Doctor Who: City of Death (Target Collection) by James Goss

Author:James Goss
Language: eng
Format: mobi, epub
Publisher: Ebury Publishing
Published: 2018-04-04T23:00:00+00:00

Very pleased with himself, the Doctor stepped back.

Onto the point of Captain Tancredi’s sword.

‘Oh,’ said the Doctor.

‘Oh, indeed,’ echoed the Captain. ‘Just going to pop off through time again, Doctor?’ An eyebrow arched and he tutted. ‘How discourteous when I’ve just gone to the trouble of fetching some thumbscrews.’

Meanwhile, in 1979, Count Scarlioni was waking up to a lot of things.

He was pleased to wake up somewhere dark. He was less pleased to see Kerensky crouching over him. Still, at least the fool could answer a very important question.

‘Kerensky? Where am I?’

‘In Paris, of course.’ The Professor looked exceedingly worried.

‘Paris?’

‘Yes.’

‘Paris.’ The Count licked his lips and was pleasantly surprised to find he had lips. ‘So it was a dream. Perhaps just a dream.’

‘But who are you?’ Keresnky asked exactly the question that was occupying the Count.

‘I am who I am.’ The Count stood up, brushing ancient dust from his dressing gown. ‘I am the one who pays you to work.’ He gestured towards the laboratory. ‘Now, to it! Time is short.’

Kerensky didn’t move. He was pointing at the Count in clear terror. ‘But your face!’ he wailed.

What? The Count’s hands went to his face. It felt… baggy. Loose. Out of place. All things that a face shouldn’t feel. Horror crept into the Count’s soul. What if it was all real? ‘Do you want to pick a quarrel with my face, Professor?’ he snarled. His hands were moving on instinct, easing everything back into place as though there was something terrible beneath the skin. How many times had this happened? ‘Beware… I do not choose to pick a quarrel with your face, Kerensky. I might use implements sharper than words.’

Suddenly his face felt fine and the Count relaxed. It had all been a dream. He knew exactly who he was. He was Count Scarlioni, the most audacious art thief the world had ever know. Just that. And that wasn’t a bad thing to be at all.

‘But Count, who are the Jagaroth?’

‘The Jagaroth?’ The Count ran his tongue over the words while knowing that he had no tongue. ‘You serve the Jagaroth. Now work!’ He shoved the Professor towards the laboratory, suddenly quite desperate to be alone.

Kerensky barely moved, riveted by his employer. He spoke with the halting voice of a man trying to reassure himself of the world. ‘It’s the Jagaroth who need all the chickens, is it?’

This was too much. Count Carlos Scarlioni started to laugh. He very nearly didn’t stop.

‘Chickens! You never cease to amaze me, Professor. How such a giant intellect can live in such a tiny mind.’ He tapped the Professor’s head. It felt wrong. So solid and firm. He had the urge to tap it some more, until it cracked like one of the man’s precious eggs. But then a voice stopped him.

‘Scaroth!’

It was his own voice. His real voice. Clearing away all the thoughts he was trying to put in its path. There was no denying this voice.

‘I must think,’ the Count wailed. ‘I must have time to think.

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