Necroscope: Defilers

by Brian Lumley

  Jake searched for the coordinates for the Paris hotel … and found nothing!

  Didn’t I tell you there was nothing in there? Korath said nervously.

  Jake didn’t answer him but searched for other coordinates. But Korath was right; it seemed his mind was empty of them. It was as if a file had been downloaded from his brain, or worse, deleted entirely.

  What’s going on? Jake wondered, as Korath’s obvious alarm gradually infected him, too. No coordinates? What’s happening here?

  Perhaps it is simply a part of the healing process and we have to be patient, Korath answered. But I repeat: before you regained consciousness, there was nothing in there. Your mind was as empty as the Möbius Continuum itself!

  But it appeared that the Continuum wasn’t entirely empty, for even as Korath spoke, so something bumped into Jake’s face. He automatically groped for it, and found his gun, free-floating in the dark weightlessness. He’d obviously dropped it when he was hit at Le Manse Madonie, and it had fallen through his door with him. Now he held on to it, like a drowning man to a straw.

  A drowning man? said Korath. And something about a straw? Jake, you’re not making sense!

  Disorientation, said Jake. A bang on the head, which still hurts like hell. Even as he said it, another bout of sick dizziness swept over him.

  I entered your mind, Korath told him, deep into your mind. Er, in a purely exploratory mode, you understand? Your shields were down, and I was trying to revive you. But—

  Amnesia, said Jake. Not paramnesia this time, but just … just amnesia? I can’t remember the coordinates. None of them!”

  Memory loss, yet specific to this, said Korath, his alarm increasing by leaps and bounds. As one part of Harry’s memory was revitalized in you, so it dislodged another: your instinctive knowledge and use of Möbius coordination!

  Okay, said Jake, trying not to panic. But surely you remember the coordinates? You must, for you’ve remembered everything else! The Continuum’s equations, for instance.

  I remember the sequence of the formulae, Korath moaned now, and the shape of the thing, but the numbers themselves are as meaningless to me as they are to you! As for your coordinates: they are not numbers but locations, places and things which only you know, buried deep in a part of your mind that I can’t reach … which is the reason I entered you, Jake: to see if I could find a safe coordinate. But all I found was emptiness.

  Which must have scared the shit out of you, said Jake, else you’d probably still be in there! Even at a time like this, you never give up trying, do you?

  I dared hope, Korath tried hard to change the subject, that given time time we would transfer automatically to Harry’s Room at E-Branch HQ. But it appears that thread is now broken, leaving us adrift in this place!

  Jake felt a spinning motion. He was no longer in control of the situation. And the more the vastness—the utterly unknown size, structure, nature, and purpose—of the Möbius Continuum impressed itself upon him, the faster he spun.

  In the total darkness and weightlessness, he put up a hand and traced a shallow scabbed-over burn from just above his left eyebrow, along his temple and into his sideburns. There was dry blood on his hollow cheek, and the tip of his ear felt crusted. I was creased, he said. An inch lower and a little to the right, it would have gone in through my eye and ripped out the back of my skull!

  It has ripped out something, certainly! said Korath.

  The coordinates, said Jake.

  What, are they back? Sudden hope, elation in Korath’s deadspeak voice.

  No, said Jake, as another wave of nausea threatened to roll him under. I meant the coordinates were ripped out of me. Maybe permanently. Now there’s only the spinning … the sickness … and … oh, God!

  And the darkness, suddenly exploding like a bomb inside his head; the whirling darkness inside, which was almost as dark as that outside, and Jake sensing he was about to pass out again.

  But in the midst of all the darkness, a distant pinpoint of light; and Jake knew that if it was the last thing he ever did, somehow he must get to it. He willed himself in that direction, and the pinpoint immediately expanded. But in the moment before he reached it—even as Korath cried, It’s a door! It’s a door!—the effort overcame him. And he wasn’t even aware that he was falling through the door, and didn’t even feel the sting of the gravel on the path where he sprawled facedown, or the cool night breeze wafting over his prone body …

  He woke up to the light—but a natural light—and to a painful throbbing in his head that caused him to screw up his eyes against both.

