Doctor Who: The Clockwise Man

by Richards, Justin

  The cat's head snapped round as it reacquired its target. Rose pressed herself back against the wall, ducking as the rays scythed out again. Smoke drifted from the scarred wall. Rose shrieked, throwing her hands up in front of her face as the cat leaped. Claws out, it hurled itself at Rose, eyes blazing with lethal fury.

  NINE

  There was silence when the Doctor finished his story. He had not told them everything, of course. Just enough. Start spouting nonsense about being an alien from the future and he might lose them altogether. So he stuck to the bare bones of the story – mysterious clockwork killers sent by a masked woman to assassinate the wrong man. Straightforward enough.

  The staff who had gathered with Crowther to listen to the latter part of the Doctor's story exchanged looks – some worried, some amused, some just confused. Several guests were sitting close by, listening attentively. Aske and Repple were the only ones the Doctor knew by name. Repple in particular was watching the Doctor closely, his face set expressionless. Aske looked from the Doctor to Repple and back again – was he wondering how this would affect his patient's mind, or somehow assimilating it into his own delusions?

  Wyse held up his glass and swirled round the last drops of the pale liquid in the bottom of the bowl. He finished the drink and stood up. 'Glad I had that brandy,' he said. 'Think I might have another. Anyone else?' He raised his eyebrows enquiringly at the Doctor, then turned to include the staff in his invitation. 'No? Then please don't mind me.'

  Aske joined him at the decanters and allowed Wyse to pour generous measures into two glasses. He took one back to Repple.

  Crowther cleared his throat. 'Excuse me, Doctor, but what are you suggesting we do? If I have understood correctly, you believe these assassins will be making their way here as soon as it is dark.'

  'Guess so,' the Doctor agreed. 'So we all have to make our choices.' He counted them off on his fingers. 'Stand and fight. Barricade the doors and try to scare them off. Hide under the tables.' He still had a finger left and clicked his tongue as if trying to remember the final option. 'Run away,' he decided at last. 'Let them rampage about and cause trouble on their own. Maybe try to lead them off, but 1 doubt it'd work.'

  'I shall not run away,' Repple announced. 'I think we all know who these assassins are really after.' He stood up, brandy in one hand, the other in his jacket pocket. Aske stood beside him, mirroring the stance. 'I have always known that this time might come,' Repple went on. 'That the evil forces that oppose me at home would hunt me down.'

  'We can't be certain it's for your benefit,' the Doctor pointed out gently.

  Repple ignored him. "Who will stand with me in my hour of need? Which of you has the courage and the honour to do battle with the forces ranged against us?' He lifted the glass. 'To victory,' he declared. 'And to Dastaria.' Repple and Aske drank, then sat down again.

  Wyse took a half-hearted sip at his brandy. 'Yes, well, be that as it may,' he said, 'I'm afraid it's Wednesday, so I don't think I shall be able to help. Prior engagement, you know. But,' he added, 'I shall hurry back in the event I can be of any assistance.'

  The Doctor stared at him. 'Prior engagement?'

  Wyse looked slightly embarrassed. 'Long-standing. Couldn't possibly miss it. Every Wednesday.' He pulled out a watch on a chain from his waistcoat pocket, pushed his monocle into place, and checked the time. 'Got an hour or so before I have to leave, if that's any help. But every Wednesday I play chess with a friend just along the Embankment. Never miss. Sorry. Be right back,' he added with an apologetic smile. 'But, you know – can't let the blighters win, can we? Can't let them set the rules and dictate to us how we spend our own time.'

  This last comment seemed to strike a chord with Repple, who nodded grimly in agreement.

  While Wyse had been talking, several staff and a few guests had taken the chance to slip away. The room was looking rather empty now. The Doctor counted off the people left – Aske and Repple, Crowther and two of his men. The remaining guests were two elderly men – one of whom the Doctor was sure was so deaf he didn't know what was being discussed – and a middle-aged gentleman of enormous girth who was grinning with eager anticipation.

