The Nameless City Page 2

  ‘Thirty-two thousand,’ the Doctor said immediately.

  Jamie tried to do the maths in his head and failed.

  ‘One million, one hundred and eighty-four thousand dollars,’ the Doctor said in exasperation. ‘Didn’t you learn anything in school?’

  ‘I never went to school.’

  ‘Oh.’ The Doctor suddenly looked embarrassed. ‘No, of course you didn’t. Silly me.’ He waved an arm vaguely in the direction of the roof. ‘Money is not a problem. There’s plenty upstairs in one of the bedrooms. And there’s lots of jewellery we can sell. I’ve still got the pieces Tutankhamen gave me. I’ll never wear them.’ He nudged a spring with his foot. It bounced a metre into the air, pinged off a wall and danced around the room. ‘Oh dear, oh dear.’ He patted the gutted remains of the central console, then turned, leaned against it and slowly sank to the floor, legs stretched in front of him. ‘There’s only so much I can do for the old girl. I can put the bits back together, but if she’s going to heal, she needs the equivalent of a blood transfusion: gold, mercury and Zeiton-7.’

  ‘No one has even heard of Zeiton-7,’ Jamie said, scanning the list again. He sat on the floor alongside the Doctor. ‘Can’t you …’ He paused. ‘I don’t know … do something?’

  ‘I’m a doctor, not a magician.’ The Doctor looked around the control room and slowly shook his head. ‘We’re trapped in London, Jamie. We’ll be forever stuck in this place and time,’ he added softly. ‘And there was so much I wanted to see and do, so much I wanted to show you.’

  They sat in silence for a long time. Jamie shifted on the hard, uncomfortable floor and something dug into his side. He reached into his belt and his fingers touched the soft silk wrapping round the strange little book.

  ‘I’ve got a present for you,’ he said, suddenly remembering. ‘Maybe it’ll cheer you up.’

  The Doctor looked up. ‘I quite like presents.’ He frowned. ‘You know, no one has given me a present for a very long time. Well, not since my three-hundredth birthday, or was it my four-hundredth? What is it?’ he asked.

  ‘Well, I was given this as a reward for something I did this morning. It’s a book and I know you like books. I was told it was very old.’

  ‘A bit like me,’ the Doctor said, smiling. ‘Aged, like a fine wine …’

  ‘Or a mouldy cheese,’ Jamie murmured with a grin. ‘Here, I’d like you to have it.’ He slid the book out of the silk wrapping and handed it over. The leather felt slightly greasy and flesh-warm. The Doctor’s long fingers closed round the scuffed black cover. Almost automatically, his thumbs began to trace the raised design. ‘Interesting. What is that?’ he wondered aloud, tilting the cover to the light. ‘Looks like a type of cephalopod …’

  ‘A seffle-a-what?’

  ‘Octopus.’ Resting the book on his knees, the Doctor opened it to the title page, the thick parchment crackling as it turned. ‘I don’t quite recognise the language,’ he murmured, index finger tracing the individual letters. ‘This looks like Sumerian, but this here is certainly one of the Vedic scripts, while this is Rongorongo from Easter Island. No, no, I’m wrong. This is older – much, much older. Where did you say you got it?’ But before his companion could reply, the Doctor’s index finger, which had been following the words in the centre of the title page, stopped, and he automatically read it aloud: ‘The Necronomicon …’

  With a shriek of pure terror, the Doctor flung the book away from him.

  ‘The Necronomicon.’

  In a place abandoned by time, in the heart of an immeasurably tall black-glass pyramid, the words rang like a bell.

  ‘The Necronomicon.’

  The sound hung in the air, trembling, vibrating off the glass to create thin ethereal music.

  Three sinuous shapes wrapped in long trails of ragged shadow rose from a silver pool to twist through the rarefied air, moving to the gossamer music. Two more pairs detached from the four cardinal points of the thick darkness and joined the intricate mid-air dance. The seven curled and wound round one another, folding and bending to form arcane and ornately beautiful patterns, before they finally settled into a perfect black circle. The tower’s mirrored walls and floor made it look as if the darkness was alive with huge unblinking eyes.

  ‘The Necronomicon.’

  ‘Oh, Jamie, what have you done?’ The Doctor’s voice was shaking.

  ‘I don’t know … I mean, it’s just a book.’

