Doctor Who: Paradise Towers by Stephen Wyatt Read Free Book Online Page B

break the silence.
    ‘Greetings,’ the other man’s face cracked into a less than pleasant smile. ‘I am the Chief Caretaker.
    ‘And I am –’ the Doctor began. But he didn’t get any further in his introduction. To his surprise he found his speech cut off by the Chief Caretaker exclaiming enthusiastically, ‘No need to tell me. I know who you are.’
    The Doctor stared. He had not realised his name was already known here. But before he could ask more, the Chief was off again, an enthusiastic torrent of words, addressed as much to the waiting Caretakers as to the Doctor himself.
    ‘Oh yes, we have been waiting for this momentous visit for so many years,’ he began, his bloodshot eyes lighting up with enthusiasm. He patted the Doctor warmly on the back. ‘You are the man who brought Paradise Towers to life. The visionary who dreamed up its pools and lifts and squares. And now you have returned to your creation.’
    He pressed his face closer to the Doctor’s, eyes agleam. ‘You will make all those dilapidated lifts rise and fall as they have never done before. All signs of wallscrawl will disappear from the corridors of Paradise Towers. The floors will gleam. The fountains will tinkle. The windows will shine. The grass will grow. And all will be made as new.’
     
    The Doctor was so mesmerised by the ardour of this speech that he found it impossible to interrupt it. But there was an obvious misapprehension here and he had better put it right before things got out of hand. He didn’t want to start on the wrong foot. Now seemed the appropriate moment and he opened his mouth to speak.
    But the Chief, oblivious of this, had now turned to the attendant Caretakers. ‘Fellow Caretakers,’ he exclaimed, ‘do you know who this is?’ Their silence showed all too clearly that they didn’t. ‘This is the Great Architect returned to Paradise Towers.
    Bid him welcome. All hail the Great Architect! All hail!’
    The Great Architect! Now the Doctor understood what the mistake was. It was crucial that as soon as possible he explained that he was not the Architect responsible for the Towers. Before they asked him to make the lifts work or clean out the fountains.
    Again, he tried to speak.
    ‘All hail! All hail the Great Architect!’
    The Caretakers had all taken up the Chief’s cry now, completely drowning out the Doctor’s explanations. Obedient to their Chief as ever, the Caretakers were putting their hearts into it and considering what an unfit, ill-matched and shambolic bunch they really were, the effect was remarkably stirring. What a pity, the Doctor thought, they’ve got hold of the wrong end of the stick.
    ‘What shall we do with him now then, Chief?’ The cheering had subsided and the Deputy Chief had stepped forward deferentially to receive the Chief’s orders.
    There was a brief pause while the Chief examined the Doctor with the same disturbing gleam in his eye and a smile on his lips. He patted the Doctor on the back amicably and then gave the order, short, sharp and savage.
    ‘Kill him!’
     
    The contrast was so startling that the Doctor could scarcely believe his ears. The misunderstanding had gone far enough.
    ‘Just a moment,’ he protested as loudly as he could. ‘Listen.’
    ‘Why?’ There was silence now and the Chief was icy cool.
    ‘I’m not the Great Architect. I’m the Doctor.’ Surely the Chief wasn’t going to persist in this charade, the Doctor assured himself.
    But he was. Now he was turning to the Caretakers and bringing them into the debate. ‘He was always very artful, the Great Architect,’ he explained, almost as an aside. And then as casually as he had beckoned to the Deputy. ‘Make the preparations will you?’
    ‘Yes Chief.’ There was no point in trying to convince the Deputy that there had been a mistake. He waited for further instructions from his boss.
    ‘The 327 Appendix Subsection 9 Death, I think,’ the Chief announced judiciously, after some