  The Doctor sighed. Not exactly an army, but he could not expect people to put themselves at risk for him. Or even on the off-chance that the clockwork killers might come for him. He was most saddened by Wyse, but he assumed the man had simply not believed him. Typically, he was too polite to say so outright, but equally he wasn't willing to give up his precious evening just to humour the Doctor. Understandable, but sad.

  'I've sent the ladies away, Doctor,' Crowther confessed. 'I hope that was correct.'

  The Doctor nodded. 'S'pose so. Too late now if it wasn't. Though Rose is always useful in a –' He broke off, looking round. 'Where is Rose?' he wondered aloud.

  More from instinct than design, Rose grabbed the creature in mid-air, catching it round the neck with both hands, twisting it away so that the deadly rays traced twin black scorches across the wall behind her.

  She could feel the thing writhing as she struggled to hold on. Its body was like a bag of bones – hard and brittle under the fur. It hissed and fought. Claws raked at Rose as she tried to keep it at arm's length. She knew she would not be able to hold on to it for long.

  So she turned sideways, still holding the cat firmly round the neck, squeezing as tightly as she could but with no apparent effect. The beams were lancing out, gouging through the paint and panelling as the head snapped angrily round in an effort to get at Rose. Any illusion she'd had that it was a real cat, made of flesh and blood, was long gone. Rose braced her feet on the stairs, and slammed the thing's head as hard as she could into the wall.

  There was an unpleasant crunching sound, and the cat gave an unearthly wail. She smashed it into the wall again, which crumbled under the impact. And again – a starburst of flaking plaster and paint. One of the eyes was still firing, blackening the wall as Rose once more swung her arms.

  The light in the eye went out. But the claws were still raking, the mouth hissing in the middle of the battered face. Rose let go of the neck with one hand, grabbed the cat's tail instead. She braced herself again, let go with the other hand. Both hands now holding the cat's tail, she swung it with all her might at the wall.

  With a wrenching, tearing noise like a car stripping its gears, the cat went limp in her hands. She swung it again, to be sure, to work off the adrenalin, because she didn't yet dare to believe that the thing was dead.

  The cat's fur split open, as if badly stitched. Cogwheels, gears, levers, small shapes of metal tumbled from inside and clattered to the floor. They bounced down the stairs and spun across the floorboards. Rose dropped what was left of the cat. She picked her way through the scattering of brass and steel components that littered the stairs. As soon as she could, she ran.

  On the landing, all was silent. Then the panel of the door to Mr Pooter's rooms opened once more. A cat stepped through, surveying the scene in front of it through emerald eyes. It was a black cat, with a white triangle of fur under its head. It paused, head cocked to one side as if listening.

  Then the panel of the door swung shut, and the cat ran down the stairs. After Rose.

  Even from outside it was apparent that something was happening at the Imperial Club. The figure watching from the deepening shadows, as the late afternoon turned to evening, observed with interest.

  Shutters were closed over windows. The front door was closed and locked. Freddie could hear the rasp of metal on metal as the bolts were slid across. He sat down on the pavement, careful to make sure that there was nothing sharp or rough, and watched with interest. He saw the Doctor shadowed against windows before shutters swung across. He saw Rose looking out from an upstairs room and scanning the street. Freddie shuffled carefully back into the darkness, hoping she could not see him.

  He wondered what would happen if the Doctor or Rose did see him. Would they ask him to come inside, away from the danger, from the clockwor
k knights they were obviously expecting? Or would they pack him off back home? Probably they would telephone his stepfather to come and get him, he thought. Best not to be seen. Best to watch and wait and help when and if he could.

  It was getting cold now, and Freddie pulled his coat about him and hummed to himself for the company. It was a tune his father had taught him. They had whistled it together as they trudged through the snow that last night, before they sheltered in the barn. A lilting, melancholy tune. If there were words to it, he did not know them. But he could feel the emotion and the sadness that went with it. He wiped his eyes with the back of his hand, and imagined his father standing behind him as he kept watch.

  The fat man was called Wensleydale. Like the cheese, as the Doctor pointed out with amusement. He had been a lieutenant in the Fusiliers, he told the Doctor and Rose. 'In younger days,' he added, patting his enormous stomach.

