Silhouette by Justin Richards Page B

Inside it was smoky, grubby, noisy and busy. A group of men in dusty work clothes, builders perhaps, was just leaving and the Doctor gestured for Clara to take a seat before anyone else got to the table they had just vacated.
    Strax forced his way through to the bar – where he was obviously recognised. He returned a fewmoments later with three pints of ale.
    ‘Beer?’ Clara said. ‘I was hoping for a G and T.’
    ‘You don’t have to drink it,’ the Doctor told Clara. ‘Just look like you belong here. Try to fit in.’
    ‘Right,’ she said. ‘I’ll just go and splash in a few puddles, soak my clothes in gin, and knock out several of my front teeth, then, shall I?’
    ‘If you think it will help,’ the Doctor told her.
    ‘I can assist you with the teeth,’ Strax offered.
    ‘No – thank you,’ Clara told him quickly. She sipped at the beer, and found it wasn’t as bad as she’d expected. ‘So what’s the plan?’
    ‘We should take hostages,’ Strax said. ‘Force these people to talk under threat of execution.’
    ‘For the moment, we watch,’ the Doctor told them.
    ‘Watch for what?’ Clara asked.
    ‘We’ll see.’
    The Doctor took a swig of his beer. He smacked his lips, leaned back in his chair with his hands behind his head and looked round the bar with interest. He seemed content to sit watching for the duration, so Clara risked another sip of beer. Strax was shifting impatiently on the other side of the table. He had downed his pint in a single swallow. Before long, Clara thought, he’d be grabbing random drinkers and demanding information in return for allowing them to keep their kneecaps and other important anatomical attachments.
    ‘Him,’ the Doctor announced suddenly, sitting upright and pointing across the bar.
    Clara followed his finger to see a thin, elderly man with pinched features sitting alone at a small table on the other side of the room, holding a pewter tankard.
    ‘What about him?’ she asked.
    ‘He has his own tankard, so he’s a regular. They probably keep it behind the bar. He’s on his own, happy in in his own company. And he’s watching. He knows everyone – see how he nods as people pass. Says hello, and exchanges a few pleasantries. Everyone likes him, and he knows everyone’s business. So he’s the one.’
    ‘The one what?’ Strax said. ‘The one to be taken outside and ruthlessly interrogated?’
    ‘No,’ the Doctor said. ‘The one we need to buy a drink.’
    Once again, Strax was despatched to the bar. The Doctor and Clara made their way over to the thin man’s table.
    ‘Mind if we join you?’ the Doctor asked.
    The man shrugged and gestured to the chairs on the other side of the table. ‘You get bored over there, did you?’
    ‘You saw us?’ Clara said.
    ‘You see everyone, don’t you,’ the Doctor said. ‘Which is why we wanted a quick word.’
    ‘Oh yes?’
    ‘Our friend is getting you a drink,’ the Doctor added.
    The man smiled. ‘Then I’ll be more than happy to speak to you.’
    The Doctor’s instincts had, not surprisingly, proved correct. The man’s name was Anderson, and he seemed to know everything about everyone in the area.
    ‘Rum character that Milton,’ he told them. ‘Turned up a few months ago and bought the old factory on Alberneath Avenue. Put in all sorts of weird machinery. Then, a couple of weeks ago, he strips it all out again.’
    ‘What did they make there?’ Clara asked.
    ‘That I don’t know. Strange thing is, I’ve not met a soul who worked there.’
    ‘Automated assembly,’ Strax said.
    The Doctor nodded. ‘Very likely. So what happened to this weird machinery?’
    ‘Shipped out. Loaded into carts and taken away.’
    ‘Do you know where it went?’ the Doctor asked.
    Anderson considered as he gulped down his beer. ‘No,’ he decided, putting down his empty tankard. ‘But I know someone who might.’ He picked up the tankard and made a point of examining it.
    ‘Strax,’ the Doctor