But Will was not to be silenced. ‘This man hasn’t been caught smoking behind the bike sheds, for God’s sake! We still can’t be sure that he hasn’t screwed up the entire project. If we trust him now, we could lose everything. I tell you, he is a bloody traitor!’
Alex could see the sympathy draining out of the other faces. It would do him no good to get angry with this fool.
‘That’s not only untrue, but illogical,’ he said, letting his voice quaver a little. ‘Why should I want to betray what has become the only reason for my existence? Can’t you see that I’m pleading for my very life? If you refuse me, I tell you that I shall end it. There’d be no point in...’
Even as he let his voice trail away as if overcome with emotion, he realised, with a mental spasm that shook his whole body, that he was telling them nothing but the truth. No way could he go on as he was. His only hope must be that they would believe him.
But if Will felt any sympathy for his plight, like the Pharaoh in the Bible he hardened his heart. ‘Right from the beginning, you’ve been sounding off about Mother Hilda’s way of doing things. If we had listened to you...’
Hilda stopped him with a gesture. ‘That is an entirely different matter, Brother Will.’
‘But...’
‘Enough!’
He was about to argue, but then turned away, his face set and grim.
For the first time, the tall black man spoke up. A Masai chief probably, thought Alex. Not one of the West Indians who were swamping the UK, thank the Lord. They were no friends of his.
‘Nevertheless, Mother, the matter should be considered. For some it might speak in his favour.’
‘It will be dealt with later, Brother Azeke. We’ve wasted enough time on what is essentially a trivial matter.’
With an almost regal nod, Azeke accepted the rebuke. But what had he meant exactly? Which side was he on? And what about the red-head? Was that a smile, before she looked away?
‘However, Brother Alex needs to know where he stands...’
Hilda continued.
Brother!
After a glance at the others, Hilda spoke directly to Alex. ‘I can see that we are not likely to reach a consensus tonight.
So, in accordance with our practice, the matter will be decided by a majority vote of a full meeting. Tomorrow morning. It may be that they will be as divided as we are. In which case, it may come to my having to use my casting vote.
It’s only fair to tell you that as I feel at the moment, I consider that you have recognised the culpable nature of your behaviour. If I am not persuaded otherwise tomorrow, I shall make it known that I think you deserve another chance.’
For a moment it looked as if Will Cabot was about to object, and object with some force. Instead, he took a deep breath and pushed his way through the group towards Alex.
Was he going to attack him physically?
But no. He came to a stop less than a yard in front of him, leaned forward, looked him straight in the eye, and spoke quite softly. ‘Over my dead body, mate.’
Alex watched him as he stalked away towards the door in the marble wall that lead to his chamber.
‘Okay,’ he thought. ‘If that’s the way you want to play it.’
It was indeed a difficult night. Sarah thought it best to keep well away from everybody else, in case their artificial bonhomie infected her and she lost her grip on reality along with the rest. But sheer hunger drove her from her cabin, where she’d been keeping her feet precariously on the ground with the help of John Betjeman, her favourite modern poet, doing her best not to listen to the unmistakable sounds of a ship-wide booze-up.
‘Sarah! Where’ve you been? We’ve missed your pretty face.
Where’s the delectable Miss Smith, the world’s been asking.
Come and join the party!’
Unbelievably, it was the Brig uttering these totally un-Briggish words. He was sitting in the wardroom with a half-empty bottle of Scotch at his hand and half shouting over the voice of Fats Waller, at full volume, telling the assembled company what his very good friend the milkman had said to him.
The Brig of all people! She knew he liked a dram or three, but he’d always known when to stop.
Two of the three officers gave her an even bigger welcome, pressing large gins and dry-roasted peanuts on her.
‘Here’s to Sarah, for she’s true blue! She’s a good ‘un through and through...’ sang Bob Simkins off-key, a slight bowdlerisation of the real words (which Sammy had taught her).
