The Shadow Of Weng-Chiang Part 7

Romana frowned. 'Do we?'

'The tracer takes a bearing on each segment from the previous one's location; that means if we risk making a blind flight from Earth we might never get a reading on the next segment.'

'a.s.suming this isn't caused by the fourth segment.'

'Exactly. And if it isn't, then we have to put a stop to it to end its interference with the tracer. Besides, if I didn't find out what was going on, I wouldn't sleep at night for wondering.'

'You know that the locals say that curiosity killed the cat.'

'Satisfaction brought it back.'

'So you hope.'

The Doctor recovered his hat from the hatstand. 'K9, can you lead us to the nearest concentration of chronon decay?'

'Affirmative, master. It is not far.'

'Good. Time for walkies.'

Kwok had allowed the coolies he had brought with him to burn a few stolen banknotes on the altar as an offering to Weng-Chiang. He knew better, of course. It wasn't that he didn't believe in the G.o.ds as such, but he knew the Tong's history a little better than they did.

Happy men worked harder, however, so he didn't bother to enlighten them. The dragon statuette, octagonal-framed mirror and joss-stick holders were carefully packed away in wooden boxes, while Kwok heaved at the altar's bolts with a crowbar to part it from the wall. Two crates were already open and waiting for it to be disa.s.sembled. One bolt popped free and Kwok straightened to recover his breath. 'Take the boxes down to the truck, then come and help me with the other bolts.'

They bowed quickly and removed the laden boxes. They returned a few minutes later to join Kwok in attacking the remaining wall fixtures. The altar finally came away and was quickly separated into its component parts for packing. There were only bare bricks behind it. They were placed into the crates and Kwok carefully nailed the lids shut. 'All right, that's it. Let's go.'

He led the coolies, two of whom carried each crate, down the narrow stairs to the alley, their truck waiting at the far end.

It had gone smoothly, so Kwok was glad. Excitement was all very well, but everyday work had its moments.

Both the crates and the truck bore the logo of Tsingtao Breweries, so n.o.body should take any notice of their presence beside a bar. While the coolies boarded the back of the truck with the crates, Kwok went up to the cab. Doubtless he would find a new safe house in the International Settlement in the morning.

Opening the pa.s.senger door, he looked back to check on the progress of the loading, and was glad to see that it was all done. He was astounded, however, to see the strangers from the docks walking along towards the truck. They now had some sort of mechanical dog with them, which most of the pedestrians were giving a wide berth.

Kwok's ruined eye ached under its patch despite the morphine he'd taken for the wound, and he felt it was aching for revenge. The westerner's curious expression suddenly changed and Kwok knew he'd been recognized. He leapt into the cab. 'Get us out of here, now!'

The Doctor's eyes widened. 'That was one of the men from the docks! The one who killed those arms dealers. He must be one of the people responsible for the chronon sources.'

'He's also getting away again,' Romana pointed out, sounding unimpressed at the Doctor's observational skills.

'Not necessarily.' The Doctor scooped up K9 and tossed him into the back seat of the nearest car.

The driver, a portly Briton in a tweed suit scarcely suited to the local climate, jumped out. 'What do you think you're doing, man?'

'I'm a Doctor, and this is an emergency.' The Doctor pressed a handful of money into the man's hand while Romana shook her head and got in. How much of the currency was actually from Earth, let alone legal tender in 1937 Shanghai was open to question, but the Doctor didn't stop to check. 'Consider that a rental fee!'

He started the car and floored the accelerator.

The portly Briton was still standing in shock on the pavement when Li's car drew up beside him. The Doctor was a very distinctive figure and Li had recognized him immediately as he approached the bar.

The opium den would have to wait; answers from the Doctor and Romana would be much more practical. Besides, Ying's forensics team would be along in a minute. Ignoring the gesticulating Briton, Li started his police siren and tore after the Doctor.

The G.o.ds must have decided to give him a second chance.

Kwok ignored the panicking road users ahead and concentrated on searching for any pursuers. Sure enough, a car was following, and it looked like the dockside strangers were inside. Worse still, a police siren had started up behind them.

Frustrated, Kwok punched the glove compartment door to let off steam. 'Lose them,' he urged the driver.

The driver nodded and made a sharp right turn. The truck raced across one of the western bridges over Suzhou Creek and the driver hastily turned left. Kwok approved: if they could get through Guyi Gardens and into open countryside, they could lose their pursuit more easily by hiding in some secluded spot.

Li had followed the Doctor's car for several miles before becoming aware, once they had left Guyi Gardens behind, that he in turn was pursuing a truck.

