Free Doctor Who: The Reign of Terror by Ian Marter Page B

chided. 'It will stand you
in good stead one day.'
    Jean tried hard to keep still. 'I shall
never ever get used to the endless waiting,' he confessed. 'If only
it weren't so stiflingly quiet.'
    The air was indeed charged with a
feeling of calm before the storm and there were occasional rumbles of
thunder over the city.
    'That is precisely why we are
positioned here, Jean. A crowded street and an ambush do not mix
successfully.'
    'I know that, Jules, but it's so late.
Perhaps they took another route.'
    Jules shook his head confidently. 'No,
they'll come this way just as they always do. Are you sure you're
ready, Jean?'
    The younger man checked his musket and
the two loaded pistols in his belt. 'I'm ready, my friend. How many
soldiers do you think there will be today?' he asked nervously.
    Jules smiled to himself. It was a
question Jean always asked, like a child needing reassurance. He
shrugged. 'The usual: five or six.'
    Jean peered out into the street. 'It's
a pity Leon cannot be with us today. The odds would have been more
favourable.'
    Jules Renan thumped his friend
encouragingly on the shoulder. 'True. But remember that we have
surprise on our side, Jean. That is worth three extra men, mon
brave!''
    The Doctor sat by the roadside on a
lopsided block of stone set into the grass verge and half concealed
by thorn bushes. He mopped his face and then peered between his knees
at the upside down figures carved into the stone.
    'Paris ... Five kilometres,' he
panted. Rousing himself with great difficulty, he clambered up the
steep bank and parted the tangled hedge with his stick. Shimmering in
the late afternoon haze he saw the city of Paris spread out before
him like a picture from a history book. He recognised the spires of
Notre Dame and the glittering ribbon of the River Seine and in the
distance the green foliage of the Bois de Boulogne. But something was
missing. The Doctor's eyes narrowed and his nostrils dilated with
irrepressible curiosity. That was it! The Bastille. The great
fortress prison. It was not there!
    The Doctor frowned with disappointment.
'Pity ... ' he muttered. 'I always enjoy the storming of the
Bastille ...' Then he remembered that this was no time for
frivolity. Somewhere in that tense and tyrannised city, Susan and
Barbara and Ian were in deep trouble.
    The Doctor slithered back down onto the
road and set off towards Paris with renewed vigour. An hour later he
was walking cautiously through the suburbs, keeping as inconspicuous
as possible and bracing himself for whatever fate held in store for
him in the capital.
    Ian was still slumped on the bed in
despair when he heard the gaoler clattering around outside with bowls
of food and tin jugs of water. The bunch of keys was banged violently
against the lock and the gaoler's baleful eye appeared squinting
through the grille.
    'If you want something to eat you'd
better get back against the wall and stay there,' he snarled.
    Ian obeyed. The gaoler balanced the
bowls on one arm and grasped the handles of several jugs with the
same hand as he tried to select the correct key with his free hand
while gripping the key ring in his teeth.
Eventually he found the key and forced it into the lock. The rusty
mechanism squealed horribly as the door opened. Keeping his eyes on
Ian, the gaoler placed a bowl of grey mush and a jug of brackish
water on the floor and shoved them inside with his foot. Then he
slammed the door shut and attempted to lock it, still balancing the
other jugs and bowls precariously.
    'Gaoler?'
    Lemaitre's powerful voice rang out so
unexpectedly that the inebriated ruffian almost jumped right out of
his boots. He fumbled furiously with the jammed lock and struggled to
keep hold of all the jugs and bowls.
    'Yes, what is it, Citizen?' he shouted
nervously, twisting the key with feverish fingers.
    Lemaitre was standing impassively at
the foot of the steps from the courtyard at the end of the vault.
'Come here at once!' he commanded, slashing at the wall