James Herbert

by Sepulchre

  And very few really understand why.' He sat back and the towel swung away from his jaw. He was smiling.

  'In some locations, metaphysical and physical deposits become almost one, and that's because both kinds of energy are related. The moon affects the minds of men, ask any psychiatrist or psychologist, as well as influencing the earth's tides. Vast mineral deposits—ores, oil, gas or whatever—have that potential because they're all sources of energy. How d'you think I locate them for Magma? My mind's attracted to them because it's from these sources that it draws sustenance, the same way an animal can sniff food from great distances, a shark can sense blood in the water from miles away. Instinct or mind-power'? Or is it all the same thing?' Halloran understood what he was being told, could even appreciate that there was some kind of weird logic to it, but Kline's dissertation was difficult to accept.

  'Are you saying the lake has particular properties, minerals that -'

  'I don't know what the fuck it has, Halloran. Nor do I care. Maybe there's something underneath the lake itself, or in the sludge swilling on the bottom. None of that matters to me, I'm just happy to have my own private supply.' Kline rubbed at his hair again with the towel. 'I still have to search out sources in other parts, though. Like the Bedouins have their secret water-holes all over the desert, always handy when one dries up, I have my own wells. It involves some travelling, but like they say, travel broadens the mind. Right?'

  'Is that how you picked up your bodyguards, passing through various countries?' Halloran asked, keen to lead the conversation away from such 'mystical' overtones.

  Kline was reflective. 'Yeah. Yeah, I did a lot of travelling. Found suitable people along the way.'

  'People and animals. How did you get the jackals back into the country?' Kline shook his head. 'They were bred for me here. Unusual pets, huh?'

  'You could say. I can't help wondering why you chose such a breed.'

  'Because they're despicable, Halloran. I like flat.' Kline chuckled as he gazed into the fire. 'And they're scavengers. But an underestimated species, all the same. Scavengers, yes, but not cowardly as popular belief would have it. Oh no, they'd fight off eagles and hyenas for food. And they'd snatch a morsel from under a lion's nose.' He shook his head as if in wonder. 'Cunning, too. You know, one will distract a mother antelope while another grabs the baby. They'll tear off pieces of a kill and bury them in different places for another day to foil rival scavengers. They'll even swallow food and regurgitate it later to avoid the risk of it being stolen by swooping eagles on the journey back to their young. Wonderful survivors, these creatures, Halloran.'

  'As you say, they're scavengers.'

  'True, their main diet is carrion, but they appreciate other delights. The jackal is very partial to the afterbirth of the wildebeeste, for instance. They'll follow a herd for miles sniffing after the pregnant cows.'

  'There was someone with them tonight. He was standing by the lakeside.' Kline turned back to Halloran.

  'So?'

  'I assume it was the person who controls the gates.' The other man nodded.

  'Someone else you picked up abroad?' Kline ignored the question. 'I haven't finished telling you about the Sumerians. Did I say they were the first astrologers? No, I don't think I did. They built ziggurats, massive square towers, as temple observatories. That was the start of astronomy just in case you're unimpressed by zodiac predictions.' He draped the towel over his head again and rested back in his chair, watching Halloran from the shadows.

  'Their nation sprung up between the Rivers Tigris and Euphrates in what these days is called Iraq. A green, lush area, desert all around. It's the traditional site of the Garden of Eden, where that bad old angel called Serpent got Adam and Eve into deep trouble, and had his wings clipped—his legs too—for the rift he'd caused. Serpent was forced to spend the rest of his existence crawling on his belly, and when you're immortal, as all angels are, that's a long time. Anyway, the Sumerians knew how to govern themselves, with laws and organisation of labour forces and rates and taxes and coalitions between the different cities.

  The smaller towns and villages even had their own mayors and municipal councils. Thing is, they took their farming seriously and because whole communities could be fed by a few, others were left to get on with developing new skills and professions. The beginning of real civilisation, Halloran. For better or worse, the start of the whole cultural shebang.'

