Doctor Who_ Bunker Soldiers Part 11

I panicked, not knowing what to do. I could turn round, but it was some way back to the door into the main chamber, and I would be vulnerable to Yevhen's torchlight. Now that he was facing in my direction even absolute silence might not save me.

Indeed, the corridor was so narrow that I had no realistic hope of avoiding detection.

The corridor thus far had been lacking in any feature that might come to my aid, but, as I recollected seeing the two lanterns come to a halt, I did wonder if some sort of alcove had briefly been illuminated.

It was too late to turn back now. I had to take careful steps towards Yevhen, hoping against hope that I could find an alcove before the adviser's torchlight illuminated me. And that I could do so without making a sound.

The torch, illuminating Yevhen's waxy face and broad shoulders, bobbed closer, but still I could not find anywhere to hide. I felt sweat p.r.i.c.kling between my shoulder blades as I continued to stare, with awful fascination, at the oncoming figure.

Just when I was about to give up, to admit to the futility of it all and let Yevhen know I was there, I found a large recess set into the stone wall.

It was, as I had hoped, the first in a series of alcoves that ran along one side of the corridor. Hardly believing my luck I ducked into it, taking a deep breath as Yevhen drew closer. All I could hear was his footfalls, sounding like heavy rain beating against concrete. All the while, my heart pounded like a piston I almost came to wonder if Yevhen could hear that that.

But no. He pa.s.sed without a sideways glance, though I glimpsed a twisted smile on his face which quite chilled me.

Once Yevhen was out of sight I crept forward, my hands nervously outstretched like a man suddenly gone blind. I checked the opposite wall for the doorway, but could find nothing at first. I wondered if I had become disorientated in the dark, and had already come too far and somehow missed it.

Soon, however, my expectant hands found another s.p.a.ce in the corridor wall. Yevhen had left the door open, and I could just make out one or two steps fading into the darkness.

I considered going back to try to find a torch or a candle, but I was wary of running into Yevhen and letting Olexander proceed too far into the catacombs without me. There was nothing else for it. I was going to have to follow the old man down into the darkness.

I placed my feet carefully on the first step and began to descend, holding on to the central stone spine, around which the stairs rotated, for dear life. The masonry felt wet beneath my palms, though I could not tell if it was the result of condensation or merely the cold sweat on my hands. I wondered how far the stairs descended, but thought better of this unhelpful speculation and instead concentrated on my slow, careful descent.

I was soon in absolute darkness, unable even to see my hands in front of my face. I decided that, undignified though it might be, the only safe way to descend was on my bottom, shuffling with agonising slowness from one stair to another, arcing into the depths of the earth like a mote of dust. I kept a strong grip on each chiselled step as I made my way deeper into what I a.s.sumed were the catacombs under the cathedral.

I knew Olexander had come this way but, having seen him with Yevhen, I was no longer sure if I relished the prospect of running into him again. I was wondering what I would say to him when I heard a noise high above my head.

I looked up, gripping the clammy stonework even more tightly, and for a moment my vision reeled in the darkness. High over my head I was surprised at how far I had already come I could make out the faintest patch of light. It was a peaked rectangle, and I surmised it was torchlight reflected on one of the walls that surrounded the twisting stairway. Someone was standing in the doorway.

Whoever it was could not see me, nor I them. I remained motionless, however, wondering what would happen next.

The answer was not long in coming. The light blinked out and was followed by the sound of the door slamming back into its frame.

And, even where I was, I could hear a key being turned in the lock.

VIII.

Lamenta The Doctor crawled towards Mykola, his breathing shallow. He tugged the soldier's arm, and he awoke instantly, swinging round suddenly.

'Who's there?'

The Doctor put his fingers to his lips, hus.h.i.+ng him. 'There are wolves,' he said, pointing. 'They're coming closer.'

'Curiosity, I'll warrant,' said Mykola, getting to his feet.