  ‘Oh, this is more, much more, than a book.’

  The Doctor and Jamie stared at the leather-bound volume on the floor. Caught in a tangle of wire and cogs, it was pulsating with a slow, steady rhythm.

  ‘It’s like a heartbeat,’ Jamie whispered. ‘Doctor, I don’t … I mean, I just …’ the young Scotsman said in confusion. He leaned forward. ‘Do you want me to throw it out?’

  The Doctor raised his hand. ‘Don’t touch it!’ he snapped. ‘If you value your life and your sanity, you’ll not touch it again.’ He opened and closed his right hand into a fist. The tips of his fingers where they had touched the book were bruised and blackened.

  The book’s cover suddenly strobed with dull red light and a tracery of thin lines flickered across it, briefly outlining the shape of a tentacled creature etched into the black leather. The heavy cover flew open and the thick pages lifted and flapped, blowing in an unfelt wind. It finally fell open at a page showing a black-and-grey illustration of narrow pyramids and towers. Abruptly, a series of tiny golden lights – like windows – appeared on the image. A spark leaped from the pages into the tangle of wires cradling it. A second spark – like a tiny yellow cinder – billowed up and hung in the air, before see-sawing into a spider’s web of fine silver wire on the floor. The wire immediately twisted and trembled, pulsating red and black. A fountain of sparks then erupted from the book and scattered across the floor, bouncing like tiny sizzling beads. Wires quivered and shifted with a surge of power; cogs and wheels turned and spun of their own accord.

  And then the control console coughed.

  It was an almost human sound, a cross between a breathy sigh and a wheeze.

  ‘Oh no, no, no, no, no, no …’ The Doctor scrambled to his feet and reached for the lever in the centre of the console. He pulled hard – and it came away in his hand. He looked at it blankly. ‘Oh! Well, that’s never happened before.’

  The TARDIS breathed again: a rasping gasp.

  The Necronomicon had now turned into a sizzling rectangle of sparks and the usually dry, slightly musty air of the TARDIS became foul with the stink of rotting fish.

  ‘What’s happening, Doctor?’ Jamie asked. He watched, wide-eyed, as the mess of wires, cogs, wheels and dismantled instruments was drawn back towards the central console, as if pulled by a magnetic force. He scrambled out of the way as a cable was sucked back under the desk, writhing like a snake. ‘Doctor?’ Jamie shouted.

  But the Doctor was incapable of speech. The air was full of components, winging their way to the control unit. He danced out of the way as a thick tube of metal whipped towards him, plunging deep into the interior of the console. Black smoke filled the room.

  ‘I think we’re OK,’ the Doctor said, as the incredible movement died down. He grinned and shook his head. ‘For a moment there, I thought we were going to take off,’ he added shakily, ‘but there’s no power, there’s no way we can –’

  The TARDIS lights flickered, dimmed and then blazed. And the ship wheezed again. A dry, rasping intake of breath, then a sighing exhalation. And again, faster this time. Then – a familiar, unmistakable sound. The TARDIS was taking off.

  ‘Impossible!’ the Doctor shouted.

  ‘I thought you said we were trapped?’

  The Doctor waved his hands at the remaining knot of wires on the floor. ‘We are. We shouldn’t be able to go anywhere. We shouldn’t be able to move!’

  The main lights dimmed and all the dials on the console lit up with a strange, sickly green glow. The faintest vibration hummed through the floor
.

  Jamie felt a shifting in his inner ear and then sudden pressure in his stomach. ‘We’re moving,’ he said.

  ‘And fast too.’ The Doctor rested his fingertips against the metal, feeling it shiver. ‘Very fast. I wonder where we’re going?’ He looked down at the book on the floor. The sparks had died away and the book had snapped shut. The black cover was leaking gossamer-grey smoke. The edges of the white paper were burned black, but the book seemed to have suffered no other damage. He made no move to touch it. ‘Where did you get the book, Jamie?’

  ‘I tried to tell you. I rescued an old man who was being robbed. Well, maybe he wasn’t that old. He gave me this book as a reward. I did tell him I would not be able to read it …’

  ‘… and so he told you to give it to someone as a present.’

  Jamie nodded. ‘It was meant for you, wasn’t it?’

  ‘It was.’

  ‘Have you any idea who it was?’

