Silhouette (3 page)

Inside the enclosure, there was an open area where several stalls were set up in the snow, and tents round the outside. The fortune teller was something of a disappointment. The elderly woman, wrapped in a shawl, sat at a table hunched over a crystal ball. She waggled her fingers over it, having first deprived Clara of another halfpenny, then gave a bored and obviously pretty standard spiel about her meeting a tall handsome stranger and going on a long journey.

‘Well that much is right, I suppose,’ she said to the Doctor. ‘You want a go?’

He shook his head. ‘Either she’s a charlatan, in which case there’s no point. Or she genuinely can see into the future in which case meeting me will probably provoke a coronary.’

He was more interested in an exhibition of ‘Never-Creatures’. Once inside the tent, they found themselves confronted with glass bell jars filled with unidentifiable organic matter and grotesque sculptures. Labels suggested the contents were anything from a still-born starchild to a breed of moon-pig only found in the mountains of Spain.

The prize exhibit, stretched out under a glass case at the end of the tent was a dead mermaid. The Doctor spared it little more than a glance. ‘An obvious fake,’ he announced, just too loudly for comfort. ‘The skin’s the wrong colour and those fins are entirely the wrong shape.’

He embarrassed Clara again by yawning loudly in the middle of the Strong Man’s demonstration outside the tent. The man was huge, his upper body covered with tattoos that included a dagger on each bicep and chains across his chest. With his bald head and broad physique he reminded Clara a little of Strax, except the man was much taller – well over six feet. He impressed the rest of his audience by smashing a pile of bricks with his hand, breaking a slab of stone with
his forehead, and finally attempting to lift a metal pole with baskets of rocks attached at each end.

The muscles in his neck and arms stood out impressively as he strained and grunted and eventually managed to raise the rocks off the ground. He braced his legs, hefted the pole to his chest, and staggered as he struggled to lift it high above his head.

The Doctor sighed, looking round to see if there was anything more interesting happening somewhere else.

‘You got a problem, mister?’ the Strong Man demanded, slowly lowering the pole. He kept it braced across his chest as he stared at the Doctor.

‘Me?’

‘That’s right – you.’

‘Sorry.’ The Doctor walked up to the Strong Man. ‘I just wasn’t
that
impressed, I’m afraid.’

‘Really?’

‘Doctor,’ Clara warned.

There was a tangible air of anticipation among the crowd as the Strong Man glared back at the Doctor. ‘I can soon teach you to be impressed.’

‘You think so?’ The Doctor gave Clara a ‘What can you do?’ glance. Then he took the metal pole from the man, holding it easily in one hand, steady as the rocks in the baskets attached to each end. ‘Let me hold that while you try.’

The Strong Man stared back, astonished.

‘What’s your name?’ the Doctor asked.

‘Michael.’

‘Michael what?’

‘Michael, sir.’

‘No, no, no. Let me put this down.’ The Doctor set down the pole carefully. ‘What’s your surname? Michael what?’

‘Oh. Michael Smith.’

‘Ah!’ The Doctor’s face cracked into a sudden smile. ‘I’m a Smith myself. Doctor John Smith, well sort of. Us Smiths have to stick together, you know. Good act, by the way. Maybe work on your presentation a bit. Develop some patter to keep people interested.’

‘Yes,’ Michael the Strong Man said. ‘Thank you, sir.’

The Doctor turned away. ‘No problem. Oh,’ he said, looking back for a moment, ‘and try to make it look difficult.’

‘I have never been more embarrassed in my entire life,’ Clara told him as they walked away, ignoring the stares of the crowd.

‘Yes you have.’

‘Yes I have,’ she admitted. ‘But I was probably with you at the time.’

The last tent they visited, right at the back of the enclosure, advertised ‘The Most Magickal Shadowplay.’

‘If it was that impressive,’ the Doctor said, ‘they’d
be able to spell “magical”.’

‘Don’t be so grumpy and come and enjoy the show,’ Clara told him.

The show was already in progress, so they made their way to the nearest seats at the back of the darkened tent. Across the tops of the heads of the rest of the audience, Clara stared transfixed at the screen. The principle was simple. A light was shone from behind the thin screen, and cut-out puppets between light and screen cast shadows as the show unfolded. There didn’t seem to be a story as such, not in this part of the show anyway. It was more of a display, a dance of animals, of flights of birds, of figures so lifelike and so well animated that it was easy to believe the shadows were real, were
alive
.