He roused a few nearby soldiers and ordered that lanterns be lit. He then unsheathed his sword and strode over to the knot of horses, who had sensed the pad-footed approach of the wolves and were fidgeting.

'Quickly,' snapped Mykola. 'Bring the lights!'

The Doctor stood at the young captain's side. He could see the creatures more clearly now, sleek and purposeful and the colour of ash. Their ears were flat against their heads, lips pulled back slightly to reveal their perfect ivory-white teeth.

Mykola grabbed a pair of burning torches from one of the men, and strode forward, waving them high above his head. The horses began to murmur and stamp their feet. One of the soldiers quickly went over and patted them, whispering soothing noises into their ears.

Mykola took another two steps towards the wolves, who had stopped in their tracks. He lowered the torches and began shouting, punctuating his words with whoops and flaming stabs in their direction.

The wolves the Doctor could see four of them, though there might be others in the area took another step forward.

One began to growl deep in its throat.

Mykola whooped again, cutting arcs in the darkness with the torches.

At last, the wolves turned as one, and trotted elegantly away from the camp. The Doctor watched them until they faded into the night.

'You see?' said Mykola confidently. 'Show them no fear, and they will respect you. Make it plain to them that you are frightened, and they will feed on your doubt, moments before they feed on you.'

'Have you no fear, sir?' queried the Doctor.

'None that I would reveal to a pack of wolves,' said Mykola, with a bitter smile.

The sound of many footsteps running in the corridor roused Isaac from his sleep. There was no little commotion outside: raised voices, calling for lanterns; shouted instructions; hysterical inquiries.

Isaac turned. Rebekah was sleeping the sleep of the innocent, her peaceful expression utterly at odds with the commotion that had gripped the governor's residence. Isaac smiled. They often joked that she would sleep through the Tartar attack and he supposed that being murdered in your bed was not too bad a way to go. Not when one considered the Mongols'

reputation for torture and butchery.

Perhaps, indeed, this was the precursor to the attack. Isaac pondered this as he pulled on a simple linen gown then padded barefoot towards the door.

'What is going on?' he asked a pa.s.sing servant.

'An attack, sir,' replied the woman and then, realising whom she was addressing: 'Your son.'

Isaac ran at once to Nahum's temporary quarters, pa.s.sing all manner of serving folk and soldiers proceeding, it seemed, in random directions. It was as if a giant figure had disturbed an ant's nest, turning ordered discipline into chaotic anarchy in the blink of an eye.

A soldier was stationed outside Nahum's room and there were more inside. Nahum sat on the edge of his bed, dabbing at his cheek with a white cloth. Dmitri ful y dressed was bending over him, alternating sympathetic noises with blunt questions.

Isaac ran over to embrace his son. 'Have you been injured?'

Nahum shook his head. 'Merely a scratch. Do not worry.'

He removed the cloth to reveal a small gash just in front of his ear, surrounded by tiny dots of bruised purple.

'Even so, it should be attended to.'

'It is fine. I am fine. Father, you should return to your bed!'

'What happened?'

Dmitri smoothly interjected. 'I rather suspect even your son is tiring of telling this story. He says that the cook, Elisabet, attacked him.'

'I swear she flew through the air towards me,' said Nahum. 'I could not believe her strength!'

'However did you repel her?' asked Isaac.

'That is the strangest thing,' said Nahum, still shaking his head in disbelief. 'She overpowered me in a moment. Her face lunged for my neck I turned my head a little, and she bit my cheek. But you have never seen teeth so sharp, so narrow!'

Isaac nodded, taking this all in. 'Go on.'

'She stood, silently regarding me, and then, just as swiftly as she had come, she moved away. I was too frightened to follow,'

he added apologetically.

Isaac turned to Dmitri. 'Elisabet, you say? Is she not the wife... widow... of...?'

Dmitri nodded. 'I have ordered a search of every room.'

'If she is hiding within this building,' reasoned Isaac aloud, 'and her attack leaves marks not at all unlike those found on Taras's body. . then the Doctor is right. We have indeed imprisoned an innocent man.'

