The King's Dragon (11 page)

The Doctor beamed at her. 'Excellent précis!'

Hilthe raised her eyebrows at him. 'You persist in this misapprehension that I require your approval. But you are in error.'

The Doctor shrugged. 'Just saying. I can see why you did well in this chamber for so long. Till you lost, that is.'

Hilthe frowned at him and turned away.

Rory said, 'But it's not really a choice, is it, Doctor? The Regulator's threatened us, thrown gunships at us. The Herald hasn't. All she's done is ask us to give back what's hers. Shouldn't it be returned to her?'

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'Returned to her masters,' said the Doctor.

'Same thing.'

'No it's not,' the Doctor said sharply. 'Masters.

Don't like that word.'

'But you saw her!' Rory persisted. 'She was friendly! She was
beautiful!'

'Appearances? Deceptive? Heard that saying?

How about: All that is gold does not glitter? Does that ring a bell?'

Rory appealed to Hilthe. 'You must know! She spoke through you! You must have felt it, too! That it's safe to hand over her Enamour.'

Hilthe did not reply. She was walking slowly round the dragon, brushing her hand along it, contemplating what it might mean.

'An ancient feud,' she said. 'And the city of Geath caught in the midst, between two deadly enemies whose weapons are more powerful than anything yet dreamt of by my people.' Her eyes sparkled. 'You know how this metal works, don't you, Doctor?'

'Yes, I do,' the Doctor said softly.

'Could it...' A tremor of excitement entered Hilthe's voice, and she looked hungrily at the dragon. 'Could it be used to defend us?'

'Don't go there,' said the Doctor, very quickly.

'Could we fashion weapons from it?'

'You could,' said the Doctor. 'But I won't allow
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it.'

'No?' Hilthe came to an abrupt halt at the dragon's head. She rested both her hands upon it and began to caress it. 'Is that your choice to make?

Do you decide what is best for the people of Geath?

Have we fallen so far that we now require a dictator? Why should that be you, Doctor?'

Rory held his breath. Didn't Hilthe have a point? The dragon was here, in Geath. Even the Doctor admitted that it had been on this planet for millennia. So what gave him the right to come in and demand that the Geathians did what he told them? Rory eyed the Doctor. It was all pretty high-handed when you thought about it. Wasn't it just as bad as the Regulator screaming its demands and sending its ships? Or waltzing in the night before a wedding and spiriting away the bride? What gave the Doctor the right to interfere? It was for the people here to decide, and Rory couldn't think of anyone better than Hilthe to make that decision.

'You could try, Hilthe,' the Doctor said very quietly. 'But if you haven't liked the changes in your city so far, I think you'd hate what you saw next. If Geath looks damaged to you now, picture it as a battlefield. Picture it burning. Picture the aftermath — the ruin and grief and the sorrow and the loss. Picture everything you have ever known and loved ripped to pieces and ground down into
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the dirt. Because that's what would happen. Do you think either side is going to let you take it?

You haven't seen half of their power and you can't begin to imagine it. They've got more weapons, bigger weapons, worse weapons. They don't care one jot about your beloved city.'

His voice became very kind. 'I know you hated to lose. I know how much you miss your old life - all the thrill of debate, of talking people down, of winning. And you're right - if you used this technology, you'd get the city back. Everything you lost would be restored. You'd become Queen -

but you'd be the Queen of a nightmare. The Queen of Ruin. Is that how you want to be remembered? Is that what you want for Geath?'

Hilthe bowed her head. Her hands were shaking.

Rory could see the struggle going on within her.

'That's Enamour, Hilthe,' the Doctor said gently.

'Making you want it. Making you want the vision that it's showing you. But it's lying. And you've lived too long and seen too much to be fooled now by a lie so blatant.'

Maybe it was a trick of the light, but Rory thought there was a faint glow about Hilthe, a trace of the Herald perhaps, as if something of the alien's presence remained within the old woman. All of a sudden, Rory was desperate for Hilthe to take over. More than anything he wanted her to
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claim the dragon for her own. If Hilthe was the one making the decisions, Rory knew without doubt that he would do anything she asked. 'Take it,'

he murmured. 'Take it.'

