1: The Tower

SCENE 1.

NARRATION: It was morning, and all across Even Greater London the people were beginning their day. Of course, the postmen had been working for hours already, and many people before leaving their home would see they had received a letter or two. A bill, perhaps, or a note from a dear friend. Inspector Fleet had received one letter.

It read "Today is a new day. And look how the last one turned out." It was a fair observation, no doubt sent by one of the government's new affirmational note printing engines, designed to get the extra mile out of the city's workforce by sending them the occasional encouraging letter. The engineers were still working on the rather bleak tone and content of the messages, although they wouldn't succeed for the simple reason that the machine was right and the bleakness was perfectly apt.

Yesterday had indeed gone poorly for Fleet. Having set out to find a notebook stolen from the murdered scientist Dr Salik, and spending half the day pursued by a Warder he had caught fleeing from a related crime scene, he had ended up watching that same man plummet to his death at the hands of a group of hooded, robed figures, presumably members of the shadowy organisation Fleet now knew to have infiltrated the Tower, perhaps the most important building in Even Greater London. Fleet had escaped with his life, but this meant only that he would need to explain himself. And so the morning had come with its bare sunlight and demand for answers, and soon Fleet found himself where no man deserves to be sent: his place of employment.

SCENE 2.

FLEET: Is Chief Inspector Keller in, Miss Waverley?

MISS WAVERLEY: No, he's been down near the Pleasure Coast since early this morning.

FLEET: The Pleasure Coast?! Oh no.

MISS WAVERLEY: Oh yes.

FLEET: Oh dear. Did he say anything about me before he left?

MISS WAVERLEY: He left a message for you actually. Here is it.

FLEET: (READING) "Fleet. Call me immediately."

MISS WAVERLEY: No, that's not right.

FLEET: That's what it says.

MISS WAVERLEY: Let me see. No, it's more (SHOUTING) "Fleet! Call me immediately!"

FLEET: It's written down. How can you tell the difference?

MISS WAVERLEY: It's basic graphology, Archie. The study of character through handwriting. I've been listening to a wax cylinder book on the subject.

FLEET: That seems an unnecessarily challenging way to absorb that knowledge.

MISS WAVERLEY: You see here, the kerning of the lettering. It's hurried and irregular, indicating impatience. And the loops are narrow and forward-leaning, also indicating impatience. And finally you see the paper is covered in a fine dust of the pen he shattered in his powerful fist.

FLEET: Indicating impatience.

MISS WAVERLEY: No. Biblical fury.

FLEET: Right.

MISS WAVERLEY: You can use the locution glass in Keller's office.

SCENE 3.

NARRATOR: Inspector Fleet stepped into the office and switched on the device on the centre of the desk. Small waves and eddies began to appear in the silvery square, swirling chaotically until the liquid took the unmistakable form of Chief Inspector Keller's moustache.

KELLER: Fleet! Is that you?

FLEET: Yes, are you well, sir?

KELLER: Oh, so glad you asked Fleet, because as it happens, I'm not. Do you know where I am?

FLEET: The Pleasure Coast, sir?

KELLER: Well done Fleet. And would you like to take a guess as to why I am here? Go on, guess.

FLEET: Me?

KELLER: Right again, Fleet! Points-a-plenty! In the middle of the night I was awakened – along with Mrs Keller – by a call from Chief Warder Whitlock. Imagine my surprise when I found out that not only had you gone to the Pleasure Coast without informing me, but you thought it would be a good idea in between ice creams and games of stickleball to go up to the top of a half-built railway bridge and cause a Yeoman Warder to fall to his death!

FLEET: No sir, I didn't!

KELLER: Oh really Fleet, then how do you explain the local constabulary discovering Ralgrieve's broken corpse at the precise location you specified in a telegram which said "Dead body, have fled scene, will explain tomorrow."?

FLEET: It's a long story.

KELLER: A long story? What a rare treat! Some sort of Wagnerian Norse epic, perhaps? Should I relieve myself now or will there be an interval? Or perhaps it's more of a romance, in which case I will get myself a cup of cocoa, curl into my favourite blanket, and await the ripping of bodices!

FLEET: It's more of–

KELLER: Just explain yourself, damn you!

