Defilers

by Brian Lumley

  A gentle breeze off the sea stirred the warm night air a very little but was nevertheless welcome; the conversation was mainly light and cheerful, and Andreas and Stavros both proved to have more than a fair smattering of English. Following Trask’s earlier warnings, his three espers reined back on their special talents and refrained from exercising their metaphysical minds. Thus the meal passed without incident, until towards the end.

  Other than the eight, the taverna was quite empty. This was scarcely the fault of the proprietor—his cooking couldn’t be faulted, and the atmosphere was very pleasant—but the fact of the matter was that there were almost as many tavernas in Skala Astris as holidaymakers.

  As they were finishing up, however, two young Greeks riding motorcycles pulled up on the road behind the taverna, put their bikes on their stands, entered, and took a table in a far corner. Manolis saw them, stared hard at one of them for a moment, then quickly averted his gaze. And:

  “Don’t look now,” he told Trask and Lardis under his breath, “but I believe I have seen that one before—thee one with thee screaming skull on his jacket, yes.”

  The pair ordered ouzo with water, and finally the one whom Manolis had mentioned looked their way—and gave a start. “Ah, see!” said Manolis then. “And it appears that he recognizes me, too!”

  It was a fact—the youth’s eyes seemed riveted on Manolis, and his face had paled in a moment. He was so distracted—so alarmed, apparently, to find Manolis here—that as he reached for the drink that had been placed within arm’s reach, he almost toppled it from the table. And Manolis said:

  “Aha! I know him now. He was skulking about in thee village in thee hills, when Lardis and I were about our investigations. So then, what does he know that I should know but don’t, eh? I have seen that look, and been in thee similar situations, many times before. So then, and now we employ thee method of silent intimidation.”

  He looked at his men at the other tables and gave a jerk of his head. Totally in tune with their boss—with a rapport that came from many years of service together—Stavros and Andreas stood up and moved carefully but purposefully towards the young men. The policemen didn’t look like the kind that any young man should argue with, and as they went Manolis sat at his ease, with his feet stretched out, staring indolently at the victims of his “silent intimidation.”

  Then Andreas spoke in Greek to the one with the screaming skull jacket, and whatever it was he said, it brought that one babbling to his feet in a moment. Prodding him in the shoulder, Andreas snapped one short word at him, and the youth collapsed back down again into his chair. Meanwhile, Stavros was cautioning the other youth—who looked scared to death and about to flee—to stay right where he was.

  And finally Manolis said, “I think that now, perhaps, these big hard biker boys are ready to tell me something. But it will be best if I speak to them on my own, without involving you.”

  With which he slowly stood up, made a show of brushing himself down, and walked casually, almost swaggeringly, across the floor to the corner table. There he sat down, and while Andreas and Stavros looked on, spoke to the youths for several minutes.

  Finally he was done with them and let them go, and returned to Trask and Lardis. “Time we left,” he said then, as the biker pair started up their machines and rode off into the night.

  “So, what’s going on?” Trask enquired.

  “It would best suit our purposes,” the other answered, “to talk about this back at thee Christos Studios.”

  But there was something new in Manolis’s voice. The knowing front that he had presented to the youths was entirely absent, and there was little or nothing of the hardened, arrogant Greek policeman about him now …

  Back at Christos Studios in The Shipwreck, where a pretty young Swiss woman, Yiannis’s wife Katerina, served last drinks before retiring, Trask held his “O” Group for tomorrow, Sunday. Before that, however, he wanted Manolis to explain the business in the taverna.

  Manolis had already spoken to his men; back on the mainland he had asked them to trust him, and without going into too much detail had told them there was a “problem” on Krassos. For even with their background of total loyalty to him, he’d feared that to tell them too much in the early stages of this game would be to damage his credibility. As things developed, however, it was and always had been his intention to put them more fully in the picture. Now that things were definitely developing, he’d spent time talking to them as they walked back from the taverna.

  Thus all eight of the party were seated in a huddle in The Shipwreck to hear what he had to say, and then to accept orders from Trask.

