Necroscope: Invaders

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN Second Thoughts, And Others Less Mundane

Noticing Jake's distress, Liz had scrambled from her gunner's seat into the narrow cargo area, crouched down beside him, and was now hauling on the lapels of his jacket, roughing him up a little. 'Jake! Jake, wake up!' Then — as his eyes snapped open, startling her, and lightning reflexes and hands worked in combination to slap her wrists aside, then grab them — 'You were shouting,' she explained. 'And now you're hurting!'

He let go of her, dragged himself into an upright, seated position among the jumble of packs, and mumbled, 'What? Shouting?' Of course he had been shouting, because he'd been nightmaring. But what about? Already the waking world, in the shape of Liz, was obliterating his dreams, consigning them to innermost recesses of his subconscious mind. But realizing something of their importance, Jake was reluctant to let them go. 'What was I shouting about?' he demanded harshly, but too late. For even as his head cleared the nightmare was retreating, shrinking to nothing.

Then he looked about — at the piled packs, the chopper's interior, the faces of the men up front looking back at him — and remembered where he was. And as the fear went out of Jake's eyes it was replaced by a worried frown. His face was damp with sweat, despite that it wasn't any too warm in… the aircraft? In the jetcopter, yes. His orientation was still a little off, making everything feel and sound unreal. Then it dawned on him that the hiss of the horizontal jets was absent, and the crisp chop! chop! chop! of rotors had taken over. They must be descending, into Alice Springs.

'I don't know what you were shouting about/ Liz answered him. 'Most of what you said was pure babble, until just before you woke up.' She went back to her seat and buckled herself in. 'Then you mentioned Szwart, Malinari, and Vavara. But you were doing a lot of twitching, too. It was a nightmare, Jake. A killer of a nightmare, I'd say.'' A killer. Yes, she was right:

A grotesque thing — Wamphyri! — its taloned hands reaching to snuff the life from an innocent baby boy. And:

'Yulian Bodescu!' Jake gasped aloud, starting as if he'd been slapped in the face. 'Does anyone know who… who Yulian Bodescu was?' But that final scene, too, was fading away, following the rest of the nightmare into limbo.

In their seats up front, however, Ben Trask and lan Goodly exchanged secretive but mainly wondering glances and said nothing… not until they were on the ground and they'd stretched their legs and made their way to the lounge and the airport's watering hole…

Jake and Lardis sat at the almost empty bar, chewing nuts and nursing large beers; Liz, Trask, and Goodly had a small table, smaller drinks, and ate from a plate of sandwiches. Huge overhead fans did their best to stir the sluggish air and keep the atmosphere bearable. But even the local Aussies were sweating. It was that kind of summer. El Nifio, drying everything to kindling.

Lardis smacked his lips in appreciation, sighed and told Jake: 'This has to be one of the few true benefits of your entire world.' And then, noticing how the bartender was giving him curious looks, he added, 'Er, of Australia, I mean. One of the true benefits of Australia. They certainly know how to brew a good beer, these Australians.'

The bartender looked Lardis up and down, and said, 'I saw that movie, too, me old mate, way back when I was a little kid. But it didn't influence me mode o' dress!'

'Eh?' said Lardis.

'Crocodile bleedin' Dundee!' The other shook his head and moved off along the bar. 'Jesus, what is it with you tourists? Do yer think we all live in the bleedin' outback?'

Lardis looked down at his clothes, lizard-skin belt, machete, shad-hide sandals, and scowled. 'Have I been insulted?' he wondered out loud.

But Jake's thoughts were elsewhere. 'Lardis, tell me about Harry Keogh,' he said. 'I mean, I've heard Trask talk about his compassion, warmth, and humility, which you have to admit makes him sound like a pacifist. But if he was so humble, how come he ended up as a — a what? A vampire-killer? And I gather it wasn't only vampires he killed.'

'As for Harry Dwellersire's history in this world,' the Old Lidesci answered, having first made sure that the bartender was well out of earshot, 'I don't know the entire story. That's why I was only able to talk about Sunside/Starside. But from what I saw of him… well, I wouldn't be too sure about Harry's "humility," or his compassion either. After all, Nathan Kiklu was a humble one, too, upon a time. Anyway, I only met the Necroscope towards the end, which wasn't a pretty end…'

Then, abruptly, Lardis's tone changed, and peering at Jake suspiciously he snapped, 'Now do me a favour and stop trying to wheedle things out of me, okay? What am I anyway but "a bleedin' tourist", eh?'

While at the table, also out of earshot, Goodly, Liz, and Trask were considering something else. 'Yulian Bodescu?' Trask looked at Liz. 'You're sure he said Yulian Bodescu? We thought so, too, but we were too far away to be sure. Now tell me, how in hell did he come up with that name? If he's read it or perhaps remembered it from something someone has said, why has it chosen to surface now, in a dream?'

Liz could only shrug and ask, 'Is it really that strange? I mean, it's hardly the most common of names, now is it? To be honest, it's just exactly the kind of name that would stick in my mind.'

But Trask was out of sorts with himself, and it showed. 'I put you in that gunner's bucket-seat, close to him, so that you could listen in on him/ he said. 'In E-Branch we know how important dreams can be. But you say you got nothing?'

'To start with,' Liz's voice hardened as she began to flare up, i-r t j. > I don t—

But the precog quickly cautioned her: 'SW. Keep it down.' 'Well, I don't understand why we can't tell Jake about the entire Bodescu affair.'' she continued in a lowered but emphatic tone. 'And what's more,' (looking at Trask) 'I didn't much like what you asked me to do. To start with, it's not E-Branch policy to spy on our colleagues, and—'

'Don't go lecturing me about Branch policy — Miss!' Trask glared. 'As for Jake Cutter: he won't be a colleague until I'm one hundred per cent sure he's on our side. The man vacillates, sits on the fence. I'm not even sure he won't make a break for it the first chance he gets.''

'—And' Liz continued, determined to be heard, 'the last time I tried it he… he knew.'

'He what?' Goodly stared at her.

'Jake knew I was listening in on him/ Liz said, deflated now. 'He was dreaming — something sexy, erotic, yes, and frightening, too — and when I broke in on him it woke him up. So how can I ask him to trust me when he thinks I'm constantly in his mind?'

'So you didn't try?' Trask said.

'That's not so/ she shook her head. 'I did try, but I was blocked. I couldn't get in. Or I could, but it was like walking through a fog, all dismal and distorted. I didn't get one single clear picture.'

'Precisely what I didn't want to hear/ Trask grunted. 'So now I'll tell you why I'm not ready to tell him the entire Yulian Bodescu story. You know that a vampire isn't safe even when

he's dead and buried? If there was anything we learned from the Necroscope, it was that. Even as we burned the very earth where Thibor Ferenczy had been buried, still the bastard was instructing Yulian Bodescu, telling him about E-Branch. After that, the damage Yulian caused us, the deaths, the pain…' He paused and shook his head.

And Goodly said, 'So even at this stage you're not entirely certain that this is the Necroscope's work? You think that Jake might be under the influence of someone or something else? Just as Thibor got at Yulian, so someone might be getting at Jake?'

'We have to remember what Harry was, and what he became at the end/ Trask answered. 'And not only him but his lover Penny Sanderson, and what both the Dweller and Harry's other son Nestor became.'

'Vampires/ Liz said, with a small shudder.

'Wamphyri!' said Trask. 'All of them. The Necroscope died on Starside. And now something — three somethings — have come out of Starside to infest our world. And Jake is being influenced by a remnant, or revenant, of the Necroscope himself. Let's not forget that just as Harry sired Nathan Kiklu, he also fathered Nestor. Two sides of the same coin, do you see? And do you wonder that I'm cautious? Why, of course I'm cautious! I should let something like that infiltrate E-Branch, get in amongst us, learn our secrets, use them against us? No, I don't think so/

'And if you're wrong?' said Liz.

'I hope I'm wrong!' Trask answered. 'I believe I'm wrong, and I want to be wrong. But if I'm right I'll be alive, and so will you, Liz. Look, you've read about Harry but you never knew him, you haven't seen what he could do. Not the other things he could do. I have, and I don't want to see powers such as those fall into the wrong hands. That could mean the end of us all/

He sat back in his chair, let his brooding eyes rest speculatively on Jake and Lardis at the bar, but only for a moment. Then he finished by saying, 'So that's that. For now let it go. Let's all of us let it go. But Liz, try to remember what I've said. And the next time I ask you to do something, don't be so damn quick off the mark to question my motives..'

