The Tomb of Valdemar Page 11

  Neville shakes his head. Modestly, he says, ‘We are past what I want, Huvan. You must seize this time. This is your moment.’

  Huvan considers. ‘Yes, but what do I have to do?’

  ‘Wait. Just wait. Tonight, I will arrange a meeting of the full cabal.’

  ‘Will those others be there? I don’t...’

  ‘Have no fear. From tonight you will be feared, respected, even loved.’

  And now Huvan can’t keep that smile hidden. ‘Really? Me?

  I’ve been waiting so long, so long. Will Romana be there?’

  Neville frowns. ‘Romana? Ah. I see. I think that can be arranged. You have a special.. feeling for her?’

  Huvan turns away. ‘No, it’s just...’

  ‘Look at me!’

  The barked command ruins everything. Huvan feels tears welling up. He recalls what the Magus can do to him when he is angry. He obeys the order.

  ‘Never lie to me again,’ the Magus says, a fury barely contained within him. ‘Never forget he to whom you owe your life.’

  ‘I didn’t mean anything.’

  ‘You have feelings for Romana?’

  Huvan nods. ‘Feelings’ – such a superficial word for what he really means.

  Oddly, the Magus is not angry. His voice has returned to those soothing familiar tones. ‘Then, of course, she shall attend.’

  He turns to leave. Huvan cannot let it go at this, even in his fear. ‘What’s going to happen, Magus?’

  Neville does not turn back, but Huvan can see he is shaking with excitement. ‘My boy. For twenty-two long years I have nurtured you, raised you with more care than I would my own son. Let me tell you what will happen tonight. The final moment is upon us. The time has come to resurrect the Dark One.’

  The party has started again, perhaps it never ends. Unaware of Huvan’s, and for that matter, Neville’s intentions, Romana has been wandering the palace, avoiding the occasional leather-clad guard, trying to find the Doctor. Because he is apparently nowhere, she has in her desperation reluctantly decided to appeal to the foppish nobles.

  When the power came on, she knew the Doctor had done it.

  For whatever reasons, he has given Neville exactly what he wanted. Now they have nothing to bargain with. Unless the bargain has already been made. Either way, she has to find him.

  The piazza in which the children fritter the days away has grown into a minor palace of its own. Thick with green ferns and chequered marble flagstones, new additions include ornate noisy fountains and cold, unblinking statues of athletes. Steam rises from the numberless stone pools in which she finds Stanislaus and the others.

  ‘Romana,’ he shrieks with delight, blond hair plastering his forehead. The beautiful Hermia, flushed and somewhat less delighted to see her, brushes the strands back. Somewhere in this balmy decadence, the others are laughing and running.

  ‘I need to speak to you,’ Romana says, realising she will have to be direct.

  ‘Really,’ yawns Hermia. ‘Will it take long?’

  ‘Hermia!’ Stanislaus reprimands, without conviction. ‘Join us, please.’ He invites Romana into their water.

  ‘No, thank you.’

  Hermia pouts. She drinks from a sparkling goblet.

  ‘I’m not sure the Magus would like us to talk to you. In fact, I think he would probably be very angry. Why can’t you just leave us alone?’

  For a moment, Romana is irked. Who does this brat think she is? She restrains herself. ‘Fine, I would prefer to conduct my conversation with intelligent life forms, so feel free to find something more deserving of your attention any time.’ An icy smile forces its way on to her lips. Hermia blushes.

  At least Stanislaus is listening. Listening intently. Now, how to phrase this? ‘I can’t find my companion,’ she tries. ‘I was wondering if you might know where Neville would put him.’

  ‘Tenny, no!’ snaps Hermia, without a second thought. Mind you, Romana muses, a first thought is trouble enough.

  ‘What makes you think he would have put your companion anywhere?’ asks Stanislaus, but not unreasonably.

  Hermia is making a face. ‘That funny-looking old man with the hair. I thought he looked odd. Not normal at all. Ugly. We shouldn’t allow ugly things in here.’

  ‘Believe it or not, Hermia, he is trying to help you,’ offers Romana.

  ‘The only person who wants to help us is the Magus,’

  Hermia says triumphantly. ‘Why don’t you just go away?’

