Necroscope - The Lost Years, Vol II Part 41

'Still now," he muttered. 'Dinnae shake the rope. They'll think we were in such a hurry we left it a-dangle.

Nice o' us, eh?' (His wolfish grin. And a minute or so later): 'See! What did Ah tell ye?' The rope went taut, vibrating very slightly as someone tested its strength.

Down below, under the forest's canopy, three men dressed in ex-Army, camouflage-green combat suits examined disturbed undergrowth in the wake of Auld John's party. And Singra Singh Drakesh looked up into the tangle, narrowed his eyes, frowned and hauled on the rope.

Flanking Singh, the two remaining Tibetan thralls seemed eager to climb; containing themselves, they waited on his word. Drakesh's lieutenant out of India was cautious, however. He had been taught something of a lesson by this Bonnie Jean Mirlu and her people, and he was still stinging from it. But up there in the heights, three of them were making for the lair of the dog-Lord Radu even now, and this could be his chance for revenge - and his chance to discover Radu, still weak from his centuries of sleep.

He sent his greedy, avidly writhing thoughts up into the gloom. The telepathic aether was heavy with wolf- taint - from which his probes recoiled! Probably just their stinking trail. But no thoughts at all to mention, or at best only the fading echoes of thoughts.

Which was correct, for John and the others weren't thinking at all, just holding their breath and waiting. And: 'Go, then!' Singra Singh Drakesh hissed, watching his men slide upwards out of sight, one after the other.

Vampires - or vampire thralls at least - they seemed to flow up the rope; the chimney's vegetation was barely stirred by their pa.s.sing. Below them, Singh foll owed their progress for a moment or two; then, as they disappeared, he sent out another probe.

Was there... something there? A feeling of... antic.i.p.ation? At his place in India Singh kept Venus Flytraps. Their unconscious voraciousness - their subsistence on lesser lives had always fascinated him. Plants, they had no thoughts as such, but there was this same aura about them. Like the trap-door spider, lying in wait Lying in wait... ?

At which Singh sprang alert, calling out to his men where they'd reached Auld John's ledge. And his trap!

The three men on the ledge heard Singh's cry of warning simultaneous with the emergence of arms and a shaved head rising into sight at the rim of the ledge. Then Auld John stepped forward, grunting: 'And it's good morning to ye - ye slit-eyed yellow b.a.s.t.a.r.d!' - as he drove the toe of a climbing boot deep into the Drakul's gaping, sharp-toothed maw. Teeth splintered, blood spurted, in the moment before the Drakul fell; and below him the second Tibetan clung tight to the crack in the rock as his colleague's body hurtled by.

Then the second man was frantically wedging his foot in a crevice, and trapping the rope under one a rm as he tried to unsling an automatic we apon from his shoulder. And he had somehow managed it, had even started to bring the muzzle of the machine pistol to bear on the trio of faces looking down on him - when Auld John casually drew his razor- sharp clasp knife across the taut rope.

Wedged in a crevi ce, the Drakul's ankle snapped before his foot came loose. One sharp and weirdly alien cry, as he fell in a tangle of rope and leafy debris; and one short burst of maching-gun fire that buzzed harmlessly off into empty air and only served to accelerate his fall. And Auld John nodded his approval, wagged the sliced end of the rope at his fri ends, and said: 'So then. A wee trick. And now let's get on..."

Down below, spreadeagled to the cliff face, wide-eyed and trembling in rage and disbelief, Singra Singh cursed under his breath as the last of his thralls smashed down into rocks long since fallen from o n high, and was broken by them. Even Singh himself would have been broken by such a fall; if not fatally, then most sorely. But these Tibetans were mere thralls; their bones were splintered and their flesh pulped.

And Singh was on his own.

Orders were orders, however, and at the Drakesh Monastery the last true Drakul would expect them to be carried out - to the last. Singra Singh was the last of this group anyway. And he was not a man to be confounded or ridiculed by mere thralls ... and < p="">

And there and then he vowed it: that his Master would be proud of him yet. He would have to be, if Singh was ever again to meet him face to face. But for now - there were other ways up this cliff, he was sure. A lieutenant for long and long, he would find one. For him the climb would be as easy as taking a walk through the woods.

