At Benton's Hotel
Prologue
THE GREATEST STAY IN THE GALAXY
Whoever would have dreamt that
dear old Sergeant Benton of UNIT would end up running the best hotel in the
universe! Located in the vast space
station the Wheel in Space in the Nova constellation, Benton ’s Hotel was very expensive, but that
was not really the point. You paid
through the nose, but you got what you paid for. Once you reserved your room at Benton ’s, all worry,
anxiety and discomfort melted away! It
was quite customary for husbands to say joyfully to their wives, “It will be
all right, darling, I can come with
you to Alpha Centaurii: I’ve booked the kids and nannybot into Benton Benton
Dear old Benton ’s!
All the upper echelons of galaxy society would vie to stay there – gossipy old Daleks, retired Keepers of the
Shadow Proclamation, elderly distinguished military Ice Warriors. How they’d congregate for the worlds-famous
afternoon tea. Dignified, unostentatious
and quietly expensive, with its much-loved, down-to-earth owner, Benton ’s represented
solidity, stability, reassurance, tradition!
That said, it all got a bit
trickier after the murder happened…
Chapter 1
A HOLIDAY FOR ROMANA
“Auntie Romana deserves a break,”
announced Raeminvest over breakfast one morning to his boyfriend Vishig, “and I
intend to fork out for it.”
“I say, steady on, old chap,”
warned Vishig, “Won’t that cost us a pretty penny?”
“Yes it will; but you know how hopeless these Time Lords are with money. First thing they say is: ‘Money? No use for the stuff, old boy!’ Totally impractical! Result: most part, they don’t have a
bean. Insist on rescuing some planet in
peril or some such tomfoolery completely gratis.”
“All the same, I would not empty
our coffers too widely,” cautioned Vishig.
“Look - she’s done a tremendous
lot for us Tharils, a real heroine,” countered Raeminvest, “she deserves to be the beneficiary of some
Tharil generosity.”
Romana was not really Raeminvest’s
aunt, but had somehow acquired the title on merit - for having saved his
species. Raeminvest was one of the
Tharils – half-lion, half-humanoid - whom Romana had rescued from slavery. His father was Biroc, leader of the Tharils,
with whom Romana worked closely.
Raeminvest was very different from his father, not only as regards sexual
orientation. More importantly, he wrote
novels.
“Of course Raeminvest is awfully
clever,” Romana would say to almost everyone except Raeminvest, “but I can’t
say I care for his novels. They’re very modern, of course: lots of nasty
creatures and robots doing unpleasant things to each other. Almost
as bad as the real universe.”
But gift horses are not to be
looked in the mouth. Fond of her nephew
and his boyfriend, and jaded and wan at endlessly helping to rescue enslaved
Tharils, Romana readily accepted his offer of a break. She told Raeminvest that she had long wanted
to visit the Wheel in Space. After all,
it had become the number one place for shopping in the cosmos, the epitome of sartorial
elegance and effortless chic. And Romana
needed to shop! Her sudden departure
from the Doctor’s TARDIS had been a major wardrobe setback for which she had
yet to atone. The Wheel was also a
celebrated cultural venue and for good measure she could dip into its famous
parapsychology library. Everyone who was anyone chose to stay at Benton ’s
if they were visiting the Wheel. Raeminvest
promptly booked her the Rassilon Suite at fabulous expense, giving Vishig forty
fits. And so it came to pass that Romana
duly made her way by TARDIS to Benton ’s
Hotel.
Vwoorp! Vwoooorp!
The TARDIS materialised within
the space station, in a gigantic hall with metallic walls and ceiling. Enormous windows looked out into the vastness
of deep space. At the end of the hall
was the huge hotel frontage, to all intents and purposes an imposing redbrick
Edwardian edifice, with steps leading up to grand swing doors. The TARDIS instantly assumed the form of a
statue of a military personage unknown to Romana. A door slid open at the statue’s base and
Romana came out. She looked up and frowned
quizzically at the towering moustachioed figure and started to read the
inscription.
“Brigadier Alastair Gordon…”
“Ahem!”
She spun round.
“Good evening, madam,”
interrupted an almost-handsome man in a smart doorman’s uniform. “Welcome to Benton ’s!” he smiled broadly, taking her
suitcase. “You’re just in time for
dinner.” This Commissionaire looked no
less than a Field Marshall adorned with gold braid and metal ribbons. With his genial, boyish smile he would
receive most of Benton ’s
guests with tender concern as they emerged with rheumatic difficulty from their
space shuttles – though not of course in the case of Romana. And, though Romana was not to know, the
medals were perfectly genuine: one was for bravery in the affair of the Daleks
and the Ogrons, another for courage in the face of the Master, and so on.
At that moment a burly, suited
figure with a pleasant face descended the steps.
“Ah, Mr Yates, this must be Miss
Romanadvoratrelundar, a very special guest.
A friend of the Doctor. Welcome
to Benton’s, madam!” said Sergeant Benton.
He introduced himself and Mike Yates.
