The Drosten's Curse

by A. L. Kennedy

  ‘But you didn’t ask.’

  ‘Turn that thing round at once and back to the hotel!’

  As Putta and Bryony swung the golf cart unsteadily round to follow the Doctor, the twins trotted swiftly into their path and stood.

  Xavier told them, firmly, ‘I don’t think you should. Grandmother is expecting you.’

  ‘Yes. And you shouldn’t disappoint Grandmother.’ Honor looked sad, but also very determined. ‘She likes tea. A lot.’

  The Doctor adopted his most persuasive voice, ‘Oh, but we can come back. Yes, we can. Immediately. We have this one thing we must do together by ourselves in the Spa and then we’ll be back and then absolutely tea with Grandmother will happen. I look forward to it, I do.’ He wondered how a powerful effusion of psychons might affect the malleable minds of children. Probably quite badly.

  The twins stared at him and suddenly didn’t seem even slightly adorable. Their limbs stiffened and their faces hardened. It was possible to think that they might be dangerous in a fight – very swift and unforgiving.

  Bryony found herself thinking they should just abandon the golf cart and run – it would be faster, even with Putta’s very probably badly bruised ankles. She also suddenly felt certain the twins would turn out to be much faster than anyone else running and that their speed might not be a comforting or unthreatening thing.

  ‘It isn’t four o’clock yet, you know. And four o’clock is tea time,’ the Doctor wheedled. He very carefully pretended to be someone who didn’t feel scared in any way. ‘We all promise we’ll be back by four. If you wait for us. We’ll follow the signs to the cottage, you won’t need to show us the way. And then we’ll have fun, which I always enjoy, there’s nothing as much fun as fun, I find. Don’t you find?’ He wagged his hands and shrugged like someone who wasn’t rapidly calculating and puzzling and trying to get back to the hotel fast and to work out the twins’ real nature, while soothing them with unstoppable courtesy. Soothing with unstoppable courtesy often worked on most planets. It was one of the many reasons why the Doctor didn’t carry a gun.

  And then, as if the sun had come out – or as if they had finished their own calculations – the twins giggled and stood aside and Honor said, ‘Yes, we’ll see you later, then. That will be terribly nice. And fun.’

  And Xavier patted Bryony on her arm and said, ‘Good luck, old girl.’

  This felt just a little bit creepy, so Bryony put her foot down and the cart zoomed – in as far as it could zoom – back towards the Spa with the Doctor loping alongside as though what he loved most in the whole universe was rushing towards dangerous situations without having a proper plan. Or any plan at all.

  THE THREE ARRIVED AT the Fetch Hotel to see that the foyer was full of dissatisfied guests. Mr Mangold was just saying, ‘I am doing my best, sir. Miss Mailer, my receptionist, has disappeared…’ So he didn’t call her Junior when she wasn’t around, Bryony noted as she hurried past, shouting, ‘Guest emergency! Can’t stop!’

  By the time they’d reached the Spa section, they had all realised that they certainly did look in need of relaxation and therapy. At the very least. Putta was covered in sand, grass, mud, vapour stains, fissile backwash and a tangible layer of anxiety. In places his suit looked as if something had recently tried to eat it, because something had. Bryony’s own business suit had several small rips in it and was grass-stained, her tights were ruined, and her name badge was missing, along with her shoes, she now noticed – she’d taken them off when she helped wrestle Putta out of the pit. Or bunker. And her hair was alarming. The Doctor – he looked like the Doctor, which was always vaguely alarming to people like the Spa Manageress (who habitually patronised Bryony, because of her poor skincare, obvious split ends and Junior status).

  ‘Can I help you?’ There was a blatant sneer in the question.

  The Doctor paced up to the Spa Welcome Desk like a jolly tiger in a maroon jacket. ‘Indeed you can. How splendid that you’re here. Just who we need.’ He smiled in a way that made Byrony’s gums tingle and made her wonder if his smiling was, in fact some kind of alien martial art. The Doctor continued: ‘I was told you’d be entirely helpful by the people at the head office. They said to me – it won’t matter if you turn up looking as if you’ve landed from outer space, you’ll get a perfect welcome at the Fetch Brother’s Spa.’ He beamed again. ‘Why look – you even have a Welcome Desk.’