  'Thank you for staying,' Rose said.

  He laughed it off. 'Couldn't let you down. Anyway, got nothing much better to do, and can't leave decent people in the lurch.'

  'Unlike Wyse,' Rose said. She turned to the Doctor. 'How could he just leave like that?'

  The Doctor shrugged. 'He said he'd be back.'

  'Yeah, like Schwarzenegger.'

  'He did come back,' the Doctor pointed out. 'Maybe Wyse will return to save the day.'

  'He's a good sort really,' Wensleydale assured them. 'But Wednesday's his chess night. Everyone knows that. Plays against some fellah named Ben something or other. Dunno where he lives, but Wyse once told me you can see his place from the Embankment. Seemed to find that amusing, but he's a cheerful cove any old how.'

  'What about the cat?' Rose asked the Doctor once Wensleydale had left them.

  'Dead duck.'

  'No, cat. But it's dead all right. If clockwork animals can die.'

  'We'll worry about it later then.'

  'Think it's something to do with Melissa Heart and her clockwork knights?'

  The Doctor pursed his lips and stared at her.

  'OK, so big coincidence if it isn't, right?'

  'Right.'

  'And you really think she'll come after us?' He kept the same expression, so Rose sighed and went on, 'OK, another stupid question. Just forget I'm here, like usual.'

  'Oh.' He was mortified. 'I never forget you. How could I ever forget you, Rose Taylor?'

  'Tyler,' she corrected him. But they were both smiling now.

  The back door of the club closed with a satisfying clunk. Almost as satisfying as the click of the key turning in the lock. Wyse slipped the key into his pocket. It was a shame to have to leave and miss all the fun, assuming there really was fun to be had, he thought.

  He knew the Doctor well enough, trusted him enough, to believe that the Doctor thought the threat he described was very real. But it was, Wyse decided, a question of priority. He turned away from the door, not at all surprised to see that the cat had slipped out with him. Its eyes glowed green in the near-darkness.

  Wyse crouched down and tickled the cat under the chin. Its eyes narrowed, but it did not object. 'Right, time to be going.' Wyse straightened up and raised a hand in a farewell wave to the back of the Imperial Club.

  He hummed tunelessly to himself as he emerged into the street. It looked as if it was going to be a fine evening, he thought. A bit cloudy, maybe a shower later. The inevitable London mist and fog. But generally fine. He swung his monocle happily on its chain as he strode off towards the Embankment, apparently without a care in the world.

  Behind him. the cat followed along the pavement. Its eyes never left the figure ahead. When Wyse paused to listen to the hour strike, so did the cat. When he moved on, the cat kept with him. He didn't look back. He paused to nod a greeting to the two figures that passed him on the other side of the pavement, and the cat paused too.

  But it did not spare the figures a glance. It did not seem to notice that they were walking stiffly and mechanically, any more than Wyse did. It did not care that they looked more like suits of medieval armour than human beings. It did not wonder at the rhythmic ticking that accompanied the two dark figures making their way towards the Imperial Club.

  TEN

  The first sign was a hammering on the front door. Quiet at first – knocking to be allowed in – the sound quickly grew to a battering. The Doctor had left one of the shutters on the first floor half open. The window gave a good view of the main door, and Rose ran to look.

  'It's them,' she confirmed.

  'Just two of them?' the Doctor called up the stairs from the foyer. His voice seemed to carry easily though Rose had to shout to be heard.

  'Yes.'

  'Melissa not with them?'

  'Seems not.'

  'She won't be far away.'

  Rose ran back down to join the group gathered in the foyer. 'So, what now? Should we just, maybe, you know, go with them?'

  'If I thought it would end there,' the Doctor said quietly. 'But it isn't really us she's after. And when she works that out. . .' He shook his head. 'No, we have to. . .' His voice tailed off, and he was staring into space.

  'Stand and fight?' Wensleydale suggested. He brandished a service revolver he had proudly produced earlier.

  'A noble sentiment,' Repple agreed. Aske, hand as usual in his jacket pocket, making him look nonchalant and aloof, said nothing.