FLEET: Right. Well. We were tracking down whoever stole Salik's notebook, and there were these fortune-telling machines, but it was actually Janet Forton…

FADE

… a thief called El Fantasma, who I didn't think was real but he left an appointment card for us in my pocket and so Miss Entwhistle…

FADE

… I was cornered by Ralgrieve on top of the half-built viaduct, and he was begging for my protection from this secret organisation who had infiltrated the Yeoman Warders...

FADE

… with a sort of (MIMICS HORN SOUND) and they were wearing robes and hoods, then they killed Ralgrieve, and Miss Entwhistle and I made a break for it in an overpriced cab.

PAUSE

KELLER: My God, Fleet.

FLEET: I know!

KELLER: I'd no idea you were such a talented fictionsmith. Have you considered sending a yarn or two into All The Year Round? I'd say you might be Dickens' successor if the old man hadn't developed a printing press with an in-built capacity for producing mawkish three-volume drivel.

FLEET: I'm telling the truth.

KELLER: Now look here Fleet, I'm not saying you killed Ralgrieve. I daresay he slipped during a chase, but let's not have any more of this mysterious hooded figures popcockery. Whitlock is, understandably, insensible with fury at the loss of one of his men. But he's agreed to let the whole thing go if we cease our investigations and smooth things over with the Brunelians. Naturally, to save your neck, I agreed. Now please, for the love of all that is holy, go and arrest some pickpockets and forget all about this Salik business.

SCENE 4.

MISS WAVERLEY: How did it go?

FLEET: As I should have expected I suppose.

MISS WAVERLEY: He told you to stop investigating?

FLEET: Yes.

MISS WAVERLEY: Oh well, perhaps it's for the best.

FLEET: Or is it?

MISS WAVERLEY: Probably?

FLEET: He's only told me to stop investigating in the official sense.

MISS WAVERLEY: So, in the only sense.

FLEET: Keller can't openly defy Whitlock, but out there somewhere is a group of hooded figures who murdered a Warder and quite possibly Dr Salik. Who knows what they're plotting? Of course he wants me to investigate!

MISS WAVERLEY: Are you sure about that?

FLEET: Sure enough to do it. Although, keep it to yourself, for Keller's own protection of course.

MISS WAVERLEY: Of course.

FLEET: Now, would you be so kind as to send a telegram for me, Miss Waverley? To Miss Clara Entwhistle of the Morning Chronicler. "London Central West, stop. One hour, stop. Ginger bun, stop."

MISS WAVERLEY: Ginger bun?

FLEET: It's something she said. They get the job done. Like Miss Entwhistle herself.

MISS WAVERLEY: Would you like me to pick some up for you?

FLEET: (LEAVING) It's a metaphor, Miss Waverley! She'll understand.

SCENE 5.

F/X: Train station sounds.

CLARA: So you didn't actually bring any ginger buns? Never mind, I'm sure we can find something in Oxford.

FLEET: How on earth did you know we were going to Oxford?

CLARA: Well what have we got to go on? Two people dead in mysterious circumstances, hooded figures and a symbol of a dagger wrapped in thorns. No doubt you're after an expert on secret societies, and I happen to know from my mother's numerous copies of the popular conspiracy periodical Your Fears Are Real, that one of the leading enthusiasts in this field is a Donal Mcrory, Professor of Engineering at the Oxford Campus of Swindon National Informatorium. Stephenson College, if I'm not mistaken.

And a quick peek at Bradshaw's Railway Handbook told me that a train to Oxford would be departing just after we were due to meet. So here we are. And yet not one ginger bun.

FLEET: We'll find some when we get there.

CLARA: I'm holding you to that.

F/X: Train station announcement sound.

ANNOUNCER: (D) The next train for Oxford will depart in 15 minutes from platform 53. If you are currently south of platform 27, you will not make it.

SCENE 6.

NARRATOR: Like everywhere south of the Midlands Boundary Forest, Oxford had been absorbed into the unbroken urban fabric of Even Greater London. The university, with its ancient stone colleges, its quads and its cloisters, was still quite lovely, even if it had been brought under the organisational structure of Swindon National Informatorium. It had long since dispensed with offering any subjects not directly conducive to the technological advancement of the city. If you were a student there, you were a student of some form of engineering.

Indeed, such was the demand for learning in this field that entirely new colleges sprung up in the north of the campus, awash with funds from great families eager to give back and perhaps influence a share of young minds to devote themselves after graduation to their enterprises. And so there arose the colleges of Arkwright, Babbage, Bazalgette, Lovelace and, most imposing of all, Stephenson. Clara and Fleet arrived at the college entrance, which stood in the shadow of an enormous bronze statue of Robert Stephenson himself, straddling an equally enormous locomotive. As they entered the college, Clara and Fleet stopped at the lodge to speak to a porter.

