Doctor Who_ Time Warrior Part 3

He opened the TARDIS door and went inside, closing it behind him.

Sarah walked round the police box, shaking her head.

She came back to Rubeish. 'Do you know that man?'

'You've a short memory, young lady. I've just introduced you.'

'No, I mean how long have you known him?'

Rubeish produced a large old-fas.h.i.+oned watch. 'A little over two minutes. Why?'

'I think there's something rather odd about him.'

'Well, he's a new arrival with an unlikely name.'

Rubeish gave one of his malicious smiles. 'But then, so are you, young lady...'

'Well, yes,' said Sarah hurriedly. 'But all the same...'

Abruptly Rubeish said, 'Mind you, I think I agree with you. Any scientist who keeps his equipment in an old police box...' His voice tailed off, and he gazed abstractedly into s.p.a.ce. Suddenly he began chalking a fresh equation on the side of the police box. There came an indignant knocking from inside. Rubeish shook his head sadly and wandered away.

Sarah went back to her own tiny cubicle and resumed her unpacking. There was was something strange about the Doctor, she was sure of it. For one thing, he'd accepted her story far too readily. Perhaps he had good reasons to avoid contact with the authorities. Perhaps he was a spy himself-the enemy might well have planted an inside man. Sarah decided not to go to bed after all. Instead she would stay awake-and keep an eye on the Doctor. something strange about the Doctor, she was sure of it. For one thing, he'd accepted her story far too readily. Perhaps he had good reasons to avoid contact with the authorities. Perhaps he was a spy himself-the enemy might well have planted an inside man. Sarah decided not to go to bed after all. Instead she would stay awake-and keep an eye on the Doctor.

4.

Irongron's Captive The castle of Sir Edward Fitzroy lay on the other side of the forest. It was a handsome, well-cared-for building, very different from Irongron's scruffy little stronghold. The grey stone battlements of the castle towered high above the tree tops. Three of the castle's four walls were protected by a broad semi-circular moat while the fourth backed on to the forest.

But for all its impressive appearance, Sir Edward's castle was no more than a hollow sh.e.l.l. A castle of this size needed a large garrison to defend it-and Sir Edward had only a few old men and boys at his command.

Tall and frail, still wasted by the fever he had brought back from the Holy Land, Sir Edward sat in his private chamber, patiently waiting for his wife to run out of words.

It was a considerable wait. The Lady Eleanor was a woman of spirit, and she had never lacked the ability to express her feelings. Her subject this morning, as on many others, was the robber Irongron. 'How long, Edward?' she demanded. 'How long will you tolerate this upstart, this robbing usurper as our neighbour? He robs, he pillages, he murders... He flouts your authority every day-the authority which comes from the King!'

Sir Edward sighed. 'Unfortunately the King who gave me my authority has deprived me of the troops I need to maintain it.'

'Irongron's band is small. We still have Hal the archer, and a few men-at-arms.'

'Too few to stand against Irongron and his cut-throats.

But never fear, my lady, I shall act against Irongron. I have done so this very day.'

'How so, my lord?'

Sir Edward rose painfully and went to the window, staring out over the endless vista of waving treetops. 'I have sent Eric, my squire, with a letter to old Lord Salisbury. Like myself Salisbury has but a handful of men.

Yet if our men are combined, they may yet make a force that will crush this Irongron.'

Lady Eleanor doubted that they would do any such thing. Moreover Lord Salisbury had troubles of his own, and was unlikely to concern himself with the problems of his neighbour. She looked at Sir Edward's hopeful face, and decided to keep her doubts to herself. 'You will excuse me, my lord? I have much to do.'

As she made her way down to the castle kitchen, Lady Eleanor's mind was filled with concern for her husband.

He was a simple man, brave and honourable, but he had sacrificed his health in the service of his King. Now, in his weakened state, he lacked the ruthlessness needed to deal with such rogues as Irongron.

Hal the archer leaned broad shoulders against the kitchen wall and watched Mary, the youngest and prettiest of the serving wenches, as she stirred the cauldron of soup that hung over the fire. 'Never fear, my girl,' he boasted. 'You have the finest archer in England to protect you. Else Irongron's men would snap up so tasty a morsel in no time.'