  'On balance,' the Doctor said between thumps from the door, 'I think. . .' He paused to allow for the first splintering of the heavy wood. 'Run away,' he decided.

  Repple caught the Doctor by the arm as he strode across the foyer. 'You fear to fight?'

  'I fear to lose.' The Doctor shook Repple's hand off him. 'Those aren't people. Not flesh and blood to be stopped with bullets or brute force. Not human like you and. . .' He reconsidered. 'Like you,' he decided. 'Once inside they'll kill every one of you to get at me. Not you, me. Got it?'

  'Shouldn't we telephone the police for assistance?' one of the two old men asked. His companion nodded in agreement.

  'What?' The Doctor stared at him in disbelief.

  'Yes,' Rose said, 'why not?'

  'What?'

  'You know,' she reminded him, 'officers and cars respond to all calls.'

  'We're past officers and cars responding now,' the Doctor insisted. 'That'll just get more people killed.'

  'So what do we do?' Aske demanded. 'Wait here to be ripped apart by these mechanical things?' As if to emphasise the point, a panel of the door exploded inwards. A metal fist thrust through, clenching and unclenching before withdrawing to strike again.

  'Clockwork, that's the key,' the Doctor told him, grinning at the pun. 'Clockwork soldiers, and clockwork cats. Technology that doesn't stand out, that can't be detected, that isn't out of time and place.'

  The door was splintering now. The two knights were clearly visible through the holes punched in the panelling. One of them reached in and scrabbled for the bolts, drawing them back. The lock would not hold for long. Already the metal was screeching and straining with every thump.

  'Mr Pooter,' Rose said quietly. 'He's behind this, isn't he?'

  The Doctor shook his head. 'No such person.'

  'I've seen him. The trustees or whoever they are had a meeting with him.'

  'With someone,' the Doctor corrected her.

  "What are you talking about?' Repple demanded. 'You say you won't stand and fight, yet any moment now you will have to.'

  The Doctor turned full circle, taking in each and every one of the people gathered in the foyer. 'It's me they think they want,' he said. He pointed at Crowther. 'You and your chums, back to the kitchens. If there's no one trying to get in there, get the back door open.'

  'You think there might be more of them?' Rose said.

  'Or Miss Melissa. They don't want us just walking out the back as they come in the front. That'd be a bit daft.' He turned back to Crowther. 'When and if it's all clear, leg it. If we're not after you in half an hour then we're not gonna be.'

&nb
sp; Crowther nodded. He was looking pale, but otherwise calm and in control. The two servants with him were less composed. One of them, he couldn't have been much older than Rose, looked close to tears.

  The Doctor turned next to Wensleydale and the two elderly men. 'You three, back to the Bastille Room. Only one way in, so you can defend yourselves better in there. Let's hope you don't have to. Wensleydale – look after them.'

  'Sir!' Wensleydale snapped importantly.

  'And where are we going?' Repple asked. He had to shout to be heard above the final splintering of the door as the two knights forced their way through the last of the woodwork. The lock fell to the floor, shattered.

  'With me,' the Doctor yelled back. He was running now, holding Rose's hand and leading Aske and Repple up the stairs. 'To see a man about a cat.'

  The two dark figures stepped through the shattered remains of the front door of the Imperial Club and disappeared from sight. Freddie was standing, watching. He wondered if he ought to follow. Perhaps he could help the Doctor and Rose escape a second time. Or maybe he should wait in case they came out.

  'A difficult decision.'

  The voice was quiet, close to his ear. Startled, Freddie turned.

  The dark mask was close to his face. Matt black, with silver teardrops under the eyes. The mouth was a smiling slash of scarlet. Freddie braced himself to try to get away. But Melissa Heart's hand closed tightly on his shoulder, holding him still.

  'He won't run,' she said gently. 'He won't try to escape. It isn't in his nature. He will stand and fight.' She shook her head, the silvering on the mask catching the light and flickering. 'If you only knew what he is capable of, how many he has killed, you wouldn't be so keen to help him.'

  She pushed Freddie ahead of her across the street. 'Come with me,' she said. 'Witness the execution of a mass murderer.'