Horatio Lyle (27 page)

Thomas hesitated, but Tess immediately nodded, grabbed him by the sleeve and dragged him towards the door. The room seemed somehow larger and stiller without them. Lyle looked slowly up at Feng. ‘If this object is so dangerous, it should be destroyed.’

‘Yes.’

‘But it should also be studied.’

Feng smiled thinly. ‘You do not strike me as a man who leaves windows unlocked, Mister Lyle. Say what you want to say.’

Lyle sighed. ‘Mr Feng, I can’t do much outside building small electric generators in my kitchen, but I just want to clarify something. If you so much as
touch
the children, or threaten them in any way, I swear I’ll do everything I possibly can to make your life
. . .
’ he thought about it, ‘
. . .
horrid.’ It seemed the only word really appropriate.

Feng thought about this. He looked up at the ceiling, and down at the floor, shoulders hunched up towards his ears, smile immovable behind his deep eyes. Lyle waited, clinging to the Plate tightly with his right hand, the bloody left hand still dangling at his side, fingers curled slightly in pain.

Very slowly, Feng raised his head, and stared straight at Lyle. ‘No,’ he said. ‘The situation has advanced too far, Mister Lyle.’

‘I thought you might say that.’

‘Which is why you sent the children away?’

‘Well, there was a chance I’d forgotten to lock something.’

Feng gradually started moving round the table, taking his time, swinging his arms loosely at his sides, threatening only in size, not speed. Even that was threatening enough. He didn’t hold out his hand, didn’t shout, didn’t glare, but said politely, ‘Please give me the Plate, Mister Lyle.’

‘You can’t just destroy something like this. It could have so many answers in it! And not just about where it came from and how it works, but
why
it works, why the Tseiqin want it, what makes it work, what makes
them
work, how they do what they do.’

‘The Tseiqin will come here soon, Mister Lyle. They will take it before you can do anything,’ he said quietly, advancing slowly towards Lyle.

Lyle backed away a little further, talking in a level but rapid voice. ‘I saw it react when inside a magnetic field, sparking. Stone doesn’t spark in a magnetic field; the idea is absurd. It wasn’t even
cutting
the magnetic field, but it still reacted. The legend said that when the priests put it in an iron box, it was hit by lightning and that damaged the Plate. Electricity and magnetism are inseparable parts of the same force, magnetism changes the plate, magnetism changes the Tseiqin;
that
is why they do not like iron!
Listen to me!
’

Feng stopped a few steps from Lyle. Lyle’s bloody left hand was clutching a very slim needle, the cap lying discarded on the floor. Feng frowned at it. ‘What will you do with that, Mister Lyle?’

‘Destroying this plate is like destroying the Rosetta Stone! You shut yourself out of a world, lose touch with something that we might never have a chance to understand ever again!’

‘And if the Tseiqin take the Plate, Mister Lyle? If they take it and repair it, as they have waited so long to do, if they repair it and use it - what then? There won’t be people like you left alive to learn its secrets any more, Mister Lyle. They are coming, Mister Lyle, and I doubt if they will be sympathetic to your sense of scientific curiosity.’

Lyle’s fingers tightened on the needle, the point quavering towards Feng. Feng sighed, and his hand reached into his pocket. It came out holding the revolver. ‘Mister Lyle, I respect you. But you and I really are from different worlds.’

He pulled the hammer back. Lyle swallowed. ‘You know, I wasn’t scared of death a few days ago?’ Lyle’s voice was very quiet. ‘I thought that I knew what it would be like - nothing. Peaceful, empty, unaware nothing, a dreamless sleep. Now I’m not so sure. Uncertainty always brings a little fear. But I’m not afraid of you, Feng Darin. I don’t think you’ll shoot me. I’m almost certain of it. I have no proof, of course, but I’m willing to stake everything on the chance.’

Feng brought the gun up. ‘Don’t take the risk, Lyle.’

Lyle didn’t move. ‘You want the Plate?’ He raised the needle, tiny between his hands. ‘Come on. Take it.’

