The King's Dragon (7 page)

'You'll find a use for it one day, Williams,' Rory muttered, in a passable imitation of Mr Swallow, Head of Maths, which would have made Amy laugh, if Amy hadn't been half a mile away and
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behaving weirdly. More weirdly. Even more weirdly than running away with a charismatically chaotic time traveller the night before her wedding.

Their
wedding. That was already weird enough for Rory. And yet still he found himself picking his way round said strange city in the middle of the night in search of a little old lady. And why?

Because the Doctor had asked him to. Talk about Enamour. 'So if I go up these steps... and along this alley... then I should come out—'

Into another plaza, this one as deserted as the rest of the city, the tinkling water in its fountain the only sound to be heard. The buildings glistered eerily under the moon. 'Weird weird
weird.
It is all too weird. I don't like it.' Rory examined the tile that Hilthe had given him and turned ninety degrees anticlockwise. He headed down a broad avenue lined with trees tottering under the weight of the decorations loaded onto them.

Hilthe's house, when he found it, stood out a mile — it was the only one not slathered in Enamour.

Rory ran up the steps and pulled on the bell. As he waited, he studied the stained glass on the nearest window. Even in the dim light, its vibrant colours and intricate design gave a clue to how Geath must have looked before the metal had oozed out of the council chamber and coated everything, turning the city uniform.

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A servant answered the door. Rory showed him the tile and was led into a sitting room that was warm, comfortable, and conspicuously gold-free. As he waited, Rory looked at some of the pictures: paintings and sketches of Geath throughout its long history.

On the shelves and in the cabinets were other treasures: badges of office, old books and documents, portraits of the long-dead great and good. So many people, so many of the symbols and artefacts that must have meant so much to them over the years. Hilthe, Rory understood properly now, was an important part of that history, and this room was a shrine to it. What had the Doctor said? Twelve and a half thousand years.

What would it be like, to have that much weight of the past behind you? How would it feel, knowing that you had failed to persuade your fellow citizens that all those years of tradition were worth keeping? That the long chain of history was ending with you?

Hilthe arrived, wearing a crimson quilted dressing gown and showing no outward sign of minding that she had been woken up in the middle of the night by a near stranger. The famous Geathian hospitality at last. She sat them down by the hearth, and her servant poured glasses of a hot, sweet tea, while Rory explained in the simplest terms possible what it was that they had discovered so far.

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'The friend I'm travelling with, the Doctor — he's taken a closer look at the metal that the dragon's made from, and it's worried him.' He took a sip.

'Anyway, the Doctor thinks it might be having some sort of
effect
on the people of the city.' He sipped again, marshalling his thoughts. 'And that might be why the Teller and Beol have been able to control them. The metal kind of makes people believe what the Teller says.'

'A metal that can change minds?' Hilthe frowned. 'That doesn't sound very likely.'

'I know it sounds... well, weird, but it's the truth.

I've seen it happen. We only arrived in the city this evening, and Amy's already been affected.'

'Amy?'

'My other friend. My girlfriend. We heard noises in the council complex and went to investigate. Awful noises — screeching, shrieking. Amy ran off ahead, but when we caught up with her, she hardly seemed to know what we were talking about. I think the metal — Enamour, it's called — makes people forget things, or suppress them, or keep them secret.'

Hilthe sat back in her chair. She studied Rory carefully. 'Strange metals, strange noises — all told, this is a very strange tale.'

'But true. Honestly. If you come and meet the Doctor, he'll explain, better than I can. He's good
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at making the outright bizarre sound completely reasonable.'

'Not necessarily a quality. But can he help? Can he help Geath?'

'Help is what the Doctor does. Help is what the Doctor
is.'

Hilthe sat in silent contemplation for a while, studying the different treasures that lined the walls of her home. Then, apropos of nothing, she said, 'When do you and Amy marry?'

'In the morning... How did you know we were getting married?'

Hilthe nodded at his hands. 'When you started talking about her, you began playing with that wedding band.'

