Part 7 (1/2)

'We're in a sea of nowhere.' The Doctor's voice floated down to her.

'Why do they make these windows so narrow?' Ace asked him. If he was not going to be any more helpful then the least he could do was come down and let her have a look.

But the Doctor seemed unaware of the hint. 'To keep the arrows of the opposing archers from raining in. Or the rain from arrowing in. Defence you should have known that, Ace.'

'I did. So what can you see?'

The Doctor jumped down easily, dropping his umbrella first, then dropping after it in time to catch it as it balanced on its point for a moment. He gestured up at the window, and Ace scrabbled up the wall to it and looked out.

Below her, she could see a courtyard jutting out into the night. It was lit by two flaming flambeaus, one at each extreme comer of the area. Each was held by a figure in a s.h.i.+ning metal helmet. The soldiers were standing stock*still, dressed in breastplate and rough trousers. Their helmets, now that Ace peered closely at them, were little more than hard hats covering the crown of their heads and br.i.m.m.i.n.g out about level with the brow. The flames from the torches reflected in the polished metal, but the soldiers were standing so still that the reflections were unbroken, unflickering. But there was something even more still about these men. It took Ace a moment to realize what it was. Partly it was the fact that nothing moved round them. They were standing absolutely alone in an empty courtyard outside an apparently deserted castle which stood in a sea of blackness. Beyond the confines of the castle and this outer bailey, there was nothing but matt blackness. It was as dark as the view into the night sky from below the window. Unbroken night. Weird.

But not as weird as the complete lack of movement. The fact that the soldiers could stand so motionless was something Ace could cope with. And if it was so dark, so cloudy (or foggy?) that it was impossible to see beyond them, fair enough. But the flames of the soldiers' torches were as still as their bearers. Ace had seen enough flames many of them dancing around the blackened remains of burning Dalek sh.e.l.ls to know that fire is never still. These flames looked like the fake torches that Mrs Parkinson had got the cla.s.s to make for the school concert one year: cardboard flames, cut into tongues, painted and stuck to the end of a broom handle. If they could have cut out real fire and stuck that on the top of a staff, it would have looked exactly like this. Like a photograph. No flicker or spark still flame. Frozen fire.

Ace jumped down. The Doctor was looking at her, waiting for her to say something.

'The world just stopped.'

The Doctor leaned back against the wall and pointed his umbrella at Ace. 'Do you mean that the world ends at the castle, then there is nothing more, just the black emptiness of the void? Or that the world has been stopped, so that we can get on?'

Ace looked at the Doctor. 'Both?' she hazarded.

The Doctor nodded slowly and pointed his umbrella down the corridor. 'Let's try this way.' Then he was off again before she could ask further, a silhouette receding into the gloom.

Bernice had largely glossed over the attack in her account to Gilmanuk. They were both more interested in discussing the machine she had found. Lannic had been even more enthusiastic than Gilmanuk, as if this was the find that her two expeditions had been searching for. To Bernice's surprise she seemed entirely happy that it was Benny who had made the discovery rather than herself or her previous expedition.

They were in the operations room (as Bannahilk now insisted on calling the hold). Lannic was haggling with Bannahilk for more time, using Bernice's discovery as proof that it was worth staying on as long as possible. Bannahilk was firmly opposed to any extensions to the schedule, and Gilmanuk was trying to make the not unreasonable point that they should examine the machine before making any decisions. If they could hear him above their own voices, then they were not listening to him.

Cambri, almost back to her old self as far as Benny could tell, shook her head in disgust and wandered out of the room. Benny took her place in the spare chair beside Fortalexa. He glanced at her and smiled, then returned to his scan out of the com*net.

'Any news?' Benny asked.

Fortalexa shook his head. 'Nothing good, anyway.'

'So no extension to our stay?'

Fortalexa grinned and they both looked over at Lannic and Bannahilk. Bannahilk was shaking his head and holding up his hand as Lannic kept on at him. He walked away from her off into the piles of crates not worth unpacking. Lannic followed him.

'No chance.' Fortalexa told Benny.

Cambri had had enough of the operations room. She felt fine now must have been tired. Should not have made a fuss, just got on with the job. It was the boredom that had got to her. It might have been more dangerous on Magvel Seven, or in the advance on Basfonal, but it had never been as mind*numbingly boring as this.

She grinned in the dim light. Magvel Seven: she could see herself now, looking down at the woman she had found cowering in the burnt*out wreckage of a civilian airbus. The woman was in her mid twenties her face streaked with blood and dirt and her hair hanging matted round her face. Her clothes were torn and grimy and she was trying to shelter a child in the remains of her cloak. The cloak had once been red and was clasped at the throat with a gold brooch. She had looked up at Cambri, standing over her, her eyes wide and damp, appealing for mercy. Cambri had shot the child first and taken the gold clasp from her cloak afterwards. She left the woman with her eyes still wide, but now unseeing.