Li considered this. Was the Doctor pursuing, or merely following? Or was he even running interference for the truck, in the belief that Li was chasing it? It was a brewer's truck and the opium den had been hidden in a bar...

He smiled to himself. Suddenly it seemed that clues were coming thick and fast. He might not have to delay that leave and abandon the tending of his wife after all. He felt happier than he had for several days, now that the suspects were almost in his grasp again.

Kwok looked back gloomily as they b.u.mped through the dusty farm tracks. 'It's no good. We'll have to take the Dragon Path, and risk being seen.' His pursuers wouldn't understand it anyway, even if they did see.

He took the locket from around his neck and attached a thin wire from it to the truck's electrical system. The difficult bit would be judging the truck's speed and deciding how long a path to open to accommodate it.

He opened the locket to expose the face of the geomantic compa.s.s inside and tried to clear his mind of distractions such as the b.u.mps in the road. Mumbling the calculations to himself, he started twisting the ceramic rings around the compa.s.s.

The three vehicles had now closed distance and Li was beginning to think it might be worth risking a shot at the truck's tyres. That would force the truck to stop; with any luck the Doctor would either stop or run into the back of it.

He drew his Browning and moved his arm out of the window to take aim at the truck's tyres. Any second now and he would have a clear shot...

The air rippled and the truck was suddenly gone. Li gasped in astonishment, trying to blink away what he was sure was a trick of the light. By the time the blink ended, the Doctor's car had also vanished and concentric ripples like a circular heat haze were condensing towards him.

He stood on the brakes instinctively, too stunned to think of a more rational approach to whatever was happening. It was too late, and he hurtled into the ripples.

The land and the sky twisted, swirling into one another.

Seven.

The study was a small room lined with objets d'art objets d'art, the walls hung with delicate prints and misty watercolours.

HsienKo sat in a cane chair, the dim sum dim sum spread across the neighbouring table hardly touched. Instead she was flicking furiously through a worn leather-bound notebook, the pages of which were crammed with tiny writing. The notes were in a variety of languages, though all in the same hand. spread across the neighbouring table hardly touched. Instead she was flicking furiously through a worn leather-bound notebook, the pages of which were crammed with tiny writing. The notes were in a variety of languages, though all in the same hand.

She had always had a good memory and was sure she'd seen something in the book years ago that now reminded her of the man she had seen earlier tonight. Or, more accurately, he reminded her of the note. She found it quickly. ' "January "January twenty-fourth," twenty-fourth," ' she murmured to herself. ' ' she murmured to herself. ' "A tall man with "A tall man with wide pale eyes and hair that curls like the ram...The police are wide pale eyes and hair that curls like the ram...The police are either unwilling or unable to name him and insist on simply either unwilling or unable to name him and insist on simply calling him The Doctor..." calling him The Doctor..." Interesting.' Interesting.'

She sat back with a sigh and looked towards the framed print that hung on the wall. 'What would you have done in this situation, Father?' Despite her good memory, she didn't recall her father quite well enough to judge how he thought. That was something she could only deduce from his letters and journals.

So much wisdom depended on one's ancestors that sometimes she felt incomplete with that lack of knowledge.

'No orders to obey blindly; ours to reason why...' Sometimes she envied Kwok. Her troops did what they did because she was their leader; Kwok did his duty because it pleased her and that pleased him. As for herself...She wondered often why she did what she did, supposing it must just be who she was. Or perhaps what she was.

'What I owe,' she said aloud. Whatever happens, she had to repay her debts, especially that to Weng-Chiang. Abruptly she wondered when the last time was that she had done anything not connected with that debt.

With the exception of nights with Kwok who was her most valued officer anyway she couldn't think of any. That couldn't be healthy; was she so obsessed that she had no time for life?

She shook her head; there was plenty of time for life later.

After her debt was repaid.

Things had quietened down at the docks since the prisoners had been taken away. The trucks were still on the wharf, guarded until Ying and his forensics teams had had the chance to examine them.

They were not the only ones: Yan Cheh was still curious as to exactly what was being traded here. Obviously it had been guns of some kind, but perhaps closer examination would reveal what was so special about them. He didn't want the police to get the wrong idea about his presence, however, and remained in the shadows as much as possible.

So far, however, he hadn't seen any sign of the guards. He wished he could be surprised at this fact, but had half-expected it. A faint sea-mist had drifted upriver and gently veiled the docks, but he found this an advantage in moving unseen.

