by Brian Lumley
“I … I shouldn’t be here,” said Jake, suddenly dizzy. “I mean, no one should be here.”
That’s a normal reaction. (Jake sensed Harry’s nod.) Anyway, we have to be moving on. Those names you gave me: I found a connection, someone who knew their owners.
“N-not in this world, you didn’t,” said Jake, as the time door closed. “They were Wamphyri and came out of Starside.”
True, said the other, but they didn’t come alone. I … I have been advised to look up someone who came with them. And I think you should meet him, too.
More motion—an acceleration—that Jake sensed rather than felt. “W-where are we going?”
To the Refuge.
“But it isn’t there any more.”
Its ruins are.
“But why there?”
To talk to someone who died there.
“Someone who died? Past tense? But we can’t be going into the past. The past-time door has closed.”
That’s right. And anyway it’s not physically possible, not for you. You couldn’t materialize there. No, we’re going to the Refuge in your present, your now, your dream.
“But if this someone is dead, how can we … ?”
Too many buts, said Harry. And anyway, we’re there.
“There” was an awful place to be. Jake was up to his knees in cold water, in a darkness almost as deep as that of the Möbius Continuum itself. The water—river water from the resurgence, he supposed—slopped around his legs and roved on, while the unseen ceiling dripped cold moisture down his collar. The atmosphere was stale, still foul with a lingering stench of smoke, spent explosives, and … other tastes and taints.
As Jake’s eyes grew accustomed to the darkness, he began to make out certain features of the cavern … and saw that it was more than just a cavern. It was the sump, what was left of it in the aftermath of Zek Föener’s horrific, heroic death. Now he remembered Trask’s story, also something of what Harry Keogh had said: that they were here to talk to someone (a dead someone?) who had come through from Starside with Malinari and the others. And:
Oh, he’s here, the incorporeal Harry told him, causing Jake to start yet again. Zek, too, but she has company. Good company, as do a majority of the dead. A Great Majority. When Zek is … when she’s accustomed to all this, then I’ll return and talk to her about old times, remind her that we’ll be together again—all of us—eventually. But that might take some time yet, for Zek was very much alive. She was one of my very dearest friends right to the end. Which reminds me of our reason for being here … to talk to the other fellow.
Harry’s voice had dropped to a low growl; it seemed to Jake that an unaccustomed darkness had crept into it, and a very uncharacteristic threat. So threatening, in fact, that in another moment his mind went into overdrive as he identified the source of his main concern, which until now had mainly been lost among the minutia and maziness of dreaming: the fact that Harry Keogh was here to talk to someone who was dead.
“The other fellow?” Jake repeated his still unseen companion. “I thought Zek was alone down here? And anyway, how can—you—we—talk—to … ?” But by now everything was coming together that much faster, including things Jake really didn’t want to think about, but which were there anyway.
Like the meaning of a certain word or name: Necroscope. And what the precog Ian Goodly had told him about Harry: that he didn’t view life and death the way others do, and his means of communication was similar to telepathy, but he had a different name for it.
Like what? Like necromancy?
“You’re a necromancer!” Jake gasped, before he could check himself.
No!!! The incorporeal other’s denial lashed him, like a cry of rage in Jake’s cringing mind. Whatever else I am or may have been, I’m NOT a necromancer! Never call me that again!
And now another voice out of nowhere, but sweet as a breath of fresh air to fan Jake’s feverish mind. And despite that he’d never known her, still he knew her: Zek Föener!
Necromancer? Ah, no, (her voice was a sigh). Just call him Harry, and know him for a true friend. And as for this—this blessing he gave us, letting us comfort each other through the long lonely night of death—do you take it for an evil thing? Then you’re mistaken. It’s our one light in this eternal darkness. And you may simply call it deadspeak … .
18
KORATH’S STORY
I knew that you’d be back, Harry, Zek said. From the moment I saw you ride away on that big American motorcycle, with Penny, on your way to Starside, I always knew you’d be back. I sensed you in Nathan, it wasn’t really you but … but a like-father-like-son thing? This time it really is you. And you’re as different from the dead now as you were from the living then.
