Necroscope - The Lost Years, Vol II Part 27

'But Keogh has already robbed us once. And if what you say is true - why, he can do it again. Any time he likes!'

Which is why you must not try to kill him. Annoy, irritate him by all means, so that when this thing with Radu is over, if it is over, he might want to come here and seek you out, but do not try to kill him. Not yet.

'And if or when he does decide to return? Surely we should get rid of him now, so that he can't return, ever?'

But: Where oh where has it gone? Angelo gave a mock groan, his sarcasm dripping like acid. The much- vaunted 'guile'of the Wamphyri? Hah! Then, with a snarl: Set a trap for him, fool!

'A trap? But how? Where?'

Where did he hit you the last time?

The treasure vault'

Exactly. He bombed your treasure vault. But this time you bomb him! Trip-wires, pressure points, electric eyes. Only let him materialize there- '-And he materializes there forever!'

Of course. But pursue him? Never! Rather than that, Francesco would be well advised to avoid him, and all who run with him.

'And if he "runs" with Radu and the pack, what then?'

Then... it would seem unavoidable. Indeed, then you must kill him. For if they are in league... together they would be unbeatable! Except it is hard to believe that Radu Lykan would be in league with anyone. Which is why I suggest you deal with the dog-Lord first, then Keogh, both in the manner prescribed.

'But what of the treasure, our money, our power base? For such a plan to work, we'd first have to-'

-Move it, yes. O r what remains of it would be destroyed along with Keogh.

'Move it? But where to?'

Where would it be safest?

'Here,' said Anthony, nodding. 'Right here, in this cave. Where you can watch over it, and where there'll be less temptation for Francesco...'

... To destroy me, too? Indeed, said Angelo. And temptation is sometimes contagious, eh? So be it. Anthony could sense his awful, knowing smile...

And again, before he could deny the other's unspoken accusation: So then, speak to Francesco, and tell him what I have advised. For the Present that seems as much as you can do. And in the next moment changing the subject again: Now then, tell me about... tell me about your dreams, my Tony, my little Anthony.

This was a dream, as Anthony was vaguely aware; albeit a 'repeat performance' of a conversation that had actually taken place some hours earlier. But now, feeling that ominous something creeping closer still - beginning to understand or remember what it was - he shivered as he answered: 'My dreams? What of my dreams?'

But his father only tut-tutted, and said: Ah, Anthony, my dear, sweet boy .'But I have listened to them. To yours, and to your brother's dreams.264.

265.

For years I have listened, even decades. Not merely to eavesdrop -though that was part of it - but because that was how... how it started in me. In dreams,yes...

And now the something, no longer unknown - but definitely unspeakable - reared up large as monstrous life to come knocking on the doors of reality!

Thump! Thump! Thump! A timid, triple knock at first. But Anthony was ignoring it, gazing into the mouth of the pit even as he had gazed in real life. And he was asking the same question, too: 'Father, that was how what started in you?'

I had thought... perhaps Francesco? his father answered, as if he mused to himself. No, no, let's be honest: I had even hoped it would be your brother. But alas, I hoped in vain. For I have seen it in your dreams, my Tony, my poor dear boy. Even as it was in mine, so it is in yours.

His dreams: those terrible dreams that he had hidden from everyone, even himself. The nightmare that he was - or that he was like, or that he would be like - the thing in the pit! But now Anthony knew, and horror reared up in the heart of him, in his mind, in his flesh and bones.

And creeping up from the pit - climbing the walls in sickening, seething rags, tendrils and groping limbs, staring up at him even as he stared bulge-eyed down upon it - Anthony saw his own mad future!

Then the clang of metal on stone as he lowered the grille, and the hum and crackle of electricity as he turned on the current, and his hammering heart and echoing, flying footsteps as he vacated that place, to renew himself with his female thrall.

But even blood and the comforts of the flesh are sometimes not enough...

