Doctor Who_ All-Consuming Fire Part 29

His face was a forest of tiny crimson thorns.

Extract from the diary of Bernice Summerfield The pressurized tunnel had been rearranged to connect us to the vast central caravan. Waves of cold radiated at us from the bulging walls. As the three of us crossed the open ground, escorted by the two raksha.s.si, and started up the steps of the cathedral-like caravan, I could see, through the mist of condensation, raksha.s.si in pressurized globes attaching ropes to anchor-points all around the caravans. I was confused. If they were intending to pull the caravans across the ice, why attach ropes all the way around?

Sherringford was having a bit of trouble walking on his shiny new wings. It's not the sort of thing that you can practise beforehand.

'I take it,' the Doctor said to him as we walked, 'that all of this business has been in order to rescue your putative G.o.d and get it to Earth.'

The door in front of us began to creak slowly open, like something out of an old horror film.

'Indeed,' Sherringford said in a hiss-laden voice. 'Azathoth suspected that natural gateways had long existed between Earth and Ry'leh - the occasional Indian mystic had managed to open a window through which they had seen the occasional raksha.s.si. Tir Ram's thuggee forebears believed Ry'leh to be the realm of Siva, the Destroyer, and built a temple to worship in.'

'Not far wrong, were they?' I murmured.

'However,' Sherringford continued, 'neither Azathoth nor Her faithful followers could open the gateway between the worlds from Ry'leh.'

'Why not?' The Doctor seemed genuinely eager to know. 'I would have thought that escape would have been Azathoth's priority. After all, what sort of G.o.d would put up with the shame of eternal detention on a cold ball of rock?'

Sherringford's spiked face swung around until his facial spikes were quivering a few inches from the Doctor's snub nose.

'As you have already found, the only way to open a gateway is by use of certain musical tones which vibrate at some underlying universal frequency - that harmony of the spheres. One of the drawbacks of this form is that we cannot sing.'

'And Azathoth couldn't conjure up a voice box?' The Doctor kept his face straight as he baited Sherringford. 'Not much of a deity, if you ask me.

What do you think, Bernice?'

'Perhaps Azathoth could have equipped her flock with harmonicas.'

'Or kazoos,' he agreed. 'I'm a dab hand with the old comb and paper.'

Sherringford turned away.

'Azathoth had been weakened in Her long battle against the forces of darkness,' he explained.

It was too much like 'G.o.d moves in mysterious ways' for me, and he didn't exactly sound convinced himself.

'It was fortunate for Azathoth,' he went on, 'that I had discovered our father's diaries in the Library of St John the Beheaded. He reproduced the chants he had heard. I was intrigued, and began to experiment with opening a gateway. Travelling to India, I stayed with Tir Ram and managed, with the help of his wise men, to find my way to Ry'leh. After Azathoth had opened my eyes to the Truth, I willingly returned to Earth to make preparations to open a larger, more permanent connection so that we could spread the Word far and wide.'

'And that's where Maupertuis came on board?' the Doctor asked.

'Indeed. Poor Maupertuis. He was so looking forward to his invasion. We needed him to create a diversion, of course. Once I had determined how to move Azathoth from the city of Kadath in the Cold Wastes to the Plain of Leng where the transfer had to take place, I needed to keep the nearest garrison of Shlangii busy while the gateway was opened and Azathoth escaped to Earth. I knew Maupertuis through the Diogenes, and I knew how bright the flame of glory burned within his breast.'

We were walking up the steps to the big doors now. The caravan loomed overhead, dwarfing everything nearby. It looked like a fitting place for a G.o.d. No, actually it looked like a very big dog kennel, but I'm a sucker for religious architecture. I've dug up so much of it in my time.

'Why did you not convert more innocents to your cult?' Holmes asked. 'Why the subterfuge? Why not spread the Word to Maupertuis, or Warburton, or Tir Ram?'

The door opened to K'tcar'ch's push, and Sherringford stepped forward.

Well, lurched. He wasn't getting the hang of those wings.