Mary giggled. 'Oh indeed? And if you're so fine a warrior, why aren't you at the wars with the others?'

Hal yawned and stretched. 'I've had my fill of war, my sweet. I followed Sir Edward to the Crusades-aye, and brought him back again when his fever laid him low.'

Mary looked sideways at him. 'Oh-'tis not that you're too timid then?'

'Timid?' roared Hal. He nodded to the longbow that leaned against the wall not far from his hand. 'Why, if you were a man I'd put a quiverful of arrows through you.

Since you're a wench I'll take a kiss instead.'

He reached for Mary, who dodged him and ran away laughing. Hal caught her and kissed her soundly just as Lady Eleanor appeared in the doorway.

Hal and Mary sprang apart and the girl said hurriedly, 'It was all the fault of this archer fellow, my lady.'

Eleanor said calmly, 'Fetch a flagon of our finest wine and take it to Sir Edward. He is in low spirits, and it may cheer him.'

'Yes my lady, at once my lady.' Mary scurried from the room.

Hal picked up his bow. 'I must go and check the guard.

Old men doze easily. Be not too harsh with her, my lady.

The fault was mine.'

'That I can believe.' Lady Eleanor looked thoughtfully at him. He was a tall young fellow with yellow Saxon hair and a brown, cheerful face. 'The finest archer in England, you say?'

Hal reddened, but said stoutly, 'I know none better.'

'Would you do your lord a great service-even at the risk of your life?'

'Of course, my lady.'

Lady Eleanor came closer. 'Then mark me well. I have a fitting target for your arrows.'

His heart full of the importance of his mission, Squire Eric rode swiftly through the forest. He was mounted on the finest horse in the Castle stables, and a new sword hung at his side. This was the most dangerous part of his journey, the point where the road came closest to Irongron's castle.

He touched his breast, rea.s.sured by the crackle of the message-parchment thrust inside his tunic. If Irongron's men ambushed him, they would never take him alive, he vowed. And before they killed him, he would destroy the vital message. Still, better to take no chances. He touched spurs to his horse's flanks, and the animal broke into a gallop. Eric thundered along the forest trail, his mind filled with glorious visions. He saw himself encountering Irongron on the road, defeating him in single combat, returning home in triumph. He rounded the bend in the road at a gallop. An invisible force swept him out of his saddle and slammed him to the ground.

The impact knocked him senseless. When he recovered he saw a circle of ragged grim-faced men standing over him. Their leader, a tall, lank-haired, bony fellow, clasped a mighty war-axe. Nearby, one of the band was untying a rope from the trunk of a tree. Bitterly Eric realised he had fallen victim to the simplest of traps, a thin rope stretched across the road.

He took the message from inside his tunic and made a hopeless attempt to cram it into his mouth. The parchment was s.n.a.t.c.hed away, he was hauled to his feet, bound, and thrown across the saddle of his horse. Soon the little group rode away, one of them leading the captive's horse.

Dazedly, Eric realised he was being taken captive to Irongron's castle. He knew what awaited him there- torture and death. He clenched his jaws, and prayed for the courage to die without speaking.

Bloodaxe dragged his prisoner into the great hall and thrust him before Irongron's chair. 'We caught this little rabbit in the forest, Captain.'

Irongron looked thoughtfully at the prisoner, who did his best to stare boldly back. Despite his bedraggled appearance the lad was richly dressed. 'A person of some importance,' growled Irongron thoughtfully. 'Sir Edward's squire, perhaps?'

Eric said nothing. Irongron drew the knife from his belt, and held it to his throat. 'Are you loyal to your lord, boy?'

'I am,' said Eric steadily.

'We shall see...' promised Irongron menacingly.

Bloodaxe produced a roll of parchment. 'He was carrying this. He tried to eat it when we caught him.'

Irongron laughed. 'Are Sir Edward's men so ill fed?' He unrolled the parchment and peered at it. 'Bah, I can make nothing of their Norman scribbles. What does it say?'

He gave it back to Bloodaxe, who stared blankly at it. 'I know not, Captain. I cannot read.' Nor could anyone else in the castle.