Zek, Harry answered, his deadspeak voice crestfallen now. I didn’t mean to disturb you. That’s the last thing I wanted.
But you of all people should have known, she scolded him, however gently, however fondly, that what we do in life we continue to do in death.
“And you were a class act,” Jake cut in. “A telepath, and a good one.”
She was the best, Harry told him. And apparently she still is, except it’s no longer telepathy but deadspeak.
Your ma was your spokesperson in the long ago, Harry, Zek reminded him, but it looks like I’ll be taking over. The Great Majority haven’t forgotten you, and I know they’ll never forget your son, Nathan. But you’ll appreciate that toward the end … well, there were problems.
Problems Jake doesn’t know about, Harry quickly put in. He doesn’t need to know. He’s having a hard time accepting some of these things as it is, and I don’t want to—you know—put any additional strain on bis faith in me? Also, if you’re to become a spokesperson, it will be on Jake’s behalf, not mine. You see, I have very little of permanence here. Already this is taking a great effort of will. As Jake takes on my work there’ll be even less need for me, and my presence that much harder to maintain. As for Nathan, (a touch of sadness now in that ethereal voice,) I’ve never met him. He received his ultimate awareness through me, it’s true, but he was, is, and will always be his own man.
“And I won’t be?” said Jake anxiously.
See? said Harry, a tinge of sarcasm showing.He’s one very suspicious man, this Jake Cutter.
“If you’re hiding things from me, how can I be otherwise?” Jake countered. “First Ben Trask and E-Branch, and now you. So what are these problems that I don’t know about?”
All in good time, Harry answered. It takes time to become a Necroscope, Jake. With me it was accidental—or perhaps it was in my genes, my birthright? I’m not sure—while with you it’s just blind chance. But that blue thread of yours, in future time … ? (Jake sensed a deeply-etched frown, the shake of a puzzled head.) Anyway you’re it, or you will be, so get used to the idea.
“I’m it? You mean a Necroscope?”
No, I mean the Necroscope, the other answered. You don’t know how rare this thing is! There will be just the one Necroscope, you. In this world, anyway.
“And if I don’t want to be ‘the’ Necroscope? If I have my own way to go, which to me is just as important?”
For long seconds there was silence, until Harry said: Then it could very well be that you can kiss your world goodbye. His deadspeak voice was very low again.
“You don’t leave me much choice, do you?” Jake answered, a little bitterly. “Why don’t you just—I don’t know, scan the future, use a future-time door, or some such—and see how things turn out without me?”
You’re going to have to start listening, said Harry. Look, you can’t trust the future. The past, yes, because it’s fixed. But not the future. The one thing I can tell you is that you’ll be meeting up with vampires—Wamphyri! The question is: do you desire to meet them on your terms, or on mine? With your meagre knowledge, or my experience and skills? … Assuming you can develop those skills, that is.
Jake thought about that, but in fact there wasn’t a lot to think
about. He believed Harry Keogh now—believed in his own five senses, too,—also in certain extra senses, which had now been so compellingly demonstrated—and he completely believed everything that Trask and the others had told him. In total, it left him with only one conclusion: that it was real, and he was up to his neck in it.
And up to his knees in this dark water, and still not entirely sure what he was doing here. But while listening to these dead voices in his head, his dream, Jake had also looked about, obtained a picture of where he was. It could only be that Harry was showing him this place telepathically, for it was in no way dreamlike. It was totally real.
The caved-in ceiling, sagging in places and in others bulging upwards from the furious force of powerful explosives; the collapsed stanchions, great tangles of shattered metal and concrete, cratered from the blast and blackened by fire. And back there along what was once the course of the subterranean river, the way completely blocked where the original cavern’s ceiling had succumbed to man-made convulsions and its own great weight of fractured rock.
Dramatic, but not what we’re here to see, said Harry, satisfied now that Jake had at least accepted his involvement, if not the all-important role he was to play in what was to come. So now come this way, to where he died.
