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

by Terrance Dicks

  "I know how much you all suffered from the old, evil regime, how much you all value your hard-won freedom. Believe me, no one wants to take it from you."

  Kalmar nodded benignly, Tarak looked sceptical and Lothar listened with polite interest.

  "I know too that many of your old Lords betrayed your trust, giving themselves over to evil. But that evil has now been driven from our ranks. We ask only to resume our rightful place - to lead and to serve you."

  Veran went on to point out that the destruction of the Vampire Lords had left the planet in a state of chaos. "If we are to have progress we must have order, and order is best built around the old traditional structures."

  He continued for some time, developing the same theme in a long, eloquent and in many ways convincing speech.

  Kalmar was the first to respond when he had finished. "There is much in what you say, Lord Veran. I myself wish only to pursue my studies, to rediscover the scientific secrets we need if we are to progress. But to do that I need peace and order, and there has been little of that in these parts of late."

  Tarak slammed his fist upon the table.

  "There was peace and order enough in the Dark Time - the peace and order of death! Will you sacrifice our freedom for a little security?"

  "Without security there is no freedom," said Lord Yarven. "If this world is ever to progress we must have order, discipline. Someone must rule, and who better than those of us who were born to the task?"

  "Order we must have," said Ivo slowly. "But what if the price to be paid is too high?"

  "The price of chaos would be higher by far," said Romana.

  "With respect, sirs, and ladies," said Lothar. He was a shy young man, and he blushed furiously when everyone looked at him. "The trouble with rule by Lords is this: too much depends upon the Lord. If they were all like you, Lord Veran, we would serve them happily. But that's not so. There are still too many Lords who despise us common folk, and would treat us like dirt."

  He looked defiantly at Yarven and Varis.

  "I'm afraid that's just as true of rule by revolutionaries," said Romana. "Ivo leads the village council here, and he rules justly because he's a good and wise man. But there are other villages run by revolutionary councils ..."

  "And what's wrong with that?" demanded Tarak.

  Romana told him. "They hunt down and kill every aristocrat they can find - even those innocent of any connection with the vampires. When that's done they split into factions and fight amongst themselves, and the strongest party starts executing political opponents as traitors."

  "I fear that is all too true," confirmed Lord Veran. "And do you know how it usually ends up? One man seizes power and rules as dictator - for the good of the people, of course. You end up with a tyrant, as bad as the Lord he's overthrown."

  And that's true as well, thought Bernice. If Lothar takes over from Ivo, things will be fine. But if Tarak grabs power ...

  The arguments raged on, and on and on, with everyone stating and restating their positions. Veran and all the rest of his delegation wanted rule by a Council of Lords, promising that the rights of the common people would be respected. Tarak was passionate for rulers chosen by the common people. He was supported, though with varying degrees of enthusiasm, by No and Lothar. Old Kalmar just wanted peace and quiet.

  Bernice sat back and let the arguments roll over her. More from boredom than anything else she started trying to work out some kind of solution. Dragging her attention back to the meeting, she heard Veran's weary voice.

  "We seem to have reached deadlock. I suggest we break off for a time and resume later. If no one has anything to add?"

  "Aah, herrum!" said Bernice.

  "Lady Bernice," said Veran politely. "You have something to suggest?"

  "As a matter of fact I have. Is there any chance of a drink?"

  Romana gave Bernice a disapproving look.

  "Is that it?"

  "No entirely, no. I do have some ideas that might help."

  Yarven snapped his fingers and servants appeared with wine and sweetened oatcakes. The refreshment was welcome and for a few minutes the delegates concentrated on eating and drinking.

  Veran brushed crumbs from his white beard. "And now, my Lady?"

  "Der trumble uz," said Bernice indistinctly. "Sorry!" She washed down the last of her oatcake with a swig of wine. "The trouble is that both sides are in the wrong. This is complicated by the fact that both sides are also in the right."

  She beamed at their astonished faces and took another swig of wine, then pointed to Lord Veran.