Now it was dawn and another female thrall, but a very different one, made her patrol through Le Manse Madonie. It was the crone Katerin, who had been with the Francez cis since she was a girl, for at least seventy of her eighty -five years. Not a vampire as such - for she had never developed - Katerin was simply 'of the blood* and no longer aspired. But despite that she was the lowest of the low in the Francezci household, she was trusted above all others. And because of her years of experience there was no secret however small to which Katerin wasn't privy.

But as she reached Anthony's door- -What was that? Some sort of worm-thing? A snake or similar injurious creature? For a moment it lay still on the marble floor of the high l anding, and she saw th at it seemed to be emerging from beneath her Master's door, from his room... Or entering it?

She stepped closer and the vibration of her footfall galvanized the thing. It wriggled, whipped to and fro; and she saw throbbing, purple veins in the vibrating length of its leprous flesh. Then, lightning-fast, it drew itself out of sight under Anthony's door. And because she feared for him - and for herself, if she did nothing - she knocked: Thump! Thump! Thump! Timidly at first the knock that Anthony had ignored in his dream. But when there was no answer she knocked again, louder, then turned the doork.n.o.b and went in.

For all that this side of the manse faced north-west away from the sun, the drapes at Anthony's windows were heavy, thick with folds. The entire room was shadowed, gloomy, where barely a c.h.i.n.k of daylight found its way in. Katerin's eyes were feral, however; they saw in the dark as well as any cat's eyes. And what they saw...

Anthony's bed was of ma.s.sive oak, an antique four-poster, with gauzy curtains tied back to the uprights on the side facing Katerin. He lay on his back, naked under the single black sheet that reached to his rib-cage and was his only covering. As yet he was still asleep, barely. Close to waking, he tossed and turned - and moaned to himself. Cold sweat gleamed on Anthony's forehead and limbs, forming sprays of fine grey pearls as he jerked his head this way and that.

Katerin started at some sudden movement on the floor by the bed, started again when the sheet over Anthony's agitated figure billowed with a weird, flowing motion. Her yellow eyes swivelled to and fro, unable or unwilling to accept what they were witnessing. For the snake-thing ... wasn't a snake!

The harridan knew what the brothers kept in the pit deep under Le Manse Madonie. She knew that it was their father. And she knew that this was something like their father - except he himself was completely out of control and vaster far. And: 'Like father, like son!' Katerin breathed, stepping backwards, very quietly, towards the door. But not quietly enough.

There were a good many - extrusions? As they whipped and writhed, drew back under the black sheet and returned to their source and origin, Anthony came awake and saw, and perhaps/eft the last of them: that rope of glistening matter, a chameleon's tongue of protoplasm, vanishing under his weirdly mobile covering. And yanking the sheet aside, eyes bugging, he saw it soak into him!

He wanted to scream but couldn't; there was no moisture in his throat. He had dreamed this before, all too frequently, and always worse than the dream before, but this was the first time that he'd actually seen it.

Now he knew it for a fact Except- -He wasn't the only one who knew it. Anthony's panic pa.s.sed, was replaced by his 'natural' cold, calculating calm. The chilling logic of the Wamphyri.266.

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Katerin was standing there, a bundle of dry sticks that he might oh-so-easily snap. And: The door,' he husked, sitting up in his bed. 'Close the door, and come here.'

She obeyed - what else could she do? - and stood beside his bed, shivering. Anthony nodded, and his eyes were flame as he said, "You saw?'

'A ... a mouse!' the crone gasped, gagged, croaked. 'Something very small, I think, that crept under your door...'

But he shook his head and smiled a ghastly smile. 'No, you saw more than that - didn't you?'

'Yes, Master, yes..."

He sighed and reached out a hand on a long, an incredibly long arm, and grasped her throat even as she made to step back from him. 'Katerin, I have fond memories of you. When you were a girl of fifteen I f.u.c.ked you; we both did, my brother and I. Perhaps fortunately, you were barren. Your flesh had little of quality, and nothing seeded itself. Nothing at all. Since when you've known our protection, the safety of these strong walls, the sanctuary of Le Manse Madonie. It would be ... oh, a great shame, if you were to turn traitor now...' His fingers tightened on her scrawny neck, and old Katerin knew their terrible strength.