Harry was in Jake’s mind, guiding his feet; all Jake need do was follow where the other led:
To the solid, twelve-foot-thick, reinforced concrete wall of the dam which contained the dynamos and sensitive equipment that once supplied and monitored the Refuge’s power.
The once-smooth face of the concrete wall was gouged and pitted, blackened in places, but it was still intact. Built to withstand the pressure of the water, it had also withstood the pressure of the blast.
That’s close enough, Harry said, bringing Jake to a halt where the water was a little shallower. There could well be … remains down there, under the water, that you wouldn’t want to step on.
“Remains?” Jake said. But no need, for the more he conversed with the other in this way, the more he was given to understand that like telepathy, deadspeak frequently conveyed more than was actually said. The remains that Harry referred to were those of the lieutenant or thrall that Malinari and the others had used to block one of the outlets, by which means attracting attention to the sump and making possible their escape.
As that fact dawned, Jake stiffened; the short hairs rose on the nape of his neck as he took a pace to the rear, wrinkled his nose in disgust, and swallowed to ease the sudden, involuntary constriction of his throat. The water seemed to gurgle more blackly, viscously, around his calves, as he saw the curved rim of a steel conduit projecting from the dam wall.
Perhaps mercifully, he could only see the uppermost curve of the pipe, while the bore itself—and what it contained—remained hidden in the swirl of black water.
Jesus Christ! Jake thought, and at once sensed Harry’s reproval.
Try not to do that, Jake! For expressions have crept into common speech that never should have.
“But … they stuffed a man, one of their own, in there?” The concept was horrifying. But not nearly as awful as the new voice that now joined the conversation.
A man? (that deep bass voice rumbled and grunted). Was I a mere man, then? Korath Mindsthrall, a mere man? Ah, but don’t let my name mislead you, for then you might consider me a mere thrall, too! Aye, and so I was at first. But all that was thirty thousand sunups agone, when first Lord Malinari found me in Sunside. After he recruited me, then, I was his thrall, next a lieutenant, finally his chiefest lieutenant. I stood alongside Malinari during his years of power, of treachery, when his name was a curse even in the aeries of the Wamphyri! I was banisbed with him out of Starside into the Icelands, and we suffered the ice together in the company of frozen beasts. I was there with my Lord at the freezing, and at the melt … and this is my reward.
Jake had backed off, found himself a dry ledge of concrete fallen from the ceiling and crept up onto it. He sat there hugging his knees, shivering, but not from the cold. That was only in his dream. The real cold was in his mind, in the awful voice from beyond the grave. Or rather, from beyond death, for Korath Mindsthrall had never known a real grave.
“And is this … is this your secret?” Jake was appalled, as much by the cold dread, the loathing in his own voice as by anything else. “Is this what it means to be a Necroscope, ‘the’ Necroscope: to suffer deadspeak and talk to things like Korath? His thoughts are … corruption! Not the things he says but the way they feel. I can’t feel you, Harry; you’re there in my head but unobtrusive, not so much an intruder as a guide. But Korath … I can feel his thoughts like slugs oozing in my head, polluting my mind!”
He sensed Harry’s grim nod of agreement. Exactly. Just as his rotting body polluted this water, before his flesh sloughed from his bones. But this is where he died, and this is where he is. Now maybe you can understand why Ben Trask was reluctant to tell you everything. It’s not every man who could bear to speak to the dead, Jake.
“It certainly isn’t this one!” Jake gave his head a wild shake. “In fact all I want right now is to get the hell out of here!”
NO! NO, WAIT! Korath Mindsthrall begged. Don’t go! Don’t leave me! Before you there was nothing, only darkness and loneliness, and the sure knowledge that I was shunned. I have listened to the teeming dead whispering in their endless night, and I know they whisper warnings of me: that I am a vampire, a terrible creature best left to its own devices. Well, and so I was a vampire. But now … I have no devices! I have nothing. Why, even my flesh has melted from my broken bones and is gone from me! Have you no pity, you warm ones? I may not harm you. I am nothing. DON’T LEAVE MEEEEEE!
