Part 9 (1/2)

Besides which, the tangle of white, fleshy roots didn't feel like something that had been constructed in the manner of a deliberate trap; it was more like something that had grown haphazardly, without any real design or purpose. The shoots had sprouted and crawled and clung to the shaft walls and eventually criss-crossed the empty s.p.a.ce between. It was just his misfortune that he'd got tangled up. Now he was hanging upside down in the darkness, wondering what to do.

He'd already tried the sonic screwdriver. Apart from taking a few readings which had only confirmed his previous a.n.a.lysis that the roots were neither animal nor vegetable in origin, there was a distinct danger: every time the sonic energy waves made contact with the web it tightened its grip. The reaction seemed involuntary, but it was there nonetheless, and after a while it began to get painful. He'd switched the screwdriver off and stowed it carefully away. Being upside down, he didn't want it falling out of his pocket.

He'd stopped struggling, but apart from that all he could do was hang. He kept thinking of Martha and the others at the top of the well.

They'd be wondering what had happened to him. He was wondering what had happened to him. 'Bucket,' he said aloud. His outstretched hand had just touched something hard and wooden and curved, and he recognised it instantly. He couldn't see it, but he could feel it. So this was where it had ended up. Something had pulled it down here and pulled it hard. It was all but smothered in the white weed.

Not a comforting thought. But it did give him an idea the sound of his voice had echoed around the well, and helped define his immediate surroundings.

He quickly went through all of his senses: it was something to do, anyway, and you never knew what you might pick up from an unexpected source.

Hearing if he slowed his hearts right down and stopped breathing altogether, there was total silence; there wasn't even the noise of any insects or snails this far down, and he suspected they were instinctively staying clear of this very unnatural phenomenon. Wise move, probably.

Touch he knew the thing holding him was warm, fibrous, not sticky. But if he moved, it seemed to grip harder. Nothing much more to be learned there.

Smell damp, cold, and a faint, underlying odour of decay with just a hint of ginger. That was probably Tommy. There was something else, though, something he couldn't identify. Something totally alien to Earth. Smell me something I don't know, he thought.

Taste he opened his mouth and stuck out his tongue, waggling it energetically in the darkness. This didn't tell him much more than his sense of smell, fortunately.

Sight nothing. Just blackness. In fact, he could see more with his eyes shut. The Doctor was just about to start going through his extra senses, starting with his sixth sense, when something made him stop.

Wait a minute, he thought. he thought. Go back one. Go back one.

He opened his eyes again and this time he actually saw something.

'Ha!' he shouted. He could see! Not much, but there was something the faintest of green glows, right below him, and indeed all around him.

The white stuff was glowing in the dark. 'Bioluminescence!' announced the Doctor happily. 'Oh, very good. I like that. Handy, too. . . '

He hung in the semi-darkness, looking at all the faintly glowing strands which held him there.

Now what?

'Whatever happened to Barney Hackett last night,' said Angela, 'makes very little difference to what's happened to the Doctor today.'

Martha frowned. 'How come?'

'Well, in its broadest sense, it doesn't matter a jot if Barney Hackett transformed into a monster and then turned to dust, or ran around and disappeared into thin air, or was abducted by s.p.a.ce aliens, or simply went away to spend some time with relatives. What matters is what we know happened here today the Doctor went down the well and hasn't come back up.' Angela had regained some of her old spirit now. 'In other words, he's stuck down there and he needs our help.'

Martha felt a surge of relief. 'You're absolutely right.'

'You mean let's just forget all about Barney Hackett,' said Sadie accusingly.

'No!' Angela waved a hand irritably. 'I mean, yes. Look, there's precious little we can do about him now that's what I mean. But we can can help the Doctor.' help the Doctor.'

'How, exactly?' Sadie nodded at the rope drum and winch. 'Send someone else down? Don't be ridiculous.'

'I'll go,' said Martha.

