Doctor Who_ Timeless Part 14

Steeling herself, Stacy dragged the tarpaulin clear. 'Oh Jesus.'

'What is it?'

'Some weird kind of coffin.'

It was coffin-shaped, but came with extras. There were steel brackets at all the corners, no handles, and it was scored through with dozens of air holes, each a little bigger than a quarter. Steel bands ran around it at regular intervals, two lengthways and several around the width of it clearly designed to keep something quite powerful inside. Something that needed the holes so it could breathe...

With a shudder she described it to the Doctor, concluding: 'It doesn't smell all that fresh back here either.' She strained in vain to hear any signs of movement from inside the casket, but shuddered anyway. 'And don't even think about asking me to look inside that thing, OK? It's not going to happen.'

'All right. Just lock the van back up again.'

'This is too weird.' Stacy swiftly did as she was told. 'I guess that makes this van an undercover hea.r.s.e.'

'Or a particularly sinister taxi.'

'Do you think there is something alive in that box?'

He shrugged. 'We're not really equipped to find out, are we? I can open van doors but steel bands are another matter.'

'Shame you can't see for yourself. How are your eyes, now, anyway?'

The Doctor was still blinking like Mr Magoo without his gla.s.ses. 'I think I'm receiving some sort of feedback from a form of psychic projection not attuned to organic life forms. Whatever force is trying to influence my mind, it's still experimenting with wavelengths my mind can cope with.'

'Well, I have a lot of respect for a healthy imagination,' Stacy told him lightly, too freaked out by her grisly discovery to stay focused on his nonsense for long. 'So what now? Wait until the owners come back and ask them why they're carting coffins around in a van?'

'It's likely, if the van's parked here, that the owners have some business on one of these boats,' said the Doctor.

'I agree.'

'Good. So let's walk along the docks and wait for me to go all misty-eyed. Perhaps then we'll find what we're supposed to.'

'Sure. Our destiny awaits. We have a fine and logical plan.' Stacy sighed. 'But I can't think of anything better right now.'

They set off at a brisk pace. Gulls circled and shrieked high above, like they were laughing at the pair of them and their hopes for answers. The dock was busy with people of all types, from salty seadogs with big beards and chunky sweaters to suited businessmen and tanned yachting types. Stacy wondered about their stories, if they would seem wonderfully ordinary or if in fact everyone had something scary to hide.

'There,' said the Doctor, dabbing at his eyes with his sleeve again.

Stacy followed the line of his pointing finger. It was a white boat with walnut trim, a middle-sized, smart-looking craft named Prometheus Prometheus. 'Relax, Doctor. It's not such an eyesore.'

'You're right. The mists are clearing...'

'You sound like a fortune teller.'

'Not my line,' the Doctor told her emphatically. 'I don't usually like to know what's going to happen. But someone or something seems very insistent that I be aware of something... And it's becoming more proficient at communicating.'

He began to lead the way on to the Prometheus Prometheus.

Stacy tugged at his arm. 'Shouldn't we knock or something?'

'Of course. Once we've had a good snoop round.'

There was no one about. Stacy followed the Doctor as he crept about the s.h.i.+p, peering into fishy-smelling boxes here, lifting up canvas sheets there. He seemed curiously interested in a long, large wooden crate stowed beneath a thick tarpaulin, upon which was stamped CEYLON TEA and the name of the exporter in Africa.

'What is it?' she asked. 'Fancy a cup? That's so British of you. G.o.d save the King.'

He shot her a puzzled look. 'This crate, look at it.'

'OK, I'm looking. Help me out here.'

'It's spotless.'

'More or less.'

'Inside and out. Not a dropped tealeaf in sight.'

'So it's been cleaned.'

'Perhaps. Or perhaps this crate was never exported from Africa at all,' he concluded impressively.

Stacy pointed to the smudged black printing. 'I guess that could explain why whoever stamped that misspelled Namibia. And doesn't Ceylon tea come from India or Sri Lanka or something anyway?'

