Part 8 (1/2)

'The dam. Apart from the danger of losing our hats, I mean.' His hand flew to his head suddenly, and he seemed surprised when it met his wind*blown hair.

'It appears to be safe, yes sir. The tremors and the fissure don't seem to have affected the structure at all. But we'll check again in a week in case there's any movement.'

'Very wise.' The Doctor had turned. He was staring out across the reservoir on the other side of the dam. The surface was partly frozen, islands of ice floating just under the surface of the artificial lake. In places the ice emerged from the water and was dusted with snow.

'Did you know,' the Doctor said quietly, 'that snow screams when it hits water?'

'No, sir. I didn't know that.'

'Nor did I,' Dobbs said in surprise. 'What do you mean?'

'Oh it's too high*pitched a cry for us to hear,' he mused in the same quiet voice. 'But just because we can't perceive it doesn't mean it doesn't happen.' He swung round to face Wilson. 'Thank you, Colonel,' he barked loudly. 'You may carry on.'

Instinctively Wilson saluted. 'Sir.' Then he frowned. 'Are you a military man, sir? I hope you don't mind me asking.'

'Of course not.'

'You mean you're not in the military?'

'I mean I don't mind,' the Doctor confirmed. 'A military man,' he murmured as Wilson turned to go. 'Perhaps. We all have our wars to fight, you know.'

'Indeed, sir.' Wilson shuffled, embarra.s.sed, not sure if he had been intended to hear the remark. 'Excuse me, sir.' He made his way back to his men, thoughts of the two scientists already demoted. Just an hour or so, and he could be on his way.

The strongest dowsers did not need a rod or a plumb bob, Gaddis had been told. They could just feel the influence the flowing power within themselves. In their bones.

His grandmother had taught Gaddis the art. She had Romany blood in her, or so she claimed. She had taken him out in the meadow behind her cottage and led him towards the stream, sticks outstretched, searching for the water running below the surface. She knew where it was, of course. She had the gift herself, and had been delighted at her grandson's instant apt.i.tude.

But Alistair Gaddis needed a medium, something for the power to be channelled through. Finding no suitable sticks, he was using his house key. He had threaded a length of twine through it and held it out before him, allowing it to swing gently back and forth to describe an oval in the air as he walked.

He knew that Dobbs believed that dowsing was nonsense. The one semi*civilised conversation they had shared on the subject, many years ago now, had been enough for Gaddis to realise that Dobbs missed the point and always would. The professor had been forced to admit that dowsing might on occasion work. But his explanation was a subconscious realisation on the part of the dowser, an a.s.similation of clues and evidence from the surroundings that gave an indication of where water might be found. The movement of the sticks or the pendulum was merely, Dobbs maintained, a subconscious outlet for that realisation.

When they had moved on to discussing other lines of power, of magnetism and more esoteric forces, Dobbs had ended the conversation. He could never admit what Gaddis knew. What he knew from his own experience. He had felt the movement of the sticks unbidden in his hands, seen the pendulum swing awry without his a.s.sistance.

Now, as he worked his way along the side of the abyss, Gaddis was not examining the landscape for tell*tale topographical evidence. He had already found two lines of power, both of which pointed in the same direction. When he found the third and started to follow it he decided that he had found the focal point for whatever force emanated from the fissure. His concentration was focussed on the key as it swung in its arc.

So focussed that he did not see the figure approaching him until it was within twenty yards.

'I thought so.'

Dobbs had examined the fissure from the windswept top of the dam for as long as his old skin could bear the bite of the wind. He had made estimations of the size, sketched outlines of the shape. wondered at the depth. The Doctor had pointed out where there were jagged patches along the edge of the snowline where the snow had receded still further. As if the heat from the fissure were concentrating its efforts on particular points where it struggled to push back the snow.

Now they were walking round the frozen edge of the reservoir. The Doctor had said he wished to examine a slight inlet along the side, pointing it out to Dobbs's bleary eyes. They had a while yet until they were due to meet Gaddis, and Dobbs had no objection to a walk in the Doctor's company.

He leaned heavily on his stick and watched the Doctor slip and slide his way down towards the water's edge. Sure enough, as the Doctor had described, he could now see that the water here was steaming. Probably it did not need to be very hot in this weather for the effect. But it was unsettling nonetheless. He tried to recall if he had ever witnessed such a phenomenon before. He could remember walking across the frozen Thames when he was younger. But had the water steamed like warm breath in the cold air as it thawed?

'The ice is simply melting, surely,' he called after the Doctor who was now crouched by the misty edge of the reservoir.

'I don't think so.' The Doctor's voice carried back easily through the cold air. 'It's actually bubbling in places.'

'Bubbling?' Dobbs pulled himself upright and took a few steps forwards. But his feet slipped slightly and he felt decidedly unsteady. So from only slightly closer he called: 'Are you sure?'

'It's not something that allows for doubt.' The Doctor sounded put out by the question. He was leaning forward, into the mist. When he turned and started up the slope towards Dobbs, his hands were cupped together in front of him. They were steaming.

'Here,' the Doctor said as he stood in front of the Professor. He nodded towards the shallow water cupped in his hands. 'Stick your finger in.'

Even as he said it, even as Dobbs reached forwards, it was obvious that the water was hot. It was not bubbling, but a hazy mist s.h.i.+mmered from its surface. A drop squeezed out between the Doctor's hands, running down to his lowest knuckles and dripping to the ground. The snow where it landed shrank away from the warmth. Dobbs wondered for a moment if it was screaming as he dipped his finger cautiously into the liquid.

He nodded. 'Warm.' His eyes met the Doctor's. 'What do you think that means?'

'I don't know.' Suddenly the Doctor opened his hands and the water splashed to the ground, making a series of spattered depressions in the snow a central hole with jagged patches along the edge where the snow sank away. 'Now,' the Doctor said as they both stared after the water, 'lick your finger.'

'I beg your pardon?'

'The wet one. Lick it.'

Reluctantly, Dobbs licked at the tip of the finger with which he had tested the water. He frowned. 'Acidic?'

The Doctor nodded. 'That's what I thought. Interesting, wouldn't you say?'

He saw the man's shadow cast across the snow before he saw the man himself. Gaddis looked up in surprise.

'What are you doing? I've been watching you.'

'I'm sorry, I didn't see you.' Gaddis gulped. 'If I have strayed on to your land, sir, I do apologise.'

But Lord Urton's tone was one of interest rather than accusation. 'What are you doing?' he repeated. 'Are you looking for something?'

'Yes, in a way, sir.' As his apprehension faded, Gaddis became eager to explain. 'You see, I'm using the key as a pendulum. I'm dowsing, looking for hidden paths and lines.'

'What sorts of paths and lines?' Urton was standing with his hands behind his back, regarding Gaddis intently.

'Well, I'm not sure really, sir.'

'And have you enjoyed any success?' His hands were in black leather gloves as Urton stepped forwards, towards Gaddis. 'You did seem to be following a path of sorts.'

Gaddis nodded. 'I'm not sure what it is, some line of power, of influence. There are several.'

Urton was still approaching him. He was slowly teasing off one of the gloves.

'The strange thing is,' Gaddis went on, his attention on the hand as it emerged from within the glove. What was that hissing sound he could hear? His imagination? 'The strange things is,' he repeated through dry lips, feeling the skin stick as they pulled apart, 'that all the lines seem to lead towards the same place. Towards '

But Urton cut him off. 'Yes.' His voice was still quiet, still reasonable and calm. 'Yes, I do know.'