Part 14 (1/2)

Dobbs looked at the Doctor, unsettled by his manner. The Doctor turned, and their eyes locked. Then the Doctor turned back to the case. and Dobbs mirrored his action.

The case contained what looked to Dobbs like a hideous, twisted statue. It was composed of tarnished and scorched material that looked suspiciously like bone. Blackened remnants of clothing hung in places from the distorted shape. The whole form seemed disjointed, hideous and monstrous.

But the face was the worst. Dobbs could feel his gorge rising as he stared with horrid fascination at the charred skull. Slivers of dark skin and flesh still adhered to it like crumpled parchment. Whatever it was, and whyever Nepath had seen fit to preserve it, this grotesque creature, Dobbs realised with horror, was no statue. It had once been alive.

'I think,' the Doctor said, his voice a dry rasp, 'that it was time we were leaving.'

The darkness that returned when the Doctor extinguished the light was merciful. Dobbs backed carefully out of the inner room, waiting for the Doctor to join him and close the door. Together they picked their way across the larger room. through the sea of artefacts and packing materials.

The figure at the end of the corridor was so still that Dobbs almost failed to notice it. He saw the eyes first. Lady Urton seemed to be waiting for them to emerge from the room. The Doctor was closing the door quietly behind them as Dobbs tapped him urgently on the shoulder. His face was an unspoken question as he turned.

Dobbs nodded down the corridor, and the Doctor stiffened as he too saw her.

She seemed almost to glow in the shadows. She wore a long pale night gown which seemed lit from within, like an alabaster lantern. Until Dobbs realised that it was not the gown but her skin, her whole form, which was glowing. Her eyes flickered and danced with inner fire, yellow, orange and red mingling as she approached them.

They were backing away now. Dobbs knew instinctively that there was something wrong here, very wrong indeed. There was a smell in the air, like cooking meat. A faint hissing with each step she took. A curl of smoke seemed expelled from each bare foot as she walked along the corridor, leaving a smoking, blackened trail across the floorboards behind her.

The Doctor and Dobbs both turned at the same moment, both started to run back towards the stairs. And both saw the figure approaching them from the other direction a mirror of the woman behind them.

Except that the housekeeper was holding an oil lamp. Her hatchet*features cast sharp shadows across her face as she stepped forwards. She seemed surprised.

Dobbs looked from Mrs Webber to Lady Urton, noted the difference in their expressions Lady Urton's face was blank, staring; Mrs Webber's was a mask of astonishment and indignation as she saw them. Dobbs decided to take his chances with Mrs Webber. The Doctor must have thought the same.

'Excuse us!' the Doctor shouted as he pushed past her, Dobbs close on his heels. Mrs Webber spun and gasped and shouted something incoherent after them. Dobbs did not wait to hear what it was.

There was an angle in the stairway, a dog*leg half landing. As he turned the corner, Dobbs could see the two women frozen above him. Lady Urton's pale hand was extended, touching Mrs Webber's angular cheek. Steam was erupting from the blistered skin, and the housekeeper's mouth was gaping in agony. Whatever sound she was making was lost beneath the hissing and spitting of the burning flesh.

'Come on!' The Doctor grabbed Dobbs by the shoulder and fairly threw him down the next flight of stairs.

Dobbs staggered and stumbled his way into the hall. He reached the bottom of the stairs and turned back to wait for the Doctor. As he turned he caught sight of Lady Urton standing at the top banister, staring down through firelight eyes; and of Mrs Webber as she came screeching towards him. Her whole body was a blackened ma.s.s of charred bone and tissue as she fell. Only her gaping, screaming mouth seemed to remain her own.

Dobbs leaped aside as the blackened corpse crashed to the floor beside him, crumpled and broken. Again, the Doctor grabbed him, pulled him away.

'Back to the window, come on.'

'But, Doctor...' He was wheezing breathless from exertion, from fear, from realisation. 'That's what happened to Alistair,' he managed to gasp out.

'I know,' the Doctor hissed through gritted teeth. He hurled the Professor down the pa.s.sageway ahead of him. 'I know!'

The Doctor reached the window where they had climbed in, and flung it open. Dobbs caught up with him, but before he could say a word the Doctor lifted him bodily and pushed him into the gap. He twisted and struggled, pulling himself through, out of the nightmare house. As he tumbled into the moonlit snow, he caught a confused, spinning glimpse of the Doctor climbing after him. And of Lord Urton, his eyes blazing literally blazing reaching out for him from behind.

'Doctor!' Dobbs screamed out as he fell. 'Behind you!. Then he was rolling and tumbling and cold.

The Doctor was half out of the window when Dobbs recovered himself. He was on his back, pivoted on the sill, kicking out furiously with his feet. Dobbs could see the pale, glowing form of Lord Urton reaching back at the Doctor. Sparks were flying from Urton's hands as he make to grab the Doctor's feet. Flames were licking out of the window, though Dobbs could not see what was burning. Oily black smoke poured out over the Doctor, making him choke.