Meanwhile, at the bar, Jake had asked the bartender for a sedative, something to help him sleep during the next stage of the journey. And after the man had gone off to fetch him something:

'Haven't you had enough of sleep?' Lardis asked him.

Jake looked at him. 'Sleep is a funny thing,' he said. 'Do you know what my doctor told me, when I was laid up in hospital in Marseille that time, after I'd got myself trampled on?'

'But how could I possibly know?' Lardis answered, as yet a long way from mastering the vagaries of the English tongue. 'It isn't as if I was there with you, now is it?'

'Anyway,' said Jake, 'I had things to do and wanted to be out of there, but they wouldn't let me go. And this doctor told me I needed to rest, get some sleep. He said there were different kinds of sleep: a kind that comes from physical exhaustion, and another from mental. And that even when you've done no physical or mental work, there's the kind that tells you your body and brain have been mobile for too long without a decent break. Sleep is a medicine — the best you can get — following injury or mental trauma, yet too much of it can be debilitating rather than curative. You can walk and talk in your sleep, and in some cases solve intricate problems. Sleep can be induced, resisted, prolonged or interrupted, but no one can do without it for too long…' As he fell silent, Lardis said, 'Phew! Ask a simple question!' Jake nodded his agreement, said, 'I'm not usually so longwinded, but it's been on my mind — not so much what that doctor said about sleep, but the things he left out. At the time those things didn't apply to my case. Now they do.'

Tm learning a lot about sleep!' Lardis grunted. 'Tell me more.'

'It produces dreams,' said Jake. 'Often they're enigmatic, insoluble, and they're usually unremembered because they don't mean anything. Are you with me?'

'And I'm learning a lot of new words, too!' Lardis sighed. 'But go on, go on.'

'But from time to time,' Jake went on, 'from time to time, they do mean something. They're like — I don't know — clearing houses for all the jumble of our waking hours. And when the rubble has been cleared away, sometimes there's a silver nugget or two left over.'

'And you've been pros— er, prospec— er…'

'Prospecting?'

'Right! Right?'

'Aboard the jetcopter,' Jake answered, Tm sure my dream — my nightmare — meant something. And I want to get back into it.' He offered a weary shrug. 'I must be crazy, right? To look forward to returning to a bad dream? But anyway, what the hell? I may have been sleeping, but I didn't get much rest. I'm still dead on my feet.'

'It's the heat,' said Lardis. 'It drains a man's strength. I'm tired, too… we all are. On Sunside I'd probably be under some tree right now, asleep in a deep cool forest. But I've had trouble with my dreams, too, Jake. The fact is, I'd probably be nightmaring about the hell that's brewing in Starside! And that kind of sleep… well, you're right: it can't cure anything.'

'Me, I'll risk it anyway,' Jake muttered. 'Just as soon as I'm back on that chopper…'

When the pilot declared the jetcopter refuelled, the two technicians were the first out across the asphalt. Jake and Lardis were next, and tailing them Trask, Goodly and Liz. They had at least one hundred and fifty yards to walk to the helipad.

'Funny thing,' Goodly reported as they left the embarkation building and set out into the sizzling sunlight, 'but what Liz said suddenly makes sense. There's Jake in plain view, not forty yards ahead, and I can't read a thing of his future. Not any longer.'

'But isn't that normal?' Trask was immediately concerned.

'Aren't you always telling us that this talent of yours isn't controllable, that you can't just switch it on and off)'

Goodly nodded and said, 'Right. But I should at least be aware of something. My original prediction, that Jake would be with us for some time to come, hasn't changed. The future doesn't chop and change like that; what has been foreseen is inevitable… or it should be. It's how it will be, its circumstances, that can change. But now, with Jake, I can't sense a damn thing! It's as if there were nothing there.'

'Like he's shielded?' Now Trask was even more concerned. 1 suppose so, yes,' said the precog.

'Huh!' Trask grunted. 'It's the same for me. I thought I was imagining it. I still know the truth of him, the reality? But I'm no longer sure whose truth it is.'

'Harry's dart?' Goodly wondered. 'The Necroscope had powerful shields. Has he perhaps passed them on to Jake?'

'Yes, Harry was shielded,' Trask answered. 'Him, and the traitor Wellesley, too. But Nathan also has shields, and likewise — and especially — the Wamphyri! So Harry isn't the only one who could have passed this on, whatever it is. And I can't help thinking: maybe it hasn't been passed for the best possible reasons. I mean, why should he want to keep us out?'

And Liz put in: 'Maybe it's not deliberately or aggressively active, but just… active?'

'Like something new, feeling its way?' Trask said. 'Well, it's possible, I suppose.'

'You could always check it out,' the precog said. 'David Chung can locate us — any one of us — just like snapping his fingers. He'd soon tell us if we have something of that nature travelling with us.'

'Mindsmog?' said Trask.

By which time Liz was thoroughly alarmed. 'Or it could be just his taint!' she now broke in. 'Harry's taint, I mean. For he was, after all—'

'—We know what he was,' Trask quickly cut her short.

'And we knew then what he was,' Goodly said, taking Liz's side. 'And we accepted it. You especially, Ben. It was you who let him go, remember? When Harry's house — his last vestige on Earth — when we burned it to ashes, you could have killed him then.'

'I could have tried,' said the other.

'But you didn't.'

'We all have our talents,' Trask argued. 'Maybe mine told me it wasn't possible.'

'And maybe it told you to let him live,' said Goodly. (As Trask's closest friend, he was the only member of E-Branch who had ever been able to talk to him as openly as this.)

'I was younger then,' Trask answered gruffly, 'and a sight more foolish. The Necroscope could have been lying when he said he was quitting Earth for Starside. Talent or no talent, I

didn't have the right to take that chance. But I did. Foolish, as

I

> j > ve said.

'Younger I remember,' the precog nodded. 'But foolish? If Harry hadn't lived, what then? Who would have stopped Shaitan, and given his life for us in the vampire world? And what would have been our fate then? The chance that you took paid off

But now the jetcopter loomed, with Jake leaning out and down, offering a helping hand to Liz. And: 'We'll just have to let it go for now,' Trask murmured, his voice almost inaudible even to his companions as the engine coughed into life and the rotor blades began slicing the air overhead. 'But that doesn't

mean we'll stop watching. And sooner or later, we'll see what

MI > we 11 see.

What he didn't tell them, keeping it back for the moment, was that in fact he had already contacted David Chung by telephone from the airport. From now on they wouldn't be the only ones who were 'watching.'

And while Chung, the Branch's top locator, would still be far distant in the purely physical sense, psychically he would be very close indeed — and closer in both senses when he found a relief to take over his duties, allowing him to join up with his colleagues in Brisbane…

… 50 damn hard to get in?! The hinted question but definite exclamation rang like a shout in Jake's sleeping mind, startling him. But he immediately recognized the Voice' and said: 'You? I was hoping you'd come by.'

You could have fooled me! said the ex-Necroscope. But for that tiny piece of me that will be with you always, I wouldn't know where to find you. Even with it, it's hard to get through your shields. Still, maybe that's a good thing. I'm sure it's going to be, eventually.

'But where are you?' Jake had been waiting for everything to straighten up but nothing had, so that now he wondered: And for that matter, where am IP

He was floating. Not surprising, really, for he had often dreamed he could fly, and as often been disappointed on waking up to discover that he couldn't. This must be a different version of the same thing. But floating in darkness?

You don't recognize the place? Harry Keogh's disembodied voice asked him.

'A place?' Jake answered. 'But there's nothing here. Nothing at all.' And as he lazily turned (or at least he felt like he was turning) on his own axis, he could see that what he had said was literally true. There was absolutely nothing here. As if this were the bottom of a bottomless pit, or the darkest of dark nights, or—

Or the kind of nowhere and no~when place that the universe must have been like before there was light? Yes, I know, said Harry. Once experienced, however, there's no forgetting it. So when we were here last you must have had your eyes shut. I can understand that. It's always been the same, and for just about everyone who ever tried it — including me! So now let me welcome you to the Mobius Continuum. No gravity or light or matter at all. Not even a sound unless we make it, which isn't advisable. Not here.