‘It’s good, isn’t it,’ the Doctor whispered. It was a refreshing change to find he was actually impressed. ‘Is it just me,’ he added, ‘or is it actually impossible?’

‘What do you mean?’ Clara hissed back. ‘Can’t you just enjoy it?’

‘Oh I can, I am. But …’

‘But? But
what
?’

‘But, they’re puppets.’

‘Obviously.’ She turned back to watch the show. A butterfly fluttered delicately through the air, chased by a child with a net. Her mind had no problem filling the dark shadows with imaginary texture, detail and colour.

‘So,’ the Doctor whispered right in her ear, ‘where are the strings, or the rods? If they’re puppets – what keeps them up and makes them move?’

Clara frowned. Actually he was right. ‘Well, they’re hidden, that’s all,’ she decided. ‘Or the wires are extremely thin. It’s very clever.’

‘I wouldn’t argue with that.’

The show ended to a riot of applause. The screen rose into the air, to reveal a figure standing behind. A young woman wearing a red cloak. The hood was folded back, so that her long hair spilled down the back – black as shadows. Her features were delicate, almost childlike, as she took a bow.

She was still standing there as the tent emptied. Clara turned to go, and found that the Doctor was already hurrying the other way, down to where the woman stood.

‘How do you do it?’ he was demanding as she arrived.

‘Sorry,’ Clara said before the woman could reply. ‘What he meant to say was: “That was really impressive and we enjoyed it very much.” ’

The woman shook Clara’s hand, and smiled. ‘I’m glad my show entertained you.’

‘It did,’ the Doctor agreed. ‘So, like I said, how do you do it?’

‘This is the Doctor, by the way,’ Clara said. ‘And I’m Clara.’

‘I have always had a talent for shadow puppetry,’ the woman said. ‘For bringing shadows and shapes to life. You’ll forgive me if I don’t share all my secrets with you. My skill is all that I have.’

‘I’m sure that’s not true,’ the Doctor said. ‘But like Clara said – impressive. Thank you. Oh,’ he added as they turned to go, ‘you didn’t tell us your name.’

The woman pulled the hood of her cloak up over her head, so that her face fell into shadow. A striking red figure standing stark against the glow of the lamp at the back of the tent.

‘I am Silhouette,’ she said.

‘I still don’t think it’s possible,’ the Doctor said as they made their way back through the fair.

‘Just because you don’t understand it,’ Clara told him. ‘Tell you what, why don’t we agree that it’s magic? That covers it.’

He fixed her with a stare that was somewhere between sympathetic and condescending. ‘Magic is just a term people use for things they’re too primitive to understand properly.’

Clara nodded. ‘I think that’s what I just said, actually.’

They paused to watch a man in a short cape and impressive moustache doing card tricks. He fanned out the pack and waved it at the Doctor.

‘Pick a card. Any card. Don’t tell me what it is, but show it to the young lady there, and then to everyone else.’

The Doctor showed everyone his card – the three of diamonds.

‘Good, now replace it in the pack, anywhere you like. That’s it.’

The conjuror shuffled the pack. Then he cut it. Then he shuffled it again. Finally, he threw the pack up into the air. One card separated from the others, and he caught it in one hand. The rest of the pack, he caught in the other.

‘And tell me, sir,’ he announced confidently, ‘if this is your card?’

The crowd was silent. The Doctor peered at the card. The seven of clubs. ‘No, it’s not.’

The conjuror’s smile became rather more fixed as he quickly looked through the rest of the cards. ‘All part of the trick,’ he said rather unconvincingly. ‘Ah! Queen of spades.’

‘No.’

‘Nine of hearts?’

‘Still no.’

The conjuror sniffed and frowned. ‘So what was it?’

‘Left pocket,’ the Doctor told him.

The conjuror’s frown deepened as he pulled an unexpected card from his trouser pocket. ‘Three of diamonds?’

‘That’s the one. Sorry, I cheated.’

They headed back through the Carnival towards the main Frost Fair. The snow was getting heavier, settling on top of the compacted snow already lying on the ground.

‘So what’s the plan now?’ Clara asked.

‘Jenny,’ the Doctor told her.

‘Clara,’ she corrected him. ‘Remember?’

‘Jenny Flint, Vastra’s maid, is over there,’ he told her. ‘Coincidence, do you think?’

As they approached they saw that Jenny was talking to Michael the Strong Man. ‘Elderly gent, with white hair and mutton-chop whiskers,’ she was saying.

