Silhouette

by Justin Richards

  ‘Oh, what do any of us want? Fame and fortune. Long life and happiness.’

  ‘You won’t get any of those if you keep us locked in here,’ Jenny said.

  Milton laughed. ‘Oh a threat. Very good, yes, I like that. I can see you might be very useful.’

  ‘How can we be useful to you?’ Vastra asked. ‘We shall do nothing to cooperate.’

  ‘You know,’ Milton said, ‘our mutual friend here once told me much the same thing. And now he’s happy to do whatever I tell him, aren’t you?’

  The blank-faced man that Milton had referred to as Affinity bowed his head. ‘Of course. I exist to serve.’

  ‘Good, because I have another task for you,’ Milton told him. ‘Empath has been keeping an eye on our other friends and could do with some help. Find him, would you?’

  ‘Of course.’ When he raised his head, he was Jim once more. ‘Bye, Jenny.’ He turned towards Vastra, and as he did his features shimmered and changed into the lizard man, Festin. ‘Madame Vastra, it was a privilege and a pleasure.’

  ‘I wish I could say the same,’ she told him coldly.

  Affinity’s face blanked out as he raised his hand in farewell. The light from the cage bars glinted for a moment on the red crystal set in a ring on his middle finger. Then he turned and left the room.

  ‘Who is he really?’ Jenny demanded. ‘What is he?’

  ‘He was the master of ceremonies at the Carnival of Curiosities when I first met him.’ Milton went over to an alcove and lifted a chair out of the shadows. He positioned it in front of the cage and sat down. ‘You’ve probably seen him, introducing various attractions.’

  ‘He’s Alfie?’ Vastra said in surprise.

  ‘He used to be. Sometimes he still is. You will understand better, perhaps, if I tell you a little about myself.’ He pulled a watch from his waistcoat pocket and inspected it. ‘Yes, we have plenty of time.’ He tucked it away again.

  ‘You wish to gloat?’ Vastra said.

  ‘Dear me, no. Only those lacking in self-confidence feel the need to gloat. I’m very well adjusted and quite at ease with myself, I assure you.’

  ‘Then why not leave us in peace?’ Jenny snapped.

  Milton shrugged. ‘If you wish. I think that if I explain myself a little it will help you come to terms with what will happen to you. And I confess it would be pleasant to speak to people who could actually understand something of what I’m talking about. But if you’d rather die in ignorance, well, that’s your choice.’

  He stood up, gave a polite nod of farewell, and turned to go.

  ‘No, wait,’ Vastra said. ‘We will listen.’

  ‘I really don’t wish to inconvenience you any more than has already been necessary,’ Milton said.

  ‘You wish to talk, and we have nothing better to do than listen.’

  Milton sat down again. ‘Very well. And of course you are hoping that the information I impart will give you some advantage. It won’t, but please do go on hoping. Hope is so important in these sorts of situations, don’t you think?’

  ‘Just tell us who you are and what you’re doing on this planet,’ Jenny said.

  ‘Ah, so you have realised I’m not local? That will help. I imagine your association with the Doctor has given you a rather unique perspective on the universe among your fellows.’

  ‘The Doctor is a rather unique person,’ Vastra replied.

  ‘Well, I won’t argue with that. But we’ll get to the Doctor later. First allow me to apologise for the inconvenience you are suffering, but as you will realise I can’t afford to be found by the authorities.’

  ‘You’re a criminal?’ Jenny said.

  ‘Oh, please. I don’t subscribe to such labels. I am a businessman. An innovator. An entrepreneur. My name really is Orestes Milton, in case you were wondering. Well, it’s actually Milton Orestes but the inversion seems to fit better here in London.’

  ‘You say you are a businessman,’ Vastra said. ‘So what do you deal in?’

  ‘Ah, now that’s the nub of the matter. I develop and sell weapons. A perfectly honourable and legitimate venture, you might think.’

  ‘I think it depends on the weapons,’ Vastra told him.

  ‘Which was just the point that various stellar authorities and indeed the Shadow Proclamation made in their arrest warrant. And indeed the subsequent trial ruling, or so I believe. I did not actually attend in person, you see.’

  ‘You’re on the run,’ Jenny realised.