“Please, call me Romana,” smiled
the Time Lady as she shook hands warmly with the good Sergeant.
Chapter 2
DINNER OF DOOM
“Don’t tell me that’s
Romanadvoratrelundar!” exclaimed Zanderetta to herself as Romana, dressed in a
white gown, entered the splendid dining room, “My God, I thought she was dead centuries ago: she looks a thousand! Yoo-hoo,
Romana!” Zanderetta, eager for a
dining companion, waved enthusiastically.
Time Lords in glass houses
shouldn’t throw stones. Zanderetta herself
was no spring chicken. In fact, she had
been knocking around for 658 years.
Regeneration, however, hides much wear and tear. Zanderetta in her present manifestation was a
voluptuous blonde fond of tousling her long hair in luscious fashion.
Mwah! Mwah! The Time Ladies greeted each other
affectionately before sitting down to eat.
Then, as they worked their way through the various fine courses, Zanderetta
and Romana enjoyed the most animated conversation about their home planet. Nothing beats a good goss about Gallifrey.
Crooked Castellans, wayward Chancellors, pompous Lord Presidents – all
received a severe lashing from Zanderetta’s and Romana’s critical tongues.
“Might we tempt you to some
dessert, ladies? The cook has just baked
an excellent seed cake.”
“Oh seed cake, I haven’t had that
in centuries,” gushed Zanderetta, “Is
it real seed cake?”
“Oh yes madam. Our cook has had the receipt for over two
hundred years. It’s got ground Krynoid
seed in it. When not invading other
people’s planets they make a delicious ingredient.”
“I’ll have some,” commanded Zanderetta,
“with lashings of cream!”
Engrossed by the intrigues from
her home planet, Romana had scant time to scrutinise the crowded dining
room. It was all becoming a bit of a
blur… Silver people, blue people, tin
people, people with wings, people who had to be accommodated in mobile tanks of
liquid helium…. And the cacophony of
talking! Yap, yap, yap! - yakitty yakitty yak! - meep, meep meep! – exfoliate!
exfoliate! – gro-ko-lo-moe-roe-gro-kroe!
Mesmerised by the wine, conversation and people, Romana struggled to
focus on the guests and waiters swirling around her and ceased to think…
But for her mental absence, Romana
would have noticed that some way off, there was one table which stood out, one
table which demanded attention. People
were buzzing around it like bees around a hive, and at the centre was a Queen
Bee herself – a magnetic personage - radiating personality, energy, authority!
“That’s Dame Regina Styles,
Guardian of the Solar System,” whispered Zanderetta. Romana promptly snapped out of her blank
state.
Dame Regina, tall and slim, had a
wealth of silver hair piled atop her head in a magisterial bun. She wore a white tunic emblazoned with a
design of two vertical lines of cubes. She was holding court, flanked by a
youngish man and another lady. Champagne
flutes had already been set out on the table.
She snapped her fingers and commanded that the Venusian champagne be
served.
“That’s Mavic Chen, Deputy
Guardian. Young man in a hurry. Has a high opinion of himself, possibly
justified. And that’s Dolly Gorringe,
Head of the Solar System Civil Service.”
The youthful Mavic Chen, clean-shaven
with his white hair and oriental appearance, was an imposing figure in a tunic similar
to Dame Regina’s but adorned with a single cube. Miss Gorringe was a south Asian, spry, crisp
and efficient, whose hair jutted out in disciplined spikes in every direction. The pair were having an argument.
“Will the Civil Service never
learn the infinite superiority of guile and cunning?” proclaimed Mavic Chen.
“Part of our job is to help stop
politicians dropping clangers. Whether
you choose to take our advice is entirely up to you,” replied Dolly.
“In that case, Dolly, I will
waste no more of your – (he paused sarcastically, barely stifling a smile) –
valuable time.”
Mike Yates – who seemed to be
multi-tasking as waiter on top of being Commissionaire – began pouring the
champagne with aplomb.
A creature called Num came up to
the table. Num was grotesque in a
spectacular fashion. He was all flab,
antennae and pustules with slime which oozed out only to get sucked back
in. Back on his home planet he had been
General Secretary of the National Union of Monsters. He had acquired a nickname from the union’s
initials and the name had stuck.
“This agreement,” he hissed to
Dame Regina, “will mean a bonfire of monsters’ rights!”
“Oh come now, what an exaggeration,”
soothed Dame Regina ,
“Not a bonfire, hardly even a small barbecue.”
“We monsters can expect little
from the Styles dynasty!” he rasped.
“That’s unfair,” protested Dame
Regina with a smile, “Throughout history my forebears have been constantly
misrepresented. Since time immemorial the
Styles have only ever sought to foster peace.”
To the surprise of her colleagues
Dame Regina stretched across the table and gave Num a hug.
“Come join our toast, Num!” she
smiled, “To the Non-Aggression Pact of 3975!”
The attentive Yates produced and
poured an extra glass for Num; all four stood and raised their glasses.
“To the Pact!” declared Dame
Regina.
“To the Pact!” said the rest in
unison and they all imbibed the champagne.
