Doctor Who: Plague City (Dr Who) by Jonathan Morris

Author:Jonathan Morris [Morris, Jonathan]
Language: eng
Format: epub, pdf
Publisher: Ebury Publishing
Published: 2017-04-20T03:00:00+00:00

Chapter

11

Mary King’s Close was no more appealing in daylight. A short shower had turned the gutters to mud and water dripped from the linen blankets still hanging across the alleyway. As they descended, Bill looked upwards at the windows that were just holes; the bulging, crumbling daub; and the clumps of mould on the underside of the extensions, all propped up by rotting brackets. The walls were caked in soot deposited by countless lamps and streaked with years of dribbling rainwater. Occasionally Bill could hear the squeak and scamper of rats as they hurried into their hiding places beneath the decaying piles of vegetable peel and smashed jugs.

The air was stagnant but surprisingly warm, and as they got nearer to the close, the acrid smell of rotten eggs grew stronger, until Bill felt like it was burning the back of her throat. But this time, in the grim half-light of day, she could also see a faint, mustard-yellow gas drifting up into the sky.

The Doctor sniffed. ‘Sulphur dioxide. Someone either has a very experimental approach to baking or …’

‘Or?’ said Bill.

‘Or we’ve located the source of this street’s infernal malediction.’

‘Eh?’

‘He means it’s bad for your health,’ said Nardole helpfully, gawping at the teetering houses. ‘Bit quiet. Where is everyone?’

‘Here, the plague has been uniquely potent,’ explained Annabelle. ‘Every household has been touched to some degree. Some claim it is retribution for the sins of those who live here.’

‘“The most corrupt and wanton street in all of Edinburgh”,’ said Bill, recalling Betsy’s warning.

‘But they’re wrong,’ said Annabelle. ‘The plague shows no discretion between the virtuous and the wicked. It comes for everybody, from the highest to the low. The difference is, down here, the people are already bedevilled with other infirmities of the flesh, they are already suffering from malnutrition, so they are more vulnerable to the infection, and once infected, the plague’s progression is a’ the swifter.’

‘Sounds like you’re on to something,’ said Bill. ‘Environment and diet, isn’t it?’

‘Bill,’ said the Doctor. ‘No clues!’

‘Sorry. Forgot the Time Lord code.’

‘But Annabelle is correct.’ The Doctor circled on his heels, raising his voice as though he was back in the lecture hall. ‘The squalor would make this neighbourhood uniquely predisposed to the plague and the resultant suffering. Hence the abundance of grief-leeches. We’re standing in the unhappiest street in town!’

‘So where is everyone, when they’re at home?’ asked Nardole again.

‘At home,’ shrugged the Doctor. ‘Confined to barracks.’

‘Too afeart to step beyond their doors,’ said Annabelle. ‘Those that remain are in fear for their lives.’

‘Ghosts of the recently departed turning up every night can’t help,’ said Bill.

‘Here!’ said the Doctor, ushering them towards one of the buildings. ‘The really terrible smell! It’s coming from over here!’

Bill and the others joined him outside a low doorway. The Doctor was right; the rotten egg smell was overpowering. She held a hand over her mouth, until Nardole helpfully handed her a handkerchief.

The Doctor buzzed the sonic screwdriver at the door, but it had no effect. ‘Doesn’t work on wood!’ the Doctor muttered.

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