Free Doctor Who: Black Orchid by Terence Dudley Page A

One door at the end of the passage was narrower than the rest. It proved to be empty but it was deeper than the others, the sort of cupboard used for keeping brooms and similar domestic articles. The Doctor stepped into it for a closer look and was startled by a squeak that suggested he had invaded the home of some small creature now perished underfoot. But the sound was no more than the back of the cupboard beginning to move; something that caused a relexive action in the Doctor. He lifted his foot and the back of the cupboard reversed its movement. The floor of the cupboard was clearly the spring which opened yet another secret door. The Doctor glanced back along the corridor to confirm that the panel through which he’d escaped was still open. With his retreat covered he felt more confident about continuing his exploration. He stepped into the cupboard and its back slid to one side to expose another passage way. This was, indeed, a house of secrets.
    Dittar Latoni, Chief of the Utobi, hissed between his teeth.
    It was a noise rendered more plangent by the sounding board of the protruding lower lip. What came forth was a note from a Venezualan humming bird: a warning call used by hunters in the jungle on the banks of the Orinoco.
    Lady Cranleigh stopped and turned to look at the Indian.
    He signalled silently that he should precede her through the attic door. She shook her head. ‘No, Dittar,’ she said firmly. ‘I have nothing to fear from your friend.’
    ‘It is still the time of the moon,’ replied the Indian gravely.
    Lady Cranleigh stepped resolutely to the door and opened it. The Indian quickly closed the distance between them to protect her from any threat beyond as she felt for the switch and turned on the light. The room seemed empty except for the family memorabilia and the ghosts that undoubtedly haunted them.
    ‘Are you here, friend of Dittar?’ called Lady Cranleigh.
    ‘Lady!’ implored the Indian and moved protectively ahead of her, pushing his way further into the room. He eased between the baskets and the effigies, ducking and stooping to look behind them. He moved cautiously behind the suit of armour and straightened to look with sad eyes on the smooth, exposed, featureless face of the unmasked executioner.
    ‘He was here, Lady.’
    ‘How do you know?’
    ‘I can smell him.’
    Adric was feeling lonely, distinctly left out of it. He watched the cavorting dancers enviously, less envious of their prowess than their courage in making such fools of themselves. Nyssa had finally abandoned him and he was kicking his heels with a furtive eye on the resplendent buffet but he lacked the courage even to invade that single-handed. The last thing he wanted to be was conspicuous; more conspicuous than he felt in this ridiculous costume, that is. He’d suffered the last straw when a young man, dressed as what he discovered later was an eighteenth-century pirate, had approached him and asked him to dance. All he’d done was to open his mouth to say ‘thank you’ and the pirate had blushed, cleared his throat, muttered something about being sorry and beat a hasty retreat. It really was the limit.
    He’d even thought of following Nyssa’s suggestion and asking Lady Cranleigh to dance. He might make a perfect fool of himself but it would at least do something to reassert his masculinity. But Lady Cranleigh had disappeared from the scene. He cast longing eyes at the inviolate food. His mouth was uncomfortably dry. Perhaps he could ask one of those proud-looking frilly fellows for one of those lemon drinks.
    The dancers were throbbing through a tango. Nyssa had watched her twin jerk through its unexpected rythms and then had readily accepted an invitation from a large white rabbit to join in. Sir Robert’s full-bottomed wig whipped into the face of the twirling Tegan with the impetus of the dance in a way impossible for him to control.
    ‘My dear, you deserve a better dancer than I. We must find you