'And this is it? Your way of… of getting about?'

This is it. But it's still only a dream. Your dream, Jake. And the only thing that's real about it is me.

'So how did I get here?'

I influenced it, and you dreamed it. I just wanted you to see it through my eyes, and maybe get used to it. For, you see, you've been lucky on three occasions now. Three times when you thought you were in danger — two of which you really were — I was close enough to help you out.

'My escape from jail?' Jake nodded his understanding. 'And the next time from Bruce Trennier, right?'

Right. But as my dart — let's call it my metaphysical intuition — becomes a more accepted part of you, there'll be less room for the actual me. Already you've reached the stage where you're almost able to shut me out. But before you can do that, you still have a lot to learn.

'About the Mobius Continuum?'

For one thing, yes.

(Jake was still turning; he didn't know which way was up, but he wasn't at all dizzy from it.) 'And that's why I'm here?'

You tell me. You dreamed it! But it's as good a starting place as any.

'You did influence it, though?'

Yes, but you must have wanted it. Wanted to visit, wanted to know.

'To know how to use it, you mean?'

Exactly. And how not to misuse it.

'Eh?'

Well, if this were really it, the Continuum, you'd probably be stone deaf by now. You see, you don't talk in the Mobius Continuum, Jake — not in a place where even thoughts have weight.

'Thoughts have weight here?'

They do in the physical world, too. Ask any telepath, or any scientist for that matter. Those tiny sparks that jump the gaps in your brain, Jake? If they didn't make the connections, you couldn't think. Have you never wondered why geniuses have 'weighty thoughts'?

'But that's just an expression, surely?'

But in the Mobius Continuum it's reality. Well, of sorts. A parallel reality, at least.

'So… I've no need to talk?'

Not at all. Thinking will suffice. But here in your dream it makes no difference — because you aren't talking anyway. Or at best you're only muttering to yourself.

'You're making me feel like a cretin!' Jake burst out. 'I don't know where I am or how I got here — or how to get out of here — and you're telling me I have a lot to learn about it? A lot to learn about nothing, about nowhere, about emptiness?'

Oh, it isn't nothing, Jake. It isn't nowhere, but a route to everywhere and — when! Let me ask you to do something for me… actually, for you. Just keep quiet for a moment or two, and float. And feel it! Feel the Mobius Continuum!

Jake did, and felt it. 'It's… big/ he said then, feeling very small. 'It's… huge! It knows I'm here, and it doesn't especially want me here. But where here?'

Everywhere! said Harry. Or anywhere. Anywhere you want to be, want to go, as long as you know the coordinates. Come with me. Just come, and you'll see.

'You mean follow you?' And suddenly Jake was afraid. 'But I can't even see you!'

I'm in your head, Jake. Just let go.

'Of you?'

Of everything.

And Jake did it, let go. He sensed motion in himself, and also felt himself come to a halt. At a door.

A time door, said Harry. A door on past time. And:

'But this is even more like a… a… ahhhh!' said Jake. Because now he was standing on the threshold, looking back into the past. And while it wasn't deliberate he was echoing what he seemed to be hearing:

A concerted 'Ahhhhhk!' like some unending one-note chorus, the vocal product of a vast choir of angels echoing in a sounding church or cathedral. And yet Jake only seemed to be hearing it; it was in his mind as a result of what he was seeing, which must surely be accompanied by just such a SOUND — the sound of life, of evolution, from its prehistoric source to this present moment, this very NOW.

More like A Christmas Carol? Harry finished it for him. I suppose it is, in a way. But this isn't a ghost of the past, it is the past — as viewed in Mobius-time.

Looking out, looking back, through the door, Jake saw what appeared to be the core of some vastly distant nova, an incredible neon-blue bomb-burst, whose streamers were lines of light. A myriad endlessly twisting, twining, frequently-touching lines or neon tubes of blue light, all reaching out from that central explosion, expanding towards him, rushing upon him like a luminous meteorite shower. Except the tracks didn't dim but remained printed on space — indeed, printed on time! And all Jake could say was, 'W-what?'

The blue life-threads of humanity, of all Mankindfrom its very beginning, Harry told him, quietly. And that central nova: that is the beginning, the source, the birthlight a quarter of a billion years ago, when our ancestors crept out of the soupy oceans to evolve primitive lungs on volcanic-lava beaches.

'Life-threads?' Jake whispered. He had scarcely heard the other, was merely repeating him like a man in a dream — which of course he was.

The tracks we've left in time, Harry answered, like metaphysical fossils. A photograph of Man's snail-trail, his evolution from his humblest beginnings. The proof of it is there, Jake, right before your eyes. For see, one of those blue life-threads connects with you. Follow it back far enough and you'd see it blaze into being, a pure blue glow to light you on your way through life. The moment you were born, yes… And:

'You don't appear to have a thread,' said Jake. But since the explanation was obvious, he quickly went on: 'If I were to trip and fall through this door, I might fall all the way back to the Big Bang!'

No, Harry told him. But if you willed it you might travel back through all your ancestors to the beginning of life. Awesome, isn't it? And before Jake could answer:

Back there some little way I saw your blue thread crossed by scarlet. But the vampire threads stopped right there, while yours sped on. It was Bruce Trennier and his brood, when they died the true death.

'At which time/ Jake frowned, '—what, just yesterday? — I had already received your dart. Some kind of paradox?'

He sensed Harry's shrug, his irritation. But that was one of the reasons you received it! Time is relative; what will be has been. You think of time as having been, or as being now, or as still to come. But the way I see it times are just different places, all within reach. It's the fourth dimension, Jake. And the Mobius Continuum lies parallel to all four. As for paradoxes: they'd be rife if we could actually change the past or see the future. That's why precogs like lan Goodly have such a hard time of it. It's why they are allowed to know something of what will be, but never how it will be.

Jake looked again through the door and made a futile effort to follow the track of the neon-blue thread that flowed out of him where it twisted and twined its way to his origins. Perhaps he would see what Harry had seen: scarlet threads crossing it in Mobius-time and coming to an end there. But among all the myriad lives that had been, his was soon lost to sight. And:

'All the world's past/ he said.

This time I helped you find it, said Harry. The next time — if you should ever need it — you could well he on your own, so try to remember these coordinates. As for future-time doors: that's easy. They point the other way, that's all! You'll work it out (a barely suppressed chuckle) in time.

'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, hut 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 an.

'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 huts, 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 Mobius 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 this 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 Foener'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 15… 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 minutiae and maziness of dreaming: the fact that Harry Keogh was here to talk to someone who was dead.

'The other fellow?' Jake repeated the words of 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 lan Goodly had told him about Harry: that he didn't view life and death the way others did, 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 Foener!

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…

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN Korath's Story

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. Ana you're as different from the dead now as you were from the living then.p>

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 towards 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 his 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 will become 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, like 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'sjbced. But not the future. The one thing I can tell you is that you'll be meeting up with vampires — Wamphri! 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. 5o now come this way, to where he died.

Harry was in Jake's mind, guiding his feet; all Jake needed to do was follow where the other led:

To the solid, twelve-feet-thick, reinforced concrete wall of the dam which contained the dynamoes and sensitive equipment that had 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 5 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, thus 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 yet, 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 be.

'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 Us 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 banished 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!' But:

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 far 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 would be done. Flesh was needed to block this pipe, and myjlesh… it was pliable and available. That was enough. Say no more.

So, said Harry, yourjlesh was pliable—

But not that pliable! The vampire cut in. You cannot possibly imagine the agonies that 7…

— And you were compliant.

I was not! (Korath denied it). 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, he 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…p>

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. Korath 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 a while, and converse with you in your loneliness, which you must know will last for ever 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 he 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 deathbeds, so I shall speak it from beyond.

I want to know about Malinari, said Harry. And Vavara and Szwart. I want to know all about them, from the beginning.

And Korath eagerly answered: None knows their stories better than I. But… such tales will take time in the telling.

I have time, said Harry. Well, within certain limits. And so do you. You have an eternity of time.

One question, said the other.

Ask it.

Wry?

