Doctor Who_ The Burning Part 10

Nepath blanched at the interruption.

'At all?' the Doctor went on. He was again sprawled in his seat, legs out and arms folded. 'It's just that I notice almost all the items you have here display some affinity with fire. Either explicitly or by a.s.sociation.'

Nepath answered slowly. 'Fire is a theme of my collection, yes. How observant of you, Doctor. There is no especial significance in this particular case.'

'Any of them?'

'I beg your pardon?'

There were impatient shuffles and murmurs now. The bidders were anxious to get started.

'Sorry,' the Doctor went on. 'I was just wondering, before we start, whether there is any significance to the fire motif in any of the items that you have up for sale. It just seems to me that there isn't. That you are withholding any and all pieces where the fire is, what shall we say, integral?' He paused, then nodded as if pleased with his choice of word. 'Yes, integral to the work.'

Nepath's reply was an impatient rasp. 'And if I am, that is surely my prerogative' He drew a deep breath, and went on: 'Since you are so interested, Doctor, perhaps you would start the bidding. The reserve on this piece is one hundred and ten guineas.'

The Doctor held up his hands as if in deferential surprise. 'Oh I'm not interested in bidding,' he said quickly. 'But you please go on.' He smiled. 'Don't mind me.'

The dancing statuette eventually went for over two hundred guineas. But by that time Grant had already lost interest. Beside him the Doctor's eyes were again closed, and at one point Grant could swear he heard the man snore.

It took almost three hours to conclude the auction. By the end of it Grant was thoroughly bored and the seat had become decidedly uncomfortable. The final piece, a figure of a man with four arms dancing within a circle of fire that ran from his feet over the top of his head, his hair splayed out to touch the edges of the ring, went for a staggering amount of money. To Grant it was merely another bronze statue. He had watched figures and boxes and bowls and ivory sold for what seemed to be quite unsupportable sums.

Nepath drew the proceedings to a close and once again thanked everyone for their presence and for their patience. People slowly began to leave, ushered out by Lord and Lady Urton. A woman with a face like a well*worn hatchet was on hand to show them the way back to the entrance hall.

Grant waited for Urton to come and find him. There was more to it than the auction, he was sure. Urton would never have dragged him halfway across the country for this. Beside him. the Doctor also sat unmoving, as if waiting for more. As he glanced round the room, Grant saw that several other men were also lingering.

It was Nepath who approached them. He stared at the Doctor for a moment, and received a wry smile in return. Nepath turned to Grant. 'Sir William, how good of you to come,' he said quietly, reaching down to shake the man's hand. His huge grip was firm. 'Your journey will not be wasted, I a.s.sure you.' He glanced again at the Doctor, frowning.

'I am glad to hear it, sir,' Grant told him. 'So far it has been interesting, but hardly my sort of event I admit.' He tried to inject the right amount of antic.i.p.ation and censure into his tone. Admonishing but not alienating, he hoped.

Nepath smiled thinly and turned to the Doctor. 'I apologise, Doctor,' he said. 'It seems that nothing here engaged your interest. A pity. But perhaps another time?' It was clear that the Doctor was not invited to stay behind.

Yet still the Doctor did not move. He made no effort to stand, let alone leave. 'Yes, a great pity,' he said smoothly. 'I'm sad to think I was invited here under false pretences.'

Nepath drew in his breath sharply. 'What do you mean?'

The Doctor stretched and yawned. 'You said there would be artefacts here that were unusual, intriguing. Of interest to a specialist.'

Nepath was angry, but he struggled to hide it. 'I think the guests were well pleased with the occasion and with what they saw and purchased.'

'Oh I don't doubt it.' The Doctor leaped suddenly to his feet, his eyes level with Nepath's as he leaned slightly forward and returned his stare. 'But to those of us who have been there, who have seen the temples of living rock, drunk from the fountains of cascading white water, spoken with the wise men of the mountains.' He shrugged and sighed. 'Hardly enthralling.'

Before Nepath could respond the Doctor nodded towards another of the men who was waiting behind. Grant recognised him as the final buyer. He was holding the statuette of the man within his ring of fire.

'Shiva,' the Doctor said. 'A rare and beautiful piece. But hardly extraordinary.'

'Perhaps you are misinformed, Doctor,' Grant suggested. He could see that Nepath was annoyed, and wanted to help.

'Oh, I doubt it,' the Doctor said lightly. 'The G.o.d of dance and of music. His dancing keeps the universe moving, like the ring of fire. It supplies the raw cosmic energy that fuels all life. He beats the drum in his right*most hand to signify the pulse of creation itself. The fire simultaneously creates and destroys the universe as he constantly dances, isn't that right? And heaven help us, literally, if he should stop.'

'I see that you know your subject, Doctor,' Nepath said. There was a hint of appreciation in his tone.