  "You lot want to turn the clock back. Can't be done. There's a lot in what you say about the benefits of tradition, but the peasants have tasted power and they're not going to give it up."

  Tarak thumped the table. "Well said, my Lady! Power to the people!"

  Bernice's accusing finger swung round to point at him. "No need to look so smug, Tarak, your lot are no better. The Lords want to live in the past, but you want to abolish it. That can't be done either. The Lords are still here and they're not going to go away. Any new system you set up won't work unless it takes them into account."

  "Exactly so," said Lord Veran. "We accept that our role has to change, but a role we must and will have!"

  "So far all you've given us is a definition of the problem," said Romana. "What about the solution?"

  "It's a bit of a mad scheme," said Bernice. "But I think it just might work. You set up not one but two groups of rulers."

  Kalmar stroked his beard in puzzlement. "Why two, my Lady? Will they not fight?"

  "One group will be made up of the heads of all the great families. The other will be formed from delegates chosen by the common people. You could call them, oh, I don't know, the Lords and the Commons. The Commons decide what needs to be done, then they pass the idea to the Lords. Things only go ahead when both Houses agree."

  "Houses, my Lady?" asked Veran.

  "They'd need special buildings to meet in, close together but entirely separate. Nobody from one side goes to the other side's House unless they're invited."

  "Suppose the two Houses don't agree," said Tarak. "Who wins?"

  "The Commons. The Lords can turn down any idea twice, but the third time the Commons get their way."

  "So!" said Lord Yarven. "We would not have supreme power."

  "No, but you'd have enormous influence - enough to get your way quite a lot of the time."

  "A House of Commons and a House of Lords," mused Veran. "A strange idea indeed. What do you think, Ivo?"

  Ivo rubbed his chin. "I was thinking that when the load is extra heavy you yoke two horses to the cart."

  "That's so," said Lothar. "At first they fight and kick, but in time they grow used to the work and pull together."

  These gems of rustic wisdom were followed by a thoughtful silence. Bernice seized her opportunity and stood up.

  "Well, there you are, I've given you the broad outline. You can work out the details for yourselves. I need to go and write up my notes."

  Unobtrusively picking up a nearly full wine bottle and a goblet, Bernice went out of the room. Soon the delegates were deep in discussion once more.

  They went on talking, discussing Bernice's ideas with overgrowing enthusiasm. It was close to dinner time when the formal meeting broke up, in a far more hopeful state than ever before. Lord Veran invited everyone to be his guests at dinner.

  Kalmar however wanted to get back to his beloved machines, and Lothar, who had little liking for luxury, was anxious to return to his farm. Both promised to return early next morning. Tarak, who seemed to have a taste for high life, agreed to stay and Ivo promised him a room at the inn.

  As the others were saying their goodbyes, Lord Veran put a fatherly hand on Tarak's shoulder. He recognized Tarak as the real force in the opposition party and was anxious to reach an understanding.

  "Suppose we continue this discussion between ourselves? There are one or two points that might be easier to
settle with just the two of us."

  Flattered by the invitation, Tarak agreed and the two left the room together, deep in conversation.

  Lord Yarven watched them go, an expression of sour disapproval on his face. It was beginning to look as if this conference might succeed. For certain very private reasons of his own, Yarven intended that it should fail. His mind numbed by hours of talk, Yarven stamped out of the main door of the inn, hoping that fresh air might clear his head.

  Ignoring the salutes of the sentries, Yarven wandered round to the little smallholding at the back of the inn, staring gloomily at the scattering of barns and sheds.

  Somewhere along the way a fellow Lord had joined him, a tall thin, elegant man in a black cloak. Yarven couldn't quite place him, but he was clearly attached to the delegation.

  "Things are going badly for us," said the stranger.

  "It's a disaster," said Yarven. "Give these peasants a toehold in government and they'll swamp us. We should crush them now before they grow too strong."

  "Why don't you?"

  "How can I with that old fool Veran mad to make peace with them? He's the head of our delegation."

