Part 8 (2/2)

The hissing was louder now. There was no mistaking it. Like boiling water hitting ice. Urton raised his other hand, and slowly pulled off the remaining glove. Gaddis watched, fascinated, transfixed, as Urton let both gloves fall to the ground. A cloud of steam exploded from the light snow as the gloves landed, scorched their way through.

Now Gaddis did did take a step back. But too late. Urton's bare hands hissed towards his face, spitting and steaming in the cold air. Gaddis felt the heat of them as they closed on his neck. He opened his mouth to speak, to cry out. But already the air was squeezing out through the hole in his windpipe and all he could manage was a dry rasp of pain. His nostrils were full of the stench as his flesh seared away. Steam choked out of his ruptured throat, rising in front of him and obscuring his vision, smearing out Urton's smiling face. take a step back. But too late. Urton's bare hands hissed towards his face, spitting and steaming in the cold air. Gaddis felt the heat of them as they closed on his neck. He opened his mouth to speak, to cry out. But already the air was squeezing out through the hole in his windpipe and all he could manage was a dry rasp of pain. His nostrils were full of the stench as his flesh seared away. Steam choked out of his ruptured throat, rising in front of him and obscuring his vision, smearing out Urton's smiling face.

The cold was eating through his boots. Dobbs stamped his feet hard on the frozen ground as he walked, trying to work some life and feeling back into them. They were beside the fissure again now, walking along its widening length.

'But to raise the temperature of the water in that inlet,' Dobbs said, 'the whole reservoir must be affected to some extent.'

'Heat cannot of itself pa.s.s from one body to a hotter body,' the Doctor agreed. He was walking briskly, but otherwise showed no indication that he was feeling the cold. 'Which does rather suggest a source of extreme heat somewhere below the surface.'

'Or on the sh.o.r.e, perhaps?' Dobbs suggested.

The Doctor shook his head. 'We would see it. Melted snow, smoke. At that sort of heat there would be combustion.' He paused, peering into the distance ahead of them. 'No, no, no,' he decided. 'It's in the water. Or below the bed of the reservoir.'

Dobbs blew out a long misty breath. 'But to generate that sort of temperature, Doctor?'

The Doctor was walking forwards again, slowly, cautiously. 'I know. Extreme heat like that might come from the very heart of the planet itself.'

'This fissure?' Dobbs nodded towards the smoking hole beside them. 'It is hot, I grant you. But not so hot as you are suggesting.'

'But who knows how deep it goes? Maybe it runs under the surface, under the reservoir, heat bottled up and looking for an outlet of some sort.'

'Leaking into the reservoir? Is that possible?'

'Anything is possible.' The Doctor pointed across the snow, away from the fissure to their left. 'What's that?'

Dobbs turned to look. 'Wouldn't the water leak back into the fissure?' he asked. But the end of his question dried as he saw what the Doctor was pointing at. 'Good grief.' Dobbs broke into a stumbling, unsteady run.

Dobbs arrived at the body first, glancing back to see the Doctor apparently in no hurry to catch him up. The corpse was lying in an island of gra.s.s. The snow seemed to have retreated from it, as if trying to distance itself from the death. The ground was hard and parched, the gra.s.s dry and dead. The body was lying on its back. It was charred almost beyond recognition, the clothing fused to the blackened remains, the dark brittle bones visible where the flesh had peeled back. The head was a dark wreck of bone and cartilage, teeth grinning up at the sky.

Retching suddenly and dryly, Dobbs sank to his knees beside the body. His hands were knotted about his walking stick, as if he were planting a memorial to his friend. The Doctor's shadow fell across the dry ground.

'The leaking water would be vaporised by the heat,' he said. His tone seemed unchanged from their earlier conversation.

'What?' Dobbs barely heard the words.

'We have more evidence here of the extremes of temperature' The Doctor knelt down beside Dobbs, poking a finger into the side of the corpse. The black flesh crumbled like charred paper, flaking to the ground. The Doctor held up his finger, and blew. A mist of fine black soot was carried away by the air and sprinkled itself across the brilliant white of the nearby snow.

'He's dead, Doctor.' Dobbs's voice was a hoa.r.s.e whisper of disbelief. 'Dead.' He shook his head and stifled a sob.

'Very dead,' the Doctor agreed, standing up. 'Nothing we can do for him now, but it suggests that there is a degree of urgency to our investigations.'

Dobbs pulled himself upright beside the Doctor. 'Don't you understand?' he pleaded. 'Gaddis Alistair. He's dead. I can't...' He was trembling. 'I don't...' He stared back at the blackened wreck. 'Dear G.o.d, what will I say to his mother?' His hand was at his mouth. He swallowed, his throat dry and dusty.