Because 1 would exterminate them and all that they stand for, Harry answered, truthfully and ruthlessly. Their kind are not wanted in this world. And:

Good! said Korath, his voice gurgling with phlegmy anticipation. Why should they have life, having deprived me of mine? In Starside we acknowledge four states of being/unbeing. These are, one: the void before birth. Two: the time of warm-blooded life such as the Szgany of Sunside enjoy it. Three: a 'higher' condition known as undeath, when a man's existence might possibly reach to eternity. And four: the true death, which is nothing less than a return to the primal void. But I, Korath, have found the last to be a lie. It is a darkness, aye, but never a void. The true death is an absence of motion, but not of mind. I think! I ami But immobile, forgotten, lost in the long, long night, I have no peace. So why should the ones who put me here have peace? Why should they have anything? No, I will not lie to you, Necroscope.

Then get on with it, said Harry. Begin with Nephran Malinari, since he would seem the most dangerous.

Wrong! said Korath. For each is as bad as the others. Why do you think they were banished out of Starside?

Doubtless I'm about to find out, said Harry. But I'll warn you now: while time is not of the essence, don't try to spin it out. I'm not long on patience and could be about better things. Is that understood? It is indeed, the vampire answered. Then: Without pause Korath got on with it; and by virtue of the nature of deadspeak — also because the ex-lieutenant's tale was illustrated with vivid mind-pictures — Jake found himself listening in. Along with his mentor, he soon became absorbed in the narrative…

'It was hundreds of years agone,' (Korath began) 'though to me, having spent so much time in the ice — frozen and stilled, and

preserved even in my thoughts — it stands out in my memory like yesterday. Or perhaps yestereve.

'I was of the clan Vadastra; indeed, I was the son of the chief, Dinu Vadastra. Our place was in the forest many miles to the east of the great pass into Starside. We toiled in gathering and growing, in the breeding of domesticated livestock, and in hunting and fishing. Being settled — unlike the majority of the Szgany, who are nomads — there were no bounds for my father to beat. In any event we were not troubled by foreign settlers; indeed, our land was shunned by all the neighbouring tribes. For you see, my people were supplicants who gave of their goods (a portion, or "tithe" as you would say) to Lord Nephran Malinari, called Malinari the Mind, out of Malstack in Starside.

'Now, do not ask me if I enjoyed our situation. I was born to it and knew no other way. Likewise the Vadastras as a tribe; only the old men of my people had been travellers, who in their time had known the ways of the true nomad. The life of the supplicant suited them to perfection; the Wamphyri had no use for ancient, withered flesh or desiccated blood. And so the elders were safe so long as they could work, gathering the wild honey and fruits of the woods. My father was also safe, for while he had not as yet grown long in the tooth, still he was the chief of his people, whom Malinari had appointed keeper of the tithe… for which reason he was greatly feared and in most matters obeyed without question. In most matters, aye.

'And my father, Dinu Vadastra, was a hard man: tall, broad, and a bully. When lesser men complained of the "theft" of their wives, sons or daughers taken in the tithe, he would deal very harshly with them. Why, they might even find themselves listed as troublemakers and, regardless of the draw, destined for Malinari's great aerie when next his tithesmen did their rounds.

'There was a girl I loved… at least I think I loved her, but all such things are a mystery to me now. Love? That is for the warm ones. Now there is — or there was — only lust. When my master and his lieutenants hunted among the so-called "free" tribes of Sunside, oh, then there was lust! Ahhhhhhh!

'But please forgive me my meandering mind. For I see that you do not wish to know that…

'As for this young girl whom I may or may not have loved, more anon. Let it suffice for now to say that she was my downfall. The first of them, anyway…

'Now understand, Malinari was not greedy — at least, not when the Wamphyri were at peace with one another and no bloodwar was raging — but he was ever choosy. His tithesmen, lieutenants all, knew that he wanted only the best out of Sunside. No curdled honey, bitter plums or scrawny beasts for Malinari, and no snaggle-tooth boys or bow-legged girls, either. And my father was always hard put to fix a "fair" tithe. He might on rare occasion slip in a barrel of less-than-best plum brandy, a crippled shad or a brace or two of game left hanging just a day or so too long, but never anything outrageously offensive. And he was the same in his dealings with human flesh.

'Loners, if they saw our campfires in the night and came down from the barrier mountains to warm themselves, were ever welcomed. They would be given food and drink — aye, and a lot of the latter — before being tapped on the head and laid aside for the tithe. And if the cart or caravan of some lone traveller's family group should happen onto Vadastra territory, well, that was reckoned a bonus. For then fewer of our own would be needed for the list.

'We were some three hundred and eighty. The number rarely rose by more than a dozen or so, and when it did was as readily reduced. In any given year, perhaps fifty babies would be born; with any luck half would grow to adults while the rest would be borne away into Starside. My lord Nephran Malinari… was reputed to have a sweet tooth for basted infants.

'But I must not jump ahead of myself, for at that time he was not my Lord as such. Or rather, I was not as yet in thrall to him.

'Where was I? Ah, yes: the tithe:

'Married men who sired no children for a year or two were wont to find themselves shortlisted. And as for women who were barren: their future, or lack of such, was guaranteed. Likewise any troublemakers, of course. Thus the tribe maintained itself, barely, and the tithe saw to it that we were never too large or too small. Once in a three-month Malinari's tithesmen would come on their flyers over the mountains from Starside, and now and then the master himself would accompany them on their visits.

'And now to this girl, whom I may even have loved.

'My father kept her back from the tithe, for me. Alas that he had crossed so many of his own people, who suspected that he was biased in certain of his duties — in the quarterly drawing of the tithe-markers, for instance — and there were plenty who would have paid him back, who would like to have seen his loved ones on the list. Or rather his loved one, this selfsame Korath, whose poor mother had died giving birth to him.

'But the girl Nadia… she and her mother were gatherers, as were most of our women, and both of them were among the comeliest of Vadastra females. Nadia's father had been a talented hunter, until nine months agone when his marker came up in the draw. That had been that, if not quite as easy as that.

'For he was young and strong as a bull shad; he had to be knocked down, bound in all his limbs, and even gagged before he would be still! And because of accusations he'd made concerning my father — the way Dinu had looked at his wife — there might be some who suspected that their chief had "fixed" certain matters in his own favour. Make of that what you will, but I won't deny that from then on Nadia's mother was Dinu's… or should I simply say that she submitted to Dinu, and leave it at that? But his? His property? His obedient woman? Ah, wait and see…

'The fact was that Melana Zetra had loved her husband, and when she was over the horror of his being taken in the tithe — and when she was close to my father, and after she had covertly investigated the way he worked the list — then she made up her mind to act. I cannot state Melana's reasons for doing what she next did; perhaps it was madness brought on by grief, but if so she had hidden her condition extremely well. Or then again, she may have been crazy like a fox and simply biding her time.

'My best theory is that she would be with her husband Banos again, regardless of the conditions, and had determined to sacrifice herself to that end. Banos had been taken by Malinari of the Wamphyri; now Melana would be taken also. But along the way she would settle a few old scores. The Szgany can be devious in their own right, and I cannot help but wonder if that is where the Wamphyri get it: is it perhaps in the blood? For the blood is the life, after all.

'But if this secretly incensed or maddened Melana would be with her husband in Starside, why not make it a family affair? What of her daughter, Nadia? Would she be safe on her own with the Szgany Vadastra, or better off in Starside with her mother and father? Being comely, it was unlikely she'd be fodder; why, given time she might even become a Lady! Could it be any worse to be undead with the Wamphyri than to live under the constant threat of being stolen away or eaten by the Wamphyri? And what of an informer? Might not he, or she — as a supplicant in the fullest, truest meaning of the word — gain favour in the red-litten lamps of their eyes? I suspect it was a mixture of all of these imponderables that motivated the maddened or scheming Melana to do what she did next.

'The time of the tithe was at hand, and Dinu Vadastra had calculated correctly that Malinari would come with his lieutenant tithesmen out of Starside. It had been some time since The Mind himself had deigned to venture forth from Malstack across the barrier mountains into the velvet of Sunside's night.

'The skies were clear and the moon tumbling on high; all the familiar constellations were twinkling in the smoke of our signal fires, while low over the barrier mountains the star of ill-omen — the Northstar, which lights the aeries of the Wamphyri — bathed the peaks with its silvery-blue ice-chip gleaming. A fine night, aye, for some…

'… As it might have been for me had it not been for my now barely-remembered love of Nadia Zetra. Still, I cannot blame her, for I am sure that Nadia knew nothing of her mother's plan. If she had… it's more than likely we would have fled from our fate, becoming loners; or we might have journeyed west and joined up with some band of true Travellers in their constant evasion of the Wamphyri; or perhaps we would have been happy simply to be free a while, together she and I, and let the future take care of itself. Oh, a great many possibilities, if Nadia had known.

