第 9 页

And the mouth, where was its mouth? Was that hole with the flap a mouth or nose? How did it hear without ears? It had fins that flicked back, stretching out behind its head. Why was he even thinking about this? It had to be a dream? It had to be -

Marc tried rationalizing it - what he saw simply could not be real. So why did he recognize it?

The scaly green reptile moved towards him. It was wrapped in a strange vest that hung to its knees. And then Marc realized he, too, was wearing a long vest. His normal clothes were beside him, wrapped in something that looked like plastic. Why wasn't he cold? Or very wet, for that matter?

'Where are my clothes? Who are you?' Marc had read stories in the papers. Young boys and girls abducted and sexually assaulted. Mum and Dad always told him to be careful of strange people. Was this reptile thing going to sexually assault him? Marc was not naive when it came to sex but nevertheless he didn't know exactly what a sexual assault was. Steve Merrett once said it was a kick in the goolies but Marc thought it had to be far worse than that. Sexually assaulted kids usually ended up dead.

'Please. I don't want to die.' Please don't kill me. Take me back to mamma. Back to the place with wood-that-isn't-wood. Please don't hurt me. Please don't stare at me and burn me. Please? Mamma!

Marc shuddered, but not with cold. It was something else. Something about the sight of this monster. It made him more frightened than he ever thought anything could. He wanted to ask it to let him go. To let him go home to Salford, to Mum and Dad and their awful society parties. To let him ring Aunty Eve, at least.

'Please don't hurt me.'

The thing held out a three-clawed hand. In it was a tiny box; For a split second Marc thought he saw the extra eye in the thing's head glow red but he was distracted by a sound from the box. Three chimes, in descending pitch. Over and over again. He became transfixed by the sound, and it seemed to fill his mind. His eyes blotted out everything else except the box. His ears stopped hearing the waves, the wind, even the heavy breathing of the thing. Just those three notes, like a flute.

That sound, from the noise-box - that awful sound. No! It meant they were calling it. The King Monster. Mamma said it would eat anyone who went near it, even the Devilbacks. King Monster would eat other Monsters, including the ones the Devilbacks used. The Pair-Hunters were the only ones who could fight back. The noise-box called the Pair-Hunters, too. Mamma said they were worse than King Monster because they were cleverer. Mamma said they got Papa. One tracked him down and though he was safe in the bushes, it saw him and stared at him. Mamma said he forgot the most evil thing about the Pair-Hunters - while he watched the one in front, the one he didn't see went around behind. Mamma said Papa never saw it. The tribe tried to save him but the Pair-Hunters were too fast and Papa was gone. Then the Devilbacks used the noise-box to call thePair-Hunters back to their camp. Mamma said that if I ever heard the noise-box, I should run away as fast as I could. Hide in the trees, or under the bushes, but get away from whatever was being called. I can hear the noise-box now but there's nowhere to run and I can hear King Monster growling and...

Marc screamed, and held his hand to his head, and tried to get up. He had to stop the noise. Had to stop... stop whatever was being summoned from coming. He had to stop the noise.

---

It is screaming, making the noise their hairy ancestors made whenever the calling devices were activated. Chukk said they were advanced now, almost to our levels. So why is this hatchling screaming? I must stop it, but how? Last time I tried, the older male on the cliff-top died. I must use less force.

Concentrate. Stop screaming! Concentrate.

It has stopped. The hatchling is quiet now. It is staring at me. I managed - at last I managed to turn its brain off without killing it.

Now, where is Sula?

---

Police Sergeant Robert Lines was known to his colleagues as Quiet Man Bob. Right now he was aware that they were staring at him aghast, waiting for him to ruin his reputation by exploding in frustration at the over-dressed man standing at the front desk.

Smallmarshes Police Station was not a particularly large building. It housed two interview rooms, a tiny mess and a shared resource area which doubled as Bob's administrative office, where messages were relayed from the Hastings CID Room.

The station also possessed a rather small and antiquated reception area, decorated with anti-crime posters, and anti-rabies adverts. To one side was a hatchway built into the wall, through which he was currently leaning, his knuckles whitening as they gripped the edge of the hatch. On the wall was a white clock which informed Bob that it was ten past eleven, and time he sent his officers home to their wives and children. They'd all had a hell of a day, and the last thing any of them needed was this.