  “Those two in thee taverna,” Manolis began. “They saw me up in Astris, thee foothills twin of Skala Astris. They suspected then that I was a policeman—perhaps even a special policeman, a detective, in my civilian clothes—and it worried them. Why? Because they were thee drinking companions of thee man who died in that motorcycle ‘accident!’

  “You see, they had not been good boys that night. All thee barrels have their bad apples, right? And Krassos, too, has its little criminals—er, as well as thee big ones we’re seeking, of course. So, those two and their dead, roasted, empty friend, they were three of Krassos’s bad boys, with thee criminal records as long as your arm. But all petty little thefts, rowdyism, and like that. They style themselves after thee American and European biker gangs. Hah! What a joke!

  “So, they’re not very eager to meet up with thee policemen, these two, and they knew I had spoken to thee dead man’s mother. Who could say: perhaps she had mentioned her son’s friends, eh? And perhaps I would come looking for them. Why, it was possible they might even find themselves blamed for what had happened!

  ‘Tonight, and by pure coincidence, they went to thee Sunset Taverna. And they went there for thee same reason we went there—to keep out of sight in that quiet little place. But, ah! Who should happen to be there but myself, which is giving them thee shock. When Andreas spoke to thee one with thee screaming skull jacket, he at once began to explain about his dead friend, said that he and thee other one had nothing to do with it—but that they might know someone who did.

  “There had been some troubles that night. These three, they had been out looking for thee girls—English or German girls, thee tourists—to have a little fun. And thee dead man especially, he had a bad reputation like that. But this time, he had picked on thee wrong girl, or woman, and he’d definitely picked on thee wrong pair.

  “A pair of them, yes—a man and a woman—right here in Skala Astris, eating and drinking wine, in a taverna closer to thee middle of town. Then, when these three bad boy bikers had approached their would-be victims, to have their fun, thee man had reacted violently. So say these two cretins, anyway. Their friend—now their dead friend—was thrown over thee sea wall into thee harbour, him and his bike both! But these motorcycles … they are not thee toys! As you have seen, they can be heavy machines. So this was a strong man, a very strong man indeed.

  “After that, they used thee anchor of a small boat to help their friend rescue his bike from thee sea, then left him to go off into Krassos town. And that’s it …”

  “And a description?” Trask said. “Of this man and woman?”

  “Ah, yes!” said Manolis. “Thee descriptions. And so to thee point, eh? But there’s no doubt in my mind, Ben, but that these creatures were thee ones we seek. It was them, Vavara and Malinari. Thee man was tall, well over six feet. He was strange and foreign … but also handsome, exotic. And when he clasped thee dead man’s head between his hands, that one froze and went weak at thee knees. That was how he handled him so easily.”

  “Just like he must have clasped Zek!” Trask said, breathing the words out and almost choking on them. “Malinari the Mind!” Then he cleared his throat and said, “What about the woman?”

  “That is thee strangest of all,” Manolis replied. “She was … magnetic! She had this aura about her. She was so beautiful that she seemed to shi
ne … yet they could remember nothing of her actual looks.” And:

  “Vavaaara!” said Lardis then. “Five hundred and more years old, that one, and born in another world, another time. Yet now she is here. Ben, we’ve found them. Definitely!”

  “No,” Trask shook his head, his voice a husky whisper again. “We know they’re here, but we haven’t found them yet. Tomorrow, maybe—but not yet, not tonight. The nighttime is their time. They’re too strong at night. But I’ll find them tomorrow, or if not tomorrow the day after that, or the one after that. If it’s the last thing I do, I’ll find them …”

  He looked at Liz and David Chung. “You two—and especially you, Liz— now more than ever you must watch yourselves, keep a tight rein on your talents. Tomorrow morning, when these filthy things are down and sleeping and we go to seek them out, that’s when you’ll come into your own.” Again he cleared his throat.

  As they nodded their understanding, Trask relaxed a little. “Very well, now let’s talk tomorrow through, go a little deeper into the details. These are the things I want done …”

  After that: it took perhaps an hour of instructions, questions, and clarifications, and when it was done they all retired to their rooms and tried to sleep.

