ELEVEN
The Vaults had been the cornerstone of Torchwood for ever. They represented the good and the bad side of everything Torchwood stood for, both modern Torchwood and the Institute set up by Queen Victoria nearly 130 years earlier.
Bilis Manger stood on the sensible side of the glass that formed the cell door.
Within, the Weevil stared up at him from the floor, mewling slightly in fear.
Bilis tapped on the transparent, if somewhat stained, strengthened plastic. ‘I wonder what use I could make of you, my friend.’
‘Not a lot, I’d guess,’ said Jack from the main doorway. ‘I knew you’d be here. Revisiting the scene of your last crime. The murder of Rhys Williams.’
‘You took longer getting down here than I expected, Jack.’ Bilis smiled, without looking away from the Weevil. ‘I may call you Jack, I assume. It’s just that they all do, so it seems sensible.’ He paused for a beat, then continued. ‘I was going to ask if you ever used your own name any longer. Or indeed, if you even recalled it.’
Jack said nothing, but his hand edged closer to his holstered Webley.
‘Oh, do stop relying on your toys,’ Bilis said. ‘We both know you can’t hurt me.’ He pointed at the Weevil. ‘How long have they been on Earth, then?’
‘No one really knows,’ Jack replied. ‘The Torchwood Archives are… curiously vague.’
‘Almost as if someone has gone through them, I imagine, erasing odd bits of information.’ He smiled again. ‘Archivists are a funny sort. So dedicated to their work, their accuracy, yet not above the odd bit of subterfuge when necessary to protect… whatever they’ve individually chosen to protect. That’s the joy of life, Jack. To protect what we love. Remember love?’
Jack shrugged. ‘I remember you did everything you could for a demon from God knows where that almost destroyed Earth. Was that out of love?’
‘Love. Passion. Belief. Duty. The lines blur sometimes. There are over fifteen recognised major religions on this planet. One religion believes something different from another, and yet so often it’s just the same thing with a different name, or a different form of worship, or a different headdress. But they will fight to protect what they believe in, no matter the cost. You’ve been here a while Jack. How many wars, how many lives squandered on religion? On belief? On that blurred line between love, duty and belief. Then we get to science. Science versus creationism for instance. Two opposing stances on the same subject, neither of which has any real evidence to back it up. What a bizarre time you washed up in.’ Bilis finally looked at Jack. ‘Happy here? You used to have so much more… freedom.’
‘You know so much about me. I know so little about you.’
Bilis turned back to the Weevil. He placed his hand on the transparent plastic and the Weevil echoed the action from within the cell. ‘What do you know about the Weevils? Only what you research. You’re exactly the same as that Weevil to me, Jack Harkness. A savage beast, worthy of investigation, nothing more.’
‘What do you want?’
‘I’m on a mission. Redemption. Atonement perhaps. A way to show those who matter that I can make up for my errors, and the tremendous pain you cost me.’
‘What do you need from me? If it’s about me-’
‘Oh yes, it’s certainly about you.’
‘Then why involve Tosh?’
‘Ms Sato is personally… immaterial. She’s just the cliched hostage. It might have been Gwen, or young Ianto. But I’ll tell you one thing, Jack, I wouldn’t have wasted my time with Owen.’
‘He’d have fought back, you mean.’
Bilis shook his head sadly, looking down at his feet now.
And Jack saw, lying there, a gun. A pistol. Not a Torchwood-issue one, just an average revolver. It was smoking from the barrel, as if it had recently been fired.
‘No, he just isn’t worth it.’
Jack looked back down, but the gun had gone.
Bilis looked at him, and Jack realised the vision of the gun seemed to have surprised Bilis as much as it had him. ‘Some things are beyond our control. Yes, even yours and mine, Jack.’
‘So, where’s Tosh?’
‘Safe in Tretarri for now. Number 6 Coburg Street.’ He ran his finger around the cravat he wore, loosening it fractionally. ‘Ask Ianto. He’ll get the reference if he’s as good in the Archives as he should be by now. By the way, he’s picked up Torchwood’s history very quickly. I’m impressed. You should be, too.’
Jack said nothing, just kept watching.
‘So, what is all this about? You still need an answer, don’t you? Even though I have told you.’
‘OK, so you’re pissed at me over Abaddon. Big deal. You set a ninety-foot demonic “great devourer” on the streets of Cardiff, Torchwood take it down. That’s life. Deal with it.’
Bilis swung round, and Jack took an involuntary step back. For the first time, Bilis’s face was twisted in anger, in hate. And something else, something Jack couldn’t quite identify. Fear? Panic? Anguish?
‘Revenge, Jack. Revenge for the future!’
Before Jack could speak, a hoarse voice behind him gasped out.
‘Jack. Help me!’
And crouched down by the door was someone Jack hadn’t seen in over sixty-five years.
‘Greg? Greg Bishop?’
‘Sorry, Jack – not strong enough… Can’t fight the light. Can’t fight Bilis. Or the darkness. Can’t help you any more…’
And Greg was gone.
Jack touched the bare Vault wall where he’d been, both a second ago and in 1941.
‘I’m sorry, Greg,’ he said.
He straightened up and turned back towards the cell, but he was not surprised to see Bilis had gone.
Stuck to the Weevil’s transparent door with a piece of sticky tape was a note in red ink.
No. Not ink. Blood.
TWELVE
When Toshiko woke up, she found herself lying on a cold, hard floor. She gently sniffed the air – nothing distinctive, but not airless. No chemicals, so not anywhere industrial. No damp, nothing stale.
She slowly opened her eyes.
The first thing she saw was a chair. A basic wooden seat, like at a desk. Oh yeah, and that thing there, that was a desk. OK. Not immediately threatening.
‘Hello Ms Sato,’ said a voice.
There was someone sat in the chair, she could see the legs. Male. Suit.
Oh God, it was Bilis Manger, wasn’t it?
Hang on – he’d hit her or something.
‘Stop pretending, Ms Sato. You have been fully conscious for five minutes and… wait… thirty seconds.’
She rose slowly, keeping an eye on Bilis, who had his back to her.
He didn’t seem particularly threatening. But then, he was just an old man who could travel in time, walk through walls, disappear into thin air and, oh yeah, tried to destroy the world with his precious devil-thing.
No threat there, then.
He held out an arm and clicked his fingers. Almost instantly, as if someone had switched on loud music, Toshiko heard clocks ticking.
