Free Doctor Who: Shada by Douglas Adams, Gareth Roberts, Douglas Roberts Page B

Ship.
    Skagra left the Ship and slipped into the stolen ground-transporter.
    He turned the keys in the ignition and the car roared off back into Cambridge.

Chapter 17
     
    CHRIS PEDDLED FURIOUSLY through the streets of Cambridge back towards St Cedd’s. His head was full of theories about the book. Could it be the only remnant of some lost civilisation? Then again, it didn’t look very old. Then again, it didn’t look particularly new. It was hard to tell how old it was, it was hard to tell anything meaningful about the blasted thing —
    His head was so full of thoughts about the book that he nearly collided with another cyclist. He rang his bell angrily at the bloke who was pedalling furiously in the other direction. In fact, thought Chris, it was very hard to ring a bicycle bell angrily. However hard you tinged it, it sounded bright and cheery.
    Irritatingly, the other cyclist tinged his bell happily back at Chris.
    In normal circumstances, Chris might have stopped and given the bloke a piece of his mind – or, more probably, tutted. There were two factors that stopped him. Factor A was the urgent business he was engaged upon. Factor B was that the bloke on the other bike looked eccentric. He was tall, with a mop of untidy curly brown hair and a ridiculously long multicoloured scarf that flapped after him in his slipstream.
    Chris had had quite enough of eccentricity today. He was determined not to give the strange bloke another thought.

Chapter 18
     
    WILKIN CHECKED HIS watch, though there was no need. He could tell from the angle of the slowly setting sun over the courtyard that it was nearly five o’clock. His stomach gave a small rumble, right on time. The agreeable prospect of scrambled eggs was looming.
    He heard crisp footsteps coming over the cobbles through the gate and turned to see the insolent fellow he had encountered earlier. At least he was now wearing more suitable clothing, though still a little too casual for Wilkin’s taste. The carpet bag was still clutched in his hand. The man gave Wilkin a broad smile. It was blatantly insincere, thought Wilkin, but at least now the fellow was trying.
    ‘Hello,’ said the stranger. ‘I have returned, as you see. Is the one known as the Doctor still with Professor Chronotis?’
    Wilkin was forced to repay politeness with politeness. ‘No, sir. The Doctor left a few minutes ago. You’ll find the Professor in Room P-14.’ He indicated the way.
    The stranger’s smile faded. ‘Thank you, gatekeeper,’ he said icily and strutted over towards the entrance Wilkin had indicated.
    Wilkin looked after him, shaking his head and tutting. In all his years at St Cedd’s, and in all his dealings with undergraduates, graduates, dons, chancellors, deans, masters and, much more rarely, red-faced girls trying to sneak past him in the early hours of Sunday mornings, he had never before felt such a strong sensation of having failed in his duty as porter, of having allowed an enemy into his stronghold.
    Wilkin shook the feeling off. The fellow was probably from Oxford.
     
    ‘More tea, my dear?’ asked the Professor, inevitably.
    Romana had cleared the books away from what she had suspected was a comfortable chair. She sat down and stretched, trying to appear calmer than she felt. ‘Lovely! Two lumps, and no sugar.’
    The Professor smiled and tweaked her on the nose. Romana would have resented such an action from anybody else, but he seemed such a nice old man.
    As he slipped back into the kitchen, Romana gave up on her attempt to relax. The chair wasn’t nearly as comfortable as she’d hoped anyway. She idly twitched a corner of curtain and looked through the window onto the back of the college, leading down to the river. The sun had almost set, its last rays picking out the bare branches of the trees in shades of copper. The clouds had moved on now, mostly, and she could see a crescent moon low in the sky.
    She shivered. The reassuring sounds of the Professor