  ‘A rather quaint, but accurate way of describing my present predicament. I was forced to leave my premises in something of a hurry without time to bring much with me. So in order to re-establish my business I have had to make use of the materials readily available on this rather backward planet.’

  ‘Which is why you came to London,’ Vastra said. ‘The most advanced city in the world.’

  ‘Advanced is a little generous, but yes.’

  ‘And you’re hiding here to avoid being arrested,’ Jenny said.

  ‘I shall shortly be reopening for business, but of necessity in a rather reduced and somewhat clandestine capacity.’

  ‘And what are these weapons you trade in?’ Vastra asked. ‘The ones that are deemed illegal.’

  ‘Oh well, you’ve just met one of them.’

  ‘Jim?’ Jenny said. ‘He’s a weapon?’

  ‘My speciality is in developing weapons based on genetic enhancement. I take life forms, tweak the DNA and other genetic and cerebral attributes and weaponise them.’

  Vastra was horrified. ‘You weaponise people?’

  Milton shrugged. ‘And lizards, I’m not fussy. Any life form that has potential. Like I said, I am a businessman as well as an innovator. So with Affinity, or Alfie as he used to be called, I have merely enhanced his natural abilities.’

  ‘By stealing his face?’ Jenny said.

  ‘I have given him many faces. He was, as I said, the master of ceremonies, for want of a better term, at the Carnival. To say he had the gift of the gab would be an understatement. He could pack in the crowds, enthuse any audience, get money out of the most tight-fisted of pessimists. He did it by playing on the needs and desires of whoever he was with. Oh, it wasn’t a conscious thing, but he had a talent for putting people at ease, for modifying his personality to suit whoever he was speaking with. I have merely enhanced that ability. And now he can become whoever the person he is with would most admire or respect or want to spend time with. Usually it’s an aspect of themselves, a sort of distorted reflection.’

  ‘But – why?’ Jenny said. ‘By making him anyone, you’ve made him no one.’

  ‘That’s a bit deep and philosophical for me, I’m afraid,’ Milton told her. ‘But think of it from my point of view. Imagine how useful Affinity can be, not just in luring you here, though that does rather prove my point. But imagine how useful he would be in tricky negotiations, or diplomacy. Not to mention the obvious applications relating to industrial and actual espionage. Think what you have yourselves already told him without the slightest qualm.’

  ‘You make it sound very gentlemanly,’ Vastra said. ‘But when all is said and done, you are a murderer.’

  ‘I protect my assets, if that’s what you mean.’

  ‘Is everything business to you?’ Jenny demanded.

  ‘Oh yes. I allow my assets to continue to practise and refine their skills at the Carnival of Curiosities. It is all good training. But there is a risk, and that risk must be eliminated whether it be a curious member of the paying public who stumbles across something they shouldn’t, like the late Mr Hapworth, or one of the other carnival people who knows too much.’

  ‘And Clara?’ Jenny said. ‘You tried to kill her too.’

  ‘Possibly a mistake,’ Milton admitted. ‘I see now that she may be more use alive.’

  ‘Are those paper birds things you enhanced as well?’ Jenny asked.

  ‘No. They are just paper.’

  ‘But they attacked Clara,’ Vastra sai
d. ‘And I assume they somehow killed Hapworth too.’

  ‘They are stronger than they look,’ Milton said, smiling. ‘Properly animated just a few of them can lift a metal letter-opener and drive it home. But Silhouette must take the credit for that, not me.’

  ‘And is she enhanced too?’ Vastra said. ‘Another weapon of yours?’

  ‘Of course. She was such a brilliant puppeteer, with a real talent for manipulating two-dimensional objects like the cut-out shapes in her Shadowplay. Now, with expanded and enhanced psychic abilities, she can control any nearly two-dimensional object. Paper, even shadows – she can do it for real.’

  ‘Provided she uses her skills as you tell her,’ Vastra added.

  ‘Well, obviously. But the real prize, I have to say – the real prize will be the Doctor. Oh yes,’ he went on, ‘I know all about the Doctor from yourselves and from what he and his friend Clara have said.’

  ‘The Doctor won’t help you,’ Jenny said, ‘Not ever.’

  ‘Even though I have the two of you as hostages? I’m sure he’ll come round to the notion. The alternative really does not bear thinking about, I’m afraid. And imagine what a weapon he would make.’

