Doctor How and the Deadly Anemones (4 page)

“So they control, like, the government and everything?”

“Can you please stop dancing that annoying little jig? And the answer is no. All these disastrous policies are of your species’ own stupid doing. Don’t try to palm it off on a bunch of out-of-towners. Now, we have to investigate.”

“Investigate what?”

“The deaths of the Rindan consul and her husband.”

“I don’t see no bodies.”

“Of course not. Through here.”

Holding his Tsk Army Ultraknife in front of him, the Doctor led Kevin through to the bathroom. “I’ve got my first encounter with the scene recorded,” he said. “Nothing I could do, as you can see. Just bones left of Mrs Plensca, and only the lower half of her husband.”

“Maaan. Oh. I feel sick.”

“Don’t keep it in if you need to let it out. But please don’t vomit on the remains. The Rindans have all sorts of rituals and they’ll want those back ASAP. More paperwork for yours truly.”

“What d’you think happened? I mean, how did they die?”

“I would have thought it was blindingly obvious that they were eaten – quite possibly alive. Her first.”

“Like, I can see that, Doc. But
what
ate them? And where is it now?”

“It? Maybe it was a
they
. Here’s what I think happened. Mrs Plensca is overpowered, her husband comes in to investigate and is ambushed by a second… assailant. They’ve got through an awful lot of flesh, I must say. Too much for just one creature which, as I’m sure you’ve worked out by now, is no longer in here. And it doesn’t seem to be the kind of species that uses the front door when exiting, either – the keys are still in the apartment and the door’s locked. And I don’t
think
it – or they – can still be in here. Not according to my Ultraknife, anyway.”

Kevin became aware of a presence behind him, and jumped when he caught a glimpse of a giant spider’s leg in the mirror. “Jesus, Trin,” he said. “Sorry, I’m still getting used to you. Why’s she here?”

“Sniffing around for evidence. Come through, Trin.”

Kevin and the Doctor moved out of the cramped bathroom to let the super-predator in. She hunched over each set of remains for a minute, then began a slow and methodical examination of every inch of floor, wall and ceiling. She settled on an area of the shower wall, then stared at the Doctor. After a few seconds he nodded, then focused on his Ultraknife. A few seconds after that he sighed with relief.

“It was their own, stupid fault,” he said.

“What happened?”

“Have you ever heard of
fugu
?”

“No. Is that like some rude acronym or something?”

“It’s Japanese and translated literally means
river pig
. We call them puffer fish. It’s a delicacy. The fish contains a toxin twelve times deadlier than cyanide. If it’s not carefully prepared by a qualified chef, it could be your last meal.”

“So you’re telling me they were poisoned, then eaten? I don’t get it.”

“It’s just an analogy. Some cultures get a kick out of risky cuisine. I’m sorry to mention it again, but your own father was ultimately killed by the Caledonian-Caribbean cuisine your mother prepared for him.”

“Come off it, Doc – that’s hardly the same as playing fish roulette!”

“Isn’t it? I suppose the fish will either kill you or it won’t – but a Scottish diet will get you in the end. It’s just that it’ll take a few decades longer.”

“Stop lecturing and just tell me.”

“It seems that those polyps can morph.”

“The polyps they were growing for their holy week?”

“The same. There’s a chance that, given the right conditions, they can morph into something rather nasty – you know, a bit aggressive and carnivorous. It’s part of the whole Rindan life-death thing to take that risk, I guess. And if you’re not an experienced grower of these things, and you don’t have the right equipment – well, you’re just asking for trouble. Just bad luck for the Plenscas that some of theirs morphed. Trini thinks three.”

“What happened to the others?”

“Eaten by the ones that morphed. Carnivores don’t tend to be fussy. Especially if they’re below a certain level of sentience. And if the environment had been a little more conducive in here they’d have stayed to eat the Plenscas’ bones too.” The Doctor stroked his chin and sighed. “They’re water-based, and would have squeezed down the toilet to escape. The ones that survived are now on the loose in the sewers of London. And someone’s going to have to go after them.”

