Doctor Who_ Placebo Effect Part 7

Secretary Aigburth waited to be told likewise, but was disappointed. He coughed.

'Yes,' snapped the d.u.c.h.ess. 'What is wrong, my Lord Aigburth? A chill, perhaps? You cough a lot these days.'

'My apologies,' the Secretary said softly.'I did not mean to cause offence.'

She regarded him with a raised eyebrow, her head juddering slightly.

Ethelredd could not take his eyes off the ridiculous hair. Since when did Royal Family members, divorced or otherwise, take to following the fashions of the music or holovid stars?

'Oh, do sit down, you silly man,' the d.u.c.h.ess snapped. 'You look like a...

like a... a hatstand!' She clapped her hands together.'Yes, a hatstand.'

'Indeed,' toadied Torin.

The d.u.c.h.ess smiled. Secretary Aigburth offered the sort of rictus grin normally seen only on corpses, and sat down.

Torin leaned forward, breaking all protocol by invading the d.u.c.h.ess's personal s.p.a.ce. She did not seem to mind, and Aigburth clearly wasn't going to risk another insult, feeble as it might be, by correcting him.

'You know,Your Highness, as I was saying last night, you have to be careful. I do hope your entourage is sufficiently well equipped to protect you. These offworlds can be very dangerous, you know. I can remember when you needed real men to protect you on these little backwaters. Not just a few nonces in frilly lace sleeves and Regency jackets.'

'Really? Do tell.' The d.u.c.h.ess smiled at her favourite storyteller.

Ethelredd merely flicked an imaginary mote of dust off his red and white Regency jacket.

'You know,' said a camp voice in his ear, 'I have never felt more like starting a republic than I do now.'

Ethelredd shrugged. 'Well, Counsellor De'Ath, there are still the young twin princes. Hope for the future.'

'Dear G.o.d,' tutted De'Ath.'May we be preserved from those two little brats.

The gene pool had a leak when they were conceived.

I mean, her and Prince Artie... they're only one step up from frog sp.a.w.n.'

Ethelredd was going to reply when he realised what Torin Chalfont was saying to the d.u.c.h.ess.

'I mean, we've suspected back in the office for ages. There are all sorts of rumours,Your Highness. They say even your... well, ex-husband's family could be involved. And we cannot trust the SSS. I mean, you must be on your guard. If they do attempt to... well, you know...'

'Kill me?'

'a.s.sa.s.sinate you, I think the parlance is,' the reporter said. 'Arrange a little accident. I mean, there were those back at the office who warned me."You're taking a risk, Tolly," they said/That ship could go up in smoke between planets and no one would be able to find the black box, would they?" But I couldn't let my favourite royal down, could I?'

The d.u.c.h.ess put her fingers to her lips in horror.'Kill? Me? Poor little moi?

But why would anyone do that? I'm so harmless.'

Ethelredd could think of a few million taxpayers who would probably delight in seeing the d.u.c.h.ess's remains floating in s.p.a.ce, and as many again who would pay to see Torin Chalfont's corpse beside her, but the last thing he needed was Her Royal Battiness getting paranoid.

'I think, Mr Chalfont, that is a ridiculous and rather unpleasant thing to say.'

Ethelredd crossed the dining room until he stood between them. 'First, Her Highness is under our protection. And second, I don't think the Palace would take kindly to your gossipmongering. Least of all when you paint Her Majesty Queen Bodicha as some kind of murderess. I think this conversation ought to be saved for another time - preferably never - as Her Highness needs to prepare herself to meet the harbour workers on our arrival.'

Torin began to try to stare Ethelredd down, but quickly realised he was wasting his time.

'Yes, well, whatever.' He put his hand on the d.u.c.h.ess's arm once again.'Must get ready to meet the proletariat, I suppose. Greet the great unwashed, eh?'

The d.u.c.h.ess let out a shrill, girlish laugh. 'Oh, Mr Chalfont, you are so sweet,' she added, and then leaned back, tapping Ethelredd's hand.

He bent down and she whispered into his ear, 'What's a prol -prolet - whatever he said?' rather too loudly, so that everyone could hear anyway.

'Your devoted public, Your Highness. The good people of the Galactic Federation.'

The d.u.c.h.ess nodded.'Well, naturally we will greet them. That is why one is here, is it not, Lord Consort?'

Ethelredd agreed with the d.u.c.h.ess, then threw a quick look to Gar, who marched over and, without a word, eased Torin out of his seat and towards the door.

The reporter managed to hold back momentarily.

