Doctor Who_ World Game - Doctor Who_ World Game Part 10
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Doctor Who_ World Game Part 10

'Who are these people, Doctor?'

'Well, they're not people for a start, are they? Not human, I mean. Not even mortals though they can die when in human form.'

'What are they then?'

'Some kind of trans-dimensional beings, I think. Trans-dimensional and multi-temporal. Very tricky customers.'

'You think they have time-travel capability?'

'Considering that I first met the Countess in 1915...'

Serena thought for a moment. 'This business of temporal interference...You said Napoleon wasn't supposed to be executed or killed?'

'No indeed. History says he was cleared and released. He goes on to command the Army of Italy and rises to supreme power.'

'Which is precisely what the Countess said will happen.

She wasn't interfering in history at all.'

'She was playing for her side, blocking the opponent's move. Doesn't mean she won't make a few interfering moves of her own.'

'Against whom?'

The Doctor struck his palm with his fist. 'Against the English, of course. She said so!'

'Why must it be the English?'

'They were Napoleon's main enemy. Like Hitler, he conquered most of Europe. And just as with Hitler, the English the British were the ones he could never finally defeat. The ones who brought about his downfall.'

'The Countess said she was going to ensure his victory.'

'By land and sea...'

'No. Doctor, not exactly. She changed it. She said by sea and land.'

'So she did! Land and sea is the usual expression. Why change the order?'

'An order of events, perhaps? Sea first, then land?'

'An order of victories!' said the Doctor. 'English victories that she plans to turn into defeats.'

'How?' asked Serena practically.

'By removing the key pieces in each case the usual technique.'

Serena sighed. 'It's an interesting theory, Doctor. But since we don't know precisely which English victories are concerned...'

The Doctor's face fell. 'That's very true.'

Serena wasn't daunted. 'However, we can speculate. The logical assumption is that she'd choose the most important ones. You're supposed to have studied this period, Doctor.

Which was the most important English victory by sea?'

The Doctor thought for a moment. 'Trafalgar, that's obvious.'

'And by land?'

'The final battle was the one that really counted. Waterloo.'

'And the key pieces?'

'Nelson at Trafalgar, Wellington at Waterloo! That's it! She plans to eliminate Nelson and Wellington. There's no doubt about it, Serena, I really am a genius.' He caught the look in her eye and added hastily, 'Mind you, you were a great help.'

Serena's voice brought him down to earth. 'Don't forget "at a stroke", Doctor.'

'What?'

'That's what she said. "By sea and land at a stroke." Which implies that one single event will bring about the result she wants.'

'Ah, yes. But that's not possible. Trafalgar happened in 1805, Waterloo in 1815. One out at sea, the other far inland.'

'What of it?'

'Don't you see? The two victories are ten years and hundreds of miles apart. How can she hope to destroy two men at a single blow when they're totally separated by both Space and Time?'

Once again Serena's logical mind supplied a possible solution.

'She doesn't have to eliminate these people actually on the field of battle,' she pointed out. 'Some time, any time, earlier would do. They just have to be together.'

'But they never met!' shouted the Doctor. He paused, suddenly thoughtful. 'Or did they? Control room, Serena!' He dashed from the room.

More sedately, Serena followed. She found the Doctor stabbing futilely at the console.

'If you would tell me what you're after, Doctor...'

'Earth history archives, early nineteenth century, of course.

Cross-reference Nelson and Wellington.'

Serena busied herself at the controls and a monitor sprang into life, words and pictures scrolling across the screen. After several tense minutes the screen froze. Serena said, 'One match, Doctor. Just one. They met once, briefly and by chance at the Colonial Office.'

'When?' asked the Doctor eagerly. 'Does it say when?'

'On the 12th of September, 1805.'

'Time?'

'Mid-morning.'

'Aha!'

Serena looked up, hands poised over the controls. 'Well, Doctor?'

The Doctor was pacing up and down the control room, lost in thought. 'Well what?'

'I take it that's our next destination?'

'Yes, yes, of course. Better make it a few hours earlier. We don't want to arrive bang in the middle of it.'

'The middle of what?'

'The assassination, of course...They're going to try and kill Napoleon and Wellington at one and the same time.'

Chapter Ten.

Assassin

The Doctor and Serena were strolling up and down Downing Street, always keeping within sight of the entrance to the Colonial Office. They had been strolling up and down since early that morning, and Serena, for one, had had enough of it. They had tried patrolling separately just to break things up, but that hadn't worked out too well.

On his own, the Doctor, despite his respectable attire and generally inconspicuous appearance, had collected a number of suspicious glances.

Serena on her own had collected glances of quite a different kind. Several prosperous-looking gentlemen, who should surely have been concerned with the affairs of the nation, had shown a desire to stop and make her acquaintance. Many of them had made a wide variety of friendly propositions which Serena who had led, in some ways, a sheltered life had failed, at first, to understand.

When she did understand them she had been outraged and complained vehemently to the Doctor.

'It's disgraceful,' she said. 'They're all respectable-looking middle-aged men as well. You'd think they'd have something better to do with their time.'

'It's a licentious age, I'm afraid, Serena,' said the Doctor.

'What's more, we're close to the centre of Government.'

'What has that got to do with anything?'

'They're probably all politicians,' said the Doctor.

'Politicians don't change much over the ages.'

They had continued their vigil together. Strolling slowly along, arm in arm, they seemed to attract less notice, though Serena still attracted lascivious glances. The Doctor just got envious ones.

Finally their long vigil was rewarded. A carriage drew up and a small one-armed man alighted, assisted by the deferential porter, and entered the Colonial Office.

'There's Lord Nelson,' said the Doctor. 'That's one!'

Shortly afterwards, a second carriage arrived, and a tall, beaky-nosed soldier sprang out and strode briskly inside.

'And there's the Duke,' said the Doctor. 'So far so good!'

'Well, they're both there, Doctor,' said Serena. 'Now what?'

'We wait,' said the Doctor. 'Wait and watch. Now that they've both arrived, the enemy will make his move...'

In a small anteroom in the Colonial Office in Downing Street, two gentlemen were waiting to see Lord Castlereagh, the newly appointed Secretary for War. His lordship had sent an apologetic message he was delayed by urgent affairs of state, and would see each of them as soon as possible.

One of the visitors was a tall, sunburnt man in his mid-thirties. His hair was cropped short, he had a distinctive beak of a nose, and he wore the uniform of a major-general.

The second man, who wore Naval uniform, was about ten years older. Physically, he was far from impressive. Small and thin, he looked frail beside the tall soldier. His right sleeve was pinned back and empty, his right eye glazed and sightless. Yet of the two he was by far the more distinguished.

The soldier was Sir Arthur Wellesley, newly returned from India. An unemployed major-general, he was aware that an Indian reputation, no matter how distinguished, didn't count for much in London. He had come to lobby Castlereagh for a worthwhile command in Europe.

The little sailor was Admiral Lord Nelson. He too had a string of victories behind him. The fighting spirit in that frail and wounded body, and the charm and charisma that the blunt, no-nonsense Wellesley lacked, had made him England's greatest and most loved hero.

The two men could hardly have been more different in temperament. Nelson's warmth, his charm, his instinctive sympathy for the men under his command, had made him the most popular, the most beloved of leaders. He led by consultation and discussion and his captains were 'a band of brothers'.

Wellesley's officers feared him more than they loved him.

He hated any kind of discussion and consultation and believed in one single authority his own. He didn't care if his men loved him or not, as long as they obeyed his orders.

He was often heard to say that most of them were scum, 'enlisted for drink'.