Wyse laughed. 'Come in here and 1 will kill them.'
'Let them go, or you will never get to your ship.'
'You leave, Doctor. Then 1 shall go to the ship. Then you can come back for them, if you have time. The clock has already struck the quarter. When it reaches the hour. . .' He waved the gun by way of demonstration.
'He would rather die than surrender?' It was Repple's voice from the stairway outside.
'Yes, he would,' Melissa answered.
Wyse too had heard them. 'You can't stop the mechanism,' he insisted. 'And when the clock strikes. . .' He stopped abruptly, as if surprised at his own words.
'When the clock strikes,' the Doctor echoed. There was the ghost of a smile on his face now. 'What if it doesn't strike?'
Then he was gone in a blur of movement. The door slammed shut.
Wyse cried out in anger. 'You can't stop it.'
'Bet he can,' Rose said. She was grinning.
Wyse looked at her, assessing the situation. Then he ran across the room. Holding the gun poised, he pulled open the door. The stairway was empty.
'Stay here. And I wouldn't try to stop the clock. If you do, the spring will activate and the weights will drop and start the process immediately.' Then he was gone. The door slammed shut and a key turned in the lock.
Rose was on her feet. 'Come on,' she said. 'Maybe we can stop the clock without setting it off.' But, looking at it, she sighed. 'Dunno where to start.'
'Anywhere,' Freddie suggested weakly.
'But I might set things off when the Doctor's just about to stop it,' she said. 'We'll be OK. He'll sort it.' She turned to smile encouragingly at Freddie. But the smile froze.
'You're bleeding.'
'It's my leg. I caught it on the window when I climbed in.' He stretched it out and she ran over, pushing up his torn trouser leg to reveal the skin slick with blood beneath.
Rose rubbed at the blood, trying to see where it was coming from. 'It's just a scratch,' she said with relief. 'It's not that big or deep. Keep still, and it'll soon stop bleeding.'
Freddie shook his head. He felt pale and woozy. 'No it won't,' he told her. 'Mother says it's her fault. In her blood. Sir George says it's proof of who I really am.' His eyes were moist as he stared up at Rose. 'When I start to bleed, I don't stop.'
SEVENTEEN
The Doctor was gone. But Repple and Melissa were waiting on the landing below when Wyse emerged from the clock room and slammed the door shut behind him. Melissa stepped forward as Wyse glanced down.
'Vassily!' she shouted.
He looked straight at her as she raised the tubelike weapon and fired.
Stonework beside the door, close to Wyse's head, exploded into stinging fragments. He barely flinched, took his time, aimed the revolver.
The crack of the gunshot echoed loudly in the confined space. Melissa gave a shriek of surprise and pain as the tubular device was knocked from her hand by the bullet. A line of red traced across her palm, and the tube tumbled into space. As the echoes died away, Repple heard it shatter on the floor nearly 300 feet below.
Wyse had stepped forward to the rail outside the clock room. He took aim again. On the lower turn of the stairs, the remaining Mechanical raised its arm. The blade caught the light as the tiny knife spun upwards at Wyse. He moved his head just enough to allow it to pass and embed itself in the door behind him. The gun was pointing directly at Melissa.
He fired, turned, and ran in one movement. Melissa did not flinch.
But Repple did. He leaped in front of her, the bullet catching him in the chest, driving him backwards down the stairs. He slumped to the floor, close to where Melissa was standing. Her expressionless face spared him a look, then she was off up the stairs, shouting for the Mechanical to follow.
Repple lay there, gasping, listening to the rapid clack of their feet as they hurried after Wyse. He felt for the wound, found the opening the bullet had torn in his waistcoat and shirt. He reached trembling fingers through the ragged hole. And pulled out the flattened lead that had impacted on the flesh-covered metal of his chest. He stared at it.
'Why can't I bleed?' he murmured. Then he tossed the spent bullet over the railing and got to his feet. The bullet clattered off the steps on the other side of the stairwell, then bounced back and into the abyss. The sound of its bounce, clatter, fall and eventual impact on the floor below rang in Repple's ears as he hurried after Wyse. And when the sound was gone, for the first time in his life, Repple fancied he could hear the dull ticking of a clock coming from somewhere inside his own head.
