‘What on Earth are you doing?’ asked Gaskell. ‘Harkness? Are you listening to me?’
‘We’ve got to free them,’ said Jack. ‘They’re just children.’
Gaskell laughed anxiously. ‘Are you out of your mind?’ he said. ‘Those aren’t children, Harkness. They are aliens.’
But Jack didn’t listen. As the others ran on, he continued in his task until all of the cots were broken and all of the creatures freed.
One by one the infants lowered themselves from their cots and began to gather around him, gnashing their teeth.
‘OK,’ said Jack. ‘Maybe not the best idea I ever had. . .’
Turning on his heels, he ran after the others as quickly as he could, slamming the nursery door shut behind him.
On the deck of HMS Hades, hiding behind a barrel and a mound of old rope, Tiberius Finch watched as the four members of Torchwood fled from the ship and gathered themselves on the riverbank. Though they were too far away for him to hear their voices, they seemed to be in some state of panic. Perhaps they had finally found themselves outnumbered by his personal guard. He certainly liked to think so.
The events of that evening were, he had decided, but a minor hindrance. His research had proven fruitful. However powerful Torchwood might consider themselves, they had overstepped the mark, and by quite some way. When those who had funded his experiments were told what had happened, the Torchwood Institute would be made to pay, and dearly.
Laughing softly to himself, Finch rested with his back against the barrel. He wondered what had happened to the Widow Blight, and felt a brief pang of melancholy at the thought that she had probably perished. It passed very quickly. There are few great acts achieved without sacrifice. Harkness’s escape and Mrs Blight’s death, he decided, were two such sacrifices.
As he drifted into a reverie, plotting his next moves and whatever revenge might be had against Torchwood, Tiberius Finch heard something scuttling across the deck.
He sat up straight and peered into the shadows, but saw nothing.
And then, once more, he heard it. Like the sound of a dozen feet tapping their way across the wooden floor.
‘Hello?’ he murmured. ‘Who goes there?’
Now, at last, he saw something. Tiny shapes moving in the darkness, illuminated only briefly by the occasional shifting beams of moonlight that broke through the clouds.
‘Hello. . .?’ Finch said once more, but still there was no reply.
Rising from his hiding place, Finch crossed the deck towards the shadowy forms. They were gathered around an open trapdoor, and as he neared them he saw that they were increasing in number. Only when he was a few short steps away from them did he realise who – or what – they were.
They were his specimens.
However monstrous and bizarre they might be, he knew that they were intelligent, at least as intelligent as human children if not more so. He knew, gazing into their obsidian black eyes, that they recognised him. More than this, he knew, as they began to surround him, that they were hungry for revenge.
From the riverbank they heard the sounds of screaming on the deck of the Hades and looked up.
‘Finch. . .’ said Gaskell.
‘Sounds like his pupils caught up with him,’ said Jack. He turned to the others. ‘We should leave. There are too many of those things on board the ship. We can’t hope to catch them all. We need back-up, or the proper equipment, or. . .’
‘Well we wouldn’t need any of those things if you hadn’t released them all,’ said Gaskell, approaching his horse, ‘Besides. . . I have a better idea.’
He reached into the saddlebag and pulled out a short glass tube at the end of which was a fuse.
Jack looked at his colleague, and at the glass tube, shaking his head. ‘You wouldn’t. . .’ he said.
‘Just watch me, Harkness,’ said Gaskell, lighting the fuse and then hurling the tube at HMS Hades.
As the projectile hit the deck of the old ship there was a sudden flash of light and then, in an instant, a blanket of fire had engulfed one of its ramshackle structures.
‘But they’re just children. . .’ said Jack.
Gaskell turned to him, simmering with anger. ‘They’re vermin,’ he snapped. ‘A pest to be exterminated. Nothing more.’
Jack launched himself at Gaskell but was held back by Emily.
‘Gentlemen,’ she said. ‘Do you really think this is the time or the place?’
She looked up at the ship, which was now half ablaze. The rooftops of its shacks were caving in, the innards of the boat groaning and roaring as the fire consumed it deck by deck. Somewhere, beyond the roar of the flames, they could hear the sound of the creatures screaming.