  He was lying on a bed, under a white sheet in a white room, and a strange man and woman were looking worriedly down at him, concern plainly written on their faces.

  “Eh?” Jake said. “What? Where am I?”

  The woman, young and pretty, took his hand and spoke to him in what Jake suspected was Greek. His knowledge of the language was only very limited, so he shook his head. A mistake, because that only made the throbbing worse.

  “English?” the young man said. “Are you English?”

  “Yeah,” Jake told him, his voice a dry croak. “And you have to be Greek.” A safe bet, and not only because of the language. The whitewashed room, varnished pine bed, fixtures, and ceiling beams all spoke of Greece; likewise the light coming in through an open window, that special Mediterranean light. “May I have a drink of water? And would you mind telling me where I am?”

  The young woman went out of the room, and the man said, “We are Greek, yes. And this is our house.”

  “On a Greek island,” said Jake.

  The young man’s eyes opened in surprise, bewilderment. “But of course!” he answered. “Thee island of—”

  “Zante,” said Jake. “Zakynthos, in the Ionian.” He was sure of it. It had come to him out of nowhere, but still he was absolutely certain of it. And since he’d never been here in his life, that was a mystery in itself! But one thing for sure, he felt good and safe here. Now why should that be? Could it be the feel of the place? Its clean, familiar smell?

  “You are thee tourist, yes?”

  “No,” said Jake, then immediately changed his mind and took the easy way out. “Yes, you’re right, I’m a tourist. I had, er, an accident … I think.”

  He struggled to sit up; the young Greek helped him, telling him, “You are lucky that we found you. You were outside. We had been to a friend’s house, a party, last night. We got home late—between one and two in thee morning—and found you collapsed on thee path near thee front door.”

  Dim memories were stirring, but pseudomemories, Jake knew. It was the only possible answer. “This is … Zek’s place,” he said. “Zek Föener’s place, near Porto Zoro, in Zante.”

  “Ah!” said the other. “You are knowing Zekintha? My father, he bought this house from Zekintha. For me and Denise, my wife. But that was, oh, some four or five years ago! In thee English, my name is Dennis.”

  “Dennis and Denise?” Jake blinked, looked puzzled. He still felt woozy.

  “This is Zante,” the other shrugged. “Thee island’s patron saint is Saint Dionysios. Many peoples here are called Dennis for this reason. Dennis or Denise.”

  But Jake was thinking about what Dennis had said about Zek. Yes, of course she would have sold the place four or five years ago—when she married Ben Trask. Zek and Harry Keogh had been friends for years and the original Necroscope had probably felt safe here, too. But safe from what? What had his problems been? Whatever, this place had stuck in his mind, as it was now stuck in Jake’s; the only coordinates he/they had remembered, and the only place Jake had been able to flee to.

  Flee? Now where had that thought come from? For Jake hadn’t actually fled here but had been drawn here, hadn’t he? Maybe it was Harry who had “fled” here upon a time. And again Jake asked himself, fled here from what … ?

  “Help me up,” he said. Pulling back the sheet, he found himself naked down to his underpants; his clothes lay neatly
piled on a chair nearby. Dennis was concerned and told him to take it easy, but Jake struggled into his trousers and staggered toward the window. Even before he got there, however, he knew what he would see.

  “We had a doctor to you this morning, at first light,” said Dennis, following him. “He is thinking you were shot. A hunting accident, perhaps? Sometimes there are hunters in thee woods.”

  “Could be,” said Jake. “I’m something of a hunter mysetf—now and then.”

  Outside the window, a balcony, and below the balcony steep, densely wooded slopes falling to the sea. The Mediterranean, or more properly the Ionian. Jake knew it—knew this place, even this room—and felt that if he turned round quickly, he might even see a lovely girl asleep in that selfsame bed. At least he would remember seeing Penny there. But not his memory, no, for Jake had never known a Penny. It was totally maddening!