'I would never betray you, Master," she wheezed.

His eyes were blood; his lips curled back from teeth that were long and salivating; his tongue was forked and scarlet in a red-ribbed throat. And as he drew her closer still: "You are less than refuse,' he said. 'And if I should hear so much as a whisper, then I would throw you like refuse - or you would be seen to fall, like refuse - from the great cliff. Do you understand?'

But Katerin could only gag and hang on to his wrist, and stick out her wriggling tongue at him.

Finally he released her, thrust her away, sent he r stumbling across the marble floor. 'Now go, and never come into my room again!' Clutching at her throat, she went.

Then, kn owing there would be no more sleep for him this morning, shuddering, and trembling in every limb, Anthony got dressed. But as he finished he paused, lifted his head, listened intently as a voice came to him from far below: I fought it for two hundred years, my son, my dear sweet Tony, before it won and you put me down here.

But with help - with my help, my knowledge - why, your fight might last even longer. And as long as I remain safe, so do you. But ah!... only see how our roles are reversed, eh, my dear, dear boy?

And then there was only silence...

Three days later: In his lair in the high Cairngorms, the dog-Lord Radu was awake and aware as never before in six hundred long years. By now, Bonnie Jean Mirlu had contacted the surviving sons of the sons of his thralls throughout the land, calling them to Scotland to prepare for his coming, and to protect him in the hour of his resurgence.

Indeed, he knew that it was so; at the full of the moon he had put out probes of his own to seek them out and reinforce BJ.'s instructions.

And moon-children that they were, they had answered him. Radu had sensed their response: the howling going up over the moors -over the Dartmoor tors, and in Bodmin - and the whimpering of Auld John in Inverdruie. But only three? Only three descendants of his Children of the Moon? Well, four if he included B J. herself, and a handful more with her small pack.

But as for her girls: they were more dedicated to Bonnie Jean herself than to Radu. Which was only understandable, the dog-Lord supposed, for BJ. was Wamphyri in her own right- -And becoming more so with every full moon.

Right now, the lunar orb was in the centre of its cycle, a crescent, but in a fortnight it would be full again.

Radu's original schedule had been set to ensure Harry Keogh's audience with him at the full of the moon in May. And the dog-Lord's rebirth had been scheduled for the moon after that. Auld John, however - whom Radu had 'taken into his confidence' - believed that he had brought these dates f orward by two full months... and so he had, upon a time. B ut now the Old Wolf in his resin tomb had had second thoughts.

Auld John was a fool for his 'wee mistress'; he had been in thrall to her for long and long, perhaps even too long. Who could say what she might or might not have winkled out of him? Which was one of the reasons why Radu had yet again rearranged his rebirth - to the end of February, just a few weeks away!

Another reason was that he could no longer wait to come face to face with BJ.'s mysterious Mr Keogh, who might well prove to be Radu's Man-With-Two-Faces, so frequently glimpsed in prescient dreams; the one who would be there to greet, and perhaps even 'succour' him, in his most needful hour.

Now, in just two weeks' time, the dog-Lord would see this Harry for himself, in the flesh, and know the truth of it And then, one way or the other he would use him - and use him up! But however it went, in whichever eventuality, the meeting was now set to coincide with Radu's rising.

The final and perhaps most important reason for advancing the date of his return lay in Radu's constant state of nervous apprehension: his anxiety, the awareness of his own vulnerability while he lay here 'in state.' The knowledge that should his enemies find him here like this, they could do with him as they wished. And268.

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as to what they would do: the dog-Lord had no delusions about that For they were searching for him even now; and by now, but for B J.'s vigilance, her diligence, they might even have found him. This wouldn't save her, however, for Radu knew why she was so 'diligent': because she could not hope to stand against them on her own. What, the filthy Drakuls, and the loathsome Ferenczys? And both camps determined to destroy him and his? Not only were they vampire Lords, in command of unknown numbers of lieutenants and thralls, but they were Wamphyri, experienced in the arts and wiles of the Great Vampire! By comparison, Bonnie Jean was indeed innocent. Even as innocent as she'd fooled her Harry into believing.

