Doctor Who: Ultimate Treasure (27 page)

'Oh, yes, they stop by. You wait a while and everybody stops by here, even if only once.'

There was a path cut into the steep valley wall, hidden from the middle of the valley by the haze. Peri, examining it through her binoculars, thought it looked a bit like the tracks the Incas had made across the Andes. It was just as precipitous in places, but it seemed continuous and certainly crossed over the end of the lower mist valley. She looked at it doubtfully.

'Is it likely,' she said aloud to Red, 'that after five thousand years at this treasure quest game, the Gelsandorans would leave such a simple way open to get around their pet monsters down there, not to mention all the traps beyond it?'

Red gave a snort, which she chose to interpret as agreement.

'Exactly. So it can't be as simple as it looks. Unless it's some really mean double bluff. Perhaps they reckon nobody will try it exactly because it looks too easy. I don't know. But it sure would save a lot of time.' She sighed. 'I guess we've got to give it a go.'

The path began a little above the level of the tiled plain, reached by a narrow track that switchbacked up a jumble of rocks. Then the ground fell away to one side and Peri found herself looking down on to the perpetual mist bank that shrouded the valley. Perhaps it was best that she couldn't see all the way to the ground, she told herself, leaning slightly towards the rock wall on her right. The track was just wide enough to take Red's bulk, and she just hoped they wouldn't meet any other traffic.

They were halfway across the end of the mist valley, and Peri was beginning to think she had been worrying over nothing, when she heard a distant rumble. She looked up at the sky, but it wasn't thunder.

Red bounded forward as the avalanche crashed down upon them.

The food was plain but plentiful and filling. Falstaff consumed three huge portions and continued to flirt with the serving woman. Arnella found the spectacle of the fat man making a tool of himself in public mildly embarrassing. After the meal Jaharnus sat a little apart from the others and appeared to be brooding over her drink, while Thorrin and her uncle engaged in conversation each person who entered the inn, attempting to learn more about the final stage of the quest. During the process they in turn were probed about their own adventures, which were treated with a curiously grave fascination by the locals.

This left Arnella and Brockwell alone at their table sipping rather coarse but warming wine. There was an awkward silence, which Arnella eventually broke.

'So, it looks as though we might be getting near the end of our journey,' she said, then thought angrily: Why did I say something so mindlessly obvious?

'It seems like it,' Brockwell agreed quickly. There was another silence, then he seemed to make an effort to meet her eyes.

'Excuse me for asking...'

'Yes?'

'But you don't seem, well, very happy about the prospect.'

'What do you mean?'

'Well, I would have thought the idea of coming into vast wealth would have made you a little more cheerful. I mean, I understand you and your uncle have some money problems, and this would seem to be the ideal solution.'

'It's all more complicated than you realise,' she admitted, then added defensively, 'For that matter you don't seem so overjoyed yourself.'

'No, well there are... personal reasons for that.'

'Well I have my personal reasons too,' she said haughtily.

For a moment there was silence, then they suddenly laughed into each other's face. It had been a long time since Arnella could remember laughing aloud.

'That was a very silly exchange,' Arnella admitted. 'You'd understand if you knew...' She glanced around her, but nobody was paying them any attention. She looked back into Brockwell's lean, serious face. Despite his dislike for her kind, she thought he would understand. 'Uncle wants it to remain a secret as long as possible, but now we're so close it doesn't matter. You'll know soon enough if we succeed, and if we fail... well then nothing matters any more.'

'Succeed at what?'

She took a deep breath. 'The treasure's important, of course, but not just for our own fortunes. You may not know it, but there are still factions on a few of the worlds Rovan once ruled, even after all these ages, who'd like to have his Empire reborn. Now that the Terrestrial Empire is falling apart they see a chance. But they need funds - and someone to lead them. Someone whose lineage can be traced back to Rovan's line, or at least as close to his parents as possible. But so much information was lost during the fall that nobody living now can prove they're of the same line, let alone who would have right of succession.'

