Doctor Who - [New Adventure 29] - [Vampire Trilogy 2] - Blood Harvest

by Terrance Dicks

  Reilly's voice rose in indignation. "Sure, and if I'd known he was a such a great friend of yours, your honour-"

  He broke off, obviously cut off short by the man on the other end of the line. Then he said soothingly, "Sure, I'll see to it myself, there'll be no trouble, no trouble at all ..."

  He broke off, obviously realizing he was talking into a dead phone, and slammed down the receiver.

  He swung round and lumbered back towards us. "Well now," he said softly. "Maybe I was a mite hasty." He looked round the bar. "Let me see if I can be after reconstructing the crime. You good people were having a quiet drink when these three lowlifes forced their way in. They fell to quarrelling amongst themselves, two of them pulled guns, and one ended up wounded and the other dead."

  "Sure, that's right," I said. "And the third one sapped himself out of pure meanness. Brilliant, Reilly."

  "That's just how it was," said Doc. "Mr. Dekker here is joking of course. My barman sapped the third one when he tried to pull a gun on me."

  "Self-defence entirely," said Reilly heartily. "And those two yeggs will be after confirming the story when I've had a quiet word with them."

  "Those two yeggs will be on the street in half an hour," I said. "Gusenberg will have a mouthpiece with a writ of habeas corpus and the bail money down at the station right now."

  Reilly gave me a look and turned to go. Doc stepped forward, a bulging brown envelope in his hand.

  "I think you dropped this, Captain."

  Reilly took the envelope and tucked it away with the ease that came of long practice.

  "Don't forget the Police Benevolent Fund," I said.

  He swung round, nightstick raised, and I saw Ace's hand moving towards her purse. I shook my head slightly, and stood quite still as Reilly patted my face gently with the nightstick.

  "I'll be seeing you, Dekker, my bhoy," he said softly. "One day we'll be having our little chat down in the station cellar with none of your influential friends to interrupt us - just you and me and the phone book."

  "I'll look forward to it, Captain."

  Reilly marched out, the doors swinging closed behind him.

  By now Happy had picked himself up. "We still open for business, Doc?"

  "Why not?"

  "Okay, I'll get back on the door."

  Happy went away.

  Doc said, "Can I offer you a drink, Mr. Dekker?"

  Luigi looked astonished. I nodded at him and he poured me another bourbon. Then he summoned waiters with a snap of his fingers, and started giving orders about getting the place tidied up. A swamper appeared with a mop and swabbed the blood from the floor and the brains from the wall.

  The band raised their heads from behind the rostrum they'd ducked automatically when the shooting started and started playing. Pretty soon the customers were drifting back in again. When the booze is as good as it was at Doc's Place, it takes more than a shoot-out and a police raid to discourage the customers.

  As soon as things were running smoothly again, Doc went back to his alcove. He waved me over and I sat down at the table.

  "Thanks for the help, Mr. Dekker," he said.

  "It was nothing."

  Ace carried her Manhattan over and joined us.

  "That's exactly right," she said. "I didn't need any help, Dekker. Next time don't interfere."

  I shrugged. "Suit yourself, lady."

  She gave me a hard look. "Funny how those cops turned up. Quite a coincidence."

  "Coincidence hell," I told her. "Reilly's in the bag for Gusenberg, has been for years. The cops were back-up for Morelli."

  "What was that Reilly said to you about the phone book?"

  "You can beat a man up with a phone book," said Doc. "Hurts just as much as a blackjack, but doesn't leave any marks."

  "How'd you know an old cop trick like that, Doc?"

  "I know a lot of things I wish I didn't, Mr. Dekker."

  I took a drag on my Camel and let out the smoke. "Reilly was all set to haul you down to the station house - if you survived. Lucky you're so tight with Big Bill."

  "Who?" asked Ace.

  "Big Bill Thompson, our beloved Mayor. The one who promised to punch King George in the snoot if he ever set foot in Chicago."

  I looked at them for a reaction, but the idea of an assault on the royal snoot didn't seem to bother them any.

  "And how about you, Mr. Dekker?" said Doc suddenly. "Do I gather you were once a colleague of Captain Reilly's?"