“Doc, if you think I’m going to go up to my neck in sewage you’ve got another thing coming.”

“I wouldn’t worry about that, lad. Help is always at hand.” He paused and looked down at Trinity. “Isn’t it, Trin?”

She stared back at him, her look inscrutable to Kevin. He felt a pang of envy at this close relationship between Trinity and the Doctor. It was almost symbiotic, and he wondered – not for the first time – how it had developed. All he recalled was that the Doctor had once saved her life.

“She likes the taste of those things. Or at least she did when they were young and tender and made just a couple of mouthfuls. Nothing like a bit of live game, eh old girl? The reward at the end of a hunt. Trouble is that we just don’t know how far they can travel in a day. Trin reckons these two have been dead a few hours – maybe half a day.”

“But when did you get the alarm? Is that not when they got attacked?”

“No, the alarm relay was tampered with last week. Never quite got to the bottom of that. Anyway, the polyps aren’t that stupid. They’re not like your terrestrial ones. According to the articles I’ve just digested they can do an easy half-mile a day. London’s sewers are a warren. They could easily ride the currents in the buried rivers too.”

“Buried rivers?”

“Shame on your lack of local knowledge, lad. Over your way there’s the Effra. The artist John Ruskin said the first painting of any merit was of a bridge over the Effra near Herne Hill. In King Canute’s time you could sail up it to where Brixton stands now.”

“Wow. Unreal.”

“All a sewer now, of course. Covered over as London grew. The river Falcon comes off springs in Streatham Hill, down the sewers and through Balham. If they catch that current they’ll be off down to the Thames and away. Not that I think they’d like the salinity, but it does mean they can travel. If food’s scarce, which it probably is, they’ll go their separate ways. They could be just about anywhere now. We are, quite literally, in a world of shit – if you’ll pardon my expression.”

“Like, I think it’s justified.”

“Luckily, I know a chap who can help. In the meantime, I’ll have to call the Cleaners.”

“The Cleaners?”

“Yes, get these bodies cleaned up.” The Doctor sighed and stroked his chin. “I could do without all this bother. Eaten by your own lunch. What a way to go.” He caught a look from Trinity. “She says that’s the way of the universe – you either make lunch, or you are lunch. Hard to think of anyone making lunch of you, Trin.”

Trinity’s head bobbed in laughter.

The Cleaners had arrived just half an hour after Doctor How had called. Trinity had gone back to his house with When in the Spectrel. Kevin suspected it simplified things somewhat – no explanation of Trinity, or of Walter’s Spectrel, would be required. No rumours would leak into the out-of-town community about How’s Spectrel not being present, so no alarm would be raised. This was the tragic death of a diplomat and her husband, at which the relationship between food and eater had been unfortunately reversed.

Kevin had been surprised at the ordinariness of the Cleaners’ appearance – a couple of thirty-something men in overalls. They shook hands warmly with the Doctor, and then turned to Kevin to do the same. It had felt strange to let them take his right hand in what he knew to be only a facsimile of a human hand. He tried to imagine their handshakes feeling different underneath, but couldn’t detect anything.

They looked him straight in the eye as they performed the very human ritual, and he could see no hint of the alien visage lurking behind. He felt curiously naked and observed; disadvantaged by the fact that he was the one presenting his true face to the world. Strangest of all was that they spoke with what sounded to his ears like Eastern European accents.

“Are you yanking my chain? Are they, like, actually Polish or Hungarian or something?” he whispered when the two had started work in the bathroom.

The Doctor beamed. “Pretty good facsimile, eh? I always try to make my clients’ disguises reflect human trends as closely as possible. I have to say that the opening of your borders to Eastern Europeans has made it considerably easier for all of us. It always is when there are waves of migration. The greater the variety, the easier it is. Just don’t expect these lads to smoke, or to stand around drinking cans of beer on street corners.”

“That is, like, such a racial stereotype!”