  The Doctor shrugged. ‘When you’ve lived as long as I have, then you make the odd enemy or two.’ He nodded towards the book. ‘Though not that many who would be this powerful. However, there is one who was always fascinated by this terrible book …’ A thin thread of pain crept into the Doctor’s voice. ‘I’ve not seen him in a long time. The Necronomicon is the Book of Dead Names. It is a collection of dark and terrible lore. And it is … old.’

  ‘Even older than you?’ Jamie asked with a shaky laugh.

  ‘Older than the Earth. Even older than my homeworld. Older than most solar systems. It was written by one of the races who ruled the galaxy in the very distant past. This is the sum total of their knowledge and speaks of the Time before Time.’

  ‘And this race,’ Jamie said quietly, ‘I’m guessing they are not your friends?’

  ‘Oh, they are long dead. They exist only in the memories of a half-dozen scattered worlds, where they are still worshipped as gods. I’ve come up against their worshippers, though,’ he added softly. ‘They didn’t like me very much.’

  ‘Have you any idea where we’re going?’

  ‘None.’ The Doctor knelt and peered at the smouldering book, his nostrils flaring. ‘It stinks of old power and foul secrets.’ Then he sat back, dusting off his hands. ‘I’m reluctant to lay my hands on it again. My touch obviously activated it.’

  ‘I was able to handle it.’

  ‘But you’re just a human. Tell me,’ he said, ‘when you were given the book, was it wrapped in a cloth?’

  Jamie reached into his belt and sheepishly held out the square of black silk.

  The Doctor leaned forward until his nose almost touched the material. He breathed deeply and his eyes closed. ‘Ah, now there’s a familiar scent. This old man: tall, dark eyes, goatee beard touched with grey, black gloves.’

  ‘Yes, that’s him. And gloves, yes, he had gloves. He said his name was Professor Tas– Tascal?’

  ‘Thascalos,’ the Doctor whispered.

  ‘That’s it. Who is it?’

  ‘Someone I’ve not encountered in a long time. But at least we now know where this is taking us,’ the Doctor said grimly.

  ‘Where?’

  The Doctor focused on gingerly wrapping the black silk cloth round the smoking book. ‘Why, to our doom, Jamie. To our doom.’

  And the book pulsed in time with his words.

  3

  ‘It feels like we’ve been travelling for days,’ Jamie grumbled.

  ‘Eight hours as you measure time,’ the Doctor said absently. He was staring intently at a small globe that looked like an oversized light bulb as he carefully twisted two wires – silver and gold – round its base.

  ‘I thought the TARDIS could move instantly into any place or time.’

  ‘It can, and usually it does,’ the Doctor grunted.

  ‘So what’s taking it so long?’

  ‘During our time together, we’ve never travelled this far before.’ The globe flickered, faded, then blinked alight. ‘Ah, success! You do know I am a genius?’

  ‘So you keep telling me,’ Jamie muttered.

  The globe was now glowing with a pale-blue light. The Doctor stared intently at it, turning it slowly with his fingers. ‘I’ve managed to connect this to the exterior time and space sensors. Now, let us see …’

  The globe turned black for an instant and then was suddenly speckled with silver dots. A long misty white streak appeared across its centre.

  The Doctor gasped in horror. ‘Oh my giddy aunt. Oh crumbs.’

  ‘What is it? What do you see?’ Jamie demanded, peering at the image.

  ‘This! This!’ The Doctor pointed to the globe.

  Jamie stared and then shrugged.

  ‘The dots are stars …’ the Doctor said in exasperation.

  ‘And the white streak across the middle –’ Jamie began, but almost immediately knew the answer to the question. ‘That’s the Milky Way.’

  ‘It is.’

  ‘It seems very far away.’

  ‘That’s because it is.’

  As they were speaking, the long cloud of the distant Milky Way faded and vanished into the blackness of space. Then, one by one, the stars winked out until nothing remained but complete darkness.

  ‘Has it stopped working?’ Jamie asked.

  ‘No,’ the Doctor said glumly. ‘It’s still working.’

  ‘But what happened to all the stars?’

  ‘They’ve gone. We’re heading to the edge of space.’

