Part 11 (2/2)

'Oh, he'll be dealt with up in Giroland soon enough.'

'Fine,' said Trevor, heading for the door. 'I don't want to know the details.'

'Squeamish?' asked Hatch.

'No,' said Trevor flatly. 'Just not interested.'

An hour later Trevor sat in his car three miles from the village, listening to the bleak thrash of Strawberry Horse.

Longman's copse was a secluded enough place for a secret meeting, the arch of trees on either side of the road creating a dark cathedral, into which it was virtually impossible for prying eyes to see.

Another vehicle pulled up behind him, the engine just audible above the music. Trevor was out of the car in seconds, his fingers tight on the trigger of the sub-machine-gun which he held out in front of him.

And there stood Rebecca, her hands on her hips, a scowl of suppressed amus.e.m.e.nt on her face. 'Is that thing an extension of your p.e.n.i.s, Trev?'

'Jesus, Becky...' He tossed the gun on to the front seat of the car and came towards her, kissing her savagely on the mouth.

'Ah, ah, ah,' she tutted, pus.h.i.+ng him away with a look of disapproval. 'Business before pleasure, matey. I had to make more excuses than the captain of the t.i.tanic t.i.tanic to get here.' to get here.'

'Trouble?'

'Not really. That girl who came with the Doctor is snooping around. She's harmless enough, though. Apparently the Doctor's missing. You wouldn't know anything about that, would you?'

Trevor shook his head mutely.

'I've had to leave her at the vicarage,' continued Rebecca. 'I made up some c.o.c.k-and-bull story about needing to see a sick friend.'

'Charming,' said Trevor ironically.

'Come on,' said Rebecca impatiently. 'I've got to get back.

You said you could show me some merchandise.'

'Well,' said Trevor, 'As I told you in London, it depends on the amount of collateral damage you hope to cause.'

'I want to blow the whole world ten feet off the ground,' said Rebecca with an anger that Trevor had seldom seen before.

'I've got plastic explosives that'll s.h.i.+ft it off its axis if that's what you want.' There was a dour sadness in his voice.

'Untraceable, too. If you're careful.'

'Aren't I always?' she asked angrily. 'Just show me what you've got.' Trevor tugged at the tarpaulin in the back of the car to reveal rows of crates and boxes, stuffed with bubble wrap and terrifying weaponry. Rocket launchers, machine-guns, mines, timers and a bewildering array of explosives.

Many of them still carried small white tags, as if giving the prices of Action Man's latest accessories.

'I like your showroom, Trev,' smiled Rebecca.

'I don't,' he said sourly, glancing around him nervously.

'OK, what are you interested in?'

Ace had let the rest of the day slip through her fingers like sand on a beach, and she felt a familiar frustration that the Doctor hadn't been more explicit with his instructions.

Actually, if truth be told, she had a.s.sumed that he would turn up, as ever, and was more irritated than concerned when he hadn't.

She'd hung around the village, watching people come and go, but they seemed wary of her. She had the feeling that important things were happening, but it was always just out of sight, and whenever she approached people they would stop talking and let her pa.s.s, continuing their business only when she was out of earshot.

She glanced out of the window. Black clouds had come in from the west, and night had fallen quickly. There was rain in the air, but none fell. Ace could sense the nervous energy of those that braved the seats just outside the Green Man, and she wondered if Hexen Bridge was like this all the time.

No wonder everyone here was a loony.

From her room, high up in the inn, she could watch the entire village. In her position the Doctor would probably stand, brooding, hatching plans and schemes, alert for anything that went on beneath him. Ace found herself being distracted by the sound of a lovers' tiff, and the constantly changing, endlessly rolling grey-black clouds that reached down to brush the church spire and the Gothic pinnacles of the school.

The school. That was the place to start. After all, the Doctor had been there the previous evening, and as far as she could tell no one had seen him since. The obvious answer was that he had found out something he shouldn't, and was trussed up like a pig about to be spit-roasted.

She walked down the rickety back stairs and into the bar.

Bob Matson was noticeable by his absence, which suited Ace down to the ground.

Out on the green the lovers had come to some sort of sobbing truce, while their mates laughed and joked and pretended they hadn't heard the argument. A lingering embarra.s.sment hung in the air like the claustrophobic storm. Thunder rumbled distantly.

Ace had noted that a lane ran from a point just shy of the Chinese restaurant towards the back of the old school. Good.

She didn't really want to go marching up to the front entrance, demanding the release of all prisoners.

A Taste of the Orient glimmered in the distance, the stone lions looking even more powerful than usual. It was as if they sensed the atmosphere, and had puffed up their chests in confident expectation. The car park was empty, but the restaurant seemed full, dark shapes visible through the windows.

As she came closer she noticed a figure moving towards the restaurant. While Ace was walking confidently, so that if challenged she could play the innocent with ease, this person stuck to the shadows like a child playing at war. He moved with the artless clumsiness of a large man, and seemed to be looking away from Ace and towards the restaurant. Ace took her chance, and ducked behind a tree. When the man looked back towards the village, he saw nothing and, emboldened, he stepped through a small lit area and towards the side door.

It was Bob Matson, looking as guilty as sin. He carried a plastic bag with him.

A Taste of the Orient's side door was simple and wooden, brightly painted and lacking all the mock opulence of the restaurant's main entrance. There was a door buzzer to one side, and a bra.s.s letter box in the centre. Gingerly, Matson opened up the letter box - even from where Ace was watching she could tell it was one of those finger-crus.h.i.+ng ones that postmen hate - and he began forcing the contents of the bag into the house. Matson had his nose buried into one expansive shoulder.

Ace could hardly believe it. The man was posting excrement through the letter box.

When she was growing up, she had thought that racism was maybe something that affected just her street or her school. As her consciousness expanded, the limits were continually pushed back. Birmingham, Martin Luther King, South Africa, the Second World War. Her travels with the Doctor had expanded her viewpoint still further, the dizzying scope of their explorations almost trivialising the problems of Earth.

But this was a shocking reminder of the mundane hatred that goes hand in hand with everyday life. If she'd resented Matson before, she loathed him now. She had half a mind to cross the road and confront the man, sod the consequences and Hexen Bridge's inability to deal with the appalling behaviour of its own people.

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