They stood together, shoulder to shoulder, silent, looking out at the fissure for a long while before Stobbold spoke. 'Doctor,' he said falteringly, 'I... well, that is '
The Doctor raised his hand. 'Never mind.'
'I should not have lost my temper. What I said was, I believe, justified, Doctor.'
The Doctor did not reply. He chewed at his bottom lip and continued to stare out through the gap in the hedge.
'But the manner in which I expressed it was not warranted. I apologise.'
Still the Doctor did not reply. He frowned, looked up at the sky, blinked, and then pointed out at the fissure. 'You see that dark line?' he asked, putting his hand on Stobbold's shoulder and bending him to follow his own line of sight. 'It's perfectly straight. There's another over there.' He swung his pointing hand, pulling Stobbold round as well.
'Yes, I think I see.' Stobbold straightened up again. 'Are you leaving, Doctor?' he asked hesitantly. 'Only, your box...'
'My box,' the Doctor echoed quietly. He seemed to come to a decision, drawing himself to his full height and pushing his hands into his jacket pockets. 'Do you suppose,' he asked with a sudden brilliant smile, 'that you could show me the view from the top of the church tower?'
It took a moment for Stobbold to work out what the Doctor was saying. As olive branches went, an interest in his church was subtle and considerate. He could feel that he was smiling too. 'Of course, Doctor. It would be my pleasure.'
The snow had eased off by the time they reached the top, but the wind was biting. Stobbold drew his coat tight about him, amazed at the Doctor's apparent indifference to the climate. The top of the tower was a lead roof, sloping up to a flagpole. There was no flag flying. The stonework rose above the level of the roof, forming a wall.
The dam was a grey smudge in the distance. Away on the other side of the church was the huddle of buildings and the gaping maw of the tunnel that was the mine. But it was towards the ragged fissure cutting across the snow*covered moor that the Doctor was pointing.
Not for the first time as he surveyed the landscape, it struck Stobbold that the shape of the top of the church tower was extremely similar to that of the tower of a castle. Not for the first time as he looked out across the moorland, he found himself thinking he was looking out over the church's battlements, and he mentioned this lightly to the Doctor.
The Doctor's reply was less humoured. 'This is St Michael's church,' he said as if that explained it. When Stobbold made no comment, he went on: 'When they were looking for places to build their churches, the early Christians adopted, took over, many sites of ancient power.'
'Power?'
'Often the church built on such a site was consecrated to St Michael.'
'The traditional enemy of Lucifer, of the devil,' Stobbold realised. It made sense.
'The sun god, in most of the old religions,' the Doctor said. 'In those days it really was was seen as a battle.' He clapped his hand on the solid stone wall in front of them. 'Fortifications of the soul,' he said with a wry smile. 'Very useful in such times.' seen as a battle.' He clapped his hand on the solid stone wall in front of them. 'Fortifications of the soul,' he said with a wry smile. 'Very useful in such times.'
'I suppose so.'
'Yes,' the Doctor said in a tone that suggested he was about to change the subject. He pointed out at the fissure. 'You get a much better view from up here than from the dam. You see that dark line we observed earlier?'
Stobbold looked where the Doctor was pointing. 'Yes.'
'That's where we found the body of poor Gaddis.'
It was the first time Stobbold could recall the Doctor saying anything that suggested sympathy or regret. 'It's a dead straight line,' Stobbold said. 'The snow seems not to have settled there. I wonder why.'
'Why would you think? Why is there no snow where Lord Urton has stepped?'
'Heat?'
'Exactly.'
Stobbold swallowed. 'Professor Dobbs gave me a brief account of your adventures last night, Doctor,' he said. 'He is now researching fire demons.' He gave a half laugh that failed to dispel his unease at the thought.
'As are we,' the Doctor said. 'And what have we discovered?'
'That there is a line where the ground is warm. Too warm for the snow to settle?'
The Doctor nodded. 'But not just one line.'
The sun was in his eyes, so Stobbold had to squint to see where the Doctor was now pointing. As he made out the dark line across the moors, the Doctor's hand moved and he squinted after it again.
'But there are... several,' Stobbold said in surprise.
'One line of hot ground might be accounted a coincidence or a natural feature,' the Doctor said quietly 'But I count more than seven, and that smacks of purpose.'
'All dead straight,' Stobbold observed.
'"Lines of power." Gaddis called them. And while you may still be uncertain whether to believe Professor Dobbs's account of our encounter with Lord Urton last night,' the Doctor said, 'while you may not agree with my implied diagnosis of his behaviour, while you may scoff at stories of fire demons, you will notice that all the lines run from some point on the edge of the fissure...' He turned and walked to the adjacent side of the tower, Stobbold following, watching as he pointed again. '...directly to the mine.'
He spent several minutes tracing each of the dark lines with his eyes. But however he looked at them, there was no denying it. They focused on, met at, led to the mine.
'Doctor,' Stobbold said slowly, 'I think perhaps I do owe you an apology. Whatever is going on here, I have to confess it is outside my sphere of experience.' The Doctor was standing between Stobbold and the sun, a dark shape against the brilliant snow. 'You have the manner and knowledge of one who has come across such things before.'