  A sudden explosion shocked Jamie awake and he realised he’d fallen into an exhausted sleep in a nest of wires. The interior of the TARDIS was filled with noxious white smoke. Coughing, he scrambled to his feet as another detonation ripped a panel off the ceiling. As it came loose, it dangled on a long curl of transparent tubes. The Doctor was lying on his back under the central console, and Jamie could hear the distinctive whirr of what the Doctor called his sonic screwdriver. Jamie wasn’t entirely sure what it did, but he was sure it was definitely not a screwdriver.

  Suddenly all the dials on the console lit up with cold blue-green light and began to spin and dance.

  ‘Are you doing that?’ Jamie asked.

  ‘Doing what?’ The Doctor’s voice was muffled and distorted. Jamie guessed he was holding the sonic screwdriver between his teeth.

  A shower of multi-coloured sparks skittered across the surface of the console. Two of the dials bubbled and melted. ‘Setting the control panel on fire?’ Jamie shouted, darting away.

  The Doctor pushed out from under the console and scrambled to his feet. Hopping from one foot to the other, he waved his hands at the blue-green flames now licking up through the panels. Jamie reappeared with a red fat-bodied fire extinguisher, which bore the words Property of London Underground stencilled on the side.

  ‘No …’ the Doctor squeaked.

  ‘Yes.’ Pointing the nozzle at the flames, Jamie pressed the lever and doused the control panel in water. A huge gout of flame shot up to the ceiling, where it was swallowed in thick white steam. When the smoke finally cleared, the central panel was a blackened mess.

  ‘Now look what you’ve done,’ the Doctor said accusingly. ‘You’ve ruined it!’

  ‘Ruined it? I didn’t start the fire –’

  The Doctor suddenly held up his hand and turned away. ‘Do you hear that?’ he asked in a hushed whisper.

  ‘I can’t hear anything,’ Jamie said, looking around.

  ‘Exactly.’ The Doctor spun back to Jamie. ‘We’ve landed,’ he said grimly.

  4

  ‘It looks like every other barren rocky planet we’ve landed on,’ Jamie murmured. He peered round the edge of the TARDIS’s door, a breathing mask pressed to his face.

  The Doctor brushed past him and strode out on to black sand. It billowed up around him.

  ‘Hey, how do you know it’s safe to breathe?’ Jamie’s voice was muffled behind the mask.

  ‘I don’t. But I’ll wager we’ve not been brought all the way out here to suffocate.’ Putting his
hands on his hips, the Doctor craned his neck back and looked up into the night sky.

  Jamie pulled away the mask and breathed in quickly. The air was dry and bitter, tasting vaguely of rotten eggs.

  ‘Sulphur,’ the Doctor said, answering the question the Scotsman was about to ask.

  ‘I hate it when you do that,’ Jamie muttered. Standing beside the Doctor, he looked up into the night as well. There were very few stars visible and they were little more than distant specks. Rising low on the horizon was a thin vertical strip of gauzy stars. ‘That’s the Milky Way,’ he said in awe. ‘But it’s wrong,’ he added, tilting his head to one side. ‘The Milky Way does not look like that.’

  ‘It seems we have travelled very far indeed,’ the Doctor said, looking about them. He wrapped his arms round his body and a shiver ran through him. ‘We’re at the edge of known space, in that place known as the Great Desolation.’

  ‘And I’m guessing this is one of those places no one ever returns from?’ Jamie asked.

  ‘No one,’ the Doctor replied. ‘This is the place where myths go to die.’

  Deep in the silent heart of a black-glass pyramid a sound reverberated off the sloping walls.

  Slow and sonorous, the noise washed across the circular silver pool set into the floor and the fluid within trembled. A series of thick concentric circles spread out across its surface and then a shape appeared, rising up into the blackness. Hooded and wrapped in dripping grey robes, it was joined by a second and a third, and then the liquid boiled as four more rose from beneath the silver. In a ragged V formation, the seven tall shapes turned to face the pyramid’s only door.

  The noise boomed out again, growing and intensifying until it became identifiable: the sound of laughter – insane and malevolent laughter.

  ‘Is this planet inhabited?’ Jamie asked.

  The Doctor was lying prone on the ground, staring intently at the black sand through a huge magnifying glass. ‘Remarkable.’ He looked up. ‘Inhabited? Once, perhaps, but not now. This world is ancient beyond reckoning.’ He patted the ground and a cloud of fine black particles rose to envelop his head. ‘This sand has the consistency of talcum powder,’ he said, coughing. ‘Some of it is already dust. Why do you ask?’