“And precisely because you recognise it, that makes it a valid observation. The Eastern Europeans are also a great deal harder-working than native Brits, and set up in jobs that you people are too lazy or fussy to do. Hence the reason these fellows can adopt the personae of cleaners from Eastern Europe so successfully.”

The duo emerged from the bathroom. Each was carrying a sealed transparent bag. One was quite compact and contained Mrs Plensca’s bones. The other was fuller, and held her husband’s more substantial remains.

“All done, boss,” said the one who seemed to be in charge, with a cheeky wink to Kevin. His colleague opened a black rubbish bag and put the smaller body-bag into it. “Done to Rindan standard, with ritual blessings. For you, Doctor, special rate. Is two thousand with receipt, sixteen hundred cash.”

“Well, you know I need the receipt, Grk.”

Grk shrugged. “Is all same for me. VAT cost me four hundred with receipt. Taxman take off honest man, innit?”

“My point is that the Rindan embassy will have to foot the bill and I need to show them a receipt.”

“Is not my problem, boss. I not kill no one. Asides, no one else can do job. Maybe you want boy here do job. Yes? He know Rindan ritual blessings performance for deaths?” He indicated Kevin with a nod.

His colleague was trying to stuff the transparent bag containing the lower half of Mr Plensca into a black garbage bag. He tried bending the legs at the knee, but rigor mortis had set in and he had to give up. He took out a second black plastic bag and covered the out-of-towner’s pale green feet with it. He tied a third bag around the package and seemed satisfied with the resulting package.

“Asides,” said Grk, wiping his nose on the back of his sleeve. “You give me money, end of month you take money from me for rent, get money from Rindan embassy.
Pfft
! Doctor How win every time.”

The Doctor fumbled for his wallet and began counting out notes. “Yes, but I pay taxes in every blasted jurisdiction I do business in, Grk. And I have all the responsibility being a Time Keeper entails. You’re carefree.”

Grk rolled his eyes out of the Doctor’s field of view. “Hey, Kev. Maybe you work for Grk, yes? You not sick when you see this mess. Is good stomach you have for human. You need learn Squill, talk with co-workers other systems out-of-town.” He reached out and squeezed Kevin’s upper arm, then prodded his stomach. “Ah. You not so fit, no? Too much piri-piri or fried chicks, yes? Eat fries food. Not enough exercise. Listen – if things not working out with Doctor laters, you do gym one month and maybe you come work for Grk. Yes? I teach you proper job you can take anywhere in Pleasant universe. Proper work. Man job. Yes?”

“Uh, yes. Sure.”

“Is good.” Grk winked at Kevin.

“He’s not travelled much,” said the Doctor, counting out a wad of twenty-pound notes into Grk’s waiting hand. “To be honest, he’s lost outside South London.”

“That’s not true!” said Kevin hotly.

“He’s been to Brighton a few times,” said the Doctor. “I suppose that counts as pretty far out in some respects.”

Grk pocketed the Doctor’s money, wrote out a receipt on a pad. “Iiiis for yoooouuuu, Doctor,” he said in a smooth voice as he scribbled. He tore away the top copy, handed it to the Doctor and tucked the pad away into his overalls again. The Doctor folded up his receipt and put it in his wallet. “Thank-you-very-muuuuuch,” said Grk. “Always a pleasure for the beezness.” He shook the Doctor’s hand. He shook Kevin’s hand, met his eyes again and gave a conspiratorial wink. “Don’t forget Grk’s offer, yes?”

He picked up the bag of cleaning equipment they’d arrived with, and opened the door for his silent but smiling colleague, who exited with the unearthly remains of the consul and Mr Plensca tucked under his arms. “Ciao laters!” he said over his shoulder as the door closed behind him. Kevin heard their footsteps recede down the hall to the lift; none of the human residents of the building were aware of the events of the morning, or of the grisly deaths of the Plenscas.

“You’ve got a finger in every pie, Doc. Ain’t ya?”

“You’d expect that if I’d set up shop here a couple of thousand years ago.” The Doctor was texting on his phone.

“But it’s like you control the whole out-of-towner economy.”