After that, well, the rest might not be so easy - but it was definitely preferable to explaining to his Master the many fine details of his several failures...

PART

REVIVALS AND DEVOLUTIONS.

I.

RADU: RESURGENT. THE SIEGE AT AULD JOHN'S.

Atop the cliff, on the false plateau before the mighty bulk of the Cairngorms commenced their true a.s.sault on the sky, John's party jog-trotted through woods mainly undisturbed for centuries. They headed north-west to the foot of a higher, much more difficult climb. But again John knew a route up the apparently sheer face, following which they would make easy going across a gradually climbing terrain of weathered rock, crevice- clinging heathers, crusted, snow-filled depressions, and rare, slanting, wind-blasted pines.

It was ten-thirty in the morning before they reached that higher elevation, the severe, undulating, boulder- Httered but mainly open dome of the rock - the Cairngorm 'stone rising in or from the woods' - but they'd covered the ground in half the time it would take the best of ordinary men.

'Six miles, now,' said John, getting his second wind as he paused to adjust the small pack on his back. 'Rough ground and uphill a' the way, but no more than an hour and a bit tae such as we three. Last time Ah was here, the place was a' under the snow, white over, and cold tae freeze yere bones! A h.e.l.l o' a climb, and going down even worse. Ah had ... injured mahsel - a wee cut, ye ken? - Ah'd lost a little blood. Anyway, (his is much easier. But avoid the iced-over snow in they hollows, and watch for cracks in this auld rock. Where we're going the rock gets more rotten the farther we go, and some o' they creva.s.ses go down forever!"

He led the way, and the stony ground - and as often naked rock -flew under their booted feet. There was no recognizable track that John's companions could see, but he was the tracker, not them. And to Auld John's eyes there was a track as clear as day. Made by a light, fleet foot it headed north-east, and John knew that in f ollowing it he'd find the best possible route. Of course he would; the trail had been tried and tested times without number.

391.

390.

Aye, fleet o'f oot and fair o'Jace -but a cheat for a' that, who would even cheat on the greatest o'them a'-Bonnie by name, but no by design. Oh, it was a great shame. Ah, well Move over, wee la.s.sie, for there's a man here the noo, and the wolfs no much longer in his lair...

One minute the air was dear and clean, only the whistle of the wind through leaning crags and the scratch of blown heather... and the next- -The helicopter seemed to come out of nowhere, rising up over the rim of rock only a half-mile away, and die whup, whup, whup of its rotors reached out to them on a rising scale. 'h.e.l.l and d.a.m.nation!' Auld John cursed, as he flung himself down in a scoop of rock. And: To me, ye f.u.c.king eejits!' he yelled. 'Eh? Dinnae just stand there gawping!'

Alan-on-the-Moor and young Garth joined him, as John ripped a great swath of heather from its roots to cover and camouflage his body. They quickly followed suit, huddled together, lay still And the helicopter buzzed closer across the roof of die mountain, and seemed to descend directlytowards them.

'Ah might o' known,'John moaned. 'A bleddy whirr/bird, o' course! How else were such as they tae get up here, eh?*

'Do you think they saw us?' Alan gasped.

'Ah dinnae ken . We'd be like ants to they, for sure. Aye, but the only ants tae be seen! We'd stick out like sore thumbs if they were looking in the right direction. But we were down pretty d.a.m.n quick. Ah simply dinnae ken...' And: 'Here they come!' said Garth.

They came ... and went. The helicopter pa.s.sed almost directly overhead, flew on uninterrupted in the direction of Montrose. Auld John sighed his relief- then cursed again, 'Bleddy h.e.l.lf - as he stood, tossed heather aside and brushed himself down. His companions followed suit 'But a helicopter, here?' Alan looked angry, suspicious, afraid.

'Aye,' said John. 'Mah thoughts exactly - at first sight But now: it looks like she was frae Aviemore: some poor sod who could'nae ski straight. On his way tae have his bones fixed in Montrose or Aberdeen. But man, mah heart was in mah mouth!'