PORTER: Good day to you, sir and miss. How can I be of assistance?

FLEET: Good afternoon, I'm Inspector Fleet and this is...

CLARA: Miss Entwistle, Morning Chronicler.

F/X: ZAP.

FINNEGAN: (SCREAMS)

CLARA: What on earth…

AUTOMATED VOICE: Finnegan, Undergraduate, Civil Engineering.

PORTER: Morning, Mr Finnegan!

FINNEGAN: Hello!

CLARA: … was that?

PORTER: What was what?

F/X: ZAP.

TOMKIN: (SCREAMS)

AUTOMATED VOICE: Tomkin, Undergraduate, Electromechanical Engineering.

FLEET: That! What's happening?

PORTER: Saw your LBW yesterday, Mr Tomkin!

TOMKIN: (LAUGHING) Give over.

CLARA: Why do people keep screaming as they go past your window?

PORTER: The electric shock, I suppose.

FLEET: But why?

PORTER: Well, it hurts.

CLARA: But what is it for?

PORTER: The scream recognition?

FLEET: The what?

PORTER: Oh, just security. What with all these labs and expensive equipment and whatnot, you can't be too careful about who's coming into college. Identification papers are easily forged these days, but you try to replicate a man's scream after he's had 5000 volts run through him, can't be done.

F/X: ZAP.

CRAINE: (ODD SCREAM)

AUTOMATED VOICE: Professor Craine, Senior Tutor, Material science.

PORTER: Case in point. Now, we don't have you two on cylinder but that's easily rectified. If you'll just step into the recording booth and roll up a sleeve.

FLEET: We're here to see Professor Donal Mcrory.

PORTER: I'm sure you are. Into the booth if you wouldn't mind.

CLARA: He knows we're coming.

PORTER: Lovely. Into the booth you go.

FLEET: Why don't you call up to his rooms and ask him to come meet us here.

PORTER: Absolutely sir. Into the booth.

CLARA: I don't think we're getting around this.

FLEET: Fine. Let's go.

PORTER: Thank you kindly, sir and madam. Left sleeve up, there you go.

FLEET: Do you make everyone do this?

PORTER: Everyone except police, sir.

FLEET: I am police! Didn't you hear me say Inspector?

PORTER: Apologies, sir, I heard prospector.

FLEET: Prospector?

PORTER: Yes sir.

CLARA: Oh really.

FLEET: Let us out!

PORTER: Easier just to carry on, sir. I do apologise. Left sleeves right up.

FLEET: Let us out of here!

F/X: ZAP.

(SCREAM)

F/X: ZAP.

CLARA: (SCREAM) Hey, that zapped me in the leg! What on earth was the sleeve rolling for?

PORTER: Misdirection, miss, I do apologise. Please exit the booth, there you go, I'll let Professor Mcrory know you're here.

FLEET: Wonderful.

SCENE 7.

CLARA: Has the feeling in your leg come back yet?

FLEET: Not quite.

MCRORY: Fleet!

FLEET: Professor!

MCRORY: My goodness me! It's been too long, too damn long!

FLEET: Professor, allow me to introduce my associate, Miss Entwhistle.

MCRORY: Pleased to make your acquaintance, any friend of Fleet is a friend of mine. He saved my life you know! Many a year ago now, but I've never forgotten.

FLEET: Well, no need to...

MCRORY: Pedalo accident in Bognor Regis with the wife. Capsized, she did. The pedalo, not my wife. Though, now come to think of it, I suppose the wife did too. And this fellow here, not two days out of police training, came to our rescue.

CLARA: Did you indeed?

FLEET: It was nothing.

MCRORY: It wasn't nothing, you saved my life.

FLEET: Well…

CLARA: And your wife?

MCRORY: Oh no, she drowned.

CLARA: My goodness.

MCRORY: On a different day, in a different Regis, same pedalo.

CLARA: I'm so sorry.

MCRORY: It's not your fault, Fleet wasn't there to save her life again!

FLEET: I...

MCRORY: No, no Fleet! You mustn't blame yourself.

FLEET: I don't.

MCRORY: I know, I've been there myself. But the doctors assured me that she was extremely healthy when she died and could've lived for another 50 or 60 years. So there's some comfort.

