Doctor Who_ Castrovalva Part 7

They looked hungry, these savages, and the Doctor saw an awful ambiguity in this invitation to dinner.

The mysteriously sober figure in the midst of all that tribal splendour eyed the Doctor across the large oak table.

The gaze was sharp and intelligent, though not especially friendly, and the Doctor found nothing particularly rea.s.suring about it.

The warrior whose name was Mergrave spoke from behind his mask. 'We should inform the Portreeve of our unusual catch.'

The sober figure nodded. 'That has been done. But not his purpose here. May one know that?'

'He says he doesn't know who he is, or why he has come,' said Mergrave. The besuited man learned across the table towards the Doctor. 'I admire an individual with an open mind. My own, I fear, is closed upon the opinion that I am Shardovan.' The elegantly cuffed hand extended itself across the table towards the Doctor, who shook it automatically. 'I have the honour to be Librarian to the Dwellings of Castrovalva.'

The Doctor's eyes sharpened. 'Librarian? Books and stuff?'

Shardovan smiled wanly. 'Books are the princ.i.p.al business of a library, sir.'

'Then you read?' the Doctor remarked, turning to take in all the warriors. 'You all read?'

The general amus.e.m.e.nt at the Doctor's surprise broke up as a crowd of bustling women arrived on the scene.

Some came forward with food to set on the table, while others helped divest Mergrave, Ruther and the other warriors of their ferocious outer wrappings. Soon, to the Doctor's added astonishment, they stood in front of him without masks, in clothes as conventional as those of the Librarian.

The hunt leader had been transformed into a jovial, balding gentleman who without the added elevation of the tall mask, turned out to be rather on the short side. He introduced himself as Mergrave, and continued. 'We read too much, in my opinion. There is in this town of Castrovalva, sir, a general dedication to bodily inertia that quite defies description.'

The continued efforts of the women had by this time covered the table with the makings of a sizeable banquet.

The mysterious burden the huntsmen had carried all the way up from the woods proved to be a wild pig of enormous proportions, and this delicious prize was set up to barbecue on the rotating spit over the fire. Warming at a more comfortable distance in its flames and cooled by a fine mist that wafted occasionally from the fountain, the Doctor sat back in his chair smiling. 'Castrovalva. Yes... I remember now. The place to rest...'

The warrior called Ruther had by now removed his own mask to reveal the mildly myopic expression of a man who might be a bank clerk. 'And rest you shall, sir. Some refreshment, and then we must show you to your quarters.'

He reached out for a goblet that had been put before the Doctor and filled it from a jug. Ruther raised his gla.s.s in a toast, which the Doctor was about to return when he spotted a jar of fresh celery that had just been put down in the middle of the table. He tweaked out a stick, tapped Ruther's gla.s.s with it, and sank his teeth into it with a satisfying crunch.

'Definitely civilisation,' said the Doctor with a broad smile of satisfaction.

8.

The Dark Reflection After a few more sticks of celery the Doctor's appet.i.te was satisfied, although the preparations for the meal were still to be completed. The rotating pig had begun to take on a crisp brown colour, wafting succulent smells over to the table where they sat. But the Gallifreyan temperament tends to see the world from the other person's point of view: the Castrovalvans were looking forward to their feast, as well they might after all the hard work they had put into it, but the Doctor's natural sympathies lay with the pig, which was not coming out of this at all well.

Reluctant to offend his hosts he told them with perfect truth that he was feeling very tired. Mergrave tapped his nose in a knowing way, and jumped up, saying he had just the thing for the occasion. The Doctor chewed one more stick of celery, in order not to disappear in too much haste, then he allowed Ruther to conduct him to the quarters that were already being prepared for him.

Shardovan came with them, and as they mounted the steps that led up to a terrace of small dwelling places replied to a question the Doctor had put to him earlier. 'I understand your natural puzzlement in the matter of our outdoor garments. The cause of all this is Mergrave, sir. He has devised a religion he calls "Exercise".'

'In pursuit of which belief,' added Ruther, 'he drives us to hunt animals in the Wilds beyond the Walls.'

The Doctor nodded. 'The hunt! Yes.' Some of the history of his arrival there was coming back to him. He remembered white rocks and blood, but when he tried to think back beyond that time there was only an uneasy nothingness. He turned to Shardovan. 'You weren't at the hunt.'

'Alas, no,' said Shardovan, in a sardonic tone that conveyed no particular trace of regret. They had reached an arched porch, and now Shardovan turned the handle of a door that opened into a pleasant stone-walled room lit by a single lantern.

Mergrave was already in the room, mixing a gla.s.s of liquid. As they entered, Ruther settled himself in a chair, and said good-humouredly: 'Shardovan was detained by being longer in the body than the available habiliments could match.'

'The garments with which we stir our courage to the hunt,' explained Shardovan, 'are relics of our ancestors. A smaller breed of men, who, as I believe, wore down their stature with too much hunting. You will notice that I am tall.'

'I suppose that's why they made you Librarian,'

suggested the Doctor, 'reaching down books from the top shelf.'