  The tall stranger stared down at Yarven with eyes that held a fiery spark of red in their depths.

  "Then why not remove the head?"

  "That's easier said than done."

  "Not if you use the right tools," said the stranger.

  He flung open the door of a rickety shed to reveal a rack of gleaming agricultural implements. Ivo was a conscientious worker and he always kept his tools clean and sharp.

  Like a man entranced, Yarven stretched out his hand.

  Seconds later he was striding back towards the inn, something hidden beneath his cloak.

  The tall man watched him go, red fires burning deep in his eyes. Then he turned and hurried away. He had work to do.

  As he came to the head of the old wooden staircase, Yarven saw Tarak come out of Veran's room, walk along the corridor and disappear into his own room. Moving stealthily after him, Yarven slipped into Veran's room. The old man turned in alarm, and then relaxed when he saw who it was.

  "I've just been having a private word with young Tarak. That boy's got the makings of a politician. I think we can work together ..."

  Lord Yarven stood with his back to the door. He was facing the window, his white face caught by the feeble rays of the setting sun. He stared at Veran with bright glittering eyes.

  "Did I ever tell you that your late son was my very good friend?"

  "I'd no idea you'd ever met."

  Yarven smiled, revealing curiously long white teeth.

  "We shared certain interests." He brought something shining out from under his cloak. Veran backed away.

  "Yarven, no!"

  He opened his mouth to shout for help but the shining blade swept across the room and cut him off.

  17 FLIGHT

  Bernice lay stretched out on her bed, snoring lightly, her notebook in her lap, the half-empty wine bottle on the wooden table beside her bed.

  She awoke suddenly with the feeling that something had disturbed her. There was a vague memory of a cry, a thud, something rolling across the floor. Was it real, or had she dreamed it? She realized the room was in semidarkness. She must have dozed for quite some time.

  There was a tap on the door.

  "Come in," she called.

  The door opened and Romana appeared, carrying a smokily burning oil-lamp. She looked around the room, put the lamp on the table and sat on the room's single wooden chair.

  "Hard at it?" she said amiably.

  Bernice struggled to a sitting position. "Sorry, must have dropped off. How's the conference going?"

  "Very well, thanks to your contribution. Where did you pick up that extraordinary idea about two linked legislative chambers?"

  "From a long lecture by the Doctor about the political history of his favourite planet. I didn't think I was listening but some of it must have sunk in."

  "I think it tipped the balance," said Romana. "You must try to remember some more for tomorrow's session. Are you coming down? I think there's supposed to be some social chit-chat before dinner."

  "Yes, sure, just give me a minute."

  There was a jug of cold water in a basin on the table. Bernice tipped water in, splashed her face and hands, dried them on the rough towel and dragged a comb through her hair. She wondered how Romana always managed to look so aggravatingly immaculate.

  Probably licks her paws and washes her face like a cat, she thought. "Okay, I'm ready," she said out loud.

  They went out of the room, Romana leading the way with the lamp, and saw Tarak coming along the corridor from his room.

  "Ah, good, there you are," said Romana with her usual bossiness. "Come along, we'll be -" She broke off, kneeling down and holding the lamp just a little above the floor. They were immediately outside the room between Bernice's and Tarak's room.

  A trickle of blood was running from underneath the door.

  "That's Lord Veran's room," said Tarak. "We were talking in there not long ago." He opened the door and they went inside.

  Romana held the lamp up high, illuminating the room.

  Veran's head was in the basin on the table beside the bed. Wide eyes stared sightlessly at them and his mouth was open in a silent scream.

  His body lay sprawled across the floor, the stump of the neck towards the door. Blood poured in a stream from the severed arteries in the neck, forming a pool beside the bed and sending tendrils of blood out under the door.

  "Get on the other side of the room," ordered Tarak. "Don't step in the blood." He ripped the blanket from the bed, soaked one end of it in the water from the jug and swabbed up the trickle of blood in the corridor. Closing the door again, he rolled the blanket and stuffed it along the bottom of the door like a draught-excluder.

