“Do you know, Rosette my dear…” the Master says, cupping the 102 TARDIS’ proffered milky features, “You’re a lovely girl, in the nude. So elegant. You remind me of that little ape church in Jolly Old… all the white and silvery, what was it called? Oh yes…” His fingers dart, minnows in a stream as they grab the sides of the console box and press something. “Now it’s got to be here somewhere… ‘Mina said something about… hidden treasure…”
“Ah, yes! There it is!”
Square columns raise behind each of the many mannequins; each glass pillar contains a...
He follows the line of each identical piece of cloth, noting the slimness, the curves and the boning as though admiring a murderer’s work, or perhaps a fine meal. His hands are behind his back as he walks back and forth between every column; his booted feet on the glossy floor as he paces, trying to find what she meant for him to find.
Then he sees it.
There is one, in the back, in a simple place of honour. It sits slightly to the right of the others. He crosses the room, fingers twitching to touch the thing under glass.
He feels up and down the square column, the sensitive nerves in his digits trolling for a catch release.
He wants his prize.
A little to the left.
A bit to the right and up, at a slight diagonal.
Some jiggery-pokery, a precise sideways motion.
The shadow of a seam is found.
There we are. Here we are, now.