Doctor Who_ Toy Soldiers Part 7

He had the cross-hairs on a fleeing Ogron. Both sides found the heavy beasts useful for front line duty, because they worked hard and were difficult to kill, especially when wearing body armour.

But a concentrated burst from the machine-gun ought to do it.

Josef pulled the remote trigger, felt the floor under his feet shudder as the gun fired at three rounds a second. The Ogron in his sights dropped. Josef released the trigger, moved the gun on to another one, who was facing the engine, firing shots from a repeater rifle. He wasn't wearing a helmet, and the first burst blew the top of his head off.

Josef felt a wave of exultation. This was what it was all about. This made everything worth it - the cold nights, the short rations, the anger of the sergeants when anything went wrong. He wheeled the periscope around, found a third target trying to take cover behind an upturned wheelbarrow. As he started firing, he smiled, and said to Ingrid, 'They're sitting targets. This is a good one. We might get extra rations for supper tonight.'

'Is it Ogrons?' asked Ingrid. 'I don't like Ogron meat.'

The third target was dead now, twitching in a pool of blood. Josef swung the periscope around again, searching.

'You'll eat anything if you're hungry enough,' he said.

The smell of well-fried bacon woke Mrs Sutton from a shallow sleep. She'd been dreaming about something: teddy bears had featured in it. Giant ones, walking around.

It must be because of that woman, Carrie's friend, she thought sleepily. Benny.

Benny! And the seance and the hole in her card table and Manda with her face blackened and Charles - Mrs Sutton opened her eyes wide and sat up suddenly, her blood pulsing heavily in her veins. Charles was still alive! Yes, he was far away - unbelievably far away - but none the less alive, if what Benny had said was true.

If.

Mrs Sutton stared at her hands protruding from the white cuffs of her nightdress, the wrinkled fingers, the smudges that were liver spots, and thought, how many impossible things have I believed since Madame Segovie walked through the door last night? How many of them are true?

There was a tap at the door. 'Breakfast, ma'am?'

'Thank you, Ginny.'

The door opened, and the maid came in, carrying a heavy wooden tray. She put it down on the foot of the bed and went to the window for the bed-table.

'A lovely day today, ma'am,' she commented, drawing back the curtains. Sunlight streamed in, making dazzling stripes of light on the carpets and the edge of the wooden dresser. 'Miss Amanda's up and gone already.'

'Gone? What, to school?' Mrs Sutton looked at the china clock on the dresser. After a moment her sun-dazzled eyes were able to make out the time: a quarter to eight. 'It's too early for school.'

Ginny put the bed-table over the bed. 'I expect she's gone for a walk, then.' She put the tray on the bed-table, pulled the tea-cosy off the pot and poured a cup of tea.

Gone for a walk? thought Mrs Sutton. It was possible.

Manda often got up early. But something nagged at her.

Something about the dream she'd been having.

'Go and have a look in her room, Ginny,' said Mrs Sutton as casually as possible. 'See if she's put her school uniform on. I don't want her going for walks if she's well enough to go to school.'

The maid met Mrs Sutton's eyes for a moment, then nodded and hurried from the room. Mrs Sutton knew from Ginny's expression that she'd guessed now that something was wrong. Mrs Sutton in her turn struggled to imagine that nothing was wrong, that she was worrying about a matter of no significance. She stared at the window, golden with sunlight, then looked down and took a sip of her tea. But when Ginny returned, the expression on her face almost made Mrs Sutton choke.

'Her bed hasn't been slept in! I thought it had at first, 'cause the sheets was turned back, but if you look close you can see she hasn't been in it, and her nightdress is still folded up under the pillow.'

Before Ginny had finished speaking, Mrs Sutton had lifted the bed-table aside, careless of spilled tea, and was out of the bed, standing upright, her head buzzing and her heart hammering. There was a cold, nightmare feeling in her brain.

Was this Madame Segovie's doing? Was it Benny's? Could anyone be trusted?

She pushed her feet into slippers, let Ginny help her on with a dressing-gown, then almost ran to Carrie's room.

Carrie was fast asleep. Mrs Sutton had to shake her two or three times, and finally shout her name, before she woke.

She blinked at her mother blearily, rubbed her eyes, then seemed to notice her alarmed expression. 'W's up?'

'Manda's gone!'