  ‘Head office?’ The Manageress was wary, but deeply susceptible to flattery. Given that she was quite unpleasant to most people, she was very rarely flattered, despite her flawless complexion. ‘We don’t have a head office.’

  ‘Oh, no. I meant my head office. The head office of the esteemed publication Elite Spas & Homes Away From Home.’

  ‘I’ve never heard of it.’

  ‘Oh, but you will.’ And a last, extraordinary grin was unleashed.

  The Manageress crumbled, her resistance transformed into a disturbing blend of fawning, flirtation and girlishness. She gladly showed the Doctor that day’s register to prove how busy and efficient she was…David Agnew’s signature was there. He’d definitely signed in…

  The Manageress then insisted on giving each of them gift bags and free swimming costumes. It took all Bryony’s powers of persuasion to get them into the Spa without having to accept a guided tour, free sauna and beating with twigs.

  FAR ACROSS THE FETCH Estate, the golf cart had been parked neatly in its charging bay behind Julia Fetch’s cottage. The twins were standing near it. Slowly, Honor pressed the palms of her hands against Xavier’s and he pressed back.

  Honor asked Xavier, ‘Shall we go and speak to Grandmother?’

  And Xavier told Honor, ‘No. Let’s not. Not yet. Let’s do this instead.’

  So they stood and pressed their hands together while the birds sang and little breezes pushed about amongst the rose bushes in Julia Fetch’s garden.

  THE DOCTOR AND HIS companions rendezvoused in the Tranquillity Lounge, which instantly became less tranquil. In fact, its two occupants – sisters Sylvia and Rosemary Hindle from High Wycombe – decided they might just head off somewhere else. Right away. As several firmly worded signs said they must when in the Therapy Areas, Putta and Bryony wore their new, slightly ill-fitting, swimming costumes, Fetch Spa-issue flip-flops and bathrobes. Putta was absolutely certain that he was never taking his bathrobe off, not even if it killed him. Bryony was never going to see him in swimming trunks. It was bad enough that his gingery-haired shins and monster-bitten ankles were so horribly visible.

  The Doctor had managed to pass through the changing rooms without changing a bit – apart from having folded his hat into his jacket pocket and having donned a gift bag shower cap instead. His hair was fighting the shower cap. And winning.

  ‘Now stay with me.’ It was very hard to take him seriously in the cap. ‘I mean it. No good will come from our splitting up and I can’t be everywhere and…’ His sentence trailed off and he seemed to become unfocused for a few breaths. But then he stalked off with immense energy, and they began their hunt for Agnew.

  The woody heat of the sauna, the foggy depths of the Turkish baths, the bad-tempered massage rooms, even the towel cupboard were searched before they all – staying together, just as the Doctor had said they must – walked along the corridor to the Hydro Room.

  As he pressed on, the Doctor felt that metallic taste in his mouth again and began to think that having a plan at this point might have been a good idea. There was something dreadfully uninviting about the warm, thick, damp air slowly oozing along from the pool. And wouldn’t it maybe have been safer to split up, to let his companions wander off and not run the same risks as he was about to?

  The Hydro Room lighting was on the red part of its cycle and the wide, round pool was bubbling and seething dramatically. Agnew was lolling back in it as if he was having the time of his life – eyes closed and a slight smile on his lips.

  The Doctor understood at once that many things were terrifyingl
y wrong and he regretted absolutely having brought the others with him. He said, very quietly, ‘Perhaps you two should go outside.’ His head throbbed and his ears seemed filled with the roiling of the pool waters. His tongue and lips tasted coppery.

  Putta stared at the red, restless liquid and at Agnew. And he was annoyed. Really as annoyed as he’d ever allowed himself to be. ‘It’s no use pretending to be asleep!’ he shouted. ‘You left me out there. With that thing! Now what is it?! Tell us what it is! Tell us what you are!’

  The Doctor said, even more quietly, ‘He can’t tell us.’

  ‘Of course he can!’ Putta was enjoying being angry. Other people had always been angry with him and this time it was going to be his turn. Being furious was quite exhilarating and he realised now why it was so consistently popular across the universe. ‘You! Wake up!’ He leaned right over the edge of the pool and shouted with all his might across the water to Agnew. ‘Wake up!’