Jack eyeballed Gaskell, his expression still one of fury. Breaking away from Emily’s grasp he turned his back and walked away from them.
‘Where do you think you’re going?’ Alice cried after him.
Jack stopped and glanced back over his shoulder.
‘Like I told you,’ he said. ‘I’m freelance.’
He looked at Alice, then Emily, and Gaskell in turn, still seething with anger, and then he carried on walking until he had vanished like a spectre into the mist.
As chunks of burning debris rained down into the ink-black water, Gaskell, Alice and Emily mounted their horses, and rode out into the night, leaving the flames and the wreckage and the screaming far behind them.
‘I’ve been thinking,’ said Alice, sipping from her cup of tea as she sat down at Emily’s desk. ‘What would have happened if you had met with Mayhew, and not Jack?’
Emily joined her, stirring her own cup three times before she sat.
‘Whatever do you mean?’
‘Well,’ Alice continued, ‘if you had met with Mayhew, then you. . . well. . . you would have died.’
Emily gazed up into a far corner of the room, deep in thought. ‘Yes,’ she said at last with a quizzical smile. ‘I suppose I might have.’
There was a moment’s pause between them, the office silent but for the ticking of a clock.
‘So,’ said Alice, ‘what would have happened then?’
‘I don’t think I follow you. . .’
‘Well. . . Who would have taken your place?’
Emily let out a short, incredulous laugh. ‘Really, Alice,’ she said. ‘I thought you might have been a little more concerned for my wellbeing, or that you would have missed me for other reasons. . .’
Alice smiled. ‘Well of course there’s that,’ she said, and then, her expression grew pensive again. ‘Yes. . . I don’t know what I’d do without you. You know that.’
‘I know.’
‘But it still leaves the question. . . What would we do?’
Emily nodded thoughtfully.
‘Indeed,’ she said, after an age. ‘It’s a good point, Alice. A very good point indeed, and one which needs addressing. But perhaps we should leave it until the morning. It has been a very long day, has it not?’
Alice smiled.
‘And,’ Emily continued, ‘I am sure there are far more enjoyable things with which we can occupy ourselves this evening.’
‘Why, Miss Holroyd,’ said Alice, raising one eyebrow. ‘Whatever do you mean?’
Emily leaned across the desk and kissed her gently on the lips.
‘I shall leave that to your imagination, Miss Guppy,’ she replied.
Clara mopped down the last table with a damp and dirty cloth and wiped her brow with the back of her hand. Another day was over, the last customers now staggering their way home along Charlotte Street. She tilted her head from side to side with a click and yawned.
Behind her, the door opened and the bell above it jangled.
‘I’m sorry,’ she said. ‘We’re closed for the night. You’ll have to get your ale elsewhere. . .’
‘I wasn’t looking for ale.’
She turned and saw Charles Gaskell standing in the doorway.
‘Oh, Charlie!’ she said, laughing. ‘You
almost gave me a fright there!’
She expected him to smile back at her, but he didn’t. Instead, he crossed the room and put his arms around her, sighing heavily. Dropping the damp cloth to the ground, she held him, and kissed his cheek. He held her even more tightly than before and let out another sigh.
‘Bad day?’ she asked.
Gaskell said nothing, but simply nodded.
‘And you still won’t tell me anything about it, will you?’
He shook his head.
Clara looked into his eyes. They were filled with an inscrutable sadness. He looked down at the floor, his forehead against hers, and she kissed him once more.
‘That’s all right,’ she said, touching his cheek and smiling. ‘It’s all right.’
Admiral Sir Henry Montague wound the handle of his gramophone until its turntable began to spin, and dropped the needle gently onto the revolving vinyl disc. After a moment’s faint crackling, his study was filled with the opening bars of the adagio from Schubert’s String Quintet.
He crossed the study and stood in its bay window, gazing out at the fields of Penarth’s headland. In the distance, looking no larger than a child’s bath-time toys, ships made their way in and out of Cardiff’s docks, the water around them lit up crimson by the rising sun
This moment of tranquillity was interrupted by the sound of someone entering the room.