'After all these years, does it matter?'

'Oh yes, it does to some. And it might help bring stability to the region, but only as long as there's an undisputed ruler.' She took out her money-card folder and showed him a picture of the book.

'That's the Book of Lineage of the Empire. It contains the genetic records of all Rovan's ancestors. He took it with him when he disappeared and my uncle thinks it's still with the treasure. If we find it we may be able to match it with our own ancient family records of only slightly later date to prove a connection with Rovan's line.'

'You mean your uncle might be another emperor?'

'Oh no. The most direct line of descent is through my father.'

She gave a half-smile. 'I'm potentially the next empress.'

He looked at her in amazement.

'Perhaps you find that offensive, being anti-royalist?' she added.

He blinked and recovered his tongue. 'Why do you think that I'm particularly anti-royalist?'

'Well... the way you've always looked at me. Or rather didn't look at me... until now.'

'That!' He seemed genuinely astonished. 'That was because I'm... uh, shy. Not because of titles.'

'Oh,' Arnella said. 'I just wondered. I mean you seemed to have no trouble looking at that Brown girl.'

'Well why not? She seemed friendly and it was polite. But I don't think she's... I mean I think you are much more...'

'Yes?' Suddenly it seemed very important that she know what he really thought of her.

He flushed. 'Since I first saw you I thought you were the most. ..' He looked down at his drink and frowned. 'I think I may have had too much of this...' he said, then slumped forward striking his head on the table with a thump.

She reached out to him, trying to stand as she did so, and found her own legs would not support her. She sank backward, looking around dizzily for help. Falstaff was also collapsed over his table, a tankard of wine on its side forming a pool under his head. Jaharnus, her uncle, and Thorrin were slumped in their chairs, heads lolling on their shoulders. The locals they had been talking too were simply watching them in silence.

The last thing she remembered was the innkeeper looming over her.

'You should have turned back when you had the chance,' she heard him say as though from a great distance. Then everything was swallowed up by a velvet blackness.

Arnella fought her way slowly back to consciousness. Dimly she became aware of lying on some hard surface and voices around her, then someone raising her head and forcing water between her lips. She coughed and spluttered and blinked gummy eyelids open. A blur lit by grey light resolved into Brockwell's concerned face.

'Hello,' she said faintly, her tongue feeling thick and useless in her mouth.

He smiled down at her. 'Hello. How do you feel?'

'I think... that wine was a little strong.'

'It was drugged.'

'Oh...' She was still drowsy and the implications of his statement took a few moments to sink in. 'The innkeeper?'

'Yes. And everybody else in the village as well, apparently.'

She made herself breath deeply, trying to clear the cobwebs from her mind. 'My uncle?'

'He's here, and the professor and Falstaff and Jaharnus.

They're still feeling rather groggy, but I think they'll be all right.

They drank a little more than we did.'

'But why did they do it? And where are we?'

'I don't know, but I'm sure they'll tell us soon enough. We're in a sort of prison, so it looks like they're prepared for this kind of thing. You can see if you sit up - not that there's much to it.'

With an arm from Brockwell she sat up, resting her back against a rough wall. Her head swam for a moment, then she began to take in her surroundings.

The cell was quite large, with stone-slab floor and block walls.

A small, heavily barred window let in pale grey light. 'Is it morning or evening?'

'Morning by my watch. It must have been quite a powerful dose they gave us. They weren't taking any chances.'

The cell held half a dozen low, rough, wooden trestle beds, covered by thin, straw mattresses. Falstaff lay on his back on one snoring, while her uncle and Jaharnus were sprawled on their sides. Thorrin was half sitting up, head cradled in his hands. The forth wall of the room, opposite the windows, was formed out of a thick latticework of bars, let into which was an equally sturdy door. Beyond that was a dark, stone-flagged corridor and a second row of bars. Behind them stood a figure dressed in a pale frock coat and striped trousers who was staring across at her.

'Hello, I hope your feeling better now,' he said.

