Invasion Of The Cat-People Part 5

Peter smiled inwardly at Kerbe's badly faked humanity.

He knew d.a.m.n well that Kerbe's grasp of English, 43 especially slang and colloquialisms, was better than most British people and even his heavy accent was exaggerated for effect. His humour dissipated however when 'Miss Frost'

emerged from the kitchen. The room that only the two of them were ever allowed to enter.

'Herr Kerbe, I think you ought to see these readings.' She handed Kerbe a sc.r.a.p of paper. He flicked his eyes over it and turned back towards the kitchen. Without acknowledging the others, Thorsuun followed him, closing the door behind her.

'Well, Miss Frost is in fine form,' said Simon to no one in particular.

Carfrae shrugged. 'They deserve each other.'

Peter groaned over-dramatically to remind them of his arm and then felt guilty as they turned their attention back to him.

'Should we get him to a hospital?' Carfrae was staring out of the far picture window at the flat meadow outside. In the distance, the brick pillars that marked the end of the long drive baited her, but she turned back to Peter. For the sake of the experiment, they had been forbidden to leave, they all knew that. Peter saw Simon looking at Carfrae and she averted her eyes, staring at the ground. 'Gut reaction,' she said. 'I'm sorry.'

He reached out to her and touched her arm. 'Mine, too. If only . . .'

Peter almost flinched as Bridgeman suddenly moved away from him. 'All right. I've had enough. Yes, Carfrae, young Peter does n-need a hospital. Blast Kerbe and his restrictions, I'm going to get help.'

Simon grinned broadly. 'OK, Prof, great. But how?'

Bridgeman ran a hand through his thinning hair, and caused a lock of it to fall boyishly over his left eye. With an experienced puff he blew it back into place and crossed to the door leading to the stairway. 'Stall for time if Kerbe comes back out. There's a phone box down by the station.

Either I'll call the ambulance from there or I'll take the coastal line to Sellafield and get one of their staff.'

44.Simon nodded and Peter noted that he put a protective arm around Carfrae. Raising her eyes to heaven she shook him off and smiled at Peter.

'Good luck, Professor,' he said, trying to prop himself up.

'And thanks.'

Bridgeman closed the door behind him, feeling rather ridiculous and furtive. He looked up the staircase. No one.

He breathed out. Of course not; Kerbe had sent the men who had greeted them on their arrival, Smithers and Coates, back to their gatehouse elsewhere on the estate. He crossed quietly to the ma.s.sive oak front door and slid the bolt back silently. Next he twisted the Yale lock and turned the Chubb key in its mortise. He silently thanked Smithers for keeping everything well oiled and therefore totally quiet. As light snuck in around the opening door a voice from behind froze him.

'Ah, Professor Bridgeman, seeking a little early morning air. You know what they say. c.u.mbria has England's cleanest.'

Bridgeman straightened his shoulders and faced Kerbe, determined to bluff it out. 'A-actually, yes . . .' he began.

Then he saw the compact Mauser in Kerbe's hand.

'One squeeze from this, Professor Bridgeman, and you'll be cut in two before you could finish breathing one molecule. Now, close the door, please. I fear you have already contaminated the atmosphere in here. That could set our work back weeks.'

Bridgeman sighed in resignation and began to push the door closed.

However, at the last second, a scruffy black ankle-boot poked through, stopping the movement. Surprised, Bridgeman stood away and the door was pushed open.

Following the ankle-boot was a leg in oversized checked trousers and then the body of a middle-aged dark-haired man in a long black frock-coat. He carried himself as if the words brush, comb and ironing board were alien gibberish and smiled benignly at Kerbe and Bridgeman, seemingly 45 unaware of the Mauser. He straightened the bow-tie attached to the collar of his sky-blue s.h.i.+rt with a safety pin and grasped Bridgeman by the hand. 'My dear Bridgeman, what a pleasure it is to see you again.' The man called over his shoulder, 'Now, come on in, you two.'

Bridgeman just stared as two more people came into the mansion. One was a man in his early twenties; short straw-blond hair topped a deeply tanned face, marked by high cheekbones and he wore a grey polo-necked sweater and grey slacks. But it was the third member of the party that really made Bridgeman gape. She had long platinum hair tied back in a pony-tail, huge false eyelashes and thick black eyeliner emphasizing beautiful blue eyes. She was wearing knee-length red vinyl boots and a matching red skirt which barely dropped below her waist. Her top - a rather ample top, Bridgeman decided - was clothed in a tight orange roll-neck sweater and over this she wore a see-through PVC raincoat, hanging only an inch or so below her skirt.

