Doctor Who_ The Room With No Doors Part 21

Toshi was a lot bigger than the little town where he and Chiyono had bought the horses. Most of the people were what Chris guessed were middle-cla.s.s craftspeople, bureaucrats, merchants. There was the occasional peasant, but he didn't see any samurai. He guessed they were all off at the war.

The blacksmith's store was a wide, tidy s.p.a.ce. The blacksmith himself was a portly, white-bearded old man, quite well-off, judging from his clothes. What was he called again? O-Kajiya. The Doctor had said they were in luck the man was an expert swordmaker, a genius when it came to metal. Better still, he had a cart for rent.

'Yeah, but what does he know about alien pods?' Chris had asked. 'What if it's a nuclear bomb?'

'If it's a nuclear bomb,' said the Doctor, 'which it isn't, it won't make any difference whether it goes off in the stable at our inn or at the blacksmith's shop.' He drummed his fingers against his chin. 'Besides, I don't want it with us, in case the samurai catch up with us.'

Chris had shrugged. If the pod was really important like, world-destroying or history-changing they'd already know. But it wasn't. On a cosmic scale of things, they were chasing around after a bit of insignificant s.p.a.ce junk. The world wasn't going to end nothing important was happening to him or the Doctor.

People had already died because of that piece Of junk, he reminded himself, as he walked up to the blacksmith's shop. He sighed. The whole thing was so stupid stupid.

The blacksmith and two a.s.sistants were buzzing around the pod, which was lying in the cart. They'd done a great job, loosening and chiselling away the fused soil, even polishing the metal of the outside. It looked like a brand-new, er, whatever it was.

They bowed low when they saw him. Chris returned the bow, feeling guilty, 126 partly because he was a fake samurai and partly because he didn't know how much danger they were in from the pod.

Of course, if the Doctor thought the thing was dangerous, he would never have left it with them, and it had been pretty inert for a while. . . On the other hand, there were the people who wanted the pod. . .

Samurai-san,' the blacksmith was saying, 'I'm very glad you called. The statue is ready to be collected, and your horse's damaged shoe has been replaced. Isha-sama paid us in advance, of course. All is in readiness, but I was wondering if you could kindly tell me more about this object.' The blacksmith laid a hand on the pod's smooth surface.

'I wish I could,' said Chris. He had no idea what the Doctor's cover story had been. 'I don't know very much about it.'

'I have never seen such fine metal, nor any metal object which resembles this.' The blacksmith seemed to consider for a moment, then said, 'I must inform you, honoured customer, that I had a strange visitor last night, asking if I had seen an object similar to this.'

Alarm bells went off in Chris's skull like a bad hangover. Oh great. He remembered to be polite. 'Please tell me about your visitor, O-Kajiya.'

'It was a pale-skinned woman, with hair and eyes like copper,' said the smith. 'Very beautiful, but very frightening. One of my lads thought she was a demon.'

Lady Justice's brastrap, thought Chris.

'She asked if I had seen any unusual metals if perhaps someone had brought me a sample I could not identify.'

'What did you tell her?'

'Be a.s.sured, samurai-san, that I did not mention your statue. She was very impolite, and I could not be sure of her credentials.'

Chris bowed again. 'You did the right thing, O-Kajiya. I'm grateful.' One of those alarms was still going off. 'This was last night, right?'

' Hei. Hei. ' '

Chris frowned. He didn't like that timing. 'I better tell the Doctor about this. We'll come back and collect the pod and the horses soon.'

The blacksmith bowed. Chris bowed. And legged it in the direction of the inn.

In the dust of a Toshi street, the Prompter of Confessions Prompter of Confessions was stirring. It had been thoroughly squashed by a cartwheel, the indentation taking up most of its stubby length. was stirring. It had been thoroughly squashed by a cartwheel, the indentation taking up most of its stubby length.

But the biomachine's powers of recuperation were considerable. It had replaced thousands of damaged cells in the last few hours, run maintenance 127 cheeks on its simple nervous system and sensory apparatus. Its single, sluglike belly-foot was ready to begin the slow task of taking it home.

It would seek out its mistress again, be repaired and recharged, and continue with its vital mission of wringing the truth out of prisoners and slaves.

They had been through dozens of missions together. The Prompter Prompter's juices flowed more quickly at the prospect of getting back to work.

It gave its belly-foot an experimental wiggle. There. Almost back to full functionality. Carefully, feeling its strength returning, the Prompter of Confessions Prompter of Confessions began to make its way through the dirt. began to make its way through the dirt.

The Doctor ran past, laser bolts missing him by inches. The Prompter Prompter reared up in recognition for a moment before falling back into the dust. reared up in recognition for a moment before falling back into the dust.

Te Yene Rana trod on it as she raced after the Time Lord, swearing, and the reflattened Prompter Prompter expired with a squeak of protest. expired with a squeak of protest.

This time she wasn't alone.

The Doctor knelt sat facing away from her, so close to one of the walls that his nose was almost pressed to it.

'No,' said Penelope, pushing her hands against one wall. 'No, not this again!'

It was a nightmare, of course, but so vivid! She felt that she could reach out and touch the fine cloth of his jacket, or tweak a lock of his dark hair.

He turned around and peered up at her. She started.

'What are you doing here?' he demanded. But his voice was tired now, as though all the pride had gone out of him.

'Oughtn't I to be asking you that,' she quavered, 'since this is my nightmare, and you are, apparently, a guest in it?'

He shook his head. 'Some random force,' he muttered, settling against the wall, 'desperately lashing out in confusion, bringing together disconnected things. . . '

She sat down in the middle of the floor. 'What is this place?'

