Part 8 (1/2)

'Embarra.s.s me?'

Tanha smiled fondly. 'If you were not amusing yourself last night . . .

having fun while your poor mother was being bored to tiny pieces at that official dinner - well, I shall never forgive you.'

'No, Mother, as it happens I wasn't out having fun.'

'Really? You promise?' said Tanha teasingly. She noticed the hand behind his back. What are you hiding?'

Lon gave her an angry look. 'What?'

'There's something in your hand, isn't there? Show me!'

Relieved, Lon transferred the goblet from left hand to right, and held it out to his mother. She examined it with interest. 'It's antique, isn't it?'

'It's just a cheap fake. I picked it up in the market.'

'Since when have you been interested in such things?'

'It caught my eye, that's all,' said Lon impatiently. 'Mother! I will not have you continually asking questions!' He stormed off to his room, leaving the goblet in Lady Tanha's hands.

She stared after him in astonishment. She knew in her heart that Lon was spoiled, though she also liked to think there was no real harm in him. But the vicious anger in his manner was something new. For a moment he had seemed almost like a different person.

Nyssa spent an uneasy night in the TARDIS. When the Doctor still hadn't returned next day she had decided to go to the palace and look for him.

a.s.suming that the Doctor was (a) in trouble and (b) probably locked up, Nyssa had persuaded a friendly kitchen servant to direct her to the prison area. Now she was moving cautiously through the palace corridors towards it. She ducked back out of sight as a tall, curly-haired young man came along the corridor and turned into the doorway of one of the larger rooms.

Chela found Ambril at his desk, immersed in the study of a tattered leather-covered notebook. He looked up impatiently. 'Well?'

'I've taken our prisoner some food.'

'I hope he's grateful.' Ambril returned to his book, realised his a.s.sistant was still there and looked up. 'Is there something else, Chela?'

Chela bit his lip, and then blurted out, 'I think he's harmless.'

'Harmless? Of course the poor fool's harmless. We'll let him go after the ceremony.'

'He is a doctor . . .'

'Doctor of what?' asked Ambril scornfully. 'I'm sure the man has no academic standing whatever!'

As Nyssa approached the prison area she heard a familiar voice. 'No, I do not want more blankets. All I want is to get out of here. Be good enough to tell your master I want to see him.' A door at the end of the corridor opened and an angry palace servant carrying a pile of blankets emerged. Slamming the door behind him, he turned and walked off in the opposite direction. Pleased to find her theories confirmed, Nyssa headed towards the prison area. On the other side of the door she found a corridor, giving on to a row of cage-like cells with slanting metal bars. Only one of the cells was occupied. Pacing up and down inside it was the Doctor. 'Nyssa,' he said delightedly.

Nyssa ran towards him, clasping his hands through the bars.

Lon came out of his bedchamber. He had washed and changed his clothes and he was wearing elbow-high gauntlets that conveniently hid the snake design on his arm.

Lady Tanha was still holding the goblet, and Lon stretched out his hand.

'Give it to me!'

Lady Tanha handed it over. Lon turned and marched from the room.

'Where are you going?' called Lady Tanha.

But there was no reply. She looked worriedly after him.

Chela was still lingering in the Director's office, and by now Ambril had got used to his presence. He pushed aside the journal and looked up.

'Just look at this, Chela!'

'What is it, Director?'

'The meanderings of another crank - like your friend the Doctor.' He tossed Chela the book. 'It was written by Dojjen - in the months before he decided that his particular line of research was best pursued up in the hills with a snake wrapped round his neck!' Ambril snorted. 'You'll find the last entry of interest - mental health interest, that is! Dojjen addresses what remains of his wits to the question, ”Where is the Mara?” '

Chela turned to the end of the journal.

Ambril waved his hand impatiently. 'Well, why don't you read it out?'

Chela struggled to decipher the thin spidery handwriting. 'Where the Winds of Restlessness blow. Where the Fires of Greed burn. Where Hatred chills the blood. Here! In the Great Mind's Eye. Here in the depths of the human heart. Here is the Mara.'

'You see,' said Ambril triumphantly.

'Is it a code, Director?'

'Code? Of course it's not a code. It's nonsense. Pure and simple, woolly-minded nonsense.'

'I'm very pleased to hear it,' said a voice from the doorway. It was Lon.

Ambril rose and bowed. 'My Lord.'

'Good morning to you both,' said Lon pleasantly. 'I need to ask a favour of you, Director.' He glanced at Chela. 'A private favour, if you don't mind?'

'Of course, of course, why should he mind,' said Ambril. 'Out, Chela, out, out, out!'

Chela bowed and withdrew.

Ambril turned eagerly to Lon. 'And now, my Lord how may I serve you?'

Nyssa soon realised that although she had found the Doctor she was powerless to free him.

The cell had a heavy old-fas.h.i.+oned lock, and it was firmly closed. Nyssa rattled the door angrily.

'It's no use, Nyssa, I've already tried that!'

'But this is so stupid!'

The Doctor said wryly, 'The lock's very primitive, you see. Practically a museum piece. No electronic impulse matrix to decode, no sonic micro circuitry to disrupt. Just a crude, mechanical six-barrel lock movement, operated by a very large key. Primitive but adequate - more than adequate actually, since the key is what we don't have.'

'There must be something we can do!'