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 mass 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 passageway 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 scummed surface he could see something else glowing, giving out a faint light. Pushing 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 mass 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 mass. 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 scraping 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, Stobbold made up his mind. Neither the Doctor nor Professor Dobbs had risen for breakfast, and Stobbold 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?' Stobbold 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 Stobbold 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!' Stobbold stared.
'Hmm,' the Doctor agreed.
'How on earth did that get in here?' It was far too large to have been brought in through the door or the window. It looked solid, but perhaps it could be dismantled in some way.
'Well,' the Doctor said slowly as he rose to his feet, 'it certainly didn't materialise out of... ' He paused, half turned towards Stobbold, a sudden look of perplexity and confusion on his face as if he had forgotten what he was going to say.
'Are you all right?' Stobbold asked. The Doctor seemed pale, drawn.
'There's something... ' His face cleared as suddenly as it had clouded over and he shook his head. 'No,' he decided, 'it's gone. Never mind. Is there something I can do for you, Reverend?'
'What?' He was still looking at the box. 'Oh, yes. You have visitor. I'm sorry to disturb you. Downstairs.'
The Doctor was already on his way. 'Hardly unexpected,' he announced as he passed Stobbold. 'Which one of them is it?'
Stobbold turned to follow. On the low table by the wash basin he noticed a dark lump, about the size of a billiard ball looked like something that had been burned was this the source of the strange aroma, he wondered? It was a husk, an empty shell. He reached out a tentative finger and touched it gently. At once the husk disintegrated. Charred slivers and fragments floated away on the draught from the open door, like burned paper escaping from a bonfire.
He was only half way down the stairs when he heard Lord Urton's raised voice.
'You, sir,' he was saying with considerable anger, 'yes, you sir. I demand an explanation, sir, for your wholly unacceptable behaviour.'
Stobbold arrived in the hall to see Urton standing in the doorway from the drawing room where he had been waiting with Betty. The Doctor was at the bottom of the stairs, his hand on his chest in an innocent 'who, me?' gesture.
Urton barely paused for an answer before continuing. 'What, may I ask, is the meaning of your behaviour, sir? Tell me that.'
Still the Doctor said nothing. Stobbold hesitated, then decided it was best to join them and try to mediate. 'Can I help?' he asked, keeping his voice quiet and calm. 'Is there perhaps a misunderstanding I can assist in explaining?'
'No misunderstanding, sir,' Urton said. His voice was shaking with anger, though his whole body was absolutely still as he spoke. Again he addressed the Doctor. 'You break into my house in the middle of the night and scare my poor wife half to death *'
The Doctor spoke for the first time, interrupting Urton's angry tirade with a tone that was almost mocking. 'Got her fingers burned, did she?' he asked, eyes wide, still playing the innocent.
At once Urton was silent. When he spoke again it was to Stobbold. 'I see that there is no explanation or apology to be had here. May I ask that you reconsider in the strongest and most urgent manner the sort of house guests that you allow under your roof? As a man of God, you should hardly be playing the host to sinners.'
Again the Doctor's tone was light, as if engaging in after dinner banter with an old friend. 'Oh but surely that's exactly what he should be doing.' He raised a finger, in an instant becoming a theatrical preacher. 'There is more joy in heaven over one sinner who repents ' he began.
'I see no repentance here, sir,' Urton told him abruptly.
'Redemption, perhaps?' the Doctor said, his voice sterner now. 'Or is it to be the fires of hell and damnation for us all?'
Urton did not reply immediately. When he did, he was already on his way to the door, pushing past the Doctor who sprang back out of his way, as if afraid of touching the man. 'I see that I am wasting my time. Good day to you, sir.' This last was aimed squarely at Stobbold.
He waited until Urton was well on his way down the drive, visible through the open front door. A light breeze blew a flurry of powdery snow across the threshold. Betty appeared in the door to the drawing room, her expression neutral, and Stobbold gestured for his daughter to leave them. She stepped back into the room and closed the door.
'I think you owe me an explanation, Doctor,' he said, trying to keep his tone neutral.
The Doctor was watching Urton's receding figure. 'I wish I had one,' he said absently.
'I think I am entitled, sir. You are a guest under my roof, as Lord Urton points out.' he was angry now, this man seemed to have no idea of civility, or social behaviour or, it now seemed, of the laws of the land.
'Yes. I do rather think that was the point, don't you?' The Doctor beamed at Stobbold as he waited for his reply. 'He wanted to ensure I was no longer welcome here. He and Nepath hope I'll just give up and leave.'
Stobbold fought to keep his voice level and calm. 'Doctor, I have asked for demanded an explanation. Yet you offer no excuse for your behaviour. Since you do not even deny it, I assume that Lord Urton is correct in his accusations?'
'Oh yes,' the Doctor agreed. 'Quite correct. Everything he said was true. As far as it goes.'
Stobbold breathed deeply as he considered his words. 'I am not given to evicting guests,' he said. 'I do not intend to change that habit now, Doctor. But let me be clear, unless and until you can reasonably explain yourself or offer an adequate apology I cannot say you are welcome.'
As he listened to Stobbold's words, the Doctor's face darkened and his features hardened. 'I have told you as best I can what is happening here. I have said time and again that there are forces that must be opposed if we are to survive the horrors that are almost upon us. I cannot be more specific, and for that for that alone I apologise.'
'I'm afraid that just isn't good enough,' Stobbold said. He could feel his face colouring as he spoke, could feel the anger in him growing.
'Then perhaps Lord Urton is right,' the Doctor snapped back.
'Ah, so you admit ' Stobbold began.
But the Doctor shouted him down. 'Perhaps it would be best if I gave up and left. Left you all to your fate.'
He did not wait for Stobbold's reaction. Instead he turned on his heels and stamped out of the house.
Stobbold watched the figure following in Urton's dark footsteps until he was out of sight.
'Was that the Doctor?' Dobbs's voice startled Stobbold. The Professor was on the stairs behind him.
'Yes.'
'I thought I heard Lord Urton too.' Dobbs continued down the stairs and joined Stobbold in the hall. He seemed oblivious to Stobbold's anger. 'Yes,' Dobbs was nodding. He pointed out into the snow. 'You can see his tracks.'
Stobbold had been about to ask Dobbs what if any involvement or knowledge he had of the Doctor's visit to the Grange. But there was something in Dobbs's tone that made him follow the old man's gaze out across the drive. He had not noticed before, in his anger, but now it seemed suddenly odd. Where the Doctor had walked, the snow was compacted, leaving indentations for footmarks.
But where Urton had trod both on his way to the Rectory and back down the drive again, the snow had melted away to leave a dark shoe*shaped hole down to the gravel beneath.
'Professor,' Stobbold's voice was hoarse and dry. 'Professor, would you please enlighten me as to what happened last night?'
Dobbs was aghast. 'The Doctor hasn't told you?'
Stobbold shook his head. 'He was not in the mood for explanations.' A thought struck him and he looked away. 'I think he was asking me to believe in him, to take it on faith.'
But Dobbs missed this. 'You mentioned you have a collection of books on comparative religion,' he said. 'Myths and legends?'
'That is true. In the study.' Stobbold found himself leading the way, smiling at Betty as she opened the drawing room door once more and watched them.
'I think,' Dobbs was saying. 'that we should do some research. Find out everything we can about fire demons.'
He was standing beside a gap in the hedge, looking through at the view of the moors beyond. The road was on a rise here, so it served as a vantage point. As Matthew Stobbold approached, he could see the dark slash of the fissure cutting through the snow visible over the Doctor's shoulder.
The snow was falling again, quite heavily now, and Lord Urton's footprints were slowly filling up.