Whi le in the helicopter Disgusted, Frank Potenza stuffed binoculars into a padded container in the cabin wall, picked up and lovingly fingered a high- velocity rifle with a sniperscope, and whispered in Italian, "What an opportunity! Hey, Luigi. Did you see them tying there? I could have taken them out before they even knew I was firing on them. And you know something? I'm probably going to hate myself forever that I didn't if only for Vincent's sake.' Tall, gaunt vicious, yet paradoxically feminine in his mannerisms and movements, Potenza spoke to the pilot, Luigi Manoza.

'I saw them,' Manoza answered. 'But you know as well as I do what Francesco told us to do if we sighted anyone.

Unless it was the woman, let it be. Let them go where they're going. Sure it's important that we saw them, but their direction of travel is more important yet Francesco thinks he knows where the dog-Lord is, approximately. You saw them, fine ... but / saw where they were heading before they got down. And it looks like Francesco's right. It's the same area, some four, five miles northeast of here. That's where he picked up Radu's scent the first time we were out'

'So,' Potenza whispered, 'if we're sure we know the location of this dog-b.a.s.t.a.r.d's lair, why can't we knock his people over? I mean, why wait? Vincent is dead -1 mean, he's really dead! If it was up to me, I'd take these f.u.c.kers out here and now. It would be like swatting flies.'

'You worry too much over Vincent Ragusa,' Manoza told him. 'And I don't think Francesco worries about him at all! Vincent was your boss, OK - your immediate superior - but he was also a pain in the a.s.s. That's why he's dead. He didn't listen. The moral of my story is, stop being a pain in the a.s.s. The Francezci is pretty good at swatting flies, too. Know what I mean?'

'Huhf said t he other, as Manoza lost alt.i.tude, swung the helicopter over and headed north. 'Now what?'

'Now we're going where I think they're going,' the stubby Manoza grunted. Til stay low, you'll see if you can spot any suspicious or identifying features or landmarks, anything that looks like an entrance. Wolves hole up in caves, you know? And you can also try to spot a decent, level landing place.' 'We're going down?'

Manoza sighed, shook his head in mock despair. 'No, we're not going down! Not yet, anyway. When we do ifll be in force. I just want to know where I'm going to land at that time.'

'Huhf Potenza said again. 'Why all this muscle? Against these people? I mean, they're just people! Not even thralls!'

They're thralls of a sort' Manoza answered. 'Francesco calls them "moon-children," dedicated to Radu, and their blood has the wolf-taint. Also, they're not "just" people. Certainly not the woman. We can't push them around like it's a big night out in Palermo. They push back - hard! They sure pushed Vincent anyway.'

There was no answer to that so Potenza kept quiet Skir ting higher ground, putting it between his machine and the dog-Lord's people, Manoza followed the crack of a ravine in the area where Francesco had sensed... something. And: 'OK,' he told Potenza.

392.'Keep your eyes peeled. This is it - or close enough it makes no difference.'

As Manoza laid the chopper over on its side and circled the ravine with its ribbon of water foaming at the bottom, Potenza looked down. 'Creva.s.ses,' he whispered in that way of his. 'And potholes, too. On the roof, some hollows full of water; others that look bottomless. In the ravine, the face of that cliff is riddled. The whole place looks rotten, ready to cave in.'

'Cave?' Manoza grinned knowingly. That"s exactly the kind of word I wanted to hear. The kind of place Francesco's looking for.' He straightened the chopper up, leaned her the other way, took a good look for himself. And: This has to be it!' he nodded excitedly. 'Almost inaccessible, and who would want to come here anyway? High as h.e.l.l, and cold and hollow as old Katerin's t.i.ts. But if s granite; it isn't about to cave in just yet' He marked a map taped to his control panel, straightened his machine up again and followed the course of the ravine back towards Aviemore.

