Part 8 (1/2)

Interesting and sad. You may not believe it, but I am a very sad man.'

Romana is having trouble following these illogical thought processes. There is something strange about this boy. Still, if he can shed some light on what is actually going on in this place... and what else has she got to do...

'Great!' she says, brightly. She doesn't mean it. Something about him has unsettled her. 'Lead on.' She tries to remain enthusiastic.

Huvan leads her along corridors, up walkways, and up in the anti-grav lift. They seem to be heading somewhere very remote inside this labyrinth. Romana realises she had forgotten they were floating high up in Ashkellia's atmosphere. The palace's stabilisers are incredibly efficient.

Could it really be a million years old?

Finally, secretively, Huvan ushers her into a large bedchamber. The walls are a clumsily brush-stroked black.

'It chose this room. The palace. It reflects my state of mind.'

'It?' asks Romana.

'The palace,' he replies loftily. 'It knows me. Knows what I need.'

Clothing is strewn everywhere, none of it clean. Paper and books lie in scruffy piles over the floor and tables. The bed is a ruin. She daren't even look at the sheets. 'Sit down. If you want,' says Huvan, vaguely gesturing her to a padded chair.

Romana walks to it and lifts a bundle of paper out of the seat.

'You can read that. I won't mind. I don't let just anyone read it. In fact, I'd kill anybody else who tried to, but I don't mind you looking at my work.' Huvan is coy now, flopping down on the bed.

She eyes the bundle. It is scrawled with messy writing.

'Thank you, what is it?'

'A poem. I only write poetry.'

'How nice. What inspires you?'

Huvan smiles at her. 'Love.'

Something crawls at the back of Romana's mind. A warning. 'I see,' she says, starting to realise why he is being so friendly to her. She has read about adolescence and what it does to human males. She feels a sudden need to find the Doctor. Huvan is too unpredictable, as if something in him is fighting to free itself.

Except, realistically, there is no way out; not without upsetting him. And she doesn't feel ready to risk that.

Trying to keep the reluctance out of her body language, she sits back and reads, aware of Huvan's sweaty gaze, a gaze that never leaves her.

Back at the Academy, Romana's specialities lay in science and technical disciplines. Her knowledge of the appreciation of Gallifreyan poetry, she would admit, is at best functional.

It isn't really her thing. But she knows when a poem is bad.

And this is poor. As poetry goes, it's down there with the Sontaran battle odes.

'Long ago when Love was real...' it begins, and Romana knows this is the worst thing she will ever read.

'It's eighty pages long. It's tragic,' says Huvan triumphantly.

Romana sighs.

When the deed is done, when Romana has got through the endless repet.i.tions of self-pitying misery, of relentlessly pompous, self-important, total-recall verse, of lonely, desperate lack of insight, she forces a smile on to her face.

'It's very good.'

'It's how I feel. The pain of existence. No one else understands. I seem to have been born with an extra-special sensitivity. If I didn't have poetry I'd... I'd kill myself.'

'You're lucky, Huvan,' she says, keeping a straight face.

'You have a gift.'

'I know,' he replies modestly. 'And now, I also have something else,' he says. 'I'll tell you a secret.'

Please don't, Romana thinks to herself. I can live without whatever it is, I'm sure.

'I'm going to write a poem about you,' he tells her.

The smile is there, fixed in place. She hopes her eyes aren't telling a different story. 'I am honoured, Huvan, but please don't bother, not on my account.'

'It's no bother. I want to... I must!'

Romana stands up. 'Don't go!' Huvan barks, all confidence gone. 'Please...'

'Huvan, I... I need to know why you are here.'

'It's my room.'

'No, why you are here in the palace. All of you. Some very powerful forces are at work and the Doc I I think you could be in danger.' Why doesn't she want to mention the Doctor? think you could be in danger.' Why doesn't she want to mention the Doctor?

Does she think the boy could harm him?

'Don't be frightened, Romana,' he says. To her, his voice sounds like curdled milk. 'I'll protect you. Anyway, there's nothing to be afraid of. Everything is going to be all right.

We're going to have the power.'

'Power?'

'That's what Mr Neville calls it. Those others, those idiots, they think he's going to make them rich again and get all their planets back.'

'But he's not?'

Huvan looks around, as if worried that perhaps Neville is listening. 'Oh no. He's just using them. It's me. I'm the special one. I'm going to get it all and then they'll be sorry.'

'I don't know what you mean, Huvan.' Romana is worried.

Very worried. Just what is this Mr Neville going to do? She recalls Pelham and the bathyscape. 'He's going to open the tomb of Valdemar, isn't he? Why? What does he expect to find?'