Doctor Who: Ultimate Treasure (16 page)

With a hiss its thin but extraordinarily tough fabric expanded and unfolded. It was driven by ducted electrostatic panels set in its underside and powered by sheets of flexi-batteries. They climbed in, Thorrin at the front with his compass, Brockwell steering with the slender telescopic tiller and throttle control. The light craft settled alarmingly under Falstaff's weight but maintained an adequate freeboard. Silently they set off. The Marquis had his rifle ready, while Jaharnus held a primed grenade in her hand. Both stared intently at the slate-grey water as it rippled sluggishly past.

Qwaid had to admit that the Doctor's berry juice worked perfectly.

They strode slowly through the sombre valley, letting the aroma diffuse through the heavy air before them. Half-seen forms shuffled between the trees about them. They heard snorts and grunts, then heavy feet stomping away. Drorgon began to look annoyed that he had no opportunity to use his portable cannon.

Qwaid, however, began to feel a strange elation. So this was how you got things done, he thought. You found the right people to do a job and forced them to make it happen for you. It was good, it was... well, satisfying, in a way he had never expected.

This was what Alpha must have enjoyed all those years. To be the one pulling the strings, to be in control, to shape the world around you to what you wanted it to be.

His new-found satisfaction was slightly shaken when they came to the lake. Muddy footprints gave evidence of where Thorrin's party had clearly embarked on some sort of boat.

Unfortunately they had nothing similar with them. Then he reminded himself that now he had somebody to solve that sort of problem for him.

'Looks like we have to get across this, Doc. What do you know about building rafts?'

Even as the Doctor looked about him, there came drifting from the white expanse before them the dying echoes of grenades and gunfire.

'Sounds like Thorrin's lot are having some more fun,' Qwaid remarked cheerfully.

A second serpent head reared up high out of the water beside them, jaws agape. The Marquis shot it cleanly through the back of its mouth, and it fell back hissing and writhing into waters already foaming pink with the blood of its fellow. The inflatable bucked again as an unseen body brushed against its pliant underside, and Brockwell fought the tiller to keep it steady.

The water shivered and bubbled some twenty metres off their port bow, as though some huge form was rising from below.

Thorrin tossed a microgrenade into the swirling vortex, and a fountain of foam laced with unidentifiable gobbets of flesh and scale burst forth, showering them with stinking spray.

A head crowned by a glistening spinney crest broke surface right beside them, and lunged forward over the side of the inflatable. Arnella screamed as the metre-wide jaws snapped at her, and threw herself aside. The fangs missed their mark, 1 but the lower jaw caught her shoulder and with a gasp she toppled over backward and vanished beneath the heaving, grey waters -

Brockwell's hand reaching out after her just a, fraction too late.

'Arnella - no!' the Marquis shouted.

Falstaff cut at the huge head blindly with his sword and actually opened a gaping wound across its snout, making it rear backward. Jaharnus thrust her pistol forward, fired three times virtually down its throat, then turned and dived in after Arnella, just ahead of Brockwell, who was about to do the same.

The serpent writhed and twisted in its death throes, throwing up waves that threatened to swamp the inflatable, before the convulsions gradually lessened until it lay still on the surface of the water. A strange silence descended as the mist, temporarily dispersed by the shockwaves from the grenade blasts, closed in about them again. Brockwell swung the inflatable around, circling the few surface bubbles that were all that marked the spot where Arnella and Jaharnus had disappeared. They peered over the sides, straining their eyes for any sign of victim and rescuer, guns still held at the ready.

There was nothing to be seen. Slowly the bubbles stopped rising. Brockwell made to dive over himself, but Falstaff unexpectedly stayed him.

'Steady, lad. If one of the inspector's kind cannot find her, no one can.'

'It's finished. It's all been for nothing,' the Marquis said almost inaudibly in a dead voice, causing Brockwell to flash him an angry, puzzled glance.

Then with a splash Jaharnus broke the surface, Arnella's limp form clasped to her.

As they hauled Arnella aboard she started choking and retching, bringing up water. Jaharnus drew herself smoothly out of the water and back into the boat, hardly breathing deeply after her exertions.