And so she must have Radu up; to be her protection, and to learn what she could from him... before turning on him in earnest in the right place and at the right time. The dog-Lord knew this was her plan, as indeed it would be his, if he were in her place.

Ah, the Wamphyri! No two alike - not even twin brothers - yet in certain ways alike as peas in a pod.

Thus, being Wamphyri and a beguiler, B.J. had made a great fool of her thrall and lover Harry Keogh - because he, too, was a part of her plan. But Radu had plans of his own.

He was no female's fool like this Harry, to fall under the treacherous spell of any scheming witch or b.i.t.c.h however clever or buxom. No, he wasn't this mysterious Harry Keogh, not in any shape or form...

... Well, not yet anyway.

It was midday and the moon was a pale sickle hanging low in the wintry grey sky. The dog-Lord Radu couldn't see it, but he felt it there - its influence on him - tugging at the fluids of his brain. It wasn't strong, indeed it was at its weakest, much as he was at his; for this was ever an inauspicious time for him, midway between his mistress moon's cycle. But with just a fortnight of waiting left (a mere fourteen days!) there were still things he must do, precauti ons to take. He couldn't allow himself simply to lie here like this in a gluey semi-torpor, with the resin weighing on him like l ead and only his mind free.

But since it was so ... very well, he would use his mind.

Radu knew the danger in using his mentalism, his telepathy. But he had been taking risks with it for six hundred years now, every time he'd reached out to some thrall or other to call him or her to his side when he needed sustenance. Recently, however - since his first true awakening - he'd used it that much more frequently: to call his few remaining thralls, or to see if the psychic aether was clear, and if not, to discover who else was probing it. And therefore the danger was that much greater.

For if anyone had sensed his sendings, or intercepted them, they too would know that his time was imminent. And if a really clever mentalist were in the vicinity (for example, some gifted vampire Lord) then Radu might easily reveal his location. These were the risks he took.

But vampires are vampires, children of the night, and this was midday. It wasn't the dog-Lord's time, no, but neither was it theirs. And so it was worth the risk.

He scanned far, wide and faint, fanning his probe over the far horizon, the curve of the world remembered from a time six hundred years in the past; but never lingering too long in any one spot. All those years ago, the world had been a vast place in which a man might easily lose himself. Now... it seemed so much smaller. But while the world had grown smaller - at least to the people in it - and while the dog-Lord's body must have lost something of its substance through the long, lonely centuries, still his mentalism was sharp as ever, perhaps even enhanced by his physical isolation. Wha t Radu had denied himself of human sensation, he'd got back in psychic sensitivity, and in his telepathy.

And from due south, over a distance of more than six hundred miles - at the other end of the land ma.s.s, the moor districts of Devon and Cornwall - he sensed a faint response from his present-day thralls. Just two of them, yes. Moon-children, like Auld John, their long-awaited destiny was now clear.

... Pausing in whatever they were doing, in their everyday pursuits as men, they lifted their heads, looked north, blinked suddenly feral eyes and held their breath. They were preparing to join him, yes.

And: Two weeks, (he used the probe as a carrier). Be su re to come to me then ... And despite that ther e were no alien emanations - no covert or inimical thoughts that he could detect in the psychic aether - still, without waiting for confirmation, Radu moved on...

... To Bonnie Jean and the pack. They were much closer and the risk that much greater.

But even if some vampire mentalist were searching for Radu at this very moment, and even if there were more than one and they had worked out a system of triangulation, still they'd have to find a way to conquer the mountain heights, these Cairngorms, to get to him. And anyway, Radu had to know what was happening, if only to deaden the feelings of desertion and isolation building up in him.

