Doctor Who_ Bunker Soldiers Part 17

'No one has seen him!' exclaimed Rebekah, collapsing into wails of anguish.

'I have tried to approach the rooms from here,' continued Nahum, 'but the fire is too strong. It would devour me in moments.'

I remembered the storeroom I had discovered after my escape from tunnels with one door leading outside and another leading further into the building.

I turned quickly to the soldiers who had accompanied me on the fruitless search for Vasil. 'You know that there are secret tunnels that run through this building and back to the cathedral?'

I asked.

One or two nodded in response.

'Were any of you ordered to search the underground pa.s.sageways?'

One man nodded.

'Did you find a way through to that corridor down there?'

The man looked back at me blankly.

'Think, man!'

He shrugged his shoulders languidly. 'I cannot remember.'

'How do we get to the storeroom?' I queried. 'The one with the doors to the catacombs?'

Again, the man looked at me vacantly.

I could wait no longer. I hurried back through the corridors, not caring if the soldiers were following me or not. I would find the storeroom on my own if I had to.

I burst out of the building, pushing my way through the ragged crowd that had gathered there. I ran as fast as I could towards the small square surrounded by civic buildings that I remembered so keenly from my escape from the labyrinth.

I found the door easily enough, and was grateful beyond words that it hadn't been bolted shut. Beyond was the storeroom, much as I remembered it from before, although some items had been moved, and the floor was further disturbed, which was consistent with the cursory exploration Dmitri had ordered.

The secret entrance to the labyrinth was to my left; the other door, which I had never opened, faced me. I ran to it, then turned at a noise behind me: two of the soldiers had followed me and were nervously stepping down into the chamber.

I reached for the door handle, then withdrew my hand. The metal was hot. This at least meant we were in the right part of the building but it also meant it would not be easy to open the door.

'Quick!' I snapped to the men. 'Bring some rags!'

They rummaged around, sending great plumes of dust spiralling into the air, while I tried desperately to pull my sleeves down over my hands as I scrabbled at the red-hot handle. I was frustrated to be so close and yet so powerless to intervene.

One of the soldiers offered a bundle of linen strips; I wrapped them quickly over my fingers and thumbs, and pulled again at the door.

It seemed not to shift at all; I suspected that the wood had expanded with the heat, and that there was now precious little gap between the big oak planks and the unforgiving flagstones.

I readjusted my makeshift protection against the heat my fingers were screaming in protest, but I gritted my teeth to block the pain and pulled again, bringing my full weight to bear, both hands straining at the handle with as much force as I could muster.

With a shriek, the door opened a crack and one of the guards forced his fingers into the gap, pulling hard.

Another harsh sound of protest, and the gap grew wider, admitting smoke and heat from whatever was beyond.

The gap between the door and wall was now sufficiently large for us to force our way through; I pushed forward, without a word, and found myself in a plain corridor that probably linked the servants' quarters with the kitchens. The stones that formed the floor and walls seemed to glow with heat, for the timbers of the ceiling were ablaze. Great chunks of wood fell like scarlet and orange rain; all the while the conflagration, somewhere over our heads, popped and crackled like animal fat falling into flame.

Through the heat haze I saw a twisted structure at the far end of the corridor, stretching up into the ceiling. I ran to the staircase and ascended it quickly, using my arms for balance but keeping my hands as far from the glowing stone blocks as possible.

As I climbed, I glanced down to see one of the soldiers diligently following me. Though less than three metres in height, the staircase became noticeably cooler as we ascended. It terminated in a simple peaked archway with a heavy curtain of stained brown fabric suspended over it, and I pushed my way through.

I was in a much grander corridor the curtain that covered the archway matched a number of other tapestries and drapes along the walls. One doorway was open, the door itself having caught fire and fallen to the floor. It seemed that a spark had ignited the tinder-dry wooden beams at the far end of the corridor; these flames, in turn, had spread through the floor to the ceiling of the lower pa.s.sageway we had been in moments ago. The fire had also spread to the opposite end of the corridor, where rugs and drapes had created a solid wall of fire. I sensed, rather than heard, voices beyond the flames, and guessed that Nahum and the others were there, trying desperately to peer through the billowing smoke and fire.

The soldier and I ran through the open doorway into the room beyond; I was moving instinctively, and I wondered if the man knew where he was. I pulled the rags from my hands and held them over my mouth, for the air was thick with debris and sparks.

There had once been a table or desk in the room, but this was now little more than a framework of blackened spindles.

Everything else was either invisible beneath tongues of fire, or had already burnt out, surrendering to the heat. Even the window shutters were ablaze. Sc.r.a.ps of burning parchment, lifted by the heat of the flames, drifted around the room like vengeful spirits.

There was a second doorway, a smaller one near the window, and in it I noticed something dark, just extending into the main chamber. I ran towards it, dodging the flames as best I could.