'Perhaps,' the Doctor admitted.
'Tell me, Doctor,' Stobbold said quietly, 'what brings you here? Who exactly are you?'
The Doctor's voice came from the black void that was his silhouette. It was at once distant and quiet. 'I'm afraid you will have to believe me, my friend, when I tell you that I do not know. Who I am, who I was... A blank.'
'A blank?'
The Doctor sighed. 'Apart from the last few years, His voice was almost unnaturally quiet.
Apart from the time since I suppose you might say I "awoke"
Barely a whisper...
I have no memory of my past.
...Lost in a sudden flurry of fresh snow No memory at all.'
Chapter Thirteen.
Into the Depths Stobbold stood in the doorway, agape in astonishment. His small study was strewn with books and papers. However meticulous his mind might be, Professor Dobbs was not a tidy worker. A pile of books stood precariously high on the side of the desk, leaves of writing paper marking various places in each. On the shelves, other books had lurched sideways into the spaces left by their absent neighbours. The floor was largely hidden beneath books and papers.
'Having fun, I see,' the Doctor said lightly as he negotiated a path towards where Dobbs was standing by a bookcase looking along the spines. 'Found anything of interest?'
It was evidently a rhetorical question. But Dobbs responded anyway. 'Indeed, Doctor, indeed I have.' He gestured to the pile of perched books on the desk. 'There are all sorts of references to fire gods and demons in classical mythology as well as the religions and legends of the Far East, of the Incas and Myans, and countless others.'
Dobbs sat at the desk and started to pull the books enthusiastically towards him. The Doctor leaned over, his face already a mask of concentration.
'I'll see if Betty can make us some tea,' Stobbold said weakly. He left them to it.
The Rectory was too big for the two of them really. If he had been able to afford it, Stobbold would have employed a maid or a housekeeper and a cook. As it was, he and Betty were lost in the large house and it took almost all of Betty's time to keep it. It was a refreshing change, he thought, to have guests. It meant more work for Betty, but she had not complained so he assumed that she was also grateful for the additional company.
Such a shame a tragedy about poor Gaddis, he reflected as he walked with Betty to the kitchen.
She said nothing. She had been quiet of late. Perhaps it came with getting older, Stobbold thought. She was growing up, he knew. She was a woman now, not a child. Some day maybe some day soon he would lose her. He shied away from the thought. He had no idea what he would do, how he would cope without her, and he had no intention of addressing the problem before he had to.
'Are you quite happy?' he asked as she put the water on to boil. 'With the Doctor and the Professor staying, I mean. It's... all right?'
'Thank you,' she said, watching the water begin to steam on the stove. 'It's lovely.' Her reply was level, toneless, automatic.
'Good,' Stobbold said, not quite sure if it was. 'Because, Betty you would tell me, wouldn't you if... Well...' he shrugged. 'If, you know...' He was standing behind her, could not see her face. He reached out a hand, made to put it on her shoulder, to reassure her. He could imagine her reaching up, covering his hand with her own, turning and smiling at him and telling him that everything was fine. Really fine.
But his hand was shaking, and he lowered it to his side.
'Thank you,' she said again, her voice distant and quiet. 'It's lovely.'
The study had been restored to something approaching a state of order by the time Stobbold took in the tea. He brought in another chair and sat at the desk beside Dobbs. The Doctor insisted on sitting cross*legged on the floor, the saucer balanced uncertainly on his out*turned knee.
They spoke for an hour, talking over what Dobbs's researches had brought to light. They spoke of fire demons, of Inca creation myths. They talked about Agni the Indian fire god, and of the elements of earth, air, fire and water. The Doctor spoke of volcanoes and described with impressive detail his understanding of the last hours of Pompeii.
'Imagine it,' he said as he finished, 'imagine the sky turned dark and the choking dust. Think of the scorching river of molten rock that rolled towards them, the ash blown at them, the very air turning solid around them. Imagine the terrible speed of the catastrophe.' He shook his head, his eyes blinking back moisture. 'What must they have felt? What must they have thought. Their gods had turned against them in an instant. Their world was ending. Oblivion. Armageddon.' Finally his voice sank to a throaty whisper: 'The Apocalypse.'
'That's the trouble with research,' Dobbs said into the silence that followed. 'You can get rather involved, caught up in it all.'
'But a worthwhile exercise, nonetheless,' the Doctor said. His tone was lighter now, and he leaped to his feet, cup in hand, saucer spinning away. 'Nothing concrete or specific that helps, but a good general impression of the subject.'
'So what do we do now, Doctor?' Stobbold asked, retrieving the Doctor's saucer and returning it to the tray 'More research, I think. But a subject rather closer to home.' The Doctor smiled at Dobbs. 'The Professor here has been telling me of a friend he has in London who works at the British Library. A most useful contact, and someone who can, I think, furnish us with the information we need.'
'The Doctor proposes to send him a telegram.' Dobbs said, a hint of pride in his voice.