Others evidently had the same idea, as wraith-like forms darted through the mist like figures of smoke. They probably saw him, he had guessed, but a.s.sumed his equally vague form to be one of their own men.

He slipped from a loading area to the open doors of the disused warehouse. The interior was slightly cooler than the wharf outside and he couldn't help but feel a faint chill. He moved carefully, checking left and right as he entered. As he feared, a group of low mounds lay hidden just inside the door.

They looked almost like piles of old oilskins, except that oilskins didn't have hands or lolling heads poking out here and there.

Yan Cheh's heart sank; these men could easily have been drugged or bribed. Killing these innocents just to steal the trucks was a typical example of human nature. Sometimes often he was ashamed to be a part of the same species. The cab doors slammed, not loudly, but seeming so in the uncanny quiet of the morning. If he was going to examine the trucks, he would have to hurry.

He flitted through the mist quickly, ducking below the tailgate of the rearmost of the three trucks. All he had to do was look over and hope there were no guards inside...

Faint footsteps, as measured as the ticking of a metronome, echoed from the wood and brick fronts of the dockside buildings. Perhaps one of the policemen was still alive; if so, Yan Cheh certainly didn't want to be found, lest he become the prime suspect for the deaths of the others.

His success depended on knowledge, however, and unlike Orson Welles' cloaked vigilante on the American forces'

radio, mind-reading was not an option open to Yan Cheh. The footsteps were coming from around the front of the column of trucks, so he slid himself underneath the nearest vehicle.

Twisting his neck round, he looked out between the wheels.

The sea-mist still wreathed the docks, but something was definitely moving out there on the wharf. It solidified into a darker wraith in the mist; a tiny figure moved steadily past the side of the truck. Even from underneath the vehicle, Yan Cheh could make out the ends of its arms, so it couldn't be very tall.

Perhaps a child, he thought. That being the case, then the chances were that the woman in the white overcoat was around here somewhere.

The figure stopped at the back of the truck and turned from side to side very slowly, as if listening for something. Yan Cheh wondered just how silent he had been here. 'Is the coast clear?' someone shouted from the front of the convoy. There was no audible answer, but the figure moved back round the corner of the truck and paused there, so Yan Cheh presumed it was either nodding or shaking its head. 'Good,' the voice replied. 'Come on, we're going home.'

The figure headed back up the wharf and Yan Cheh decided he must have been silent enough after all. If they were heading home, however, then here was a chance to find their lair. Following Kwok and the woman hadn't worked, but if he could stow away on this truck...

He slipped out from under it, pulling himself up the tailgate just far enough to see whether anyone was inside. The truck was filled with crates, but there were no guards there.

Presumably each truck's guard was in the cab with the driver, where it wasn't so damp.

The truck engines were all spluttering into life, including this one's. Yan Cheh swung himself up into the back of the truck, and settled down amidst a nest of crates. The truck shuddered into life, and he smiled to himself; this time, he couldn't help but find the Tong's headquarters.

The Doctor slammed on the brakes as the twisted ma.s.s of land and sky snapped back into the cluttered grey streets of the city.

A rickshaw sprang out from a sidestreet barely a second later, and the car halted within inches of it. Further on, under the light of innumerable coloured paper lanterns, a ma.s.s of people were swarming around in the wake of the departing Tsingtao Brewery truck.

Romana and the Doctor exchanged a look. 'Transmigration of object?' she wondered aloud.

'It certainly felt like it. K9, what sort of chronon radiation are you picking up now?'

'Ma.s.sive chronon activity in our current location; decaying rapidly.'

'Yes, well, there's the eating for you.'

'What?'

'The proof of the pudding. Someone's using chronon energy to open interst.i.tial pathways, and I don't like the chances that that takes.'

Romana shook her head, her dark locks flowing around her cla.s.sical features. 'That's not possible, at least not as far as I know.'

'Just because something is not possible does not mean it can't be done especially by someone who doesn't know any better. Sooner or later you'll learn how flexible reality can be.

I wonder how they're doing it.'

'With the fourth segment, obviously.'

'Maybe...K9, did what just happened to us have any similarity to the effect of Vivien Fay's staff?'

'Negative, master.'

'I thought not. I suppose we had better return this car if I can find my way back to where we found it.'

'And then? Why don't we try making short hops in the TARDIS spatial only. Then perhaps we can triangulate a source for this.'

The Doctor thought about that, then shook his head. 'No, I have a better idea; we'll make a few short spatial hops in the TARDIS and try to triangulate the source of this.'

Romana gave him a bland look. 'I refuse to let you bait me like that,' she muttered under her breath.