  Romana is unable to hold herself in any more. Putting her hands on her hips in best fishwife fashion, she starts on Hermia. ‘You really think I would have come asking you people for help if I had any, and I mean any, alternative? I don’t know the palace, I’ve only just arrived.’ She turns to go, sick of the whole preening lot of them. ‘I’m sorry to have inconvenienced you.’ Almost a snarl but not quite; her composure has been developed over centuries.

  Just as she starts off, Stanislaus rises from the pool, his toga unleashing a cascade of water. ‘Wait! Of course I’ll help...’

  ‘Tenny!’

  ‘Oh, shut up!’ he shouts suddenly. ‘I’m bored with you.’

  Romana tries to conceal her surprise. Stanislaus gestures to the scattered mass of revellers, the palace, everything. ‘In fact, I’m bored with the whole thing. Come on Romana, let’s find this friend of yours.’

  Energetically, Stanislaus grabs a towel and as they walk to the double doors, he dries his golden hair. That done, he turns and flings the towel at Hermia, whose angry tears are already being attended to by the next golden-haired youth.

  Humans, Romana muses; what does the Doctor see in them?

  Miranda Pelham has also had enough of passivity. She is sick and tired of being locked up and tied down. It’s time to give something back. And take her mind off the black dread that threatens to drill into her sanity.

  Thanks to the Doctor’s distractions, Kampp never realised she had nearly been freed. Pelham works away at the other leather straps until she can free herself completely. Try not to take any notice of your beating heart, she tells herself. Even a born coward can act when they have to. She’d read it somewhere.

  How to get out of a cell. It was so easy for fictional characters; they just clutched their stomachs and pretended to be ill. Yeah, right. Like that would fool a child.

  Short of suddenly developing amazing locksmith abilities, the only alternative was to wait until some really thick guard with a muscle-wasting disease opened the door and bent over to allow himself to be knocked out. That should do the trick.

  A weapon. Hmm.

  Pelham paces the cell. A weapon.

  There aren’t any. Unless she can pull a two-ton chair out of its moorings and hold it over her head until this mythical guard arrives. What else? Karate? Death pinch?

  It will have to be the old-fashioned punch on the nose then run like hell.

  Pelham sits and thinks. This isn’t going to work.

  Like others in the palace, this switching-the-power-on thing has opened up a new perspective in her mind. Why did she agree to come here with Neville? Of course he was going to try and raise Valdemar, like the Doctor says. For a so-called writer, she is painfully unobservant. Or perhaps she just chose not to know, to limit her own perception.

  Not for the first, or last, time she rubs the bangle on her wrist. It is making her arm sore.

  And then, once the thought is lodged, she is tempted. Ever so tempted to use it. I can’t, she thinks, he’ll kill me. This still is not the worst.

  What can she do? What the hell is she going to do?

  When the cell door finally does open, Pelham is caught by surprise. This isn’t how it works in the books, she breathes, as she dives back into the chair and replaces the restraining straps.

  Neville flicks a switch on his console. Kampp’s face fills the screen. ‘Magus?’ asks the butler.

  ‘How is the Doctor?’

  ‘Recovering.’ Kampp’s lip curls, his best att
empt at a genuine smile. ‘I’ve just returned him to Pelham. Don’t worry, there isn’t any permanent damage.’

  ‘What did you find out?’

  A dark shadow crosses Kampp’s brow. Upset? ‘Hardly anything. Except that he knows a lot more than he’s letting on. And I’m convinced he’s not one of Hopkins’s men.’

  ‘I’ll keep monitoring him. He seems to like talking to Pelham. Anyway, we have a new challenge. Stanislaus.’

  ‘Oh. Interesting.’ The voice has an unmistakable lilt of anticipation.

  ‘He was always the most problematic,’ says Neville. ‘Now he is with Romana, looking for the Doctor.’

  ‘And what would you like me to do? Discipline him?’

  ‘Whatever you fancy. Just don’t harm the girl. I need her.’

  Kampp shakes his head, as if dismissing Romana entirely.

  ‘Have no fear. Stanislaus, eh? I’ve had my eye on him. I feel a long session coming on. Thank you, Mr Neville.’

