by Dan Abnett
James got as far as the Graving Docks, running out into the sleeting wind. The sky was a black cliff, an empty gulf of night rushing down.
The shades were there, whispers of smoke on the dockside, flanking him.
‘James!’ Jack yelled as he ran up.
‘Don’t touch him! Don’t hurt him!’ Gwen shouted. She could see the grey shapes quite clearly.
One rushed at James.
‘You bastards! No!’ Gwen howled.
James saw it coming.
Frantic, he turned in towards it. There was a crack, and the shade hurtled away, flopping and writhing convulsively on the dock walk. Thorny limbs thrashed.
Mr Dine saw Mr Lowe go down. He knew the First Senior would be on his feet again in a moment. Mr Lowe would be angry and keen to accomplish his duty without hesitation. His pride had been dented. He would be ruthless, perhaps even teach the Principal a lesson in respect.
Mr Dine would not allow that. He stepped forwards. His investment blew off him like steam. He walked up to the Principal.
Jack and Gwen were ten yards away, sprinting to reach James.
James looked at the lean, blond man in the black suit standing before him in the evening rain. The man had the tiny trace of a sympathetic smile on his face.
‘Time to go,’ he said.
‘This is where I live,’ said James. ‘This is the world I know. Please.’
‘It is time to go,’ said Mr Dine.
He held up his hand. Just a slight gesture.
There was a crack of bone, sharp above the sound of the wind and rain.
James folded up and fell.
Gwen screamed. Jack held onto her.
She sank to her knees, sobbing wildly.
Jack approached Mr Dine. He looked down at James’s crumpled body. Mr Lowe melted into view behind Mr Dine.
‘Are you taking him now?’ Jack asked.
‘We have taken him,’ said Mr Dine. He glanced at the body. ‘The Principal has no further use for this,’ he said.
‘What will I-’ Jack began to say, but when he looked up, Mr Dine and Mr Lowe had disappeared.
Jack knelt down, and gathered James’s body up in his arms.
THIRTY-ONE
Jack Harkness sat at his desk. His fingers played with the black tile on the glass desktop in front of him.
‘The Lord of the Border had friends here once,’ Jack said, ‘friends he trusted. He gave them a way to look after his son, something that would warn them if the son was at risk.’
Jack tapped the tile. It was no longer flashing, no longer lit up. It was just a dead black square.
‘What are we going to do?’ asked Gwen softly. She rubbed her nose with a screwed-up tissue.
‘Do?’
‘How are we going to cope?’ she asked.
Jack shrugged. ‘The way we usually cope. There’s a chance that everything will gradually fade out. All the artifice, all the make-believe.’
‘All the lies,’ she said.
‘It’ll all go, I think,’ said Jack. ‘It’ll all melt away and we won’t remember a thing.’
‘How long will that take?’ she asked, ‘A day? A week? A year? My God, Jack, how many times might this have happened to us before?’
‘I have no idea.’
She sniffed, and blinked tears. ‘I don’t know what scares me more — the fact that it might take a year, or the fact that we might forget him completely.’
Jack didn’t answer. He got up. ‘Come on, let’s go and find Tosh and Owen. We need to be in one place for a while and just talk.’
‘OK,’ she said. ‘I’ll be there in a moment. I’ve got to phone Rhys first.’
‘Sure. I understand.’
He rested a hand on her shoulder. ‘It will be OK, Gwen. Trust me. It will be OK.’
She shook her head. ‘No, Jack. It’s the End of the World,’ she said.
FB2 document info
Document ID: fbd-36166f-a7d8-6c46-01ac-aeee-4a41-314424
Document version: 1
Document creation date: 22.06.2011
Created using: calibre 0.8.6, Fiction Book Designer, FictionBook Editor Release 2.6 software
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