Martha in the Mirror

by Justin Richards

  ‘Come in,’ Janna said. ‘You’ll have to sit on the floor.’

  The negotiations had been adjourned for several hours. The guides were all confined to the servants’ quarters – which, judging by the reactions Martha saw, was hardly an inconvenience. Two of the guards carried the body away, and Defron said he would arrange for Bill and Bott to clean the floor. Martha could imagine they’d be less than happy about it.

  ‘Thank goodness the press haven’t arrived yet,’ Defron said as he watched the body of Chekz being carried away under a blanket.

  ‘Usually he’s complaining they haven’t been allowed in to cover the proceedings yet,’ Stellman said quietly to Martha.

  ‘The guards have weapons,’ Martha said. They had guns slung over their backs as they carried the body away, leaving Martha and Stellman standing alone outside the locked door to the Zerugians’ quarters.

  ‘So?’

  ‘You said there were weapons detectors.’

  ‘The guards are neutral. There’s always a chance someone will try to attack the conference, but they’re here for show more than anything. They are unable to intervene in anything relating directly to the negotiations, or in any trouble between Anthium and Zerugma, without a direct order from an official GA representative.’

  ‘Yeah, but they have got guns. Why stab Chekz rather than take one of the guns and do it?’

  ‘Oh I see.’ Stellman looked at Martha, his expression giving away nothing of his thoughts. ‘Each weapon is bio-coded to the guard who was issued with it. Without that guard’s hand on the barrel, their finger on the trigger – without detecting their DNA and sweat and the exact rhythm of their heartbeat, the gun won’t fire. Even if it’s been released for use, and of course that won’t happen without official GA codes.’

  Martha guessed she was probably expected to know all that. ‘So, obviously it was not one of the guards who killed Chekz, then.’

  ‘If they’d shot him, if the weapon was released for use and then actually used, we’d know who it was from the signature of the bullet. Trace it back to the gun, and the gun to the bio-code. If one of the guards decided to kill Chekz, they wouldn’t shoot him unless they wanted to get caught.’

  ‘Oh,’ Martha said, disappointed. ‘So it really could have been anyone.’

  Stellman nodded. ‘Yes. It really could.’

  ‘And you’re an assassin.’

  He smiled. ‘Used to be. During the war. When we were fighting. I was responsible for Special Measures against the Zerugians. That covered all manner of covert operations, including assassination if necessary.’

  Martha shook her head. ‘How could you do that?’

  Stellman didn’t react to her disgust. ‘We were at war. It was my job. I was good at it.’

  Martha sensed that there wasn’t anything more to say. ‘Excuse me,’ she said. ‘I think I’ll go and rest in my room. It’s all been a bit of a shock.’

  ‘I’ll see you later then.’

  Stellman nodded and started slowly along the corridor in the direction of the negotiating chamber. Martha set off in the other direction, hoping it was the way to the rooms she and the Doctor had been allocated. Not that it mattered too much if it wasn’t. She reached the end of the passage and turned out of sight.

  She counted slowly to ten before she turned again, and looked back down the passage towards the Zerugians’ quarters.

  Stellman was standing there. He must have waited till Martha was gone, then returned. She watched as the man fiddled with the lock, and the door swung open. Martha ducked quickly out of sight as Stellman turned, checking he was alone.

  She looked back in time to see Stellman step into the Zerugians’ rooms, and close the door quietly behind him.

  ‘Is this your home?’ the Doctor asked, looking round the cramped space.

  ‘The whole castle is my home, silly.’ Janna was sitting cross-legged on the makeshift bed, holding one of the blankets in a bundle in front of her.

  ‘Of course. Silly me. Cosy here, though, isn’t it? Like a den. I’ve always wanted a den.’

  Janna smiled. ‘I’ve got loads of rooms. All over the place. Lots of dens. Got anything to eat?’

  This caught the Doctor by surprise. ‘Er, sorry.’ He patted his pockets. ‘Don’t think I have, actually. Can I ask you something? It is important.’

  ‘About the murder?’

  ‘Well, yes.’

  ‘I didn’t do it,’ Janna assured him seriously.

  ‘I know.’

  ‘Then what?’