That's it?' Potenza sounded disappointed, petulant 'For now,' Manoza told him. 'But be patient Frank. I've a feeling well be seeing action soon enough. Between now and nightfall, for sure Two hours earlier: At his old house in Bonnyrig, the Necroscope Harry Keogh had slept well despite last night's sense of urgency, the feeling that he stood upon the brink of something vast, awesome and dangerous; slept well despite all feelings of breathless expectancy and weird antic.i.p.ation; despite all of those things, and last but not least his inexplicable terror of tomorrow.

But now it was tomorrow. The light of day, of morning, had brought him awake from a dreamless state where all his mind had wanted to do - and all it had done - was rest But in the final moments of awakening, as had been so often the case, that restless urgency rea.s.serted itself. And floating up from subconscious wells of mind, the lines of what could only be three especially relevant quatrains stood out as clear in his memory as if freshly planted there: She is her master's kennel-maid. His castle is a hollow place and high; his bed is yellow, glowing where he laid himself to rest who would not die.

With numbers and with solar heat and grave-cold, with mordant acids, and his friends in low society, and alchemical thunder; with all of these, behold!

393 He may trans.m.u.te impurity to peace and piety!

He knows! - yet may not know, until set free by the kennel-maid; he sees, yet may not understand, until this Pretty's eyes search out the treachery, in the dog that would bite its keeper's hand ...

And the Necroscope knew that he did know, yet didn't and couldn't know, until set free by this Pretty, this Bonnie Jean Mirlu. But set free of what? In what way, set free? Free in his body? That wasn't going to be easy. Oh, he had had his doubts, but what had they come to in the end? Only the realization that he loved her. Set free of that? No, he didn't want that kind of freedom, would much rather stay a prisoner. Or... set free in his mind, to be his own man again? Now that was something else.

While breakfasting but not tasting anything, he remembered something else. Or rather, he knew it without knowing how: that today was the day. He felt it, could feel it even now, over... there! And he looked at a blank waD. But thaf s where it was, whatever it was that was tugging at him.

And the feeling was so strong - the urge, the compulsion - to go to B.J., right now, that after washing his meal down with the dregs of a pot of strong black coffee, he went out into the garden to look for it The sign.

And there it was, low on the horizon where Harry had known he would find it the full moon, hanging pale in the wintry sky. And yes, of course this was the day. And tonight was most certainly the night The night of the full moon...

Harry knew where BJ. and her girls would be, and he must go to her. G.o.d, he wanted desperately to go to her, right now! But (and he clenched his teeth, forcing his mind away from that), first there were preparations he must attend to. Certain words from the quatrains repeated hi his head: Numbers, solar heat, grave-cold, mordant acids, friends in low society, and alchemical thunder. Using all of these tilings, he could put right what was wrong.

Numbers: not numerology this time but metaphysics, MObius maths, of course. Solar heat the ultimate weapon against whatever it was that was waiting for him... which was something he still didn't dare concentrate on. Friends in low society, and grave cold? Well they were one and the same thing, and what they were was obvious. As for 'mordant adds,' that had him baffled; but at least he had some knowledge of alchemical thunder. He'd seen plenty of that on the night the Chateau Bronnitsy fell. He knew how to make alchemical thunder, or the chemical sort anyway... but alchemical 394.Necroscope: The Lost Years -Voltt 395.

to Nostradamus in his day and age. And if Harry didn't know, he had plenty of friends in low society who did.

Harry knew where to go and what to "borrow.' He was familiar with the interior of several ammunition dumps and magaz ines. And if there was something new that he might take a fan cy to - something he might have difficulty figuring out - well, there were plenty of bomb-disposal people among the Great Majority to help him out Or ex-people, anyway.

By midday he had everything he needed, except maybe a little extra time. But time to do what? Worry about what had to be done, and what he was going to do anyway, come what may? And at last, kitted out in much the same rig as he'd worn for that job at Le Manse Madonie - black track-suit and black canvas shoes, black T-shirt and an ex-Army web belt with canvas pouch attachments - he was ready. The only additions he had made, in deference to the weather, were thick black socks and a heavy, black woollen commando-style pullover. Finally he thought about a gun, then decided against it Go up against armed killers with a gun (if thaf s what he was going up against, and it could well be), and they weren't going to try to take him prisoner...

