And the Rest Is History(51)

‘Doctor. Yes. Good afternoon. I wonder if you could spare us a moment. Mr Bashford appears to have been involved in some sort of canine-related accident … No … As far as I can see he appears to be stunned rather than bitten … OK.’

I closed my com. ‘On his way.’

He was with us almost immediately, accompanied by Nurse Hunter. Like us, they looked down at Bashford and then looked up at the sky.

‘Where did that scruffy mongrel come from?’

‘History Department,’ said Markham, falling about at his own wit.

We ignored him again.

‘I know I am going to regret asking this,’ said Dr Stone, ‘but what, why, and how could this happen?

‘It was easy,’ said Atherton. ‘One minute he was talking to us and the next minute a dog fell on his head.’

‘Let me be more specific. Why would a dog drop out of the sky onto Bashford?’

We looked at each other. ‘Who else would it fall on?’ said Markham, reasonably.

‘What?’

‘Well, isn’t it obvious? If a dog is going to drop out of the sky and Bashford is even in the same county, then it’s going to fall on him, isn’t it?’

‘But … why are dogs and cats falling out of the sky in the first place?’

Hunter rolled her eyes and began to examine both bodies for signs of life.

‘One dead,’ she reported. ‘One not dead.’

Dr Stone dragged his eyes away, scanned the small crowd gathering around, presumably looking for the most intelligent person present and astonishingly picked me.

‘Did the dog bite him and then die? Because I could believe that.’

‘I don’t think so.’

‘Did it fall on him and then die?

‘No, I think it was dead when it got here.’

Nurse Hunter poked the stiff corpse. ‘Yes, it’s been dead for some time.’

I began to feel she should be paying more attention to her current patient rather than the ex-dog.

‘Is he all right?’

‘God, no. Dead as a doornail.’

‘I meant Mr Bashford.’

‘Hard to say, really. Define all right.’

Dr Stone appeared to recall his medical responsibilities.

‘Nurse, we’ll get him inside and take a proper look.’ He trailed away and looked up at the sky again, mystified.

I, on the other hand, was looking for the missing component I knew would be around here somewhere.

And here she came. Miss Lingoss trotted around the corner, peering left and right, obviously looking for something. She stopped when she saw us, and attempted unobtrusively to ooze back the way she had come. Given that today’s hair was black and white, that she was wearing an enormous hooped purple dress of vaguely 17th-century European design, and was clutching what appeared to be a dead corgi under her arm, this seemed a fairly unrealistic ambition.

I beckoned her over.

‘Ah,’ she said, looking down at the two prone bodies. ‘There he is.’

It was unclear to which of them she was referring.

At our feet, Bashford stirred faintly.

‘He’s coming round,’ I said, prodding him gently with my foot. ‘Well done, doctor.’

‘I don’t think it was anything I did,’ he said. ‘I get the impression he’s done this sort of thing quite often. He’s probably got some sort of recovery routine that automatically kicks in as required.’

He bent over Bashford who had opened his eyes. ‘How are you feeling? Oh – no – sorry – old habits die hard. Let me try again. What the hell do you think you’re playing at, you moron?’

‘Much better,’ said Markham. ‘You’re really getting the hang of this, doc.’

‘Thank you.’ He regarded Bashford, now struggling to sit up. ‘Let’s get you back to Sick Bay, shall we?’

Bashford nodded fuzzily.

‘Do you know where you are?’

He nodded again, eyes rolling around like two marbles in a jar.

‘Do you know your name?’

Bashford squinted down at his name, stencilled on his top pocket. ‘Oh my God, I’m upside down.’

Dr Stone tried again. ‘Who’s the current Prime Minister?’

Silence.

‘Can you not remember or don’t you know?’

Bashford’s eyes travelled vaguely around, seeking inspiration.

‘Really? Not even the faintest idea?’

He shook his head. The doctor sighed. ‘Does anyone here have any conception of the world around them?’ He sat back on his heels. ‘Who’s the current PM? Anyone?’

There was a certain amount of foot shuffling.

‘Oh for heaven’s sake.’

‘This dog is stuffed,’ said Hunter, suddenly. ‘And so is this cat. Where did you get them?’

She stared at Lingoss, who stared monochromatically back again and said, ‘Job lot. Taxidermist selling up. Professor Rapson thought they might come in useful.’

‘They?’

‘Well, you know – he bought one or two things.’

‘Such as?’

‘Oh,’ she stared vaguely at the sky. ‘Um…’

Dr Stone began to repack his kit. ‘Never mind that now. To return to my original question. Why?’