by Brian Lumley
Now Jake was himself again—almost—as he answered, Yes, and I know what happened the last time I ignored his advice. So you win and I won’t go, won’t look. Not now, anyway.
I’m so very glad! He heard her “sigh” her relief. And Jake, she quickly continued, at least you know your thread is no more tainted now than it was after you first gave Korath full access to your mind. It doesn’t seem to be getting any worse.
But that was only a few days ago, said Jake. What, a week?
Is that all? Millie sounded surprised. It feels like a very long time since we were down there in the dark with Szwart. But maybe that’s because I’m trying hard to forget it.
And maybe that comes easier for you, said Jake with a touch of bitterness in his voice. Because in your case you don’t have anything to remind you.
Then he took her to a cafe he knew, overlooking a deserted, rain-swept beach in Cannes, where they drank coffees in silence before returning to London.
Or rather, before Jake returned Millie to London…
As Millie stepped from the Möbius Continuum, back onto the dais at E-Branch HQ, she staggered a very little. Ian Goodly at once lowered his dart gun and took her elbow, steadying her. But she had seen the gun anyway and looked at him—and at David Chung—with an expression that was something more than accusing.
Then Ben Trask came up on to the platform with them, taking her in his arms…or trying to. Backing away from him, Millie transferred her silent accusation to him. And even if he hadn’t been what he was, Trask would have known the truth of that look in her eyes.
“They’re just dart guns,” he said. “Tranquilizers. I wasn’t going to hurt anyone, but I wasn’t about to let anyone get hurt, either.”
“Well, as you can see, I’m hurt anyway,” she answered. “Just what is it you think Jake would have done?” And before he could answer: “I’ll tell you what he would have done—if he had been contaminated; he would have given himself over into your loving care. He would have asked E-Branch, asked you, for your help.”
“Then why hasn’t he come back with you?” Trask’s logic, his overwhelming concern for the Branch—for people in general—overcame the guilt that he felt. “Is he…is he…?”
“He’s okay,” said Millie. “At least I think so.” And then, relenting as she saw the hangdog look on his face, she told him and the others gathered there everything that had happened.
As she finished, Ian Goodly said, “So, Jake didn’t go scanning the future after all.” The precog was visibly relieved.
“No, but he was tempted,” Millie answered. “Perhaps he was afraid of what he might find—but I don’t think so. I think he was simply heeding all the warnings he’s had.”
“So where’s Jake now?” said Liz Merrick, whose anxiety for the Necroscope was such that she was almost in tears.
And Trask came in again with: “You say his life-thread was stable? That it hadn’t got any worse since he let Korath Mindsthrall into his head? So what’s he afraid of? Why couldn’t Jake come back with you?”
“He said he wanted to go some place or places and think it over, work it out,” Millie answered. Then she looked at Liz and smiled. “But he also said you’d know how to find him.”
“I don’t understand.” Trask shook his head. “And I hate it when I don’t understand! Surely he knows we need him—and especially now.”
And Millie looked at him—looked at him hard and steadily—and said, “Jake thinks he’s in the clear, but still he can’t be absolutely sure. Have you ever stopped to consider that maybe he thinks a whole lot more of us than we’ve given him credit for? This could be his way of protecting us…by keeping well away from us. And come to think of it, Jake reminded me of something that applies to me as much as it does to him.”
“Such as?” said Trask, frowning.
“That it’s been only a few short days since he and I were down there, deep under London, with Lord Szwart,” Millie answered. “How long does it take for the spores to take hold, fuse with us, and begin to mutate our systems? If I were as brave as Jake—if I thought I could face the future on my own—maybe I wouldn’t have wanted to come back, either.”
“You’re brave enough,” Trask told her then, as finally she allowed him to put an arm round her waist. “And as for Szwart’s spores: if those sleepers are infected—which is something we just don’t know yet—then why aren’t you the same? Why didn’t you sleep?…I mean, if you were infected.”
She could only shrug and answer, “That’s a whole lot of ifs and whys, Ben. Far too many, and I don’t have any answers. Only a handful of prayers.”