And at last it was time for the *wee puppy* to go and see the kennel-maid.

He took the Mobius route into the undergrowth at the edge of a copse to one side of Auld John's cottage in Inverdruie. It was sheer guesswork; not the co-ordinates - for he still remembered those from that time when he and B J. had visited the old gillie - but that she would be there. But obviously BJ. would have to have a starting place, and she was probably relying on Auld John, so his cottage in Inverdruie seemed the best bet And Harry was right it was his best bet - and his worst - and he'd landed right in the middle of it!

A big black Mercedes saloon was parked on the service road with its nose pointing in the direction of the main road and Avie more. From what the Necroscope could see, no one was in it In the cottage: downstairs, the curtains were drawn. Upstairs, faces and figures - female, he thought - flitted before small windows. Occasionally, and cautiously, a figure would pause to look out, but briefly and always from the side. The reason was simple: the place was under siege.

Outside, a man splashed petrol from a heavy plastic container all around the perimeter of the house, but especially on wooden fixtures such as doors, windows, the timbered frame and a lean-to firewood store.

Covered by a second man with a machine-pistol, who crouched not twenty paces from Harry behind the boles of a clump of silver birches, the would-be arsonist kept low; he seemed eager to get done.

And he, too, had an automatic weapon slung from his shoulder.

Harry gave a moment's study to the house. In the wall facing him, a single-paned kitchen window. He could of course make a Mttbius jump directly into the house, but that would mean he'd probably be seen 'materializing' by those inside - B J. and the girls, he presumed - or at least raise awkward questions. That wouldn't do; he couldn't display his talents to anyone; and the man with the petrol was moving now round a corner of the front-facing wall of the house, slopping fuel as he went And suddenly BJ. was there at an open window almost directly over the arsonist's head. Twisting her body, leaning far out of the narrow s.p.a.ce, she aimed her crossbow - at which the Necroscope heard the dull but vicious phut! phut! of a silenced weapon. The man in the birches had taken out a pistol, was aiming and firing across his arm. His bullets spanged off the wall close to B J.'s head, spoiling her aim as she squeezed the trigger of her weapon and causing her to duck inside. And now Harry wished he'd given more thought to carrying a gun.

But BJ.'s ami hadn't been entirely spoiled. Her bolt had flown home, transfixing the arsonist's right shoulder.

Any ordinary man would probably have fainted in agony; this one let go the container of petrol, slumped against the wall for a moment, then straightened up and picked up the container left-handed!

Harry had seen more than enough; he knew what he must do; and in the brief moment of time that he would be visible to the sniper... well, he would sooner face single shots from a hastily aimed pistol than a burst from a machine-gun! And conjuring a door, he entered the MSbius Continuum...

... And exited on the far side of the Mercedes. From this angle he could see the bonnet of Sandra's car sticking out from behind the house. So the Merc was theirs - the people who held BJ. in siege -and the driver's door was open. It took just a second or so to set the timer on a small but deadly item no bigger than a packet of cigarettes, and deposit it under the driver's seat Then Harry used the Continuum again...

... And emerged running, not five paces from the house and its kitchen window. Diving forward and up in a curving trajectory, he rolled, curled himself into a ball, hit the window with his shoulder and went through the gla.s.s onto the kitchen table, which gave under his weight In the moment it took to disengage from the mess of torn curtains and wreckage, hurried footsteps sounded on the stairs, and also from a corridor leading to the back of the house. And: 'B J.!' he yelled. 'If s me, Harry!'

Three seconds later and the kitchen door flew open; B J. stood there, hair awry and slanted eyes blazing a furious yellow in the unlit 397.

396.

Brian Lutnley winter gloom of the house. Her crossbow was pointing into the room, aimed directly at Harry, until she saw that.i.t really was him and applied the safety. Then she was in h is arms and her breathing a sob - of relief, he knew, but for him, not for herself - as she crushed to him, her face in the crook of his neck and her body straining against his... for a moment.

Then she pulled away and, as Harry's eyes adjusted to the light, she even turned away, as if to hide something. The Necroscope was fairly sure he knew what she was hiding... but he dared not let himself dwell on that He stepped forward and was right behind BJ. when she started to say, 'Harry, man-' until he slapped his hand over her mouth.