'As for my father: if he had so much as suspected… then Melana's life were forfeit long before the first of Malinari's flyers touched down on Vadastra soil. But of course none of us knew, except Melana herself.

'And so to the preparations.

'All was in order. As the dusk settled in, Dinu had called for the tributes (in fact the ransom, for the life of the clan Vadastra) to be displayed on trestle tables to one side of the clearing, where he had tallied them as was his wont. Six barrels of oil, six of white wine and six of red; six of good plum brandy (and all of it ^oo^ plum brandy, mind, because Malinari was coming) and six more of wild honey. A pair of young bull shads, freshly butchered, fifteen brace of pigeon, and five of wild boar; and a very special prize indeed: a live, caged wolf of the wild, a bitch at that, and pregnant to boot! The Wamphyri are especially fond of wolf cubs basted in their mother's milk, and of heart-of-wolf and wolf meat generally, which they swear by as an aphrodisiac and positive aid to their longevity. As if they needed such!

'And meanwhile Dinu's specially chosen squad of bully boys was out and about, to ensure that certain other tributes — of the human variety — were not fled. For while the tithe-markers were already drawn, the unfortunate parties had not been named for fear that they would make off into the night. Thus, as the time drew nigh, the wailing of mothers and daughters, the curses of men and the sobbing of their sons could be heard in and around the camp, as one by one the various listed "names" were informed of their misfortune by Dinu's tithe-takers.

'Some were already known, of course: the troublemakers in their cages, and outsiders who had wandered inadvertently onto Vadastra territory. But the three males, three females, and six infants of the clan itself, their naming was left to last, for the reasons stated. Then they were gathered in by Dinu's bully boys, chained and gagged before they could voice any great complaint or cause commotion, and tethered to await the coming of the tithesmen and their vampire master, Lord Nephran Malinari. As for the babies: they were wrapped in bundles on the trestle tables, along with the other wines, victuals, and sweetmeats.

'Myself: I was with Nadia, "safe" in my father's caravan. From peepholes in the withe walls, silently and scarce breathing, we watched and waited as instructed. For my father liked to keep his prized ones (I still find the idea of "loved ones" hard to envisage) well out of sight of the Wamphyri, so as not to arouse their interest. Likewise Nadia's mother, Melana Zetra; Dinu had advised her to remain out of sight, hidden in her caravan, lest being comely she attract unwanted attention.

'And in the fifth hour after sundown they came. 'The skies had been clear, as told, and only a warm breeze, like the breath of the dreaming forest, to tease the flames of the campfires and stir the branches of the trees about the central clearing. But the Wamphyri have their own weird ways with nature; they work their will on air, earth, and water as acid works on metals, etching them to their design.

'We had seen it all before: the mist gathering on the high peaks and rolling down like some vaporous avalanche, all milky-white in the moonlight. The sudden flurry of cold air down from the barrier mountains, beating on the flames of our fires as if to smother them, and lashing the gentler winds of the forest to frenzied flight. And suddenly, from behind the peaks, the first stain of dark clouds writhing blindly out of the north,

feeling their way like snaky fingers and obscuring the glittering Northstar as they came.

'And in those clouds, riding on high, swooping and fluttering like withered leaves caught in a flurry — yet, unlike leaves, directed and with purpose — the scaly flyer mounts of the Wamphyri!

'And oh, the moaning and gibbering of those plague winds, as the creatures that rode them — and the Ones who rode them — came on, gliding, descending, trapping the air in the scoops of their webby membrane wings, and settling to the foothills over Vadastra territory… except, as by now you have surely reasoned, these lands were Vadastra in name only.

'For in fact they belonged to Lord Nephran Malinari of the Wamphyri. And Malinari had come to collect his tithe…'

CHAPTER NINETEEN Malinari

In the gloom of the wrecked sump, in the dark of Jake's dream — which was in fact much more than a dream, indeed a metaphysical connection through Harry Keogh to an ex-lieutenant of the Wamphyri — Korath Mindsthrall continued his story:

'There were vampires and vampires. In Starside's great aeries of the Wamphyri as were, I saw some who were hideous beyond description, too monstrous to look upon even through a thrall's eyes.

'In general they would keep to their manlike outlines, but would shape their various parts to their own design. Their ears were often carved and fretted into fanciful sculptures; convolute nostrils might be pierced and hung with rings of gold; arms lengthened to extend their reach in battle, and teeth permanently enlarged until speech itself was difficult. Lords frequently kept battle-scars as trophies; a flayed cheek might be made to heal so that the white of the bone showed through; a gouged eye could be grown elsewhere than on the face.

'In those days there was a young Lord called Lesk the Glut because of his appetites. Stolen as a child out of Sunside, he grew to a youth, became a lieutenant, eventually slew his master for his leech. But Lesk was a madman, and the stolen leech only enhanced his madness. When his murdered master's familiar

warrior hesitated to answer to Lesk's command, he actually did battle with the thing… and killed it! He won the fight but lost an eye, which he grew again upon his shoulder.

'Organs such as these were rudimentary. Some Lords deliberately affected an extra eye at the nape of the neck… sufficient to give warning of an attack from the rear. And these eyes would be lidless, so that they could never close in sleep.

'I mention these things so as to illustrate the hideousness of which I have spoken. But in fact those Lords — and occasionally Ladies — who affected such alterations or mutilations were usually the weakest of their kind; they only made themselves to look ugly so as to present more fearsome facades in battle, and so perhaps to avoid battle entirely.

'Take for example Volse Pinescu, called Lord Wen, which was surely the greatest possible misnomer. What, just one wen, when in all likelihood Volse was the ugliest of all the Lords of the Wamphyri? For it was Lord Wen's habit to foster hairy blemishes, running sores, and festoons of boils all over his face and form in order that his aspect would be that much more terrifying! Do you see? No clean man or thing would strike him for fear of the drench which must surely ensue!

'Even amongst the highest-ranking vampire Lords, there were several such as Lesk and Volse. But then again, there were also those who had no need for such deceptions and affectations. And Nephran Malinari was one of them.

'For he was vain and he was handsome… ah, but this, too, was a fa£ade in its way. For The Mind was a monster underneath, even as monstrous as his mind, if you'll forgive this puny play on words. But at least in his appearance Lord Malinari was less the beast and more the beautiful human being; more truly, well, "lordly", as it were. But for something so very terrible to be so beautiful, surely that were the ultimate deception?

'Back to that night:

'Seven great flyers had landed on the rim of a broad ledge, a false plateau in the foothills overlooking Vadastra territory.

Malinari's mist (for you may be sure it was of his manufacture) rolled down to flank him and his, then spread out and descended to the forest. It was met by a lesser mist that sprang from the soil and woodlands themselves, so ringing in our rude homes and their central clearing. And all about us a sea of white-lapping mist; and in the clearing itself a ground mist — but unlike any natural mist, sentient and sick-feeling — writhing and twining about the cabins and long-immobilized caravans where the latter were all propped on their empty axles. Malinari's thoughts were in the mist; they felt things out, searching for treachery. But there was none. Or at least, not towards Malinari.

'The wind had fled south and the night was still again. As the mist slowly dispersed, the flyers launched from their foothills ledge and came gliding on stretchy membranous wings.

'Now, the flying mounts of the Wamphyri are monstrous creatures, though not so much for any kind of malevolent activity on their part as for their appearance and nature. For while at first glance they seem like giant long-necked and long-tailed bats, on closer inspection… plainly they are made from men.' Their wings have enormous span, with the alveolate, once-human skeletons of arms, legs, and grotesquely extended fingers and toes all visible through the sheathing, grey-gleaming membrane of their envelopes. The creatures have massive hearts, to fuel the muscles that power their great wings; other than that they are little more than airfoils of flexible cartilage and hollow bone in sheaths of light, lean meat. In short, they are mainly wings with very little of mind. Built to fly and obey — with their tiny, walnut brains linked invisibly, mentally, to their riders — they do nothing but what their masters will. Oh, they have bits in their mouths and reins for guidance, but only for emphasis when mental commands go lacking a ready response.