  ‘I wondered if you knew who did?’ the Doctor said. ‘If you saw anything?’

  She shook her head and hugged the blanket to her tight.

  ‘It’s all right. You’re not in trouble or anything.’

  She turned away. ‘Didn’t see nothing.’

  The Doctor sat next to her on the thin mattress that was lying on the floor. ‘But you do know. You know something. Tell me, please. I can help. I’m good at helping. I can help you if you’ll let me.’

  ‘Don’t need help,’ she said into the blanket.

  ‘That’s good. I’d best be going then. Toddling along, pushing off, making a move.’

  The Doctor stood by the door, looking back at the little girl on the bed. Her cheeks were stained with silent tears, their trails catching the flickering light. ‘What are you afraid of?’ the Doctor asked gently.

  Her eyes met his, just for an instant. ‘The man in the mirror.’ Then she looked away. ‘And my sister.’

  ‘Your sister is dead,’ the Doctor told her. ‘I’m sorry, I really am. But that’s the way it is. She’s gone.’

  ‘I know.’ Janna flopped back on the bed and pulled the blanket up to her chin, gripping it tight. ‘But why’s she come back?’

  From the other side of the door, Martha could hear the faint sounds of drawers and cupboards being opened and shut. Stellman was searching the room – but for what? She briefly considered knocking on the door and simply asking him.

  ‘Such a bad idea,’ she muttered. And she had a far better one. If Stellman was busy searching the Zerugians’ rooms – and God help him if Orlo came back – then Stellman’s own quarters would be empty.

  She passed Bill and Bott fixing paintings to a wall in a passageway, and asked them if they knew where Stellman’s room was.

  ‘We know where everyone’s rooms are,’ Bill assured her.

  ‘Everyone,’ Bott agreed. ‘Lady Casaubon’s along there, General Orlo and Secretary Chekz share a suite back that way.’

  ‘I know,’ Martha said. ‘And Stellman?’

  ‘It’s a nice suite, actually,’ Bill told her. ‘Shared conference room and kitchens, though they don’t cook much. Then state rooms and bedrooms. En suite, you know.’

  ‘Yes, lovely I’m sure. Stellman?’

  ‘I think Chekz likes to make cocoa,’ Bott said after a moment’s thought.

  ‘Not any more,’ Bill pointed out. ‘Then there’s Professor Thorodin. He doesn’t slum it down here with the delegates, he has—’

  ‘Where is Stellman’s room?’ Martha asked again in exasperation. ‘That’s all I want to know. It isn’t much, just a simple question.’

  ‘You want to know where Stellman’s room is?’ Bott said.

  Martha nodded, not trusting herself to speak.

  ‘Why didn’t you say? It’s along there, past the intersection then second on the right,’ Bill told her.

  ‘Thank you.’

  ‘But he’s not there,’ Bott called after her as Martha set off down the passageway.

  ‘And the door’s locked,’ Bill put in.

  ‘I’ll manage,’ Martha told them, then wondered if she should have said that. No, they wouldn’t guess what she was up to. She’d be quite safe.

  ‘If you give it a good thump, just below the keyhole,’ Bill shouted loudly after her, ‘you’ll find the lock springs open. Been meaning to fix it.’

  ‘It’s down for next week,’ Bott was saying as Martha
covered her ears and ran.

  ‘Not interested. Not listening,’ she said.

  ‘You sure it’s next week?’ Bill was asking.

  But Martha had gone.

  A moment later, part of the wall of the passage swung open and the Doctor stepped out. He smiled at Bill and Bott, tapped his index finger against his front teeth, and set off along the passageway.

  ‘Your friend went the other way,’ Bill said.

  The Doctor wasn’t really listening. ‘That’s nice,’ he said, continuing along the corridor. He was going back over what Janna had said and wondering how much of a grip on reality the poor girl had.

  He turned a corner and almost bumped into a figure coming the other way. ‘Oh, hi there,’ he said. ‘You seen Martha?’

  ‘She went that way,’ Stellman said, pointing in the direction the Doctor was heading.

  ‘Thanks.’ The Doctor continued on his way, and Stellman continued on his. Back to his room.