  Which was when the colour of the lights changed to a soft and flattering white, and yet the water and Agnew’s face were still thickly red, and patches of damp on the floor were also red, and Bryony felt sick and then she was sick, and the Doctor seemed to be walking over to comfort her, but then he cried out, holding his head and dropping to the red-spattered tiles, kneeling and rocking, apparently in torment.

  As Bryony rushed to him, she heard Putta call, ‘Bryony! Bryony! Get out! Leave us! Bryony! Run!’

  And when she looked up she saw the thin, funny, little man called Putta try to rush away from the pool, but what looked like ropes, like purple-red muscular ropes, were undulating and rushing out of the water and they caught at the hem of his red-stained bathrobe, snaked into its loose sleeves and wrapped around him, dragging him slithering and fighting back towards the water.

  Bryony met his eyes and thought that he was a very brave man, or being, or whatever, and a good one and that it was a shame he’d never realise it. She thought he would have liked himself more if he had.

  The Doctor yelled to her, ‘It’s a feedback loop – the pain drove it back here. Get out now! With no mind to control it, the creature will devour everything it can find! I should have known! Quickly! It doesn’t know what else to do!’

  And then a huge thought swept through him again.

  BLOOD.

  He’d led them all into the same trap that had just turned on Agnew, its creator.

  ‘Run!’

  Bryony wavered, as the Doctor convulsed and Putta battled the swift, repulsive arms swarming around him. Clearly it would be sensible to run…She paused for a breath.

  ‘Go!’ Putta was fighting desperately to get out of the bathrobe that might very well kill him, as the pulsing tentacles slithered over his body, scraping his skin like gluey sand as they went. ‘Please!’

  But Bryony couldn’t run.

  ‘It was feeding on his rage!’ The Doctor, was holding his head in both hands. ‘I can feel it…this…fury…magnifying. It’s so angry…so…scared…’

  BLOOD.

  ‘Then don’t be furious! And don’t be scared!’ Bryony was yelling herself now. ‘Relax!’ Putta looked at her in utter bewilderment. ‘Relax, Putta. Trust me. You can trust me can’t you, you stupid space man!’

  And she said this with such affection that Putta did relax. The arms immediately drew him right against the low wall that contained the pool, knocking the breath out of him, but then they too relaxed slightly. They seemed indecisive. The ends of a few tentacles twitched, shivered.

  ‘Pat them!’

  ‘What!?’ Putta looked at her as if she was insane.

  But the Doctor, still pale and wincing, nodded. ‘Yes. Of course! Of course! The field is still operational. It will magnify whatever we feel.’ He focused on thinking clearly, gently, willed the agony in his skull to retreat a little. ‘If we can’t dissipate it, we can change its orientation and bring it back under control. Well done, Bryony. Well done.’ He trembled, frowned, but also managed to nod encouragingly. ‘You’re terribly good at this.’

  ‘Then let’s blooming well get on with it!’ Bryony yelled again.

  Putta just stared, locked with fear. He was in danger of quite literally terrifying himself to death. The Doctor knew that if Putta made the creature too frightened, in its wounded and sensitised state, it would defend itself – by killing Putta.

  And he wasn’t being soothed and anaesthetised first.

  The Doctor tried to help. ‘Imagine it’s a big…like a giant…’

  BBBBB…

  He tried to imagine something huge but loveable with lots of arms and couldn’t bring anything to mind apart from an immense and fluffy tarantula – which very few beings would find that adorable – so he just suggested, ‘Tickle it. Go on, Putta. Tickle it.’

  Bbbb…

  Putta reached out tentatively – in as far as he could while the tentacles were tight round him – and patted and then did tickle the muscular bond fastening his other arm to his side. He was wrapped in an immense, clammy strength, but it was no longer contracting. It no longer felt quite as horrifying. He tickled some more. He patted the flesh he’d been trying to keep away from his throat.

  ‘That’s it.’ Bryony nodded. ‘It’s working. At least, it’s stopped.’

  ‘Of course it’s working!’ The Doctor was still clearly in pain, but looked less grey. ‘And we have to…we have to think calmly, we have to be friendly towards it. We have to like it. I think. If we…’ He broke off for a few seconds as his headache peaked. ‘Yes…We need to be very, very fond of it indeed. We need to love it.’