'So, now you understand me when I speak of "flyers, descending towards our clearing on their stretchy membrane wings." As for their riders:

'These soon became visible. Three of the seven — those in the

middle of the V-formation — were at ease, arrogant, haughty in their ornate leather saddles; the others were young lieutenants, eager, forwards-leaning, and feral-eyed. It was probably the first time they had been allowed to venture forth with Malinari's tithesmen. But the figure to which every eye was drawn was that in the dead centre of the aerial tableau. To him, and to his mount.

'That central flyer was by far the largest, strongest, and most elaborately fashioned; a handful of good men — perhaps as many as six or seven — had gone into its construction in Malinari's vats of metamorphosis in Malstack, in Starside. Gliding down towards the clearing, the huge but human eyes in its half-human head at the end of that long, snaky neck, swung this way and that, seeking an acceptable landing place; while black and seemingly vacant saucer eyes in its belly lidded themselves in preparation, so as not to suffer damage in the landing.

'Ah, but when I speak of eyes, do not let me forget those of the rider where they glowed like small scarlet lamps in his face. Of course they did, for this was Lord Nephran Malinari — Malinari the Mind himself.

'His flyer's wings formed themselves into air-scoops; its tail — the elongated, knuckled spine of a man — swung this way and that, keeping balance; coiled tentacles like springs extended down from belly cavities, their sensitive tips tracing the contours of the ground. Then, with a sighing of air and a folding of wings, the thing set down light as a feather. And flanking it, six lesser beasts likewise touched down, their lieutenant riders out of their saddles and striding to their master's side all in a few liquid moments. While for those same moments Malinari sat there as if in contemplation, reins loosely clasped, one elbow on the pommel of his saddle, and chin in hand.

'Then, stirring himself up, he swung lithely down from his mount, sighed and said, "Well, and here we are…" Simply that, the merest murmur of a sound; yet powered by Malinari's mentalism, every man, woman, and child in the entire Vadastra settlement heard it.' And to every mind he touched — despite that his voice was brandy-deep and honey-sweet — a certain fetor clinging. For with all his powers of deception, even Malinari could not hide the underlying stench of blood.

'His mentalism had its limits. Spread thin as this, it was good for seeking out enemies or Szgany in hiding, but for very little else. So that having displayed it he now dispensed with it. And the swift withdrawal of his probes felt like water clearing from one's ears after surfacing from a dive in a deep pool. And now, too, he called for my father Dinu in a voice both rich and strong. But while the brandy depth was still there, the sweetness was all used up. For now it was time for the business.

'The Vadastras (all except the few favoured ones, who were hidden away) were gathered as a clan on that side of the clearing farthest from the barrier mountains, so positioned that all eyes had been enabled to follow the arrival of Malinari and his tithesmen. My father, who stood central and to the fore of this gathering, came with all speed in answer to Malinari's call and prostrated himself before his acknowledged master. And the vampire Lord stood there a little while, looking down on him, perhaps enjoying his grovelling.

'But, ahhhh — this Malinari was handsome! He was all of an hundred and sixty years old, but looked no more than forty. His hair was black and shone like a night-hawk's wing — as well it might, being greased with the fat of Vadastra women! Swept back from the broad dome of his head, behind pointed ears which were not as large or misshapen as the webby, conch-like ears of most Lords, and with its jet ringlets curled on his caped shoulders, while its gleaming black curtain fanned out down his back like the hair of a young girl, or the decorative head plumage of the black eagle… why, it loaned him the haughty looks of a great hunting bird — a veritable night-hawk, aye.' And for once it was no deception; for as much as he was anything, Malinari was certainly the bird of prey.

'And his face, its deathly pallor… the deep-sunken eyes

under arcing eyebrows… cheek-bones jutting… the high brow rising… slightly flattened nose whose convolute flanges were almost imperceptible… the lean cheeks and perfect bow of his blood-red lips. The red of blood, aye, to match the fire of his eyes. In any other man or vampire the fiery lamps of Malinari's eyes would be less than ornamental, but they suited The Mind to perfection. Indeed, they loaned his cheeks a ruddy semblance of warmth, of life, while in fact he was the cold and cruel master of something other than life, but not yet death.

'And tall: he would be two long paces tall, and then some. And slim as a wand, yet strong as a dozen of our best, who were only men. I knew this last for a certainty, for there never was a weak Lord of the Wamphyri. But Malinari's strength wasn't of the flesh alone; not only brawn, but brain; not merely muscle, but mind. He was The Mind!

'And, "Up," he finally commanded my father. "Up, and show me my tribute."

'There was no kissing of sandalled feet, nor yet of hands, as my father came erect; no touching of any sort. Such were The Mind's powers that even a touch could prove harmful, draining a man's knowledge or erasing part of his memory. And anyway, Dinu was Malinari's trusted servant who would not dare hold anything back from him. This was how it had been between them for many a shameful year. Shameful, aye. For if I've not already said that I loathed this cringing, subservient existence, surely by now I have hinted as much?

'Anyway:

'My father was big, burly, bearded, and blustering. Rumour had it that he was a bastard, too, but I never heard it bruited in his presence. Puffed up with his own importance, yet somehow managing to bow and scrape, he led Malinari and his men to that side of the clearing where the trestle tables were bowed a little from the weight of the tribute. Here Dinu Vadastra had been as clever as he dared to be, so arranging the trestles that the centre spans were bound to bow a little under any extra weight!

Whether or no his ploy fooled anyone, it certainly looked good. And indeed Malinari seemed impressed.

'Then he and my father conversed. And because Dinu's caravan stood very close to the trestle tables, and the night being so still now (and likewise all those who were not directly involved, keeping very still), Nadia and I heard their every word.

'"Dinu, chief of the clan Vadastra," Malinari spoke to my father. "It appears you had word of my coming. I would even say you must have had, since you've responded with this oh-so-excellent tribute! What's more, try as I might I cannot remember the time when my tithesmen brought home so handsome a bounty. What? Why, I could even be forgiven for thinking that perhaps they've been robbing me all this time. My own lieutenants, like ungrateful dogs, thieving from the house that shelters them:.."

'He stared at his men — glared at them with eyes of flame, lengthened his jaws and yawned at them a little — so that they all drew back a pace… until he grinned a wolfs grin at them, then threw back his great head and laughed until his hair shimmered all down his back!

'"Ah, but see, I have made a joke," he said. "For all and all, my lieutenants, thralls, and familiar creatures know that to thieve from me is to bid farewell to all this. My rules are made simple, so that even a dullard may understand them. In my manse in Starside dwell many starveling warriors who have their needs no less than men; from time to time they enjoy the occasional tidbit, and to a monster they are especially fond of tidbits that kick and shriek and spurt red…"

'And after a pause, turning to my father: "Dry work, this joking," he said. "Are we perhaps thirsty, Dinu Vadastra?" And he beckoned to his side a junior lieutenant.

'By then, as might well be imagined, my father was very thirsty. He produced a tray of beaten gold, and three goblets of that same common metal which he filled with white wine from a barrel. This was ever the ritual: that Dinu play the part of one

of Lord Malinari's food-tasters. For, like all of the Wamphyri but more so than most, The Mind was susceptible to silver in however small a measure — indeed, to granules of silver, to the very dust of silver — and likewise to garlic, whose mere reek was guaranteed to cause nausea and copious vomiting. Thus Dinu would take the first sip, which would provide him with an early opportunity to declare the wine fouled; next the tithesman who, being a vampire, would not only taste any poison but react violently to it; and finally Malinari, first inhaling deeply of the wine's bouquet through his snout's fleshy runnels, before gulping it down. For however much he affected lordly airs, and, on occasion, a "flowery" or "delicate" mode of speech, still Lord Malinari's table manners were dreadful!

'So on through every barrel, a taste from each; the brandies, too, and even the honey. And while my father was sensible enough to drink but sparingly, still he was staggering a little towards the end. As for the foodstuffs — the wild grain, roots and fruits, animals and such, aye, and bairns, too — they were not tested, though for a fact Malinari lingered a while over a fat boy child whose black eyes smiled at him in all innocence, while the monster's own crimson orbs flared that much brighter in his face…

'Then on to the wolf-bitch in her cage: "A prize indeed!" Malinari approved. "I may keep her and her whelps both," and he made as if to stroke her through the bars. But, growling low in her throat, she snapped at him, and Malinari withdrew his hand with no room to spare, saying, "Or perhaps not. For wolves are plaguy, treacherous beasts at best. But fine strong meat, Dinu Vadastra, I'll grant you that. And on that same subject, where, pray, are the rest of my animals — the ones who walk upright?"