FLEET: Is there?

MCRORY: No Fleet. You mustn't feel guilty. You saving her on that day in Bognor, that bought her a good two extra days.

CLARA: She died two days later?

FLEET: You went out on the pedalo again two days later?

MCRORY: That we did. We were undertaking a pedalo tour of the Regises. We never made it to Lyme!

CLARA: Oh dear.

FLEET: Right. Well, perhaps we could go somewhere a bit more private. There's a case I'd like your help with.

MCRORY: Of course. This way.

SCENE 8.

NARRATOR: Stephenson was the newest Oxford college, and rather unusual in that, inspired as it was by Stephenson's interest in locomotives, it was fairly narrow, but incredibly long, meaning that it took some time to walk from one end of the college to the other, where Professor Mcrory's study was located.

MCRORY: Come in, come in. Now, how can I help?

FLEET: It's about Dr Salik, Professor. He was murdered.

MCRORY: Oh dear! What a loss. What a mind! Do you know he spoke at my graduation? He sang a bit too. That was odd.

FLEET: It seems he was caught up in some sort of conspiracy involving a secret organisation.

McRORY: What makes you say that?

FLEET: Firstly, a man involved in the case was pursued to his death by a group of hooded figures.

McRORY: Oh lovely. Lovely. Professionally speaking, of course. Not the man's death. I'm sure he was a dear soul.

CLARA: He was a Warder of the Tower.

McRORY: Maybe not then. What else?

FLEET: Salik had a notebook, which was stolen from him and he said was the most valuable thing he possessed. We have it, and it contains drawings of a crest which match the robes of the hooded figures.

McRORY: Fascinating! But what kind of crest? Do show me.

CLARA: Here, Professor. A dagger wrapped in–

McRORY: (GASPS) My God. It's them.

CLARA: It's who?

McRORY: The Obfuscati.

FLEET: The Obfuscati?

McRORY: Powerful people, Inspector, joined together in common purpose, influencing events to their own ends. I do not know what they want – most likely simply more power – but they have their tentacles everywhere that matters.

FLEET: Including the Tower. The Warder they killed discovered them.

McRORY: This is not surprising. Only that he managed to elude them for long enough to tell you.

FLEET: But why would the Obfuscati kill Dr Salik?

McRORY: Their power comes from their secrecy. If they were exposed, they would be mortally wounded. I cannot imagine how Salik acquired the notebook, but this would be his undoing. They either need it or, more likely, need to make sure no-one else has it. And killing him for good measure, in case he remembered any of its contents.

CLARA: Perhaps it explains their plans. Why they've infiltrated the Tower. If only it wasn't all in runes and nonsense.

McRORY: I might be able to break the code. It won't be easy. I'll need time. Of course there is the question of safety.

CLARA: Of the notebook?

McRORY: Of us! Do they know you have it?

FLEET: They can probably work it out.

McRORY: Indeed. But so long as you haven't done anything reckless, then that should buy us a day or two.

FLEET: When you say reckless?

McRORY: Telling anyone about it, or using public transportation.

FLEET: Ah.

McRORY: Do you mean to tell me you came here by public transportation? In broad daylight?

FLEET: I wouldn't say broad daylight, overcast at be–

McRORY: Did you see anyone following you?

CLARA: No, no-one at all!

McRORY: You wouldn't see them.

FLEET: Then why did you ask us?

McRORY: We have to get out of h–

F/X: Something flies through the air and pierces the wall.

What was that?

FLEET: A dart!

CLARA: Where did it come from?

McRORY: It's punctured my tapestry!

FLEET: Get down you idiot!

CLARA: The window!

McRORY: It's ruined!

CLARA: Down here, Professor, behind the sofa!

McRORY: (EXCLAIMS)

F/X: Something flies through the air and pierces the wall.

FLEET: Another!

CLARA: We're pinned down!

McRORY: You fiend! How do you like… this report of last year's international symposium on metallurgy!

F/X: Book crashes against wall.

Or this dissertation on voltaic conduction!

F/X: Book crashes against wall.

Or this monograph I meant to read at the weekend!

F/X: Book hits person.

HOODED FIGURE: Ahh, my face!

FLEET: (WAR CRY)

F/X: RUNNING. PERSON TACKLED TO THE GROUND.

CLARA: Fleet!