Bonnie Jean's mind, her mental scent, was so familiar to the dog-Lord that he could find and converse with her - or at least make himself and his wishes known to her - anywhere in the world. She was no telepath, B.J., or at best a mere beginner, so that while she couldn't read Radu's mind without that he sent directly into hers, he could be into hers in a moment, even when she tried to keep him out

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And she'd certainly done enough of that since discovering her Harry! Right now, at this very moment, Radu's Man-With-Two-Faces was with her. Good! Also, at this moment... the dog-Lord Radu was the last thing on B J.'s mind. Not good! Ah, but what they were doing - that was very much on her mind, leaving room for little else! s.e.x was on her mind, and the rest of her thoughts were clouded by a swirl of I confused and contradictory emotions. The gigantic emotions of the Wamphyri! She had definitely ascended, and was a Lady!

B.J. hated what she was doing to Harry. Not the love, for she loved that, but the lies. She feared for him, for herself, for the future. And the dog-Lord didn't come into it. Or if he did, it was only at the back of her mind, where she had pushed him. And this - the act of love - was her way of keeping Radu there, for she did not want to think of him. Not while she was with Harry.

She sat astride him, sucking him into her core. She wanted his seed, wanted to feel it spray her hot innards.

She desired to see his face tighten up in that oh-so-sweet agony, the momentary little death' reflecting the release of life, its genesis, when swarming minuscule hordes leap to seek out the egg. Except they would not find it, for B.J. 's syste m was gear ed to their destruction..

Oh, she would bear him children if she could, if she dared, but what would be their future? And how would she care for him, for them, for herself, once she had littered? Perhaps, one day ... who could say? And perhaps by then he would have an egg of his own: a vampire egg, sp.a.w.ned of her leech and vented in the pa.s.sion, the burning l.u.s.t of a moment such as this.

Radu saw through her eyes: She looked down on him. On Harry Keogh, where his sho ulders were propped on pillows and his hands gripped the fan cy scrolling of the headboard. His feverish eyes were on her b.r.e.a.s.t.s and taut nipples where B.J. lowered them to his face, his lips. And as she rose and fell on him ever faster, so he panted, gritting his teeth and meeting thrust with thrust.

He was near his time - B.J. too - and as their bucking grew more frantic yet he released a hand that fluttered like a crippled bird, finding its way behind and beneath her to stroke her slippery a.n.u.s. She crushed to him in a frenzy; her b.r.e.a.s.t.s flattening to his chest; her mouth kissing, sucking at his neck...

... And her teeth pausing, then poising there!

They came, together, their souls dislocating, bodies shuddering - and still B.J. 's teeth were brushing Harry's neck. And she thought: If I do it now, the dog-Lord will not want him!

It was only a thought surely? She would not carry it out But still: NO! Radu sent in a sudden panic. DONTEVEN THINK IT! His mental howl, directiy into BJ.'s mind.

Lost to the moment, spent and giving in to her conscience and commonsense (for surely that was all the cry had been?) she collapsed, rolled onto her side and drew Harry with her, locked into her. But then - as the ringing went out of her ears - and the singing from her s.e.x, she wondered: What? Her conscience? Was it possible to have anything of conscience in moments as hot and fierce as those had been? But of course it was, else Harry were a vampire from the first.

Yet still - and still as a stone - she listened. But all she could hear was her lover's thudding heart, his panting, and finally her own as she, teo , began to breathe again...

Radu had got out just in time. But still his probe lingered in the psychic aether, ready to stab down again, link-up with her, and act as a carrier as he berated her for her treachery. Upon a time he would have done it in a moment, but to threaten B.J. now... would be to threaten himself, his very existence. She was Wamphyri! In thrall to him now, yes, but for how much longer? If he were to let her know he'd found her out, what then? She would leave him to rot here, that was what then! Leave him, and run off with her Harry - except the b.a.s.t.a.r.d was not hers but his! And she was his, too, or would be. And: So she loves' him, does she? She ruts with him, eh? But I shall rut the b.i.t.c.h to death! the dog-Lord swore, if only to himself. And then -because suddenly he realized what his rage was about: damaged pride and jealousy, and because his need to strike out was so great -Radu opened his mind to the full and sent forth a howl of frustration into the psychic aether...

... And knew at once that he had made a serious mistake.

Bonnie Jean couldn't hear him, no, for his rage had been about her, not directed at her. BJ. herselfhadrit heard him ... but at least one other had.