The Doctor squinted at the printing in surprise. 'Er, yes. Yes, I was wondering when you'd spot that. You're learning.'

'So what do we deduce from this?'

The Doctor gave her a small smile. 'Work it out. Come on.'

They moved on, and soon she heard m.u.f.fled male voices conversation somewhere inside the cabin. The Doctor held up his hand for hush as he stole closer. Soon Stacy was close enough to hear them properly.

'...expecting one more delivery after this latest one.'

'We'll take care of it tonight.'

'Move the van up closer, that thing weighs a ton.'

Stacy heard heavy footsteps underscore the man's words was he coming out, had he heard them? She backed away, flashed the Doctor an urgent look. He backed up too, but caught his ankle on a hatch cover, lost his balance and fell with a loud thump on to his back. He quickly gestured that Stacy should hide. But even as she looked around frantically, she heard the cabin door open and heavy, urgent footsteps rus.h.i.+ng nearer.

Seconds later, a tall, thickset man, with long wisps of hair combed carefully over a broad bald spot, emerged from round the corner and reacted with surprise.

'Police!' said the Doctor halfheartedly, pus.h.i.+ng himself up on his elbows. 'We have you surrounded.'

The man looked between Stacy and the Doctor.

He didn't seem impressed.

Fitz and Trix had decided to do the job at night-time after all. Trix had sussed out the area. Her conclusion: no problem, just as Basalt had said.

No fear of any prying eyes seeing them break in to Nencini's Streatham flat. The street lamp didn't work round the back of his block, which overlooked the shadowy, rusting yard of a disused factory. Beyond that another stark residential tower loomed large over the street but most of the windows were so thick with grime and grease no one could see through them anyway.

The two of them creaked and clanged up the fire escape to Nencini's precarious balcony. No neighbours' curtains twitched. No lights snapped on.

Fitz wondered if anyone even knew Nencini existed.

'Are we really going through with this?' he hissed, shocked by how loud his whisper sounded, high up here in the darkness.

Trix produced the syringe. 'We have to. What's the alternative?'

Fitz shuddered as she pa.s.sed it to him and eased her fingers under the rotting wood of the window frame. She'd opened the window when she'd visited last week, and didn't seem surprised he'd not shut it again. She reckoned he might move between armchair, bed and toilet, but no further afield if he could help it.

When the window was open as wide as it went, Trix nodded Fitz through. He took a deep breath and squirmed through the gap on to a filthy worktop. It smelled like a toilet but he guessed this must be the kitchen, and Fitz was glad there was no light to see what he was picking his way through.

Trix was beside him in a nimble moment. The flat was gloomy, lit only by scattered moonlight through the filth on the windows. She led the way through to Nencini's pit, where a stinking hump beneath the bedclothes shook with snores.

A life, thought Fitz, or the remnants of one. There, and theirs, for the taking.

He gingerly stepped forwards with the syringe, and looked at Trix for guidance.

'Go on,' she hissed. 'Now.'

Fitz pulled back a corner of the bedsheets. In the gloom, he saw Nencini's bare arm glisten.

The snoring came to a spluttering halt. Nencini stirred and groaned, his eyes flickered open, just for a second. Fitz held himself stock-still.

'Se la forma scompare...' Nencini's voice was hoa.r.s.e and dry. '...la sua radice e eternal.'

'What the h.e.l.l does that mean?' breathed Fitz.

'I'm not sure,' said Trix.

Fitz bit his lip and dug in the needle. He pulled up on the plunger and a little blood splashed up inside.

'That'll do,' said Trix, as Nencini snorted and snuffled.

'Sure?' Fitz looked doubtfully at the dark dribble in the syringe. 'The Doctor's got to a.n.a.lyse that.'

'He said he only needed a drop. So come on.' Dawn was gently breathing light into the dark sky outside.

Fitz sighed. 'I can't believe he didn't wake up.'

'Too much effort, I guess.' She looked down at Nencini curiously. 'I doubt he'd care we were here even if he did wake up. He's just waiting to die, remember.'

