Part 35 (1/2)

The fish in the chimney.

A moment becomes an event, which becomes a deed, which becomes a legend.

He has brought back the wil .

Expectations, so long dampened by despair, are unearthed and dusted down, like the tarnished garlands being hung for Otherstide by the Drudges in the Great Hal .

Soon the darkness will be over.

They are herding tables and chairs into place for suppertime.

And Satthralope wil wake Quences at last.

The whispering stops.

The end? Not a happy end. Not a ghost of a chance.

Dorothee thought she had never seen the Doctor so withdrawn. His lip was cut and there was blood under his nose. And Chris Cwej, normally the lovable innocent (he'd hate that), looked utterly wasted.

The Doctor's arm was blue-black up to the shoulder. While Leela rubbed his bruises with some sort of herbal liniment she carried in a pouch, he listened quietly to what each of them had to say.

He looked distinctly uncomfortable when Chris mentioned the fish. 'Miracle? What miracle?' he complained. 'I don't believe in miracles. These things are natural phenomena.'

'Try tel ing them that.'

'It's a coincidence. A downfall of fish, frogs or water lilies can be precipitated by any simple tornado. Have they forgotten about ocean cones, when the Gallifreyan sea gets sucked miles high by an eclipse of the sun and the dark moon?'

'They think it's you.'

'What about Arkhew?'

'Gruesome,' said Chris, holding his head. 'But I've a few more enquiries to make.'

The Doctor grunted. Temper, thought Dorothee.

She told him about life in Paris, past and future. She left out her liaison with Georges Seurat. He'd only want to be introduced and then worry that the painter was going to die in a couple of years.

Leela talked about her life with Andred at the Capitol, where she plainly did not belong. She seemed fascinated with the Doctor's appearance. She had never seen him as anything other than the Doctor she had travelled with.

The tall, pop-eyed version that Dorothee had seen occasional y, either in her head or photos or somewhere.

150.

They both told him about the events leading up to their arrival at Lungbarrow. He s.h.i.+fted uneasily when he heard that Romana had sent them. He hardly seemed interested in the trouble at the Capitol or the dispatch that Dorothee delivered.

'Fred sent it,' she said.

The black globe dissolved in his hands as soon as he took it. Inside was an angular grey device. 'A data extractor with Loom attachment,' he said glumly and put it in a pocket.

'What's it for?' asked Dorothee.

'I'm not sure what Romana's implying. Now that she's President, she'll have agendas of her own. It just feels as if the Emperor has sent me a sword to fall on.'

There was an awkward silence. Dorothee wanted to hug him, but something warned her not to dare. Leela was busy, tending the cut on Chris's ear, so she tried a different tack. 'There's something I meant to ask you,' she said.

'What do you know about ballet?'

The Doctor suddenly showed signs of interest. 'I can just about tel a fouette fouette from a Fonteyn.' from a Fonteyn.'

'Only I've got this friend in London, 2000. She knows about the bike. And she's a dancer, right.'

'Ah.'

'And she keeps on about this ballet she's always wanted to see. But it's on in 1913.'

He cracked a smile. ' Le Sacre du Printemps Le Sacre du Printemps at the Ballets Russes. Twenty-ninth of May. It's a at the Ballets Russes. Twenty-ninth of May. It's a grande scandale grande scandale.

You'll love it. Get a stage box. You'l see the riot in the auditorium better from there.'

'Will you be there too?'

'It has been known. I could be in the wings with Nijinsky, beating time for the dancers. The poor things couldn't hear the music for the rumpus in the audience.'

They both laughed and hugged each other in relief.

'Oh, Doctor, you're such a control freak.'

'I know,' he said in her ear. 'But if I I don't do it...' don't do it...'

She still clung on tight.

'What else?' he asked.

It took a moment before she was able to say anything, but he waited patiently. 'It's the other Ace I met. The mirror image.'

'Yes?'

'Wel ...' She fished for the words. 'She was a vicious b.i.t.c.h.'

'Go on.'

'And I'm scared that I'm really like that. I mean, I know I'm hard and selfish.'

'You can be,' he said. 'That's what Time did to you. But you're still Dorothy too.'

'Schizo, you mean. Psycho Dalek-killing biker in a crinoline.' She let go with a forced grin.

He dabbed her nose in a way she had missed desperately. 'Look what Time did to me me.'