Part 28 (2/2)

'I'm not sure he didn't have another agent too. It's quite a coincidence that the very person who led the expedition to Menaxus and brought back the dream machine should want to a.s.sa.s.sinate the Exec.'

'You mean Lannic was working for Braxiatel that the whole thing was to get at the Exec? She was was very keen to meet him right from the start.' very keen to meet him right from the start.'

The Doctor nodded glumly. 'Well, it's a possibility. In which case, the play was always intended as a diversion as a way for Lannic to get to the Exec, to corner him alone.'

Benny laughed. 'I can see why you don't want to face Braxiatel, then. Wouldn't do for the arch*manipulator to have to admit he was manipulated himself, now would it?'

Ace joined in the laughter. 'Actually, I think I'd I'd quite like to meet this guy surely we can stay for just an hour or two, Doctor?' quite like to meet this guy surely we can stay for just an hour or two, Doctor?'

But the Doctor was already busy at the controls. 'Yes, well as I said, it's almost certainly a complete coincidence. So let's consider the matter closed, shall we?' He pulled a paisley handkerchief from his jacket pocket and wiped his face with it. Then he screwed the handkerchief up again and dropped it on the TARDIS console. Through the distortion of the rising central column, the swirling paisley patterns looked like cl.u.s.ters of small leaves splaying out from a central branch.

Curtain Call Braxiatel was not surprised. 'I really wouldn't waste too much time looking for them, Commissionaire.'

The commissionaire of Arbela, now acting*Exec of Heletia under the programme of the state of emergency, was apologetic nonetheless. 'I am so sorry they were here not very long ago, I'm sure.' He wrung his hands in dismay. 'I feel we are not doing very well having lost the a.s.sa.s.sin already, we have also mislaid your friends.'

'I'm sure the Doctor and his friends are quite safe.' Braxiatel smiled. 'Or at least as safe as they ever are.' He stood and put down his empty gla.s.s on the commissionaire's desk. 'Now: before we arrange for the final acceptance of your surrender and start on the peace negociations, I should like to see the green room for myself.'

'Of course. The commissionaire led the way from his office. 'It's still cordoned off, but I think there is probably little value in keeping it off*limits. Perhaps the surrender should be signed there.'

'A nice thought And I agree, the a.s.sa.s.sin will by now be melted into air into thin air. Which is probably just as well: I feel that she has done us all something of a favour.' He followed the commissionaire from the room, hands clasped behind his back, nodding to the Rippearean troops lining the corridor outside. The landings and troop deployments had been remarkably easy, but with three star destroyers and a battle cruiser directly over the city, and the guns.h.i.+ps visible on station within the atmosphere, there was little to encourage the confused and despondent Heletians to resist. Their fleet was already disarmed and moored on the edge of the Piriquatai cloud, awaiting a Rippearean escort back to their home ports. If anything, the Heletians seemed relieved except for those who knew about and had seen the camps. And that would make them all the easier to track down.

The green room was empty. A Rippearean guard stood outside. She saluted as Braxiatel and the commissionaire arrived. Inside the room seemed normal, except for the stains down one wall and the outlines painted on the floor where the bodies had lain. They looked surprisingly small.

'I gather there wasn't much left of either of them,' the commissionaire offered. 'I've always disliked this room. Here of all places we had to keep our real thoughts suppressed. What a place to have to meet your destiny.'

'Yes.' Braxiatel smiled. 'We are all slaves to destiny. We are driven like cl.u.s.ters of small leaves by the winds of time, directed through the summer of our lives to an ever*closer autumn.'

The commissionaire coughed, embarra.s.sed. 'There was no sign of Lannic. Except for the pistol.'

The percussion pistol was lying on the floor beside the spread*eagled outline of the Exec.

Braxiatel bent to pick it up. 'May I?' he asked, looking back at the commissionaire for permission. The commissionaire waved a dismissive hand.

The pistol was quite heavy for its small size. Braxiatel let it lie in the palm of his hand for a moment, admiring the antique workmans.h.i.+p: the carefully milled barrel, the percussion chamber, the leaf design etched on the b.u.t.t.

Then he dropped the gun into his pocket, wondering if the commissionaire had heared the faint crackle, like a static discharge, as he had picked it up. 'I think I'll take this back to the Collection with me,' Braxiatel said.

He wondered briefly where the Doctor was now, if 'now' was a useful term. 'Thank you for your help, old friend,' he murmured as he straightened up.

Braxiatel held his right hand level with his eyes. The hairs on the back of his hand were standing on end. He smiled, and clasped his hands behind his back once more, smoothing the back of his right hand with the palm of his left.

'Be cheerful, sir,' he said the commissionaire. 'Our revels now are ended.'

'I'm sorry?' The commissionaire followed Braxiatel out into the corridor.

'Be not disturbed.' Braxiatel rea.s.sured him. 'I was just paying homage to a great poet and playwright.'

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