'There,' said the little mop-haired man. 'There, I told you we'd be welcome.' He turned back to Bridgeman. 'Well, Professor, I hope you remember my old friend Ben Jackson.' He pointed at the man in grey.

Bridgeman just nodded dumbly at Ben.

'Nice to see you again, Prof,' said Ben, gingerly shaking the proffered hand.

The small man presented the platinum blonde. 'And this is my secretary, Polly Wright.'

Bridgeman took her hand. 'Delighted, Miss Wright.'

Polly smiled back. 'A pleasure, Professor. The Doctor here has told me so much about you.'

The Doctor positively glowed at her. He scampered over to Kerbe who was staring dumbfounded at the newcomers.

Ignoring the drooping gun, the Doctor held out his hand.

'And you are, sir?'

Automatically Kerbe held out his hand and then realized the gun was in it. Suddenly it was not - it was in the Doctor's, who spun it expertly on his finger like a Western gunslinger and swiftly pocketed it.

46.'Horrible things. Make loud bangs. I hate loud bangs, don't you?'

Kerbe nodded stupidly. 'Kerbe. Marten Kerbe. How do you do?' He was disturbed by his blonde a.s.sistant coming out from the kitchen.

'Herr Kerbe? Who are these people?'

Kerbe suddenly rea.s.serted control. 'A good question, Fraulein Thorsuun.' He held out his hand expectantly, and sheepishly the newcomer returned the pistol. Kerbe slipped it back into its holster under his jacket. 'Well?'

The man called the Doctor suddenly frowned. 'Well, that's not much of a reception, is it, Herr Kerbe. After all, it was you who invited us here. Still, I suppose we could always go again, although I shall want my expenses in full. It's a long way from London, you know, and the traffic was very bad up the M6 -'

Bridgeman suddenly piped up. 'Of course, I . . . I'm sure Herr Kerbe remembers me telling him about you, Doctor.

Please come through into the Ex-Room. My students will be overjoyed to meet you at last.'

'Thank you, Professor. Most kind.' As Bridgeman pushed the door open, Ben and Polly trooped through. With a last look of affronted derision at Kerbe, the Doctor followed them in and, smiling at the man's audacity, Bridgeman nipped in and closed the door.

Kerbe and Thorsuun stared at the Ex-Room door.

'Well,' said Thorsuun after a few seconds, 'you handled that brilliantly.'

Kerbe snarled at her. 'Don't talk to me like that -'

Thorsuun's right hand slapped him across the face with enough force that it echoed. He stared in shock.

'Don't let us down again, human,' she spat and went back through the door to the kitchen.

Kerbe rubbed his sore cheek and followed her.

He shuffled the deck and closed his eyes. Concentrating.

Thinking about the question in his mind - needing to know the answer.

47.Karen Kuykenciall created the Tarot of the Cat People in 1985 - hardly a surprising subject for a woman renowned for her art and literature featuring cats throughout the Western world. It amused him to use her tarot for his readings. The irony was. . . interesting.

He laid out the first pile. Eleven cards - The Four of Pentacles on the top, upside-down.

The second pile. Eleven cards - The Page of Pentacles on top.

With the third pile he only got as far as eight cards before The Ace of Wands stopped him.

Two from the Sapphire Kingdom, one from the Emerald Kingdom. The Four of Pentacles was fairly insignificant - it suggested financial matters, and some sort of failure.

Maybe it was not that insignificant actually. Then there was The Page of Pentacles. An excellent card - the reference it implied to a girl fitted perfectly. She would make him proud and there was always a suggestion of travel. The Ace of Wands was the best of all, the implication of a new business venture, and a successful one at that. The birth of new ideas and good news. He was lucky - his question had been answered satisfactorily. The girl - Polly Wright. She was the one. He had been right to contact her after all. Hers was the mind, the power and the belief to help him.

She was his - and heaven help anyone who stood in his way.

Ben frowned as the Doctor rudely dragged a finger along the small fireplace and sniffed at the dust.

'Very nice, indeed. You've been here about three days I a.s.sume?'

The professor looked astonished. 'How could you tell . . .

