Doctor Who: Players: 50th Anniversary Edition

by Dicks, Terrance

  ‘Peri, I’m not sure…’

  ‘Come off it, Doctor. You couldn’t keep me away. Don’t you realise who that mystery guest is?’

  ‘It could be anyone,’ he protested.

  ‘Don’t you believe it, Doctor,’ said Peri. ‘Don’t you see? It’s just got to be the King!’

  INTERLUDE

  ‘Killed!’ The deep voice shook with fury. ‘One of Us! Butchered!’

  ‘Marcos was a fool,’ said the exotic female voice. ‘He brought it upon himself. Twenty-one years he waited, until the Piece was out of balk – then this stupid, flamboyant gesture!’

  ‘It was an audacious move –’

  ‘Audacious?’ said the female voice scornfully. ‘Disastrous, you mean. What if he had succeeded? Would not the hand of the Player have been clearly seen? The scandal would have been enormous, the Game unbalanced. What if he had been caught? He endangered us all!’

  ‘Marcos was rash,’ said the deep voice. ‘But he had past humiliation to avenge – as I have myself. Humiliation at the hands of this Doctor. And now he has died because of him.’

  ‘The Doctor was not his executioner!’

  ‘It may have been one of his minions, but the true guilt lies on the Doctor’s head!’

  A cold, detached old voice cut in, silencing them both.

  ‘Let us not pile folly upon folly. Who is this Doctor who interferes in our Game and disappears? Who reappears sixteen years later, in a different form and defeats us again? Then reappears as first we saw him, as if not a moment has passed since 1899 – and meddles once more! A time traveller and a Shape-shifter, some rogue Player… We must certainly destroy him, but we must move with caution – and always, always, act through others…’

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

  THE GUEST

  IT TOOK QUITE a lot of arguing before the Doctor agreed to Peri’s proposition, but she got her own way in the end. He had no intention of missing his meeting with Churchill, but had to admit he was intrigued by the invitation from Wallis Simpson. What was behind it? Who was the mysterious guest she wanted them to meet – or rather, to meet again?

  As Peri pointed out, there was only one way to find out…

  They had their last discussion on the subject outside the front door the next morning, while the Doctor was waiting for Dekker to come round with the Rolls.

  ‘Consider the implications of what happened yesterday,’ he said, holding her by the shoulders.

  ‘The mystery assassin?’

  ‘The same mystery assassin,’ corrected the Doctor. ‘The man we saw trying to shoot Churchill in South Africa in 1899 – trying again in the grounds of Buckingham Palace, with the same gun thirty-seven years later. Untouched by time, Peri, not a day older.’

  ‘Like us,’ said Peri quietly.

  ‘Exactly. A time traveller of some kind, has to be. And therefore someone not of this period, perhaps not even from this planet.’

  ‘Like you?’

  The Doctor frowned. ‘Another Time Lord? No, I don’t think so.’

  ‘Why not? Could be another renegade Time Lord like you!’

  ‘I am not a renegade!’ said the Doctor indignantly. ‘Not any more, anyway. I’m just a bit – semi-detached, that’s all. No, this just doesn’t feel like a Time Lord operation somehow. It’s all too localised, too petty. We Time Lords think big. We hijack whole planets, not individual politicians.’ He pondered. ‘All the same, I think we may be dealing with something that isn’t entirely human.’

  ‘Some kind of alien conspiracy?’

  ‘And not quite that either,’ said the Doctor distantly. ‘There seems to be a perfectly good human conspiracy going on. That’s what Churchill thinks anyway. But there’s something I’m not getting, something just out of sight…’

  ‘A hidden tentacle, you mean?’

  The Doctor scowled at her facetiousness. ‘Something like that. In fact…’

  His train of thought was interrupted by the arrival of Dekker with the car. Peri waved them both off, and went back into the house. She checked the clock – since she had far less distance to travel, she had plenty of time in hand. She decided a long, luxurious bath was in order, and a leisurely sort through her new wardrobe for the perfect outfit. She’d show that Simpson woman – and the King as well – something about glamour.

  Toying for a moment with a vision of herself as Queen Perpugilliam, she went back inside the house.