“You’re not short on faith, I know,” he said, his voice low and husky now. “And faith like that is bravery in itself. No, I think you would have come back, even if your life-thread was as red as hell’s fires. That’s how brave you are, Millie Cleary.”
You, too, she thought to herself, as suddenly she felt the urge to cling to him, to this unswerving, rock-solid, dedicated man. You must be brave, Ben Trask. For the fact is you can’t be sure, either. Not of Jake, and certainly not of me. Yet you know where you’ll be sleeping tonight, and with whom. But let’s face it; you don’t know what you’ll be sleeping with. And to be honest, neither do I…
Zekintha Föener—later Zek Simmons, and later still Zek Trask—was one of only a very small handful of the teeming dead who had ever spoken to Jake; on his behalf she played devil’s advocate with the Great Majority, attempting to woo them to his side. Also, Zek had told Jake that all the world’s knowledge was down there in the ground or blowing in the wind, and that there were plenty of dead people who went on in death to perfect what they had left unfinished in life, who might be able to help him with all kinds of problems and situations if only they could be persuaded to converse with him. It was chiefly Korath’s fault that they couldn’t.
Life they understood, for it had once been their condition. Death, too, for obvious reasons. But undeath—a place between the two, and a fearful threat to the living who were their descendants—that was something they avoided with a will of iron. Only those few members of the Great Majority who had been close to the original Necroscope, Harry Keogh, would have anything to do with Jake, and even they were cautious, fearing excommunication from their worldwide, cemeteries-wide “church” of souls.
But on the other hand there were those among the Great Majority who would never be alone, who within their own small body—their own exclusive group—feared nothing except fear itself. Zek Föener was one of them, and the man whom she’d loved in two worlds, Jazz Simmons, was another.
On the Mediterranean island of Zante—more properly Zákinthos, from which Zek’s name derived—she and Jazz Simmons had built a house and a life together following their adventures in Sunside/Starside. But no one lives forever, and Jazz had succumbed to an incurable illness. Zek’s love of the island, and also of Jazz, had drawn her spirit back there on numerous occasions, and she was no longer a prisoner of the Romanian Refuge’s dark, gurgling sump. Unlike Malinari’s ex-lieutenant, Korath, who had been a stranger to the outer world of men before inveigling his way into Jake’s mind, Zek had developed a certain mobility. And since she had been a telepath all of her life, she’d discovered no great difficulty in contacting Jazz where he now lay at rest in a little cemetery overlooking the sea in Zante.
Familiar with the coordinates of the house near Porto Zoro, and having returned Millie to E-Branch HQ, Jake took the Möbius route to Zante, emerging from the Continuum on the pebbled path that led to the door of Zek’s once-dwelling. Others lived there now, but he knew that Zek was as likely to be here as anywhere. He could of course simply call out to her—using deadspeak to discover her whereabouts—but that wasn’t his way. Or rather, it hadn’t been Harry Keogh’s way, whose esteem for the dead was such that it wouldn’t let him “shout” after them but caused him wherever possible to present himself close to their final resting places. As a Necroscope—the Necroscope—that had never pos
ed a problem. And what had been good enough for the original was good enough for Jake.
Now he stood beneath Mediterranean pines under a night sky flecked with wispy clouds, and looked northwest at the lights of Zákinthos town where their glitter showed through the tangle of hanging branches. The sweet night air, laden with the scents of late flowers, herbs, and resin, was still misty from a recent shower; but the air wasn’t Jake’s medium as he softly enquired, Zek, are you here?
Jake? The answer came at once, from not very far away. Yes, but not at the house. I’m with Jazz.
Am I intruding? He felt awkward, unusual for him. It had to be more of Harry Keogh’s alleged humility rubbing off on him.
Not at all, Zek answered. In fact we were talking about you. Can you come to us?