  ‘Just get it done. Before the cabal.’

  Neville flicks the switch and Kampp disappears. He leans back and looks at his robes, rubbing his chin thoughtfully.

  Soon, very soon now, magus.

  On an impulse, Neville leans forward and re-signals Kampp.

  ‘Yes, Magus?’ asks the butler; just a trace of impatience there.

  ‘I’ve changed my mind,’ says Neville. ‘Kill the Doctor. Do it now.’

  He has started to see things, pictures. He cannot tell if they are real or not. Of course, he sees Romana.

  Huvan finds himself unsurprised by these developments. It is as if he has always known he could do it, an itch in his mind he has only now decided to scratch. He visualises this new thing, the light that shines in his head, on the back and to the left. If he looks into that light there is a slight painful tug and then everything is released. It is like touching a fresh gap left by an extracted tooth, it makes him feel sick but it is fascinating.

  She seems to be with that oaf Stanislaus. They are searching for the Doctor, dodging Neville’s guards. He could have helped them, told them exactly where all the guards were, told them where the Doctor is for that matter.

  They are going the wrong way. Huvan giggles to himself. He is laughing at the blond boy, the one who was almost worse than the others. For a start, he was always with Hermia, touching her, cooing to her. His pitiful attempts at niceness.

  Sheer hypocrisy, barely concealing the hate within. How Huvan longs to bring the whole place down on all of them.

  And soon he will be able to do it too. This new thing in him, it’s growing.

  ‘Which way now?’ asks an exasperated Romana.

  ‘How should I know?’ shrugs Stanislaus. ‘I’ve never been out of our quarters before. It’s cooler.’

  ‘This is going to take all day.’

  Stanislaus looks back the way he came. To Romana, he certainly looks the part of the rescuing hero, like something from a myth. If only he had brains to go with it. She realises she is now doing exactly what she did before, wandering aimlessly through this shifting maze. Only now there are two of them. With Neville no doubt watching their every move.

  ‘I guess,’ says Stanislaus, ‘I guess the cells would be on the lowest level. That’s where my father always had his cells.’

  ‘What happened to your father?’

  ‘He died in them. Hopkins put him there and left him to starve.’

  ‘Hopkins?’

  ‘You know, the finder-general.’ Stanislaus yanks open another door, ready for battle. ‘Ha!’

  ‘Actually, I don’t know. And that’s a cupboard.’

  Suddenly, Romana feels a buzzing in her ear, like a wasp.

  She shakes her head, clapping a hand to it. Stanislaus is there at her side in an instant. ‘What is it?’ he asks, manfully.

  The buzzing hurts. Romana slaps her ear. ‘Tinnitus?’ she asks herself, disbelieving. She feels the commencement of a headache. And something else. ‘We’re going the wrong way,’

  she murmurs, suddenly certain. ‘I can see the Doctor. He’s two floors below. There’s an anti-grav lift, second turning on the right.’

  ‘I’m impressed,’ says Stanislaus. He looks it.

  Romana is too worried to notice. ‘How could I know that?’

  ‘Never mind.’ Stanislaus slaps her arm, ‘Let’s go!’ He dashes for the lift.

  ‘Er... Tenniel,’ says Romana, coughing. She points. ‘This is right.’

  Valrus, a high cult guard and one of Paul Neville’s personal retinue, has them in his sights. He keeps to the shadows behind them as they walk.

  He doesn’t like this palace, doesn’t like the miles of empty corridors and shifting rooms, but like the others he is thrilled at the prospect of being a part of the Dark One’s rebirth.

  Neville has made it clear to him that he, and the others, will be rewarded in the life to come.

  He keeps delaying his shot. Bring down the man, said Kampp, but the girl must not be harmed.

  They had simply drifted down past him in the anti-grav lift.

  Lucky for him he was looking. Word was they were in the upper levels, totally lost. Well, they seemed to know where they were going now. He had followed, waiting until he saw where they stepped out.