'That matters little,' snapped Dmitri.

Isaac shook his head. 'But Steven '

'He has already found a way to leave our prison,' interrupted Dmitri. 'And, though I wish him well, we have other, more pressing, concerns.' He turned to one of the soldiers. 'Seek adviser Yevhen. Inform him that we must speak together.'

The soldier nodded and departed, just as another squeezed into the room. He was panting, clutching his chest, and the bright whites of his eyes spoke only of fear. He approached Dmitri respectfully.

'My lord,' he said between breaths. 'There is something you should see.'

'The cook?'

'No, my lord,' the soldier replied. 'We have found a body.'

He was little more than a lad, kitted out in a padded canvas jacket several sizes too large for him. A visored helmet had fallen away from his head, revealing boyish curls and an innocent, though now horribly blank, expression. A short dagger had also tumbled from his hands, part of a vain attempt to halt an unstoppable foe.

'I wish the Doctor were here,' muttered Isaac under his breath as he bent towards the dead soldier. 'I feel sure he would have some insight into this.'

'But you are also a man of great learning,' said Dmitri. 'A trusted adviser. What say you on this matter?'

Isaac glanced up, only too aware of the fearful symmetry of the scene: a corpse surrounded by soldiers and attended by two puzzled, fearful men. It had been the same with Taras.

The boy seemed to have been killed with a single savage blow to the throat, which had left two huge flaps of skin with darkness and blood where they met. The wound, however, had clearly not been caused by a sword or dagger, for the gash was ragged and rough. Thinking back to Taras's body, Isaac gently turned the soldier's face away from him. Sure enough, there were pinp.r.i.c.k wounds about the neck and ear.

'Little learning is needed to see that this fellow died at the hands of the beast that attacked Taras,' announced Isaac. 'And my son.'

'But your son was attacked by a woman,' said Dmitri.

Thudding footsteps heralded the arrival of Yevhen. 'We know of creatures like this. The cook and the beast may be the same.' He turned to Isaac, an awful smirk etched on his face.

'Your son survived the attack. I wonder why.'

'Where have you been?' snapped the governor. 'The men have been trying to find you.'

Isaac was pleased to see a momentary look of guilt cross Yevhen's face, though unfortunately it was short-lived. Soon the self-satisfied grimace was back. 'I was... I was in the kitchens, my lord. I needed some water. I could not sleep.'

'While you were in the kitchens,' said Isaac, 'did you see Taras's widow? I believe she is a cook there.'

'But it is night. Why should she be there?' Yevhen looked evasive as he replied, but Isaac could not tell if this reflected a specific uncertainty or merely a naturally duplicitous nature.

'You heard that Nahum was attacked by Elisabet. And a beast has killed this boy.'

Yevhen laughed. 'Are there not monsters enough outside the city?'

'Answer the question,' snapped Dmitri, clearly tiring of Yevhen's theatrics.

'No, I did not see Taras's widow in the kitchens,' his adviser replied through gritted teeth. 'There was no one else there.'

Isaac nodded his head. Of course, if there was no one else there, there was no one to prove or disprove that Yevhen had been getting himself some water. But where else could he have been?

Dmitri, however, seemed satisfied with Yevhen's words. 'Let us all return to sleep, if we can,' he said. 'There is nothing more to be gained here tonight.We shall resume our deliberations in the morning.'

With that, the governor and the majority of the guards swept away, leaving an uncomfortable Isaac standing shoulder to shoulder with Yevhen.

'Your son,' began Yevhen, adopting a more conciliatory tone. 'He is unharmed?'

'A few scratches, nothing more,' replied Isaac. 'Whatever really happened tonight, he will be shocked to hear of another death. I should return to him.'

As Isaac walked away, he glanced back over his shoulder at Yevhen, who was standing motionless, looking down at the dead soldier.

Yevhen's tight feature seemed to soften, his shoulders falling as if an invisible burden had been placed there.

Isaac wondered if the burden was guilt.