He turned very quickly and saw, standing at the other side of his desk, Captain Jack Harkness.
‘I’m sorry,’ said Montague. ‘But who are you?’
‘You know who I am,’ said Jack, coldly. ‘Now sit down.’
‘Phillips!’ Montague bellowed. ‘Phillips! Where the devil are you?’
‘Phillips isn’t here,’ said Jack. ‘I’ve given him the day off. Now sit.’
Eyeing Jack cautiously, and biting his lip, Montague sat behind his desk. ‘What do you want?’ he asked.
Jack helped himself to the facing chair and folded his arms.
‘I know all about the Hades,’ he said. ‘I know all about your little scheme.’
‘I’m afraid I haven’t the slightest idea what you’re talking about,’ said Montague.
Jack rose, leaning across the table.
‘Finch and Blight were capturing and breeding aliens, and they were breeding them for you,’ he said. ‘Sound familiar?’
Montague narrowed his eyes, staring straight back at Jack, and then he smiled.
‘I see,’ he said. ‘And from whom exactly did you glean this information?’
‘I didn’t glean it from anyone,’ said Jack. ‘I was there. I saw it for myself. They were breeding aliens, and taking children from desperate mothers. They were carrying out experiments. And you were the one paying for it all. The only thing I can’t work out is why.’
Montague sat back in his chair and laughed. ‘So Torchwood really are employing the brightest and best,’ he said, derisively. ‘Captain Harkness, my dear fellow. . . There are forces at work in this world which you can barely comprehend.’
‘Oh, I doubt that. . .’
‘You think I’m talking about those creatures? Those fantastical beasts that spill out into our world from God alone knows where?’ He laughed again. ‘Oh, I’m not talking about ghouls and goblins, or whatever one might wish to call them. I’m talking about mankind. Of all creatures, on this world or any other, mankind is the most dangerous. He is the greatest threat to no one but himself. There are many who wish to wreak havoc upon this sceptred isle, Captain Harkness. Our enemies are great in number. There is a storm coming, you mark my words. A war, the like of which we have never seen before. I’m a warrior at heart, and a warrior can feel it in his bones.
‘The instruments of this war are already being made. The machine gun. . . The submarine. . . Gases that will blind and poison and kill. We will need every weapon available to us if we are to win such a war. Imagine, Captain Harkness, if you will, an army of amphibious assassins with strength ten times greater than their human adversaries. What other creatures might we find who we can render servile and prepare for war?’
Jack looked at Montague in horror. ‘An army,’ he said, in disbelief. ‘You were breeding an army. . .’
Montague nodded, still smiling. ‘When this war is with us,’ he said, ‘who would you rather see die on its battlefields? These sub-human wretches from the far-flung reaches of the universe, or England’s schoolboys? I know which I would choose.’
Jack got to his feet. ‘You know,’ he said, ‘you’re right about the war, I’ll give you that. The only thing you got wrong is this. . . The next war, and many of the ones that follow. . . They won’t be fought in the name of men like you. They’ll be fought against them. You won’t get away with this. . .’
Montague laughed. ‘Oh, really? And who exactly are you going to tell, Captain Harkness? HMS Hades lies smouldering on the banks of the River Taff. The specimens are little more than ashes. Tiberius Finch and the Widow Blight are dead. I am a knight of the realm, you fool. You know as well as I do that the authorities and your superiors would rather this were covered up discreetly. My research will continue.’
‘I don’t think so,’ said Jack.
‘Is that so?’ said Montague. ‘And what makes you so sure?’
Jack turned and opened the study door. Before leaving the room, he turned back to face the Admiral.
‘You didn’t just make us your enemies last night, Montague,’ he said, smiling coldly.
Montague looked out through the door and saw two figures standing in the hallway. They walked into the study, each nodding to Harkness in turn.
Montague gasped.
Standing before him, dressed in three-piece suits, were two monstrous creatures, their smooth, amphibious heads crowned with rigid crests of thin flesh, their shapeless mouths filled with tiny, pin-like teeth.