'Gone? She was here last night.' She blinked again, then seemed to realize the inadequacy of this remark and added, 'Where's she gone?'

Mrs Sutton ignored the question. Did you see her to bed?'

Carrie sat up, frowned. 'She said she was going to bed.'

A pause. 'I gave her the new teddy, she was going to call him Yewenntee, because that's what it said on the label, and I said it was a silly name but she was determined about it.'

Teddy bears, thought Mrs Sutton. Benny had been very interested in Manda's 'zoo'. Why? She realized that she was going to have to contact Benny, but in the same instant realized that she had no idea how to do so. Had she said that she was coming back today, or just 'soon'? Mrs Sutton couldn't remember.

Carrie was still talking. 'Manda's always giving her teddies stupid names, Frederick's the only one that actually makes any sense -'

Mrs Sutton took her by the shoulders, shook her gently.

'Do you know where Benny lives?' she asked.

Carrie shook her head. 'No. I told you, we only met yesterday - I mean the day before - it was at the pictures, she said she was interested in silent pictures, and I said I didn't know there were any other sort -' Suddenly she broke off, suddenly seemed to wake up a little more thoroughly. 'But Manda can't have just gone! She has to have actually gone to somewhere, I mean up on the Downs perhaps, she often goes there in the morning, or -'

Mrs Sutton came to several decisions at once. She turned to the maid standing behind her, and ignoring Carrie's continuing prattle said, 'Ginny, go round to Mrs Fox's and see if Manda is there. If she isn't, try Mrs Upton and if she isn't there either, ask Mrs Upton to telephone me. Carrie, go up on to the Downs and see if Manda is walking there - you know where she goes - and go into Christ Church, too, I suppose it's always possible she decided to attend morning service.

Or Mr Barker might have seen her; he walks his dog before taking the service.'

Carrie got out of bed, looked around the room frowning vaguely. She picked up a hair slide from her dresser and put it in her hair, then went to the mirror and began trying on a hat.

'Hurry up!' snapped Mrs Sutton. 'Just put a dress on and go!' Ginny had already left the room; Mrs Sutton heard the front door slam.

Carrie lingered in front of the mirror. 'What are you going to do, Mother?' She sounded a little sobered, as if the full impact of the situation had finally reached her consciousness.

Mrs Sutton thought for a moment. 'I'm going to get dressed. Then I'm going to sit down and wait.'

Carrie pulled out a yellow dress, held it up against herself, nodded thoughtfully. 'In case she comes back?'

'In case - ' Mrs Sutton broke off, surprised to hear a catch in her own voice. 'In case anything, Carrie.'

She left Carrie to dress, returned to her own room, but made no attempt to dress herself. She ignored the rapidly cooling breakfast on its tray by the bed, instead stared out at the garden, at the leaves on the horse-chestnut, green edged with yellow. After a couple of minutes she heard Carrie run down the stairs and slam the front door. Mrs Sutton stared at the horse-chestnut for a few moments more, then went and sat down on the bed. She closed her eyes and put her head in her hands, then began thinking, very hard. Benny Benny, she thought. Benny Benny.

The woman hadn't said that she personally could hear thoughts, but you never knew. It was something people sometimes talked about, and if half of what Benny had said about herself was true it had to be worth trying.

Benny, she thought. I need your help I need your help.

Mrs Sutton repeated the message four times, as mariners in distress were supposed to repeat an SOS. When she'd finished, without opening her eyes, or changing her posture, she began to pray.

Chapter 5.

Professor Bernice Summerfield looked at the yellow dress spread out across the bed and sighed. She'd have loved to wear that to work, perhaps with the fluffy purple scarf, white shoes and a white hat. She could just imagine the oohs and aahs from the other girls, the amazed disapproval of Mrs Milsom, the supervisor - in fact it would probably bring the whole factory to a stop.

'Oh, well, one can but dream ...' Benny muttered, and turned to the small, slightly spotty, mirror on the dressing-table to examine her blue-striped cotton dress and cheap lace collar. Even in this she was better dressed than most of the women she worked with, though, she hoped, not suspiciously so.