There was a pause – then Dame
Regina swayed forward, and slumped down in her chair, her hands rising
frenziedly to her neck as she fought for breath… It was too painful! Too horrible! The blue cyanosed face, the convulsed,
clutching fingers…
Dame Regina…collapsing…sprawled
over the table…dead.
Chapter 3
THE MYSTERIOUS AFFAIR OF STYLES
“Nobody notices a waiter.” said
Inspector Lax with authority. “Well
known fact. Same with air stewards. Easy for
them to poison anyone.”
The dining room was now deserted
except for Lax, Mike Yates, Mavic Chen, Miss Gorringe, Num, Sergeant Benton,
Romana and Zanderetta. Dame Regina’s
body had been removed.
“Nobody notices a waiter?”
queried Mike Yates, affecting hurt. “Not
even me?” and he winked mischievously. In fact Mike was miffed: he did not at all like the idea of being
invisible. He saw himself as an asset to
Benton ’s, and
liked to think that he was regarded by the guests as a bit of a wag.
But Inspector Lax – a little man
with a sharp, foxy face – thought that he had already solved the case.
“Mike Yates, I am arresting you
for the murder of Dame Regina Styles.
You do not have to say anything…”
The Inspector slipped on the handcuffs as he continued the familiar
litany. Sergeant Benton looked on, appalled.
“You’d have thought he’d have made
more effort to run away,” said Miss Gorringe languidly.
“On Regina ’s watch, even the terrorists grew
sloppy,” replied Mavic Chen, “Things can only get better.”
“He’s mean-looking, eyes too
close together, obviously the murderer,” chipped in Num.
Romana thought: This doesn’t stack up. Mike Yates might just about be the murderer,
but where’s the evidence? What’s the
motive? There seem likelier suspects, so
why him? As for Sergeant Benton, he’s
clearly aghast at suspicion attaching to his friend and comrade…
“Officer, you’ve arrested the
wrong person!” blurted out Romana.
“Hey lady, quit meddling and leave
this investigation to the professionals!” snapped Inspector Lax.
The Inspector thought: This ritzy Romana dame is gonna cause me a
whole bellyload of trouble.
“Quit meddling? I’ll have you know we have every right to meddle,” declared
Zanderetta haughtily. She took an ID
card out of her handbag. “I’m with the
Celestial Intervention Agency of the Time Lords. The CIA hereby claims joint jurisdiction with
the Wheel Police.”
“Are you having a laugh?” said Inspector
Lax.
“By no means,” retorted
Zanderetta. “Of course for the most part we Time Lords never dream of
interfering in anything. We just observe
the rest of the universe. Perhaps we might offer some choice morsels of
advice from time to time, but that’s all.
But the Wheel in Space is a constitutional anomaly. It’s an old Time Lord protectorate, and under
the terms of the Withdrawal Agreement we retain police powers in emergencies for
the first five hundred years of independence as part of the backstop.”
“Blimey!” said Inspector Lax.
* * * * *
Much to Inspector Lax’s chagrin,
his superiors confirmed Zanderetta’s version of the constitutional position.
“We need to tread carefully,
though,” whispered Zanderetta to Romana.
“Lax has already arrested Yates.
He’ll need to save face. We
shouldn’t demand Yates’ release until we’ve found the real murderer.”
“Very well,” said Romana, “but
I’d like to bring Susan Foreman into the investigation. She’s a Time Lady on Earth with great powers
of deduction and telepathy.”
Zanderetta readily assented.
* * * * *
There was one thing that Romana
had to do before enlisting Susan. Back
in the dining room Sergeant Benton had whispered to Romana that she should join
him in the hotel’s Prefigurative Strolling Experience room. Romana, having changed into her scarlet
hunting jacket, white jodphurs and boots, made her way to the PSE room, and on
opening the door was astonished to see that she was, to all intents and
purposes, in the English Lake District.
The Sergeant was there too, in full hiking gear.
“This contraption really is
remarkable!” smiled Sergeant Benton. “It
even smells like the Lakes! Shall we
stroll?” Together they yomped up a
slope.
“I used to be in this army thing,
UNIT, on Earth, repelling alien invasions and the like,” explained the
Sergeant, “which is where I met Mike Yates.
After UNIT, Grasmere was an option. Nice little pub. Well, it was either that or selling used cars. But the Doctor showed me a better way of
living my life.”
“He tends to do that,” said Romana.
“Told me that what I needed was a
wily careers adviser, namely himself. He
counselled me to try my luck in outer space.
Transported me to when they were refitting the Wheel as a tourist
attraction. Haggled for the site for me,
cashing in on some good turn or other that he’d done them in the dim and
distant. I thought my best days were
behind me after UNIT, but this hotel has given me a new lease of life. And working with Mike Yates has been a treat
again, plus I’ve even roped in my kid sister to do the business side. I’ve never looked back.”
“Not just a pretty scarf,” said
Romana.
“I’d have given my life for the
Doctor when I was in UNIT”, said the Sergeant, “After all, I was expendable; he
wasn’t.”