Michael shook his head. ‘Sorry. Don’t remember him. But we get so many people through here in a day. He could have been here, couldn’t say for sure. I doubt if I remember even half of them.’ He glanced across as the Doctor and Clara arrived. ‘I remember Doctor Smith here, though.’

‘Doctor Smith?’ Jenny turned, surprised. ‘Oh yeah. Everyone knows Doctor Smith.’

Michael excused himself and headed off to do another performance.

‘So what brings you to the Carnival of Curiosities?’ Jenny asked.

‘Curiosity,’ the Doctor told her.

‘Ask a silly question. Between you and me,’ she went on, ‘it ain’t that curious. I’ve seen better. You looked at that mermaid they’ve got?’ She shook her head. ‘Hopeless.’

‘Maybe they should get a Lizard Woman,’ Clara suggested.

‘Be a darn sight better than the Wolf Boy over there.
You seen him?’ They confessed they hadn’t. ‘He just needs a good bath, he does. I asked him if he was all right, when the woman what’s in charge wasn’t looking, and he asked me if I could get him a meat pie. Polite as you like. Even said please. Wolf Boy, my elbow.’

‘So what are you doing here?’ the Doctor asked. ‘Apart from being singularly unimpressed with just about everything.’

‘Looking for a man with mutton-chop whiskers, by the sound of it,’ Clara added.

‘Marlowe Hapworth is his name. But I know where he is now, right enough.’

‘Then why are you asking about him?’ Clara wondered.

‘Because he’s dead is where he is. It’s
how
he died as makes no sense.’

‘A case for the Great Detective,’ the Doctor guessed.

Jenny nodded. ‘Found a ticket to this Carnival on Hapworth’s desk. From the colour, it’s yesterday’s. That’s when he died. His manservant says he came home in a fluster, locked himself in his study, and a few minutes later he’s dead. Stabbed with a letter-opener.’

‘Suicide?’ Clara suggested.

‘Not unless he was a contortionist. The letter-opener was shoved in between his shoulder blades.’

‘And I take it the room had no other obvious
entrance?’ the Doctor said.

‘One window, locked and with the shutters across.’

‘So the police called in Madame Vastra,’ Clara guessed.

‘No, the dead man did.’

‘How’s that possible?’ Clara wondered.

‘He was writing a letter to her when he was killed. Carlisle, that’s his butler, says he came back from a walk all anxious like and worried and said he had to tell Madame Vastra something important. Got as far as writing her name on the paper, and then someone put his lights out. For good.’

‘So you’re here to try to find out what upset him,’ Clara said.

‘If it was something here at all,’ the Doctor pointed out. ‘It could have been in the Frost Fair, or anywhere else on his walk.’

Jenny nodded. ‘I’ve been retracing his route, best I can. But I ain’t found nothing yet. This place is the most likely for something weird going on, though. And talking of “weird”, you ain’t told me why you’re here yet.’

They were walking back through the Frost Fair now, having left the Carnival of Curiosities behind. The Doctor led the way to a large tent where tea was being served and they found a table in a secluded corner. Once they were settled and tea was ordered, he gave a brief explanation of the power spike.

‘Don’t know nothing about that,’ Jenny said.

‘Could be coincidence,’ Clara added, through a mouthful of fruitcake.

‘Possibly,’ the Doctor conceded. ‘You two carry on here,’ he decided, ‘see if you can piece together the unfortunate Mr Hapworth’s final hours.’

‘Where are you off to?’ Clara asked.

The Doctor drained his tea and stood up. ‘I’ll go and talk to Vastra. See what she’s discovered. Is she still at Hapworth’s?’

‘She is,’ Jenny confirmed. ‘Isn’t there something else you need to ask me?’ she said as the Doctor stood up.

‘I don’t think so. I find it best to keep an open mind, unclouded by the opinions of others. I shall inspect the scene of the crime and formulate my own opinion based on my own observations.’

‘Right you are.’ Jenny sipped her tea. ‘Sure you don’t have just one question?’

‘Quite sure. I’ll see you later, either back here or at Hapworth’s house, or failing that back at Paternoster Row.’

He didn’t wait for agreement, but set off between the tables towards the mouth of the tent.

‘What do you reckon?’ Jenny said. ‘About thirty seconds?’

‘A bit less,’ Clara thought.

Just before he reached the entrance, the Doctor swung round and strode back towards them.

‘All right,’ he said as he reached the table. ‘One more question. What’s Hapworth’s address?’