Free Silhouette by Justin Richards

undertaker. He marched purposefully through the smog, his mood darkening as he reflected on his lack of progress. ‘Weakling fool!’ he spat as he shoved a passer-by off the pavement. A carriage veered off to one side to avoid the sprawling man, and narrowly missed a cab coming the other way. The horses whinnied in alarm. Strax walked on, oblivious.
    The area where Bellamy had been found was almost deserted. The perfect place for a murder, Strax reflected, though the fact it was so quiet meant there were few suitable candidates to hand. He located the narrow passageway and walked slowly along, examining the ground as he went for any clues. Mostly, there was snow turning slowly to a grey slush that looked like the smog made solid.
    He had almost reached the end of the alleyway when he heard the noise coming from within the large building on one side of the alley. Many human sounds, Strax found it hard to interpret. But the sound of fear – screaming – was one that he recognised immediately. It was not particularly in Strax’s nature to go to the help of those in distress. But if there was a battle or fight in progress, then he was more than happy to get involved. From the screams, it sounded like it was quite a good one. He licked his thin, bloodless lips and searched for a point of entry.
    The nearest doors were set in an alcove and locked. But they were only made of wood – a rather primitive construction. So Strax lowered his shoulder and ran at them. The doors burst open and he found himself inside a large area devoid of walls or upper floors. On the other side of the expansive space it looked as if a miniature snowstorm was attacking a small human.
    As he approached, two things became clear to Strax. One was that the snow was actually paper, folded intostylised shapes. The second was that the small human appeared to be the Doctor’s friend Clara.
    ‘Retreat at once, wood-pulp scum!’ Strax ordered, charging into battle. As he got closer, he saw that there was a large hole gaping in the floor. The paper-creatures had been trying to drive Clara into it, he surmised. So he put his head down and charged into the blizzard of paper, grabbing Clara and dragging her clear.
    The paper creatures followed. More than a distraction, Strax found they were actually quite violent and persistent. He could feel tiny, but painful blows on the probic vent at the back of his neck. If they flew into that and clogged it up …
    ‘Strax – is that you?’ Clara said.
    ‘You are injured,’ Strax told her, though to be fair she probably knew that. Her exposed flesh was scratched and bleeding in the most honourable manner – she had clearly put up a brave fight and Strax felt a sudden rush of pride on her behalf.
    ‘We have to get out of here,’ she said.
    ‘Retreat?’ Maybe she wasn’t so brave after all. ‘Never!’
    ‘You can’t kill paper!’ Clara insisted as she waved her hands, swatting desperately at the creatures that continued to fly at her.
    ‘Ah, a challenge?’
    ‘It’s not a challenge, it’s called common sense.’
    Strax grunted, crushing a paper bird in his fist. ‘Never heard of it.’
    He marched back towards the door, pulling Clara with him. But the swirling paper kept pace with them.
    ‘When I tell you, drop to the ground,’ Strax told Clara.
    ‘Why?’
    ‘So that you don’t get obliterated. Unless you are ready to die with honour?’
    ‘Not yet,’ Clara admitted. ‘So when are you likely—’
    ‘Get down!’ Strax roared.
    Clara dropped like a stone, landing heavily and painfully on the solid floor. Nothing happened. She looked up, to see Strax staring down at her, his features obscured by the constant attack of the paper birds.
    ‘Good,’ he said, ‘That was a test. Next time we do it for real.’
    Clara got to her feet, snatching at the paper flying in her face and tangled in her hair. ‘Oh joy.’
    ‘Get down!’ Strax yelled again. Again, she dropped.
    This time, Strax dived aside.