The Castrovalvans enjoyed this remark, although the Doctor in his confused state of mind had meant the observation seriously. Mergrave, seeming satisfied with the results of his alchemy, handed the gla.s.s to the Doctor. 'A mild medicament distilled from herbs, sir, to aid in the further recovery of your wits.'

At the word 'medicament' the hand that was reaching for the gla.s.s paused in mid-air. 'You're a Doctor?'

Mergrave acknowledged with a bow of the head. 'A Master of Physic, yes.'

'Not, I suppose, the Doctor,' their visitor enquired, with special emphasis on the word 'the'. 'I've come here to find him... I think.'

The three Castrovalvans conferred together, then Ruther turned to the Doctor. 'It must be the Portreeve the Stranger is in search of.' Shardovan seconded this idea.

'The Portreeve, certainly. No one of us else is of the least importance.'

The Doctor remembered the word. 'Portreeve? A sort of Magistrate.'

'A man of the greatest wisdom,' said Shardovan. 'He reads thoroughly the books I merely rearrange.' The Librarian noticed the Doctor's glance towards the neat white bed, and added quickly: 'Yes, you must sleep, sir.

You must feast with us another day.' The three gentlemen of Castrovalva made for the door and after cordial goodnights left the Doctor alone.

Or so at first it seemed. The Doctor had not yet tasted the medicine Mergrave had prepared for him, but as he held the gla.s.s up to the light and studied it with curiosity, he was startled by a new voice, firm-toned but elderly.

'Drink, my friend. It is a simple concoction of herbs to promote healing sleep.' From behind the arras stepped a bent-backed old man, walking with a stick. Judging by as much of his ruddy complexion as could be seen above his handsome full white beard, he appeared very healthy for his advanced years. 'His father was physician to me, man and boy, and I think I'm testimony enough.'

The Doctor instinctively knew who he was. 'The Portreeve, I presume.'

The old man bowed his head in acknowledgement. 'I see I startled you. Forgive the indirectness of my entrance. I did not wish to advertise my presence to the others. It's past my bedtime, and if they knew I was abroad, they would press me to this feast. For me, as for you, sir, sleep is sometimes better nourishment than good red meat. And, I fear, as rare.'

The Doctor responded to the Portreeve's good-natured laugh, but on being asked his name the Doctor looked puzzled, as if the question contained words beyond his vocabulary. 'I think you do not remember,' the old man concluded, gesturing to the Doctor to drink up. 'No matter, sir. You will very soon find the Doctor.'

'You overheard?'

'No, I've become too deaf of late to listen at doors,' The Portreeve smiled, adding: 'I fear my reputation for wisdom will soon be lost. Between ourselves, the gentle people of Castrovalva are too generous with their approbation. I am a man of small talent. I have... a device at my disposal. An instrument.'

The Doctor raised an eyebrow. 'Technology? Here?'

'The simplest of devices,' the Portreeve told him. 'When you breakfast with me tomorrow you shall see the source of what my friends are pleased to call my "great wisdom".

Now, sleep sir.'

The Doctor was already yawning uncontrollably. He leaned back on the bed, unable to keep his eyes open. 'It has been a long journey. Tell me, Portreeve, off the record... Will I find the Doctor here?'

The old man blew out the lantern and silently unlatched the door. 'Oh yes, Doctor. Very soon. Goodnight, Doctor.'

The door closed quietly, and the owner of the gentle old voice was gone.

But his final words seemed to remain behind, whispering around the white walls. The Doctor slowly opened his eyes. 'Doctor?' he muttered to himself. But it hurt his head to think, so he shut his eyes again, dismissing the idea.

The moon came and went behind the clouds, teasing them with glimpses of the white walls of Castrovalva above.

Tegan stretched down an arm and helped Nyssa clamber up onto the narrow ledge she had barely been able to reach herself, so few were the handholds at this height. The two girls wedged themselves against the cliff wall to rest for a moment and shelter from the biting wind as best they could.

In her state of exhaustion Nyssa was filled with doubts about everything. 'Perhaps we should have told him about Adric,' she said. She meant the Doctor of course; he was constantly in their thoughts.

'Dangerous,' said Tegan. After the long climb the rock behind her back seemed to be reeling drunkenly, trying to tip her into the abyss below. She dug in her heels and braced herself against the imagined motion. When she had got her breath back she said: 'You know the Doctor. He would have dropped everything and gone after him.'

'There might have been a chance. But now... Anything might have happened to him...' Nyssa tailed off. Something made a rustling sound above them, and then came snaking down, swinging only a few feet from where they were crouched. The moon came out again, and the girls blinked in disbelief.

It was a rope ladder.

When the Portreeve had closed the door softly on the Doctor, he had gone to stand for a while on the flight of steps overlooking the central square. Below him the preparations for the feast were going forward, but he kept to the shadows, preferring to remain un.o.bserved by the bustle of people around the table by the fountain. As he watched, sharing the Castrovalvans' antic.i.p.ation of the feast, a look of modest, yet almost possessive, pride came over him.