'No!' he said. 'I'm already switched on, BJ. - as far as I want to be, anyway. And, believe me, I can work better without it Trust me.' He gave her a littl e shake. Trust me, OK?

For a moment he felt her furious strength; it was in her, live - like the contained hum of a giant dam's dynamos - the only sign of the power raging within, and BJ.'s hand where it grasped his wrist felt like an iron band. But then she relaxed, pulled his fingers free, said: 'All right - all right, Harry!' Then, turning to him, she was BJ. again. 'But where have you been? You, and John, too. I don't know where John is!'

He shook his head, licked his dry lips. 'B J., there's no time for any of that, not now. Do you have any other weapons?' He took the crossbow from her.

'Upstairs, a shotgun,' she said.

Then go... go now! Cover me, from upstairs.'

Her eyes went wide in fear, for him. 'Harry, I-'

'-It's what I do, remember?'

She bit her lip, nodded, and went As soon as she was out of the room he smashed some loose gla.s.s from the window, simulating an exit and departed via a Mftbius door back to the copse. The entire episode in the house had taken only half a minute at most And the man with the petrol was just finishing up. Tossing the container to the ground, he fumbled in his pockets left-handed for a cigarette lighter.

Harry saw a glint of metal in the man's hand, thumbed the safety off the crossbow, pointed it, and let fly.

The bolt flew true - or as true as it had been aimed - struck home in almost the same place as BJ.'s bolt. It jerked its target upright and pinned his shoulder to the wall of the house. And the cigarette lighter went flying.

This time the man yelped his agony... yet a moment later he was jerking his body from side to side, snapping the hard-wood bolt and staggering away from the cottage towards the Mercedes! He'd had enough, but he was still on his feet And now Harry was indeed 'switched on' - he knew exactly what he was dealing with here. Vampires!

But suddenly lead wasps were buzzing to left and right of him, followed by the tell-tale phut! phut! of silenced fire. The man in the birches had stepped clear of the trees; in a crouch, he was firing at Harry. Then, from the open upstairs window, a single shotgun blast which did the trick. The distance was too great to do permanent damage, but still the man with the pistol leaped and cavorted as his long overcoat was blown open. And a moment later he, too, was running for the Mercedes.

Harry stepped deeper into the copse, where unseen he conjured a Mobius door. It took him to the road, where he crouched down behind snow-clad bushes and took a transmitter from one of the ammunition pouches on his belt The Mercedes went rocketing by, and Harry let it go a half-mile before jumping ahead of it Why he didn't simply extend the transmitter's antenna and press the b.u.t.ton he couldn't say. But so far his actions in this business - whatever it was about - had been covert and he wanted to keep them that way.

Maybe that was it As for his powers ... well, these creatures were hardly going to be talking to anyone about his use of the Mobius Continuum, were they? Not when they were in the Continuum. And not when they were deep in the s.h.i.t!

The Merc came blazing, and Harry stepped out into the road in front of it. They saw him and maybe even recognized him, and the driver grinned and kept right on coming. Harry had set the timer on his bomb for just three seconds, time enough to prepare himself and turn his face from the blast But that had been when he was thinking in mundane terms, and now he wasn't This wasn't going to happen in mundane s.p.a.ce and time. He had learned a new trick when Zahanine was murdered - or terminated? - in his house at Bonnyrig. He knew about Zahanine now and accepted it that it hadn't been a dream. The stains on his floor hadn't been a dream, anyway. And he knew where he had taken her body, and how. A new trick, yes.

The car bore down on him, and the driver's mouth was open in a ghastly, gaping laugh of pure pleasure. So Harry laughed, too, and conjured a door big enough to take the whole car. And a split-second before the car disappeared, he pressed the b.u.t.ton on his transmitter. Then - throwing up an arm and turning away, even the Necroscope, unable to accept that a ton of hurtling metal was simply going to vanish at his command - he gritted his teeth and half-closed his eyes. And in so doing, omitted to collapse the door.