  For Liz that proved difficult. A developing telepath, whose range was ever improving, she occasionally read her colleagues’ minds unintentionally, without even trying. But tonight, in Ben Trask’s case Liz had sensed that she knew his thoughts anyway. It was the look on his face whenever he spoke a certain name.

  The name of a man or creature whom Trask despised and hated above all others. Malinari: Lord Nephran Malinari, of the Wamphyri! And Liz couldn’t help wondering just how tight the mission would be with the Head of E-Branch leading it. For personal was one thing, but this time, with Trask—

  —This time it was very personal!

  And then, of course, there was Jake. Always in the back of her mind, Jake. She supposed she loved him—she knew she did—but Jake was involved with his own vendetta, and she wasn’t a part of it. No room just yet for a new love in his life, for it was a lost love that he was trying to avenge. Liz knew that she shouldn’t feel jealous about a dead woman, but she did, and she worried about Jake. She didn’t know where he was, or how he was … or even who he was, not really.

  But then again neither did Jake. Not really …

  As Liz tossed and turned awhile, Ian Goodly left Lardis to get his rest and went to Trask’s chalet.

  He found Trask and Chung talking, drinking coffee, not yet quite ready to sleep. Trask welcomed him in, sat him down, and asked, “What’s on your mind?” But unlike most people when they ask that question, Trask meant it not only literally, but also metaphysically.

  And the precog answered in kind. “Exactly,” he said. “It’s been on my mind awhile now, and it’s time we talked about it.”

  “Those dreams you mentioned earlier?” Trask sighed by way of an apology. “I hadn’t forgotten, but we’ve been pretty busy. This afternoon when you were sleeping, I didn’t want to disturb you. Also, since we’ll be working together tomorrow, I thought that would be soon enough. But on the other hand, right now is fine if it’s bothering you.”

  “Bothering and puzzling both,” said Goodly. “For as usual, the future is being an utter bastard—er, if you’ll excuse my French. I’m shown things, but I’m not given to understand them. So I was thinking maybe two heads would be better than one.”

  “Let’s have it then,” said Trask. “What have you seen—or foreseen, if that turns out to be the case.”

  “I think it probably is the case,” Goodly nodded. “Because this afternoon when I was sleeping, I was revisited by the same repetitive dream. Before … well it might have been a dream-I mean, I dream just like anyone else—but when these things start repeating, ganging up on me …” And he shrugged.

  “A warning, or warnings,” said Trask.

  “Well, that’s how they have frequently worked out,” Goodly answered. “But the future isn’t biased that way. I’ve seen good things as well as bad—occasionally, anyway.”

  “And you’ve never been wrong,” said Chung admiringly.

  Goodly looked at him. “Only in my interpretation,” he said, and added, “—until recently. For as you may recall, I also saw Jake Cutter as being with us—with E-Branch—for some time to come. That was when we were in Australia, since when I’ve been proved wrong. In the short term, anyway. For where’s Jake now? And as for the long term, the future … as always, it remains to be seen.”

  “I know where I would like Jake to be,” Trask growled. “We could certainly use his talents—the bloody hothead—if he were here! But as you say: it remains to be seen. So then, tell us about your dreams.”

  “They go back a few days,” said the precog. “Back to London and the HQ, after we got back from down under, just as all of this was beginning to break.”

  “I remember,” said Trask. “Something about black-robed figures, tunnels, and hooded eyes?”

  Goodly nodded. “And a shape, or shadow, coming ever closer. But as for that last, I haven’t seen him since flying out here with Liz and Lardis.”

  “Him?” said Trask. “This shadow is a he, then?”

  Again the precog nodded. “But don’t ask me to describe him. He is literally a shadow, a dark blot, a flowing … something. If I were to hazard a guess, however, I would say he could only be—”

  “Lord Szwart!” said Trask. “And he’s in London. That’s why you haven’t seen him since you came out here. You’ve distanced yourself from him.”