Irongron loomed menacingly over Eric. 'Well, boy?

What does the message say? Does your Sir Edward plan to attack me? Speak!'

'I shall tell you nothing.'

Irongron grinned wolfishly at Bloodaxe. 'Take him below. We shall find means to loosen his tongue-after supper.'

Sir Edward sat huddled over the fire, staring abstractedly into the flickering flames. He looked up eagerly as Lady Eleanor came into the room. 'Is Eric back?'

Eleanor shook her head. She looked at a side table where bread, meat and fruit stood untouched. 'You've not eaten all day.'

Sir Edward went to the window and stared out.

Darkness was gathering over the forest. 'Why has Eric not returned? He has had time to ride to Salisbury's castle three times over.'

'It is not good for you to worry so much.'

'How can I not worry?'

Lady Eleanor came to stand at his side. 'Think that tomorrow will be brighter, my lord.' Sir Edward stared at her in surprise, sensing some hidden meaning in her words. She smiled enigmatically.

'Edward, I have heard that Irongron walks his battlements each morning at sunrise.'

Sir Edward nodded gloomily. 'He struts the wall like a c.o.c.kerel, they say. No doubt it pleases him to be so high.'

'Does he climb so high that one of Hal's arrows could not reach him?'

'You speak in riddles, my lady.'

'I have sent Hal to hide in the woods by Irongron's castle. When tomorrow's sun rises, Irongron will walk his battlements for the last time.'

Sir Edward was shocked. 'But that is not honourable, my lady. It is murder.'

'It is execution,' said Eleanor resolutely. 'And a villain such as Irongron deserves no better.'

Irongron was practising sword-play in the great hall, wielding the great battle-sword that few other men could even lift. Torch-light glinted on the steel as he swung the mighty weapon like a toy, finis.h.i.+ng with a flurry of slas.h.i.+ng blows that would have reduced any opponent to mincemeat. Breathing hard, Irongron sheathed his sword, and drained the flagon of wine that stood on the table.

Suddenly he sensed he was being watched and swung round, hand flying to his sword-hilt. A squat powerful figure in silvery armour stood in the doorway.

'Linx!' roared Irongron delightedly. 'So, you obey my summons at last, do you? By the stars, you cut a fine figure in that armour of yours.'

The alien voice boomed from beneath the helmet. 'It is a Sontaran s.p.a.ce suit, Lord Irongron.'

'But why must we never see your face, good Linx?'

'This helmet conceals the fact that I am not of your kind.' A dry rasping chuckle came from beneath the helmet. 'You might find my true appearance-unpleasing.'

Irongron laughed. 'By my sword, Linx, I'll wager you are the fairest beauty in my castle.'

Linx had no use for social chit-chat. 'Why do you continually summon me? My work is pressing. I have much to do this night.'

Irongron tugged his beard. He had no very good reason for summoning his strange guest, merely a burning curiosity about what was happening in Linx's workshop.

Suddenly an excuse popped into his head. 'I have a prisoner in my dungeons, Lord Linx, a surly fellow.

Despite all the persuasions of my men, he will not speak.'

'You wish him to give you information? Then give him to me. I will make him speak.'

Irongron glanced at the guard by the doorway, saw that the man was dozing, and hurled an empty tankard with savage accuracy. The guard jerked awake as the tankard rebounded from his helmet with a clang. 'Tell Bloodaxe to fetch up the prisoner.' Irongron poured himself more wine, chuckling delightedly. 'Ah, Linx, you cunning devil, what fresh tricks of torture can you show me, eh?'

'What is the nature of the information that you seek?'

Irongron stared blankly at him. 'How should I know?

Plots, conspiracies-our prisoner is a messenger of one who seeks to make war against me.'

'War? That is excellent.'

'Oh,' said Irongron. 'So you like war, eh?'

There was a note of fierce eagerness in the Sontaran's voice. 'Who does not? My race has been at war for centuries. One day our s.p.a.ce fleets will subjugate every galaxy in the universe!' Irongron stared blankly at him, and the Sontaran turned away in disgust. 'You do not understand me. I am stranded here on this filthy primitive planet when I should be leading my squadron to glory. I am an expert at war, Irongron!'