  "I was a cop for a while, but I got fired for honesty. Now I'm freelance."

  "A shamus," said Doc. "A gumshoe, a peeper, a private eye."

  "There are lots of words," I said. "They're only words."

  "And what are you peeping at now?" asked Ace.

  "Us, presumably," said Doc.

  They sat back and looked at me, and suddenly I felt cold without knowing why. What's to be scared of, I told myself. A long-haired dark-eyed dame? She had a gun in her purse and she knew how to use it - but I'd handled tough dames before.

  Then there was Doc, a skinny little guy who didn't even seem to be heeled. If he packed a gun he hadn't reached for it during the shoot-out. It was like he knew it was safe to leave things to Ace.

  Yet somehow I was scared, more than I'd been in the Hawthorne Hotel surrounded by Capone's hoods. Something told me these were two of the most dangerous people I'd ever met, even in Chicago.

  Doc must have seen me tense up. He leaned forward and patted my arm. "Don't worry, Mr. Dekker. I'm not sure if you're a friend but I don't really think you're an enemy."

  I was all ready to go into the injured innocence routine. I'm a good convincing liar, it's one of the first things you learn when you're a cop. I'd heard about this new joint with good liquor, so I'd dropped in to take a look. Hadn't I helped out with Gusenberg's thugs?

  I looked into those calm grey eyes, and did something completely crazy - I told Doc the truth.

  I spilled the lot: the summons from Capone, being given the job of checking up on him.

  Doc didn't seem bothered. "Capone's the major power here in Chicago. It's only natural he should take an interest in us."

  Ace took a different attitude. "You don't mind working for a crook like Capone?"

  "Capone may be crooked but the job isn't. Where do you get off, lady, with this high-and-mighty stuff? I'm still on the right side of the law, which is more than you two can say. Doc's peddling bootleg liquor in an illegal speakeasy. You're carrying a gun for him, same as Franky Rio does for Big Al - which makes you no better than any other gun-moll."

  Ace got mad. "That's not true, is it Doc? We're-"

  She caught Doc's eye and clammed up.

  "Quite right, Mr. Dekker," said Doc. "I'm just a saloonkeeper trying to earn a dishonest living. Face it, Ace, you're a sleazy Chicago gun-moll!"

  He was ribbing her, but I didn't know why or what about; so I let that one drift with the tide.

  "Yeah, sure," I said. "So what do I tell Capone?"

  "The truth," said Doc. "I'm a great believer in being openly Machiavellian, Mr. Dekker."

  "Come again?"

  "Telling people the truth when they don't expect it. It always confuses them. Report back to your employer and tell him everything you've learned about us."

  "Which is nothing!" jeered Ace. "Some gumshoe!"

  "I learned plenty, lady. You've both been around, you can look after yourselves, and you've got connections. The Big Fellow's not going to like that too much, Doc. If he decides you're dangerous, he'll take you out."

  "Then convince him I'm not. I provide my own liquor so I don't buy from anyone else, but I don't supply anyone else either. I've got no plans to expand, this place is all I need."

  "Maybe so, but you've opened up a joint in disputed territory," I told him. "Several mobs are fighting over it. No one wants it much, but no one wants to leave it for someone else."

  "Then why not just leave it to me? Doc's Place can be neutral ground. A sort of gangland Switzer
land."

  I thought for a moment. "Al might go for it at that. If he does you'll be off the hook."

  "You'd trust Capone?" asked Ace.

  "Al's not like the rest of them. Gusenberg's an animal, the Aiellos are mad dogs, the Genna and O'Donnell mobs aren't much better. But Al's a businessman, when he gives his word it's good. He may want to talk to you."

  "I'd be delighted," said Doc.

  I finished my bourbon and stood up. "Well, I've got places to go and you've got a saloon to run. Be seeing you, Doc."

  I tipped my hat to the girl called Ace, got a cool nod in return, and headed for the door.

  As the doors closed behind Dekker, Ace turned indignantly to the Doctor. "Who does that big ape think he is? And you're no better, Doctor. Sleazy Chicago gun-moll!"

  The Doctor chuckled. "I withdraw the sleazy. But a gun-moll's more or less what you are, Ace - for the moment."