It was the slumped body of a man. I wondered if, in blind panic, he had sought refuge in the smaller room which was less affected by the fire. However, the fumes seemed finally to have got the better of him.

I reached for his clothing and found it warm, but not hot, to touch. The soldier and I turned the man over. It was, as we had hoped, Isaac, his face blackened with smoke and a little dried blood on his lips.

We began to haul him from the room and into the main chamber just as one of the great wooden timbers that supported the ceiling gave way. It fell to the floor, shattering in a shower of golden sparks.

XIV.

Quid sum miser tunc dicturus, quem patronum rogaturus, c.u.m vix justus sit securus?

The Doctor was saddle-sore, thirsty and bored by the unchanging terrain, but most of all he was grateful to be alive.

The Mongol archers had killed the soldiers in seconds, and without compunction. Only Mykola's status as leader of the men and the Doctor's distinctiveness had saved them. The Doctor's expressions of outrage had fallen on deaf ears. The dead men were left where they had fallen, without ceremony or second glance.

The Mongols had indicated that the Doctor and Mykola should remount their horses, and had tethered the ones the men from Kiev had been riding to their own, much smaller mounts.

As soldiers, they cared little for human life, but as hors.e.m.e.n they were not about to abandon any creature.

Soon the archers were joined by other riders wearing tough, folded leather armour and carrying great spears adorned with tribal flags. The trap for that is what it surely was had been efficiently put in place, and now they were returning to the main army with their prisoners. The Doctor wondered how long the expedition from Kiev had been under observation and, indeed, whether the ever-diminishing gap between the Mongol army and Kiev itself was filled with scouts and spies, alert to every individual who came and went.

It was a sobering thought.

They travelled in silence, any attempt at communication being met with a threat of violence. The Doctor tried to watch the path of the sun behind the clouded skies but, even so, he had little idea of when they were captured, or for how long they had travelled.

They heard the Mongol army long before they saw it.

The senior Mongol soldier raised a hand, and the entire group slowed to a halt. They were atop a lush hillside, looking down over the dry, wide valley through which the Mongol army was moving.

The Doctor had seen many great and terrifying sights in his time, but this ma.s.sed movement of men was amongst the most awesome.

It was impossible to even estimate the number of men and horses that moved implacably across the terrain. There were thousands of soldiers, their horses throwing up a cloud of smoke that obscured still more. It was, from this distance, an army of ants in a haze of its own creation and, though the Doctor could just make out the start of the ma.s.sed procession far over to his left, to his right the Mongols simply faded into the horizon.

At the head of the great horde he could just perceive soldiers riding in orderly ranks, the flags of the various clans visible as intermittent splashes of blue and red amongst the ma.s.sed brown of armour and horse. Then came great swathes of packhorses, weighed down by equipment and spare weaponry, and then the artillery literally hundreds of enormous, wheeled catapults and ballista. The great wooden machines rumbled forward like tanks, and were followed by a secondary army of reserve soldiers boys in training and foreign conscripts, the Doctor suspected.

Towards the rear were numerous wagons and camels carrying further supplies and supporting equipment. And, on the periphery of even the Doctor's keen vision, came hundreds of flocks of goats and sheep. Truly this was an army prepared for everything, including the longest of campaigns. It was as if an entire country had upped sticks and moved en ma.s.se en ma.s.se to invade another. The Doctor knew from his reading of Earth history that this wasn't too far from the truth. to invade another. The Doctor knew from his reading of Earth history that this wasn't too far from the truth.

If the intention of this first sight of the Mongol army was to intimidate, it certainly succeeded. The Doctor glanced sideways at Mykola, and saw that he was pale and very nearly shaking with fear.

The leader of their Mongol captors flicked the reins of his horse, and as one the group swept down into the valley. The Doctor wondered how anyone was expected to find their way through the various groups and subgroupings of the army, but the man seemed to know exactly where he was heading. The Doctor also wondered about the chain of command when was the order to stop issued, and how long would it take to reach the herdsmen many miles to the rear?

The ma.s.sed ranks of soldiers were as impressive close up as they were from a distance, each face a picture of studied discipline and concentration. The noise, however, was almost deafening, and the Doctor was amazed that the Mongols put up with it.

Barely a word pa.s.sed between the scouting party and the surrounding men. Instead, the group's horses soon settled into the brisk trot of those that surrounded them. It was as if the Doctor and Mykola had been swallowed whole by the Mongol army.

Again the Doctor tried to establish dialogue with the Mongols, pleading for an audience with their leader, but his words continued to fall on deaf ears. There was nothing for it but to settle once again into the rhythm of the horses, to think longingly of whatever food and drink might be offered to them when they finally stopped and to remember the casual slaughter of the Russian soldiers.