Wyse had only run up one short flight of stairs. Then he ducked inside another wooden door, and pushed it closed behind him. He stood, listening, at the door. He smiled as Melissa and the Mechanical ran past, up towards the belfry.
His smile froze as the Doctor's voice came from behind him: 'Hello.'
The door led into a narrow gallery that ran inside one of the faces of the clock. The whole of one wall was taken up with the clock face – over twenty feet in diameter, over 300 separate pieces of glass held in place by metalwork. A huge rod from the adjacent clock room ran through the wall and into the centre of the clock to drive the hands.
The other wall was a mass of light – bulbs blazing brilliantly to illuminate the clock face, throwing the shadows of the Doctor and Wyse against the opal glass. Just past the six o'clock position a whole large pane of glass had been pushed aside.
Wyse knew it was hinged to allow maintenance access to the clock face – a space barely big enough for a small man to squeeze through. The Doctor was standing beside it, pushing it closed, smiling with self-satisfaction.
'What have you done?' Wyse hissed. He raised the gun.
But the Doctor was already gone, dashing to the end of the room and turning the corner towards the next clock face. Wyse ran after him. He stopped at the centre of the gallery, and shoved open the glass panel. Had the Doctor somehow managed to stop the clock? Was he trying to jam the minute hand before it could reach twelve? Could he really have climbed up the outside of the clock and back again?
He leaned out through the glass. The wind whipped at Wyse's hair, blowing it into a panic around his head. He leaned as far as he dared – as far as he could. But it was not far enough to see where the clock's hands were. If it had been daylight outside he knew he would have seen the long minute hand silhouetted against the glass from inside. Where was it now?
Unable to get further through the panel, Wyse gave a grunt of both satisfaction and annoyance. If he could not get through the panel, then neither could the Doctor. Wyse had fallen for the bluff, had stopped to check and given the Doctor a few precious moments longer for whatever he was really up to. He started to pull himself back inside. And found he could not move.
The Doctor waited until Wyse was leaning through the panel, then ran back and pressed hard against him with both hands, holding him so he could not pull himself back inside. It would not prevent the clock from striking, but it solved one problem at least.
'Melissa!' he shouted as loudly as he could. 'In here, quickly.'
Wyse had realised what was happening and was struggling to get back in. The Doctor could imagine him trying to angle the gun so he could shoot at the Doctor. Even so, the sound of the shot, followed immediately by the crash of breaking glass, surprised him. The bullet ricocheted off the inside wall. Glass snowed down on the Doctor, tearing at his hands and face. He could see the door at the end of the gallery open and the Mechanical starting towards him.
Then the bullet bounced up off the floor and tore through a vital cable. The lights went out, plunging the Doctor into utter darkness.
He had relaxed his grip on Wyse slightly as the glass scythed into his hands. Wyse renewed his struggles, heaving backwards in an effort to break the Doctor's hold. At the same instant, something cannoned into the Doctor and sent him sprawling to the floor – the Mechanical, as confused as the Doctor by the loss of the lights.
There was a pale glow fr
om the next gallery, where the lights were still working. As his eyes adjusted, the Doctor could make out the tall shape of the Mechanical above him reaching for where Wyse had been. But the man was no longer there. The Mechanical stepped back, as if perplexed. The Doctor pulled himself to his feet, looking round in the hope of catching a glimpse of Wyse.
Instead, he caught the full force of Wyse's attack – felt the man's shoulder in the small of his back, forcing him violently forwards into the clock face.
The glass shattered as the Doctor crashed head-first into it. Metal stanchions twisted and broke away. Cold air and clammy fog blasted into the Doctor's face and he felt himself twisting, tumbling, falling. Through the clock. Into space. Three hundred feet above the ground.
No one could hear, she was sure. Rose hammered on the door. She heaved and shoved but without success. Her cheeks were wet and she brushed at them absently with the backs of her hands as she shouted and yelled and prayed for someone to come and help.
'He's dying!' she screamed.
But there was no answer.
