another table.
Next to it, on the surface of the table, the words CHRIS - STAY PUT - DON'T TOUCH ANYTHING had been written neatly in the dust.
Chris lifted the lamp and tried to make out the TARDIS by the guttering flame, but the police box was nowhere to be seen in the gloom.
'Doctor?' he called in a stage whisper, cautious of what he might disturb, He edged between the massive furniture, afraid it might take a dislike to him and crush him between its angular fitments.
48
He reached the edge of a small clearing in the bric-a-brac where the shadows were particularly reluctant to disperse. He could just make out a stack of frames at the far side which he did not recognize. So where the hell was the TARDIS?
Somewhere on Extans Superior, there was a rose coral beach where a hover-hammock was floating by an antigrav tray on which sat two skyscraper glasses of a drink like the indigo moonrise on Oebaqul Xo. That's what the brochure said. His name was already on the lime slice in one glass. The other glass was reserved for someone he hadn't met just yet. The hammock, swaying deliciously, was big enough for two.
But, Goddess Almighty, the Doctor had gone without him.
Chris stepped forward and his foot kept going. As he toppled into the dark, he dropped the lamp and lunged sideways. His arm caught on a heavy chair and he scrambled to claw a grip on its smooth hide upholstery.
The lamp shattered in the dark wel somewhere far below.
The chair, creakily protesting, dragged itself away, pulling Chris up out of the hole as it went. He lay on the edge of the chasm, gasping back his breath. His knee was wet, cut on jagged wood.
He was in total darkness. He was alone. Despite al the soul-searching and inner harmonizing of Doa-no-nai-heya Monastery, he really missed Roz. They'd told him he would.
He dared not move. If the TARDIS had real y fallen through the creaky floor, had the Doctor been inside? Or had he and his ship just flown away for good? Fled the scene of the crime, leaving Chris stranded. He wondered how long this place had really been neglected. How far back were the events he'd witnessed. And had the Doctor really been the cause of them? And the murder too?
'Doctor!' shouted Chris. 'You could have left a better note!'
He knew what the Doctor was capable of, but he wouldn't do that, would he? Not murder? I mean, there'd be a good reason for him to come back to murder the head of his own Family. But Arkhew had recognised him. No getting away from that, or from any of the events they had witnessed from six hundred and seventy three years ago - Arkhew had been very precise and Chris didn't doubt the little man's story.
Not that the Doctor would admit to it. The Doctor wouldn't admit to anything. The one thing he'd seemed afraid of was the House. Chris had never seen him so cagey.
An Adjudicator never drops a case until the evidence is substantiated and verified. That ground rule was something to cling on to. Chris stretched out a hand and ran his fingers across the floor. It was full of splinters.
Places, as well as machines, could record events. Maybe the House was the expert witness.
Dammit Roz. What do I do?
His eyes were final y accustomizing to the darkness - no longer dark, just shadow-filled gloom. He pulled himself gingerly to his feet and edged a path between the furniture, away from the hole.
Close by, he could make out the downward sloping rail of a stairwell. Then he remembered the note in the dust: STAY PUT - DON'T TOUCH ANYTHING. The Doctor was still here. He'd only gone to find the TARDIS. Chris grasped the rail and reached down with his foot, finding solid support. One deep step at a time, he groped his way down the giant's stairs, moving deeper into the dark and watchful House.
49
Chapter Nine
The Whitewood House
Frost in the fire and the rocking chair
Frost in the hearth, frost in the ladle
Children's voices in the air
Wind that rocks the empty cradle.
(Mid-Gallifreyan Nursery
Next to it, on the surface of the table, the words CHRIS - STAY PUT - DON'T TOUCH ANYTHING had been written neatly in the dust.
Chris lifted the lamp and tried to make out the TARDIS by the guttering flame, but the police box was nowhere to be seen in the gloom.
'Doctor?' he called in a stage whisper, cautious of what he might disturb, He edged between the massive furniture, afraid it might take a dislike to him and crush him between its angular fitments.
48
He reached the edge of a small clearing in the bric-a-brac where the shadows were particularly reluctant to disperse. He could just make out a stack of frames at the far side which he did not recognize. So where the hell was the TARDIS?
Somewhere on Extans Superior, there was a rose coral beach where a hover-hammock was floating by an antigrav tray on which sat two skyscraper glasses of a drink like the indigo moonrise on Oebaqul Xo. That's what the brochure said. His name was already on the lime slice in one glass. The other glass was reserved for someone he hadn't met just yet. The hammock, swaying deliciously, was big enough for two.
But, Goddess Almighty, the Doctor had gone without him.
Chris stepped forward and his foot kept going. As he toppled into the dark, he dropped the lamp and lunged sideways. His arm caught on a heavy chair and he scrambled to claw a grip on its smooth hide upholstery.
The lamp shattered in the dark wel somewhere far below.
The chair, creakily protesting, dragged itself away, pulling Chris up out of the hole as it went. He lay on the edge of the chasm, gasping back his breath. His knee was wet, cut on jagged wood.
He was in total darkness. He was alone. Despite al the soul-searching and inner harmonizing of Doa-no-nai-heya Monastery, he really missed Roz. They'd told him he would.
He dared not move. If the TARDIS had real y fallen through the creaky floor, had the Doctor been inside? Or had he and his ship just flown away for good? Fled the scene of the crime, leaving Chris stranded. He wondered how long this place had really been neglected. How far back were the events he'd witnessed. And had the Doctor really been the cause of them? And the murder too?
'Doctor!' shouted Chris. 'You could have left a better note!'
He knew what the Doctor was capable of, but he wouldn't do that, would he? Not murder? I mean, there'd be a good reason for him to come back to murder the head of his own Family. But Arkhew had recognised him. No getting away from that, or from any of the events they had witnessed from six hundred and seventy three years ago - Arkhew had been very precise and Chris didn't doubt the little man's story.
Not that the Doctor would admit to it. The Doctor wouldn't admit to anything. The one thing he'd seemed afraid of was the House. Chris had never seen him so cagey.
An Adjudicator never drops a case until the evidence is substantiated and verified. That ground rule was something to cling on to. Chris stretched out a hand and ran his fingers across the floor. It was full of splinters.
Places, as well as machines, could record events. Maybe the House was the expert witness.
Dammit Roz. What do I do?
His eyes were final y accustomizing to the darkness - no longer dark, just shadow-filled gloom. He pulled himself gingerly to his feet and edged a path between the furniture, away from the hole.
Close by, he could make out the downward sloping rail of a stairwell. Then he remembered the note in the dust: STAY PUT - DON'T TOUCH ANYTHING. The Doctor was still here. He'd only gone to find the TARDIS. Chris grasped the rail and reached down with his foot, finding solid support. One deep step at a time, he groped his way down the giant's stairs, moving deeper into the dark and watchful House.
49
Chapter Nine
The Whitewood House
Frost in the fire and the rocking chair
Frost in the hearth, frost in the ladle
Children's voices in the air
Wind that rocks the empty cradle.
(Mid-Gallifreyan Nursery
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