Doctor Who: Rags Read Free Page B

emitting another child. A girl this time: pretty, yet somehow made wicked by her poverty, by the stained shreds of clothes which covered her gaunt body; most of all, by the absence of anything in her eyes.
    ‘Nu Mama, Nu Papa,’ they said, as they came out of the sewer.
    Filthy children: so many, so many. All advancing on her with heir rags and their chant and their outstretched hands, and Charmagne Peters was afraid of them, of their rat-like agility, and of their utter apathy.
    They don’t care, she told herself, as she backed away up the alley. They don’t care, because nobody has ever cared for them.
    Nu Mama, Nu Papa. Nu Mama, Nu Papa. NU MAMA, NU
    PAPA...
     
    They don’t belong, because they have no status. They have no worth, so they should not be. They should not be!
    She was mouthing the words in the dark, in her bedroom. The church over by Plymouth Hoe was striking two in the morning, and her cheeks were wet with tears.
     
    17
     

Chapter Three
    There wasn’t much to see except the moor and the prison, but Nick felt like staring anyway. There wasn’t much else for him to do. Behind him, the muted babble of lunch-time drinkers inside the Devil’s Elbow lulled his senses. Sleep dragged at him. As the sun pressed down on his eyelids he wondered idly how long Sin would take with the drinks.
    ‘Lazy dole-scroungin’ scum!’
    Nick’s eyes flew open, maybe expecting to see some excitement.
    It was only Jimmy, wearing his ever-present American Civil War Confederate cap. The wild-eyed, leather-jacketed scourge of Princetown settled down comfortably on the bench next to his friend.
    ‘Said the kettle to the pot,’ Nick murmured sleepily.
    ‘Uh?’
    ‘Nothing, just an obscure cliche. Don’t know what it means exactly. Don’t make me think about it for any longer than I have to.’
    ‘Then don’t use it. It’s annoying.’
    Nick accepted a cigarette off Jimmy and gazed over at the dour Victorian prison half a mile up the high street of the little town.
    ‘And to think we stay here by choice,’ he said ruminatively.
    ‘You telling me you don’t like it here?’ Jimmy quipped humourlessly. It was a very old and worn joke. ‘Where’s Psycho Sin?’
    Nick jerked his thumb behind him, indicating the pub. As if on cue she appeared in the doorway, a small, pretty Chinese girl in her early twenties, her eyes maybe a little wary, her sensuous lips pursed and stubborn. Her eyes looked even more wary when she saw Jimmy perched next to Nick. She plonked two pints down on the wooden table and sat opposite the two men.
    Jimmy looked up in mock dismay. ‘You didn’t buy me one.’
    ‘There’s a man in there who stands behind a bar waiting to 19
     
    serve people. Why don’t you make his day?’ Sin Yen wasn’t in the mood for Jimmy.
    ‘The Beast? He doesn’t like me.’
    ‘He’s not alone then.’
     
    Jimmy did his best Johnny Rotten sneer and sauntered off reluctantly into the pub.
    ‘What’s that bonehead doing here?’ Sin asked as soon as he was gone. Her skin was translucent in the sunlight. It really was a beautiful day, Nick thought as he pulled on his cigarette. And Sin had never looked more beautiful, with her shoulder-length black hair and mahogany eyes. Yet this dismayed him oddly, as if maybe that beauty was there just to torment him. Suddenly he knew they wouldn’t be together much longer. He shrugged away the fear the thought brought with it and concentrated on being his usual laid-back self.
    ‘Hmm? Oh, just biding his time. Just like the rest of us. Killing the days.’
    ‘Can’t you get shot of him? You know he gets on my nerves.’
    ‘We’ve got to stick together, Sin. It’s an uncaring world out there and we need all the friends we can get.’
    ‘He’s a waster.’ She sipped her pint moodily.
    ‘Ain’t we all? The only difference between us and Jimmy is he wastes his time on drugs and we waste our time brooding about being wasters. At least he’s happy.’
    ‘I just