“Expendable!” exclaimed Romana, who
was tiring of the hero-worship, “No-one
is expendable, and certainly not you, my dear Sergeant Benton! Of course, a lot of people end up expendable
when the Doctor’s on his exploits. We’ve
tried to cut down on that, Susan and I.”
“Susan?”
“Yes, friend of mine. Helps solve murders. I’m about to go and collect her. Her grandfather’s the Doctor.”
“I didn’t know the Doctor was a
grandfather,” said Benton ,
“though nothing about him would surprise me.”
“What can you tell me of Mike
Yates?”
“He was a good colleague. Then he got involved in some dodgy Green outfit:
people who were trying to bring back the dinosaurs. Disgraced himself. Had to go on extended sick leave, quiet resignation. But he’s a good man. And I believe in second chances, don’t you?”
“Within reason.”
It was beginning to rain.
“Typical!” said Benton , “Now where’s that door?”
Chapter 4
DO NOT ASK FOR CREDIT AS DEFUSAL OFTEN OFFENDS
On Earth many centuries earlier a
young couple were alone in the middle of a deserted Sauchiehall Street , one of the principal shopping
streets of the city of Glasgow . They
were leaning intently over a large oblong metallic box. The man was busy trying to disassemble it with
a screwdriver.
“Och, you cannae hurry a master
craftsman,” pronounced David Campbell breezily to Susan Foreman, “Less force,
more finesse”.
“Oh David, it’s not that I
haven’t got confidence in your skills, it’s not that at all. It’s simply that on Gallifrey we had to do
compulsory intergalactic electronics and we were taught how to speed things
up…”
“Aye, you may have done a few
classes on some other planet centuries ago, but I’ll have you know I’m fully
qualified with an honours degree in electrics from the University of the
Highlands and Islands . Three years of grind! Anyway, it may have escaped your memory but I’ve
already defused a Dalek bomb: saved London ,
when your grandfather was here.”
“Oh of course I haven’t forgotten
that at all, David: how could I? I was
immensely proud of you. It’s just that, well,
I don’t want to be rude or anything, but perhaps if you were to reverse the
polarity of the Dalek neutron flow, maybe you could cut out the effect of Earth’s
magnetic poles, disabling the warp-shunt terminals and thereby disarming the
multidimensional electro-atomic defibrillator…
Well, it’s just an idea.”
She shrugged. Her husband paused for a moment.
“Aye, it’s a good idea!”
He set back to work with his screwdriver, following Susan’s
advice with renewed vim.
The reason that Susan and David
were in Glasgow
in the first place was that, as British government ministers, they were there
to open a new publicly-owned café. Sauchiehall
Street was to boast Britain ’s first insect and seaweed
eatery!
Don’t knock this idea, Reader:
after all, Great Britain
is a tiny, damp little island buzzing with insects and surrounded by seaweed. What better nourishment for the British people
after the ravages of the Dalek occupation of Earth! Full of goodness, and makes a change from
granola and kale falafel! Under Susan’s
auspices the British government had established the Swansea Fried Beetle Works,
the Carlisle Cockroach Hub and the National Grasshopper Emporium in Hull . Seaweed cultivation was a more artisan
affair, and Susan had masterminded the setting-up of many small plants for
processing seaweed from Bangor
to Bognor Regis.
David had been looking forward to
opening the café, and had been hankering after a lunch of parasitic wasp pesto
on a bed of organic seaweed tagliatelli.
For her part Susan had a yen to sample the locally-sourced greenfly
guacamole, lovingly served on sourdough and seaweed toast. Alas, these dreams of fine dining had been altogether
dashed. As the builders were completing
the café renovations they discovered a Dalek bomb! The Daleks had squirreled away this bomb in
the basement, intending to use it to destroy southern Scotland once
they had enslaved its people and plundered its minerals. Thankfully the end of Dalek rule meant that the
bomb was never detonated.
Of course in our own era it might
seem rather infra dig for Cabinet ministers to have a go at defusing a
thermonuclear device, but in depopulated post-Dalek Britain it was all hands to the
wheel. Everybody mucked in. Susan and David were not going to quail at a
request for help.
“There we are, nicely defused!” said David. Susan smiled.
“Well done David,” she said.
“Och, I cannae take the credit, it would’ve taken a whole
lot longer without your brainwave!”
Just then a familiar wheezing noise became apparent.
Vwoorp! Vwoooorp!
Romana’s TARDIS materialised
between them and a boarded-up comic shop which had somehow evaded Dalek
destruction. Curiously the TARDIS assumed
the form of a blue 1960s police box.
Almost before Susan could leap to
the wrong conclusion Romana stuck her head out.
“That’s odd,” she said looking up
at the blue box before smiling, “I hope my TARDIS doesn’t think I’m becoming him!
“Romana!” cried Susan with delight, “Has there been another
murder?”
“Of course; and I need you to help me solve it.”
“Where this time?
“The Wheel in Space, Nova
consternation, in the year 3975. At Benton ’s Hotel. Far away.