‘Dear God. . .’ Montague gasped.
Jack looked from the creatures to Montague then, turning his back on them, closed the study door behind him. As he walked along the hallway, through the multicoloured prisms of light from the stained-glass window, the haunting melody of Schubert’s Adagio was drowned out by the sound of one man screaming.
Kaleidoscope
SARAH PINBOROUGH
The boy’s heart thumped.
‘I said get out here, Danny!’ The beast raged through the walls of the unkempt council flat. ‘You bloody deaf, boy?’
Danny Dillard shivered as he sat on the end of his bed. His dad’s words ran together into one long slurred sentence that was filled with anger and hatred and emotions that Danny wasn’t sure he’d ever understand, or want to. He licked his lips, his eyes wide. He should have stayed out. He should have gone and hidden in the corner of the community centre and done his homework or read a book or just sat there. If he hadn’t come straight home from school, then he wouldn’t have knocked his dad’s unwashed mug from the kitchen side and broken it. They only had two. His dad refused to buy any more. And now they were down to one.
‘Don’t make me come in there and get you, Danny!’ The snarl made the boy flinch. ‘Don’t make me do that!’
Tears stung at the back of Danny’s eyes, knowing what was to come. He got slowly to his feet and forced himself to the door.
‘Sorry, Dad.’ He stared up at the hulk of the man glowering down at him, his eyes glazed and red from too much time spent in the pub, and filled with loathing. ‘It was an accident.’
‘Waste of space, you are.’ The man spat the words at the child as he raised one hand. ‘Just like your no-good bloody mother, wherever the hell she is.’
The mention of the woman who’d just upped and left Danny here with the monster made his dad’s eyes burn, and Danny squeezed his own shut. He knew what was coming. His arms rose protectively to his head, but they didn’t stop his teeth rattling and stars flying across the backs of his eyelids as the first blow hit him squarely on the side of his head and sent him tumbling backwards onto the floor. He curled into a ball and
wished himself away as he waited for the second to land. There was never just one.
As it was, Danny’s dad took a while to calm down.
‘I don’t want it.’
Toshiko folded her arms and peered up through her fringe. ‘I think Gwen should have it.’
On the other side of the table, Gwen’s eyes widened. ‘No way. I’m still the new girl.’
Toshiko raised an eyebrow.
‘OK, maybe not so new any more,’ Gwen conceded. ‘But still the newest.’
The women’s eyes fell back to the object in the middle of the table, staring at it just like Ianto and Owen opposite. The latter licked his lips.
‘Well, if no one else wants it, then. . .’
‘Not so fast.’ Ianto stopped him before his hand could make a grab for it. ‘I don’t think you’re cut out for that cup of coffee.’ The two men glared at each other for a moment before their eyes fell again. Toshiko sighed.
‘Look, if no one else wants it, then I don’t see why I shouldn’t have it.’ Owen looked at the small group gathered round the table. ‘I’ve got what it takes. I’m a born leader, everyone says so.’
The drink had started out hot, black and strong but had stayed untouched for so long a film was settling on its surface. It was Jack’s coffee, and he hated it cold. But if Jack had been here then the coffee, and what it represented, wouldn’t have been an issue.
‘Right.’ Gwen didn’t hide her sarcasm. ‘You’re a born leader, all right. You nearly led us into the bloody Apocalypse. You’re the one that insisted on opening the Rift. You almost killed Jack.’
Owen’s mouth twitched, disgruntled. ‘Well, you all followed me, didn’t you?’ He shrugged. ‘That’s got to be a sign of leadership.’ No one answered. ‘Hasn’t it?’
‘Clutching at straws there, Owen,’ Gwen muttered. She tried to relax her jaw. Owen rankled with her, and she couldn’t help it. Nearly losing Rhys in the recent madness created by opening the Rift had made her realise just how much she loved and needed her husband. She wasn’t sure if this need to dig at Owen was because she blamed him for what had happened or because there was still a residue of sexual tension between them, but either way he was really pissing her off.
Consequences Page 5