Part 10 (2/2)

'I suggest you save that thought, Mr Milton,' Nepath told him. 'I trust that in a few minutes you will not consider any need to repeat it.' He turned towards where the Doctor was sitting admiring his sphere. 'Doctor, may I?' He held out his hand.

The Doctor smiled. 'Of course.' He tossed the ball of material to Nepath, who caught it cleanly.

Nepath held up the ball for everyone to see. Then he turned and threw it into the fire.

'Not impressed?' the Doctor asked.

'We shall see who is impressed, shall we?' Nepath pa.s.sed the tongs from the table to Lord Urton who took them to the fire. He reached into the flames with the tongs and carefully picked out the material. He held it up for them to see.

It was no longer a sphere. It had changed shape again, and was an amorphous lump of dark rock.

There was silence.

'It's melted,' Milton called from the back. 'Is that what you're showing us?'

Before Nepath could reply, the Doctor leaned forward in his seat, his eyes gleaming. 'No,' he said, 'no, that's not it at all. Is it, Mr Nepath?'

'At last, you are impressed, eh, Doctor?'

The Doctor returned Nepath's smile. 'I am,' he admitted. 'But do please continue with the parlour tricks. Do let's impress everyone else too.'

'Thank you, Doctor.' Nepath turned his attention back to the table and lifted the large sphere. It was obviously heavy and he needed both hands. 'This is a hardened version of the material. You may examine it later if you wish. It's characteristics are very similar to those of toughened steel. You will see in a moment the opportunities that offers.' He replaced it on the table. It dropped the final inch with a crack.

Next he turned to the statue of the bird. He held it up, examining it closely. 'An intermediate stage,' he explained. 'Not so malleable as the raw material you have, but not so unyielding as this.' He tapped the sphere. 'Mr Milton, would you join me for a moment, please?'

Milton made his way to the table. He was a tall, thin man with oiled hair brushed across the obvious baldness of his head. His nose was a flattened lump on his broad face.

'Your material?' Nepath asked. When Milton held it out, Nepath gestured for him to place it on the table. 'Press it flat, if you would. Good.' Nepath took what looked like a pen from his pocket, but it had no nib. It was merely a thin rod of metal that tapered to a blunt point. He handed it to Milton. 'Write something. Anything. Just scratch it on to the surface would you? Or draw something, it doesn't matter.'

Grant leaned forward to watch as Milton bent to scratch at the material. When he was finished, Urton stepped forward and took hold of the flat disc of material with the tongs. He carefully dipped it into the bowl of liquid, holding it there for several seconds before pulling it dripping out again. He held it out to Nepath.

Nepath had his handkerchief out and wrapped it around the disc, patting it dry. An inky blot appeared through the cotton. When he was done, Urton placed the disc back on the table before Milton.

'Now,' Nepath told him, 'I want you to pick up the material. Good. Now, squash it into another shape. Anything.'

Puzzled, Milton squeezed the disk into a blob.

'And throw it on to the fire.'

Milton tossed it into the flames. After several seconds, Urton stepped across and once again reached in with the tongs. He drew out a smoking disc of material and carried it to the table. He dropped it on to the table before Milton who stared down at it in disbelief.

'It's a trick.' He reached out, his fingers stopping shy of the surface.

'No trick,' Nepath said. 'And you can touch it. The heat is all absorbed in the process, it won't burn you. Not now.'

Milton picked up the disc and examined it. 'But, how could you know. My daughter's name. And a scratched pattern.' He gave a short sharp laugh and returned the disc to Nepath. 'How's it done?' he demanded.

Nepath smiled in reply. Realising his role was over, Milton returned to his seat.

'Perhaps, Mr Grant, you would a.s.sist me with the explanations?' Nepath said.

'Me?' Grant got to his feet and approached the table, negotiating the other chairs. He felt slightly nervous, though he did not know why. 'What do you wish me to do?' He tucked in his s.h.i.+rt. It always worked loose when he was seated. His waistcoat b.u.t.tons were straining again, he noticed.

Lord Urton held out the lump hammer. Grant took it. The handle was smooth, pale wood. The business end was heavy, dark metal. He hefted it experimentally as he waited for Nepath to explain.

Nepath patted the bird's head. 'Let's see if you can hammer this flat,' he said.

Grant was amazed. 'You can't be serious?'

'Oh, I'm very serious,' Nepath a.s.sured him. 'Go on.'

Grant stared at him. Then at the statue of the bird. He took a deep breath. 'Very well.' He let the hammer fall on the ends of a wing, holding the base as he cautiously bent the wing tip. The hammer rang as if striking metal.

Nepath was shaking his head. 'Put some effort into it man,' he said. 'Hammer it flat. I mean it.'

Grant looked up, saw the determination in Nepath's face, and then set to with more vigour. The wings bent down with little effort. Then, at a further nod from Nepath, he set about the beak and the head. The audience watched transfixed as he worked. It seemed to take forever, but eventually all that was left of the intricate detail of the statue was a lump of bent and squashed metal.

'Thank you,' Nepath said taking the hammer.

Grant was breathing heavily, perspiring from the exertion. He watched Urton lift the results of his work in the tongs and carry the shapeless lump to the fire. He perched it carefully on top of the burning coals and stepped away.

'Once treated,' Nepath said as they watched and waited, 'the material, as I have said, has the characteristics of workable metal.'

Something was stirring within the flames. The material was moving, writhing within the fire.

'Another treatment, and the form is fixed. We can determine whether the substance remains malleable or becomes hardened. We can fix it at any intermediate state we wish.'

Within the fire, the lump seemed to he expanding. As Grant watched in amazement, what looked like a wing unfolded from the ma.s.s and stretched out.

'That second treatment imbues the material with memory. Memory of its form.'

A second wing curled outwards and upwards, artificial feathers reflecting the light.

'Whatever happens after that, whether the form is squashed or broken or dropped or moulded, it remembers how it was.'

The centre of the ma.s.s was lifting, thrusting upwards now. The head of the bird emerged within the fire, staring out accusingly at Grant before it slowly turned sideways into profile. The beak seemed to expand from the head. The flames licked round the bird's feet.

'We merely apply heat, and it gains the energy it needs to return to that form.'

Nepath nodded to Urton. As they watched, Lord Urton reached into the flames with his bare hands and took hold of the bird. He pulled it free of the fire and held it up for everyone to see.

'And thus is the phoenix reborn,' Nepath said.

For a moment there was silence. Then there was sudden applause and everyone started talking at once. The only still points were Nepath and Urton standing in front of the fire, the phoenix raised above them. And the Doctor, sitting absolutely still in his armchair, his elbows resting on the arms, his fingers steepled to his chin.

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