  Avoiding the blood, Bernice reached out and took Veran's wrinkled old hand. "The body's still warm and the blood's absolutely fresh. This was done just minutes ago."

  She shuddered, remembering. "I was dozing, and some-thing woke me up. A cry, a thud, the sound of something heavy rolling across the floor..."

  "He was killed with this," said Romana. She held out the lamp and pointed to a curved billhook, tossed carelessly in the corner, its curved blade dulled with Veran's blood. She looked at Tarak. "You say you were just talking to him. You didn't..."

  "Disagree on a point of procedure and lop off his head with a billhook I just happened to have about my person? Of course I didn't, you stupid bitch."

  "Someone did," said Bernice.

  "Someone who wants the conference to fail. That's not the point, not at the moment. I don't know who killed him, but I know who's going to get the blame for it." Tarak tapped his own chest. "We left the conference together, he was killed with a peasant's weapon. If I'm here when they find the body, Varis will hang me out of hand."

  "What are you going to do?" asked Bernice. "I'm going straight out of that window, heading back to our HQ and sending out a call for my men."

  "But if you run it will make everyone sure you killed him," said Bernice. "Don't you want to prove your innocence?"

  "I'll worry about that when I'm safe, my Lady. It's hard to put up a good defence when you're dangling from a tree."

  Romana looked hard at him, but she didn't say anything.

  "I really didn't do it, you know," said Tarak more gently. "I liked the old man and the talks were going well. Do you think I'd still be here if I'd killed him?"

  Romana nodded. "What about the rest of your delegation?"

  "They both left right after the conference, remember. And Ivo's been downstairs in plain sight all the time. I'll see they're warned."

  A heavy fist rapped on the door.

  It rapped again and a voice called, "Lord Veran!" It was Captain Varis.

  Romana handed the lamp to Bernice. Stepping carefully around the pool of blood she opened the door just a crack, slipped through and closed it beh
ind her.

  They heard her voice in the corridor, cool and assured as usual. "Less noise please, Captain! Lord Veran is a little unwell, and has asked that dinner be delayed. He will come down as soon as he feels better."

  "But there are important matters..."

  "They must wait, Captain. Lord Veran particularly asked not to be disturbed. Will you give me your escort downstairs?"

  As the two moved away, Bernice heard Romana saying, "I don't think there's any real cause for alarm. Lord Veran is no longer young, and it has been a rather tiring day..."

  Bernice turned to Tarak and found that he'd already disappeared, presumably out of the open window.

  "Great!" she thought. "They all clear off and leave me with the headless corpse. Now what?" She considered following Tarak, but it didn't. seem right just to abandon Romana.

  Trying not to look at the severed head in the basin, she stepped carefully around the pool of blood and slipped out the door, trying to disturb the folded blanket as little as possible, and went back to her room.

  The first thing to do was to change, she thought. There was no way she was going on the run in a little black cocktail dress. Stripping it off, she climbed back into the familiar comfort of trousers, work-shirt, safari jacket and boots, and immediately felt much more herself.

  She looked longingly at her pack but decided she daren't take it. Instead she rifled it for everything that might be useful, stuffing everything into the many pockets of her jacket.

  Picking up the lamp, she started on her way downstairs. There was still a damp patch outside Veran's door, but there didn't seem to be any more blood, not yet.

  The inn's big main room was lit by several lamps, and she found Romana chatting to Varis and Yarven by the fire. They all greeted her, and Yarven gave her an enquiring look.

  "Not leaving us, my Lady?"

  "How could I bear to do that?" said Bernice, despising herself for the mock-flirtatiousness in her tone. "No, it's just that I heard dinner will be delayed, so I thought I'd go for a walk. Can I persuade you to join me, Lady Romana?"

  Romana hesitated, just long enough to give the impression of someone being landed with a rather tiresome social chore. "Of course, I'd be delighted."