'With which the unfortunate ones, all sorted and chained in a row — a man, a girl, a youth, a woman, and so on — were trooped out for Malinari's inspection. They had been caused to void themselves (for the sake of 'cleanliness'), then had been washed, groomed, and clad in good fur robes fastened with golden clasps.

And there they paraded, most with bowed heads, but a few of the younger men muttering (however unwisely), and the adult women sobbing, and this or that young girl far too prideful, too aware of her lithe Szgany sensuality, head tilted and dark eyes fluttering, daring to gaze on Malinari and even hoping to impress him. Ah, but The Mind was not easily impressed.

'He walked the line — or rather flowed along it, with that deceptive grace of the Wamphyri — and his tithesmen with him, senior men to the fore and juniors well to the rear. And whenever Malinari paused to look closer at one of his male acquisitions, then his senior lieutenants would step forward and take hold of the man, forcing wide his jaws so that the Great Vampire could examine his teeth. Then they would unfasten his gold clasp, displaying his naked body, and sometimes Malinari might indicate his approval of a youth's long limbs and broad shoulders, murmuring, "This one is for the making, I think. In Malstack, my vats stand empty." Or, "This one is a fighting man, tall and well muscled, aye." Or again, he might say nothing at all, but simply shake his head. For there was always the provisioning.

'In a while he came to one of those too-proud girls, who dared to gaze upon him, and paused. Again his senior tithesmen moved forward, one of them reaching for the clasp at the girl's throat to open her robe. But she was a beauty, and the lieutenant too eager. Noticing this, Lord Malinari caught at his hand and stayed it, then narrowed his eyes in a frown, saying:

' "Ah, but see how your blood courses, Stefanu. Why, I can feel it pulsing through your veins like a raging river.' And so you're a lustful one, are you? But you know — now that I think of it — I have often wondered why, when I send you out to collect my tithes, I get so few virgins…?"

' "Master, I—" said Stefanu, trying to back off. But Malinari held him, saying:

'Ah, ah, be still!" And he touched the index finger of his free hand to the man's brow. Stefanu groaned, jerked, began to lift his right hand where it was sheathed in a murderous gauntlet. This was a wholly reflex action, nothing more, but Malinari had seen it. His eyes blazed up at once, like coals under the bellows, and as his jaws elongated and his lips curled back from scythe-like teeth, so Stefanu fell to his knees and begged for mercy.

'Then for long moments Malinari's index finger trembled on his lieutenant's forehead, and his face writhed in a passion as he read the man's thoughts, at least the ones that were important to him. Until suddenly, straining as if from some enormous effort of will, he snatched back his hand and snarled:

' "Oh, you miserable, lecherous man! Consider yourself fortunate, for while I have had your thoughts, I've left your mind intact. Not out of any love for you, Stefanu Mindsthrall — ravisher of my women before I've so much as seen them — but because I may soon have need of you. And treacherous? Did I not see you raise your hand, your war-gloved hand, against me? Did you dare think to strike me? Perhaps you did! And so for now… begone! Remove! Take yourself from my sight. Get to your flyer and wait for me there, and consider your treacherous ways: what you have done this night, and to whom, and what it would be like to live out the rest of your life floundering and drooling, mindless in a pit of your own wastes — which might yet be your get from all this!"

'He released Stefanu, and when he had wriggled away, stumbled to his feet and fled, Malinari said to the girl, "My dear, give me your hand." She obeyed him at once. And using his mentalism he saw what only he could see, then asked her, "Are you truly a virgin?"

'"Oh yes, my Lord," she answered. And Malinari nodded and smiled.

' "Had you said no," he told her, "I might have made you a lieutenant's woman, for your honesty. But I abhor liars however pretty — especially little whores who would attempt my seduction by trying to hide their thoughts from me. Wherefore… no high station for you, young lady, but there are common thralls in my manse who will enjoy instructing you. Or you them, whichever!" And, wrinkling his nose, he shrugged and turned away from her.

'Malinari's inspection was over. And now he told Dinu Vadastra, "I am not displeased. Not with you and yours. But you've seen how I deal with them who would deny me my due. So now tell me truly: was this the best you could do?"

'"The Vadastras have never made finer wines or brandies," my father answered. "As for the foodstuffs, no better flesh may be bred or hunted, no purer honey or sweeter fruits foraged. On my word, my Lord, this is our best."

'"And what of the tithe in human flesh?" Malinari glanced at the robed ones in their chains. "Are these also the best you have to offer, or do you hold something in reserve?"

'"Again I've done my best," Dinu told him. "But certainly I must have a reserve — of good blood, good flesh for breeding — lest the Vadastras falter and become useless to you."

'And Malinari nodded and said, "This was always our understanding, aye. But Dinu, take heed, hard times are coming, and my needs are great. Do you see this dark cloud hanging over us, like a portent of ill-omen? What say you, chief of the Vadastras? It seems to me it bodes not well."

'And when my father glanced at the heavens — indeed there was a dark and hovering cloud, which until now had gone mainly unnoticed. It turned slowly in the night-dark skies over Vadastra territory, and within its writhing mass, riding the laden air, darker shapes seemed hidden.

'So that Dinu's voice was less certain, small and faltering, as he inquired, '"W-w-what does it mean, my Lord?"

'But The Mind's "cultured" tones were grown very deep and menacing now, and his scarlet eyes more truly aflame as he answered, "It means that despite our — what, our friendship? — and despite that you have been a true and honest man…"

'At which point there sounded a small commotion; a fluttering figure appeared at the rim of the tableau, and: "What? A true and honest man, this Dinu Vadastra? This so-called chief?

This great thief? I say wait, give me but a moment to show you that you are wrong, my Lord!" The voice was shrill and female.

'And Nadia, where she huddled close to me in my father's caravan, started and gasped, her hand flying to her mouth. For she had recognized the voice: that of her mother, Melana Zetra, who came hurrying now from her hiding place. And:

'"But what is this?" Malinari arched his eyebrows, and his forehead creased in a frown. "Someone dares to raise her voice, to interfere, and to command Nephran Malinari to wait?"

'For a moment Dinu Vadastra was stunned; likewise the rest of the clan, including Nadia and myself. But as Melana came in a rush, her hair awry and her face gaunt with fear — the terror of what she was about — it was observed that she wore a robe of offering. And indeed she was offering herself, of her own free will, to Malinari and his tithesmen! Ah, but she was offering a deal more than that.

'"What?" said Malinari again, in utter amaze, as she threw herself down before him, clawing the earth at his feet. "Is she a mad thing, that she interferes with the tithe?"

' "Mad with grief!" Melana cried, tearing her hair, throwing off her robe and kneeling there naked. "Mad with rage, and with outrage. For I have been cheated and used badly. My people, too, and even you, my Lord, cheated! All of us — by this man!" And she pointed a trembling finger at Dinu.

'It was the beginning of the end. And any observer could be forgiven for thinking that Dinu was himself Wamphyri — the way his eyes popped out like plums in his face, and the way he bared his teeth — as he threw himself upon Melana and bore her down. His knife rose over the tangle they made… until Malinari took it from him, tossed it away, then grabbed Dinu by the scruff of the neck and drew him upright. And:

'"Speak up!" he commanded Nadia's mother. "How have I been cheated? Oh, be sure I could learn it my way, but the process is harmful and your chief might easily lose all powers of reason. Moreover, I would like him to hear for himself what may yet harm him even more. So say on, woman: tell me how Dinu Vadastra has betrayed me." He looked at my father dangling in his grasp, his sandalled feet barely touching the ground, then grunted and thrust him away, sending him sprawling to the earth. Dinu would have attacked Melana again, at once, but a pair of lesser lieutenants were at his side, their gauntlets ready. And so he kept still.

'Then Melana spoke up, and the complaints she listed were the selfsame grievances that every decent Vadastra man, woman, or child capable of reasoned and intelligent thought had carried in his or her heart for long and long, without ever daring to give them substance. She spoke of the chiefs many prejudices, and of his favourites — such as herself — who remained hidden away, secret and undisclosed to the Great Lord of Vampires, when he sent his tithesmen out of Starside to collect his tribute; and of Dinu's treachery to his own tribesmen: how, if he were jealous of a man's prowess, or if he should be bested in some piddling campfire argument, then the better man might expect to find himself listed for the tithe. So that for long and long, no one had dared say Dinu no.