'Concerning...?' Stobbold asked. He anticipated it would be some arcane subject which was not covered by his own small collection of materials or likely to be catered for in the local libraries. So the Doctor's reply surprised him.
'Concerning Roger Nepath,' the Doctor said. 'Know thine enemy,' he added, tapping the side of his nose with his index finger and giving Stobbold a huge wink. He whirled round and snatched a paper from the table. 'Now then,' he said, thrusting the paper at Stobbold, 'here is the text of the telegram together with the name of the recipient and his address. Perhaps you can organise that while the Professor and I organise a quick tour of the mine.'
'The mine?' Both Dobbs and Stobbold spoke together. Both seemed equally surprised.
The Doctor, by contrast, seemed confused by their reaction. 'It is the centre of events here,' he pointed out. 'Everything that happens revolves about that mine. I think it's high time we took a look, don't you?'
'Doctor,' Stobbold said as he scanned the copperplate handwriting on the paper the Doctor had given him, 'I doubt very much that either Lord Urton or Mister Nepath will give you permission to go snooping about in the mine. Especially after last night. And,' he added, 'especially if there is any foundation for your suspicions and evidence to be uncovered.'
'Which is precisely why,' the Doctor rejoined with a wide grin, 'I do not intend to ask them.' He leaned forward and tapped on the paper that Stobbold held. 'You'll organise this?'
Stobbold nodded, unsure of whether to comment on the Doctor's proposed course of action. 'Betty is going into Middletown later to order the groceries,' he said. 'She can send this at the same time. I have a sermon to write, so I shall be in all afternoon if there is a reply.'
'Excellent,' the Doctor clapped his hands together. 'Then let us be on our way, Professor.'
The ground was freezing again, and there was a thin crust of frost over the snow. Their feet crunched through as they walked. As they approached the mine, Dobbs noticed that the snow seemed thinner. His feet sank less far into the moorland, left less of an impression.
'Perhaps the ground is a little warmer here?' he suggested to the Doctor. He got no reply.
The Doctor was walking with his hands thrust into his jacket pockets, his head down.
'What do you expect to find at the mine, Doctor?' Dobbs asked after a few more minutes of silent walking.
'The unexpected,' the Doctor told him.
Dobbs laughed thinly, assuming this was a joke. But when the Doctor looked at him, his expression was anything but humorous.
They finished their journey without another word. Only when the cluster of huts round the entrance to the mine was visible did the Doctor speak again. He put out his arm to stop Dobbs and turned to him. 'Let me do the talking,' he said. 'If we can, I suggest we just slip into the tunnel. But I suspect we shall have to bluff our way past several people.'
Dobbs nodded. He was more than happy to let the Doctor do the bluffing. Already he could feel the lightness of trepidation and excitement in his stomach. How on earth, he wondered briefly, had he ever got into this situation? He was dreading as well as relishing the coming hours.
As they approached, Dobbs could hear the sound of the heavy machinery that had been brought in. A huge iron contraption stood between the huts and the gaping entrance to the tunnel into the mine tended by men with grimy faces wearing stained boiler suits. Steam puffed out from various joints and funnels and pipes as pistons pounded and flywheels span. The noise was incredible, and the smell of engine oil and grease hung heavy in the air. As they grew closer, Dobbs could feel the warmth from the machine. He wanted to ask the Doctor what it was doing, but he would have to shout to make himself heard.
His assumption was that they would sneak up as unobtrusively as possible and attempt to enter the mine unobserved. He was wrong. The Doctor squared his shoulders, and marched straight towards the mine entrance in full view of the men working on the machinery outside the huts. Several of the men turned, saw them, then turned away again. It seemed that the Doctor's plan of acting as if they had every right to be there was working.
Until they were almost at the entrance. From the dark mouth of the tunnel, a line of men filed out. Their faces were as black as the tunnel, stained and dirty. Their clothes were torn and grimy. Over their shoulders they variously carried shovels, picks and other tools. The man in the lead was almost as broad as he was tall. His expression was set, and his eyes seemed almost to glitter from out of his dusty*dark face. He stopped directly in front of the Doctor and Dobbs. The other men waited behind him, shuffling and tired.
'Can I help you?' The man's voice was a low monotone, just audible above the sounds of the machine behind them and the clang of working that reached them from deep inside the mine.
'I'm sorry,' the Doctor called back, louder than was necessary, 'I can't hear you above the air pumping machinery behind us. We're just conducting a quick inspection. On Lord Urton's orders.'
He made to dodge round the big man, but the man moved with him, still blocking the Doctor's way. 'I've heard nothing,' he said.
'I'm not surprised with this racket.' The Doctor smiled good*naturedly and tried again to get past.
Again, the man blocked his way. He hefted the shovel from his shoulder, holding it upright, raised in his gloved hands, as if ready to strike at the Doctor. 'Lord Urton gives no orders here without me knowing,' he said.
The Doctor glanced at Dobbs. 'Well,' he said slowly, 'actually it was Mr Nepath. Things being what they are.'
The man's response was a hiss of anger. 'Why are you here?' he demanded.
'I told you '