Nepath continued: 'But what it does, as you have seen, Doctor, is to mimic. It can take on the characteristics and attitudes of whatever it chooses. It conforms to the expectations of others in order to survive. Perhaps in order to try to define itself.' He smiled again, teeth glinting in the gaslight. 'Does that ring any bells, Doctor?' He gave a short, sharp laugh. 'Am I getting warm warm?'
'Not even tepid,' the Doctor replied. But his voice was quiet, hard*edged. Stobbold could tell he was unsettled, thrown off balance by Nepath's observations.
'Why do you need the Doctor?' Stobbold demanded. 'If you and this thing are so friendly, surely you don't need anyone else.'
'No,' Nepath admitted easily. 'But the more help I have we have the simpler things become. It needs to expand, to feed in order to live. It has consumed all the earth and rock and stone that it can find beneath the moorland. It has been starved for too long now. It needs an outlet, a new feeding ground.' He nodded, as if to emphasise the accuracy of his statement. 'It won't be satisfied with Middletown. Or even Ambleton, not for long. Not now it has a taste for the matter above the earth. I will need to seed other areas for it, hence my rather theatrical demonstrations. And in the wake of the fire trail it leaves, I will help re*establish order.'
'Seed other areas?' the Doctor echoed. 'So you can take over the world one village at a time with your amazing re*forming artefacts?' He gave a derisory snort.
'I think we shall progress rather more quickly and efficiently than you suggest,' Nepath said. He seemed unperturbed by the Doctor's attitude. 'I shall need ambassadors, salesmen. people to take the artefacts all over the world.'
'So that this thing can erupt from anywhere and feed itself!' the Doctor asked. His voice was getting louder, angry. 'Until it consumes the whole of the Earth?' he demanded.
'Oh I don't think it will come to that.'
'You don't?' The Doctor was visibly shaking with anger now. 'How do you know?' he shouted at Nepath. 'How can you possibly know?'
Nepath returned the Doctor's stare. He too was getting angry now. 'I can see that I am wasting my time attempting to save you, Doctor, attempting to enlighten you.' He turned to Stobbold. 'But what about you, Reverend?'
'Me?'
'Why not?' He smiled thinly 'One of the thieves was saved, you know. But of course you do. You are a man of learning, after all.' He shot a glance at the Doctor before going on: 'Like me, I think you have searched for many years for truth and enlightenment. But your choice is easier than the Doctor's,' he said, his voice quiet, compulsive. 'The Doctor's problem is that he doesn't know what he is searching for. And neither did you. Until now.'
'I I don't understand,' Stobbold said. But at the back of his mind an idea was forming, an idea he scarcely dared contemplate.
'I can have whatever I want,' Nepath said. 'Whatever my heart desires. And there is one thing. One thing that has spurred my search across the world, one thing that drove me on, compelled me to travel to the most God*forsaken of places.' He smiled suddenly. 'I use the term advisedly.'
'And have you found it?' The Doctor asked. His voice was a sneer, but underneath was an undercurrent of genuine interest.
'Yes,' whispered Nepath. 'I believe I have. Here. Thanks to the creature, I have back what I have sought all my life to recover.' he turned back to Stobbold. 'And what would you seek to recover? More than anything else in the world? What, Reverend, would you ask for if you could have your heart's desire? We do not ask for much in return just a little co*operation, a little help.'
Stobbold said nothing. Felt nothing.
'So little to ask,' Nepath breathed, leaning close to him. 'Considering that you would sell your very soul for the safe return of your daughter.'
Colonel Wilson found Captain Brookes outside the Pig and Trumpet Pig and Trumpet, telling Arthur Melstead that he could open up as soon as he liked.
'No you can't,' Wilson gasped, overhearing the tail end of the conversation.
'Sir?' Brookes reached out to support him. Wilson was exhausted from running. 'Are you all right, sir?'
'I'm fine,' he managed to say between rasps of sulphurous air. 'But he's not opening up, he's getting out. Get everyone out, do you understand?'
'Yes, sir. Of course, sir. We've been assembling some transport, best we can.' Brookes looked round. 'Where's the sergeant?'
'He's dead, Michael,' Wilson said, drawing the captain aside. 'Have the men organise the evacuation, best they can. And get the field guns set up at the end of the street.'
'Field guns? Are we expecting some action, sir?'
'Yes, Captain. God help us, yes we are.'
'Doctor?'
The Doctor did not return Stobbold's look. He stared directly ahead, at Nepath. 'It is your decision,' he said. 'You must decide for yourself where your loyalties, where your priorities lie. Nobody can do that for you.'