'I know many subjects,' the Doctor responded. 'But I am surprised you were prepared to part with such a piece. After your comments on the fire theme.' He smiled widely. 'Unless you have another, or there is some flaw in this one.' He clicked his tongue. 'I hate to he kept in the dark, you know. Like the dwarf.'

'The dwarf?' Grant asked.

'The figure, Shiva, is standing on the head of a dwarf,' Nepath said. His eyes were still on the Doctor. 'The dwarf represents ignorance.'

'Ah!' The Doctor had lifted his finger in the air, like a schoolboy with an urgent question. 'Got it!' His voice echoed round the room. He seemed oblivious to the stares of the few people left as he leaned close to Nepath and whispered, just loud enough for Grant to catch the words: 'It's a copy, isn't it? And you have the original.' He stepped back and clapped his hands together as if in congratulation. 'Well, I hope you've sold the right one.' He sighed loudly. 'Such a pity you had nothing of real interest. Such a disappointment.' He hesitated for a moment, his eyes locked with Nepath's before adding. 'Well, I must be on my way, no doubt you have some other bric*a*brac to offload.'

Nepath seemed to flinch at the word. His face crumpled round the eyes for an instant before he regained control. His voice was level and stern, drained of emotion. 'Perhaps you would like to stay and see exactly what sort of bric*a*brac, as you call it, I really have, Doctor.' It sounded more like a command than a question.

The Doctor had already turned away even as Nepath was speaking. 'Oh I doubt it's anything much,' he said. 'Baubles and trinkets.'

'I insist!' Nepath's voice was a thunderbolt of angry sound. Then, more restrained, more controlled. 'Please, Doctor.'

Slowly the Doctor turned. His face was grim, mouth taut. 'Well, in that case,' he said quietly, 'I should be honoured, of course.' Without another word he returned to the seat beside Grant.

There were five of them left behind, not counting Nepath and Lord Urton. When all the others had gone, Nepath led them through the house to Urton's drawing room. A fire was set in the grate, the flames roaring up in a brilliant display of orange and yellow. In front of the fire was a low table on which were arranged several items. Grant surveyed them as he took his place in an armchair close by.

There was what looked like a solid sphere of dark material, rather like a cannonball. Beside this was a statue which stood about a foot tall, made of burnished, shining metal. It was a bird, its wings outstretched and its head turned sideways so that it was seen in profile. The detail of the feathers and the features was intricate and impressive. Further along the table were what looked like pebbles or small rocks, of the same dark material as the sphere. Next to these was a bowl, and Grant caught sight of dark liquid within it. At the end of the table was a pair of tongs taken it seemed from the fire irons that stood in a bra.s.s bucket beside the grate, and a large lump hammer.

'This is more like it,' a voice said quietly close to Grant.

He turned and saw that the Doctor had taken the chair closest to him. 'Why? What's going on?'

'I have no idea,' the Doctor confessed gleefully. 'But that's always more fun, don't you think?'

Grant did not agree. He liked to know exactly what was happening. He liked to understand and control the situation. He shuffled uneasily in his chair.

When they were all seated, Nepath strode to the front of the room and stood with his back to the fire. Lord Urton stood close by, hands behind his back, expression fixed and stony. Grant was again surprised at how reticent the man was. Quite unlike his usual self.

'I think,' Nepath said with obvious relish, 'that you will all find this session instructive.' He turned and nodded to Lord Urton, who took the rocks and pebbles from the table and pa.s.sed them out to the a.s.sembled men.

Grant examined his pebble as Nepath waited. It was smooth and heavy. The material was warm to the touch, which made him suspect it was neither metal nor stone. He pressed at it to feel how hard it was, and felt the material squash under his thumb. He almost dropped it in surprise. He looked up quickly, hoping n.o.body had seen his reaction, and found his movement mirrored by most of the others as they too shared the discovery.

Only the Doctor seemed not to be looking to Nepath in surprise. He was busily squeezing the material he had been given into a flat shape. The tip of his tongue was just visible at the corner of his mouth as he worked at it, folding and bending it. Slowly, everyone turned to watch. He seemed to realise the attention, and looked up, eyes wide and innocent. Slowly, like a guilty schoolboy he held up the material, to show he had squeezed and shaped it into a perfect sphere.

Nepath's voice recaptured their attention. 'The material you have been given to examine...' He paused and glanced pointedly at the Doctor. '...To play with,' he corrected himself, 'has some interesting properties. It is, in answer to what is probably your first question, rock.'

'You mean it occurs naturally?' a man at the back of the group asked.

'Yes,' Nepath replied. 'And no.' He waited a moment before continuing. 'The rock itself is unremarkable. In fact, it can he found in the mine workings close to here. What gives it its unique properties is the way it is refined. A technique known only to the Abritzi people of the Urdesh.'

'Never heard of them,' someone muttered.

'And,' Nepath continued without pause, 'to myself.'

A third man spoke, his voice quiet and reasonable. 'So we have squashable, compressible rock. Remarkable I grant you, but is it of practical use? Of value?'

'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 shirt. 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.