'Can you hear it, Rory?' the Doctor said quietly.

'Can you hear the dragon? Listen.
Listen...'

Rory listened - and heard. Faintly, but he heard.

The dragon was singing.

'The Queen of Ruin, Hilthe.' The Doctor's voice was hideously discordant against the dragon-song.

Rory could have hit him for wrecking something so beautiful. 'Hilthe the Destroyer. They'll sing the name for ever, and they'll curse it.'

Abruptly, Hilthe stepped back. She released her hold on the dragon's head. The music stopped. 'That...

was unexpected,' she said. She gave a small and shaky laugh. 'Perhaps you are right, Doctor. It is all so very gaudy. Geath will be better without it.'

Rory gave a sigh of relief. His conviction that Hilthe should take possession of the metal seemed strange now; a delusion, a moment of madness. He shook his head to clear it of any echo and then he frowned. 'Doctor. That humming, that song - it hasn't stopped. It's getting louder.'

'I know,' the Doctor replied through gritted teeth. He ran round the dragon to stand where Hilthe had been only moments before and looked
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down at the beast's head.

Rory followed him round and stared at the dragon in amazement. Its other eye was opening, revealing a red glow behind a heavy liquid lid. Its jaw began to move. Then, behind the ever-louder song, Rory heard a creaking sound. Looking up, he saw the dragon's metal wings unfolding.

'Doctor, it's waking! The dragon is waking!'

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The Teller took a
deliberately complicated route deep into the heart of the council building. It didn't take Amy long to realise that he too was keeping to the shadows and trying not to run into anyone.

Perhaps that wasn't surprising given the way the townsfolk had reacted to him in the plaza earlier.

Amy wasn't complaining. The Teller had earned their fury, and his sneaking around worked to her benefit.

The corridors became narrower but hardly bare.

Enamour covered every wall, pale and uncanny.

Eventually, the Teller came to a small arch over which curtains were drawn. He went through.

Amy hurried to the end of the corridor and
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twitched one of the curtains to look inside. The room beyond was a private apartment, small but beautifully furnished. A big, comfortable bed dominated the space. Enamour glistened thickly -

but only here and there, as if someone started decorating and then lost interest.

The Teller sat down in one of the ornate chairs. He chewed at his thumbnail and muttered under his breath, occasionally glancing over at another curtained arch on the far side of the room. He was clearly waiting for someone. After a few minutes, he jumped up and started pacing from lamp to lamp, taking them out of their holdings and examining them, as if trying to work out some means by which they could wither and die. Some means other than alien intervention.

Amy waited patiently. At last, someone came through the other arch. A man in golden armour, on the breastplate of which was a beautifully stylised symbol of a golden dragon, rampant, on a red field.

The Teller greeted the new arrival. 'Where have you been?' He went to help him take off the helmet. This resembled the dragon's head - or, perhaps, the long muzzle of the Regulator's mask - the nose guard recalling the snout, the cheek plates thrusting upwards in the shape of wings. A red plume rose from the crown. Beol - for of course
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it was he - looked the very definition of a warrior king.

'Where do you think I've been?' Beol said as soon as he was free of the helmet. 'Ordering the defence of the city.' He placed his hand upon the Teller's shoulder and gave his broad and startlingly beautiful smile. 'And where have you been throughout this crisis, oh wisest of counsellors?'

'Where do you think I've been? Watching your back!'

Beol laughed. 'What would I do without you?'

'You'd have an unguarded back,' the Teller said.

'I've also been gathering information.'

'Yes? Useful information?'

'You're not going to believe the half of it,' the Teller muttered.

Beol walked over to a nearby table, where a jug of water and a cup stood ready and waiting. He poured out some water and drank deeply. 'Don't worry. I know already. The city's mood is changing.'

The Teller blinked. 'What?'