When the sun touched the horizon the great army at last came to rest. A Mongol soldier offered a hand to help the Doctor dismount, for which he was grateful. He spent a few moments walking up and down, trying to ease a mult.i.tude of aches and pains from his body. 'I'm far too old for this sort of thing,' he muttered, catching the soldier's eye.

The Mongol said nothing in reply, but grinned happily.

'I do not believe what I am seeing.'

The Doctor turned to find Mykola at his side. The young captain looked only a little less pale than when they had first seen the Mongol hordes stretched out like a blanket over the valley floor.

The Doctor was silent, unable to come up with any words that would not compound Mykola's pessimism.

Moments later, the air rang to the sound of a single horseman galloping at speed towards them. The dust cleared to reveal a tall, slender man atop a great white horse. His robes, and the turban of sorts that he wore, were pale cream and a curved sword rested in his lap.

He did not dismount, but nodded respectfully towards the Doctor and Mykola. When he spoke his voice was dignified but bland, seeming to contain every accent in the world, and none at all.

'Prince Mongke cousin of Batu Khan, leader of the Mongol army on behalf of the Great Khan Ogedei, the power of G.o.d on Earth and Emperor of Mankind wishes to see you.'

After another ride across the valley, the Doctor found himself standing before an enormous tent of such grace and beauty it was difficult to believe that, somehow, it was portable. Great swathes of silk and cotton formed porticoes, doorways and myriad chambers; flags fluttered from spike-topped spears; rugs and carpets covered the ground. Mongol soldiers stood at each entrance; women went in and out with bowls and pitchers.

The Doctor turned to their escort, extending a hand in greeting. 'I am the Doctor,' he said. 'We haven't been properly introduced.'

'I am Abd N-Nun Ayyub,' said the man, gripping his hand tightly. 'I am an interpreter in the court of Ogedei Khan.'

'You speak many languages?' queried the Doctor.

'All that are known to the Mongol Empire.' He turned an inquiring eye towards Mykola.

'Mykola, a brave soldier of Kiev,' said the Doctor, for Mykola himself seemed barely able to speak.

'You are a traveller?' queried Abd N-Nun Ayyub.

The Doctor nodded. 'My home is very far away.'

'Then we have one thing in common,' said Abd N-Nun Ayyub with a smile. 'Come, let us meet the lord Mongke.'

The Doctor stepped into a tented corridor, with Mykola following nervously behind. The fabric walls billowed gently in the wind, glowing an organic orange with the light of the setting sun. Tiny lanterns hung like twinkling fruit from the poles that formed the structure.

Beyond the corridor was a great room, brightly lit and pleasantly warm. Tapestries from myriad cultures hung on the walls, trophies won in battle and offered in meek surrender. The entire floor was covered with layer upon layer of fine carpets and rugs held down by fine gilt-encrusted statues of G.o.ds and monsters. It was, the Doctor considered, at least the equal of anything he had seen in Kiev and they were thousands of miles from the Mongol capital.

At the far end of the room, on a commander's stool that better resembled a kingly throne, sat Mongke Khan. In common with most of his people, he was not a tall man, but his broad features, dominated by piercing dark eyes, exuded a haughty authority. His moustache was neatly trimmed, but his thin beard spread in disarray over his white kimono-like robes. He held his hands in his lap, like some religious thinker, though his strong leather boots and the sheathed and curved sword at his side spoke eloquently of his true nature.

'Mongke greets you on behalf of the Great Khan of G.o.d,'

Mongke said in a surprisingly quiet voice.

The Doctor bowed. 'I stand before you as a friend and servant of the people of Kiev.'

Mongke turned his attention to Mykola. 'And you?'

'A soldier,' the young man said simply.

'The captain of the Russian party,' interjected Abd N-Nun Ayyub.

'The Russians fought bravely?' queried Mongke.

'I believe it was over in the blink of an eye,' said Abd N-Nun Ayyub.

'The Mongol army is truly one of the most awesome military units I have ever witnessed,' said the Doctor. 'The legacy of Genghis lives on.'

Mongke's thin lips twisted into a smile. 'The punishment of G.o.d continues to roll out of the east. There is still much work to do.' For a moment, his hand rested on the banners of yak hair that surrounded the throne. 'We shall not rest until the nine tails stand proud over every city of Europe.'

'Every city quakes before your might,' said the Doctor.

'Then perhaps we will have little need for battle,' said Mongke.

'That is the hope of millions,' the Doctor agreed.

'I notice,' said Mongke, cutting through any attempt on the Doctor's part to build on these encouraging words, 'that you call us Mongols. I had thought that the people of Europe abuse us as "Tartars".'

'My knowledge is sketchy,' said the Doctor, 'but I know that there were once two tribes, the Tartars and the Mongols. And that you wiped out the Tartars.'

'But the name persists,' said Mongke. 'Though some call us the Mogogoli Mogogoli, the sons of the great giant Magog.'

'You are well informed.'