get you, sir?' he asked.

Hatch glanced around him. The place was surprisingly busy, a few tourists picking at their ploughman's lunches while a gaggle of students played pool in the far corner.

Suited refugees from the nearby town huddled on lonely stools around the bar, studying the beer mats as intently as the news pages of the Financial Times. Financial Times.

Hatch returned his attention to the rotund barman, and grinned.

'Ask not what you can do for me,' he said. 'Ask what I can do for you.'

'Sorry, sir?'

Hatch reached out for the man, gripping his forearms in his hands. The barman shook, as if he had plugged himself into the National Grid. His mouth hung open, high-pitched whines escaping from prodigiously rounded cheeks.

Hatch let go, and strode towards the pool table. As he brushed against customers, arguments and fights broke out behind him. The sudden commotion disturbed the students, who looked up in alarm. Three boys and a girl. Perfect.

Hatch shook the hand of one of the uncomprehending young men, and turned for the door. There was a low thud as the girl was thrown to the floor, almost unnoticeable against the animal screams that filled the bar.

Behind him, the first window shattered just as Hatch opened the door of the limousine.

From the hillside Joanna watched in amazement as the ghostly hunters slaughtered the scarecrows. The stickmen were easy prey for the apparitions and their charging horses, falling beneath rus.h.i.+ng hooves and exploding into pillars of flame. It was as though some celestial power was having its revenge on the scarecrows for having dared cheat death.

Joanna stared with horrified fascination as one barely defined figure, like campfire smoke glanced through trees, bore down and slew three stickmen, his iron sword slas.h.i.+ng them to firewood. She thought she saw two enormous oriental lions lunging into the air, but when she shook her head they were gone.

Joanna heard the sound of approaching feet, and turned, ready to scream, until she saw Steven striding up the hill.

'Where's Ace?' asked Steven, before he reached the brow of the hill.

Joanna pointed. 'She was taken by one those ... people.'

'I had to leave Denman,' said Steven. He surveyed the carnage, his eyes wide. 'It's about time those scarecrows got a dose of their own medicine,' he said.

'It's horrible,' said Joanna, turning away.

Rebecca raised the knife high above her head. Trevor lay at her feet.

Do it.

Trevor tried to sit up, his confusion visible even through the bruising that covered his face. One eye was swollen shut; the other blinked open.

Rebecca let out an animal scream of utter desolation, and clutched the knife tighter, her knuckles straining white. He was defenceless beneath her.

Do it.

Rebecca felt a blow at the base of her skull.

She dropped to her knees, the knife flying out of her hand and sticking upright in the soft earth. Trevor was backing away on his hands and knees. Rebecca turned her head, despite the pain, and saw what looked like an ancient soldier made of gla.s.s.

'What are you?' she screamed.

The Doctor was dropped at the gra.s.sy edge of the pit. He tried to stand, but Long John and Henry the idiot kicked his feet from beneath him, and he lay on the undulating earth, looking up at Jowett.

Jowett's eyes were as red as the pit beneath the Doctor.

'Listen to me,' said the Doctor. 'Jack's losing. Fight the power.'

'Richard,' said Jowett to the blond man at his side. 'Get him up.'

Long John and Richard dragged the Doctor to his feet.

'Thou art but a worthless sinner,' said Jowett. 'Thy maker awaits thee with open arms... To d.a.m.n thee to h.e.l.l.'

The two men pushed the Doctor towards the lip of the pit.

'Cast 'im down, cast 'im down,' chanted Henry, his eyes bulging in their sockets. 'Do 'im murder!'

'Execute him,' said Jowett, turning away.

'Aye,' said Richard, turning and pus.h.i.+ng the Doctor with both hands over the edge and into the h.e.l.lish pit.

As the Doctor fell he grabbed clods of earth with desperate hands, his fingers digging into the turf. He tried to push against the side of the pit with his feet, but they kept slipping, sending stones spiralling into the darkness.

The sound of an impact never came.

Richard looked down at the Doctor with a look of remorseless evil on his face. 'He still lives, Joseph,' he called over his shoulder.