'Get us away from here.' Thorrin commanded. Brockwell obeyed, sending the inflatable forward at maximum thrust, all the while casting anxious glances at Arnella.

'Thank you,' said the Marquis to Jaharnus with a curious intensity. 'You've no idea what this means.'

Falstaff patted Arnella helpfully on the back until she had finished coughing and sat pale and trembling on the floor of the inflatable. With a flourish he took off his short cloak and laid it about her shoulders. 'You see what valuable comrades you almost rejected when the inspector and I petitioned to Join your company,' he said smugly.

Qwaid allowed the Doctor to lead them along the shoreline, examining the low trees and bushes that grew on the edge of the forest for suitable raft-building materials. He did not have to go very far.

'This tree here,' he said, indicating a straight slim-trunked growth with a feathery puffball on its crown, 'appears to be similar to balsa wood in density, and each one grows to remarkably uniform length and diameter. A dozen of those logs side by side will make an excellent raft. Note the handy creepers lying across the ground to serve as ready-made bindings. Those tall bamboos there will make bracings and punt poles, while this bush here with the broad, stiff, spatulate leaves, will provide serviceable paddles. It's all too easy!'

'What you mean, too easy?' growled Drorgon.

'I mean it's ready-made for building rafts. Probably carefully chosen and bred for the purpose.'

'So what?' said Qwaid. 'It's here and we're going to use it.'

'But don't you see what it means?'

'Why don't you tell me while you put the raft together?' Qwaid suggested, feeling he was getting the measure of executive decision-making.

Drorgon did the heavy work under the Doctor's directions. As they cut and tied, the Doctor explained. He had a way with words, Qwaid gave him that.

'This is more than a test of ingenuity and making use of natural resources. This is confirmation that they've had time enough to provide the means to help even those seekers who haven't come with a boat of any sort. That indicates they've had a lot of experience with them.'

'So?'

'It means there's a catch to it all somewhere, assuming we take what Shalvis told us at face value.'

Oddly enough Qwaid had. Some sixth sense told him so. He'd met so many liars and hustlers in his life that those speaking the truth stood out as though they were illuminated. 'She's on the level about the treasure,' he said simply.

'Yes, but that still isn't the whole story. The way is dangerous, but obviously they intend any reasonably determined and alert seekers to have at least a sporting chance to win through. There must have been hundreds, even thousands of them over the millennia. Yet Shalvis says almost all the treasure remains. How can that be?'

'Because there was a lot to start with. A shipful! The others could only take so much away with them.'

'Oh, so you intend only to take just enough with you for your immediate needs?' the Doctor inquired innocently. 'Only what you can carry in your own arms, perhaps - an amount sufficient for a modest retirement somewhere, charitably leaving plenty for those who will come after you?'

Qwaid glowered at him. 'Trying to talk me out of it, are you? So we'll give up and let you and your friend go just like that? What sort of a simp do you take me for?'

The Doctor shook his head sadly. 'No. I'm just trying to prepare you for a disappointment, so that you won't overreact when your beautiful dream comes crashing down.'

'Shut up and get this thing finished.

In an hour the raft was complete. It was crude but sound and very light, floating well even under their combined weight. They made an incongruous crew, the Doctor's costume more appropriate for a boating party and contrasting strangely with Drorgon's inelegant bulk. They rubbed the remaining berries on to its blunt prow and sides for whatever additional protection they might give, then Drorgon and the Doctor took up the paddles and they pushed off from the shore.

Peri and Gribbs crossed the tiled plain without mishaps and before the unnatural heat of the day became oppressive. The cool of the wood still came as a welcome relief though. As they had trudged along, Peri had thought furiously, conjuring up a dozen plans to get free, and discarding just as many. Now they were walking the shaded paths, she began to wonder how the Gelsandorans would react when they saw she was Gribbs's prisoner.

Gribbs was cursing fluently. 'Can't trust anything around here!'

he exclaimed with feeling.

Peri saw he was staring at the first of the signposts. Each arm was now completely blank.

'Which way?' he demanded of her.

'I haven't the faintest idea,' she said with as much dignity as she could muster. 'You're the one in charge.'