  The Doctor was still worrying as the Rolls Royce sped through the outer London suburbs on the journey out to Kent. He was wearing a comfortable tweed suit in a reasonably subdued green-grey heather-mixture, sitting in the front seat next to Dekker and watching the pleasant countryside flow by.

  He reflected sadly on the really jolly suit in the nice bright tartan check he’d worn to breakfast. Peri had winced and sent him upstairs to change, claiming he was reverting to type.

  Thinking about Peri brought back his worries about her safety. ‘She’ll be all right,’ he said suddenly out loud.

  ‘Sorry?’ said Dekker.

  ‘Peri,’ said the Doctor. ‘She’ll be all right.’

  ‘Sure she will.’

  ‘I mean, even if Wallis Simpson is involved in some kind of conspiracy, her main value is in her influence over the King.’

  ‘Right.’

  ‘So they’d never let her become involved in any kind of overt violence – kidnapping, murder, anything like that.’

  ‘Absolutely not.’

  ‘And if the King himself is going to be there, well, that makes things doubly safe. Nothing untoward would happen with the King there.’

  ‘Right.’

  ‘So, there’s really nothing to worry about!’

  ‘Not a thing.’

  ‘So why am I so worried?’

  ‘Look, I told you earlier, Doctor, don’t worry about Peri, I’m taking care of her.’

  ‘Are you, indeed?’ said the Doctor, a little huffily. ‘May one inquire how, exactly?’

  ‘I’ve got my eye on her,’ Dekker said, unperturbed. ‘The eye that never closes… If you want something to worry about, Doctor Smith, worry about us – and about that car behind us.’

  The Doctor craned his neck and looked over his shoulder.

  ‘Black Mercedes-Benz, keeping two or three cars behind,’ added Dekker.

  ‘What about it?’

  ‘It’s been tailing us ever since we left London.’

  Dressed in a simple little black suit by Coco Chanel, Peri stepped out of the taxi, paid off the driver, and went inside Bryanston Court. Checking the invitation, she made her way up to Flat Five.

  A maid opened the door and ushered her in.

  Words like ‘flat’ or ‘apartment’ seemed inadequate to describe what she found on the other side of the door. It was a kind of miniature mansion inside the main building.

  Wallis Simpson was waiting to greet her in a small but luxurious entrance hall. She was wearing a simple black dress, and a collar of diamonds blazed around her neck. Peri knew instinctively that both dress and diamonds had cost a fortune.

  Wallis’s welcoming smile froze when she saw that Peri was alone. ‘Oh, my dear – but where’s Doctor Smith?’

  ‘He sends his apologies – a prior engagement. I was free, so I decided to come alone. I do hope you don’t mind me coming by myself.’

  ‘Of course not,’ said Wallis a little mechanically. ‘I’m delighted you could come.’

  ‘I so wanted to meet you – and your special guest, of course,’ Peri went on. She despised herself for gushing, but reminded herself it was all in a good cause.

  ‘He’s not here yet,’ said Wallis. ‘In fact nobody is. You’re the first to arrive.’

  For a moment, the two women stood summing each other up. It struck Peri once again, that Wallis Simpson was no beauty. She was undeniably elegant, though, her glossy black hair drawn back to emphasise her high forehead and her big, dark eyes. It was personality, thought Peri, sheer personality and a ferociou
sly strong will, the determination to dominate.

  Maybe that was what turned the King on.

  At the same moment, Wallis’s eyes flicked over Peri.

  ‘You shouldn’t have dressed up, my dear,’ she murmured.

  Peri’s eyes widened for a fraction of a second. ‘But I didn’t,’ she insisted sweetly. ‘How kind of you to think I had.’

  Wallis smiled frostily.

  ‘I do love your diamonds,’ Peri went on. ‘So striking – and so daring at this time of day.’

  Wallis’s eyes flashed dangerously, but she remained brittly polite. ‘Come inside, my dear,’ she said. ‘Let me show you the apartment while we’re waiting for the others.’

  Honours more or less even, the two women went inside.

  The large, luxuriously-furnished drawing room was a match for Wallis and her diamonds. Like the woman herself, thought Peri, it was expensive, and elegant, but somehow overdone.

  Peri’s eyes took in a jumble of overstuffed brocade sofas and armchairs, a mahogany table with an ornate Chinese vase, a Chippendale cabinet filled with Chinese ornaments. There was a Regency mirror over the fireplace, a Queen Anne chair, and a large, silk-covered sofa. Built-in bookshelves held a row of Dickens first editions, and a collection of Winnie-the-Pooh books by A. A. Milne.