Dobbs pulled himself to his feet. He grabbed the Doctor under the arms and heaved with all his strength. He could see now that it was the Doctor himself who was on fire; or at least, the bottom of his jacket, where Urton had tried to drag him back through the window. At the same moment the Doctor gave a final frantic kick, striking Urton full in the chest and propelling himself backwards. He exploded from the window like a cork from a champagne bottle, and the two of them were rolling and tumbling in the drifts of snow. All that Dobbs could see was the fire, all he could smell was the burning fabric, all he could breath was the choking fumes.

Dobbs fell still, watching with incredulous fascination as the Doctor continued to roll and tumble in the snow. The bottom of his jacket was still on fire, but the snow was smothering the flames, slowly but surely the fire was dying away.

At the window, Lord Urton stood watching them. He was utterly still. The only movement was the flickering, dancing, light of the fire behind his eyes.

Chapter Twelve.

Lines of Inquiry Once back in his room, the Doctor shrugged off his crumpled velvet jacket. The back of it was still steaming slightly and there was a smell of burnt cloth. He lifted it up to inspect the damage, sighed, gave it a quick shake and then put it back on. He thrust his hands into the jacket pockets as he stared into the distance.

Immediately he whipped his right hand out again with a cry, and sucked at his fingers. More carefully, almost gingerly, he reached back into the pocket and pulled out the glossy black cube. It was hot. So hot that it was glowing with an inner brilliance. So hot that he dropped it at once. It fell to the floor, bounced once, and came to rest.

If he screwed up his eyes he could see that one side of the cube was brighter and presumably hotter than the others. He knelt down on the floor and rested his head on the boards close to the cube. He could feel its heat on his face as he turned slightly to see where the hottest face of the cube was pointing.

There was nothing there. Just a blank wall where the sink was mounted. The sink.

Slowly, cautiously, the Doctor got to his feet. He went to the sink and looked down into the soapy water. Inside, beneath the sc.u.mmed surface he could see something else glowing, giving out a faint light. Pus.h.i.+ng back his sleeve, he reached in and retrieved the sample of the substance that Nepath had given him. It was warm.

As it came clear of the water, he felt it get hotter, felt it tremble with inner life. Quickly, the Doctor set it down on a low table close to the basin. The material was a shapeless ma.s.s now. He could see the shape changing, bulging, the top coming to a point almost like...

...a volcano.

With a stifled cry of realisation, the Doctor leaped backwards just as the top of the thing erupted. Fiery, viscous liquid bubbled up from inside, forced out of the ma.s.s. Impossibly, it kept coming, a glowing orange trail of the stuff poured to the floor, started to run across the boards towards where the Doctor was standing. The surface of the liquefied material was crusted as the air cooled it. The crust seemed to burst with every surge of fresh material forced out of the small volcano. A rolling, steaming, scorching river of liquid fire inched its way towards the Doctor leaving a blackened trail in its wake.

He took another step backwards. The lava, whatever it was, blocked his escape. It was between him and the door. He stumbled, almost fell. At his feet, the cube he had carried for so very long, was glowing white hot. And he realised that it was not himself that the liquid was drawn towards at all. Heat to heat, like to like. The cube was somehow attracting the substance. Was this what had brought him here? Was this what it had wanted all along?

Fascinated, the Doctor climbed on to the bed. He lay on his stomach, elbows supporting his arms supporting his chin as he watched the molten river close on the glowing cube.

There was a flash of light as they met. A sound like the sc.r.a.ping of metal on tearing metal. When the light faded, the Doctor could see the whole body of material sucked rapidly into the small cube. How could something that size hold so much?

As if in answer to his unspoken question, the light in the cube faded. And the cube began to grow. It was getting taller, elongating, becoming a rectangular rather than a square box. Featureless, reaching almost to the ceiling of the room, four feet wide at least. The inner light died away, and the box's exterior faded to a dark colour.

He approached it carefully, reached out cautiously, let his fingertips graze the uneven surface. Like wood, yet not like wood. It tingled, trembled slightly. An upright, featureless box. Completely sealed, for he walked all round it to check. It was dark blue.

When the visitor arrived for the Doctor, s...o...b..ld made up his mind. Neither the Doctor nor Professor Dobbs had risen for breakfast, and s...o...b..ld was certain they had engaged in some nefarious nocturnal endeavour. He was torn between his curiosity and his moral conscience. So an excuse to waken the Doctor was welcome.

He left Betty to look after his distinguished if taciturn visitor, and went upstairs. There was no response to his knocking at the Doctor's door, so he tried the handle.

The door opened easily. 'Doctor?' s...o...b..ld inquired as he stepped inside.

Two things struck him at once. First, the bed looked unslept in. Second was the smell. It was a hot, close smell. Like you got on the moors in the height of summer, but mingled with it was the sense of something burning. 'Doctor?'

'Hmm?'

He was sitting cross*legged on the floor. And now s...o...b..ld noticed what he was looking at. He was facing away from the door, staring apparently at a large blue box that was in the corner of the room, just out from the walls and reaching almost to the high ceiling.

'Good gracious!' s...o...b..ld stared.

'Hmm,' the Doctor agreed.