'The Mark of Azathoth is not easily hidden, as you can see from Brother K'tcar'ch' he said. 'Azathoth's faithful worshippers would have attracted too much attention to themselves. In order to raise an army to rescue Azathoth from this purgatory, Maupertuis and Warburton had to travel. In Her infinite wisdom, Azathoth decided not to take the risk. I, of course, had little contact with anybody, and could hide whatever physical changes occurred beneath my robes. And besides, the Word is not something that can be explained quickly. Its subtleties and intricacies take time to explain. We did not have time to spare.'

'Vast amounts of physiological and psychological data to transfer,' the Doctor murmured to me as we followed Sherringford into the darkness.

'Even given data compression techniques and broad-band telepathy, it still takes an appreciable time.'

'And why did you steal the books?' Holmes asked as the airlock door closed behind us and embedded itself in some kind of rubber seal.

'Because the Doctor had asked to see them, dear boy. It was apparent that somebody had stumbled on our plans and we had to cover our tracks. I had to act, and act quickly. Once you began to show an interest in the books, Maupertuis's brutal manservant was the perfect choice to steal them.'

'Yes,' the Doctor said, 'that manservant. Did Azathoth have anything to do with the surgery?'

'Oh no,' Sherringford said, rather shocked at the idea. 'That was all Maupertuis's doing. He seemed to enjoy that sort of thing.' He shook his head at the folly of the world. 'Brother K'tcar'ch followed you, of course, to see how far your investigations had progressed, but alas you followed it back to the Library and we were forced to invent a tale to satisfy you. It seemed best to tell you the same story that we had told Maupertuis, with some small modifications.'

The Doctor obviously wanted to ask more, but the inner door opened, revealing a dark, echoing s.p.a.ce, crisscrossed by beams of light from windows high above. In the middle of the s.p.a.ce sat what I can only describe as a big fat slug. A big, fat slug with a mouth that drooled thick strands of black saliva. The stench alone made my eyes water.

'If that's G.o.d,' I said, 'then somebody should shoot Michelangelo.'

I glanced sideways at the Doctor, but he had an odd expression on his face. It looked like disappointment.

Sherringford was on his knees again, with his forehead touching the floor.

Deciding that discretion was better part of valour, I joined him. The Doctor, scowling, followed my example, but I saw him sticking his tongue out as he bent his head.

Something cold and slimy infiltrated itself into my mind. I shook my head violently to try and dislodge it, but I could feel cupboards and drawers being opened and ransacked, and old memories being held up to the light. I tried to turn my attention inwards and fight this thing that was skulking around inside my personality, my me-ness, but it was like trying to catch a rat in the beam of a torch.

It was disgusting. It was rape.

And then it was over. The touch withdrew, leaving a nasty taste in my mind.

'Azathoth!' Sherringford cried, 'all praise!'

The raksha.s.sa repeated the words in its hissing voice.

For a long moment nothing happened, and then Azathoth spoke in a voice as sweet as honey.

'Sherringford, my child... ' it began, 'I am concentrating my energies upon the spiritual plane to ensure our success. You have done well. Disturb me not.'

Sherringford seemed surprised at this abrupt dismissal.

'I have brought you two more worshippers, oh great Azathoth.'

Azathoth seemed to pause, as if it was listening to something.

'Leave them here. I shall deal with them in my own time. You must oversee the preparations for my descent to the surface.'

Sherringford frowned.

'Alone? Unguarded by your faithful?'

Another pause.

'Do you doubt my power?'

Backtracking quickly, he cried, 'No, oh Great One! My concern for you overrides my good sense.'

'I have . . . converted two intruders to the cause,' Azathoth said. 'I shall send them to you. They will serve as my guards.'

I glanced at the Doctor. He looked back with a forboding frown. I knew what he was thinking, and it was bad news.

He glanced across at Sherringford.

'This One True Faith lark,' he said. 'It sounds as if you have something more literal in mind than a quick dip in the holy water.'

'Once you have heard my Word, Doctor,' Azathoth's voice murmured seductively in my mind, 'then your doubts will evaporate like dew in the sunlight, and you will receive my Mark as a sign of my special favour.'