Chris, who was sitting on the floor, raised his glass and said vaguely, ‘So drink, chug-a-lug, chug-a-lug...’ and draining his glass he sank onto the carpet, gently snoring.
Pete Andrews lifted his own gin. ‘To Sarah Jane Smith, the one and only,’ he said, solemnly, with all the dignity of his recent elevation, spoilt only by a furriness of the voice to match his beard, and the Chinese coolie hat on his head, which had ‘A Present from Hong Kong’ printed on the side.
For a moment, the flattery of being treated as the only woman in the world nearly pulled her into the stream of inexorable jollity, to be swept away by the current. But then she caught sight of the Doctor, sitting quietly in the corner with an untouched glass of wine on the table in front of him.
He didn’t even have to raise an eyebrow.
Grabbing a handful of Wong Chang’s best eggy sandwiches, she fled, with a quick ‘See you later!’. Cries of protest followed her out onto the deck.
When she went to bed, she found it impossible to sleep.
Although the sounds of the British seaman at play started to die down at about two o’clock, it was 3-25 when she looked at her alarm clock for the umpteenth time. In just over an hour the Doctor expected her to be ready... what was that expression the American astronauts used? Yeah. ‘...bright-eyed and bushy-tailed.’ Huh! He’d be lucky.
Her exhausted brain gave up the struggle and she fell into the depths of sleep.
Brother Alex’s night was no easier than Sarah’s. His excision had not only had the most devastating effect on himself, it had also completely thrown the timetable for his takeover bid. It must succeed either before or soon after the ceremony.
His erstwhile allies would have to be brought on board anew, and then the rest of them; and there would be no chance of that if he hadn’t been re-admitted.
The thought of the bleakness of his future if he was turned away clamped his mind and cramped his guts. Instead of inheriting the lordship of the world, he’d be starving in a gutter.
He had to be sure that he would be accepted; and that meant neutralising Brother Will. But how? Plan after plan came into his mind, and each was discarded. One would take too long; the next was so complex that the slightest hitch could kill it; another meant involving too many people; and so on, and so on.
But by the time the stars were beginning to fade he’d made up his mind how to do it. There was only one snag. He’d have to find someone to help him.
Even with her camera case slung over her shoulder, it was very tricky getting down the rope ladder into the smaller of the two boats, especially as the Doctor had said they mustn’t attract any attention.
Luckily, the sun wasn’t up yet and there didn’t seem to be anybody on watch. In fact, Sarah felt that if she really listened hard she might be able to hear the ship herself snoring. After last night, there was going to be one helluva hangover.
Once he’d got the boat far enough out not to be heard, the Doctor put away the paddle, started the engine and brought the bow round on a course for the island, though he didn’t seem to be making for the beach.
‘I’m beginning to get a pretty good idea of what’s going on,’
he said. ‘You were quite right in guessing that there are many more than one of the aliens. I’ve thought for some time that the leaders of the Skang cult have been inveigled in some way into acting as herdsmen for them.’
‘And Jeremy and all the others are their cattle?’ She’d been struggling not to have that very thought.
‘Exactly. I’m pretty certain that the Skang themselves aren’t on the island. If they were, we would never have been given carte blanche to wander wherever we wanted.’
‘So... where are they?’
‘That’s what we’ve got to find out. Maybe the ship wasn’t sunk after all. But the first thing we have to do is stop the
Hallaton
from sailing on the tide.’
Good luck, mate!
He caught her doubtful expression. ‘Exactly,’ he said. ‘I wouldn’t have a hope of persuading Lethbridge-Stewart and the others not to leave. Even though the mist has nearly cleared, the effects of the juice are bound to last for quite a while. So it’s up to you and me to get the evidence to convince them that it’s not all hunky-dory on the island.’
Hunky-dory! The Doctor was even more out of date than Jeremy. But then, if anyone was, he was entitled to be.
‘How are you feeling now?’