I hope you’ve got some wanderlust.”
Wanderlust! thought Susan. That was what the Sensorite leader said I
had. And it’s true. He detected that I had wanderlust, as well as
that I craved to belong somewhere… I
love David, and I love our life in Britain
But Susan also knew to avoid a
too-obvious display of enthusiasm. David
would not take kindly to her swanning off without him.
“Well, I suppose I had better
come with you,” responded Susan guardedly, glancing nervously at her spouse.
“The tribulations of a
mixed-species marriage!” piped up David, “You
go gadding off to distant climes solving murders, I’m left here to soldier on, single handed.”
“Oh, David!” Susan was
unaccustomed to her husband having a strop.
“Sorry to snap,” said David, “I
guess I’m just a wee bit knackered.”
Romana scrutinised the wiry Scotsman. He looked peaky. She recognised a fellow sufferer. Like her, David was clearly burning the
candle at both ends. He had toiled
stupendously for the country and his efforts were beginning to exact their
toll.
“What David needs is a rest-cure,” pontificated Romana, “And
what better place to have it than at Benton ’s
Hotel! They’ve got luxury spa, sauna,
massage… You can relax, David, while we sleuth.”
Music to David’s ears! Horror to Susan’s! She was filled with foreboding: bad enough
that her husband faced the hazards of post-Dalek Britain without the dangers of a
far-off space station mired in homicide.
“Aye, that sounds much better!”
he agreed.
Romana proudly beckoned them into
the TARDIS. Inside, the console room was
enormous. As they entered she walked up to the console and swirled elegantly
around it in her hunting scarlet. She
pressed buttons and prodded levers to set the co-ordinates.
“Anything you’d like to say?” she
quipped smilingly to David, “Any passing remarks? I’ve heard them all.”
To Romana’s consternation and
still bearing his screwdriver David dived under the console.
“Och, you’ve had some cowboys in
here! I could easily improve on this!”
“Well, that’s a new one!”
exclaimed Romana, crouching to join him and whipping the screwdriver out of his
hand. Susan laughed.
Vwoorp! Vwooooorp!
The TARDIS materialised as a
Victorian bathing wagon by the side of the hotel’s swimming pool, much to the
consternation of Zanderetta who was doing lengths. Climbing out, she greeted Romana, Susan and
David, lavishing particular attention on Susan’s handsome Scot. She was determined to convince him that he
had come to the right place.
“The physio at this hotel is out of this world,” she gushed, “No,
literally: he’s never lived on a planet.
Extraordinary fellow. Took me by
the neck when I was unawares and wrung it like a chicken. Now I can lower my head between my hearts
whilst squatting for the first time in centuries!” She stooped and afforded a demonstration.
Chapter 5
THE SUSPECTS TALK
“No! I said a full emm of terranium: I’ll not be
fobbed off.” The new Guardian of the
Solar System was on the phone to one of the system’s outer planets. “It will take how many years?” he raged, “Well, get a move on!” He slammed down the receiver.
“You just can’t get the staff
these days,” drawled Mavic Chen to Romana, “Now, how may I be of help?”
The questioning of the suspects
had begun! The three Time Ladies had
agreed for speed’s sake that each of them would conduct a single interview,
after which they would confer. It had
fallen to Romana to interview Mavic Chen.
“I understand the Deputy Guardian
of the Solar System automatically becomes Guardian when the old one dies,” said
Romana.
“Old one? Dame Regina may have been a little long in
the tooth but I hope you are not suggesting that I would”, he paused, “help
nature take its course?”
“It wouldn’t be the first time
that a second-in-command has given the Grim Reaper a helping hand,” said
Romana.
“Dame Regina was a colossus
bestriding the galactic stage,” eulogised Mavic, lifting his eyes heavenwards. “Why in Saturn’s name would I choose to
rudely curtail my apprenticeship?”
Romana looked unconvinced.
“And besides,” continued Mavic
grandly, “Far from being the murderer I, Mavic Chen, am far more likely to be
the next victim. Why should the
terrorists settle for the scalp of one Guardian when they can so easily collect
a second? I must have extra security
from the Wheel authorities! No-one could
accuse them of having a too-efficient
security system.”
“What makes you suspect
terrorists?” quizzed Romana.
“Is it not rather obvious? Who else but terrorists would try to scupper
the Solar System’s prospects on the very eve of signing the Pact? Who else but they would favour the grand
spectacle of slaughter in a crowded dining room? And who but this man Yates – a man with a
history of terrorist activity, mark you – would be hand-picked to perpetrate
this outrage? How fortunate that the
Wheel in Space retains the death penalty: it can grant him the punishment he so
richly deserves!”
“But what makes you so sure? There must be plenty among the political
elite in the Solar System who wanted shot of Dame Regina?”
“Do not the Time Lords teach
their detectives anything these days?” rebuked Mavic, “If they cut back on your
education that was a most regrettable economy.
You should know that the Solar System has the most united, cohesive politics
in the galaxy. The entire political
community stood four-square behind Dame Regina.
