James Herbert

by Sepulchre

  There had been other incidents through the years. and the chairman had confessed to Mother that he, himself, had begun to live in fear of Kline's strange powers. Although nothing could be proved, Sir Victor realised there had been too many mysterious 'happenings' to be ignored.

  Why Quinn-Reece? Mother had demanded. What on earth could Kline have against his own deputy-chairman?

  Sir Victor had explained that for some time Kline had suspected Quinn-Reece of leaking news of possible mineral sites for development to another company. Indeed, he and the chairman had discussed those suspicions on more than one occasion. However, this time, Kline had accused his personal assistant, Cora Redmile. But the chairman was accustomed to the psychic's deviousness and Quinn-Reece's subsequent death was too much of a coincidence to be taken lightly. Yet there was no proof, none at all. Only misgivings.

  That was enough for Mather. He already had doubts about the assignment, a gut-feeling that things weren't quite right. The torture of Dieter Stuhr had added to his concern, for torture, unless perversion was involved, usually meant information was being sought of the victim. That information might well have been to do with Shield's security arrangements for Felix Kline. Somewhat drastic perhaps, but where huge sums of ransom money were involved kidnappers had few scruples. And then there was always the possibility that more than just abduction was in mind. Kline might well be a target for assassination—God only knew what enemies the man had.

  Mather had left the Magma building and had gone straight to the home of Gerald Snaith with the recommendation that the contract be declared null and void. That had been over two hours ago, but he felt he had been driving for much longer.

  Mather used the booster fan to clear vapour from the windscreen, his own breath, because he was so close to the glass, contributing to the mist. For a few moments he was driving blind and he slowed the car almost to a halt. He pushed another button and the driver's window slid down. Raindrops pounded at his face when he looked at the road ahead. There was a wall to his left, set back, undergrowth thick before it; on the opposite side of the road was forest. He ducked his head back inside and wiped a handkerchief across his face.

  A light behind, dazzling in the rearview mirror, coming up slowly. A car's headlights.

  They blinked once, twice. He grunted with satisfaction when they blinked a third time.

  Mather touched his brakes twice in acknowledgement, then pulled over to the side of the road, bringing the car to a halt. He waited for one of the two men in the vehicle behind to come to him.

  'Didn't expect you, sir,' the operative said loudly enough to be heard over the storm. He crouched at the open window, collar up against the rain. 'Gave us a surprise, seeing your number.'

  'I've been trying to reach you on the radio,' Mather complained.

  'The storm's fouled up communications. Never known one like this before. We've kept in touch with the other patrol by stopping each time we meet en route. What's up, Mr Mather, what brings you here?'

  'We're pulling out.'

  'Shit, you're joking.'

  'I'm afraid not. Anything occurred tonight that you're not happy about?'

  'Only this bloody weather. Visibility's down to twenty yards.'

  'Where's the entrance to the estate?'

  'Gates are up ahead, on the left. You're nearly there.'

  'Follow me down, I'll brief you off the road.' The operative shrugged, then ran back to the Granada.

  Mather set his car in motion, going slowly, looking for the gates. An open area swept back from the roadway and he turned into it, driving right up to the tall gates. There should be . . . yes, there it was. A dark, bulky shape that had to be the lodge-house. No lights on. Well you'll have to get out of bed, chum, if that's where you are.

  Mather flashed his headlights, beeping the horn at the same time.

  Lightning blazed the sky, thunder rent the air, and the lodge-house appeared as a bright, flickering image.

  Mather's eyes narrowed. Had there been something moving in front of it?

  The patrol car came to a halt beside his and Mather reached for his cane before stepping out. Both men joined him at the gates.

  'Is there anyone inside?' he asked, pointing at the building with his cane.

  'There's supposed to be someone there all the time to operate the gates,' one of the men replied. 'Never seen the bugger, though.' Mather reached and pushed at an iron strut. That half of the gates swung open a few inches.

  The three men exchanged glances.