The light dazzled her as she rounded the comer. Instinctively Cambri put her arm up in front of her face as her eyes smarted. Through the glare she could make out the walls of the tunnel ahead of her. It was still part of the sh.o.r.ed*up section but it seemed to be lined with wooden panels rather than sections of plastic. She shuffled forward slowly until her stomach touched the low wooden wall in front of her.

Her eyes were clearing now and Cambri could make out the silhouettes of the two counsels: defence and prosecution. Across the room from them the head of the Critics was standing. He turned to her and answered the judge: 'We have. On both of the charges of unprovoked murder of civilians while on campaign, we find the defendant guilty.'

Cambri gasped. How could they know n.o.body had seen, she was sure. She was on the edge of the advance, an outrunner, outside the sat*link surveillance envelope.

The judge turned slowly towards her and Cambri grasped the bra.s.s rail along the top of the dock for support, her knuckles whitening as she blinked back the light. The judge was in her mid twenties, her face streaked with mud from the courtroom floor and her wig hanging in tresses round her face. Her robe was red and was clasped at the throat with a gold brooch.

Cambri looked over at the judge. Her eyes were wide and damp, appealing for mercy.

The judge said nothing, just nodded to the two warders flanking Cambri. She felt her arms twisted up behind her back and her head was thrust forward over the edge of the dock. Through the gap between the bra.s.s rail and the wooden top of the dock Cambri saw the executioner step forward. His eyes were slits in the dark hood as he raised the axe high above his head. Cambri's scream echoed round the tunnels as she saw the axe begin to swing slowly towards her. For a moment it paused at its apogee, then gravity gave it one more little pull and the blade continued over and down. It gathered momentum as it went and slammed into her neck with a slapping squelch that echoed round the courtroom.

They left the woman with her eyes still wide, but now unseeing.

It was a high*ceilinged room. The Doctor marched across the floor, his shoes slapping against the ornate tiles. When he reached the centre of the room he spun round on his heels. His umbrella somehow found itself leaned against his shoulder as he stood almost to attention and looked back towards the doorway as Ace followed him in. 'Smooth,' he said.

Ace looked round. They were in a bedroom, albeit a rather large one. The bed was tucked away in the far corner. The room seemed to be fas.h.i.+oned entirely out of doorways, huge roman arches with heavy tapestries hung over them. Probably they were not really doors, but rather alcoves. 'I don't think I'd rate it that highly,' Ace muttered as she pushed past to examine a tapestry in more detail.

'I was referring to the floor, not the ambience.'

Ace looked down. The Doctor was right, the room was laid not with the rough flagstones of the rest of the castle that they had seen, but with smooth pale tiles. They were laid in a pattern, a circular border around the inside of the alcove walls. In the middle of the floor was a tiled mosaic, a cl.u.s.ter of small leaves splaying out from a central branch.

'This cost serious money.' Ace was already kneeling and running her hands across the tiles, feeling the expensive finish. 'Why's it so much better than the rest of the dump?

'Why do you think?'

'Because someone important lives here in this room?'

'I think you're right,' the Doctor said.

'I dunno about their taste in curtains, though. Look at this stuff.' Ace pointed at the nearest tapestry and they went closer to examine it. It depicted a scene, or rather a tableau, intricately woven in muted colours. The scene was of a section of a courtroom. A figure stood centre*stage, in the dock. Her head was bowed over the top of the wooden wall of the dock, forced forward by the figures either side of her. Behind, another figure, tall and hooded with slits in the dark material for eyes, raised an axe high above her head. The blade was paused at its apogee, about to continue over and down.

The only light source seemed to be from directly in front of the scene as if it were bleeding in from the room where the Doctor and Ace stood. The background and foreground were an empty brown, as if the world of the figures consisted only of the figures themselves and the stone. As if the world just stopped at the edge of the tableau.

'An execution.' The Doctor rubbed his chin thoughtfully. 'Remind you of anything?'

'Yeah some cheap horror movie.' Refusing to be drawn, Ace turned away. She was suddenly bored with the tapestry.

'Certainly horrible. I have been in similar situations myself, even before Peladon. I remember once in Italy ' He paused for Ace to interject. Either she had heard it all before, or it was dead boring. But there was no response. 'Ace?'

'Sorry Doctor.' Ace's voice was strangely quiet.

'What is it?' The Doctor turned and looked over towards the far side of the room. Towards the shadows where Ace was staring.

'Maybe we should ask her what it means.' She nodded at the figure standing still and silent beside the bed.

'Maybe we should,' murmured the Doctor, walking slowly towards the figure. She was a woman in her middle years, Still attractive, but with lines of worry on her face. She was wearing a long green gown of a heavy fabric velvet maybe. It had a wide white lace collar and sleeves which hung loose to the cuffs. The woman s hair was auburn and tied up in traces, swept back from her forehead and away from her ears. Her eyes were brown and turned unseeing into s.p.a.ce.

Benny led Lannic, Gilmanuk, and the two soldiers back down the tunnel towards the theatre.