Shardovan and Mergrave were crossing the square immediately below him, and he slipped back behind a column to avoid being seen. Over the chatter and clatter of plates their voices drifted up to him.

'More strangers have arrived, Shardovan...' Mergrave was saying. 'They scaled the walls.'

'A new sport to replace hunting?' remarked the Librarian, in his most supercilious voice. 'Who are these Supermen?'

'Not Supermen. You will scarcely believe this, Shardovan. They're...' Then the amiable alchemist became quite agitated. 'They're coming... They're here. I must tell the Portreeve.'

The two girls entering the square with Ruther caused quite a stir among the Castrovalvan women, who stopped in the middle of their fetching and carrying and began to point and gossip among themselves. Shardovan's mouth fell open, astonished to discover that these were the 'Supermen'.

The strident Australian voice of Tegan topped everything. 'I demand to see the Doctor! We know he's here.'

'We saw him brought in,' Nyssa added rather more politely.

'The Doctor?' echoed Ruther, blinking in his agitation.

'This is most strange. The other visitor told us the same thing.'

Nyssa leaped on the phrase. 'Other visitor?' She turned excitedly to Tegan. 'Of course, they don't know him as the Doctor. He's lost his ident.i.ty.'

'I demand to see him whoever they think he is,' Tegan repeated. She stared at the Castrovalvan women, who had completely abandoned their tasks and were pressing in around her. 'Get that?'

Ruther glanced across at Shardovan, who nodded his approval. Shooing the gossiping women back to their work, Ruther conducted the girls with the greatest deference towards the steps that led up to the Doctor's quarters.

Mergrave was moving to join them, but Shardovan plucked him by the sleeve. 'We will not disturb the Portreeve with this news. Old men need their sleep.'

The Portreeve melted into the inky shadows behind the pillars as Nyssa, Tegan and their Castrovalvan escorts pa.s.sed him. When they had gone he stepped back into the moonlight and leaned on his stick, looking down at Shardovan.

The Librarian turned, sensing his presence on the terrace behind him. 'Some old men seldom sleep, Shardovan,' said the Portreeve gently. Shardovan raised his eyes to meet the old man's challenge, and for a moment they looked at each other. There was no affection in the gaze, only resentment at the powerful bond between them.

A wedge of light from Mergrave's lantern swept over the neat white bed as the door to the room opened slowly. So profound was his sleep that the Doctor did not stir, and Tegan and Nyssa, hanging back at the door, did not dare wake him.

'Is he all right?' whispered Nyssa.

Mergrave beamed at her. 'Tomorrow his wits will be recovered.'

They stood for a moment, watching the gentle rise and fall of his breathing. 'We'll tell him tomorrow,' Nyssa said.

Tegan wasn't so sure. 'He's still not strong.'

'We must. We have to think of Adric too. I know hardly anything about telebiogenesis. If only there were some books here.'

They went out, drawing the door shut behind them. As it closed, a shadowy figure standing behind it stepped out into the room. On the bed the Doctor stirred, his sleep troubled The intruder unlatched the door and opened it a fraction to watch the girls retreating down the corridor. A sliver of light fell onto his round young face-a face the girls would have recognised as Adric.

Their climb had exhausted them, and they slept dreamlessly. Nyssa woke next day surprised to find herself completely refreshed, although it was still early. She crept quietly to the window to avoid disturbing Tegan, and looked down into the square.

Below her Castrovalva lay open to the sparkling dawn light, and she could see at once why the textbooks called it the Dwellings of Simplicity. The terraces and steps that led up to the houses all had an inviting neatness about them, like a toy village laid out carefully on a table.

Simple the town might be, but there was nothing drably uniform about it. The buildings surrounding the square were a fascinating mixture of styles, with the eye forever being led into friendly courtyards and alleys, through Roman arches and up the many winding flights of steps.

By the fountain women were clearing away the remains of the feast. Drawn by the fresh morning smell breezing in through the open window, Nyssa could wait no longer. She cast a glance at her companion, decided to leave her to her well-earned sleep, and tiptoed to the door.

She was on her way down the steps when she saw two of the Castrovalvan men disappear behind a colonnade carrying something she thought she recognised. She ran after them, but when she got to the spot it was deserted.

Then through the honeysuckle that filligreed the pillars she noticed the two men on one of the higher terraces, and the Zero Cabinet they carried between them was clearly visible.

She ran after them, but she chose the wrong flight of steps. When she eventually caught up with them-the geography of the town was more confusing than she had thought-she called out: 'Wait! That belongs to the Doctor.'

The sun had risen above the roof-tops, and was stealing into the neat white room where the Doctor was still fast asleep when Nyssa opened the door. She beckoned to the two Castrovalvans to follow her, indicated where they should put down the Zero Cabinet, then thanked them quietly and ushered them out.

The Doctor looked so peaceful that she wondered whether to wake him. Then, just as she had decided to let him sleep on, she caught sight of something that almost made her cry out. A big swivel mirror stood beside the dressing table, and in it she saw a dark reflection she knew almost as well as her own.

'Adric!'