  It is quiet in the palace, too quiet. It’s like a vacuum, like space. Bright space. The others had said, when they first arrived, that you’d need a thousand men to search it properly. If someone or something wanted to stay hidden, no one could find them. It was like the whole place went on for ever. The three months in that cramped ship to get here had felt bad, but you knew where everything was. You could see everything.

  Valrus follows the couple into the darker world of the palace’s lowest level. They are definitely heading for the cells.

  Where Kampp will be waiting for them.

  He will have to fire soon, otherwise the butler will grab all the glory. The thought of that creepy little toad makes Valrus shudder. There is something wrong with Kampp, they all feel it, something unwholesome. He enjoys his work a little too much.

  Ah, they’ve stopped. Just standing in the corridor. The man looks round, probably suspicious. Valrus keeps quiet (too quiet). It will have to be now (this palace, so much room, God knows what could have hidden itself. Take a thousand men to find it). Valrus raises his pistol. As quiet as if the universe has stopped. He aims directly at the nobleman’s back. Bring him down; then make sure with a head shot. No mistake.

  Quiet.

  Except a noise, some noise, breaks his concentration. Just a little noise. Line it up... in the centre of the back...

  It is breathing. Just behind him. Someone is standing behind him. His hand wavers (so much empty space.

  Anything could be in here) and he turns.

  Before he can shriek, before he can even look up at its face, that which has been hiding in the palace for so long is on him.

  ‘Did you hear something?’ Stanislaus asks suddenly. They have stopped, Romana trying to shift this buzzing in her head.

  ‘No, and nor did you,’ she replies, irritably. Something is throbbing, right behind her eye.

  Stanislaus is looking back the way they came. ‘I could swear...’

  She grabs his hand, tired of him. He has the attention span of a child.

  When they reach the cells, and it’s funny how she can be so certain these are the cells, they find Kampp waiting for them. The odd thing is, he’s asleep, lying across the doorway, his arms wrapped round himself.

  ‘This is the one we want,’ Romana says.

  ‘How do you know all this?’ Stanislaus asks suspiciously, staring down at the supine butler. ‘It has to be some kind of trick.’

  ‘Does it really matter?’ snaps Romana, by way of reply. She just wants to get the door open. There appears to be a simple electronic pad welded into it. So, it’s only just become a cell.

  She needs something for her headache.

  ‘How do you open it?’ he asks. Romana had rathe
r hoped he wouldn’t.

  ‘You need the correct number sequence. And before you ask, that is something I don’t know.’

  ‘So what do we do?’

  Romana points down at the butler. ‘We’re going to have to wake him up.’

  However, before she can reach down, she hears a musical chime, then a click, and the door to the cell slides open.

  ‘There’s something going on here,’ says Stanislaus. ‘This is too easy. We’re being watched, I know it.’

  Despite her mounting irritation, despite her headache, she knows he is right. Somehow, someone is guiding them, helping them. Neville? The palace itself? Only one man will know the answer. ‘Come on.’

  Romana leads the way, only to see a small, dimly lit room where two restraining chairs sit empty.

  ‘What?’ she asks, just as the hand claps over her mouth.

  Somewhere in the distance, Stanislaus shouts. Romana struggles. She tries to keep calm, tries to remember her training but her head, her head is pounding.

  A figure moves in front of her. A smiling figure. She realises the hand over her mouth is small and feminine. A ring scrapes one of her teeth as the fingers relax.

  ‘Sorry,’ says Miranda Pelham from behind.

  The figure continues to smile and Romana feels her headache disappear completely. ‘Doctor!’ She almost cries with relief.

  ‘I’m terribly sorry. We thought you were the guard. Miranda here was all for knocking you out and everything. Hello Romana, how are you?’ He holds out that little paper bag.

  Chapter Eight

  There is something in the air, something new. He can feel it.

  The human Neville is donning his robes for the meeting of those fools in the cabal. Their last. After tonight he will have no further need for these children.

  He rolls his neck to relax the muscles, hearing the tendons crack. The robes of the Magus, this being who he will soon become in toto, are warm and welcoming as he slips them over his body. Soon, he is certain, he will no longer be Magus in name only. He looks forward to the time when the weak and transient Neville is gone completely and has become the new, true acolyte of Valdemar. The vessel. He is sick and tired of humanity.