'Indeed they cannot,' Nepath agreed. He licked his bloodless lips. 'But perhaps I can help.' He stepped aside, allowing Lady Urton to move in front of Stobbold.
As she did, she seemed to shimmer, as if in a heat haze. Her face blurred before his moist eyes. She became shorter, slimmer, younger. Her grey hair was dark now, lengthening. Her nose broadened slightly, a smattering of freckles appearing across her face.
'Betty?' He hardly dared to believe it. Yet here she was in front of him. Perfect. Exactly as she had been.
'Father?' Her voice trembled with emotion as she reached out towards him. 'Oh father,' she sobbed as she folded her arms around him.
He lifted his own arms, encircled her with them, desperate to hold her close. But he hesitated, a tear washing down his dusty cheek as he murmured, close to her ear: 'O Jephthah. what a treasure hadst thou.' His voice became a sob.
He felt her stiffen at the words. She turned her face up to look at him. He could see the detail in every freckle as it blurred beneath his tears. So young. So very young.
'Who?' she asked, amused and intrigued.
And he stepped away as his world collapsed again, as once more he felt voided and empty.
'One fair daughter, and no more,' the Doctor said quietly. 'The which he loved passing well.'
'Indeed I did.' Stobbold wiped the tears from his eyes with the back of his hand, drawing himself upright, fighting back the emotion. He stepped away from the thing that looked like his daughter, and stood beside the Doctor. Together they faced Nepath.
'I think you have your answer,' the Doctor said. 'A shame your creature is not more widely read.' He leaned forward. 'Or is it simply that the thing doesn't appreciate the value of the individual's knowledge?'
'What do you mean?' Nepath demanded. His anger was barely controlled, his voice loud.
The Doctor shrugged. 'It does not distinguish between people, any more than the different parts of itself have any individuality. Everything is spread so thin that it disappears.' His voice hardened again. 'You are making people into parts of a single huge machine. Tiny flames dancing in one huge fire.'
'And that is a disadvantage?' Nepath seemed amused at the comment. 'We stand in the workshop of the world, Doctor, the country where mechanisation has been taken to its limits. The machinery and manpower that helped us to release the creature is proof positive of the power of mechanisation, of working together.'
'There is a difference,' the Doctor told him, 'between being a willing part of a group and losing your individuality. As you, I think, will learn.'
'Is that what you think?' Nepath's eyes narrowed. There was no humour in his tone now. 'Let me tell you what I think Doctor, before you die. I think that you fail to see the significance of what we shall achieve. You fail to appreciate the wonder and beauty of the firestorm that we shall unleash. I think you would do well to consider how Britain could have established her Empire if she did not have armed forces that act like a well*tuned machine. I think it is time you realised that the power of the many is far greater than the sum of the powers of its parts.' His voice grew louder as he spoke until he was almost shouting. 'I think it is time you realised just how out of date how anachronistic your very individual individual views really are.' He gave a short nod to punctuate his point. views really are.' He gave a short nod to punctuate his point.
'Perhaps,' the Doctor replied, his voice quiet by contrast with Nepath's, 'I am ahead of my time.'
Nepath gave a snort of derision.
'Zebras,' the Doctor retorted angrily.
Nepath was taken aback by the comment. He blinked convulsively.
Stobbold had been staring at the frozen image of his daughter standing like a statue beside Nepath. 'What do you mean?' He turned to watch the Doctor explain.
'They have stripes,' the Doctor said.
'Spare us the zoology lesson,' Nepath sneered.
'Oh, so you know why why they have stripes, do you?' The Doctor was shaking with pent*up emotion, his voice rising to match the volume of Nepath's. 'It's a collective defence. It's so that predators see only the whole herd. The stripes of one zebra blend into the next so it is difficult to see where one animal stops and the next begins. It's camouflage, it masks their form.' they have stripes, do you?' The Doctor was shaking with pent*up emotion, his voice rising to match the volume of Nepath's. 'It's a collective defence. It's so that predators see only the whole herd. The stripes of one zebra blend into the next so it is difficult to see where one animal stops and the next begins. It's camouflage, it masks their form.'
Nepath took a deep breath. 'What exactly is your point, Doctor?' he asked with mock patience. 'I assume you are are making a point?' making a point?'