  “Where were you staying?” Dennis asked. Jake scarcely heard him. He was lost in his own thoughts and the fleeting memories of another. They came and went. Happy memories, sad memories, a changing sea of memories: calm, angry, storm-tossed. A farewell to all this. A departure. This had been Harry Keogh’s stepping-off place, to somewhere else …

  “Eh? Where am I staying?” Jake said. “Don’t worry about it. I’ll be okay now.” For while everything else was swirling—all of these pseudomemories drifting in and out of whichever crevice of esoteric knowledge housed them—Jake’s coordinates had returned and firmed up. And not only those coordinates he knew, but quite a few that someone else had known before him.

  And Dennis said, “You should get that wound seen to, er—?”

  “Jake,” Jake told him. But damn it, he’d almost said Harry!

  “The doctor said it should be stitched, but since thee scab was healing …”

  “It’s fine,” said Jake, putting on the rest of his clothes, looking for his Browning, and failing to find it. “It’ll be just fine.”

  By the time he was fully dressed, Denise had returned with a pitcher of water and a glass. Jake drank deeply, gratefully, then said, “Thanks—for everything. And now I’ll be going.”

  “And your face?” said Denise. “We didn’t wash you.”

  “My face?” Jake crossed to a mirror. She meant his charcoal camouflage from last night, gone streaky now on his face. Which reminded him to doublecheck: “What day is it?”

  The young couple glanced at each other, shrugged off their bewilderment, and Dennis said, “It’s Sunday.”

  Jake looked at his watch and made a quick calculation. Two in the Ionian afternoon, which meant that some seventeen hours had passed since he’d bombed Le Manse Madonie outside San Remo. He should go back there (would go back there, after he’d called Korath) to take a look at the damage.

  “Do you need a taxi?” Denise asked him. And more anxiously, “Are you sure you’ll be okay?”

  “I’m sure,” said Jake, making his unsteady way through this well-known house to the front door.

  They stood and watched him walk out into the brilliant sunlight, and up the gravel path through the pines toward the road into Argasi. After just a few paces, Jake saw the scuffed patch of gravel where he’d landed after making his exit from the Continuum, and just off the path a glint of dull metal in the undergrowth. It was his gun. He picked it up, pocketed it, and knowing the way, continued up the path.

  Jake pictured a big motorcycle—it could only be a Harley-Davidson—throbbing up this track to the road, and knew it was much more than just a picture in his head. And he wondered what it would feel like to ride a big bike through the Möbius Continuum? Well, and maybe he would try it some time. If he, the real Jake, was still around when all of this was over.

  Reaching the road, he looked back. But Zek’s place was lost from view, hidden in the pines. It was a terrific view out over the Ionian, and Jake knew he’d always liked it. And as for Zek: she meant a whole lot more to him now, and he knew how much she must have meant to Jazz Simmons and later to Trask … and even to the Necroscope Harry Keogh.

  Just thinking of her was like an invocation. She was there, in his mind, at once. Or her sweet deadspeak voice was, anyway.

  Why did you come here, Jake?

  “Zek?” He quickly recovered from the suddenness of her presence. “What, you’re still speaking to me? Still risking getting yourself in trouble with the Great Majority?”

  Where there’s a prosecution, there has to be a defence, she answered. And I’m it, advocatus diaboli, but I didn’t come here simply to speak to you. This time it’s coincidental.

  “Ah!” said Jake. “I see. This was your special place—your genius loci?—and you were drawn back here, even as I was.”

  He sensed Zek’s deadspeak nod. I often find myself drifting back this way. But you? You say you were drawn here?

  “I had a problem, an accident, trouble in the Möbius Continuum,” Jake explained. “For a little while the only place I knew was this place. Which just goes to show how very close you must have been to Harry Keogh. Or him to you.”

  Zek was at once anxious. An accident? Yes, I can sense your pain. But you’re okay now?

  “I’ve felt better,” Jake answered, “but I’ll get by.”

  And you’re on your own for once.

  “Korath?” said Jake. “I haven’t shaken him, if that’s what you mean. But for a while there my mind must have seemed a very dangerous place, and he went AWOL. In fact, I was just about to call him. I need him, Zek. Without the Möbius Continuum I can’t follow things through, can’t finish what Harry started.”

