Aubrey had an instant of satisfaction, then he did what he could. 'Stop him, Rokeby-Taylor!' he cried. 'Before he gets away!' 'Yes, stop me, Rokeby-Taylor,' Dr Tremaine said, having gathered his composure. He chuckled. 'Do something useful instead of standing there. Use the revolver in your pocket.'
Obediently, Rokeby-Taylor took out the revolver. He blinked at it, owlishly. 'I say, Tremaine, it's not for you. It's for protection.'
'Stop him, you idiot!' Aubrey shouted.
'How can I confer eternal life on you, Clive, if you shoot me?' Dr Tremaine said. He appeared to be enjoying this immensely, but Aubrey noted how he kept one eye on the shifting column of flame. 'Now listen. You stay here, guard these troublemakers, and I'll come back and get you in a few minutes.'
Rokeby-Taylor stared at Dr Tremaine, then he glanced at his revolver. He weighed it in his hand, then, slowly, he reached out and snapped off the safety catch. 'I've been called many things in my time,' he said, and he looked like someone who believed he was dreaming, 'and I put up with them because I knew what I wanted.'
'And you'll get it, Clive, you will,' Dr Tremaine said. 'Keep your back to the flame and all will be well.'
'I was a fool,' Rokeby-Taylor said, in the voice of someone discovering something for the first time. 'And it's all come to this.'
'You'll be able to laugh at all those who scorned you,' Dr Tremaine said. 'When they die, you will be alive. What better revenge can anyone have?'
Rokeby-Taylor considered this. 'I could show them that they were wrong.'
'Yes,' Aubrey said. 'Do that. Show us we were wrong. Show us you're not a traitor. Stop Tremaine and you'll be a hero.'
'A hero, a fool, and a disgrace.' He pocketed the revolver. 'No. On the whole, I'd rather have eternal life.'
Aubrey closed his eyes as hope ran away. Rokeby- Taylor had a chance at redemption, but had passed on it.
Dr Tremaine clapped his hands together. 'Excellent.
Now, remember that you're in charge until I get back.'
He strode to the latticework of conduits. Aubrey thought he was going to crash right into it, but just as he neared, the pipes, wires and chains drew back, making a Tremaine-sized hole that closed behind him.
The flame he left behind continued to grow in bulk and height. It now licked the ceiling with hungry vigour. It began to branch, side jets flaring with their own greedy life. Aubrey knew that, now the flame was released from Tremaine's control, it would build on itself, a runaway column of raw power. The chamber would be consumed, swallowed in the boiling chaos of uncontrolled magic.
The flame bowed, shifting enough so he just make out Caroline and George. Both were struggling, but Aubrey knew how pointless it was. Still, he was proud that neither of them was giving up without a fight.
Rokeby-Taylor paced along the walkway, his back to the flames. He was a long way from the well-dressed man about town that Aubrey had met in his townhouse. He was unshaven, filthy and he mumbled as he marched. His shoulders were hunched and he kept his head down as if uncertain about this whole walking business. 'I'm not a bad man,' Rokeby-Taylor said suddenly, popping his head up. 'Just greedy.'
'I'm afraid I don't really care at the moment,' Aubrey said. 'I have to stop this flame from exploding. Look at the way it's building.'
'I can't. Tremaine said not to look at it.'
'And you believed him? He's been lying to you all along, you know. He has no intention of giving you eternal life. It's a trick.'
'No it's not. I'm crucial to his plans, he told me.'
Yes, thought Aubrey, but not in the way you think. 'Look, the flame's getting bigger. Move away, at least.'
'What?'
At the last moment, Rokeby-Taylor did glance over his shoulder at the flame, Aubrey's urgency overcoming his obedience. He was in time to see the column split and send a branch snaking in his direction. Rokeby-Taylor straightened, and for a moment it was as if the years had melted from him. His eyes sparkled as he threw himself to one side, rolling and coming to his feet with a grin. He looked toward Aubrey and touched his nose with a gesture that suggested that this was all a jolly lark.
Then the tentacle of flame snapped back and wrapped itself around him.
Rokeby-Taylor's eyes flew open wide and his hands clawed at the flame. His mouth gaped, but no scream came out. The process was too quick for that. He was frozen in place, trapped in the middle of terror. In an instant, he became transparent, like smoked glass. Then he was an outline, a sketch of a human being, an empty husk. A burst of light and he was gone, as if he had never been.
Aubrey cried out, but it was far, far too late. All the breath went from him as if he'd been punched hard in the stomach. He had no time to spare for pity, but he couldn't help but be moved by the fate of a fellow human, no matter how misled, how corrupt, how avaricious.
The column of flame was broader, taller, more solid. The blue-white was shot through with deeper, shimmering folds of gold. It began to roar like a mighty wind; it battered at him with sheer, unfocused magical power.
He had to stop it.
His mind worked in double time, dividing each second into a hundred parts. He riffled through possibilities and solutions, testing and discarding, pressing for a solution.
He couldn't imagine dousing it like an ordinary fire. Could he smother it, choke it? How had Dr Tremaine summoned it? How had he controlled it? What was its fuel?
Fuel. He seized on this. A fire needed fuel, but this cold flame had reached a stage where it was growing beyond any supply of fuel. It was sending out infinitely more power than could possibly be supplied to it.
It was feeding on itself. The Law of Intensification played a part here, he was sure, but it had sent things spiralling out of control. Intentionally or otherwise, it didn't matter. The flame had achieved a stage where the magic it was generating was spawning further magic, which further fed the beast. It would grow on itself, getting bigger and more powerful, faster and faster.
Unless he could interrupt it. He had to control it, to absorb some of the magic it was breeding. If he could, this would stop the process, for good.
It was a hastily constructed theory, but it was the only one he had.
He had to adapt the magic suppressing spell. He couldn't cancel the magic of the column of flame – it was too fierce, too powerful for that. Instead he wanted a spell to absorb it.
The image was perfect and he seized on it. He pictured administering charcoal to a patient to absorb poison, sponging up the deadly stuff and making it harmless.
The metaphor helped, but he realised he had no time to work out a careful spell. He had to launch into it straightaway – and trust to his ability to ex-temporise.
He recalled his anti-magic spell and began, adjusting each element, starting with intensity, duration, direction and dimensionality, before moving on to the individual variables and constants that shaped such an involved spell. He hurried through it, adapting on the run. It was easier this time as he wasn't negating magic, he was simply mopping it up.