'No you won't,' Angela told her firmly. 'We're not about to lose someone else down the infernal thing. We'll call the fire brigade. They'll know what to do.' She fumbled in her pockets and found her mobile phone. Martha rather liked the idea of an 83-year-old lady having a mobile. Somehow, with Angela Hook, it wasn't a surprise.

'I've got a better idea,' Martha said. 'There's no point in calling in the emergency services yet. They'll take ages to get here and we don't really know what we're dealing with. At the very least they'll just send someone else down the well, eventually.'

'Then what do you suggest?' asked Sadie.

Martha took a deep breath. 'You're not going to like it,' she said.[image]

The Land-Rover screeched to a halt in front of the gates and Angela sounded the horn. 'I can't believe I let you talk me into this,' she told Martha. 'I still think we could have just phoned him.'

'This sort of thing is better face to face,' Martha said. She was in the pa.s.senger seat, her fingers still digging deep into the worn upholstery.

Angela's mood hadn't helped her driving. She had nearly run over a local man walking his dogs on the short trip from the well to the manor.

'Come on, come on!' yelled Angela, hitting the horn again. A series of peremptory honks came from the Land-Rover's radiator grille, but the gates remained shut.

They were electronic gates, and Martha thought ruefully that the Doctor's sonic screwdriver would have made short work of them.

'Maybe if I got out and used the intercom?' she suggested, pointing to the metal box on the pillar.

'Might work,' agreed Angela. 'But I prefer it this way.' The horn blared again and again. Eventually the gates swung slowly open on hydraulic hinges, and Angela hit the accelerator. The Land-Rover shot forward, throwing up gravel as the heavy tyres searched for a grip on the driveway. 'Well, we're here,' Angela said as they skidded to a halt. Through the dirty windscreen they could see the wide steps and large front door of Gaskin Manor. 'That door could do with a new coat of paint,' she muttered. 'Just look at it all peeling and what-not. Wood's probably rotten, too, I shouldn't wonder.'

Martha recognised diversionary conversation when she heard it.

She rested a hand gently on Angela's arm. 'Look, I'm really grateful you came. But I can speak to him on my own, if you prefer. . . '

'Not a chance!' Angela pushed her bush hat down on her head, climbed out of the Land-Rover and stomped up the steps towards the front door.

Angela already had her thumb on the doorbell when Martha caught up. 'After all this he's probably out.'

'His car's still here,' Martha said, pointing at the gleaming Daimler parked further along the drive. 'And someone must have opened the gates for us.' She winced as she listened to the doorbell ringing con-stantly inside the house as Angela kept the b.u.t.ton pressed. With that and the car horn, Henry Gaskin was going to be in a pretty bad mood by the time he answered the door.

Come to think of it, the door did look a bit shabby. The paint-work was badly maintained and some of the gla.s.s in the windows was cracked or the beading was in need of replacement. It seemed odd, somehow. Martha expected a big country manor like this to be in tip-top condition. The Daimler certainly was, and Gaskin himself hadn't looked like the kind of man who tolerated second best.

At last the door opened and Gaskin glared down at them. The bristling black brows and deep-set eyes already seemed familiar to Martha. 'Oh, it's you,' he said drily, as he saw Angela. He didn't sound in the least bit surprised. 'Couldn't you use the intercom like anybody else?'

'Would you have let me in?'

'No.'

'Well, then.'

Gaskin turned to Martha. 'What's going on here, if you don't mind me asking? I do have work to attend to, you know.' Martha pulled on her most man-dazzling smile. 'Look, we're really sorry to disturb you, Mr Gaskin, but it really is important and we need your help.'.

'I really am very busy,' Gaskin told her, addressing Martha with a modic.u.m of genuine regret. 'I'm sorry.'

He began to close the door but Angela got her foot inside first. 'Not so fast, Henry!'

'It's my friend,' Martha interjected quickly, sensing her opportunity was going to vanish fast. 'He's had an accident he's fallen down the well.'

Gaskin switched his dark eyes back to Angela for the first time. 'Is this some sort of joke?'