She leaned forward, peered closer into the mirror. She had put her lipstick on wrongly again - gone over the top of the lip contour and made herself look like a clown. She would never get used to this smudgy stuff. The Doctor had a.s.sured her that whilst it wasn't made from any part of a whale, it was identical in colour, smell, taste and consistency to the local product. But it was no good it being authentic if you didn't put it on correctly. Benny thought about it for a moment, then wiped the lipstick off with her handkerchief. Some colour remained, and that would have to do. She was late already.

She picked up her door keys and her satchel and left, taking one glance back at the small, plain room. It had a bed, a tiny wardrobe, a wash basin and a dressing table. There was even a rug on the floor, with a faded floral pattern. Not bad for three shillings a week. Benny closed the door, locking it behind her, and crept down the stairs. It wasn't all that early - half-past seven - but Mrs Kelly, the landlady, liked her morning kip, and was annoyed if her tenants made any noise that woke her up. Benny didn't blame her. Given a chance, she'd have liked some extra beauty sleep herself. She hadn't got back from the Suttons' till almost midnight, and she'd spent another hour writing up her report for the Doctor. Even then, she hadn't got to sleep for a while, but had stared out of the window at the dark bulk of the opposite terrace, wondering what exactly had happened at the seance, and how it was related to the spatio-temporal disturbance that the Doctor claimed to have found.

Outside, a fresh breeze blew across the tiny front yard, smelling of coal smoke and leaky drains, soap and dust. It was cold, much colder than the sunshine had led her to expect. Benny felt goose-b.u.mps grow on her arms. She considered going back for her cardigan, then thought better of it. No time, really. She'd already had one warning for lateness and lost an hour's pay. She couldn't afford to get the sack.

She hoisted her satchel on to her shoulder and hurried down the street, waving to the baker's boy as he pa.s.sed, freewheeling on his bicycle, panniers full of doughnuts and white rolls. At the corner of Sullivan Road she shouted a greeting to old Mrs Dark who was out, as she was every morning, scrubbing away at her front step on her hands and knees. There was something to be said, thought Benny (as she thought every morning), for doing the same thing, day after day, for seeing the same people pa.s.s by, for knowing your place in the world. Though for the life of her she couldn't imagine what.

At the end of Sullivan Road, where the cheap brick terraces gave way to the slightly more imposing frontages of the high street shops, there was a pieman's trolley pulled up on a narrow strip of gra.s.s beneath some plane trees. A big, dappled shire horse was standing quietly between the shafts.

The side of the trolley was painted in sky-blue and pink, with the words 'Doctor Smith's - Pies For All' emblazoned in gold paint along the side, and repeated in red across the striped canopy.

Doctor Smith himself stood behind the counter, serving a cl.u.s.ter of working men and women. He wore a plain blue shirt and a spotted red tie, a floppy white hat with a brown paisley-pattern hatband. His ap.r.o.n was striped, dark green and white. He was serving two-handed, but he waved when he saw Benny coming, and lifted a package wrapped in brown paper, which she knew was her lunch.

She pushed her way through the crowd, took out her purse from her satchel and extracted three penny coins and a tightly folded piece of paper. This morning, of all the mornings, she wished she could meet the Doctor in a quieter place, where they could talk, but he'd ruled it out. 'Too traceable,' he'd said. 'We had enough trouble with that in France.' Traceable by whom - or by what - he hadn't told her.

Perhaps he didn't know.

'You're late this morning, Benny,' the Doctor commented, as he took her money and her message.

'I know I am,' said Benny crossly. 'I had a late night, didn't I?'

'Um, yes, I suppose so,' said the Doctor guiltily. 'Still, I expect it was worth it.'

A man behind her whistled, then shouted, 'Been loitering down 'is garden path, then, Benny?' Benny felt a large crude hand pinch her backside. She clenched her fists, tensed her body, ready to swing round and administer a swift roundhouse punch to the offender; the Doctor glared at her, frowned deeply, pushed the brown paper package towards her.

Still fuming, Benny grabbed the package and stormed off through the crowd, using her elbows freely. More whistles and ribald comments followed her, almost drowning out the Doctor's cry of 'Next, please'.

She was half way down the high street when she heard the factory hooter in the distance. 'Oh, slugs,' she muttered, and set off at a run.