F/X: TUSSLE. FIGHTING. UNDER:

HOODED FIGURE: Give me the notebook. You don't know what you're getting into.

FLEET: What?

HOODED FIGURE: What's happening is too big for you, Fleet, it's bigger than all of us.

FLEET: How can you expect me to give you the notebook now? After saying something like that?

HOODED FIGURE: Forget about the case, Fleet. Forget about Salik. Forget you ever heard the name Quaternius.

FLEET: I hadn't! Who's Quaternius?

F/X: SMACK.

HOODED FIGURE: (STRUCK) Ah!

FLEET: And I'll take that blowpipe too, thank you! Ha!

F/X: PIPE CRACKED IN HALF.

HOODED FIGURE: That was a gift!

F/X: SMACK.

FLEET: (STRUCK) Oof!

McRORY: No, the notebook!

HOODED FIGURE: A ha! Got it.

CLARA: A ha ha! I've got one of your darts. You're not going anywhere.

HOODED FIGURE: You think I care if you kill me?

CLARA: I think you might if it means you don't get to take the notebook wherever you're planning to take it.

HOODED FIGURE: Oh I'm not planning to take it anywhere.

CLARA: What?

FLEET: Professor, the fireplace–

F/X: THUD. FLAMES.

McRORY: No!

FLEET: What on earth, was it soaked in paraffin?

McRORY: Stop him! The window!

HOODED FIGURE: Ahh! (JUMPS)

CLARA: But... we're eight storeys up! My god…

McRORY: I told you. There's no lengths they won't–

F/X: MACHINERY, GETTING LOUDER, UNDER:

FLEET: What is that?

CLARA: A flying machine!

McRORY: Inside college grounds! Totally forbidden.

FLEET: He didn't kill himself at all!

HOODED FIGURE: (SHOUTING) Goodbye Fleet. Bad luck!

F/X: MACHINERY FLIES AWAY.

CLARA: The notebook! It might be salvageable!

McRORY: No, quite ruined.

PAUSE

FLEET: That's it. The notebook's destroyed. We don't have anything else. And they're planning something and we don't know what!

CLARA: If only we knew where that hooded figure was heading.

McRORY: Yes, if only a cool-headed professor, while apparently randomly throwing books, also struck our friend with a tracking device.

FLEET: Did you?

McRORY: No, I was terrified. However, it's possible the books themselves might have transferred some of their due date isotopes.

CLARA: Their what?

McRORY: Well you see, the librarians found that fines weren't doing a very good job of encouraging people to bring the books back. So I convinced them to use one of my less harmful novel substances to coat the front and back covers. That way, if a wayward undergraduate kept a copy of Billick longer than permitted, the librarians would simply look up the spectral breakdown of the isotope, hire a suitable portable teleradiograph and hunt down the culprit!

CLARA: Couldn't they also just ask the porters where that student's accommodations are?

McRORY: I suppose you could do that, but it wouldn't be very good for the finances of whoever's renting out the portable teleradiographs.

FLEET: Professor, do you–

F/X: DEVICE ACTIVATES

McRORY: Indeed! Come, we don't have much time.

FLEET: You can track him with that thing?

McRORY: Yes, but it doesn't have a large range. We need to keep up with him.

FLEET: A cab isn't fast enough.

CLARA: Do the police have a flying machine they could bring to us?

FLEET: Even if Keller didn't laugh in the silvery-liquidy representation of my face, by the time it got here it would be too late. We need a vehicle here, now.

McRORY: (LAUGHS)

CLARA: What?

McRORY: (LAUGHS)

FLEET: What is it, Professor?

McRORY: (LAUGHS) I knew this day would come.

FLEET: What day? Professor, you're being alarming!

McRORY: Oh, you haven't even begun to be alarmed.

CLARA: What is it?!

McRORY: We can take the college!

PAUSE.

FLEET: What?

SCENE 9.

F/X: ENGINE ROOM. PISTONS, HYDRAULICS, STEAM ETC.

CLARA: (COUGHS)

FLEET: (COUGHS)

McRORY: Welcome to the Senior Common Room!

FLEET: It's an engine room!

McRORY: Of learning.

FLEET: Half the room is full of coal!

McRORY: Yes, it's also the college's engine room.

CLARA: Professor, can you please expl–

McRORY: Dr. Tremaine, to your post.

TREMAINE: McRory, what is the meaning of–

McRORY: To your post! You've been taking the fireman stipend for 26 years and by god you are going to shovel that coal and keep that fire hot!