'Whereas we,' said Fitz, 'had better get packing. We've got our old lives to get back to, tonight.'

'Finally,' breathed Trix, taking the syringe from him. She wrapped it carefully in tissue and placed it in her pocket.

They left the same way as they came in.

Stacy looked nervously at the Doctor as the man on the boat called to his friends. 'Jack! Chongy! Got company up here, say they're Old Bill!'

They soon popped up to join him a good-looking half-Asian guy with short black hair and a stocky bruiser of a man with a ruddy red complexion.

'Old Bill?' The half-caste man she a.s.sumed was Chongy didn't seem convinced.

'Where are your uniforms, then?' asked Jack.

The Doctor looked at him like he was stupid. 'We're plainclothes.'

'Fancy dress more like,' retorted Chongy. 'What are you two doing here?'

'Well,' said the Doctor, rising slowly to his feet. 'We're here to arrest you on the charge of conspiracy to take the empty tea crate you store back there over to a rusty white van parked down by the docks, lift the specially adapted coffin you've got hidden in the back into said crate, and then carry it back to the s.h.i.+p so it looks like you're loading on some inconspicuous cargo before probably dumping the coffin though not necessarily whatever's inside it overboard under cover of night.' He smiled. 'How does that sound? Am I close?'

While Chongy and Jack swapped worried glances, the balding man narrowed his eyes.

'Oh, look at his face! I think I'm right!' laughed the Doctor. He turned to Stacy, encouragingly. 'Do you see his face?'

'Looking daggers,' she smiled, attempting a brave levity she didn't feel while praying the Doctor had a plan.

'Daggers, yes!' The Doctor seemed delighted. 'Or... Marlinspikes! Yes, looking marlinspikes, perhaps. That's a more nautical term, isn't it?' He took a step towards the three men, and they actually took a step back, looking at each other as if to say, who the h.e.l.l is this weirdo? 'But all the marlinspikes in the world won't protect you from Daniel Basalt when he finds out how careless you've been.'

The men looked positively rattled. Baldy worriedly smoothed a hand over his precarious covering of hair.

'So you do know him,' said the Doctor quietly.

'Where is he?' Stacy demanded, almost marching right up to them, 'Tell us how to find him. Tell us all you know about him. What is he doing '

'All in good time, DI Stacy,' said the Doctor hurriedly.

'Tell me, you sons of b.i.t.c.hes!' Stacy couldn't think straight; all she knew was that she had a clear link. No supposition, no crazy looks and theories, just people who could lead her to Basalt, to talk to him and find out what the h.e.l.l was going on and why he'd picked on her to torment. No way would she let this moment slide. 'Tell me what the h.e.l.l that b.a.s.t.a.r.d is up to and what exactly is going on!'

'They're not Old Bill, Tommo,' Jack said, sneering at her. 'A potty-mouthed yank and a poof in a waistcoat.'

'Do you want to be on a charge of discrimination too?' said the Doctor calmly, producing a notebook and pencil.

'Reckon you're right.' Tommo, the first man, grabbed Stacy by her hair and yanked down hard. She cried out as she fell to her knees at his feet. 'Now, who are you two?' he snarled.

The Doctor calmly started writing in his book. 'a.s.saulting a police officer, I'll have you for that.'

'Better make it two officers then, hadn't we?' said Chongy, motioning to Jack he should take on the Doctor.

'a.s.saulting two officers,' muttered the Doctor. 'Yes, thank you...'

Stacy couldn't believe he was ignoring the man's menacing advance in favour of correcting his little note. Finally, as if tiring of being ignored, Jack rushed forwards, shouting, arms outstretched. But his intimidating yell turned to a bellow of pain as the Doctor suddenly jabbed the pencil in Jack's ear and threw him over the side of the boat. Jack crashed into the grey gla.s.s of the harbour waters.

'Told you I'd have him,' said the Doctor mildly, ignoring the angry shouts and splutters floating up from the fallen man. He turned his attention to Tommo and Chongy. 'Now let her go, or you'll follow him.'