  'Look, right now there are more relevant matters to discuss. Like the lack of security on this estate, for instance.' It was as if Kline hadn't heard him. 'They even had their own sure-fire method of dealing with crime. On an eye for an eye basis, y'know? A son who raised his hand against his father would have that hand cut off, same with a doctor who fouled up an operation. An unfaithful wife would have a breast cut off. A man who set fire to a house, or maybe looted a burning home, would be roasted alive.' Kline sniggered. 'Rough justice, but effective. And oh boy, their death penalty. As well as roasting there was beating, strangulation and being thrown from their highest temples. Oh yeah—and mutilation. Anyone who really pissed them off was mutilated, had their arms and legs chopped off. The idea was to make sure that particular evil would never rise up against them again. Literally. So they turned these sinners into limbless creatures, snakes—like the Serpent of old, you see- only tit to crawl on their bellies in the dirt.

  Nasty way to die, left all ,Done, unable to move, the only hope being that death didn't take too long.'

  Kline visibly shuddered.

  'You said they were civilised.'

  'They found a way to make their system work. A cruel regime in many respects, but they taught the rest of the world something. Strange thing is that, as a race, they vanished from the face of the earth. Can you beat that? Just died out, absorbed into other cultures. You have to wonder why, don't you, considering all their achievements?'

  'Yeah,' Halloran replied wearily, 'you have to wonder.'

  'Even their language died with them.' A burning coal cracked, a gunshot sound that made both men glance towards the fireplace.

  After a moment, Halloran said: 'I want to ask you about Cora.' Kline settled back in his chair and slowly pulled the towel from his head. There was a curious mixture of innocence and wickedness in his expression, perhaps because while his smile was ingenuous, there was a glint of maliciousness in his eyes.

  'This on a personal basis, Halloran, or to do with my protection?T 'Maybe both. Why is she so . . .' an apt word was difficult '. . . dependent on you?' The other man giggled, a childish outburst. Halloran waited patiently.

  'She isn't,' came the reply. 'Nobody's ever truly dependent on another person, didn't you know that? It's only their own weaknesses that they're servile to. An indulgence on their part. Self-inflicted. The tendency is to use someone else as a focus for their own deficiencies maybe even as a patron to them. Surprised you haven't figured that out for yourself.' Kline leaned forward as if to make the point. 'We all have total governance over our own will, Halloran. Ultimately, no one can interfere with that.'

  'People can be corrupted.' The reply was swift. 'Only if that's what they secretly want.' Halloran realised that he was now reluctant to pursue the matter. 'We, uh, have to make arrangements for tighter security around the estate.' Amused, Kline studied his protector for several seconds. Why so interested in Cora?

  You haven't become involved in anything that might be construed as ''unprofessional”, I hope. After all, you've been contracted to take an interest in my weilbeing, no one else's.' He knew his client was mocking him and wondered, not for the first time, why Kline had sent Cora to him the night before.

  'There's a difference between loyalty and dependence.' Kline looked genuinely surprised. 'You suggesting Cora would betray me?'

  'Not at all. I just need to know the full picture.'

  'Well let's talk about her some more.' Kline interlaced his fingers over his stomach, his elbows resting on the arms of the chair, eyes closed as if picturing Cora in hi
s mind. 'She's intelligent, works hard, is super-efficient at her job. She's also some looker, wouldn't you agree? A little jaded nowadays, though, like she's got deep-rooted troubles. D'you feel that? Yeah, it's pretty obvious. What do you suppose those troubles are?' He was being taunted, but Halloran refused to take the bait. 'Let's get on to other things.'

  'I think she's agonising over some terrible moral dilemma, don't you? You can see she's losing sleep over it. Can't be anything to do with the job, otherwise she'd leave, wouldn't she? No, it's got to be something in her personal life. She's a sensual woman, so maybe sex is involved, huh? What d'you think, Halloran?

  Stupid of me—how would you know?' The urge to wipe the leering grin from Kline's face was almost overwhelming. 'We need chain-link fences topped by barbed wire erected at all access points to the grounds,' Halloran said calmly, 'with vibration sensors attached. Intruders can always cut their way through hedges, but at least we'll slow them down and make it easier for patrols to spot them.'