  ‘I guess this room is a kind of marital museum,’ said Wallis drily. ‘The Chinese stuff comes from my first husband, Winfield Spencer. He was in the Navy, we went out to China together.’

  ‘That must have been interesting,’ said Peri politely.

  ‘Fascinating,’ said Wallis, airily. ‘There was a war on, and Win turned out to be a part-time homosexual and a full-time drunk. It’s kind of confusing being a new bride when your husband is having affairs with both your male and female acquaintances.’

  The sudden brutal frankness was both shocking and engaging, and Peri found herself liking the woman better.

  ‘The books belong to my second husband, Ernest,’ Wallis went on. She laughed. He’s kind of a Winnie-the-Pooh type himself.’

  ‘Sounds like quite a contrast to your first husband,’ said Peri.

  ‘Oh he was.’ Wallis Simpson sighed theatrically. ‘One husband too wild, the other too dull. I make poor choices when it comes to men.’

  ‘I hear things are going better these days,’ said Peri, casually.

  Wallis smiled – like a cat who’s just got the cream jug, thought Peri – and her hand stroked the diamond collar. ‘Why don’t I show you the rest of the apartment?’

  Peri was impressed. There was a dining room large enough to seat fourteen, three bedrooms, two bathrooms, an enormous kitchen… The guest bedroom had a huge round bed with pink sheets and pillows. Peri had a good idea who was the most frequent guest.

  ‘Not bad for a little girl from Baltimore, eh?’ said Wallis.

  ‘Not bad at all,’ said Peri.

  ‘I can’t stay here, though,’ the older woman sighed heavily. ‘Too many unhappy memories. I’m moving to a Regency house in Cumberland Terrace soon. It’s Crown property, David – the King – is fixing it for me.’

  She was, thought Peri, quite shameless in her triumph. No wonder she was getting up aristocratic noses all over London.

  By the time they got back to the drawing room, two more guests were just arriving.

  One was a man of about sixty, with a high forehead and hooded grey eyes. He wore a grey tweed suit and leaned upon an ivory-handled stick. Beside him was an extraordinarily beautiful woman with a cloud of dark hair and, unusually for her dark colouring, deep blue eyes. She wore a red velvet day-dress, simple but elegant.

  The man came forward.

  ‘Good afternoon, Wallis my dear. I trust we are not too unforgivably late?’ The voice was deep and cultured, with no trace of accent.

  ‘Allow me to introduce two very dear friends of mine,’ said Mrs Simpson. ‘The Countess Andrea Razetki and Count Ludwig Praetorius. Ludwig, Andrea, this is Doctor Smith’s… companion. Miss Perp… Perpug –’ she stumbled over the name.

  ‘Perpugilliam,’ said Peri, feeling herself flush a little. ‘It’s an old family name and a terrible tongue-twister. Please, call me Peri.’

  ‘How do you do?’ said the Countess. ‘It is a great pleasure to meet you.’ Her accent was exotic, musical, utterly foreign.

  ‘For me also,’ said Count Praetorius, with a stately bow.

  Peri stared at the two newcomers, feeling the hairs on the back of her neck rising.

  She’d seen them before, on the TARDIS scanner screen when the Doctor had used the thought scanner to show her his adventure in the First World War.

  The names were different, but here before her were the mysterious couple from the chateau.

  Wallis had noticed Peri’s reaction. ‘Is something the matter, my dear?’

  ‘I’m sorry,’ said Peri. She decided to try a random shot. ‘It’s just that – I have the strangest feeling that I’ve seen your two friends before. In France, perhaps?’

  It was obvious that the Count and Countess were as interested in Peri as she was in them. She could feel their eyes upon her. The Count’s icy-grey eyes gave a feeling of physical cold, while the dark blue eyes of the Countess felt warm and glowing.

  ‘I do not think we have had the pleasure of meeting you,’ said the Countess. ‘But I think we may have a mutual friend – someone who met both you and the Doctor in South Africa, many years ago.’

  ‘That would’ve been our… well, our parents,’ Peri said, lamely.

  The Countess smiled thinly. ‘As you say, my dear.’

