Doctor Who: The Masque of the Mandragora by Philip Hinchcliffe Read Free Book Online Page B

when it was best not to interfere—when the Doctor seemed guided by inner forces not fully understandable to humans. This was one of those occasions.
    The Doctor gripped his sword firmly and without a further word disappeared into the dark tunnel.
    From a hidden cache on the other side of the stream a helmeted figure watched quietly as Sarah and Giuliano retreated to the cover of a ruined column. He was dressed in the scarlet and yellow livery of Federico’s bodyguard. He waited a few moments until satisfied they were not going to leave, then slipped away furtively through the trees in the direction of the palace.
    Federico was prowling his chamber like a fretful insomniac when there was a perfunctory knock at the door and the captain burst in, breathless.
    â€˜Sire, they’ve been seen. They’re with the Duke Giuliano at the ruined temple.’
    Federico’s tired eyes opened wide with surprise. ‘The Duke is with them? Are you certain?’
    The captain nodded vehemently. ‘Otherwise the men would have seized them at once.’
    Federico ceased his prowling and an evil smile flickered across his saturnine features. ‘The ruined temple, you say?’
    â€˜In that direction.’
    The Count weighed this information carefully. The outlines of a devious stratagem began to formulate in his head.
    â€˜Excellent, excellent,’ he whispered at last. ‘A chance to solve all my problems in one blow.’
    The captain nervously fingered the scar on his cheek, unsure of his master’s meaning.
    â€˜It will appear like a sacrifice,’ continued the Count. relishing the scenario in his mind’s eye. ‘A human sacrifice to the gods. Our hands will be guiltless.’ He hugged himself with delight at the prospect.
    Admiration and awe dawned on the captain’s face as he grasped the drift of Federico’s plan. ‘A sacrifice... yes... the evil pagans who worship Demnos...’
    â€˜Get your men quickly!’ commanded Federico and he snapped his fingers for a valet to bring his cloak. ‘I will lead them myself.’
    The Doctor felt his way carefully along the darkened tunnel. There was no torchlight here, unlike the other parts of the catacombs and in ten minutes he had travelled no further than a hundred yards.
    After a while he began to notice a change in the air around him. A faint draught brushed his face. That meant there must be a large opening ahead. He quickened his pace. As he did so the walls of the tunnel became more distinct. A source of light lay somewhere in front.
    Abruptly the tunnel grew wider and turning a corner the Doctor found himself staring into the sacrificial chamber. He realised he had come out on the far side, exactly facing the exit from which he had made his escape earlier with Sarah.
    He scanned the chamber carefully for any activity. It was empty, save for the ever-flickering torches in their metal sockets on the walls.
    In the centre of the ruined cavern stood the sacrificial altar grey and bare.
    The Doctor picked his way stealthily across the rock-strewn floor and approached the altar. As he did so a sudden cracking noise rang out behind him. He froze.
    Silence.
    For several seconds he remained still as a statue, inwardly coiled like a taut spring ready for action.
    But there was no further sound. He turned and surveyed the cavern once more. The torchlight threw curious dancing shadows on the walls, grotesque shapes which appeared and disappeared like phantoms; otherwise the chamber was empty of life.
    He continued towards the altar. Then, as he reached the lowest step, the noise occurred again—much louder this time. It sounded like stone walls shifting and crumbling. Simultaneously the chamber was illuminated by an eerie glow which burned the Doctor’s eyes. He was filled with an unaccountable urge to escape, but as he ran towards the tunnel exit a large wall