  Ah! (The very smallest deadspeak gasp, which scarcely disturbed the aether at all.) You think that’s what it’s all about? That Harry has chosen you to complete some specific task?

  “Harry discovered, fought, and killed vampires, didn’t he?” said Jake. “If nothing else, wouldn’t he want to avenge you?”

  But with Jake’s shields down, Zek read a lot more into his answer than just that. This isn’t about me, she said. Harry was gone from the living long before me. It’s true that he couldn’t abide vampires—and if be were here now he’d still be working alongside E-Branch—but that’s not what you meant. It’s only a part of what you meant. So what’s the rest of it, Jake?

  “I don’t know the rest of it,” said Jake. “You’re right and there’s something more to all this than what E-Branch is doing, but I’ve been left in the dark. Ben Trask and the rest of them, they know things they haven’t told me, things they daren’t tell me! They want me to work blind, to be their new Necroscope without telling me what went wrong for the first Necroscope. I know he had powers they haven’t told me about, and also that for all of his skills and knowledge he’s no longer here. He’s dead, Zek—dead and gone—and it wasn’t old age that got him! You knew him probably as well as anyone, and since coming here I’ve discovered that he came to see you before he quit this world. What was it made him leave us, Zek? Him and that girl, Penny? Lardis Lidesci has as good as told me they went to his place, Sunside/Starside—but why? To fight vampires there in their own spawning ground? But was that the only reason? The puzzle is too big for me, Zek. I can’t find all the pieces and the picture eludes me. In fact, you’re the only one who gives a damn and is trying to help me!”

  They all give a damn, Jake! she answered at once. You don’t have to worry that you’re on your own. You’re not, and when the teeming dead get to know you the way I’m coming to know you … you’ll have a lot more friends, believe me. But the Great Majority, and E-Branch, too, they’re playing this game by the rules. The dead won’t give their loyalty to just anyone; they need you to prove yourself. Likewise E-Branch, but for reasons you don’t yet understand; perhaps it’s about those missing pieces that you mentioned. And remember, Jake, you haven’t helped your case too much by running out on Ben like this.

  “You know I’ve run out on him?”

  But isn’t it obvious? she answered. You’re here on your own, aren’t you?

  “For now I�
�m on my own, yes.”

  Well, then … ?

  “Listen,” said Jake. “E-Branch thinks I have my own agenda. Well, I thought so, too, at first. But it isn’t any longer my agenda! I thought that I was avenging the death of … of someone I cared for. But I’ve since spoken to her and she’s let me off the hook. By that I mean she’s taken a lot of pressure off me. Fine, but it hasn’t made any difference, hasn’t changed my course one iota! I know that I’ve got to see this through, get it over and done with, and finish … and finish—”

  —Something that Harry started?

  “I think so, yes.”

  And for a little while there was silence in the deadspeak aether. Then Zek said, Jake, there was a very painful time in Harry Keogh’s life. Of all the painful times, this was one of the worst. It was a time of lies, incredible deceit, enormous danger, for Harry and for the whole world. At the end of that period even the dead deceived Harry; they had to, in order to keep faith with him. And E-Branch were the worst deceivers of all, even though they thought they were doing the right thing. A paradox? Not if you knew the whole story. But the point is, Harry himself didn’t know the whole story, and wherever he is now, he still doesn’t. That period—those years—were like lost years that never happened. And even if we could speak to him now, to an entirely whole Harry, still the Great Majority wouldn’t tell him. There was pain enough in his life, without that we add to it in his afterlife.

  As for that girl you mentioned, Penny:

  Penny came later, when Harry was just about done here. He brought her to me here on Zante; they paid me a visit, shortly before leaving this world for good. She loved him and believed she could have a life with him. Maybe she could have, but that wasn’t to be. There was an accident and … Penny didn’t survive it. But do you know, I’ve since “spoken” to her, and Penny has no regrets? It seems that living a few days with Harry had been like living a fantastic lifetime—or even two lifetimes. But don’t ask me to explain that last, for I can’t.

  When she fell silent, Jake prompted her, “These lost years you mentioned. You’re thinking maybe they have something to do with me, with what’s happening to me now? But how, and why?”