'Doctor? How did you get here?'

'Well at Qwaid's insistence, we've been following you rather closely for some time. We saw you arrive and settled down to wait in an empty barn to see what you'd do next. Unwisely, as it turned out.'

'Why? How did they catch you?'

'Drorgon had procured some tempting local tree fruits as we went along. We ate them while we waited. And that was the last thing I remembered until waking up here. A salutary lesson: crime does not pay.'

She stared at him aghast. 'They drugged the fruit on the trees to catch seekers?'

'Apparently so. They must have been watching us all the time as well, since they evidently found us quickly enough.'

'That's... frightening.'

'It does suggest a rather unwelcoming attitude to strangers, doesn't it?'

She now noted the two figures still slumbering on pallets in the cell with him. 'Where's your friend? Is she... all right?'

'Peri? She's fine, as far as I know. Gribbs took her back to Qwaid's ship to ensure my cooperation.'

'Do you think they can do anything to help us?' Brockwell asked practically.

'Unfortunately the locals seem to have removed anything that remotely resembles a weapon, or that might be useful in aiding our escape. And that includes all our communicators. So even if they could help, they won't know exactly where we are. We were taken before Qwaid sent an update on our latest position. Gribbs must be getting quite worried about us by now.'

Gribbs turned back from the communicator. 'It's no use, Mr Alpha. He still doesn't answer.'

'So Qwaid is still functioning as efficiently as ever, I see. Give them another hour, then we shall have to take action ourselves.

In the meantime, check the ship's systems and ready her for takeoff. I shall release the override locks.'

'But the natives won't let us fly over the quest zone. I tried, but I couldn't make my hands work the controls.'

'So I understand, Gribbs. But it is always a risk to place too much reliance on a single form of defence. I doubt whether these people have any conventional weapons, and I suspect that illusions and other mental subterfuges will not affect me now.'

'No, boss. I guess they won't.'

Their captors waited until they had all recovered before coming to fetch them. Their hands were shackled and a number of burly men armed with swords and short-handled pikes ushered them out into the morning light. Two DAVE drones were waiting outside for them, giving a surreal touch to the procession as they were marched through the narrow streets of Braal to the square.

Some children playing in front of a house watched them pass with wide, curious eyes, until a woman dragged them inside hastily.

Their destination turned out to be the inn. Inside they found the bar had been removed to make way for a low wooden podium and nine chairs on which they were made to sit. The tables in the rest of the room had been replaced by several rows of benches.

Seated on these were fifty or so villagers of all ages and races.

Arnella searched for some sign of sympathy in their faces, but saw only stern concentration. The DAVEs glided into position at the back of the room, studiously ignored by the crowd.

The innkeeper had removed his apron and replaced it with a simple black sash across his chest. His friendly, open manner of the day before had also undergone a dramatic change.

'I shall conduct the proceedings against you, and interpret the will of the people of Braal when it comes time to pass sentence,'

he announced.

'Wait a minute,' said the inspector. 'I'm Inspector Myra Jaharnus of the Astroville police force. I am currently pursuing those two men over there on suspicion of murder. The third man, known as the Doctor, is a potential witness to the crime. But he is not associated with those two in any other way, and to the best of my knowledge is only aiding them under duress.'

'Thanks, Inspector,' Qwaid snarled bitterly.

'May I point out to Your Honour that I'm merely a humble bodyguard, hired for my prowess with a sword?' said Falstaff ingratiatingly. And I really have little knowledge of what any of these people intended to do on your fair world. If I have inadvertently given offence, please accept my humblest apologies.'

'Is this true?' the innkeeper asked Jaharnus.

'No. He's just a congenital liar,' Jaharnus said flatly, and the others nodded automatically. Falstaff looked deeply offended.

'All this will be taken into account when passing judgement.'

the innkeeper said.

'But it's my duty to bring him and those three over there back to Astroville,' Jaharnus protested.

'Your duty does not have precedence here, nor do we recognise your laws. They are a product of a diseased society.'