The Doctor's green eyes twinkled and he flexed his fingers. He reminded Ben of a concert pianist about to give the performance of his life. To one side, he was aware of the Welsh girl pa.s.sing a gla.s.s of water to an obviously injured black kid, who winced as he s.h.i.+fted his weight.

48.'You're hurt.' Polly suddenly sat beside the boy. 'What happened? Can I get you anything?'

'Peter fell down the stairs,' Carfrae said stiffly. She was a bit of a looker, Ben decided. Soft red hair falling straight down her back, and a few freckles dotting her face. Give her a couple of years . . . 'I can look after him,' she was saying pointedly to Polly.

Polly smiled. 'Of course you can. I'm sorry.'

'Don't be,' croaked Peter. 'I can't remember the last time I had so much attention.'

Professor Bridgeman was looking at the Doctor, pursing his lips. 'N-now, I don't wish to be rude, and thank you for sorting out Herr Kerbe, but who are you really?'

Simon, who had heard the scene in the hall, looked at Bridgeman in astonishment. 'You mean, you don't really know who these people are?'

Bridgeman shook his head. 'N-never seen any of them before. Ever.'

The Doctor wiped his fingers on his frock-coat. 'Well, that's all very irrelevant. We are here and that's what matters. Now, why are you you here, Professor? And why does your Teutonic friend wave a pistol around so casually?' here, Professor? And why does your Teutonic friend wave a pistol around so casually?'

'He's frightened of something,' muttered Ben.

The Doctor nodded. 'Indeed. Well observed, Ben. But of what? Or who?'

Simon shrugged. 'Miss Frost out there. Fraulein Thorsuun.'

'She looked a bit of all right to me,' Ben said.

The Australian shrugged. 'Looks aren't everything. She's .

. . well, weird.'

Professor Bridgeman had clearly decided that a bit of order and less adolescent spite was required. He tutted. 'N-now, Simon. Don't dismiss her like that. She's still the bursar. However unpleasant she may be at times, you should always respect those in authority.'

'You know, Professor Bridgeman,' said the Doctor, 'I've never had much respect for people in authority. Least of all those who hide behind guns and thugs.'

49.Bridgeman coughed slightly. 'Herr Kerbe is hardly a thug, Doctor.'

'Could've fooled me,' said Polly. 'If we hadn't arrived when we did -'

Ben started to cough, but it was too late. Bridgeman decided to question her on that one. 'Yes, where did you come from? The house is hardly on the main road.'

'How did you get past Smithers and Coates?' added Simon.

The Doctor stared at a spot of dust that had fallen on to one of his shoes and he bent over to clean it. 'Well, er. . . . I don't think how we got here is particularly relevant. I think it was just a good thing that we did. Saved a bit of bother.'

Before anyone else could ask awkward questions, he was scurrying over to the equipment laid out on the tables. 'This is an Ex-Room, isn't it? You're ghost-hunting. What fun.'

The Doctor beamed over at Peter. 'And you thought you'd found a ghost, it startled you and so you had a bit of a fall.

Am I right?'

'Proper little Sherlock Holmes, ain'tcha, Doc?' said Ben.

He felt a slight pressure on his arm and turned away as Bridgeman began showing the Doctor over the equipment.

'What's up, d.u.c.h.ess?'

Polly pointed at the equipment. 'I knew we were home, Ben, but I think we're too late.'

'Not 1986 again,' he groaned. 'But at least it's warmer here than at the South Pole.'

'I think it might be later than that, Ben. All that equipment over there - it seems a bit, well, advanced I suppose. I mean, I recognize a microphone, but it's attached to that tiny box. I can't see a tape anywhere. And then there's this.' A quick look to see that no one was watching and Polly slipped her hand into a green rucksack by Peter's makes.h.i.+ft bed. She pulled out a thin plastic square.

'What is it, Pol?'

She flipped it open. Inside was a small reflective disc, about five inches across. 'I think it's a record of some sort.

There's the hole in the middle and it's by the Beatles. It's 50 called Let it Be Let it Be. But look at the picture on the front. They look so different. So . . . old.'

'I always knew they'd last for ever.' Ben s.n.a.t.c.hed the box.

'There must be a date on it. Yes, here. 1969.'

'Yes, but look. Re-mastered in 1989. Ben, we're nearly a quarter of a century away from home.'