'What?' Rory looked down. Sure enough, he was fiddling with a gold ring. Where had that come from? He didn't remember picking it up. It sat in the centre of his palm. 'Hilthe, this isn't mine.' As he spoke, the ring suddenly twisted round of its own accord. He tried to drop it, but it seemed to him that it writhed in his hand, refusing to be let go. 'I can't stop it!'

Hilthe got out of her seat and leaned over to still his hands. Gently but firmly, she took the ring from him. She held it up in front of her to examine it more closely, and Rory caught a glimpse of her sharp, clever eye through it. Then Hilthe blinked.

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She shuddered and doubled over, giving a small cry of pain.

Rory jumped out of his seat and ran to help her but, before he could get close enough, he bounced back. He stretched out his hands. They came up against something solid. Rory pushed hard against it, desperate to get to the old woman, who was now shaking violently.

'Hilthe!' he cried, thumping against the barrier between them.

But there was no way through, no matter how hard he hit or pushed. Rory pressed his hands against the invisible barrier and watched helplessly as pulsing golden light began to emanate from the ring. Small circles at first, expanding rapidly until Hilthe was entirely enveloped by the light.

Her skin became translucent, as if she was made of clear crystal that was lit from within. The ring, cupped in her hands, began to glow. Her head was bowed and Rory could not see her face.

'Hilthe,' Rory whispered in awe. 'Are you still in there? Can you speak to me?'

Hilthe raised her head and opened her eyes.

White fire. She looked like an angel... Rory dismissed the idea at once as ridiculous. No such thing. Aliens, however...

'Who are you? What do you want?'

The voice that answered was like Hilthe's, but
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richer and sweetened with a hundred thousand harmonies. Rory was reminded of the Teller earlier — but his voice sounded shrill and harsh in comparison.

'I am the Herald. I speak for my masters, the Bright Nobles of the Feond. I have come to claim what is rightfully theirs.' Her glance darted to and fro, searching, or hunting. She repeated her greeting. 'I am the Herald. I speak for my masters, the Bright Nobles of the Feond. I have come to claim what is rightfully theirs.' Her eyes caught him. 'We can reward you well.'

It wasn't exactly hard to guess what she was talking about. Rory knew that the Doctor thought Geath should be rid of it, that Hilthe wanted Geath to be rid of it... and yet, and yet the city was so beautiful now... Without the gold, it would look so bare, so dull, hardly anything at all...

'There's nothing here,' Rory said. 'Look around you. Sorry. Try the next planet along.'

The Herald took in her surroundings — and saw only Hilthe's ungilded sitting room. Then she sighed, a full chord that resonated with grief and loss. A wave of guilt washed over Rory, but the truth stuck to his tongue. The light went out. Hilthe staggered backwards. Rory grabbed her arm to stop her falling and guided her back to her chair.

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She sat for a few moments with her head bowed.

'How strange. How strange.' Then she sat up, as if she had come to a decision. 'I want to meet your Doctor friend.' She paused. 'I'm not sure why you just lied. No, don't deny it. But he will certainly need to know what you've seen in my house. My view of it was... difficult to describe, so you're going to have to tell the Doctor everything. If he's going to help me.' She gave Rory a very sharp look.

'And I mean everything.'

The Teller emerged from the shadow of the arcade.

Two knights followed close behind him, their hands resting lightly on the hilts of their sheathed short swords. 'Well,' said the Teller affably, 'here is a curious thing. The last I saw of our guests from Dant, they were being shown to their very fine quarters.

And yet barely a bell has rung and here they are in the council chamber. Whatever could have brought them here?'

'We're not from Dant,' the Doctor said. 'But you know that already.'

The Teller walked over to the dragon, placing one hand upon its head and the other upon the highest point of one folded wing. It was about as deliberate a display of possession as it was possible to make.

The Doctor ran one finger along the dragon's
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tail. `Go on,' he said. 'Tell me where you found it. I bet it makes a brilliant story.'

The Teller lifted a hand - one only. 'But my friend! You have already heard a great story this evening!'