Her deadspeak voice was a beacon that Jake could home in on as easily as Liz’s telepathy, and a moment later he stepped out of the Continuum at a location on the ocean’s rim between Porto Zoro and Argassi. The clouds were clearing, and on a rocky promontory a small white church gleamed like alabaster in the light of the stars, its image reflected in the waters of the bight.
Between the beach and the dark silhouettes of gnarled pines where they stepped down from the contours-hugging coastal road, a small graveyard was laid out in neat, regularly tended plots. Well hidden from the tourist beat in as tranquil a spot as anyone could wish for, only the gentle hush!…hush! of wavelets on sand and pebbles disturbed the place, and then like a heartbeat compensating for all the silenced hearts that were buried here.
Jazz Simmons’s plot would probably seem unremarkable to any other visitor, but Jake was drawn to it as an iron filing to a magnet. And as he stepped closer:
Jake, said Zek, this is Jazz’s place. And this is Jazz.
She could have shown Jazz as he’d been but didn’t, and Jake understood that they were beyond such vanities now; it was sufficient that they were here. It’s my—pleasure? he said, wondering if he’d chosen the right words. But apparently he had.
Mine, too, said Jazz, his deadspeak full of sincerity. It’s also my pride! You’re the fourth, Jake, and there’s not many of us who get to meet all four of you.
All four of…? For a moment Jake didn’t quite understand, but then he did and said: You met all of the others, too.
Yes, I did, Jazz answered. Zek and me both…but she knew them better than I did. I met Harry and The Dweller on Starside, where we all joined up against the Wamphyri in the great battle for The Dweller’s garden. And I was with Harry and E-Branch out here in the Med when we went up against Janos Ferenczy. I might have missed Harry’s boy, Nathan, but Zek brought him here so he could help us sort some things out that we’d never got round to while I was alive. And now there’s you. So if there’s any way I can, I’d like a chance to settle any outstanding debts.
Debts? said Jake.
See, said Jazz, I figure I owe all of your—what, predecessors?—all the other Necroscopes. I owe Harry for Zek, The Dweller for bringing us back to Earth from Starside, and Nathan for…oh, a good many things. But I never got around to squaring it with them. So if there’s anything I can do for you, just mention it. You can collect on their behalf.
And Zek said, I feel the same way about it, but you already know that. So why are you here, Jake? I can feel that something is troubling you. And I really can’t see why since it’s obvious you’ve managed to get rid of Korath.
Tongue-tied until now, on hearing that name Jake snapped out of it. Oh, really? he said. You can’t any longer sense Korath’s presence? Previously you’ve said he was like a dark shadow that I was carrying with me. Something like that, anyway.
That’s right, said Zek. I could sense him, dark and secretive against your warmth and openness. But no more. What did you do to get rid of him?
And Jake sighed and admitted, I didn’t. Harry Keogh did. He locked him in an empty room in my mind. Put him someplace where he can’t do any harm. And then he told the pair all about it.
When he was finished Zek said, Well, that’s a start. But it isn’t what’s bothering you. Or if it is it’s only part of it.
And Jazz said, Get it off your chest, Necroscope.
Maybe that’s it, Jake said then. This Necroscope tag. Okay, so I use the Möbius Continuum, and yes, I do have deadspeak. But with me it really is a dead language! I mean, what good does it do me if the majority of the Great Majority won’t listen to me? If they can’t help me? Necroscope: an instrument for conversing with the dead? But there’s only a small handful of you who want anything to do with me! It makes me feel—I don’t know—like I’m guilty, or an imposter or something; like I’m not worthy of you. Makes me feel I can’t possibly get up there with them, the real guys. Like I’m some kind of fake miming to the music.
And Jazz said, Well, if you’re a fake, you’re the best damn imitation I ever spoke to! And then to his companion, in a somewhat puzzled tone: Zek, didn’t you tell me you thought Jake was a little, er, brash? In your own words, “a rough diamond”?
Yes, and I told Jake so, too, Zek answered, unrepentant but wonderingly. And so he is—or was.
