Part 13 (1/2)

The back door of the campervan creaked. I saw Bob climbing out, stretching his gangly limbs in the freezing morning air.

The Doctor reached behind my ear and extracted the cigarette, still lit, with a flourish.

'Doctor,' said Bob. 'There's something I need you to take a look at.'

He took a roughly folded sheet of paper out of his pocket and uncrumpled it. The Doctor snapped on a flashlight as Bob laid the sheet flat on the bonnet of the campervan. 'And what have we here?' he asked.

'I found this on my fridge. Not actually this. I found this diagram taped to my fridge. This is just a copy.'

'When was this?'

'Yesterday afternoon,' admitted Bob.

The Doctor ran a finger over the diagram, tracing its geometry, its symbols. 'Quite a professional job,' he murmured. Bob was s.h.i.+vering. It was weird to watch the Doctor s.h.i.+ft frames like this science fiction one moment, fantasy the next.

'Someone meant to give you a good scare.'

Bob relaxed a little. 'So you don't think it's for real,' he said. 'It's just meant to spook us out.'

'When it comes to the occult,' said the Doctor, 'there's real, and then there's real. Your intruder, and I think we can safely a.s.sume it was Miss Swan, may have had one of three intentions. One, she noticed your interest in things arcane and thought she would use superst.i.tion against you. Two, she is a believer herself and hoped to harm you in some paranormal way. In either case, you have nothing to worry about.'

'What's three?' said Bob.

'She actually has a command of paranormal powers, and this symbol has some genuine and measurable purpose,'

p.r.o.nounced the Doctor. 'You know, it's amusing in the theatre, the term machinery machinery is sometimes used to mean the supernatural elements in the play. G.o.ds and goblins produced from the stage machinery' is sometimes used to mean the supernatural elements in the play. G.o.ds and goblins produced from the stage machinery'

'I don't get it,' Bob said. 'Do you believe in this stuff, or don't you?'

The Doctor leaned against the desk, holding Bob's scribbled impression of the seal in his hands. 'The world is full of real and strange powers. It is also full of cheap and shallow imitations of those powers. Half-remembered keys to the energy of the universe. Half-invented rituals. Mental practices that have become detached from the cultures that made sense of them.' He looked up at Bob. ' Your Key of Solomon Your Key of Solomon and and Goetia Goetia are the equivalent of watching a television with the plug pulled out. The form is there, but not the content.' are the equivalent of watching a television with the plug pulled out. The form is there, but not the content.'

Bob had a death-grip on his personal talisman. 'What about the device? What if it gave her some kind of power?'

'I think we'd know about it already,' said the Doctor simply.

Cold rain started to fall, carrying the fresh promise of snow to follow. The Doctor went back to his rental and turned on the radio, catching a little distant opera between the crackling of static. I don't think he slept he was just waiting for the rest of us to wake up. I crawled back into the pa.s.senger seat of the RV.

Bob stayed looking up at the sky for a while, polling on a beanie against the fat, chilly drops of rain. We were miles from the nearest electrical power, the nearest phone. But Bob was surrounded by energies he couldn't see or touch. Like the rain, falling everywhere, those energies connected everyone.

He wasn't safe in the dark, but vibrating in a network of power like a bug fished out of the air by a spider's web. He would never be invisible.

The Doctor had brought about a million chocolate bars for breakfast. He kept finding more and more of them in the pockets of his suit, along with a bottle of chocolate milk for Bob. We sat in the campervan, s.h.i.+vering our socks off. 'I'll never be mean about a hotel room again,' said Peri.

'What's on the agenda for today?' said Bob.

'Our goal now is to follow Swan's movements without her being able to follow ours. That means we keep moving and we stay anonymous.'

Peri said, 'So how do we know what she's doing if we can't use the phone or computers?'

The Doctor raised a finger. 'Actually, we can do both. We just have to be very careful about it.'

There was a line of telephone poles sticking up from the forest floor, their wire-laden heads looming over the road. Bob and the Doctor picked their way down the steep slope, grabbing onto trunks and shrubs to avoid a long b.u.m's rush into the wet undergrowth below. Peri and I spread a map on the bonnet of the campervan so we'd have an excuse if anyone pulled over. The occasional car cruised by, but no-one disturbed us.

The Doctor came into view a few minutes later, halfway up one of the poles. He was climbing awkwardly, wearing a pair of gardening gloves, keeping a death-grip on the metal steps. We could see a long coil of wire looped over one of his shoulders, and a leather satchel, like a kid's schoolbag, over the other.