  ‘Not a weapon you could ever control,’ Vastra said.

  ‘It might take more than simple cerebral implants, I agree,’ Milton conceded. ‘Although they have proved effective enough in controlling Affinity and Silhouette, and Empath too.’

  ‘Empath?’ Vastra asked.

  ‘Have I not mentioned Empath? How remiss of me.’ Milton checked his watch again, sighed and stood up. ‘Now I really must be getting on. So many things to attend to. But don’t worry, you’ll meet Empath soon enough.’

  ‘So who is this Empath?’ Jenny said. ‘Another carnival performer?’

  ‘Empath is the key to everything. Empath is vital to how I shall make a fortune with the most powerful weapon ever devised.’

  ‘What weapon?’ Vastra asked.

  But Milton was already turning to leave. ‘Please,’ he said, ‘allow me to keep some secrets.’ He picked up the chair and replaced it in the alcove. ‘Even if those secrets do pertain to the end of the world.’

  Chapter

  15

  There was no sign of Billie Matherson at Harriman’s Wharf, though they did manage to find the warehouse where the flour he had delivered was being stored. Several dozen large hessian sacks of flour were waiting at the kerbside to be carried into the warehouse and stored away.

  ‘We’re expecting him back with another load at least. Maybe two,’ the warehouse foreman told the Doctor. ‘But knowing Billie, he won’t be in a hurry.’

  ‘So you’ve no idea how long he’ll be?’ the Doctor asked.

  ‘Afraid not. You’re welcome to wait. You can lend a hand shifting some of this flour.’

  ‘Why don’t I stay here,’ Clara suggested, ‘and you and Strax check whether he’s got back to the mill on Waverly Street?’

  ‘Leave you here in the docks,’ the Doctor said, ‘to help these nice strong young men shift hundred-weight sacks of flour round the place watched by passing sailors who’ve just arrived after months starved of female company at sea?’

  Clara nodded. ‘Like I said – why doesn’t Strax stay here and help shift the flour and you and I can check out the mill on Waverly Street?’

  Strax seemed to think this was an excellent stratagem, and they agreed that if the Doctor and Clara didn’t return within an hour he should meet them back at the Carnival of Curiosities.

  It seemed to take a long time to get to Waverly Street, not least because while the Doctor insisted he knew the way the route he took seemed rather convoluted and circular. Clara could have sworn they crossed the same street several times at different points.

  ‘Isn’t the shortest distance between two points a straight line?’ she joked as they finally arrived at Waverly Street.

  The Doctor looked at her sympathetically. ‘This planet is a sphere, or very nearly, and the whole of space-time is warped. That’s before we take gravitational and magnetic forces into account. There’s no such thing as a straight line.’

  ‘No such thing as a straight answer,’ Clara muttered.

  There was no sign of Billie Matherson at the mill either. Like the workers at the warehouse, they were expecting him back, but had no real idea when.

  ‘You stay here in case he turns up,’ the Doctor told Clara. ‘I’ll head back to the warehouse and see if I can spot him along the way. He’s probably stopped off for a cup of tea or something.’

  ‘How do you know you’ll be following the same route as Matherson?’ Clara asked.

  ‘He’ll want to be as quick as possible. I’ll go in a straight line.’

  ‘I could throttle you sometimes, you know that, don’t you.’

  The Doctor sniffed, unimpressed. ‘Respiratory by-pass system,’ he told her. ‘Wouldn’t do you any good. If I’m not back in an hour—’

  ‘I know, meet you at the Carnival.’

  ‘Right. And if Young Billie Matherson turns up here, come and find me.’

  ‘In a straight line.’

  He nodded. ‘And every teashop and hostelry along it. He’s probably stopped for a late lunch.’

  ‘Lunch,’ Clara said as the Doctor turned and left. ‘Yes, I remember lunch.’

  The air was crisp and the sun was struggling through the cloud and smog. It was as pleasant an afternoon as one could wish for in Victorian London, the Doctor thought. While he made his way back towards the docks, he kept his eye out for a goods cart being driven by young Billie Matherson, who the warehouse foreman had described as a short bald man in his fifties. Well, that was certainly ‘young’ by the Doctor’s own standards.