  'Something's wrong,' Mather said.

  'Could be an oversight.' The Planner shook his head. 'I'm going in. I want you to find the other patrol and follow.'

  'We're not allowed in -'

  'Forget about that. You just come after me as fast as you can. Phil, you'll come with me.'

  'Right, sir.'

  'Why not wait for the other patrol?' the second man asked” suddenly anxious.

  Mather had no adequate answer, only a sense of urgency pressing him. 'Just get on with it!' he barked.

  'Open them up, Phil.' He limped back to his car as the operative swung the gates wide. The other man climbed into the Granada and reversed into the road.

  Mather settled uncomfortably into the driver's seat, his clothes soaked. He dreaded to think of the agony his leg would give him tomorrow. He took the car through the entrance, pausing just long enough for his operative to jump in beside him.

  'Christ, what's that over by the house?' Mather looked towards where the other man was pointing.

  Blurred shapes were moving slowly in the rain.

  'Dogs,' the operative said. 'Must be the guard dogs. Funny, it's the first time I've laid eyes on them.'

  'Can you see how many?'

  'Difficult in this rain. I can only make out a couple. Oh shit, there's others lying on the ground.' Mather wasted no more time. He pushed down hard on the accelerator and the car sped down the drive. Soon it entered a tunnel of trees.

  44 A SACRIFICE

  Halloran was stunned by the change in Felix Kline.

  This was an old and bent man emerging from the shadows, one whose skin was cracked and scaly, ruffles of tissue hanging loose, pieces flaking away as he shuffled forward. Oil glistened over fissures in his flesh, dulling the rawness beneath. His hair trailed flatly over skull and forehead, whitish seams cross-hatching under the blackness, and his hands were mostly. vivid pink, their outer layer all but entirely shed. Kline's, breathing was husky with the effort of moving.

  He came to an unsteady halt before Halloran and even his grin seemed corroded.

  'Scary, huh?' Kline said, none of his mocking arrogance lost. 'It isn't irreversible, though. It isn't too late, Halloran. Maybe it's worse than ever before, but at least now I understand why.' The hideous face was close, eyes red-rimmed and bloodshot. With Daoud behind him, Halloran could not pull away. Kline had the same smell of decay as the old man in the hedgehouse.

  'You took my surrogate,' Kline hissed. 'You killed him and upset the balance. I should only slough my skin once a year, that's part of the deal, my price for immortality. Life a serpent, you see, Halloran.

  Bel-Marduk made me like a serpent.' He gasped, a pain reaching him somewhere inside. Blood squeezed from a crack in his disfigured face to mix with the oily gel.

  'There's a way to stop this deterioration. You'll see, Halloran, you'll see. You'll be part of it.' He turned away and with Khayed's, help hobbled through the puddles on the floor, passing by Palusinski and Cora, the Pole stepping back as if the shambling figure were a leper. The girl seemed mesmerised. Candle-light reflected from the glistening on Kline's head.

  It took a long time for him to get to the slab of stone near the end of the room and he reached out for it, staggering the last few feet despite Khayed's help. Kline eased himself around the stone so that he faced the others. An impatient hand beckoned them to him.

  Palusinski led the girl and it took only slight pressure from the wire to make Halloran follow. His
eyes darted left and right as he and the Arab passed the archways, searching for possibilities, a weapon perhaps should he manage to break free of the stranglehold. All he could make out in the shadows were stone tables, scored with symbols similar to those he had seen around the house itself.

  Then he found himself looking down at the bloated body lying on the slab. And Monk's small, inset eyes stared back at him, his fat fingers twitching as if he were trying to move his body. Those eyes showed no pain, only hatred.

  Halloran was surprised that the man was still conscious. He glanced over at Cora, who was frowning, at last some sensibility returning to her gaze.

  'Do you see him, Monk?' Kline's voice was all the more insidious for its guttural roughness. 'He did this to you, made you nothing. How you'd like to kill him. But no, my friend, that's impossible for you now.

