Doctor Who Eighth Doctor Adventures 21 by Revolution Man (Paul Leonard) (v1.0)

Author:Revolution Man (Paul Leonard) (v1.0)
Format: epub

‘I hope the goat hasn’t been drinking from the bucket,’ whispered Maddie. ‘Or contributing to it,’ said Fitz, grinning. She nudged him. ‘Oh, shut up!’ They followed their host back through the smelly doorway, saw him placing the kettle in a cradle over a fire smouldering in the cold, damp space between the barn and a stone wall. He straightened. ‘It will not be very long,’ he said. Despite his apologetic tone his eyes were sharp, examining both of them. ‘Why you to see lama?’ he asked. ‘We were curious about your history’ asked Fitz. ‘Where was your monastery in Tibet?’ ‘Om-Tsor, said the monk with a smile. Maddie felt her heart thudding hard. There could be no doubt, now, that this was the right place. ‘Where’s Om-Tsor?’ she asked. ‘Very high valley’ The monk’s smile was still fixed, like a mask, but his eyes were growing wary. ‘I cannot say too much. The Chinese are in our land now. I cannot tell too much to strangers. I am sorry to seem distrustful, but words spread like steam from kettle.’ He gestured at the fire, and his grin broadened. The kettle, in fact, wasn’t steaming very much. ‘We need to know about -’ began Fitz. ‘No we don’t,’ said Maddie quickly, putting a hand on his arm. Lines formed on the lama’s face, making him look older than Maddie had first guessed perhaps in his late thirties. His hand had moved near his waist, in an ominously defensive gesture. There was a scabbard there, a scruffy leather affair. It didn’t hide the wooden handle of a knife. The monk saw where she was looking, and sighed. ‘I am sorry. We must be careful.’ Maddie was thinking of Kathmandu, of the questions they’d asked there about Tibetan monks, even about Om-Tsor. The words had already spread. Had either of them mentioned the name of the village? Probably. That was what they’d been trying to confirm, after all. She looked up, over the wall at the Himalayas. They were grey, like faded steel. The kettle boiled at last. Their host went into the shed-monastery and produced three tin cups. He poured from the kettle, which must have contained tea, since the fluid was thick and brown. The lama added some thick, curded milk from a jug, and some raw-looking sugar from a pouch. The resultant fluid stank, and Maddie could hardly bring herself to drink it. Fitz visibly paled, but bravely took a large gulp. ‘Now we introduce ourselves,’ said the monk. ‘I am King George. It is not my real name but will do for us to talk.’ Fitz and Maddie exchanged a glance. 81

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