  At the sound of the key in the lock, Martha froze. She had only just got inside Stellman’s rooms. He had a suite that included a study, a kitchen and a bedroom. She’d not even checked his desk.

  Hiding places were few and far between. Heavy drapes hung beside a large oval window that looked out onto the floodlit gardens. Martha hurried behind them, burying herself in the folds of material. In the glass of the window, she could see the reflection of Stellman as he came into the room.

  He looked at the key, as if puzzled. His other hand was still in his jacket pocket. Martha was not sure she’d ever seen it come out of his pocket. Perhaps he didn’t have a hand – like Napoleon. Or was it Nelson?

  Stellman put the key down on a table and walked through to the kitchen. She could hear water running – maybe he was getting a drink. Yes, she was sure it was Nelson.

  While Stellman was out of sight, Martha crept from behind the curtain and tip-toed to the door, which was still standing slightly open. She could be out of here before he came back. No problem.

  ‘What are you doing in here?’

  Martha froze again. Stellman was standing behind her. Watching her. His hand still thrust into his jacket pocket. Problem.

  ‘I was…’ Martha’s voice dried in her throat. She tried again. ‘I thought you’d come back to your room. I was looking for you. The door was open.’

  Stellman hesitated and, though his expression was as blank and unreadable as ever, for a moment she thought she was all right. But then he said: ‘No, it wasn’t. The lock’s not terribly effective, I know, but it works well enough.’

  ‘You were searching Chekz’s room,’ Martha accused.

  ‘Yes, I was. But it’s not me that needs the excuse just now, is it?’

  ‘And why not?’

  By way of answer he pulled his hand from his pocket. Martha gasped, realising. All the time, whenever he had spoken to her, to the Doctor, to anyone, Stellman had been pointing a gun at them. A gun hidden in his pocket.

  A transparent gun, the mechanism and the bullets clearly visible within.

  ‘The weapons detectors don’t scan for glass,’ Martha realised.

  And Stellman smiled.

  Someone was following him. The Doctor could hear footsteps echoing his own. They were being careful. It wasn’t Janna – the footfalls were too heavy. And she didn’t seem to care who knew she was watching them anyway.

  The Doctor still hadn’t caught up with Martha. He’d looked in her room, but she wasn’t there. She wasn’t in his room either, he’d checked there too. His next stop was the Great Hall en route to the negotiating chamber.

  Just before he reached the hall, he ducked quickly into an alcove. The footsteps behind him hesitated. There was a pause. Then they resumed – quicker. Whoever it was must be afraid they’d lost him. The Doctor pressed back into the alcove and let the cloaked figure walk quickly past.

  Then he stepped out into the light, and called after it: ‘You looking for me?’

  The monk stopped and turned. The hood of the cloak hid the figure’s face.

  ‘I know you can’t speak while you’re wearing that, but I do have a few questions.’ The Doctor walked slowly towards the monk. ‘Because you’ve been following me, haven’t you? We can do this sort of multiple choice if you like. That way you won’t have to break any rules or actually say anything.’

  The hood of the cloak moved slightly. The voice that came from within was old, rasping, barely more than a whisper. ‘You have the book.’

  The Doctor stopped. ‘Book?’

  ‘I saw you find it.’

  ‘Ah, yes, the book.’ He took the glass book from his pocket. ‘This, you mean?’

  ‘Read it,’ the monk hissed.

  ‘Yeah, well, bit of a problem there. You see—’

  ‘Read it, Doctor!’

  ‘I would, if I could. But it’s in some sort of code.’

  ‘Mirror writing.’

  ‘Of course.’ The Doctor slapped his forehead with his free hand. ‘How could I be so stupid. Mirror writing.’ He held the book open for the monk to see. ‘Only it isn’t, is it? I’d spot mirror writing a mile off. Taught Leonardo how to do it. Left-handed as well. Think I don’t know mirror writing? This is not mirror writing.’

  The monk gave a low chuckle. ‘Nevertheless, you can read it in the mirror.’

  ‘The mirror? You mean the mirror? A particular mirror? What is it then, a symmetrical transformation keyed to the refractive index of both types of glass or something?’

  ‘Does it matter?’