  But I have a use for you.' Fear replaced the hate in the bodyguard's eyes as they darted towards Kline.

  'Another injection, Asil,' Kline told the Arab. 'I don't want the pain to kill him. The cutting will do that.'

  The Arab ghosted away.

  'The correct dosage is important,' said Kline, touching his skinless hands to Monk's body. 'Enough so that he doesn't feel the shock of the blade, but not enough to allow dreams to take him from us.

  Fortunately Asil has become something of a specialist over the years.' Anger surged in Halloran, but he held it in check, biding his time. 'You turned Cora into an addict,' he said.

  'Oh no, not an addict, not in the true sense. Not yet. She'd be useless to me if she were. I told you, Asil is expert in such matters. Cora is dependent on me, not on any drug.' The Arab had returned to Kline's side, in his hand a syringe filled with liquid. He smoothed away hair on Monk's arm and pierced a vein with the needle. He emptied half of the liquid into the bodyguard.

  Within moments, the bodyguard's eyes took on a dull glaze and the corners of his mouth flickered.

  'What are you going to do with him?' Halloran asked sharply.

  Kline drew in a long, gravelly breath and gripped the stone to support himself. Still he managed to grin at Halloran, his peeled lips blood red against the yellow decay of his teeth. 'I'm going to feed off him,' he replied simply.

  In a night of gross horrors, when nightmares were living, Halloran was further repulsed.

  Although delighted with the obvious discomfort his words had caused the operative, Kline shook his head. 'Not his flesh, Palusinski can fill himself with that afterwards. I need something more, Halloran, something that has no substance, no materiality. The part of him that will be set free at his moment of death.' A luminescence glittered in the darkness of Kline's eyes. 'The ethereal energy that's the source of our existence. The psyche, Halloran, the soul. Can you understand that?' Again Halloran felt a loosening of the pressure around his neck. Daoud's concentration was wavering. 'If I understood, I'd be crazy like you,' the operative replied.

  Kline straightened, his look fixed on the operative. The bodyguard lying on the stone between them moaned, either with pleasure or trepidation, the emotion was not clear.

  'You're still a mystery to me,' Kline said to the operative. 'My psychic faculties are dimmed where you're concerned. Why is that, Halloran? What is it about you . . . ?” 'I'm just a hired bodyguard, nothing more than that.' Kline's stare did not shift. 'But you're a danger to me.'

  'No, I'm here to prevent any harm coming to you.' Halloran tensed the muscles of his arms, preparing himself to strike, concentrating his strength. 'Tell me, Kline, tell me what this is all about.'

  'I've already explained.'

  'I'd like to know more. How can you . . . ?' He couldn't find the words; it felt too ridiculous to try.

  'Tap into someone's soul?' the psychic finished for him. 'Absorb its vitality?' He laughed, a choking in his throat. 'The secret was left for me.' His eyes closed, the lids hideously raw, but his smile was rapturous. 'I learned from the ancient cuneiform writings of the Master himself. They were hidden away with his remains, spread around him to give sustenance during his long wait. He drew me to them, so many years ago. a time of Ignorance for me, when I was a shell waiting to be filled. I found his works in a chamber, a sepulchre beneath the Royal Cemetery of Ur, and piece by piece I smuggled them out, and piece by piece I had them deciphered so that no one else would understand their full message. Only then did I assemble them once more, when I knew the power contained within their symbols. They told of how potent were the powers of the mind, how they could be developed, channelled . . . how they could create!' He swayed, his eyes remaining closed. Khayed reached out as if to steady him, but seemed afraid to touch.

  Kline's voice became deeper in tone. 'They taught the delights of perversity, the superiority that comes from corruption. I learned, you see, learned well, became an avid student. They instructed me in the ways of terror, they showed me how to seek out the evil in others and use it for my own ends. They revealed how I could escape the degenerating process, the wearing away of flesh and muscle, the shrivelling of body and mind, how the decay could be transposed to others. They spoke of the secret link between the mind and the earth's own energy, how they could be coupled, and used together. And I feasted upon the knowledge!' Kline's eyes sprung open, and the blackness in them almost filled the sockets.