'I saw the crowd out in the plaza. I heard what they were saying. I know that people are frightened.' He shook his head. 'I can hardly blame them. Dragons, fire in the sky, candles and lamps that fade out as if in fear. I understand why they're afraid - I'm not ashamed to admit that I'm afraid
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myself. These things are beyond reason! But don't worry. I'll do my part. If those beasts come past again, I'll be there. I'll fight. Not just for the city of Geath, but for you.'

The Teller stared at him. 'What are you talking about?'

Beol put down his cup and walked over to the Teller. He rested his strong hands upon the other man's shoulders and smiled down at him. 'You've done everything for me. Our whole lives. But it's my turn now. You got us here. I'm going to keep us here. You don't have to worry.'

From where Amy was standing, she could see the pair of them side on: a tall golden man and a smaller dark one. One of the lamps behind them flickered, altering the composition of the tableau, bringing the profiles of each man into relief.

Suddenly, the similarity between them was revealed: the same long nose, the same curve to the chin, the goldish tinge to the Teller's hair, the brownish shade in the King's hair. Amy almost gasped. How had she missed it? These men were so obviously brothers.

I’m going to protect you,' Beol said. 'I'll always protect you. You have my word, not just as a man, but as King of the Geathians.' He kissed his brother quickly on both cheeks and gave another ravishing smile. Then he moved back into action, the hero of
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his own story. 'Now,' he said, 'back to my knights.

We have an enemy to prepare for and to defeat.'

The Teller stood stock-still in the middle of the room. Beol had apparently taken all the words out of his mouth. After a moment, he shook himself and turned to speak to his brother. 'Beol, you've got to listen to me—'

'Best thing for you is to stay in here till this whole business is over, I think. No point exposing yourself to any danger, whether from the townsfolk or these creatures. Leave that to me.' Beol took another deep drink of water and threw the cup onto the bed. He picked up his helmet again but paused before putting it back on. His face lit up and his eyes shone. This was how Rory had looked, Amy thought, seeing the dragon-ships flying overhead.

'Stars, though!' Beol said. 'Did you see them? If they didn't mean us ill, you'd have to call them beautiful! Swift and supple, like liquid metal across the sky - never did I dream I'd see something like that! Like one of your old stories come to life! You did see them, didn't you? I'd hate for you not to have seen them, even if only the once.'

'Yes, I did - Beol,
please,
listen to me!'

Beol halted on his way back out.

'These creatures,' said the Teller. 'They're not...

they're not from our world.'

Beol frowned. 'I don't understand —'

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'You've seen them!' spluttered the Teller. 'Where do you think they come from?'

Beol eyed him cautiously. 'It's been a long night,' he said. He nodded at his bed. 'Perhaps you should think about getting some rest. I've told you I'll take care of everything.'

'Beol!'

'Perhaps I should have made you rest sooner. It's been a busy few months. We don't have to turn our attention to Dant immediately. We'll sort out this business first.'

'Dant? You don't seriously think all of this is coming from
Dant,
do you? Beol, those dragons are machines. When, exactly, do you think the people of Dant learned to build machinery like that? How, exactly, do you think they have learned to set fire to the sky?'

'But who else can it be? Who else holds a grudge against us?'

'Beol,' said the Teller carefully, 'you do remember that we didn't
actually
take the dragon from Dant, don't you? That was just a story that I made up. Remember?'

'No coincidence those three turning up tonight, is it? Citizens of Dant? Spies, more like! I'll say one thing before I go, though, you got them wrong. Two children and a fool, you said! Nothing to worry about, you said! Next thing we know - dragons
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overhead!'

Behind her curtain, Amy winced. Not such a good cover story after all, perhaps.

'Which reminds me,' Beol said. 'Probably best all round if we have the three of them locked up. Can't have three spies from Dant running around the city, if we're likely to be at war by the end of the week.'

He tucked his helmet under his arm. 'Enough talking! Back to doing! I can't spend the night hidden away in here. I have to be outside. As soon as the people see their King, they'll be heartened!'

He drew back the curtain. 'We knew it was only a matter of time before they came to get it. Don't worry! Nobody from Dant is going to lay a finger on our dragon! It's ours - and ours it will stay.' He nodded towards the bed again. 'Put your feet up.