'A delightful dress, Your Highness. And such an honour to be amongst the first to see it worn so splendidly...' If Torin Chalfont said any more, it was through the soundproofed dining-room door. With any luck, Gar would forget his training and pull Torin's head off. But that was sadly unlikely. The V'orrn were too well disciplined for that.

'How awful. To think anyone in my own family could hate me so much they'd want to kill me.' The d.u.c.h.ess was sagging in her seat, looking faint.

Edyth and Cait were flapping lace handkerchiefs at her face.

The d.u.c.h.ess grabbed Ethelredd's arm. 'My Lord Consort, you'll protect me, won't you?'

'With my life,Your Highness.'

As he returned to his position by the food replicator, De'Ath pursed his oversized lips and wobbled his head. 'Well, I hope for her sake it doesn't come to that. I can just see you skipping lightly to one side at the last moment, throwing up your hands and saying, "Oh, whoops, they shot the d.u.c.h.ess."

Ethelredd merely smiled back. 'Just remember, Lord Counsellor, that to get to me before her, they'll already have gone through you.'

Startled by this untimely reminder of his own duties, De'Ath silently minced back to the d.u.c.h.ess, offering his own, equally insincere plat.i.tudes, but delivered with his usual style so that the d.u.c.h.ess couldn't see through them.

Ethelredd realised that the end of the games, only three weeks away, seemed like an eternity. Or a life sentence.

'Coordinator Sumner, there has been a murder. A Foamasi.' Madox punched more keys on his datapad. 'Oh, and the d.u.c.h.ess of Auckland's ship has landed: Sumner wanted to run away, screaming, leaving reams of paper and astonished secretaries in his wake. Sadly, he knew this would be pointless - paper was scarce enough this far away from Earth; the secretaries were all Teknix (enough said); and, above all, he'd soon be dragged back to his desk by well-meaning friends. And his wife (who, no doubt, would have singed him all over just by shouting at him).

Instead, he nodded at Madox as if this were the sort of news he received every day and poked at his executive toys, letting the distraction of one silver ball hitting another amuse him for a few seconds. 'Who was the Foamasi? Government by any chance?' That, at least, would have been neat and tidy. A quick apology to the Foamasi Temple, a shipping over of the body and the whole thing wrapped up.

'No ID at all, I'm afraid, Coordinator. Probably one of the Lodges.' Madox waited patiently for orders. If Sumner said nothing between now and home time, Madox would probably stand there. Patiently. All b.l.o.o.d.y afternoon.

Teknix were like that -annoying but efficient. Where was the cruel hand of fete that had decided he should have to have Teknix working for him?

'Right. Get the body to the SSS building and tell someone over there to deal with it. I'll go and check on the reception suite for the d.u.c.h.ess.'

'Already checked, sir. It looks immaculate, if I may be so bold.'

Of course it's b.l.o.o.d.y immaculate, you bald git. Your b.l.o.o.d.y chums made it so. No Teknix in the universe would have left the room until it was immaculate. There won't be a thread out of place, a paper napkin misfolded or a fork slightly skew-whiff. Just once, why can't you drop red wine on the carpet, or pee slightly to the left of the urinal and hit the floor, or... or...

anything but be so d.a.m.n perfect?

Sumner just smiled up at Madox, hoping to goodness that his face betrayed none of these less than charitable thoughts. "Thank you, Madox. Shall we go and greet Her Highness?'

Madox bowed slightly and followed Coordinator Sumner from his office, pausing briefly to speak to a female Teknix who nodded at him and walked away.

Sam ran out the church before anyone else, handfuls of rice subst.i.tute ready to chuck over the bride and groom. A couple of others followed suit - and, although none of them knew Stacy or Ssard, the fact that they were joining in with the tradition pleased Sam enormously.

Sure enough, the bridal party followed by the happy couple emerged and were showered with rice from every angle.

Stacy laughed as Ssard breathed half of it in, and Sam saw the Doctor wink at her and toss something through the air. Sam caught it and realised it was an Olympus camera. She took a few pictures hurriedly, a.s.suming that despite its archaic outward appearance, like its owner, internally it was probably automatically focused, took great pictures and never broke down.

Not much like its owner at all, really, but who cared? It was a happy day.

Stacy and her parents were all hugging each other and Stacy threw her bouquet over her shoulder. It was caught by Frankie the Pakhar tailor, who shrugged and started nibbling at the flowers, amid much cheering.

The Doctor was suddenly beside Sam.

'Trouble,' he hissed, keeping a happy, beaming face directed at the newly-weds.