That is what made the assassination such a” – he paused archly – “heavy
blow.”
“And you had no inkling that the
assassination was in the offing?”
“How could that possibly be
so? We were far too busy negotiating the
Non-Aggression Pact to notice ‘inklings’.
On behalf of the peoples of the galaxy our efforts were frenetic. Why else do you suppose that this heinous
crime took us by such complete surprise?”
“And the evening of the murder?”
“That was intended as a celebration,” pronounced Mavic, “The Pact
had been agreed: the quills were being sharpened for the signing ceremony. Sadly, of course, it will be I, Mavic Chen,
who will now have to sign on behalf on the Solar System.” He dabbed his eyes with a handkerchief.
“And what can you recall of the
course of events?”
“Naturally in the wake of our
success a whole array of beings were at pains to congratulate Dame Regina and
myself,” said Mavic, “Then the man Yates brought the glasses. He poured the wine as a final creature came to
pay homage, the monster Num. No doubt that distraction provided him with the
golden opportunity to place the poison in Dame Regina’s glass.”
Suddenly Dolly Gorringe burst into the room.
“Guardian, I must talk with you,”
said Miss Gorringe, affecting civil service calm.
“Well,” said Romana, “I think
we’re done. Thank you, Guardian,” and
she withdrew.
No sooner had she closed the door
than the room rang with fierce invective and scornful laughter.
* *
* * *
Some time later a flustered Miss
Gorringe was arranging herself primly as Susan Foreman smiled and opened her
notebook.
“I’ve just been given the sack!”
howled Miss Gorringe, her face flushing.
“Oh, I’m sorry to hear that!”
said Susan.
“The Guardian is displeased with
me, so I’m to be replaced by some creature of his, some creepy bald sidekick.”
“Oh!”
“I trust that this dispenses with
any notion that I could possibly be the murderer. What conceivable motive would I have for
doing away with Dame Regina when Mr Chen and I have been at loggerheads for
years?”
“What can you recall about the
evening of the murder?” asked Susan.
“Well, various people came to our
table to offer their congratulations, but that was before the glasses had been
set out and the champagne poured. Then
that fellow Num put in an appearance. I
know one shouldn’t be physical appearancist but he’s not exactly easy on the
eye. He had a bit of an argument with
Dame Regina. She mollified him; she was
clever that way. Then we had the toast –
and that was all too terrible!”
“And you saw nothing else,
nothing that might possibly have a bearing?”
“That’s just it,” said Miss
Gorringe in puzzlement. “I can’t help thinking I saw something: I just can’t put my finger on what on Earth it was”.
*
* * * *
Despite Num’s lack of
conventional good looks, Zanderetta’s interview with him was something in the
nature of a light flirtation.
“It’s a pleasure to interrogate a
man of your attractions,” charmed Zanderetta.
“Oh you flatter me!” replied Num,
going puce, “Many people do not find monsters comely.”
“Pah! That only shows they’re not discerning. After all, what is the idea of the monstrous
but some silly morality tale we tell ourselves?” she philosophised dreamily.
“I agree. Often it’s the humans who encounter us who
become monstrous. It’s not as if the
creatures of my planet are warlike or predatory: we only look monstrous – to others! That was why it was pleasant to be hugged by
Dame Regina when I came to the table to complain about the Pact.”
“She had taste,” suggested
Zanderetta
“She had political acumen,”
countered Num.
“And what of the others? Did Mavic Chen or Miss Gorringe do anything
notable before or during the toast?”
“Miss Gorringe, no. Mavic Chen?
He had a most curious means of greeting me. He stooped forward, held the palms of his
hands together, then, keeping them together, moved them from right to
left. It was like he was crumbling some
ingredient. Perhaps it is the custom of
the Solar System, but I found it …singular.”
* * * * *
Telepathy saves bother!
“Contact,” said Romana closing
her eyes.
“Contact,” said Susan closing her
eyes.
“Contact,” said Zanderetta
closing her eyes.
Each saw the three faces –
Romana’s, Susan’s, Zanderetta’s – flashing into her consciousness in fast
succession. Within seconds each was up
to speed with what the others had gleaned in the interviews. Now it was time for them to interview Mike
Yates.
* * * * *
Mike Yates was a broken man.
Romana, Susan and Zanderetta sat
at the other side of the table in the dark cell.
He appealed desperately from face
to face.
“I didn’t do it! I tell you, I’m innocent! The business with the dinosaur invasion was
just a one-off, I learnt my lesson, I’m no terrorist. Save me, please
save me!”
Chapter 6
SPA OF PERIL
David Campbell lounged by the vast
pool sporting the customary white-towelling dressing gown. A handsome attendant approached bearing a
telephone on a silver platter. It was
Susan on the phone.
“You’re welcome to come to our
brainstorming session,” she said.
“I bet you say that to all the
boys. Unfortunately I’ve got a
longstanding subsequent engagement with my sauna,” quipped her husband, “But
I’ll see you for dinner. Aye, that’s a
date”.
