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

mask carved from pure gold. The nose was flat and cruel. the cheeks furrowed with deep lines of torment, the eyes blank slits shadowing the real eyes behind. His body was cloaked in rich purple robes surmounted by a peaked hood in the same colour.
    Sarah eyed this awesome apparition in fear and bewilderment. Her heart skipped a beat. Even though she had been drugged, she knew instantly that this was the masked figure who had officiated at the sacrificial ceremony.
    The High Priest pushed Sarah forward. ‘It is an omen. The Mighty Demnos delivered his victim to us. She is the chosen sacrifice.’
    The masked figure stepped up to Sarah and examined her closely. ‘This one assists the foreign sorcerer. She may yet assist him to his death before her hour of glory.’
    The High Priest seemed taken aback. ‘But Master, the great blade of our god thirsts for blood...’
    â€˜Patience,’ replied the masked figure. ‘Before the night ends, priest, there will be blood in plenty. That I promise.’ His commanding tones silenced his acolyte who lowered his head in obeisance.
    â€˜We of the brethren bow to your command, Master.’
    â€˜Then bind her well so that she may not struggle or cry out—and bring her to my chamber.’
    Before she could protest Sarah was roughly seized. A gag was forced into her mouth and thick ropes were produced from a cell in the corner to bind her wrists and arms. Then the High Priest touched a secret mechanism in the wall, and once more she was bundled out into the forbidding, subterranean world of the brethren.
    Sweating and breathless, Count Federico sat sprawled in a red velvet armchair in his palace rooms. His face wore a disgruntled frown as a white-haired retainer dabbed his brow with a large silk handkerchief.
    Through the open casement a loud fanfare sounded from the direction of the city gates. At the same time there was a knock at the door and the scar-faced captain strode in looking anxious.
    â€˜The Duke of Milan is arriving, sire.’
    Federico scowled at this unwelcome piece of news. ‘Get this muck out of here!’ he snapped at the servant. ‘Bring me clean linen. Hurry! You oaf !’
    The servant scuttled out. Federico crossed to the window and stared angrily across the rooftops. ‘And that fox-faced old blowhard, the Doge, will be here within the hour. His advance riders are carousing in the taverns even now.’ He turned and glared at the captain.
    The captain shuffled his feet. ‘What’s to be done, sire? They must be greeted.’
    â€˜That fat clown of a chancellor must meet them,’ thundered Federico. ‘Say I have been stricken with an ague. Before night comes, Rossini, you and I have work to do!’ He bore down on the captain jabbing the man’s breastplate to emphasise the point.
    â€˜I have a score of men searching for the Prince. He has not returned to the palace.’
    â€˜Then we must search the city. He’s skulking in some stinking hovel.’ Federico thrust his face inches from Rossini’s. ‘I’ve gone too far to stop now. I must see Giuliano’s liver fed to the dogs by sunrise! ‘ His eyes glinted evilly as he spat the words in the captain’s face. Rossini remained perfectly still, not flinching. He had experienced his master’s wrath before.
    â€˜But the deed must be stealthy, sire,’ he ventured after a moment. ‘With so many visitors of rank lodged in San Martino...’
    â€˜Peasant!’ exploded Federico. ‘Do I need your pig-brained counsel?’ He struck the captain a fierce blow across the cheek.
    â€˜Sire.’
    â€˜Listen, Rossini, Giuliano is a traitor! The prince of a Christian state mixing with the followers of Demnos. Taking part in their filthy black rites. You and I are witness of this!’ His voice reached a