Doctor Who_ The Roundheads Part 15

Jamie's voice was m.u.f.fled by the pillow. 'They'll be all right. They'll have gone back to the TARDIS and, when we didn't turn up, they'll have found somewhere to spend the night.'

The Doctor's face looked grave in the light of the candle.

'I hope so, Jamie. I hope so.'

He brandished a piece of paper which he'd torn from his diary. 'I've written down descriptions of them. I thought perhaps we could persuade Cromwell to instigate some sort of search. Perhaps we could...'

He trailed off and wrinkled his nose. 'Can you smell something?'

Jamie sat up straight and sniffed. 'Aye... It's like... it's like '

They both turned at a noise from outside the windows. The smell was stronger here and the Doctor wrenched back the curtain to peer out into the gardens below.

It was a frosty night and a bone-white moon illuminated the snow-covered grounds of the building.

The Doctor managed to open the diamond-patterned window and poke his head out. He smiled as the smell intensified and he caught sight of a familiar figure, shuffling through drifts, a lantern in one hand and an ominous sack slung over his shoulder.

'Mr Scrope!' hissed the Doctor.

The wizened old man looked up in surprise and then waved to the Doctor. 'h.e.l.lo to thee!' he called. 'I heard you was about.'

The Doctor frowned. 'What are you doing here?'

Scrope crunched his way through the drifts so that he was directly below the high window, some three storeys up.

'I said I had state business, didn't I?' he muttered, sounding rather affronted.

The Doctor noticed the sack on his shoulder and nodded.

'Oh yes. Yes, of course.'

'Well, then, state business brings me to Parliament's precincts and to you. How're they treating you?'

Jamie came to the window and covered his nose, grateful that the semi-darkness hid him. 'You know they've got us locked up in here?'

Scrope cackled. 'I hear you're a wizard, lad. Is that true?'

The Doctor set his candle down on the sill. 'Look, Mr Scrope, could we ask you a favour?'

Scrope set down his sack, which made an unpleasant squelching sound as it hit the snow. 'Ask away, friend. I'm still in your debt.'

The Doctor chewed his lip thoughtfully. 'A gentleman such as yourself must have... certain contacts.'

'Contacts?'

The Doctor nodded. 'Yes. Eyes and ears everywhere.'

Scrope nodded Vigorously. 'Aye. I have to. You have to keep alert in this game.'

'Quite,' said the Doctor. 'Now, I was wondering if you might put some of those contacts at our disposal?'

Scrope nodded and grinned. 'You lost something?'

'Aye,' said Jamie. 'Two friends.'

Scrope frowned. 'Oh. Well, happens a lot these days. In the wars, was it?'

The Doctor shook his head. 'Oh, no. Nothing like that.

They were with us quite recently but our little excursion here has made us miss them. Do you think you might be able to track them down?'

Scrope picked up the sack again. It had left a large yellowy stain in the snow. 'It'll be a pleasure, sir, a pleasure.' He tapped his nose. 'Nothing gets past this.'

Jamie grunted. 'Obviously/ The Doctor leaned further out of the window and tried to speak as clearly as possible without raising his voice.

'The girl's name is Polly Wright, the boy's Ben Jackson.

I've written down descriptions for you...' The Doctor stopped, holding the piece of paper out in front of him. 'You can... er...

you can... ?'

'Course I can read!' snapped Scrope, raising his hand.

The Doctor threw the paper from the window and it sailed down, landing at Scrope's feet.

The old man picked it up looked at it briefly by the light of his lamp.

'Very well. If they're in London, I shall find them for you.

Now I must be off.'

He turned and then spoke over his shoulder. 'I'll bring news as soon as I can. Goodnight to you, sirs.'

The Doctor and Jamie watched him trudge off through the drifts.

Jamie sat down the wooden sill. 'We should've asked him to help us get out of here.'

'No,' said the Doctor. 'We've got to put our minds to retrieving that book. Everything else can wait.'

The streets of old Amsterdam were beginning to glaze with frost as Ben and Sal Winter staggered along them. Their pace was slow, partly because of the amount of ale they had imbibed and partly because, as Ben had discovered to his delight, Winter had a false leg as well as a false nose, completing her extraordinary appearance.

They had left Ashdown in a heap of snoring bodies inside the inn. Ben had been quite tempted to press-gang the sailor on to another s.h.i.+p as a bit of revenge but Ashdown had been kind to him and, anyway, he wasn't having such a bad time of things.