  'Maybe Cora likes things she's been taught not to. She had a strong moral upbringing, you know. I understand her parents were pillars of society, so maybe they wouldn't have approved of her little ways.

  You think that's what's bothering her? Parental disapproval, even though they're dead and gone? Guilty conscience on her part? Destructive thing, guilt.'

  'I'm not in favour of moving searchlights—they're too easy to dodge—but a good lighting system close to the house and pointing outwards would be useful. That and low-frequency audio scanners or magnetic fields would provide a good cover. You need intrusion-detection sensors between the house and the lake, too, with sonar equipment directed onto the lake itself.'

  'Still, none of us are infallible, are we, Halloran? We all have our weaknesses and foibles that make us vulnerable. We wouldn't be human without them. Can't help wondering what yours are.'

  'Along the inside road you could do with one or two access control points where vehicles can undergo thorough checks. Closed-circuit television is essential for the main gates, incidentally, with a guardhouse by the side. That'll have to be built with hardened walls and glass, and will require a telephone line direct to the house. Reliance on your man at the lodge isn't good enough.'

  'What makes you so inscrutable, Halloran? What goes on behind that mask of yours'?'

  'As well as CCTV points on entrances to Neatly you ought to have bars mounted on all windows that provide easy access. It goes without saying that intrusion alarms will have to be installed nn all windows and doors, too.'

  'Do you believe in God, Halloran?' He stared back at Kline. 'I'll draw up a list of firm recommendations and submit copies to the Magma Corporation and Achilles' Shield,' he said evenly. 'If we don't receive yours or Magma's consent to carry out these precautions, there's not much my company can do for you.'

  'My question rattle you? You should see your face. I thought all the Irish were God-fearing, no matter what particular brand of religion they followed.'

  'I'm not Irish.'

  'Your old man was. And you may not have been born there, but you were raised in the of country.'

  'How did you know that?' He realised immediately that Cora must have told Kline.

  'You still haven't answered my question.'

  'Information about myself isn't part of the contract. All you need to know is that I'm capable of doing a good job.'

  'Just curious, that's all. You suddenly look even more dangerous, d'you know that?' There was an abrupt vision between Kline and himself. Father O'Connell's big, ruddy face was contorted with anguish, his tear soaked cheeks catching the flames from the fire. Only these reflections were of flames from another time.

  Halloran cleared the image from his mind. But the sounds of the priest's wailing as he ran into the burning church were more difficult to erase.

  'You still with me, Halloran? You look as if you've seen a ghost.' The Shield operative blinked. Kline was watching him intently and the slyness of his smile somehow suggested he had shared Halloran's vision.

  'The Sumerians had lots of gods—lots of goddesses, too,' Kline went on as if nothing unusual had occurred. 'A whole team of 'em. Anu, god of the Heavens, Su'en, the Moon god, Enlil, god of Water, Markuk, god of Babylon, Ea, one of the good guys, and the goddess, Inin, later known as Ishtar—now she was something else. She was a whore. Then there was Bel-Marduk, the one they came to despise.'

  His smile had become venomous. 'They misunderstood his cruelty, you see. But there was always someone—excuse me, some deity—to pray to for any cause, or to blame for any wrong. Delegation was the idea, spreading the load. Don't put too much pressure on the one god or goddess in case they get vexed and turn nasty. Or was it because they didn't believe in putting all their trust in one master? Maybe a lesson learned from their past. And that's the weird thing about these people, Halloran: we know hardly anything at all about their origins. Now, like I said before, that's odd, considering the Sumerians invented the written word.' Halloran scarcely heard, for he was still numbed by the strength of the vision of moments before. And tiredness also was beginning to weigh heavily upon him.

  'It seems,' Kline continued, his enthusiasm not curbed by lack of interest from his audience, 'that kings, princes—maybe even the high priests—hid or destroyed all records of Sumerian early history. Yet they'd been setting things down as cuneiform writing on clay tablets since 3000 BC! What d'you suppose they needed to hide? I mean, to wipe out centuries of their past like that, they must have had some terrible dark secret they wanted to keep from the rest of the world, don't you think?' He was leaning forward again, hands resting on his knees, his face bright in the glow from the fire.