The Universal Toys factory was a two-storey brick building dating, Bernice guessed, from about 1890. The gates were already open when she arrived, and the hooter was sounding for the second time. She hurried in across the tarmacked courtyard, holding on to her satchel with one hand - it had a tendency to slip off her shoulder when she ran. As she joined the crowd at the door, a voice called out, 'Ooh look! 'Ere she is, last-minute Benny again! Been 'avin another chat with the pieman, then?'

Benny looked around the crowd, saw Vee: a woman in her early thirties with a shock of dyed red hair and an angular, prematurely wrinkled face. She was always suspicious of Benny's 'airs and graces'. And I try so so hard to get the accent right, thought Benny. hard to get the accent right, thought Benny.

'At least I gets a free lunch!' she bawled. There was general laughter, which quickly died down as the women pushed their way inside. Benny was almost the last in, since she'd been the last to arrive; she ran across the tiled floor to her locker, took out the heavy cotton overall and put it on.

She put her lunch pack in the locker, but paused with her hand on the brown paper wrapping. It wasn't the right shape: she realized that it must contain something other than the usual vegetable pasty and jam doughnut. She frowned, glanced around her, but saw only other women hastily donning their overalls and trotting across to their work positions. Everyone was in a hurry: no one was looking at her. Quickly she unfolded the brown paper.

Sitting on top of the pasty and the doughnut was a small, fluffy toy rabbit, with a yellow sticky label attached to its left ear. 'Please keep me in your pocket,' said the note. 'You never know when you might need me.'

'What's that, then?'

Benny jumped, turned round, saw Vee practically staring over her shoulder. 'Just a present,' she said, quickly stuffing the toy rabbit into the large front pocket of her overall.

Vee laughed. 'A present from the pieman! What is it, an Easter Bunny? C'mon, let's 'ave a look.'

Benny swore inwardly. Obviously Vee had seen the toy: the news would be all round the factory by the end of the morning. She debated whether to let the woman have a proper look - it could hardly make much difference now. And anyway, she reasoned, neither the toy nor the message was enough to arouse anyone's suspicions in themselves. It might be better not to attract attention by being too secretive.

But Vee spoiled her chances by making a grab for it.

'Oi!' said Benny fiercely, blocking the reaching arm hard enough for it to hurt the woman. 'That's enough of that!'

'Come on, girls, hurry up now.' The supervisor's booming, matriarchal voice came as an immense relief to Benny: she hurried away to her work. But she could almost feel Vee's poisonous glance on her back.

The work positions were arranged on long benches, five of them in all. Each bench was stacked with wooden crates full of teddy bears. Smaller trays of packing materials were positioned in front of the crates. High wooden stools stood in front of the benches, though many of the women ignored them; it was easier to work standing up. Sunlight, streaming in through frosted-gla.s.s windows set high in the wall, lit on rough plaster walls, a framed notice about the Factories and Workshops Act, and a large black clock. As Benny reached her position on the rearmost bench, the minute hand of the clock advanced a notch to show exactly eight.

Benny's place was between a quiet, plump, middle-aged woman called Lil, who'd lost her husband in the war, and Vee's sister Barbara, who was much younger than Vee and less brash. She was engaged to be married to a soldier. The job was simple enough: you took the teddy bears from their crates and wrapped them, first in tissue paper, then in brown paper. Then you put them in a fancy cardboard box, and padded the s.p.a.ce with straw. The boxes were sent off with the lids loose, to be stapled down in the next department.

It irritated Benny to think that the items she was supposed to be investigating were pa.s.sing through her hands at the rate of several hundred a day, and she still couldn't find out anything about where they came from. When she'd asked the Doctor why he wanted her to work in a factory he'd simply said, 'Teddy bears.'

Anyone else might have been fazed by this reply, especially when the Doctor followed it up with a suggestion that she 'borrow' one for him to examine. 'Bit old for teddy bears, aren't you?'

She'd been smiling, but the Doctor hadn't smiled back.

Not when they're being ma.s.s-produced nearly five years before the history books say they're supposed to be,' he'd said.

Benny had laughed, but she'd known something was up: only the Doctor could link together the premature manufacture of a household toy and some Earth-shattering event. She'd sneaked a teddy out for the Doctor on her second day. His next note, packed in with her lunch, had said that the toy was in fact the locator end of a mm'x synchronisis intradimensional energizer - which told Benny exactly what she suspected: something was up in a big way.

Unfortunately, it hadn't told her much about what to do about it, and neither had the Doctor.