Free Doctor Who: Lungbarrow by Marc Platt Page B

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    He waited in the silence for the event that must surely be the climax of the program.
    Suddenly he was standing in a crowd of extravagantly robed guests. They filled the hall. Chris had only seen this sort of social event when he was drafted in on security surveillance at the Overcity Adjudicator Intendant's annual dinner dance. Fancy dress bepple optional.
    He was still invisible and could move easily among the guests. He'd rather do that than walk straight through them.
    Everywhere, the furniture and fittings of the building were too big for the people who lived there. They had thrown the Giant out of his castle and moved themselves in. The great tables were laid with all the sumptuous festive food that Chris had seen in the kitchen.
    'I see Cousin Rynde has done us proud again,' declared one of the guests and he raised his goblet to the throng.
    'An auspicious Otherstide to us all!'
    'And a thoroughly ill-judged time to choose for a Deathday,' complained another. 'I'm supposed to be at the Tercentennial Observation Archivists' Otherstide Stocktake Dinner. You would have thought old Quences could have held on a bit longer.'
    'Oh, stop grizzling,' said the first, who was robed in brown. 'At least it gets two visits to the House out of the way at once.'
    Several of the company nodded in agreement.
    'I suppose none of us come home these days except for Loomings and Tombings,' he continued. 'Reckon you're up for anything in Quences's will, Cousin?'
    The second, who was wearing a black tunic, shook his head grimly. 'Not a solitary brazen pandak. The Ordinal-General never had any time for me.'
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    'None of us were good enough,' agreed a third. 'The sour old snudge-snout wouldn't even recommend me for a post at the Bureau of Temporal Anomalies. He said Averages Clerk wasn't good enough a position for a member of the Family.'
    'He did just the same to Cousins Celesia and Almund,' said Black Tunic. 'Besides, we al know who's going to get the inheritance.'
    So it's a funeral, thought Chris. Maybe this Ordinal-General guy's died in mysterious circumstances. Maybe that's the point of the program.
    'You can't mean that Cousin Glospin wil inherit everything,' said Brown Robe. He stared round at the gathering.
    'He's not even here yet.'
    Black Tunic gave a condescending smile. 'He's the obvious successor and heir.'
    'And he's Satthralope's favourite,' piped in the third.
    Brown Robe laughed aloud. 'Surely that's enough to condemn him completely. Quences would count him out on principle.'
    'It's true,' said another bystander. 'But have you heard the other rumour?' He lowered his voice as everyone in earshot clustered round 'I heard that Glospin's post as a Cel ular Eugenicist is a complete sham.'
    'Citadel gossip,' sneered Black Tunic.
    'No, listen,' continued the speaker. 'Cousin Glospin has been seen on several occasions entering and leaving the Citadel Constraint Block.'
    'Great grief,' whispered Brown Robe.
    'The Intervention Agency,' said the third.
    Chris noted the nervous glances that passed around the group. Even Black Tunic drained his goblet without comment. The Agency's name seemed to cast a pervasive gloom.
    'Front or back entrance?' asked somebody brightly, but was ignored.
    The lengthy silence was finally disrupted by a hoot of laughter from across the hall. The guests turned to stare in disapproval. 'Who's that?' said Brown Robe.
    A young man, podgy with curly brown hair, was helping himself to a plateful of food from the tables.
    'Cousin Owis,' said Black Tunic. 'The unspeakable little oik is the Replacement.'
    'Why? Who else has died?'
    'No, no. He's the Replacement.'
    Brown Robe assumed a look of stunned surprise. 'I didn't realize the House had actually. . . Great grief. There'll be all bells blazing in Sepulchasm when the authorities find out. I assume it's the Replacement for...' His voice tailed off and he grimaced.
    'Quiet,' hissed Black Tunic. 'Satthralope's forbidden that