  He also turned his mind to thinking through what they had discovered so far, and what Milton might be up to – whoever he really was … Having evaded both Strax and Clara for a while, it was a welcome change to have some peace and quiet to think. He was definitely not in the mood to be distracted.

  ‘Ah, young man,’ a voice called out to him. An elderly gentleman was hurrying towards the Doctor, brandishing a walking stick. His white hair receded from a high forehead and spilled over the collar at the back of his neck. He was dressed in typically Victorian style in a dark jacket and checked trousers with a thin black cravat.

  ‘What?’ the Doctor demanded impatiently as the man reached him.

  ‘I wonder if you can help me,’ the man said, his voice assertive yet slightly fussy. He brought his hand up to his chin and waggled his fingers alarmingly as he spoke. ‘I am rather new to this city, a stranger in a strange land, you might say. Yes, yes, you might indeed. As are you, I surmise.’ He stared at the Doctor intently. ‘Hmm?’

  ‘No,’ the Doctor told him.

  The man blinked. ‘I beg your pardon?’

  ‘No, I can’t help you.’ Was that a bit rude? Probably, the Doctor decided. So he forced an unconvincing smile. ‘Good day.’ Then he walked briskly on.

  A few minutes later, he was accosted again. A rather scruffy gentleman this time, clad in a jacket that seemed several sizes too big and to have been slept in. He was shorter than the Doctor with dark, unruly hair. The Doctor got the full benefit of the top of the man’s head, which was lowered so that he could not see where he was going. As a result, he walked right into the Doctor, leaping back in surprise.

  ‘Oh, I do beg your pardon. People really should look where they’re going.’ The man frowned, then smiled, dark eyebrows arching upwards. ‘I know you, don’t I? No,’ he went on quickly, index finger pressed thoughtfully into the corner of his mouth. ‘Don’t tell me – I never forget a face. Though actually, no. Sorry, no – I think you’re wrong. We don’t know each other at all, do we? You must have mistaken me for someone else.’

  He dusted the palm of his hand down the front of his jacket before holding it out politely.

  The Doctor ignored it and pushed past with a loud sigh. ‘We haven’t met before,’ he confirmed. ‘And we’re
not about to meet now.’

  ‘Oh. Oh well, that is a pity …’ The man watched the Doctor hurry on. If the Doctor had glanced back, he might have seen the man’s face – and his attire – fade and shimmer. His features slowly blanking out.

  Several streets further on and it was the Doctor who bumped into a stranger rather than the other way around. To be fair, he reflected, the man had stepped out of a side street right in front of him.

  ‘Good grief, man,’ the gentleman announced. ‘Is no one in this entire city capable of walking in a straight line?’ The man drew himself up to his full, rather impressive height and glared at the Doctor. ‘I wouldn’t have thought I was exactly hard to miss.’

  He was right – dressed like that in a ruffled shirt, purple velvet smoking jacket, and scarlet-lined cape. He stood with his hands on his hips regarding the Doctor from beneath an impressive bouffant of white hair.

  ‘I didn’t miss you,’ the Doctor told the man shortly. ‘I rather think that’s the point.’ He walked on quickly while the man spluttered angrily behind him.

  The Doctor did his best to ignore the equally tall figure who kept pace with him along Jephson Street. He was not at all sure he wanted to be seen with someone who could believe that a battered hat jammed down over a madness of brown curls and an improbably long scarf displayed any sort of style.

  As they reached the corner of the street, the man pulled a paper bag from his coat pocket and offered it to the Doctor. His eyes bulged alarmingly above tombstone teeth and asked in a sonorous tone: ‘Would you care for a Worthington’s Superior Peppermint? They’re really rather good. Go on,’ he urged, ‘try one.’

  ‘Thank you,’ the Doctor acknowledged, pausing to rummage in the bag and retrieve a sweet. He unwrapped it and popped it in his mouth. ‘Yes,’ he agreed, doing his best to articulate round the large mint. ‘Very good. Very minty. Bye.’ He quickened his pace.

  Right from the start Affinity knew the Doctor would be a problem. In most cases, the best initial approach was to adopt and adapt an aspect of the personality of his target. So with Jenny, a young man in service was an obvious starting point. Madame Vastra was simple – another of her own species, just as alone and confused and struggling to hide it and to compensate.