‘Lyle! I will kill you!’

‘If you were going to kill me you would have done it on the steps of my house.’

‘Give me the Plate!’

‘No.’

Feng hissed in frustration, his hand tightening over the butt of the gun. He moved a step towards Lyle, turning sideways and swinging the gun up to level directly at Lyle’s impassive face. There was an explosion of noise beneath his outstretched arm, and the sound of ripping fabric. Tate dug his teeth deep into Feng’s ankle, growling and snuffling through a mouthful of trouser and skin. Feng grunted, half-turning, trying to shake Tate off, but the dog wasn’t budging. In the same second Lyle ran forward, reaching out with the tip of the needle to scratch at Feng’s arm. Feng grabbed Lyle’s wrist as he came, twisting it round sideways, suddenly oblivious of Tate’s gnawing at his ankle, bending Lyle’s arm back downwards until the bones creaked and Lyle’s bloody hand spasmed instinctively with the grating nerves. The needle fell to the floor and Feng shoved Lyle to one side, grabbing the Plate out of Lyle’s hand as he came. Lyle fell hard, head hitting the table. Feng kicked Tate off, scooped up the Plate, put it down firmly on the table, stood back, took aim and fired. It bounced on the table with the first bullet, which ricocheted away to bang against the wall, bounced again with the second, and the third, hopping along the table.

The Plate wasn’t even chipped. Feng’s eyes began to widen, fear starting to seep in. With a hiss of anger he turned the gun round and started smashing the butt against it with all his might. Not a chip, not a scratch. By the side of the table, Lyle half-stirred, blinking blearily. Blood was creeping through the hair behind his right ear. He tried to get up, his bloody hand shaking violently, and fell back.

Feng seized the Plate, looked around, and his eyes settled on the furnace. He walked towards it with a slow, stately purpose. As he drew near its metal bulk, the Fuyun Plate in his hands started to flash with fat blue sparks. So did the spinning magnet above the furnace itself. Feng grabbed a thick cloth off the desk by the furnace, and dragged open a small black iron door. Smelly orange flame lashed out of it angrily, clawing at the air beyond the furnace. Lyle staggered groggily to his feet. Feng, grinning, stood back and, as Lyle started to run towards him, tossed the Plate lightly on to the flames.

Lyle stopped dead. The furnace kept rumbling. On the floor, Tate whimpered. Lyle stared at the half-open furnace door. ‘Jesus,’ he whispered.

Feng was already dropping the gun back into his pocket, smiling a thin, satisfied smile, shielding his eyes from the light and the heat as he tried to see into the flame. Lyle edged gradually towards him, drew level and looked.

There was a long silence. Feng’s face slowly fell as he peered at the dark shape of the Plate, inside the flame. Fear was starting to creep in properly, slackening some muscles and tightening others, until his face was a battleground of contortion. Wordlessly, Lyle picked up a long hook from its stand by the furnace, and stuck it into the flames, until it caught the edge of the Plate. He pulled it out slowly, and let it drop to the floor. It wasn’t even charred. Lyle gently pushed the furnace door shut, knelt down, ran his hand over the Plate, careful not to touch it, frowned slightly and, with the very end of his bloody left forefinger, felt it. It was cold to the touch. He looked up at Feng, whose face was a mask.

The magnet above the furnace, spinning in the fat coil of wire, suddenly accelerated, humming inside its bracket. Lyle looked down at the Plate. Where his bloody hand had touched the stone, red sparks were pooling, rushing back and forth across the Plate. Lyle stood up, holding the Plate. Sparks were flying off the metal furnace. And leaping out of Feng’s pocket, where the gun sat. Feng took it out slowly, a look of surprise on his face, as red sparks also leapt off the metal of the gun. Lyle could feel the Plate pulling in his hand, tugging towards the large bulk of the furnace. He tightened his grip on it, and tried to drag it away from the iron. As it moved through the air in his grasp, it trailed more red sparks, which flew towards the furnace and bounced noisily off the iron, before sinking leisurely down to earth.