  Halloran struggled to rouse himself, the room's warmth and Kline's almost mesmeric tone abetting the weariness. 'There's something more I need to ask you,' he said, and then had to concentrate to remember what it was. In the gloom of the far corner, the stone woman's eyes seemed larger.

  'Even one of the greatest archaeological finds ever failed to turn up any evidence of what went on in Sumerian society much before 2500 BC,' said Kline, ignoring the pending question. 'That was when Sir Leonard Woolley discovered a gigantic grave site near the city wall of Ur in the 1920s. Thousands of the graves had been plundered, but something spurred on the old boy to dig deeper, and what he found underneath that cemetery staggered historians all around the world.' Halloran pinched the corners of his eyes with thumb and forefinger. What the hell was Kline rambling on about?

  'Know what was there?' Kline gripped the arms of the chair as if unable to contain his excitement. 'Stone tombs. Sepulchres! Can you believe it? Woolley's team got to them by ramps leading into deep shafts.

  Inside those chambers they found intact skeletons of Sumerian kings, queens, princes, princesses, and members of the high priesthood, all decked out in full regalia of gold and semi-precious stones—and that's why it came to be known as the Royal Cemetery. Around them were golden cups, steles and statues, beautiful vases, silver ornaments—all kinds of valuable ,tuff.' Kline gave an excited laugh. 'And know what else, L Halloran? All their servants and attendants were buried right there with them. Court officials, soldiers, priests—even oxen with their wagons. No signs of violence, though. Those people had accepted their fate without argument. They'd taken poison and allowed themselves to be sealed in with their masters and mistresses.' He grinned. 'How's that for loyalty?' Halloran experienced a peculiar sense of relief when the other man turned away from him to gaze at the fire, as though Kline's intensity was a parasitical thing. Some of his tiredness lifted and he remembered the question he had meant to ask.

  But Kline was speaking once more. 'For twelve years Sir Leonard worked that site, delving, dusting, probing, digging, yet nowhere did he find anything that toed him of the early Sumerians. Some historians surmise that everything was destroyed at the time of the Great Flood—if there ever was such an event.

  No one's ever been sure whether or not that was only a myth, and one borrowed by a
nother religion, incidentally. For Noah, read Utnapishtim, a hero of Sumerian legend. Anyway, no matter, flood or not, something should have survived from that catastrophe unless those old boys didn't want it to. But what could be so bad, so diabolically awful, that they'd want the knowledge of it obliterated from their history Answer me that.' His head slowly came around so that he was facing Halloran again, and there was a meanness to his smile. The flames of the fire had died down, the room considerably darker. Halloran felt oppressed by the shadows, as though they were drapes closing around him. ,And the weariness had returned, resting on his eyelids so that they were difficult to keep open.

  The question. Not Kline's but his own. What was the question? Kline had reminded him. Underneath the cemetery. Under. Heath. Kline had even emphasised the word. He thought of the sturdy oak door that led to the cellar.

  'Curious about what's down there?' said the other man. 'Under the house? Down in the cellar?' But Halloran hadn't voiced the question. His head sagged with tiredness.

  'Not falling asleep on me, are you?' said Kline. 'Ah well, it's been a long day, so go ahead, close your eyes.' He didn't want them to, but his eyes closed. Halloran stirred in the chair, his limbs leaden. Sleep was approaching and it was irresistible.

  'Not just a cellar,' he heard Kline say from a great distance. 'Something more than that. Down there is where I have my very own sepulchre. Did you hear me, Halloran?' Barely. Kline must be a long way

  ,away by now . . . . . My sepulchre Halloran . . .

  . .yet the words were suddenly near, a whisper inside Halloran's mind.

  27 A DREAM AND BETRAYAL

  'Liam. Wake up.' He felt a hand shaking his shoulder and consciousness quickly drew him away from the unreality of his dream. Halloran's body was tensed and ready before his eyes opened, his fingers instinctively curling around the butt of his gun. Cora was leaning over him, her face anxious.