In the corner of the room, Freddie's breathing was shallow and rapid. The most accurate mechanical clock in the world ticked away the unforgiving seconds as the blood slowly dripped from his body.
Once the clock struck the hour and the weights dropped, Wyse knew that the process would start. He would have perhaps fifteen minutes to get to the ship before the atmosphere became unstable. Ten for safety. He crept slowly along one of the galleries behind the clock face. The lights still worked here, but he was listening for the slightest hint of a mechanism that was not the main clock.
He had two options. He could go to the ship now, and hope that the Doctor's friends were unable to stop the mechanisms. If everything went according to plan, he would be safe in the ship when she powered up, ready to leave this pathetic planet far behind. Or if not, then at least he was free and able to try again, if only he could escape from the Painted Lady and her Mechanicals.
On the other hand, he could stay until the mechanism activated. He could make sure that everything worked, and still have time to escape to the ship. There was an element of risk, but Shade Vassily was not one to shy away from danger. He had allowed himself to be sidelined once, by agreeing to exile rather than almost certain death. He would not shirk his responsibilities – his destiny- again.
He stepped out of the gallery. He paused to savour the cool breeze from the broken clock face that gusted along the adjacent gallery, and to listen to Rose's screams and shouts for help. The others would surely be paying more attention to her than to hunting for him. He smiled and started up the stairs towards the belfry.
The wind was blowing holes in the fog. The air was still cold and damp, but through the tattered fog there was a magnificent view of London. Under other circumstances, the Doctor might have been impressed.
But just now he was hanging by tired fingers from the bottom of the clock face, struggling to hold on. Under the clock, the tower extended outwards slightly. Hardly a ledge, but enough for the Doctor to have collided with it as he fell. He had bounced, slid, scrabbled, and finally managed to get a grip. Hardly even that. His fingers were latched on to the final edge of stonework. Stonework make slippery by the fog and the London grime that coated it.
One hand slid off. The Doctor frowned. He reached back up, trying to grab hold. But it was too far away. He tried again, reaching as high as he could, feeling the stitching in his jacket give way under the arms. He couldn't possibly die needing a new jacket. The Doctor gritted his teeth, ready for one last try.
His hand swung up again, clutching at the air, finding nothing. At the same moment, he felt the fingers of his other hand slipping from the ledge. 'Sorry, Rose,' he said quietly.
Then his free hand slapped into something solid. Instinctively, he grabbed it, held on tight. And whatever it was held on to him. The Doctor was moving – not falling, but being hauled upwards. A moment later he found himself sitting on the ledge he had been so desperate to cling to. It was surprisingly wide.
Sitting beside him was Repple. 'You looked like you needed a hand.'
'Several.' The Doctor looked up, and saw that it was an easy climb back through the shattered clock face and into the tower. He got cautiously to his feet, and slapped Repple on the shoulder. 'Thanks. I owe you.'
'We must stop Wyse,' Repple said simply as he climbed up after the Doctor.
The Doctor was already easing himself carefully over the broken metal frame and the remains of the broken glass. 'Too right. No time to hang around.'
They stood together in the darkened gallery, feet crunching on the broken glass. The muffled sound of Rose's shouts reached them from the clock room, but it was impossible to make out her words.
'She's always impatient,' the Doctor said. 'You sort out Rose and Freddie. OK?'
'Very well, Doctor.'
They were hurrying along the gallery, back towards the stairs. And then see if you can jam the mechanism in the rooms below somehow. Anything to slow things down. Where's Melissa when we need her?'
'I do not know. What will you do?'
The Doctor started up the stairs, taking them two at a time, hauling himself along by the handrail. 'The drop of the weights when the clock strikes is the trigger. He must have a tap into that system, in the belfry.' He disappeared round the corner of the stairs, voice echoing back down, above Rose's shouts. 'I'm going to disconnect it.'
Rose was almost hoarse from shouting. She thought she heard the Doctor calling from outside, and paused to listen. But there was nothing. She looked back at Freddie – he seemed incredibly pale. She tried not to look at the red puddle growing beside him. How much blood was there in a boy's body? Must be several pints. Five, maybe. She tried to imagine how much that was, thinking of when she had dropped a slippery milk bottle in the kitchen. A beer mug knocked over down the pub. . .
