Ross stands on the threshold, smiling. He is holding something small and blue in his hands. And then turns back into the room and closes the door.
Curing Parkinson’s? Oh dear.
Ianto is nervous on the deck. There’s a chill in the air and he’s not sure if he’s been followed. But there is definitely something up. He walks towards the bar and can see people spilling out of it onto the deck. He can still hear little gusts of music from the bar as people push through the doors. Everyone is standing, looking out to sea, or pointing vaguely with their camera phones.
He glances out, trying to see what they can see – and all he notices is the distant, distant glow of Cardiff, and then higher up, a dancing spot of light, like a shooting star, but one that slices across the sky towards them, only to vanish momentarily before sparkling up again.
‘It’s the Northern Lights!’ he hears someone shout, only to hear them laughed down. Gradually, with muttering, gasping, camera snapping and moaning they realise that the boat is surrounded by a perfect circle of fog, a fog that blots out Cardiff and the stars, just leaving a little twinkling globe that flickers closer and closer. There is nervous excitement, a definite feeling of anticipation. Ianto has no idea what the light is – he just knows it is linked to whatever is in the cabin, and the mysterious figures he saw in the Bay before he left. This is it. He reaches for his phone. Still no signal. And then, with a sputter, no battery.
He looks out across the deck, as the little twinkling fireflies of camera phones snuff out one by one.
Oh god. No witnesses.
The light comes closer and closer.
At first like fireworks – a bright ball of light arcs twice over the boat. Then Lucky Debbie runs up and grabs Ianto’s hand. ‘It’s still! The sea!’ she hisses. All around them, the waves settle flat, bowing down like lions before the light.
Then comes the sound – a roar of an ancient horn, like the loudest, most exciting, most frightening thing Ianto has ever heard.
For a second, it is dark. Very, very dark. And utterly silent.
And then the light comes back, a giant ball that sweeps over the boat, and then, with the sounding again of that awful horn, it splits into two, two balls of fire that circle round and round the deck.
Then the horn sounds a third time. It doesn’t die away, but is followed by a deep boom – the shattering thud of something tearing deep underneath the water. There are screams from all around, but Ianto barely hears them. ‘Oh god,’ he thinks, realising how alone they are. In the distance, he can’t even see Cardiff any more. Just this fog bank. Blocking them off from the world.
Something bad is going to happen – he knows it, feeling as afraid as he felt when in trouble at school, when he went on a date knowing he was going to be dumped, or when he’d gone back into Torchwood to find Lisa. Something terrible is going to happen and there is nothing he can do to stop it. No weapons, no technology, no Toshiko, no Captain Jack. Just Ianto Jones against this.
The balls of light arc over again, and with a scream of tin, sheets of steel rip up from the deck and flutter into the sea.
The shouts from the bar are louder now, all the more so for the completely still sea. The siren wail of the horn finally fades like a wounded beast and the balls of light glow and descend, floating along the deck until they are just above the surface. Dancing inside each sphere is… a shape. And he can hear laughter.
The spheres contract, melt, each shape flowing into a human form carved out of sun. The two figures stride forward, their feet just failing to touch the ground. One turns to the other. It speaks, a voice thundering and echoing like continents slapping together.
‘We are here for one thing. And those who have it know what that is.’
‘Give it up!’ bellows the other. ‘Bring it out now.’
‘Please,’ the other sighs, like an avalanche.
The other stretches out a hand, and light boils across the deck, wrapping around the mast, and then whipping across the lifeboats, shattering each one in a cloud of burning splinters. People start to scream. One of the figures turns, a hand forming a gentle sssshing motion against its glowing face. The first steps forward, past Ianto. Ianto feels a warmth like a furnace flicker across his cheek. ‘You have two minutes.’
A pause. Then the other figure turns and steps almost shiftily towards the passengers who bunch up against the advancing heat. It speaks, its voice lower, more discreet.
‘Anyone got a fag?’
What? Ianto is moved and not surprised when Lucky Debbie steps forward, fumbling in her handbag for a Superking. The figure reaches out a hand and takes it, leaning over her. ‘Thanks,’ it says, its voice dropping to almost a whisper.
Somehow it holds the cigarette in its glowing fingers, and then lets the end spark into life by itself. It pauses, leaning closer, conspiratorially. ‘This had better not be menthol.’
‘No,’ says Debbie, very quietly and firmly.
The figure takes a drag. ‘Lovely. Thank you. You’ll be the last to die.’
Debbie nods, but her face is set into the Swansea-girl look which says, ‘You’re not all that.’
The figure strides above the deck, gently smoking away, while the other rises up, expanding and pulsing dangerously.
‘They’ve not come out.’
‘No, I know that.’ There’s a petulant note. Almost disappointed. ‘I’d expected better of them.’ A long sigh that rolls out across the sea. ‘Fine.’ Both fists burst into giant balls of flame that lash out, smashing into the bar, scattering tables and glasses and people. There are screams and cries and the smell of burning nylon carpet.
‘Do you hear us, Christine and Ross?’ boom both of the figures together, their voices louder than a storm. ‘We’re getting violent. People are going to die soon. You’d better not be hiding, cos we’re going to put on a bloody great show.’
‘You selfish pricks,’ snaps the smoking figure, bitterly.
The shapes come down, floating in front of Ianto and Debbie. Ianto can feel the hiss of the air starting to boil, can see those fists split and crack out into flaming, angry spheres. He feels Debbie tense up next to him – brave up to the end. Not so Lucky Debbie, he thought sadly. Then, swallowing, he opens his mouth.
‘I…’ His voice vanishes.
One of the figures flashes up next to him, fire scorching Ianto’s face. As it stares into him with eyes of coal, he feels his flesh begin to smoulder and burn. He cries out slightly.
‘Yes?’
‘I…’ He finds his voice, and is saddened to hear it is a yelp. ‘I know who you’re looking for. I can take you to them.’
The scorching heat retreats. Ianto opens his eyes. He sees Debbie give him a look – a look that mixes hope and relief with… betrayal? He shrugs.
‘Go on, then!’ The figure shrinks to almost human size, and lays a hand on Ianto’s shoulder. It jerks its neck at its companion. ‘Come on, you.’
And Ianto heads down into the hold. Around him, he can hear the plates of the ship ticking and pinging like an old clock, and see them bulging in and out, as though somehow confining these creatures in a small space. Their presence is too big.
‘Am I doing the right thing?’ he thinks, stepping carefully down the corridor. On the one hand, probably not. Probably there is no right thing to do at this point. Whatever, he has the feeling people are going to die. It is just a question of how many, and why. It is the kind of awkward thing he usually leaves up to Jack. After all, if you don’t really sleep, you can’t have nightmares about your mistakes now, can you?
Ianto feels his face smarting and burning. He knows he’ll need treatment for the wound. But he doesn’t dare draw attention to it. He keeps silent, marching ahead of the two balls of energy, feeling them snap and hiss with energy like steaks on a fire.
In the distance there is a loud, dull explosion, and the ship suddenly tilts. Ianto grabs a rail before he falls back onto the creatures.
‘What was that?’ snaps one.
‘God knows,’ says the other with a laugh. ‘Hardly know my own strength. I think this boat’s buggered, though.’