David’s stay at Benton ’s had indeed been most relaxing. How he’d been pampered! How he’d revelled in the six-star luxury! He was almost ready to return to Britain ,
batteries recharged.
He made his way to the
sauna. It was filled with rows of Sontaran
Bath Units, iron tanks which worked like Turkish baths only more extreme.
The sauna room was empty of
people apart from one lady. Her neck
and head stuck out of the top of the Unit.
She was an Asian lady with spikes of hair jutting out neatly.
After saying hello to each other
and introducing themselves, Miss Gorringe could not contain a low wail.
“Is anything the matter?” asked
David.
“My career rather came to an end
today,” she explained, “It’s not usual for a top civil servant to have tattered
nerves, but I have to say, mine are frayed after that encounter with the
Guardian. Oh well, I can spend more time
in spas now and take better care of myself: I’ve got more time on my hands,”
she said uncertainly.
“No joke, getting sacked,” agreed
David sympathetically.
With Dolly emitting the
occasional sob, David talked merry twaddle in a well-meant effort to cheer her,
as he secured himself into his Bath Unit.
Shortly afterwards, behind Dolly and David, a person with black-gloved
hands stole noiselessly towards Dolly’s Bath
“Ah, so you’ve met my wife?” yapped
David.
“Yes,” said Dolly, feeling the
rising temperature most uncomfortably, “a most pleasant lady…”
Finally the heat was too much for
Dolly as her Bath Unit started to fill with boiling steam. She screamed, screamed, screamed…
Quick as a flash David jumped out
of his Bath Unit and rushed to take Dolly out of hers. She was delirious with pain.
“Dolly, stay with me! Stay with me!”
* * * * *
Susan and Romana had not yet
heard of the attack on Miss Gorringe.
“We’re no further forward,” sighed
Susan, “Everyone was there but no-one noticed anything.”
“But…well…isn’t that suggestive?”
said Romana.
“What do you mean?”
“Well, I was there, a seasoned detective no less. Yet my mind’s a blank. Isn’t that odd? Why didn’t I notice anything?”
“Perhaps you did notice something,
but didn’t notice that you’d noticed it,” Susan’s voice tailed off mysteriously.
Chapter 7
SUSAN AND ROMANA DISH THE DIRT
It is a form of torture unknown
to the ancients for a police officer to have Time Lords muscling in on his investigation. Time Ladies
- worse! Amateurs! Dilettantes!
Smug, insufferable know-alls! Inspector
Lax sighed as Susan and Romana entered the empty dining room. David followed after them, wheeling in an
extraordinary contraption from Romana’s TARDIS, a large metal box on castors
and a large screen. David had had a devil
of a job getting it past the Astral Map, the Time and Space Visualiser and the other
hefty machines with which Time Lords invariably clutter up a TARDIS. Mavic Chen, Num and Zanderetta all trouped
in to hear Susan and Romana put forward their solution. Inspector Lax’s men brought in a handcuffed
Mike Yates.
“I’ve just heard from the
hospital,” said Susan, “Dolly Gorringe is out of danger but she’s still out for
the count. But they expect her to regain
consciousness and make a complete recovery.”
Everyone murmured their approval
at these tidings. Now it was time for
Susan and Romana’s explanation.
“This was a murder with multiple
suspects,” explained Romana, “A number of people could have killed Dame Regina
Styles. Could it have been Mavic Chen,
for instance? Impatient for power, he had most to gain from the death.”
“Plus, Mavic will be quids in!”
chipped in Zanderetta, “The Guardian of the Solar System earns a mint!”
Mavic Chen scowled.
“Or might it have been Miss
Gorringe, embittered and resentful?” Romana continued, “And then there was Num,
the one with an axe to grind. And of
course, there was always Mike Yates, the obvious suspect: fall guy or terrorist?”
“Well, feast your eyes upon my
wonderful Memoriscope!” said Romana proudly gesturing towards the metal oblong
and accompanying screen. “It can lift
all the suppressed memories out of a person’s mind and project them onto the
Memory Envisager!”
“That’s right,” said Susan, “The
person has to be placed under hypnosis then the Envisager shows us what they remember. We’re going to try it on Romana, since she
was present at the murder. But I can do
the same with Miss Gorringe once she’s back in the land of the living. Would you lie on that sofa, Romana?”
“Lying down in public isn’t
really me,” said Romana, falling back
onto the plush maroon sofa, “But at least I’m not being sacrificed to vampires this time”. Susan stuck monitors on Romana’s forehead. Then Susan placed her hands gently on
Romana’s temples and Romana shut her eyes.
“I want you to return…to go back
in time…” Susan said softly, “Go back to the evening of the murder. You are in the dining room…”
An image emerges on the Envisager.
It shows the attractive face of Zanderetta, animated by nosiness and
love of gossip, winking flirtatiously at Romana.
“Doesn’t this wonderful wine make one sleepy?” extols Zanderetta, her
easy smile fading into seriousness.
“Sleepy, sleepy,” she incants.
“You are falling asleep…you will remember nothing of what happens until
I wake you.”
