Doctor Who: BBC Eighth Doctor Adventures [049] - The City of the Dead by Lloyd Rose

Author:Lloyd Rose
Language: eng
Format: mobi
Tags: Science-Fiction - Doctor Who
ISBN: 9780563538394
Publisher: BBC Books
Published: 2001-09-02T22:00:00+00:00

Chapter Thirteen

Graveyard Dust

Why does this feel so… familiar? the Doctor wondered, head throbbing.

Why, when I find myself in these absurd and dangerous, not to say painful and embarrassing, positions, does it always feel so familiar? What kind of life have I led? He sighed inwardly, not opening his eyes. Probably he was not alone. Probably someone or something was looming over him, gloating.

He could do without that sight for the moment.

Instead he concentrated on what he could sense of his surroundings blind.

Concrete floor. Chains wrapped a number of times around his wrists and ankles, but not in themselves particularly heavy: dog chains? No sound at all from the haunted house, which meant he must be in a separate room built in some corner of the warehouse. No air flow, so no windows.

He could smell blood, his own, he assumed, and dry earth, and tallow, which meant candles, which probably meant –

‘Dupre,’ he said wearily and opened his eyes. He was right. He eyed the smirking magician’s velvet robe with dismay. ‘Oh, no,’ he muttered, ‘you’re not going to kill me wearing something that stupid-looking, are you?’

‘Who’s stupid?’ said Dupre. He put a foot on the Doctor’s left hand. ‘I’m not the one chained up.’

He had a point there. The Doctor raised his head as far as he was able, enough to see that his chains weren’t bolted into the concrete but ran across the floor to be screwed into the wooden walls of the room, which was larger than he had expected – about five metres square. The walls were painted blood red. Of course.

‘Soundproofed,’ said Dupre sibilantly. ‘You can scream all you want to.’

‘Thanks.’ Arching his neck to look behind him, the Doctor saw that Dupre had imported his bone chair. Unless he had two of them. ‘That’s good to know. Maybe later.’

‘Definitely later,’ Dupre snarled. ‘And how about now?’

He stamped down and the Doctor yelled as he felt a small bone in his hand fracture/So,’ he gasped, ‘you’ve gone to all this trouble so you can kick me to death?’

‘You should be so lucky’

The Doctor squinted at him. His head really hurt; he shouldn’t have arched his neck. His hand felt as if there were a hot needle stuck in it. ‘Aren’t you overreacting a bit, Dupre? What exactly have I done to you?’

‘Nothing compared to what you’re going to do for me.’

‘And what’s that?’

Dupre smiled. ‘Just be yourself.’

He walked out of sight and the Doctor didn’t bother to crane his head to follow him. Instead he took in the rest of the room. Symbols painted on the wall in gold – very well painted, almost like calligraphy. Small mounds of earth set at intervals along the sides of the room, each topped with a skull, each skull topped with a burning black candle. An incongruously ordinary-looking wooden bucket sat a couple of metres to his right. The Doctor didn’t see any bowls or knives, which he thought was a good sign. Of course, he didn’t know what Dupre had gone to fetch.

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