TREMAINE: But I have a keynote lecture to deliver tomorrow and I haven't started it.

McRORY: Shovel, man!

FLEET: Professor, when you say the college's engine room–

F/X: Bell rings.

McRORY: (SHOUTING) Pressure?

TREMAINE: (SHOUTING) 300!

CLARA: Why does the college have an engine, exactly?

McRORY: Because Stephenson was a flat out genius and he knew not to build a college that couldn't move itself at high speeds when needed!

FLEET: My god, it's a train!

McRORY: A train, Fleet? A train? Is De Nachtwacht a painting? Is Beethoven's Pastoral Symphony 5th Movement a piece of music?

FLEET: Your tone suggests no, but none of your words do.

McRORY: This is the great man's masterpiece. A place of higher learning where young, energetic minds can be stoked with knowledge, and where the buildings themselves are set upon wheels upon tracks so the college can go wherever is required.

TREMAINE: Six hundred!

McRORY: Six hundred! Miss Entwhistle, what is the teleradiograph telling us about our airborne friend's trajectory?

CLARA: He's heading south-east. Straight to London Central, it seems.

McRORY: Then central-bound we will be! One moment.

F/X: Picking up a telephone.

Porters, switch us onto the mainline! Yes, we're firing her up. For the sake of the city! Now switch, damn you! Switch!

F/X: Hangs up.

Pressure!

TREMAINE: Nine hundred!

McRORY: Nine hundred! Releasing brakes!

FLEET: Professor–

McRORY: Fleet, what's that you're holding onto?

FLEET: What? I'm not holding onto anything!

McRORY: (LAUGHS)

F/X: BUILDING BEGINS TO MOVE.

FLEET: (SCREAMS)

SCENE 10.

NARRATOR: The pursuit was indeed thrilling, but Fleet spent it entirely unconscious, which is just as well, as the experience of riding a college moving at high speed is not a pleasant one. When he awoke, he found that not only had he arrived in London Central, but he was in a cab, Clara beside him. Professor McRory had volunteered to stay behind to explain matters to the Master of the college, who had spent the entire chase unable to escape from his bath, and was now both furious and wrinkly.

F/X: Cab.

FLEET: What happened?

CLARA: You fell backwards and knocked yourself out on the sherry table.

FLEET: Where are we?

CLARA: Just approaching the Thames. Our hooded friend landed about a mile back and proceeded on foot. We're only a few minutes behind now - the signal's getting stronger. Must be jumping onto a boat or something.

FLEET: A boat? What do you mean?

CLARA: What do you mean?

FLEET: Have a look out there.

CLARA: What on earth?

FLEET: What?

CLARA: Where are we?

FLEET: The Thames.

CLARA: The Thames is a river!

FLEET: No, the Thames was a river. Now it's ice.

CLARA: It's just frozen over for the winter.

FLEET: No, it's always ice, even through summer. Still, the skaters enjoy it.

NARRATOR: The Thames Glacier was one of Even Greater London's most popular recreational spots. It had once been a river of flowing, liquid water, where one could catch a quick ferry up to Windsor, relax in a romantic rowboat for two, or simply turn up at midnight and sink a few weighed-down bodies. Nowadays of course, the energy of the river was put to better use, providing part of the incalculable power requirements of the Tower, leaving the Thames entirely and permanently frozen, all the year round. The Glacier was from the outset fantastically popular. Young couples would hire skates and frolic joyfully; boys would cut holes in the ice hoping to fish, only to find the ice extended all the way down and the fish had to be excavated but were, nevertheless, still fresh; and for a shilling or two you could rent a sled and a dozen of the Midland's strongest wolves and mush your way up to Henley. Fleet and Clara were in the centre of the ice, near a small group of tented stalls serving various refreshments, when they realised the river wasn't the only thing that had gone cold.

CLARA: He's gone. We've lost him.

FLEET: Where's the signal now?

CLARA: There.

NARRATOR: A short distance away, some robes lay untidily on the ice, seemingly and indeed actually having been thrown there by someone in a great hurry who had discovered that cruellest of all betrayals, the betrayal by one's own outerwear.

FLEET: Damn it. Must have finally noticed the isotope on it.

CLARA: Well he can't have made it to the other side of the river yet, and I don't see anyone sliding about coatless like a loon. He must be hiding in one of these tents. Let's flush him out!