Around the room, cupboards were shaking, anything metal was giving off red sparks, screws screaming as they tried to get out, the metallic compounds in their glass tubes bubbling and bouncing, the central table shaking from its internal iron rivets, the large wardrobe full of bits of scrap metal in one corner flying open and the metal crawling across the floor towards the Plate and Lyle. The metal trigger of Feng’s gun, drawn towards the magnet, compressed and fired. The shot bounced away, but didn’t reach the ceiling. Lyle threw the Plate to one side hastily and dived for cover under the table as the bullet headed straight for the Plate and clung to it like a flea to blood. Feng tossed the gun aside and ducked as a metal tripod flew across the room. Lyle grabbed the whimpering Tate and pulled him into safety under the table.

At the door to the room, Tess and Thomas appeared. Tess took one look at the whirlwind of metal and grabbed Thomas by the scruff of the neck, dragging him back behind the door and slamming it firmly shut. In the room, the giant electric bulbs guttered and exploded, showering glass and hot metal. The flames of the candles stretched, always bending the same way, always towards the Plate, then the metal candlesticks they sat on lifted up and joined the funnel of spiralling metal, spewing hot wax everywhere. Lights went out, except for the red sparks still flying around the Plate. Lyle felt the table above him wobbling, and clung to the table leg. Outside, there was a dull thud as something large slammed into the shut wooden door, which was straining on its hinges. The spinning magnet above the furnace was rocking back and forth, one side inexorably drawn towards the Plate, while the gears that drove it screamed in indignant pain. Lyle heard something go
thunk
and winced. The pipes in the ceiling strained and started to bend as they were drawn downwards, the furnace doors flew open, spewing out gushing flame, the wires screamed and
. . .

It stopped. There was a clatter as bits of metal quickly fell to the ground and lay still. There was a slow whir as the magnet above the furnace started spinning again, slowly and stately, as if nothing had happened. The only light came from the flames still flickering out of the open furnace doors. At the end of the room, the other door opened. A frying pan had embedded itself in the wood. From under it, Tess peered, pale-faced. By the light of the furnace, she looked round the room, and finally saw Lyle, huddled with Tate in his arms, under the table. Somewhere, overhead and far outside the house, thunder rolled.

‘Jesus,’ she breathed. ‘What the
hell
did you people do?’

CHAPTER 19

‘This is going to sound unscientific
. . .
’ began Lyle.

‘But
. . .
’ prompted Tess.

‘Human blood.’

Thomas shut the furnace door while Lyle held his last match to a slightly bent-looking lantern, and set it on the table. Tate picked his way across a floor strewn with debris. Feng slowly and carefully reloaded his gun in the shadows just beyond the orange lantern light. The Fuyun Plate rested innocently on the table. Lyle kept his bloody left hand, the sliver of wood still lodged beneath the skin, as far from the Plate as he could. ‘Perhaps it’s something to do with the iron content in the blood?’ he suggested hopefully. Feng sighed. Lyle started turning red. ‘Or it might just be that it’s human blood, the essence of our lives and souls and
. . .
other spiritual
. . .
matters
. . .
’ he hazarded unevenly.

‘You mean
. . .
you get blood on that, an’ it goes mad?’ suggested Tess cautiously.

‘Yes.’

‘You sure? You don’t want to try and
. . .
’

‘
No!
’

Thomas picked his way over to the desk, gathering up bits and pieces automatically as he went, and putting them on the side carefully, not sure what they did, but impressed anyway.

Lyle was watching Feng. He said in an almost fatherly voice, ‘You don’t know how to destroy it, do you?’

Feng stopped reloading his gun, glanced up once, saw Lyle’s face, looked away again and went right on slotting bullets into the cylinder. Somewhere, thunder rumbled again, crawling up through the feet and down through the house. In the silence after it died away, Thomas said, ‘I didn’t know that there was going to be thunder tonight.’

Lyle looked up at the ceiling, as if he could see straight through it. ‘There wasn’t. The clouds weren’t right, the pressure was too high.’

‘Oh,’ said Tess finally.