The Doctor stared back at him, unintimidated. 'The point is,' he said, mimicking Nepath's forced patience, 'that the Zebras understand the advantages of acting collectively. That's why why they have stripes.' He raised a finger, like a school teacher explaining to the class, or a preacher sermonising from the pulpit. 'But no two zebras have identical stripes.' they have stripes.' He raised a finger, like a school teacher explaining to the class, or a preacher sermonising from the pulpit. 'But no two zebras have identical stripes.'
'Is that so?' Stobbold asked, intrigued despite the situation.
The Doctor nodded. 'Oh yes. You see, zebras value their individuality. Each zebra knows it is different from the herd. even though it's a part of it. There is a time and a space for both the individual and the collective the human and the mechanical.'
For a moment there was silence. Then Nepath slowly clapped his hands in feigned appreciation.
The Doctor turned to Stobbold. 'You will notice that Mr Nepath has not sacrificed his own individuality. Not yet.' He looked back at Nepath. 'But he will. He thinks he can control the forces he has unleashed, but he can't. He'll discover that soon enough.' He took a step towards Nepath. 'You do need our help,' the Doctor told Nepath. 'You need us to help you stop this thing, before it destroys us all.'
'I don't think so, Doctor.'
'You don't think at all,' the Doctor said.
'Enough discussion,' Nepath shouted angrily.
'Oh I quite agree,' the Doctor said lightly. 'But it is interesting to hear your views on the subject.' His voice hardened. 'Especially as your whole life has revolved round the quest for one particular individual individual.'
Nepath's mouth dropped open. 'What do you mean?' he hissed. For the first time he really seemed concerned. A frown creased his face. 'Explain yourself.'
In answer the Doctor pulled a flimsy sheet of paper from his pocket. 'I'd had my doubts about Betty for some time so I sent a telegram too,' he said, nodding to the thing that looked like Stobbold's daughter. 'I'm sure you've seen the text, so you know that I was inquiring into your background. Checking newspaper reports, journals, society lists. Anything really. For some clue as to why you came here, what drove you on. We are all driven by something you know, as we twist and turn our firefly way through life.' As he spoke he waved the folded, flimsy paper in the air, just out of Nepath's reach. 'We gleam for an instant here, shed some light there, settle a moment along the way before we eventually burn ourselves out.'
Nepath seemed transfixed, unable to take his eyes from the paper as the Doctor slowly unfolded it.
'It is fairly obvious really what you have been searching for. Your heart's desire, I think you said. I understand your quest, really I do.' There was a hint of sympathy in the Doctor's tone now. 'Just as you and I both understand Matthew's yearning for his daughter.' More than a hint. For a moment the Doctor's eyes gazed off into space. Then he blinked quickly and shook his head. 'But I am forgetting my manners,' he said slowly, deliberately. 'I should have inquired earlier. How is your dear sister?'
At once Nepath's eyes flicked upwards, locking with the Doctor's.
The fire was a living thing. Burning. Roaring its way through the roof timbers and running liquid down the front of the building. It licked its way out of the eye-windows of the house, crackling and cackling in the doorway.
The glow was hot on the boy's face as he watched. His eyes were wide, his mouth an open 'o' of rapture. He sat immobile, letting the firelight dance and flicker in his eyes and across his reddened cheeks. The blur of movement, of people running, buckets passed, hoses unwound, hands at the pump, was lost to him. Only the flames mattered, the heat. The burning.
'There you are.' There was relief mixed in with the annoyance in her voice. 'Mum was worried. We all were.'
He did not reply. He leaned slightly to the side, to watch the flames past her. They seemed to erupt from the black silhouette of her body in the autumn dusk.
'Supper's been on the table for an hour,' she said. 'Don't you know what time it is?' More anger now. 'What do you think you're doing?'
'Watching.' His voice was barely more than a whisper 'I'm watching the fire aren't I?'
She raised her hand, ready to cuff him for his insolence. 'I can see that,' she hissed. 'But it's time to come home. Long past time. Mum'll learn you to be late when we get back.'
There was a crack from across the street as a wooden beam gave way under the onslaught of the fire. It crashed through the weakened first floor joists sending cascades of sparks flying out of the ruptured roof and through the sightless windows. The girl turned to watch.
For a moment, the briefest of instants, her expression mirrored her brother's awe, excitement, rapture. For an instant she too seemed to see the beauty and life in the dance of the flames. Her hand rested on her young brother's shoulder, holding it affectionately, protectively.
