Silhouette by Justin Richards

Author:Justin Richards [Richards, Justin]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 978-0-8041-4089-8
Publisher: Crown Publishing Group
Published: 2014-09-08T16:00:00+00:00

Chapter

13

Strax knew the area quite well, as he had already made enquiries about Bellamy’s death. The tavern where he and Bellamy had met on the unfortunate man’s final night was actually not very far from the abandoned factory. It seemed as good a place to start their investigations as any. Not having had any lunch, Clara wondered if the pub did food. But once she saw the place she decided that if it did she wouldn’t want to eat it.

Like the area round it, the tavern was run-down. The paint on the sign outside was peeling. The brickwork was pitted and in severe need of repointing. Inside it was smoky, grubby, noisy and busy. A group of men in dusty work clothes, builders perhaps, was just leaving and the Doctor gestured for Clara to take a seat before anyone else got to the table they had just vacated.

Strax forced his way through to the bar – where he was obviously recognised. He returned a few moments later with three pints of ale.

‘Beer?’ Clara said. ‘I was hoping for a G and T.’

‘You don’t have to drink it,’ the Doctor told Clara. ‘Just look like you belong here. Try to fit in.’

‘Right,’ she said. ‘I’ll just go and splash in a few puddles, soak my clothes in gin, and knock out several of my front teeth, then, shall I?’

‘If you think it will help,’ the Doctor told her.

‘I can assist you with the teeth,’ Strax offered.

‘No – thank you,’ Clara told him quickly. She sipped at the beer, and found it wasn’t as bad as she’d expected. ‘So what’s the plan?’

‘We should take hostages,’ Strax said. ‘Force these people to talk under threat of execution.’

‘For the moment, we watch,’ the Doctor told them.

‘Watch for what?’ Clara asked.

‘We’ll see.’

The Doctor took a swig of his beer. He smacked his lips, leaned back in his chair with his hands behind his head and looked round the bar with interest. He seemed content to sit watching for the duration, so Clara risked another sip of beer. Strax was shifting impatiently on the other side of the table. He had downed his pint in a single swallow. Before long, Clara thought, he’d be grabbing random drinkers and demanding information in return for allowing them to keep their kneecaps and other important anatomical attachments.

‘Him,’ the Doctor announced suddenly, sitting upright and pointing across the bar.

Clara followed his finger to see a thin, elderly man with pinched features sitting alone at a small table on the other side of the room, holding a pewter tankard.

‘What about him?’ she asked.

‘He has his own tankard, so he’s a regular. They probably keep it behind the bar. He’s on his own, happy in in his own company. And he’s watching. He knows everyone – see how he nods as people pass. Says hello, and exchanges a few pleasantries. Everyone likes him, and he knows everyone’s business. So he’s the one.’

‘The one what?’ Strax said. ‘The one to be taken outside and ruthlessly interrogated?’

‘No,’ the Doctor said.

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