  ‘You must introduce your friend, anyway,’ said Peri brightly, soldiering on.

  ‘I fear that will not be possible,’ said Count Praetorius. The cold anger in his voice made Peri shiver.

  ‘Our friend met with a most unfortunate accident,’ said the Countess. ‘He was an extremely rash young man.’

  She sounded almost amused. The Count shot her an angry glance.

  They were an odd pair, these two, thought Peri. Allies and enemies at the same time, just as before. Peri decided she wouldn’t trust either one of them the proverbial inch.

  Wallis Simpson had been watching all this byplay with some irritation. Peri got the feeling the woman wasn’t accustomed to standing at the sidelines. ‘The Doctor is unable to join us,’ she said. ‘A prior engagement, apparently.’

  ‘We know,’ said the Countess. ‘The Doctor is having lunch with Winston Churchill.’ She smiled, as if at some secret joke.

  ‘We must hope he will not be late,’ said the Count.

  ‘Why should he be?’ asked Peri sharply. ‘He set off in plenty of time.’

  ‘Chartwell is some way out of London,’ said Count Praetorius. ‘And the roads can be dangerous. So much traffic, these days.’

  Peri felt a sudden pang of alarm, and wished that there was some way she could warn the Doctor. He had Dekker to look after him, but even so…

  The Countess smiled at her, as if enjoying her anxiety. ‘Believe me, Peri, you are much better off with us here.’

  Wallis snapped her fingers, and servants appeared with trays of drinks. The drinks seemed mostly to consist of cocktails, odd mixtures of liqueurs with names like Manhattans, Sidecars and Snowballs.

  Peri asked for orange juice. She felt this was an occasion when she was going to need a very clear head.

  ‘It was a real dilemma when both invitations arrived at once,’ she said to Wallis when they all had their drinks. ‘I would have loved to have lunched with Mr Churchill, but I so wanted to get to know you better – and to meet your mysterious guest!’

  Wallis looked at an ormulu wall clock. ‘He might be a little late. Diplomatic duties, that sort of thing… We’ll give him a little longer and then start lunch without him.’

  It seemed a pretty casual way to treat a King, thought Peri. Just then they heard the sound of a big car in the street below.

  Wallis went over to the window and looked down.

  �
�Talk of the devil!’ She smiled lasciviously. ‘Here he is!’

  A few minutes later, the special visitor strode into the room, flourishing a bunch of red roses. He bowed, clicked his heels, and presented the roses to Wallis Simpson.

  The special visitor wasn’t the King of England after all. It was Joachim von Ribbentrop, the German Ambassador.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

  LUNCH PARTY

  ‘I RECKON THEY’LL make their move before long,’ said the Doctor.

  They had left London behind by now and were driving through quiet country lanes, but the black Mercedes was still maintaining a steady distance behind them. There was no other traffic on the road.

  ‘Maybe they just want to know where we’re going,’ said Dekker.

  ‘I think they already know where we’re going,’ said the Doctor. ‘What they want is to stop us getting there. Can we outrun them?’

  ‘Not a chance,’ said Dekker. ‘The Rolls is a good car, but it doesn’t have the speed of the Merc.’

  The Doctor nodded. ‘Well, if we can’t run…’

  ‘We’ll have to fight,’ said Dekker. ‘And attack is the best form of defence. What do you want to do, Doctor, drive or shoot?’

  ‘I’d like to avoid violence if we can,’ said the Doctor. ‘Perhaps we could try talking to them?’

  ‘If we’re close enough to do that we’re close enough to get shot,’ stated Dekker. The Doctor frowned, clearly unhappy.

  ‘We’d better change places,’ said Dekker. ‘We’ll do it at the next gas station, it won’t look so obvious.’ A thought seemed to strike him then. ‘You can handle a car, can’t you?’

  The Doctor glanced at him irritably. ‘I think you’ll find, Mr Dekker, I’m qualified to drive practically anything!’

  Dekker nodded. ‘OK’.

  A few miles further on they came to a little village with a garage and a petrol pump. As the awed attendant pumped petrol into the Rolls Royce, the Doctor said hopefully, ‘There’ll be a telephone here. We could call the police.’

  ‘And tell them what?’ asked Dekker. ‘That there’s another car using the road behind us?’