'Not a true one, though.'

'Does a story have to be true to be great?' 'It helps.'

'But what more does my tale require?' The Teller stroked the dragon's head. Beneath his touch, the metal began to glisten.

And then, Amy would swear, it began to sing. A low sweet sound just on the edge of her hearing that picked up and harmonised with the Teller's voice.

She shivered. Where had she heard that before?

The Teller talked on. 'My tale has excitement and adventure and - most of all - it has an
enemy.

That was what the people of Geath wanted to hear. This city!' He sneered. 'Year upon year of comfortable talk, always the same, always too safe -

in their hearts they
longed
for something new.

Something dangerous. So that is what I give them.

And when they become too afraid, I can remind them that even if there are powers in this world that threaten them, Beol is here. Beol will protect them.' He gave a crooked smile. 'And that is no more than the truth. Beol is a good king.'

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'There shouldn't be a king. Not here.'

The Teller's smile turned radiant. 'But now there is. And how they love him!'

'Were you a storyteller before?' The Doctor's voice, which until now had sounded faint in comparison, became steadily more authoritative, more natural - more
real.
'Were they good stories?'

He walked slowly around the dragon. The Teller didn't budge an inch, but monitored his adversary's progress closely. 'Did they tell people how to live their lives just that bit better? Did they inspire them? Inform them? Entertain them? Or were they rubbish? Were they hack work? Was there always a good guy and a bad guy and a tidy resolution at the end? Have you simply found a way to amplify your voice so that people can't help listening?'

The Teller's hitherto genial air was gone. He gripped the dragon's head. Beneath his hands, the golden hide began to ripple.

'Doctor,' Amy murmured. 'I think you're making him angry.' She glanced uneasily at the shifting metal. 'I think you're making it angry'

'You have no right to be here,' the Teller said harshly. 'I should have you put in the stocks.

You're a fool!'

'And you're a liar. Can't bear to hear the truth?

Can't bear to hear it said?' Subtly, the Doctor's voice began to change again. Now it was in tune
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with the dragon.

The hum was louder than ever before. Amy pressed her fingers against her ears. The dragon-song was swelling. 'Doctor, I don't think this is a good idea—'

'But you know it in your heart, don't you?' the Doctor said, ignoring her. 'It's the dragon that makes them listen. It's Beol that they love.'

'Stop this! Stop this at once!'

Amy looked across the hall. An old woman was striding towards them, her eyes flashing in anger.

Rory came hurrying behind her. This must be his friend Hilthe.

'This is the council chamber of Geath, the Heart of the City!' Hilthe said. 'Generation after generation of our people have gathered here in comradeship and concord. Show some respect to their efforts, to their memory!' She turned to Rory.

'Is this your friend?'

Rory nodded. 'This is the Doctor.'

The Doctor stepped back from the dragon. He bowed his head. 'Forgive me, Mother, I meant no disrespect.'

She gave him an unfavourable look and turned to address the Teller. 'I know you hold this city in contempt—'

'Not true, Mother!' the Teller said quickly; too quickly, Amy thought.

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The Doctor murmured, 'The Teller doth protest too much... Now why would that be, I wonder...?'

Hilthe held up her hand to stop the Teller speaking further. 'But you might at least make a show of respect. Given that making a show is all you're good for. Now,' she turned back to address the Doctor. 'Your friend has come to me with a most remarkable tale, one which any sensible person would hardly find credible. What truth is there in it? What does it mean for my city and its people?'

The Doctor held up his hands. 'I'd like to tell you, Mother, but you arrived just as our friend here was having me thrown into the stocks.' He gave the Teller his madman's grin. 'Which is it to be? Throw me out or hear me out? Because I can tell you a story that will turn your world upside down. You know I can. And this story will be wonderful and terrible and brilliant - and it won't need a villain.'

Amy could see that the Teller was torn between his need to rid himself of the Doctor and his desire to find out more from him. He vacillated for a moment or two, and then turned to the two guards and dismissed them. 'Go on,' he said to the Doctor.