  ‘Matter?’ The Doctor laughed. ‘Of course it matters. If that’s how it’s done, then it’s brilliant. Genius.’ He stared down at the open page of thin glass. ‘But how would you encode it in the first place?’

  There was no answer. The Doctor looked up, and saw that he was alone. The monk had gone.

  ‘Not much of a conversationalist,’ the Doctor muttered. He was already hurrying to the Great Hall. There was only one mirror in the castle he knew of that could reasonably be called the mirror. The Mortal Mirror in the Great Hall.

  The huge room was empty. The Doctor walked towards the mirror, holding the glass book open in front of him at the first page. As soon as he was close enough to make out the reflection clearly, he stopped.

  ‘Oh that is just so clever,’ he breathed.

  The meaningless symbols on the glass reflected back as letters – as words, sentences.

  ‘I am the Man in the Mirror,’ the first line read. ‘And this is my story.’

  Martha didn’t hesitate. If she gave herself time to think, she knew, she would just stand there and wait for Stellman to shoot her. He was a professional assassin – he’d told her that. No way could he miss. And Stellman knew that Martha was aware of that.

  So she hoped she had surprise on her side as she dived for the door.

  She expected to hear the crack of a shot, to feel the stab of pain as the bullet caught her. But there was nothing. Martha was out of the room, struggling to her feet and running down the corridor.

  Behind her, she heard a door slam. Heavy, rapid footsteps. He was coming after her. Surprise was gone now, and as soon as he got a clear shot…

  Round the corner. How fast was Stellman? He looked fit, but was he quick? Breaths coming in gasps, heart thumping. Stopping to try a door – locked. Running again.

  ‘In a hurry?’ Bill asked as Martha sprinted towards the two robots still putting up pictures.

  ‘He’s got – a – gun!’ Martha gasped as she approached. ‘Help me!’

  ‘Don’t like guns,’ Bott said. ‘Best to hide.’

  ‘My defensive mode burned out years ago,’ Bill said sadly.

  ‘Hide where? Can’t you slow him down?’ She was level with Bott now. ‘Buy me time to get away?’

  Bott’s round head tilted slightly. ‘And get shot? You’re joking.’

  ‘I am not joking. Thanks for nothing.’ Martha ran on.

  Further down the corridor, Bill was holding open a section of wall.
‘In here,’ he hissed in an electronic whisper. Then he looked through the door and added: ‘Sorry Janna.’

  Martha didn’t wait to ask why a part of the wall had opened, or how, or where it led. She ran inside and collapsed gasping on the floor.

  The wall closed behind her. The light faded to a flickering gloom. Martha sat up and looked round, her breath still ragged and painful.

  On the other side of the small hidden room was a thin mattress with a pile of blankets bundled on top of it. Beside the pile of blankets sat a pale, fair-haired girl.

  ‘You’re funny,’ Janna said.

  ***

  The book was a diary. An account of the man’s life, or at least a part of it. The man in the mirror. Suddenly a lot of things were becoming clearer, and not just the unintelligible symbols on the cold, brittle, glass pages.

  It was just getting even more interesting, when Defron arrived. The Doctor could see him reflected in the mirror, standing in the doorway, as if uncertain whether to come in.

  ‘You seen Martha?’ the Doctor called. ‘I thought she came this way.’ He closed the diary and put it back in his jacket pocket.

  ‘No,’ Defron said. ‘No, I haven’t.’ He walked slowly towards the Doctor. ‘Could I have a word?’

  ‘Any word you like. Meringue is a good one. Or cropper. You know – as in come a cropper.’

  Defron did not seem amused. ‘I sent a report to the Galactic Alliance,’ he said. ‘Telling them about the… incident.’

  ‘Fair enough.’ The Doctor nodded. Then he realised what this might mean. ‘Ah. You mentioned me and Martha?’

  ‘I did, yes. As we already have GA observers here, I suggested that further intervention by the justice authorities was not necessary.’

  ‘And they told you that they’d never heard of us?’ The Doctor shook his head sadly.

  ‘They will admit to having two Special Agents on site, as well as Colonel Blench’s peacekeeping force. Though the troops have rather limited powers, of course. But when I mentioned that I had already made contact with you…’ He opened his hands in a silent apology.