Then a fireman ran across in front of her; oilskin jacket glistening as the water from the steam pump dried in the beat. Behind him a horse whinnied and trod the aim in fright and surprise at the sparks and the flames. The steam pump lurched as the horses moved. Firelight gleamed off the brass of the boiler mounted on its carriage. Black smoke rose from the funnel, mingling with that from the house fire. The people encircling the burning house stepped back, as if part of the dance, as the fire jumped and raced to the adjacent house and started to rip into its roof with a dry throaty cackle.
'Mum says you're to come now,' the girl said. Her voice was husky and dry, barely audible above the cracking and popping of the fire and the cry of the horses and the people. Somewhere down the street a baby cried. At the front of the house the flames balled and gathered, as if preparing for an attack on the house opposite. It was gathering itself The boy licked his lips.
The girl shook her head. 'Come now,' she said again. 'I mean it. Now, or you're in big trouble.' She waited only a few seconds longer, long enough to see that the boy was not listening, that he was still watching the flames. Enthralled. She shook her head, and started to back away across the street.
The boy's attention flickered from the flames to his sister as she backed away. He watched her as she prepared to turn and walk off into the gathering dusk. Behind her the crack and rustle of the fire was reaching a crescendo.
A sudden eruption of spark and light, a thunderclap of exploding flames and the boy blinked. He leaped to his feet, his hand reaching out suddenly towards the burning house as it crashed forwards. The front of the house, the facade, was peeling away toppling forwards towards him. He stood, motionless, transfixed as the frontage crashed down, trailing smoke and flame in its wake. His shouts and cries were lost in the melee of sound and light. But for a moment he could hear his sister above and through it all. Screaming.
The tears dried in his eyes, unshed.
'See for yourself, Doctor.' Nepath's hand went to his head. He rubbed at his forehead as he stepped aside. Betty mirrored his movement. And framed between them, Stobbold saw for the first time into the glass cabinet. He stepped back in surprise and revulsion.
The Doctor took several steps forward. He stuffed the telegram into his pocket and stared with interest at the blackened husk that stood before him, his nose almost to the glass.
'You were fourteen at the time,' he said softly. 'A formative age. Impressionable, even before you'd stolen the body from the morgue. I can't imagine that was easy for you, or for the family that lost her again. Especially your mother. She died within the year, of course... You've been through so much,' the Doctor said softly 'Suffered so much already.'
'You don't need to tell me,' Nepath replied. His expression was neutral, distant.
'But there is something something I need to tell you. To help you see that the suffering must end.' The sympathy was clear in the Doctor's tone as he turned away from the cabinet and faced Nepath. 'I don't know what promises you think you've been made, what sort of Faustian bargain you have entered into. But I do know this: The creature you have unearthed can never bring your sister back to you. I'm sorry, but that's the way it is.' I need to tell you. To help you see that the suffering must end.' The sympathy was clear in the Doctor's tone as he turned away from the cabinet and faced Nepath. 'I don't know what promises you think you've been made, what sort of Faustian bargain you have entered into. But I do know this: The creature you have unearthed can never bring your sister back to you. I'm sorry, but that's the way it is.'
It was as if he had slapped Nepath. The man blanched, took a step backwards. Then he raised his hand as if to strike the Doctor. 'You know nothing,' he roared. 'Don't dare tell me what is possible or impossible. The fire took her, and it can bring her back. It consumes and creates, Doctor. Remember the Phoenix,' he roared.
'The myth myth of the Phoenix,' the Doctor shouted back. 'It's a story, no more.' of the Phoenix,' the Doctor shouted back. 'It's a story, no more.'
Nepath shook his head. His hands were clenched, shaking at his sides. His eyes were moist. 'Have you any idea how long or how far I have sought for this? Any idea what it means to me?'
'More than anything else in the world,' Stobbold murmured, remembering the Doctor's words. Knowing how he himself felt. 'More, perhaps, than the world itself.'
If either the Doctor or Nepath heard him, they took no notice.
'But can't you see?' the Doctor demanded. 'You can't change the past. What's done is done. "Iacta alea est" , though Caesar actually said it in Greek as I recall.' Stobbold thought he saw a flicker of puzzlement cross the Doctor's face then, but he barely paused in his attack on Nepath. 'For your own sake you have to accept that. Accept it and live with it or banish it to the hidden depths of your memory where you never dare venture. One or the other.'
'No!' shrieked Nepath. 'Never.'
'Is it guilt? Is that it?' The Doctor was shaking his heard as he tried to understand, grey dust flying from his long salt and pepper hair. 'You shouldn't blame yourself for what happened.'
'Do not presume to know what happened, Doctor,' Nepath yelled at him. 'You weren't there. You did not see or hear her.'