  'The price of it all was easy to pay,' he whispered. 'Dissension, wherever it could be spread. Atrocity, wherever it could be encouraged. Malevolence, wherever it could be nurtured. I learned to disperse my disruption, took it to many countries and let it fester. Because that was his way, and I am his disciple!'

  Kline's hands were raised to his chests palms upwards, fingers curled into claws. He shuddered, a movement that threatened his collapse. But he righted himself, his mouth open in an agitated grin.

  'There was another part to this bargain.' Now he was stooping, twisting into himself. 'An alliance between us. I was to keep Bel-Marduk forever with me, to sustain his bodily self, to keep it living.' A shiver ran through Halloran. There was nothing here of the Kline that he knew. The thing before him was unrecognisable in voice and body. Halloran felt weakened.

  'You'll see,' said the form opposite. 'You'll understand how we breathe together.' Kline moved away, tottering as if about to fall. Yet still the Arab by his side was reluctant to take hold of him. Kline walked awkwardly to an alcove behind the altar, and the others watched, all of them motionless.

  He entered the shadows.

  Halloran heard something being opened.

  Shuffling footsteps.

  Kline returning, carrying something clutched to his chest, into the candle-light . . .

  45 NETHERWORLD RISING

  Away from the bubbling lake they ran, throats roughened by harsh breaths, disarray in their stride. Two of their companions had been lost to the lightning-seared cauldron, and these remaining three had no intention of joining them; clumsy their flight may have been, pounding rain rendering earth and grass slippery beneath their feet, but their progress was determined, panic lending its own pace.

  Despite himself, a terrible fascination tempted Danny Shay to look back over his shoulder and he uttered a single alarmed cry at what he saw; he stumbled, went down, the man at his heels sprawling over him so that they both rolled in the soaked grass, kicking out at each other.

  Shay sat up, rain streaming into his open mouth, while the other man, Flynn, beat at the earth in pain.

  McGuire realised he was alone and stopped, searching behind for the others.

  'Glory God . . .' he moaned when he saw the lake.

  Shay scrambled to his knees and Flynn reached out to grasp his shoulder. 'I've done me ankle, Danny'

  he shouted over the downpour. 'Give us a hand up!' But Shay stayed motionless, staring into the rain.

  Flynn followed his gaze and collapsed back into the grass.

  A shining came from beneath the water's boiling surface, a milky greenness that spread to the shoreline.

  A curling mist rose from it, turning in on itself li
ke vapour reaching cooler air. Geysers popped and spouted, foamy liquid showering down to create ripples, more turmoil. But something else was disturbing the broad lake's centre. A great mass, hindered by its own weight, was slowly emerging like some huge sunken wreck pushed to the surface by an eruption on the sea bed.

  This was nothing manmade, though. It might have been regurgitation of a long-lost island, the waters finally relinquishing their claim. Except it was a living, pulsating thing. A mass that swelled and writhed, a gathering in oozing mud of all those nebulous creatures the men had glimpsed earlier beneath the lake's unsettled ceiling, the forms clinging together as if congealed. Pieces—living things—dropped away as this ill-shaped mountain grew; lake-water drained off to fall with the rain. Monsters of immense size were among that curling, viscous mass, while leaner shapes wriggled and clung like parasites, the ascending heap never still, constantly bulging and quivering as it rose.

  As the three frightened men watched, a bolt of lightning struck the top, sizzling and charring its uppermost layer as if it were flesh. Steam rose as the whole mass shrunk in spasm. It stretched once more, continuing to ascend. They thought they could hear a shrill wailing beneath the roar of thunder.

  'What is it!' Flynn shrieked close to Shay's ear, the grip on his leader's shoulder tight.