'Look, I am very sorry, sir, but it is a police matter and not one for civilians, no matter how well-intentioned.' He forced himself to smile at the tall, white-haired gentleman facing him. He was a weird one, Bob was sure. Well over six feet tall, with straw hair rapidly giving way to pure white; probably in his early fifties. He had a lined face, its most prominent features a long beaky nose and a pair of piercing blue eyes that seemed about to pop out of his head. His clothes were astonishing, and very eccentric. Almost Edwardian in appearance, he wore a white frilly shirt and a royal-blue velvet smoking-jacket under a long black cape with red silk lining.

The eccentric smiled back at him. 'If we could talk privately, Sergeant, I'm sure I could persuade -'

'We are talking in private, Mister -?'

'Doctor, actually.' The tall man, pointed at one of the interview rooms visible behind the hatchway. 'Just the two of us?'

Sergeant Lines sighed and relaxed his grip on the sill of the hatch, wriggling his fingers to get the circulation flowing again. If only his goodwill could flow as easily. He nodded at the doorway to the left of the hatch.

The Doctor thanked him and opened the door, marching past the sergeant and straight into the small interview room.

Before Sergeant Lines had a chance to speak, the Doctor thrust an identity card into his hand. He stared at it, but apart from a recognizable photograph of the Doctor, the wording meant nothing.

'I'm sorry, Doctor, but I've never heard of this UNIT. What exactly do they do?'

The Doctor flopped into one of the hard wooden chairs. 'Save lives, mostly.'

'Sort of medical, then?' Sergeant Lines decided that since it looked like he was in for a long session, he ought to try and pretend to be hospitable. He picked up the internal phone on the table and pressed a switch. The faint buzz from his own office came through the receiver and the door behind him. After a second it was answered. 'Bob Lines here, Pat,' he said unnecessarily. 'I know it's late, but could you pop a pot of tea for two into IR2 please? Thanks, love.'

The Doctor got up. 'I really don't have time for tea, Sergeant. There are things going on in Smallmarshes that need investigating.'

Bob Lines nodded slowly, sat in the opposite chair and motioned for the Doctor to sit again.

'Indeed there are, Doctor. But right now, you say you've driven all the way from London, with some information about what happened to WPC Redworth.' There was a knock on the door and WPC Patricia Haggard came in with a tray of teacups, milk and sugar along with a large black teapot. Thanking her, he shoved the door shut and poured two cups.

'Milk and sugar?'

'Three, please.'

Bob raised an eyebrow. 'Now, Doctor, let's start at the beginning. Who exactly are you, why are you here, what do you know about what's happened, and why should I be interested in this UNIT set-up?'

The Doctor swung his long legs up onto the table.

With a flick of his shoulders his cape fell off, draping itself over the back of his seat. He began massaging the back of his neck. 'Well, that's a little difficult to explain, Sergeant. UNIT is attached to the Government and, as such, comes under the Official Secrets Act. However, I can tell you I am here because of the circumstances of WPC Redworth's injuries. We received a report that made me believe a visit was necessary.' He smiled widely. 'What was your other question?'

Sergeant Lines shrugged. 'Just "who are you?" However, I've no doubt that the answer to that is shrouded by the Official Secrets Act as well.'

The Doctor nodded apologetically. 'You'll just have to trust me, Sergeant. I'm on the side of the angels.'

Sergeant Lines sighed and swigged his tea. 'All right, Doctor, but this is against my better judgement. Barbara Redworth was last seen healthy at fifteen forty-five this afternoon. We had been sent, along with the Hastings division where she was based, to investigate the death of a DAO on the cliff-top.'

The Doctor held up a hand. 'DOA? Dead on Arrival?'

'No,' Bob Lines said. 'DAO is vernacular for Down and Out. We knew the deceased as Jossey but it turns out he was once a film star called Justin Grayson. His cause of death has not been certified yet.' He finished off his tea and offered the Doctor a top-up, which was declined.

Bob paused, drank some more, and continued: 'WPC Redworth was seen by one of my colleagues entering the derelict Seaview Cottage. She didn't come out, a couple of my lads raised the alarm, and she was found hunched upstairs, drawing pictures on the wall. No one could get any sense out of her. I understand from the ambulance crew that she became quite aggressive when they took her out of the house.'