FLEET: But which one?

CLARA: Let's see. "Agwith's. Even Greater London's Finest Hot Wine". "Peritot.

Even Greater London's Finest Soups". "Lemarque. Even Greater London's Finest, Freshest, Warmest Bread." Oh, bread!

FLEET: You think he's in there?

CLARA: Probably. It sounds wonderful!

FLEET: You think he's gone in whichever shop sounded most delicious?

CLARA: People do strange things when they're hungry. I know I do. Plus, it never hurts to have some bread, just in case.

FLEET: In case of what?

CLARA: Who knows? Starvation. Trade. That bit of soup at the bottom of the bowl that the spoon can't get.

FLEET: You think he's gone in there to prepare for those eventualities?

CLARA: No, but I think we should. To start with, it says it's London's finest.

FLEET: You know it's not really London's finest, they just say that to make you want it.

CLARA: But what if it is? I mean some bread has to be the finest so why not this one?

FLEET: Apprehension first, then bread.

CLARA: Fine. In which case he's in there.

FLEET: Where?

CLARA: "Dudger's Adequate Food." That's the least appealing thing here. No-one has gone in or out since we've arrived, and all the other stalls are packed!

FLEET: Not surprised, really. "Adequate" doesn't really sound that great next to all the others.

CLARA: Exactly! What if it's a front?

FLEET: Yes. Alright, let's see.

SCENE 11.

CLARA: Good afternoon, I don't suppose you've seen– Oh.

FLEET: Hello?

CLARA: Nobody here. Nor any food. (WHISPERS) I don't think this is a real shop.

FLEET: (WHISPERS) Empty counter. Rolling pin, never used. Just one basket…

F/X: Opens basket.

…full of robes! This must be it!

CLARA: Then where did he go?

FLEET: Back there maybe, behind the curtain. Here, put these robes on.

CLARA: Why?

FLEET: Because he'll be waiting for us and he might not be alone. If we're wearing their robes and hoods that will confuse them for long enough for us to get the jump on them.

CLARA: Oh, I like it!

F/X: Dressing.

FLEET: I'll pull back the curtain, and be ready to smack them. Remember, we need to find out what they know – it's enough for us to just capture one of them.

CLARA: Right. Hang on.

FLEET: What?

CLARA: Rolling pin.

FLEET: Ready?

CLARA: Yes.

FLEET: Right.

LONG PAUSE.

Aha!

F/X: Curtain yanked back.

Oh.

CLARA: More nothing.

FLEET: What? But then–

CLARA: Look, a cookbook! "Adequate food for entertaining".

FLEET: So it is a food stall?

CLARA: Oh look here! Instead of the publisher's crest, it's got the dagger wrapped in thorns. And the author.

FLEET: Quaternius. Is it possible that the Obfuscati, as well as being a shadowy organisation, also have a sideline in cookery publishing?

CLARA: Maybe there's a clue inside. Oh, it's heavy. (STRUGGLES)

FLEET: It's heavy? No, wait!

F/X: Lever/ratchet pulled. Trapdoor opens. Clara / Fleet sliding on ice.

CLARA / FLEET: (SCREAM)

SCENE 12.

F/X: CLARA and FLEET land on a hard surface.

NARRATOR: Fleet and Clara found themselves deep within the glacier, in a dark room hollowed out of the ice. The room was untouched by daylight and dimly lit by a handful of torches. Black passageways led off in six directions. In the centre there stood a large ice sculpture of a dagger wrapped in thorns.

CLARA: Amazing.

FLEET: Yes. If we were looking for a lair, I think we've found it.

CLARA: No, this sculpture! It's beautiful!

FLEET: Don't admire it!

CLARA: It's good!

FLEET: It doesn't matter if it's good. They're murderers and god knows what else.

CLARA: Sorry, you're right. Still though, the thorns are magnificent. You have to appreciate craftmanship.

FLEET: No I don't.

CLARA: No sign of that man we were following. No footsteps – the floor's just ice. Everything's ice.

FLEET: There must be a central meeting point we can find. But which of these passageways to take? They could lead anywhere. It could be a labyrinth for all we know. And if we go wrong how will we get back?

CLARA: If only we had some bread we could crumb.

FLEET: Stop it.

CLARA: Fleet, look here.

NARRATOR: Flanking the entrance of one of the passageways were two ice statues of snakes. They were large, they were armoured, and they had been imbued by the master ice sculptor with an unnerving hint of eroticism.