  ‘Are you out of your mind!?’

  ‘Just do it, Putta!’ both Bryony and the Doctor bellowed. So he tried.

  Aaabbb…

  Bryony concentrated on attempting to find anything endearing about the heaving red and purple mass which had almost overwhelmed Putta. As she did so, the creature seemed to shudder and lose definition. Putta started to be able to gasp in complete breaths – much to his relief – and could move a little more.

  As soon as he did move, the beast tightened around him again, but he tried not to panic, tried to let his limbs flop, relax, relax, relax, and to encourage the grating, sliding pressure to release again. It made his skin crawl. Which was because it was crawling over his skin. But that was fine. If it would just let him go that would be fine. Even if it simply didn’t eat him, but kept a hold of him for the rest of his life and he just had to get used to wearing some kind of immense purplish slime and grit monster that would be fine…it would all be fine…he could be calm…

  The Doctor filled his consciousness with the faces of all the companions he had enjoyed knowing – their faces and the times when they had helped him, the times when they had been amazed by the universe along with him. He thought about the universe: the light-producing microbes that danced on the walls of the Delling Caves, the Great Library, the Song Towers of Und, the unlikeliness of life existing anywhere in the first place and yet the way it blossomed and flourished and celebrated itself and was so beautiful.

  A

  A

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  b

  c

  d

  And finally Putta found himself dumped onto the floor as the creature trapping him retreated across his skin. Its withdrawal was rapid, and immediately after it a dreadful gurgling and thrashing came from the jacuzzi behind him. Then what was left of the beast simply collapsed into sand, warm sand, warm wet clinging sand and a kind of rush of dissipating motion. The bloodstains slowly faded into the grains scattered all over the floor, dyeing them for a moment, before the colour disappeared and there was nothing left but…sand.

  Putta looked up at the two beings he would most want to nearly be killed with – if he had to be nearly killed – as they came cautiously towards him. His bathrobe was several feet away, partly obscured by a sand drift – which meant that Bryony had seen him in his trunks. And being nearly crushed to death. And covered in slime. And sand. Which was also in
side his swimming trunks. Oh, but things could be so much worse. They really could. Putta glanced flinchingly round at the pool – the creature had taken what was left of Agnew with it before…Putta didn’t know what had happened…Did it lose its grip on that part of itself that was sand…? Did it absorb – horrible thought – Agnew before dying…? Or…Putta was too stunned and relieved and suddenly, deeply exhausted to think clearly.

  The Doctor set out his arm to keep Bryony back from any remaining danger and advanced slowly, but with an increasingly enormous smile. ‘Not so tricky, really once the problem was fully understood.’ He kicked gently at the sand heaped around Putta. ‘I had my suspicions, naturally.’ And he frowned at the pool – even the blood had been removed from the water, by the hungry creature before it apparently imploded. Although it was far more sandy than would have been usual in an award-winning Elite Spa or a Home Away From Home.

  Bryony, punched his arm. ‘Your suspicions…’

  ‘Naturally.’ He winked. ‘And we would undoubtedly all be dead without you. It was incredibly prescient of me to have chosen you. A sign of true genius.’

  ‘I beg your pardon.’ Bryony couldn’t help smiling, too. ‘You chose me?’

  ‘I just said that. Do keep up.’ The Doctor grinned.

  BACK AT JULIA FETCH’S cottage, the twins were still leaning against each other, palm to palm with arms outstretched.

  Slowly their hands melted and melded and reformed, looking for a while like a reddish pink ball of dense fluid, caught spinning and writhing at the ends of their arms. Their enchanting faces blurred and their eyes blinked unnaturally open as their eyelids appeared to retract completely.

  There seemed to be a vibration in the air around them and, had anyone been looking at them, it would have been difficult to see them clearly. Even the grass around their feet became almost liquid. Reality itself seemed willing to melt and pour away.

  But then – slowly, delicately, the grass blades solidified, the air stopped shimmering and the twins’ faces became suddenly very clear, peaceful, loveable and their hands became only the usual kinds of hands, with the usual kinds of fingers. Everything, everywhere seemed to be held in suspension – as if the universe was a sleeping cat, just about to stretch, but not yet – and if Julia had looked out of her window, she would have noticed that the area around the cottage seemed impossibly bright and perfectly formed.