  "Just like you're a saloon-keeper?"

  "Exactly."

  Ace brooded for a moment. "What was all that stuff about getting Reilly to phone the Mayor?"

  "Connections, Ace. The Fix. The Mayor recently received a large contribution to his campaign funds. With it came a message that it would be nice if Doc's Place could be left alone."

  "Why are we peddling illegal booze in a town full of murderous gangsters? Why did we dump Bernice on that god-awful planet? What was that signal you picked up? And who the hell is Romanadvoratrelundar?"

  "Lady Romanadvoratrelundar if you don't mind," said the Doctor reprovingly. "Romana for short."

  "So who's Romana?"

  "Just a girl I used to know."

  Ace glared at him. "Doctor!"

  "Ace, there's a reason for our being here, just as there's a reason for Bernice being - where she is."

  "Well?"

  "I can't tell you."

  "Won't, you mean."

  "Don't want to. Not yet, anyway."

  "Why not?"

  "Because if you know what we're after, you won't be able to stop thinking about it."

  "So?"

  The Doctor hesitated. "So then it might come and find you."

  The many- towered city had faded and the screen of the Time Scoop showed only the swirling mists of space and time.

  Watched by his fellow conspirators, the hooded figure at the screen checked a spatio-temporal cross-reference on a nearby monitor. With a hiss of satisfaction, he adjusted the Time Scoop controls.

  Slowly another picture emerged on the screen.

  A single tower, strangely misshapen, standing amidst woods and fields, rising up menacingly against a grey and stormy sky. A primitive village huddled close to the base of the Tower.

  The tall figure of the first conspirator leaned over the screen.

  "Well?"

  "He is here also," said the figure at the controls. "Not so strongly present as on Earth. The signal is faint, but clear."

  "And the Doctor?"

  "Still on Earth."

  "Has the Doctor found Him?" asked the third figure.

  "Not yet, but he will - unless He finds the Doctor first:"

  "It matters not," said the first conspirator.

  "So long as our purpose is served." They raised their voices in the ritual chant:

  "Death to the Doctor!"

  "Borusa lives!"

  "Rassilon must die!"

  4 THE VILLAGE AND THE TOWER

  Bernice Summerfield looked at the bowl of gruel and shuddered. She poked it experimentally with the wooden spoon.

  "Thin green-grey slime with lumps in it," she muttered. "Haven't seen the like since military school."

  She looked up at the serving maid, a dull-eyed lump of a girl called Katya. "This is it?"

  Katya wiped a runny nose with the back of her hand, and transferred the results to her grimy apron. "My Lady?"

  "Is this the meal?"

  Katya produced a fearsome sniff "Oh no, my Lady." She unloaded the rest of her tray. "See, there's greenfruit, too. And all the bread and water you want!"

  She gave Bernice a gap-toothed smile and clumped away.

  Greenfruit was a kind of crab- apple, small and wizened. Bernice bit into one and winced at its bitter tang. The black bread was hard and coarse and sour.

  Even the water was dank and cloudy with a muddy after-taste. Bernice reached into the pocket of her jacket and produced a thin silver flask. She poured a healthy slug of Eridanian brandy into her water goblet, drained the mixture and shuddered.

  "Brandy and water for lunch. A few more days here and I'll be a drunken degenerate. I might even get to like it."

  Ivo the landlord came over to her table. He was a white-haired giant, still powerful despite his age.

  He knuckled his forehead. "Is all well, my Lady?"

  He looked so anxious that Bernice heard herself saying,

  "Fine. Terrific. Everything's wonderful."

  "One of the help-maids didn't turn up this morning. Off with her lover no doubt. Gerda's a good girl, but there's no denying she's flighty. And, well, we're not used to guests of quality here."

  Bernice looked round the hall. It was furnished with rows of wooden tables and benches with a kitchen area at the far end.

  "Where do your usual customers come from?"

  "From the village, and a few farms nearby. In the Old Time this was the Centre, and everyone had to eat here. Now people are free and some choose to take their meals by their own firesides. But others still come for a meal sometimes, and to drink and talk of an evening. More gruel, my Lady?"