And just as suddenly the loathing was gone and Jake found himself pitying this Thing. Until Harry told him:
That, too, is a mistake. Vampires are the greatest cheats and liars imaginable, devious beyond measure. This one, Korath, is no exception. Later, we’ll ask him why Malinari chose him—“his chiefest lieutenant”—to block this pipe, when he had at least three others to choose from. On a whim? Hardly. You don’t indenture or instruct someone for as long as Korath Mindsthrall claims he was in thrall, just to kill him out of hand. Malinari had a reason.
NO! Korath howled. That is a lie! No, no—forgive me—not a lie but … but a misconception? Malinari had no reason; he was never required to reason! He was The Mind, and whatever he willed be done. Flesh was needed to block this pipe, and my flesh … it was pliable and available. That was enough. Say no more.
So, said Harry, your flesh was pliable—
But not that pliable! The vampire cut in. You cannot possibly imagine the agonies that I …
—And you were compliant.
I was not! (Korath denied it.) I did not know! Lord Malinari sent out his thoughts, they touched upon the man who tended this place and understood machines. But The Mind was clever and careful. In Sunside there are Szgany who know when the Wamphyri are near; they close their minds, think no thoughts and so hide themselves from the Great Vampires. Perhaps in this strange new world there would be men like that. Ever stealthy, Malinari ensured that his presence went unsuspected. And he took knowledge from this engineer, and learned the ways of the sump, which was my downfall! My master told me the pipe was a way out. He bade me crawl inside to make sure the way was clear. When my shoulders would not go, be and Vavara and Szwart summoned their furious Wamphyri strength to break the bones in my back and shoulders and drive me home like a stopper in a bottle … .
Zek? Jake? said Harry, and there was something new in his low deadspeak voice. They knew what it was: that he spoke only to them, that he was shielding his thoughts from Korath Mindsthrall. Let me handle this. Zek, it probably isn’t going to be pleasant, so by all means leave it entirely to me. Koratb will say things you don’t want to hear. And so might I.
I’ll absent myself, she answered him at once. I’ve had my fair share of dealings with vampires, as you know, and I don’t need reminding. Jake
, I look forward to working with you if or whenever you need me. Meanwhile there are others I should talk to, and let them know you’re here. You won’t be alone, Jake.
Before the dreamer could answer there was an emptiness in his mind where Zek had been, or not so much an emptiness as an awareness of her leaving. And: “How about me?” he asked Harry. “Any chance that I could perhaps ‘absent myself’, too?”
None at all, Harry told him. You don’t have to join in if you don’t want to, but you should at least listen. If I can, I’ll get Korath to tell us his story; or more importantly, his master’s story. And those of Vavara and Szwart, too. If you’re going to defeat your enemies, Jake, you need to know them. Why don’t you just take it easy this time out and listen in? Learn something about the Wamphyri and their ways, and learn it from the horse’s—or the vampire’s—mouth? Without waiting for an answer, he spoke again to Korath:
I’ve a mind to leave you “to your own devices,” yes. Just as the teeming dead advise. But that would make me as cruel as the master who crushed you and left you here to die. And so I’m tempted to stay with you awhile, and converse with you in your loneliness, which you must know will last forever and ever. But on the other hand—having had to do with vampires before—I see no point in talking to one who is bound by his very nature to tell me nothing but lies.
Korath’s answering cry immediately went up: Ah! Ah! Have mercy! Have mercy! Pity me, I pray. For a moment then I thought that you had gone, I thought you had left me! Then I felt your warmth—though yours is not so obvious as that of your friend, er, Jake?—and so knew you were still here. Now hear me: I am a gruff and violent vampire, that is true, but I was not always this way. I was made what I am, by Malinari! Made by him, and now unmade by him. So what more harm can be do me? Who or whatever you are, talk to me. Only allow me to bathe in your light, which burns like a candle in this intolerable darkness, and ask of me what you will. I shall not lie. As men are known to speak the truth on their deatbbeds, so I shall speak it from beyond.