The Doctor was staring off into the distance, back towards the dam. He seemed unaffected by the grotesque discovery. Suddenly, Dobbs was angry at that. 'Have you no feelings, sir?' he demanded. 'd.a.m.n it, answer me!' He grabbed hold of the Doctor's sleeve.

When the Doctor turned, he seemed surprised, eyebrows raised. Almost in embarra.s.sment, Dobbs let go of the Doctor's coat. He felt drained, empty. Cold and numb inside.

The Doctor glanced back at the body. He leaned down and carefully brushed a fleck of dust from the charred remains of a lapel. 'Intriguing, isn't it,' he murmured.

Chapter Eight.

Curio The sun was low in the sky. The snow on the streets had turned to dark slush beneath the carriage wheels and horses' hooves. Outside the barracks, soldiers wheeled and turned on the parade ground as the drill officer barked orders through an exhalation of mist.

The Doctor paused to watch the patterns the identical troops made as they marched back and forth, followed instructions, kept in step, responded immediately and mechanically.

Further down the same street he pa.s.sed the entrance to the station. The cabs and carriages drawn up outside were a counterpoint to the parading soldiers a medley of shuffling, stamping, haphazard vehicles and animals. The patterns they made were non*patterns, chaotic and indiscriminate, yet there was an underlying order to it.

The figure ahead of the Doctor was dressed in a long grey coat that reached almost to the ground. His gait was purposeful as he continued down the street and he carried a leather holdall. The Doctor waited until he was almost lost amongst the people on the pavement, then followed.

They walked for ten minutes. The figure did not once look back, gave no indication that he thought he was being followed. Or if he did, he did not care. Eventually, he stopped outside a shop. He looked in at the window, then pushed open the door.

The Doctor watched, expressionless. The shop was one of the larger antique dealers in Ambleton. It also dealt in second hand books and other curios. Through the window, the Doctor could see the grey man as he walked round the shop examining the items on display.

Crossing the street, the Doctor went instead into the shop next door. Give the grey man time to make his pitch. He did not look to see what sort of a shop it was, and once inside he paused to look around. It was dim and dusty and smelled of machine oil. At the back of the shop a small man wearing a smeared ap.r.o.n looked up from his work table. He had a jeweller's gla.s.s in his eye, as if filtering his view of the Doctor. The only light came through the stained windows and from the lamp that burned on the table, illuminating the man's work.

At once the man returned to his task. 'Feel free to look around.' His voice was husky and grating, as if the mechanism were worn. He waved a hand dismissively in the air. 'If there's anything in particular...'

'I shall ask,' the Doctor a.s.sured him. He approached the table, looking to see what the man was working on. Beside him, arranged along the aisle that led to the table, shadowy figures and shapes held their peace. Across the table small pieces of machinery were arranged. Cogwheels and springs, half*a.s.sembled mechanisms, drilled metal plates and a collection of bra.s.s screws.

There was a sudden metallic click from beside the Doctor, and he froze. Slowly, he turned towards the sound. In the shadows he could make out a figure as it leaned towards him. Its movements were jerky and uneven. A sc.r.a.ping, mechanical sound accompanied the movement and the Doctor saw now that the small figure was a monkey. Its eyes shone out of the darkness as it lifted a paw towards him. There was something clutched in the paw, the Doctor noticed. He saw also that the creature was dressed in a dinner suit. There was the stump of a cigar clamped in its mouth.

'The spring slips.' The man's voice carried apologetically above the sound of the monkey's mechanism. 'There is a loose floorboard there somewhere. It is enough sometimes to set him off.'

'That's fine.' The Doctor watched in fascination as the monkey's hand reached its mouth and he saw that it was raising a lighter. The flame flared for a second, then died. The monkey's paw dropped slowly away, clicking back to its original position. 'What would you evolve into?' he wondered out loud. As if in reply, a stream of smoke blew out from the automaton's mouth. enveloping the Doctor in a purple haze. He cleared his throat and continued towards the table.

'This will be a music box,' the man explained. He swept his hand over the table to indicate the parts. 'A dancer inside. She stands up when the box is opened.'

'So she will appear to emerge from the box to dance.' The Doctor nodded enthusiastically. 'Very clever.'

The man shrugged. 'Straightforward enough. It is amazing how small we can make the mechanisms now.'

'Is that so much of an advantage?'

'It means we can better conceal the workings. And we can make the automata smaller also. People prefer smaller ones these days.'

'And they say bigger is better,' the Doctor mused.

'Do they?' He did not seem interested.

The Doctor watched the man work for a minute. 'I was in Turkey once,' he said. 'Well, I think it was Turkey, I have trouble remembering.'

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