As for the cold side you mentioned, Jazz went on, I have to admit I can feel that. But there was that about all the others, too: cold as steel sometimes, yet warm as the fires that forged them. To tell the truth, if you hadn’t told me this was Jake, I would have been willing to swear it was Harry himself! And:
There, said Zek to Jake. That’s a rare compliment. It seems you’ve made another convert.
But Jake shook his head and said, Not really. It’s plain to me that you’d already been working on Jazz. Which reminds me, I remember what you said: that you two had been talking about me. So dare I ask about your topic of conversation—other than my, er, brashness, roughness, and coldness, et cetera?
Have I offended you? Zek was at once anxious, even contrite.
No, Jake shook his head. And then he smiled. In fact I even liked the “rough diamond” bit! But knowing that you’re on my side—I mean, knowing the trouble you’ve been having with the Great Majority—I thought that maybe you had some news for me, something I might find useful?
Zek “sighed” and said, I’m sorry to have to say this, Jake, but despite everything you’ve achieved, still you haven’t moved the teeming dead. I don’t know why, but they’re unimpressed.
Everything I’ve achieved? (All that Jake could remember was a hell of a lot of violence and destruction!) But as always his thoughts were deadspeak, and Jazz answered them:
That, too, he said. But surely the end justifies the means? As a result of all that violence, you and E-Branch have rid the world of a monstrous plague.
Or at least you’ve started to, Zek quickly corrected him.
And Jake said, You know about all that?
Of course, said Zek. For that’s what we were talking about when we felt your presence: all those undead, who are now truly dead, no longer a threat. We felt them come over onto our side, a great many of them. Most were immediately excluded. The Great Majority will have no truck with vampires.
Which, in a nutshell, said Jake wryly, describes my problem precisely.
And he sensed Zek’s nod. Until you’re completely rid of the thing inside you, until our council leaders, our spokespersons, can be absolutely sure of you, nothing much is going to change.
But Jake was frowning now. You say most of the creatures we killed were excluded? So what about the rest? Which ones didn’t you exclude?
There are always exceptions that prove the rules, Zek answered. And because deadspeak often conveys more than is actually said, Jake knew what she meant.
That was in Krassos. He nodded. Those poor nuns that Vavara defiled. You saved some of them.
And most of the children off that ship, too, said Zek. They were simply, well, dead. But not all of them. As for those nuns…a lot of them were too far gone into vampirism.
Still, it seems unfair, said Jake musingly.
What does? said Jazz.
That while there’s room even for vampires in the afterlife, Jake answered, or “redeemed” vampires, if you like, I’ve got to remain a pariah. I mean, this is so frustrating! What do I have to do to prove myself?
Get rid of Korath, Zek replied. He’s the last hurdle, Jake. And once he’s gone, I’m sure the dead will accept you. In fact, I really can’t understand why they haven’t already. But then, I haven’t been around as long as some. As a comparative newcomer, what weight can I add to the wisdom of centuries?
Which suggests, said Jake gloomily, that maybe your spokespersons know more than they’re putting out for general consumption. This was speculative and there could be no real answer to it, but Zek tried to provide one anyway:
The Great Majority fear contamination, she said. That much has to be obvious. So perhaps when you and E-Branch have dealt with the invaders from Starside…?
And Jazz said, You’re still with E-Branch, aren’t you?
I don’t know. Jake was frank about it. Being “with” an outfit like E-Branch is about as frustrating as trying to talk to the dead—er, present company excepted. I honestly don’t know what goes on in their minds—or rather, I do. The trouble is, they have their suspicions, too. They’re suspicious of me.
Huh! said Jazz. I know what you mean. It’s a long time ago, but I still remember when the Branch recruited me. At that time they might as easily have called it DT-Branch—because that’s what it was all about: Dirty Tricks! And when things went wrong it was usually their own agents who got shafted. I should know, because that’s how I ended up in Starside. Since then, well, Zek has been trying to convince me that it’s all different now, but it sounds to me like things haven’t changed too much. E-Branch? You’ll need to watch your step with those people, Jake. Get the job done and then get out. That’s my advice.