'Don't give me any lip, girl,' he warned her.

'I'm just saying it might be anything. A subtler kind of intelligence test, or maybe the signs are changed regularly - I'm from out of town so I don't know. But the Doctor might be able to work it out. Shall we go back for him?'

Gribbs guessed a path and headed back, hopefully, towards the landing ground. All of the signs they came across were blank.

Did they show anything only when they needed to? she wondered. Had they ever shown anything at all? Then came the sound of soft, measured footsteps from along the curve of the path ahead. Immediately Gribbs pulled her a little way into the undergrowth by the side of the path, clearly nervous about where he put his feet, but evidently intent on smuggling her into his ship secretly. 'Don't say a word, or else!' he hissed in her ear.

Two robed Gelsandorans rounded the corner, proceeding on their own mysterious business.

Then Peri realised they'd both forgotten about Dynes's ubiquitous camera drone, which was patiently hovering over the path, pointing its lenses at them. The natives had to realise they were there, but what would they do? She tensed herself.

To her utter amazement and dismay the two natives paused by the drone, looked directly at them, nodded politely and continued on their way.

'Well how's about that?' Gribbs muttered, as they disappeared from sight. They returned to the path. As he led her on with a distinctly more relaxed swing to his stride, Peri's spirits sank.

What was she to make of the Gelsandorans behaviour? In their own way they were as bad as Dynes. Or was she the one out of step? Was this an alien thing or the way it was in the future?

Didn't anybody, apart from the Doctor, really care here? With an effort, she tried to reason it out from their point of view and saw her mistake.

The Gelsandorans ran the whole treasure-trail process essentially for their own self-interest. They had apparently been quite willing to let them die out on the plain yesterday, as they would have if the Doctor hadn't been smart enough to find a refuge. Apart from the single restriction on the use of guns against each other, they must treat everything that happened while on the quest simply as another challenge for their subjects to overcome without their interference. Was that really what she was now: an experimental subject in the Gelsandorans researches? Were they prying into her mind at this instant? she wondered with a shudder. Were they dispassionately recording her reactions? Whatever was the case, she certainly couldn't rely on their help or sympathy.

She was very definitely on her own.

They had run parallel to the grey shadow in the mist for twenty minutes without finding any break. Now the nose of the inflatable scraped softly against the shelf of rock at its base. The Marquis scrambled ashore and held the line while the others disembarked, hauling ashore their packs. Arnella, still pale and shivering in her damp clothes, stepped on to solid ground with a sigh of relief. Falstaff alighted with a heave and a peculiar, quick, dainty step. Brockwell, the last one off, released the valve and with a hiss of air the craft deflated. He pulled the limp form from the water, shook it dry, then began to fold it. In a minute it was small enough to slip hack into his pack.

The rocky shelf ranged between three and five metres wide. At its back the mist rolled against a sheer wall that turned the swirling vapour to a leaden grey. To their left they could hear the continuous rush and splatter of a waterfall discharging into the lake.

Thorrin checked his compass again and nodded. 'From our observations this formation seems continuous, therefore it must be the base of the cliffs we saw this morning. Clearly we must now ascend.'

'But how are we going to manage it?' Myra asked. 'That rock looks pretty smooth. Unless you've got a set of flight packs hidden away somewhere.'

'Just so,' Falstaff said. 'Old Jack is even less a fly than he is a mountain goat.'

'We have some compact climbing gear and lines, and I have done some rough rock work in the past,' Thorrin said impatiently, 'but I hope it will not come to that. There are still a few hours of daylight left and we must make use of them to examine the barrier more closely. If necessary we can camp here and continue in the morning.'

They made their way along the ledge, Arnella almost brushing the rock wall in an effort to keep as far away from the water as possible. The rock remained to all appearances sheer and virtually unclimbable, until Brockwell said, 'Hey, look at that.'

A section of the rock wall had been planed perfectly smooth.

Projecting from it was an ascending series of horizontal flat stone slabs, each about a metre and a half long, forming a continuous stairway. Thorrin tested the bottom step. 'It seems sound enough. We should be able to reach the top well before the light goes. Come on.' He started up.