061 - Doctor Who and the Talons of Weng-Chiang

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Stepping out of the Tardis into Victorian London, Leela

and the Doctor are confronted by menacing, diabolical

horrors shrouded within the swirling London fog—a

man’s death cry, an attack by Chinese Tong hatchet men,

giant rats roaming the sewers, young women

mysteriously disappearing...

The hideously deformed Magnus Greel, conducting a

desperate search for the lost Time Cabinet, is the

instigator of all this evil. Posing as the Chinese god,

Weng-Chiang, Greel uses the crafty Chang, and the

midget manikin, Mr Sin, to achieve his terrifying

objectives.

The Doctor must use all his skill, energy and intelligence

to escape the talons of Weng-Chiang.

ISBN 0 426 11973 8

DOCTOR WHO

AND THE TALONS

OF WENG-CHIANG

Based on the BBC television serial The Talons of Weng-Chiang

by Robert Holmes by arrangement with the British

Broadcasting Corporation

TERRANCE DICKS

A TARGET BOOK

published by

The Paperback Division of

W. H. Allen & Co. Ltd

A Target Book

Published in 1977

by the Paperback Division of W. H. Allen & Co. Ltd.

A Howard & Wyndham Company

44 Hill Street, London W1X 8LB

Broadcasting Corporation

Printed in Great Britain by

Richard Clay (The Chaucer Press) Ltd, Bungay, Suffolk

ISBN 0426 11973 8

This book is sold subject to the condition that it shall not, by

way of trade or otherwise, be lent, re-sold, hired out or

otherwise circulated without the publisher’s prior consent in

any form of binding or cover other than that in which it is

published and without a similar condition including this

condition being imposed on the subsequent purchaser.

CONTENTS

1 Terror in the Fog

2 The Horror in the River

3 Death of a Prisoner

4 The Monster in the Tunnel

5 The Quest of Greel

6 The Tong Attacks

7 The Lair of Weng-Chiang

8 The Sacrifice

9 In the Jaws of the Rat

10 A Plan to Kill the Doctor

11 Death on Stage

12 The Hunt for Greel

13 The House of the Dragon

14 The Prisoners of Greel

15 The Firebomb

Terror in the Fog

They were having a good night at the Palace. Even

though it was only the first performance of the evening the

theatre was packed. In the boxes and the front stalls sat the

toffs, men immaculate in evening dress, ladies in fine evening

gowns, all down in the East End for a night at the Music Hall.

The body of the theatre and the Grand Circle above were

filled with local people, tradesmen and their wives and

families, bank clerks and shop assistants. High above in the

top-most balcony, known as the ‘Gods,’ the poorer people

were crowded onto hard wooden benches. Laborers, dock

workers, soldiers and sailors, even some of the half-starved

unemployed—they’d all managed to scrape together a few

coppers for the big night of the week. They were a tough

crowd up in the ‘Gods,’ ready to show their feelings with boos,

catcalls and rotten fruit if an act wasn’t to their liking. But

now, like everyone else in the theatre, they were staring

entranced at the gorgeously robed figure on stage, the famous

Chinese magician Li H’sen Chang.

It was a tough, savage place, this London of the eighteen

nineties; a place of contrasts. Victoria was on the throne, and

the British Empire covered much of the globe. England was

powerful and prosperous, and London was the trading capital

of the world. There were those in the theatre who shared

their country’s prosperity, spending gold sovereigns with a

free hand, living comfortable lives, with servants to look after

them. Yet there were many more who were short of the

money to pay for their next meal, or even for a roof over their

heads. However, tonight they were united in a common aim,

to forget their troubles and have a thoroughly good time.

The audience watched spellbound as Chang ushered a

smiling chorus girl into a metal cabinet in the center of the

stage. He closed the door, and slid sword after sword through

the slots in the cabinet’s sides. He waved his hands, withdrew

the swords. There was a bang and a flash, and he threw open

the door, to reveal the chorus girl, smiling and unharmed.

There was a roar of applause. Chang folded his hands in his

sleeves and bowed low, and the curtain came down.

Immediately stage hands rushed on, clearing away the

props from Chang’s act, setting things up for the first act of

the second house. Chang went over to a chair, where Mr. Sin

sat waiting for him.

Mr. Sin was a ventriloquist’s dummy. He was larger than

most, as big as a child or a dwarf. He wore silk trousers and

jacket and a little round cap, and his little face was a wooden

parody of Chang’s handsome Oriental features. The little

dummy was one of the most popular features of Chang’s act.

Most magicians performed in mysterious silence, but for

much of the time Chang worked with the dummy on his arm.

Throughout the act Mr. Sin kept up a running fire of

disrespectful comment.

Carrying Mr. Sin, Chang was making for his dressing

room when Jago, the manager and proprietor of the theatre,

intercepted him in the wings. A stout, red-faced figure

resplendent in evening dress with diamond studs, Jago was

positively glowing with happiness. ‘Mr. Chang! Wonderful,

sir, wonderful. Words fail me!’

Chang bowed. ‘Most unusual,’ he said ironically.

‘Never, in my thirty years on the halls have I seen such a

dazzling display of lustrous legerdemain, so many feats of

superlative, supernatural skill.’

It was Mr. Sin who answered the flood of compliments.

‘Honorable Master,’ he piped eerily. ‘You are most kind to

bestow praise on miserable, unworthy head of humble

Chang.’

Jago grinned appreciatively. ‘Dashed clever, the way you

work the little fellow. Wires in the sleeves, eh?’ He held up a

hand, interrupting himself. ‘Oh, but I’ll not pry, Mr. Chang.

The secrets of the artiste are sacred to me.’

There was a sudden scuffle by the stage door at the far

end of the corridor. Casey, the skinny little Irish doorkeeper,

was trying to prevent a burly tough-looking character from

forcing his way into the theatre. As they watched, the man

broke free and he came running up to them. Jago was

outraged. Members of the public were never allowed

backstage. ‘What the deuce? You’ve no right to burst in here

like this. Who are you?’

‘Name’s Buller, sir. Cab driver. I’ve no quarrel with you,

Mr. Jago, it’s him I want.’ He shook a massive fist at Chang.

‘My Emma came in here last night, and nobody ain’t seen her

since. Now I’m asking you, mister, what’s happened to her?’

Jago grabbed him by the arm. ‘Don’t trouble yourself,

Mr. Chang, the fellow’s drunk, or mad! I’ll have him ejected.’

Buller wrenched himself free. ‘You do and I go straight

to the police.’

‘It is all right, Mr. Jago,’ said Chang smoothly. ‘Do not

trouble yourself. I’m sure we can settle this misunderstanding

peacefully. If you will come to my dressing room, Mr. Buller?’

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摘要：

SteppingoutoftheTardisintoVictorianLondon,LeelaandtheDoctorareconfrontedbymenacing,diabolicalhorrorsshroudedwithintheswirlingLondonfog—aman’sdeathcry,anattackbyChineseTonghatchetmen,giantratsroamingthesewers,youngwomenmysteriouslydisappearing...ThehideouslydeformedMagnusGreel,conductingadesperatesea...

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061 - Doctor Who and the Talons of Weng-Chiang

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