Ben laughed hysterically as Winter came to the end of another of her seemingly endless supply of filthy anecdotes and slapped the wood-and-iron peg jutting from the hem of her ragged trousers. 'A twenty-five-footer!' she bellowed. 'And it took the lot in one snap!'

Ben's cherubic face was creased into a broad, astonished grin. 'What... what about the nose?'

Winter cackled mischievously and stopped, striking a pose with her wooden leg. 'Ah, now, Master Jackson. I think I'll have to know you a little better before we get to that tale.'

She smiled coquettishly and Ben felt himself blush.

Rapidly, he changed the subject. The thought of having to somehow get back to London sobered him. He explained his situation to Winter.

'Then you'll come with me,' she said. 'The Demeter Demeter sails on the morning tide.' sails on the morning tide.'

Ben was delighted. 'Are you sure? Will the captain mind?'

Winter let out a huge laugh, her ma.s.sive chest fairly shaking till the silver b.u.t.tons on her velvet coat rattled.

'Mind? Mind? I am the captain of the Demeter Demeter!'

Ben was stopped in his tracks. 'Oh,' He frowned and then burst out laughing himself. 'I'll work my pa.s.sage,' he said at last.

Winter shook her head. 'You'll do no such thing. You are my guest. And if you've been working under that cur Stanislaus, I'll wager you need a rest.'

Ben nodded. 'That reminds me, Sal. You never did finish telling me about him.'

Winter's face fell. She suddenly seemed grave and introspective, as though dredging up some particularly unpleasant memories. 'He's a fellow of the night. A dark soul.

I wonder the b.a.s.t.a.r.d can sleep.'

Ben was intrigued. 'Why? What's he done?'

Winter c.o.c.ked her head and one good eye glinted in the starlight.

She was about to speak when she looked past Ben, started, and then grabbed the young man by the hem of his cloak.

She slammed her bulk back into an alcove and pulled Ben in beside her, laying a fat finger against his lip to silence any protest. Then she nodded towards the end of the street.

To Ben's astonishment, both Captain Stanislaus and his mysterious pa.s.senger, G.o.dley, were making their way down the narrow alley towards them. Neither spoke but they were walking quickly, as though anxious to keep an appointment.

Winter let the two men pa.s.s before she and Ben moved carefully and silently from their hiding place.

'That was the pa.s.senger you told me of?' asked Winter.

Ben nodded. Winter scowled and slammed her fist into her palm. 'By Christ, that man. He vexes me like a plague of boils.

I have tracked him these twenty years but never had the chance of a proper reckoning.'

Ben frowned. 'A reckoning? For what?'

Winter prodded her silver nose. 'For this, Ben. It was that scurvy knave who took it from me.'

Ben let out a low whistle. 'I see.'

He folded his arms and thought hard. 'Well, maybe this is your chance, Sal. Stanislaus is up to no good. Maybe we can nail him and get your revenge at the same time.'

Winter smiled. 'I like your thinking, lad. But what game is he at now? Lord knows, he's glutted himself on every pirate's trick there is.'

'What're his politics?' asked Ben with sudden inspiration.

Winter shrugged. 'He's no friend to Parliament, that I do know.' She squared her shoulders and ran both hands through her mane of greasy hair. 'Come along, Master Ben Jackson. I think you and I had better find out what Captain Stanislaus is up to.'

Ben nodded eagerly and the big woman and the skinny sailor set off, keeping a safe distance from their quarry.

CHAPTER 5.

Polly and Frances approached the bakery laughing like little girls. Despite Frances's rather frail appearance, she had proved to be great fun and Polly found herself much cheered by her presence. They had fallen to discussing Frances's impending engagement and she had said something of the problems that faced her. Then Polly had spoken of her strange experience in the room above the inn and Frances found herself intrigued by Polly's account of the charming stranger.

'What was his name?' she whispered as they made their way through the snow towards the door.

'I don't know,' said Polly with a giggle. 'But he was terribly handsome.'

Frances pulled a face. 'Not as handsome as my Tom, I'll bet.'

'Oh,' said Polly. 'It's Tom, is it?'

Frances produced a long, spindly key from her ap.r.o.n pocket. 'Thomas Lemuel Culpeper,' she announced grandly.

'It's a fine name,' said Polly.

'He's a fine man,' responded Frances proudly. 'As fine a man as ever served in the service of Parliament.'

She bent down, inserted the key in the door, and turned it, then beckoned to Polly, and they both entered the bakery.

Polly looked about the pleasant room, taking in the comforting clutter of pans and trays. It was still very warm from the heat of the ovens and instantly she felt a sweat break out on her forehead. She took off her cloak and laid it on the chair.