  "No, this is fine, really..." Bernice stirred her gruel with her spoon, and even made herself eat a little. It tasted just as bad as it looked.

  "You said something about the Old Time?"

  "Things were very different once," said Ivo. "In the time of the Lords..." He broke off, shaking his head.

  "Go on," said Bernice encouragingly. "I'm interested in your history. That's why I'm here."

  Ivo's voice shook with remembered rage. "The Lords took everything, the food, the wine ... They left just enough to keep us alive and working." He paused, rubbing his eyes. "They took more than the food, they took our children too."

  "To serve them, you mean?"

  "Aye," said Ivo grimly. "To serve them with their lives. My son Karl..." He broke off again. "Evil days, my Lady."

  "So what happened to change things?"

  "A stranger came and helped us. We rose up and destroyed the Lords. After they were vanquished we had better times for a while - until the Troubles began."

  "What troubles?"

  "Between those who wanted change and progress, and those who wanted a return to the old ways."

  "Surely no one wants the Lords back?"

  "Not the old evil Lords, no. These, we are told, are new kindly Lords who will rule us for our own good."

  "Yes," said Bernice thoughtfully. "There have always been plenty of those around. But does anyone follow them?"

  "More than you might think, my Lady. Some folk fear change. They like what they are used to, the Lords in the Tower, the peasants in the fields."

  "But your tower is empty, surely?"

  "It is," growled Ivo. "We have no Lords here, nor do we need any. No offence, my Lady."

  Bernice smiled. "None taken. Who's in charge then?"

  "The Village Council - I myself am headman."

  There was a sound of hoofbeats from outside, the jingle of harness. Ivo ran to the door and Bernice stood up to look out.

  A patrol of armed men was riding up to the inn. The riders wore black leather jerkins studded with steel and carried short swords and long spears.

  At the head of the patrol rode a thin-faced, fair-haired young man, evidently their leader. He had a better horse than the others, a big black stallion, and he was more richly dressed. He carried no spear and wore a longer sword. He also had a blaster.

  "It is the Black Guard," whispered Ivo. "My Lady, if I spoke any ill of Lords, I pray you -"

  "It's all
right," said Bernice. "I'm just a passing stranger, you have nothing to fear from me."

  "It is not you I fear, my Lady."

  The patrol drew up outside the inn and dismounted. The leader handed his reins to one of his men and strode into the entrance of the hall. He stared insolently at Ivo. "And you are?"

  "I am Ivo, headman of this village."

  The young man glanced around the hall and noticed Bernice. She ignored him. He looked enquiringly at Ivo who rumbled, "We have a guest - the Lady Bernice."

  The social system was pretty simple here, thought Bernice. If you weren't dressed in sackcloth and covered in grime you were an instant aristocrat. She'd been Lady Bernice ever since her arrival.

  The Guard leader stalked across to her table and bowed stiffly.

  For a moment or two Bernice made a pretence of going on with her lunch. She looked up, giving the young man the insolent stare that he'd given Ivo. Then, in exactly the tone he'd used himself, she drawled, "And you are?"

  Flushing angrily he clicked his heels. "Captain Varis, my Lady."

  "And why are you here?" Nothing like getting in your questions first, she thought.

  "A routine patrol, my Lady," stammered Varis. "The Tower here has no Lord and the area is a centre of rebel activities."

  "I understood the villagers governed themselves," said Bernice coolly. "Against whom do they rebel?"

  "Against their rightful rulers, my Lady. There are too many of these free villages as they call themselves. One day there will be a new Lord in the Tower and things will return to normal."

  Ivo gave a sort of choked growl. The Captain glanced coldly at him, then turned back to Bernice.

  "May I ask why you are here?"

  "I am on a visit of inspection," said Bernice. "There have been disturbing reports about this area. You may continue with your patrol, Captain - but I advise you to be careful."

  She went back to her breakfast.

  Varis swung round to Ivo. "I require water for my horses and food and drink for my men."

  "For which you will pay," said Bernice, without looking up. "At the usual local rate."

  "Of course, my Lady," said Varis icily.

  "That will be all, Captain," said Bernice.

  He turned on his heel and stamped angrily into the yard.