At the top, he stuck a set of instructions onto the wood of the pole with a bit of blu-tac, and went to work with tools from the leather bag. Peri and I leaned over the safety rail to see what Bob was doing. He appeared to be setting up his computer down there, spread out on a picnic blanket.

We looked at one another. 'How the h.e.l.l's he gonna run it?' I said.

But the Doctor had thought of everything. After clambering down from the pole, making Peri bite her lip and mutter curses, he hauled himself up the slope carrying some spare cable. Shortly afterwards, Bob's computer was running off Travco power.

I followed the Doctor back down the wet bank, slipping and sliding in melting snow. Bob was hunched awkwardly in front of the Doctor's Apple II. 'We're in,' he said. I crouched down, shading my eyes so I could read the screen. He'd logged into his university account. The modem was connected to the phone lines by a cable that ran right up the telephone pole. It was the most awkward, overproduced, jerry-rigged lashup I'd ever seen. But it was a thoroughly anonymous way into Swan's private electronic world provided they could get through the door.

He and Bob spent the next hour trying to break back in to the TLA mainframe. Last time, it had been like a hot knife into the b.u.t.ter. Now, nothing from the Doctor's bag of tricks could crack Swan's security. She had gone back in and nailed shut every doorway, every window, every trapdoor in her system.

I got bored watching them try and went back to the cabin of the campervan, where Peri was dozing in the driver's seat.

We had a lovely view of the misty valley. I checked my look in the rear view mirror and we talked for a bit, swapping favourite films. Mine's Key Largo Key Largo. Peri's is something called Ghostbusters Ghostbusters that I've never heard of. She told me a funny story from her first year of college: one day she was out walking beside a road when she saw a little white dog come out of a church parking lot. It was tiny, a toy dog Peri knew it wasn't a poodle, although she didn't really know what it was. It trotted along, surprisingly fast, its little pink tongue flicking in and out as it bounced along the pavement. that I've never heard of. She told me a funny story from her first year of college: one day she was out walking beside a road when she saw a little white dog come out of a church parking lot. It was tiny, a toy dog Peri knew it wasn't a poodle, although she didn't really know what it was. It trotted along, surprisingly fast, its little pink tongue flicking in and out as it bounced along the pavement.

A moment later the little dog had wandered out into the road. It was a suburban street, but busy. Peri expected the dog's owner to come running out of the parking lot. But no-one appeared. The little dog trotted across the road and was up onto the opposite pavement before any more traffic came along.

But now the dog was running around in the gas station!

Peri reached the big intersection, waiting at the lights, watching as two people started calling the dog. A woman in a pleated skirt knelt down, whistling. But the dog took no notice, this time heading for the four lanes of the main road.

Peri's heart sank as she saw it scoot out into the traffic. It was so small, surely none of the dozens of drivers queued up could see it, let alone the drivers rus.h.i.+ng past on the other side of the road.

No there it was! It had somehow emerged on the other side, without having been crushed into street pizza or causing a ten-car pile up. Peri felt her shoulders sag in relief.

Oh, for G.o.d's sake, it was back out in the road again! The light had just changed, and the first car was moving slowly enough that they could brake to avoid killing it. The two cars behind it braked and honked. Randomly, obliviously, the tiny dog darted sideways through the traffic, constantly moving, jaywalking until it was back on Peri's corner.

It trotted down the pavement, tongue still dangling, as though nothing had happened.

Peri watched it go. If the dog had stopped for a moment, frightened by the traffic, it would have been run over. But it just kept moving, and the cars just kept missing it. It was almost, she thought, as though the dog hadn't been killed because it had never occurred to it that it was in danger.

'Sometimes that dog reminds me of the Doctor,' she laughed. 'And sometimes it reminds me of me.'

'So,' I said, 'do you think you'll keep on travelling with him?' The smile slid off Peri's face. 'Well,' she said hesitantly 'I don't think there's really much point point.'

'You know,' I said, 'all this would be more fun if we were actually going somewhere. Road trips usually go in a straight line, not round and round in circles. And then we end up sitting here while the geeks have all the fun.'

'It's not that,' said Peri. 'You know that old saying about flying that it's hours of boredom plus minutes of stark terror? Being with the Doctor is like that. Sometimes it's horrible, but sometimes it's so exciting... but when it comes to the crunch, the only thing I can do is sit here. I don't know anything about computers. Or aliens either. The Doctor is always having to pull me out of some sc.r.a.pe. I'm pretty much useless, really.'