Freddie smiled weakly at her. She tried to smile back.
Behind her, the door gave a massive crack. Rose ran over to Freddie, and together they watched as the wood splintered and broke round the lock. Someone was forcing their way in.
'Friend or foe?' Rose wondered out loud.
The lock gave way with a screech of tearing metal. Screws fell to the floor, followed by the lock itself. The door swung open, and Repple stepped into the room.
'Whose side are you on?' Rose demanded. 'Come to that, just who are you, anyway?'
He strode quickly across to them, and knelt beside Freddie, examining the gash in his leg. 'I am on your side,' he said. 'And I am just finding out who I am.' He looked up at Rose. 'Why isn't this healing?'
'Because he's a haemophiliac. I should have realised.' Only now, only when she said it out loud, did Rose start to cry. She could hear Freddie telling her how his stepfather wouldn't dare hit him – telling her before the boy even knew he was a prince. She could see his mother's tortured face and wondered how she could cope every day knowing the slightest scratch could kill her son. She thought about the one thing people remembered about the Romanovs. That and the fact they were dead. Now her innocent stupidity was killing Freddie.
Through her tears, she saw that Repple had torn away the leg of Freddie's trousers and was using the sodden material as a tourniquet. She hadn't even thought to do that for him.
'It will help,' Repple said. 'But it won't stop it. We need to close up the wound. Cauterise it in some way.'
Rose blinked back her tears and wiped her face on her sleeve. 'Sonic screwdriver,' she remembered. 'The Doctor said it can cauterise wounds.'
'Find him. Get it.'
Repple ran with her to the door, his hand on her shoulder. 'Hurry,' he said quietly, so Freddie would not hear. 'He doesn't have long.'
The stairs led into a large open area at the top of the tower. The bells were hung centrally – the largest, Big Ben itself, in the middle, with four smaller quarter bells clustered round it. There was a wooden platform under the bells, slightly raised from the stone floor that bordered the
room. The walls were broken by open arches giving views out over London.
The Doctor ran into the belfry, up and over a small iron bridge that led to the far side of the room. More steps led up to the topmost gallery but he ignored these. On the far side of the room he found Melissa, stooping beside a vast metal grille that covered the whole of one side of the belfry.
'Ventilation shaft,' he gasped. 'They light a fire at the bottom to draw the air through the building.' Looking across they could see the shorter but wider Victoria Tower at the other end of the palace. 'There's another one in there,' the Doctor added with a nod. He looked down again. 'Oh.'
'Yes,' Melissa said, as they both looked into the shaft. It was filled with machinery. 'I did think perhaps Vassily was hiding in one of these shafts.'
'He's really gone to town on this,' the Doctor said.
Melissa straightened up. She pointed across towards the bells, indicating the heavy hammer that was standing slightly proud of the side of Big Ben. 'He has attached a mechanism to the hammer, and thence to the weights.'
The Doctor ran to look. 'Yeah. Tricky.'
'It can be disconnected,' she said, joining him. 'But, as you say-tricky.'
'We've got about five minutes. One false step and the weights fall. Big Ben would sound an early death knell.'
One of the shadows close to the top of the stairs moved, detaching itself from the gloom and stepping up on to the raised bridge over the bell platform. 'Step away, Doctor,' Wyse said. He was pointing his revolver at them. 'And you,' he added, moving the gun slightly to point at Melissa.
'I'll leave it to you then,' the Doctor whispered.
Wyse was walking slowly along the bridge, keeping the gun level.
Melissa's black and silver mask turned to stare blankly at the Doctor. 'You'd trust me?'
At the end of the bridge, Wyse paused. He could come no closer without moving behind one of the quarter bells, giving them a moment to escape.
The Doctor kept his eyes on Wyse as he replied to Melissa's question. 'You're not a killer. Not really. You'd rather be saving lives than chasing monsters, admit it.' The Doctor gave an encouraging smile. 'We all would.'
Doctor Who: The Clockwise Man Page 16