FLEET: I don't like it.

CLARA: Maybe it's this way.

FLEET: Maybe something else is this way!

CLARA: What?

FLEET: I don't know! Snakes? Weird snakes? Weird, fighting, sexual snakes?

CLARA: Seems like we should find out.

FLEET: Does it?

CLARA: None of the other passageways have snakes!

FLEET: Exactly!

F/X: DISTANT FOOTSTEPS, INCREASING IN NUMBER AND GETTING CLOSER, UNDER:

CLARA: Shh! Someone's coming. From that passageway over there.

FLEET: And from that one over there. And from over there...

CLARA: Run?

FLEET: Where? We might run right into them. Hide behind this snake!

F/X: LOW CHATTER.

CLARA: (WHISPERING) What can you see?

FLEET: (WHISPERING) The back of this snake. It's so muscular.

CLARA: Take a look!

FLEET: Fine. Cold, so cold!

CLARA: Well then don't touch the snake! What are they doing?

FLEET: Waiting.

CLARA: What for?

F/X: Low horn.

FLEET: That?

CLARA: They're leaving. Through the snake passageway! I told you it was important! Shall we follow them?

FLEET: Hang on.

CLARA: What?

FLEET: I'm frozen to the snake.

SCENE 13.

NARRATOR: After securing his freedom, whilst losing a few layers of skin, Fleet followed with Clara behind the procession of hooded figures, and they found themselves in a large circular room with a pillar of ice in the centre running from the floor to a ceiling some thirty feet up. The Obfuscati were taking their places around the outside of the room, facing inwards towards the ice pillar. With nowhere to hide and observe from, and no way to leave without being noticed, Fleet and Clara had no choice but to join the circle. The room fell silent as the pillar of ice was filled with a bright light.

It began to flicker unevenly through the ice, causing shafts of white to criss-cross in a form at its centre. The flickering became more rapid and precise, and the form revealed itself as a giant head, entirely white, except for its eyes, where there was nothing at all. There was not a lot Fleet and Clara could be certain of at this moment, but they were sure of this – the head was in charge.

QUATERNIUS: My friends. Welcome. It brings me such pleasure to see you all gathered here at this auspicious moment. Our organisation has been tested many times, and each time we have surpassed ourself and our forebears.

Our achievements across the years have been many. But this may be our most vital. Just two steps remain, my friends. Two steps and our work will be complete.

You've worked hard. You have suffered. You have sacrificed. But only two steps remain.

You know what lies ahead. You know what we are working for.

OBFUSCATI: Yes, Quaternius.

NARRATOR: The giant head disappeared from the ice column, which once again was filled with white light. A moment later, the light subsided, leaving in its place, stretching the full height of the column, an image of the Tower, looming solemnly over the London skyline. The circle of hooded figures watched in silence. Suddenly, flames shot out from the Tower in all directions. The entire building became a pillar of fire hanging in the air, before falling, leaving nothing in its place and everything nearby destroyed. Fleet and Clara saw an image of London they did not recognise.

F/X: Chatter.

FLEET: My god.

CLARA: What happens if the Tower stops supplying energy to the city?

FLEET: I don't know. It's been decades. Everything relies on it. Everything! The whole point of the Warders is to prevent this but–

CLARA: They've infiltrated the Warders. Why would they do this?

FLEET: We can't wait to find out. We need to tell Keller, Whitlock, the home secretary, someone.

CLARA: We've got to get out of here.

FLEET: Right. But we need to wait for the right opportunity to escape.

CLARA: We can't wait for an opportunity. We need to make one.

FLEET: Don't draw attention to us. If we wait we will see an opening.

CLARA: You don't know that.

FLEET: Just focus on what we need to do when we get out of here.

CLARA: I really think we should be focusing on the more immediate question, "When are we going to get out of this ice lair?"

QUATERNIUS: When it thaws, Miss Entwhistle. And not a moment sooner.

NARRATOR: Fleet and Clara looked up and saw the giant head had returned to the ice column and turned to face them. The many other hooded figures in the room had done the same.

QUATERNIUS: Inspector Archibald Fleet. Miss Clara Entwhistle. We have been following your progress with interest. I'm just so happy you both could join us.

CLARA: Why?

QUATERNIUS: Because now there is only one step remaining.

FLEET: Of course there is.

END