'Hypnosis? Mind control? I was hoping for something a little more impressive than that.'

He turned to me.

'I've spent a thousand years fighting the Great Old Ones and their servants, and this pathetic specimen isn't one of them. It's nothing but a confidence trickster with the power to make people love it: a cosmic cuckoo masquerading as a trans-dimensional power and trading on the reputation of a being far greater than it could ever be. How pathetic.'

'Clutch at whatever straws of explanation you like, Doctor,' Sherringford whispered, 'but you will think differently when you have heard the Word.'

'That,' the Doctor said, 'is what I am afraid of.'

He turned to look at me.

'Imetay otay ogay,' he said, 'When I say the "R" word.. .'

'Message understood.'

'Make sure Holmes comes too.'

I quickly glanced over to where the Great Detective stood. His face showed no expression now, and he seemed to have got stuck in a particular pose.

'He's in shock,' I said. 'Not surprising. I'll try and pull him after us.'

'Run,' the Doctor cried.

I turned, and froze.

Ace was standing behind me. She looked fine, apart from an unnatural hump across her shoulders. Beside her, Watson was holding his hand out to touch my face. The hand was a hard glossy crimson thing veined with black, with fingers that ended in vicious claws.

'Ah, the newcomers to the congregation,' Sherringford hissed. 'I'll leave you in their capable hands.'

Chapter 17.

In which our heroes are finally reunited but their celebrations are suspended for a while. suspended for a while.

A continuation of the reminiscences of John H. Watson, M.D.

There was a long pause after Sherringford Holmes and K'tcar'ch walked out of the caravan and into the airlock. There was an expression of complete and utter resignation on Holmes's face, as if he was trapped in a dream and could not wake up. Bernice's face registered a mixture of horror and betrayal, whilst I could read nothing from the Doctor.

After we heard the outer door to the caravan open and then close again, Ace gazed at the Doctor's rumpled linen suit and battered hat.

'It's Kolchak the bleeding Night Stalker, isn't it?' she said.

A slow smile spread across the Doctor's face.

'I've never known you to be convinced by anybody else,' he said, 'so why should a G.o.d find it any easier?'

'I used to fancy this guy, when I was a kid,' she replied, twisting so that she could pull the bundled-up floater skins from beneath her jacket, the ones that had given the impression of nascent wings. 'But he was one of the happyclappy G.o.d Squad types. Used to take me to church discos on a Sat.u.r.day night. No booze, no fun, and it all finished at half past ten. I've had more fun watching Question Time. Didn't stop him trying it on when he walked me home, though. Anyway, got chatting to the vicar one night, and come closedown I'd thrown so many spanners into his faith that he had to go off to a monastery in the Hebrides for five years to recover. He lives in a squat in Woolwich now, or at least he did the last time I asked. So, don't talk to me about religion.'

Bernice's eyes were darting between Ace and myself now as she tried to work out whether or not we had converted to the cult of Azathoth. I reached out a hand to comfort her, but she recoiled. Cursing my clumsiness, I pulled the raksha.s.sa hand off my own and threw it away. She watched it fall.

'Now I've seen everything,' she said to herself.

'It was Tir Ram's hand,' I said. 'He was in the process of changing into one of those creatures. He tried to explain to us about the cult of Azathoth, but Ace . . . well, she dispatched him, I'm afraid.'

'She what?'

'She killed him.'

Bernice smiled.

'Well, no surprises there.'

'I had to,' Ace interposed, casting a glance over towards the bloated bulk of Azathoth. 'That thing was trying to pa.s.s the Word on to us. I had to distract its attention somehow.'

'Thanks for saving us,' Bernice said. 'It's good to see you again.'

Stepping forward impulsively, she hugged Ace. Surprised, the girl hugged back.

The Doctor looked down at the scarlet object on the floor.

'And what about Mr Ram's hand, then?'

Ace was unrepentant.

'Well he wasn't going to use it any more, was he?'

'Sometimes,' the Doctor mused, 'just sometimes, I hanker for the good old days, when all my companions ever did was scream and ask me stupid questions.'