  “And that’s what I meant about two heads being better than one,” said Goodly. “For I had come to the same conclusion, but I needed someone else to corroborate it. If what you just said is ‘the truth of it’—and who could possibly know the truth better than you?—then indeed it has to be Szwart, and probably in London, yes.”

  “My worst nightmare,” said Trask. “A thing as loathsome as that coming ever closer. But not to us, not while we’re here.”

  “Not to you but to the ones you love,” said Chung. “Millie in your case, and Lissa in Lardis Lidesci’s.”

  Trask looked at him sharply and frowned. “Millie? Whatever makes you think that I—?”

  But both the locator and precog were looking away from him, as if not wishing to hear it. Trask thought he knew why, and in Chung’s case he was right. But on hearing Millie’s name spoken, Goodly had averted his eyes for a different reason entirely.

  “There’s no more use in my lying than in someone trying to lie to me, right?” Trask said. “But Millie and I—it’s only a very recent thing. So how come everyone—?”

  “Oh, you’ve let it slip, given yourself away now and then,” Chung cut him short. “But even if you hadn’t, good news travels fast!” He grinned, however briefly.

  “Yes,” Trask nodded. “Especially in E-Branch!” And then to Goodly: “Okay, but we already know about Szwart. And I’ve done what I can to safeguard the HQ and everyone in it. So go on, what about the rest of it?”

  “The rest of it is as it was,” the precog answered. “Black-robed figures, drifting or floating … and something sinking, a blob of light receding into watery deeps … and a warren of burrows or tunnels, all filled with something horrid …”

  “I remember all that,” said Trask. “So, what’s new? Didn’t you say something about screaming?”

  Goodly took his time moistening his lips before answering. “Yes, the new stuff is about screaming. But it’s something you aren’t going to like too much, Ben, and—”

  “I don’t like any of it!” the other cut him short. “So out with it.”

  “—And it’s sort of contradictory,” the precog continued, as if he hadn’t been interrupted. “I mean, just because I have seen it, that doesn’t mean it will be the way I’ve seen it.”

  “Contradictory?” Trask frowned. “And it doesn’t have to be the way you’ve seen it?”

  “That’s right,�
� Goodly answered, “yes. For if my being here on Krassos has distanced me from Szwart, and if he’s in London, then why hasn’t being here distanced me from … from everyone else in London? Or is it just because I know them so well that their futures are clearer to me?”

  Now Trask felt his throat go dry. “So then, this really is about our people back home,” he said. And steeling himself, “Go on, tell me about it.”

  And the precog’s voice was shaky as he said, “I saw women—but I saw them burning, Ben! They were clad in black rags, and the flames were leaping up from them, consuming them. They held up their arms to the sky, and their eyes were luminous with joy and … and … I don’t know? Relief, maybe?”

  David Chung’s jaw had fallen open. “Joy? They were burning, and screaming, and yet they were joyous, relieved?”

  “This isn’t … it isn’t easy,” Goodly shook his head. “And I don’t understand it any more than you will. But no, it wasn’t these burning women who were doing the screaming. The screaming was coming from someone else, the odd woman out. She was screaming, in absolute horror of something that she could see which I couldn’t. And instead of looking up, she was looking down—at a gaping chasm that had opened under her feet—a yawning black hole that seemed to go down forever …”

  As Goodly paused, his face ashen, so Trask rose and went to him. And Trask’s face was as pale as the precog’s as he grabbed his shoulders and shook him. “I’ve ignored it up until now,” he snarled. “But I’ve been seeing it in your face ever since I let you in here. I’ve probably been ignoring it all evening—since you woke up from your nap—but I’ve known there was something wrong. And now I know what it is.”

  The precog could only sit there, rocked by Trask’s terrible anger, shaking his head in dumb consternation and looking as if he wanted to die, yet knowing it wasn’t his fault.

  “It was Millie you saw, wasn’t it?” Trask said huskily, his voice breaking now. “It was Millie doing the screaming—and you know that it’s going to fucking happen!”