“I’m asleep but I didn’t close my
eyes,” chipped in Romana, “I’m a Time Lord after all: I’m having a sit-down eyes-open
cat-nap. Now, what’s she getting out of
her handbag?”
On screen, Zanderetta coolly removes a small, cylindrical, metallic device
… she hides it between the wine bottle and the carafe of water… it could be mistaken for a salt cellar
anyway. She steals a glance at Dame
Regina’s table…she sets coordinates on a hand-held remote control…
After a few moments, satisfied with her fine-tuning, she presses a
button decisively. The Envisager goes
into slow motion… The device ejects the cyanide pill. We see the pill coursing through the air,
heading relentlessly at eye-cheating speed towards Dame Regina’s glass…
“Wake up!” whispers Zaneretta, before saying in a louder voice “That’s
Dame Regina Styles, Guardian of the Solar System.” Romana recovers
consciousness and the Envisager goes blank…
“What was that little gadget?” asked Inspector Lax.
“The Cannon Pennyfather,”
pronounced Susan, “one of the most fiendish weapons in the Time Lord vaults. The Cannon ejects the cyanide capsule,
propelling it across the room. It’s too
fast for anyone to see, at least they can’t see it consciously. It decelerates as it approaches the glass so makes
no noise.”
Romana rose from the sofa and
pointed an accusing finger at Zanderetta.
“You also had a prime motive to
silence Dolly Gorringe. You knew that she’d
seen something but could not put her finger on what it was. You were party to our telepathic conference,
so you know what she’d said to Susan.
You were rightly concerned that she might have unconsciously seen the
flying pill. There was always a risk
that she’d remember. So Miss Gorringe
had to die. You didn’t bank on David
coming to the rescue.”
“Didn’t expect you and Susan to
be so damned clever either,” said Zanderetta bitterly. She realised that the game was up. “I was under CIA instruction. I was only obeying orders. The Time Lords are concerned that the Solar
System is becoming too powerful. It has
influence way beyond its confines. I was
under instructions to destabilise its government and scupper the Non-Aggression
Pact. Assassinating the Guardian seemed
the logical thing to do. No offence. I felt sure that bringing you and Susan into
the investigation would help pin the blame on Mavic Chen, destroying two
Guardians for the price of one.”
“So much for the Time Lords not
interfering!” said Romana indignantly.
“I hope you realise that under
the terms of the Withdrawal Agreement I can’t be executed,” said Zanderetta.
“Oh well,” said Mavic Chen to
Zanderetta as she was led away, “Be that as it may, no doubt you can look
forward to a stay of excessively generous length at the Wheel’s penitentiary. I am certain that the prison staff will be delighted to welcome you.”
* * * * *
Another morning dawns in E-Space! Raeminvest and Vishig were finishing breakfast. Raeminvest opened a letter which turned out
to be his bank statement.
“Oh I say, that’s odd, old bean. They’ve refunded the entire hotel bill for Auntie
Romana’s holiday. Apparently she’s
solved a murder and so the whole thing is on the house.”
Relief flooded Vishig’s entire
being!
Epilogue
THE CELESTIAL TEA-MAKER
A solved murder deserves to be
celebrated, and it is to the author’s profound satisfaction that the bounty of Benton ’s Hotel’s towards my
Susan, my Romana and my David was not found wanting. At the very pinnacle of
the Wheel in Space, surrounded on all sides by windows looking onto the Milky
Way, Sergeant Benton presided genially over a table groaning with teatime
goodies. Around the table sat Mike
Yates, Susan, Romana and David.
“My lovely Sergeant Benton!” extolled
Romana as the good Sergeant poured from the pot, “Next to Mrs Emmeline
Pankhurst you make the best cup of tea in the universe!” The tiered platters were piled high with
exquisite sandwiches, scrumptious pastries, delectable scones and heavenly
cakes. Romana, Susan and David helped themselves
lavishly.
“I’m not altogether surprised it
was Zanderetta,” said Susan knotting her brow slightly, “It was like she was
giving a lovely performance, but somehow it
wasn’t real.”
“Excellent taste in men,
however,” chipped in David perkily.
“I’ll say!” said Mike Yates
airily. Mike was still heady with his
deliverance from the Wheel’s executioner.
“Och, I’m only glad you’ve solved
this case without occasioning a vacancy in Her Majesty’s Government,” added
David, giving his wife a kiss on the cheek.
Susan smiled.
“Well, you’ve saved my bacon!”
said Sergeant Benton as he offered another round of sandwiches. “And you’ve saved the hotel and our staff
too. You’ve been ever so clever. Are you sure there’s nothing else I can give
you, by way of reward?”
“Well, there is just one thing,” said
Romana coyly.
“Name it!” smiled the Sergeant.
“Well, that teapot is from my
TARDIS. It’s dimensionally
transcendental. Bigger on the inside
than the outside. So do you suppose, might it just be possible, that you could squeeze another
few cups of tea out of it?”
SUSAN AND ROMANA WILL
RETURN IN
4.50
FROM
PELADON
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