Sam was immediately tense and looked away from the church, into the crowd gathered outside the small fence that enclosed them - half a dozen cl.u.s.ters of people, mostly cheering or clapping, from a variety of races, ninety per cent of which Sam wouldn't have been able to describe, let alone recognise.

'Where?'

'Nine o'clock.'

She looked to her left immediately and saw in the crowd four or five black-clad figures, all wearing long robes, b.u.t.toned at the collars. One of them had a white collar under his, and all wore wide-brimmed hats and dark gla.s.ses. She immediately recognised them as Clerics.

'You're frightened of a vicars' convention?'

'No. Just the two that are coming through from inside the church, when they weren't inside for the ceremony. That and the fact they've got large bags which could contain bombs.'

Sam stared at the two black-clad vicars the Doctor had indicated. She was still trying to shake the almost comical notion of a preacher with a five-pound Dalekanium bomb when, sure enough, the two newcomers took something from their bags.

'Everyone down!'yelled the Doctor.

Experienced as they were, Stacy and Ssard hit the ground instantly, the Martian using his own body to cover Stacy's parents as he yanked them over with him. The two Equinoids nudged into Frankie, flattening him, and most of the congregation looked around alarmed.

Three of them were immediately pelted, not with bombs, but with dye or paint. Shrieking and panicking, the crowd ran around. Outside the fence, the rest of the clergy did the same, apart - Sam noticed - from one, who stood, arms behind his back, observing everything.

Stacy was up, realising that no one's life was threatened, and before anyone could stop her slammed a very perfectly aimed kick into the shin of the nearest clergyman. He went down soundlessly, but this caused the others to swarm in, throwing their paint bombs at anything and everything.

A huge bag of blue dye caught Sam on her shoulder, soaking her cheek as well. Reacting automatically, she lashed out with her arm, catching a young clergyman on the chin with a crack. He fell motionless on to the gra.s.s.

'Stop!'

Everyone stopped.

The Doctor stood right at the centre of everything, not a spot of paint on his clothes, not one hair out of place. Quietly, he turned and looked straight at the clergyman who had not taken part in the attack.

Slowly the man walked through the gate and into the now multicoloured garden. He was a little shorter than the Doctor but carried himself with the same authoritarian air.

No one spoke for a moment as the two men watched each other.

Eventually, the Doctor broke the silence. 'Good afternoon. Would you care to explain this?'

'It is afternoon, I grant you,' replied the newcomer in a soft, well-mannered voice. 'It is not good. In the eyes of the G.o.ddess, this union is anything but good. It is unholy.'

Sam watched as Stacy began to splutter indignantly, but a flick of the Doctor's wrist quietened her. How quickly we all come to obey him, Sam thought.

'Unholy? In what way,Reverend...?'

'Lukas.' The Reverend removed his hat, revealing his cropped grey hair, and bowed slightly to the Doctor. 'Unholy because matrimony between alien species is unnatural. Over the last twenty thousand years, the human race has degenerated into a mora.s.s of corruption, decay and immorality.

To allow this wedding to take place without a reminder that it is against the wishes of the G.o.ddess, who has overseen our race since the dawn of time, would be unforgivably remiss of the Church of the Way Forward.'

'Way Back more like,' Sam muttered quietly.

'Not at all. Reverend Lukas is taking us forward, to a purity of life and soul that the corruption of the modern galaxy cannot despoil.'

Sam looked at the young man she had accidentally thumped a few moments before. He was nursing a red mark on his chin, but stared straight ahead at his leader.

Enraptured, Sam thought. Completely committed. Which they should be.

She gave a final look at the young man and walked away, towards Stacy, who was helping her parents up from under Ssard.

'Our point has been made. We are not legally empowered to stop this wedding, but we are within our democratic rights to protest in a non-violent manner.' Reverend Lukas clicked his fingers and his group were at his side in a moment.

Sam moved to the Doctor's, just in case a kids-in-the-playground sort of fight started. She felt her heart rising in her chest.

Then pushing through the crowd towards them, came a man and woman.

He was human, late fifties, in need of a few sessions at the gym to get rid of the waistline. She was slim, immaculately dressed, with a lime-green flesh tone, solid black eyes and long black hair. Both were splattered with the various dyes Lukas's gang had lobbed about.

The man stood in front of Reverend Lukas. 'Reverend Lukas? Church of the Way Forward?'

The greenish woman was tapping on her datapad, and whispered in the human's ear. He nodded.

'Staying at the Mirage? Delta Sector, I gather.'

Reverend Lukas nodded politely. 'And you are?'

'Chase Carrington. I own that hotel. I own this church you have just...