'h.e.l.l hath no limits,' he said, 'nor is circ.u.mscrib'd in one self place, where we are is h.e.l.l, and where h.e.l.l is, there must we ever be. . . '

'Doctor Faustus,' she said. 'It seems an oddly comfortable h.e.l.l.'

'Wait a few centuries and say that again.' He gave her a crumpled smile, holding his hat in his hands.

'Is this, then, the h.e.l.l of the time traveller?' She hugged herself. 'Are we condemned by our meddling to this timeless place?'

The Doctor shook his head. 'This room isn't for you. And it isn't for Chris, as much as, deep down, he believes he deserves it.' He sighed. 'I'm afraid it's for me.'

'And what crimes have you committed,' she said softly, 'that warrant such punishment?'

128.

He looked at her with his deep and mournful eyes. 'What do you know about reincarnation?'

'Ah,' said Penelope. 'You are a believer in the transmigration of souls. That you will return as a snail, or perhaps an amoeba. '

'Not exactly,' said the Doctor. 'What if I was to tell you that in the. . . century from which I come, we can "die" twelve times, returning in a new body each time?'

'I see,' said Penelope.

'I will be moving on to my eighth body. A new body with a new personality.

A whole new self.'

'And what will become of your current self? Oh, I see. . . '

Penelope looked up at the high ceiling of the Room. 'Is this the price you must pay for your multiple lives? How can you, people accept such a terrible price for their longevity?'

'It's not them. Us. It's me. This is a s.p.a.ce in my own mind. The others have got it ready for me.'

'The others?'

'My past selves. And now they're being childish and showing it off.' He snorted. 'They hardly need to. I knew this was going to happen to me. Even before the dreams started, I knew. That's one reason I've held on for so long.'

'A strange form of cruelty. . . '

He pulled his knees up close to him. 'Nothing more than I deserve. I did this to the one before me, after all, locked him up and threw away the key.'

Penelope shook her head slowly. 'But why? What did he he do?' do?'

'Nothing. That was the problem.' The Doctor seemed to grope for a simple way of explaining. 'He was afraid, afraid of going power mad. He was so scared of what he might become that he wouldn't do what needed to be done.

He refused to plan, refused to antic.i.p.ate. He'd never consider a pre-emptive strike against evil because he was too scared of even being capable of planning one. People were dying because I didn't know what I was doing.' He looked up at Penelope. 'So I had to make a change.'

'And imprison him in a Room like this one.'

The Doctor nodded. His eyes pleaded for her to understand. 'He hates me.

He'd tear me apart if he ever got out. I know it., Penelope shook her head. 'Why are you telling me this?'

'Don't blame me,' said the Doctor. 'It's your nightmare, remember.'

'Then you have two choices.'

'Oh yes?'

'You can stay in h.e.l.l.' He looked at her in astonishment. 'Or you can win.'

129.

Penelope woke up with a start. Someone was timidly knocking on the frame of the paper door.

'Who is it?' she yelped, sitting up. Her head was blurry with afternoon sleep, the dreams already fading.

The door slid open an inch. 'It's me,' said Mr Mintz.

'Mr Mintz!' Penelope scrambled to her feet. 'Are you all right?'

'Fine,' said Mr Mintz. 'I'm fine.' He slipped into the room and shut the door.

'Are you all right? They didn't, you know you're OK?'

'They treated me with courtesy, as far as it went in the circ.u.mstances,' she said. 'The Doctor said you were kept here as a hostage. I expect I'm to he another.'

'Yeah, well, things have changed a bit.' He hesitated. 'I need to talk to you.'

She realized he was waiting for her to sit down first. She picked up a cushion and sat on it with her legs sideways. He sat, j.a.panese-style. 'I've made a deal with the daimyo,' he said.

Penelope felt her heart sink. 'What sort of deal?' she asked, reluctantly.

'OK,' said Mr Mintz, 'I'm going to be completely honest with you.' She nodded, waiting. 'I'm planning to stay in this time period,' he said.

'Was this what you intended from the beginning?' She took his wrist, suddenly, startling him. 'You used me!'

'No!' Mr Mintz shook his head. 'Look, Penelope, I mean Miss Gate, let's just skip the whole blaming and angst session. This is the way things are. I'm going to teach the daimyo to make computers.'

' Computers Computers,' said Penelope. 'a.n.a.lytical Engines? Mr Mintz, this is such a basic villainy that I cannot believe you would even contemplate it!'

Mr Mintz blinked at her. For a moment, she thought he was holding back tears.

'It's too late now,' he said, pulling his hand out of her grip. 'I've made the deal with the daimyo.'

'It's not '

He held up a hand. 'It's done. Don't bother arguing about it, OK? There isn't time. The question now is what about you?'

'What about me?'

'If I can convince the daimyo that you'll work with me, he'll probably let you live. Otherwise you're just a foreigner with no right to be here. No rights at all.'

'Unless I can lead him to the pod,' said Penelope.

'You know where it is?'

She looked at him. 'No,' she said firmly. 'I do not.'

'Well, do you know anything more about it? Did the Doctor find anything out?'

130.

'I don't wish to have anything more to do with him.'

Mr Mintz said, 'Then you've got all the more reason to cooperate with Gufuu-sama. We've got no choice.'

'You planned this from the beginning,' said Penelope. 'You chose to '

'Yeah, and you chose to leave the Doctor.'

'To find the Kapteynians, not to pervert history! Imagine if, using your computer computer, Gufuu '