‘Well, I could do with a cup of coffee,’ said Sarah. ‘I’ve only had a couple of hours’ sleep. But I must admit, I feel a lot better than I thought I would.’
‘Me too. We’re still being affected by the mist.’ He was steering towards the rocks south of the landing place. ‘We must keep our voices down,’ he said. ‘I’m pretty sure they’ll have some of those guard fellows keeping an eye open.’
He found a place where they could get ashore, a tiny inlet through the rocks with a few yards of sand and a convenient shrub to tie the painter to.
‘What are we looking for?’ said Sarah, in an undertone.
He put a finger to his lips. ‘Ssh!’ he said; and, with a last look round, he crouched down low and disappeared, snake-fashion, into the undergrowth.
Hitching the strap round her so that the camera case lay on her back, Sarah followed as best she could.
Aggravating man. Why couldn’t he tell her what he was hoping to find out?
Alex took a deep breath. At all costs, he must hang onto the appearance of normality. This fool was proving more difficult to persuade than he’d expected. He would need all his old skills to do it.
‘Once I am reinstated, the way forward will be clear,’ he said. ‘But Hilda’s foolish habit of seeing both sides to every question means that she always listens to her precious Will.’
‘But she said...’
‘She goes the way the wind blows. Once he get to work on her...’
Dafydd was still frowning.
Alex had brought him here, outside the temple wall, ostensibly so that there could be no chance of their being overheard; but more to the point, the rim of the crater, on the side where the rock had fallen away, was the place to which he needed Dafydd to lure his victim.
‘Dafydd, my old friend...’ Just a light touch on the arm...
mustn’t frighten him off. ‘I knew from that first meeting in Rome that you were the one. The incisive mind, the indomitable will...’ - the susceptibility to flattery - ‘Ultimately, to achieve the purpose of the Skang, this planet must be held in a grip of iron. I recognised at once that you are the one I need. You are the one who has the strength to make it happen. Would you let the mouse go free after it had eaten the cheese, and hope that you’d manage to catch it again?
Mother Hilda’s way is not only weak, it’s inefficient. Don’t you agree?’
‘You know I do. But... but murder...’
Alex held up his hands in mock surrender. ‘Okay, okay!
You win! My dear Dafydd, believe me when I tell you that I’m full of admiration for the integrity of your morals. I promise you, you won’t be involved. Just bring him here. Bring him here - and then go and have your breakfast. That’s all I’m asking of you!’
Dafydd opened his mouth to speak; and closed it again.
Got him! ‘Good man! I knew I could count on you!’
Dafydd shook his head, still worried. ‘What do you want me to tell him?’ he said.
After he’d left, Alex found a good place to hide, and settled down to wait. He was back on course. Though he’d have to watch Dafydd afterwards. It might be a good idea to get rid of him too, before his squeamishness really screwed things up.
The journey through the jungle seemed interminable. Every few feet the Doctor would stop. For a moment or two he would be as still as if he were made of stone, listening.
Nodding to Sarah, he’d set off again, with only a soft rustle, which merged into the background noise of the birds and the squeaks and grunts of unidentifiable animals.
Sarah found it difficult not to add a few squeaks of her own. Something very odd was going on. Although they were crawling over a soft carpet of leaves and powdery sand, her bare legs and arms were objecting strongly, as if they were being scratched. When she had an opportunity to take a quick look, she saw that her limbs were covered in a network of marks, and some of them were oozing blood. Yet, when they stopped again, and she snatched another glimpse, her skin was as clear as it ever was.
She tried to catch the Doctor’s attention, but he didn’t even notice.
At last, they arrived at the edge of the greenery, just beyond the tables with the remains of yesterday’s feast, where the golden sand led up to the beginning of the two rows of little white villas each side of their shady avenue of flowers and palms. By now the sun had risen, and the red-gold light and the low defining shadows gave the scene before them a dimension of fairy-tale charm, and yet it was too aesthetically satisfying to be chocolate-box sentimental.