'Had she been attacked? Was she injured in any way?'

Bob Lines held his hands up. 'I can't answer that, Doctor. I'm not a, er, doctor.'

The Doctor rubbed his neck again. 'All right, that's the official line. What's your opinion?'

The sergeant considered that for a moment. It seemed fair enough. In a strange way, he'd begun to trust this strange man. 'This is off the record, Doctor. I must ask you not to use my opinions as facts in any way. In fact, I'd rather you forgot I ever gave them.'

The Doctor concurred and Sergeant Lines continued:

'She may have been attacked. I'm confident Redworth wasn't sexually assaulted. When I saw her in the ambulance, her clothes were dirty and wet -

'Wet?'

'Yes, wet. She was found huddled in a filthy bathroom, next to a bath full of murky stale water. A lot of it had got splashed onto her as well as the floor. To be frank...' Lines chewed his bottom lip for a moment before carrying on: 'To be frank, I wondered if she caught something contagious from the water.'

The Doctor shrugged. 'That would be a very fast reaction if she did. No water-borne disease could cause such an immediate effect, to my knowledge.'

Sergeant Lines drank more tea. 'The ambulance men agree with you, as it happens. Anyway, after that, she was shipped off to Hastings General Hospital, and we'll hear more in the morning.'

The Doctor stood up. 'Right, let's go, then.'

Sergeant Lines stared up at him in puzzlement. 'Where? The hospital? It's far too late in the evening.'

The Doctor shook his head. 'Good grief, I don't need to go to the hospital. No, I want you to take me to this Seaview Cottage. I presume you are sure that her assailant, if there is one, has gone.'

Sergeant Lines nodded. 'We searched the place from top to bottom. No one there at all. If it wasn't for the bruising on her face, which the ambulance men were adamant had come from a heavy blow, we'd have assumed she'd had, well, a breakdown of sorts.' The Doctor began pacing to and fro across the small room. 'The bag she picked up. Where is it?'

Sergeant Lines shrugged. 'Hastings, I presume. Shall I get it sent over?'

'Yes, please. Now, about this cottage.'

'Hold on, Doctor,' said Lines, holding his hands up again. 'It's nearly midnight. Now, I'm happy to help you, but not tonight. It's dark, we're all tired, and that building is so dilapidated, it's a death trap. There's no light, heating or even power lines to jury-rig anything onto. First thing tomorrow, I'll meet you here and we'll go up there with a couple of the boys.' He stared at the Doctor, anticipating a heated reply. 'But not tonight.'

'You are absolutely correct, Sergeant. I'll see you here at seven thirty?'

Sergeant Lines thought of a warm bed, a warm wife, and warm tea and toast. He also thought of his usual eight o'clock shower. Then he thought about Barbara Redworth. 'Seven thirty it is. Can I ask one question, Doctor?'

'Be my guest.'

'How did you, or the mysterious UNIT, find out about this?'

As the Doctor threw his cape back over his shoulders, he took a large manila envelope from an inside pocket. 'Your police photographer, I presume. Someone had the good sense to pass them to a higher authority, who passed them on to UNIT And me.'

Sergeant Lines frowned as he glanced through the photographs. 'These weren't taken by a police photographer. Joe from Hastings photographed the corpse, but he'd gone by the time Redworth was found.'

The Doctor stared at him, then opened the door and walked out into the corridor, nodding a greeting at Pat, who nipped in behind him to collect the tea things. 'I'm sure it doesn't matter. I'll see you tomorrow morning, Sergeant. Thank you for your help.'

Sergeant Lines and Pat, tea things in hand, watched him go back into the reception area and then out into the warm night. The door closed and they were alone in the station. It seemed unnaturally quiet and peaceful after the day's chaos.

'Who was that exactly, Sarge?'

Bob Lines smiled grimly. 'I've no idea, Pat. But I'll tell you this: I've had some nutters come into this nick with wild improbable stories in my time, but no one's ever been as convincing or direct as him. I've no clue who he is, but I'm going to help him because I think he knows more than we do about what's going on.'