'Melana went on and on, as if she would never end. For as my father's odalisque, she had been privy to a great many wicked things in his caravan — all of his conspiracies with his cronies — in the time since her good husband, Banos, had been taken in the tithe. And so she lashed Dinu with her unforgiving tongue, which all the while gathered fire and passion; for Melana knew that, one way or the other, it was all done with now, and so she might as well do her worst.

'Then, towards the end, she spoke of her man, Banos Zetra; but here she broke down, sobbing her heart out when telling how Banos — a hunter whose contributions to the tithe had been significant — had been carried off to Malstack in Starside simply because Dinu Vadastra had fancied his wife for himself, and for no other reason.

'"And here I kneel before you," she finished at last, "the

living proof of all that I have said. But my man is in Starside and there's no place here for me now, for which reasons I would venture over the barrier mountains with you and yours, into the dark. And what of the ones that Dinu has hidden from you, great Lord? My daughter, whom he saves for his own worthless son. Aye, and that selfsame son, Korath, who skulks like a whipped dog in his father's caravan there?' At the last she threw herself flat on the earth, sobbing and clasping Malinari's feet.

'And Malinari was silent for a while, as he considered all that he had been told. But meanwhile his men were not idle. Two of them were at the withe door of my father's caravan; finding it barred from within, they tore it from its hinges. And one of them poked his head in and saw us, calling out: "They are here, my Lord. A youth and a girl, huddled in the dark like mice. The woman spoke the truth."

' "So," said Malinari, and his voice was doomful quiet now, even as quiet as the strange dark clouds circling overhead. "If she spoke the truth, then someone has lied. Bring these mice to me."

'But my father cried out, "My Lord! Have mercy, I beg you! He is my son, and the girl is his woman, and…"

' "And… you kept them from me," said Malinari, silencing him with a glance. "I was not shown them, nor asked if I wanted them. You desired no mercy of me then, only now. Like the child who steals a plum then asks if he may have one. Or in this case two plums… or three, if we include this good brave woman."

'He stooped and caught up Melana's robe, took her shoulder and drew her to her feet. "Cover yourself," he said. "I believe there may be a position for a hard-working woman — as an overseer of women — in Malstack in Starside. Moreover, I know of a certain thrall called Banos, who has not taken any woman of the manse in all the time he has served me. And Banos has served me well… unlike several I could name." He gloomed on Dinu Vadastra, then across the clearing to where a certain senior lieutenant sat all morose astride his flyer.

'And though Melana fastened her warm robe about her, still she shivered. She had felt the weird cold when Malinari touched her, the tendrils of sentient ice that flowed from his fingers. Yet still she was the brave one. "What of my daughter, my Lord? My beloved child, still innocent despite this unworthy Korath's vile embraces?"

'Malinari looked at her and raised an eyebrow. "You should be aware," he said, "of the thin line between bravery and utter folly. I'm not much known for listening to complaints, and even less for granting wishes." But then he sighed, and said, "First let me see this girl, this—"

'"Nadia," Melana told him.

'"As you will," Malinari nodded. "This Nadia. And for that matter, this unworthy Korath, too." And his lieutenants dragged Nadia and myself before him. Thus I came face to face with Lord Nephran Malinari, of the Wamphyri.'

' "Are you your father's son?" he questioned me. ' "Eh? Er, pardon?" (For how to answer such a question?) ' "Eh? Pardon?" He mimicked me. "Are you a cheat and a liar like your father, Dinu Vadastra?"

'Well, I wasn't like my father to that extent. But big and brawny I was, and perhaps a little stupid, too. "I'm no cheat," I told him. "And no man calls me a liar."

'When he moved I did not even see it! But I felt his clout, the thud of his back-hander against the side of my head, making my ears ring and knocking me off my feet. Well, it seemed plain to me that I had offended him. Now it was time to die — but not without a fight. I sprang up — and was at once pinioned by the men who had brought us from the caravan. But struggle as best I might I couldn't shift them or throw them off. And Malinari, he laughed, saying:

' "Hold still and listen. You are big and handsome, and you are strong as a bull shad… and you are mine.' Unworthy? Well, maybe. We'll wait and see if blood runs true. But first there's work for you, a chance to prove yourself, in Starside."

'He turned to Nadia. "You're the image of your mother. But are you as brave? Will you come into Starside, of your own free will, to be a vampire with your father and your mother there?"

'"I have no other life, Lord," she answered.

'"But you will have," Malinari told her. "For you shall be a stable-maid, tending my flyers in their pens, in Malstack."

'Then in a trice, in a flowing motion too fast to follow, he leaned to her neck and bit her! It was the work of a moment, to put his life — or undeath — into her, then into her mother, so that, swooning, they collapsed on the earth. And finally Malinari turned once more to me.

'Held fast by his men, and stiffened by my terror, I could do nothing but stand stock-still, like a shad in the slaughter-yard, with my eyes half-shuttered.

'But no, he merely wrinkled his nose at me, and his lieutenants did the rest…'

CHAPTER TWENTY Dark Lords Of Starside

Korath Mindsthrall was in Jake Cutter's mind as surely as his own thoughts, so that rather than having the story related to him, it was as if Jake lived it.

And that's dangerous, said Harry Keogh, 'awakening' Jake to his true position, in the wrecked sump of the deserted Romanian Refuge. Except that wasn't the true picture (or his true location) either, for in fact he was only there by courtesy of Harry's mind-link. Jake's living, sleeping, dreaming body was airborne in a jetcopter flying east, somewhere over the Australian Simpson Desert.

'Dangerous?' Jake said, hugging his knees where he sat on a slab of concrete fallen from the ceiling, watching the black waters of the sump gurgling by. 'What is?'

To let a vampire — even a dead one — get that deep into your mind, Harry answered darkly. That's what's dangerous. And I think our friend Korath is stretching things out a hit. But:

am telling it the way it was! (Korath's Voice' again, protesting). You have asked me to tell you about Malinari the Mind. How may I comply without describing his deeds, defining his wickedness?p>

Very well, Harry told him. That's accepted. But I'm sure you can do it a little faster. Our time is limited here.

I shall do my best, Korath answered, grumblingly. But in any case, the rest of that night is a blur, for I had been bitten, vampirized by Malinari's

lieutenants. The scenes… they all flow into one in the eye of my memory. Perhaps I desire to forget them, for what remains of them is… not pleasant. And the Vadastras were my people, after all.

Then he was silent for a moment or two, until in a little while he picked up the thread of his story…

'The bite of the vampire brings about a weakness, a lethargy, a heaviness of limbs and thoughts alike. If Malinari himself had taken my blood — and in the process transfused something of his essence — then I would remember nothing at all until much later. But I was strong and his lieutenants were only thralls. Oh, they were powerful men, and each and every one an aspirant, but they were not yet Wamphyri!

'Nadia and her mother, I saw them carried off towards the flyers while I reeled between the two who had recruited me. And Malinari, seeing that I was conscious, nodded his approval — of me, my strength, I suppose. But my senses were swimming as from drinking too much brandy; if one of his lieutenants had let go of an arm, I'm sure I would have fallen.

'Then… I remember… or I seem to remember… Malinari's voice raised, calling to my people, the entire Vadastra clan where they huddled at the far side of the clearing. "Come join me," he called. "Eat, drink, partake of my tribute. For I shall free you of tyranny this night. This hated chief-this Dinu, of whom I've heard complaint — he is no more. Nor shall I require any more of you from now on. For I perceive that you have given enough. I free you, to be as you will, to do as you will, and to go where you will. Malinari has spoken… so let it be." And his eyes burned brighter yet as he used his mentalism to reinforce his message, sending out his vampire thoughts to touch upon their minds.

'And drugged though I was — or rather, tainted with the essence of vampirism which now flowed in my veins — even I saw the pictures that Malinari painted in the minds of the people. Indeed, I may even have seen them more clearly because of that essence; but by that selfsame token I knew that those pictures lied:

'The glad bright faces of the young ones where they wandered hand in hand through the woods. The campfires where musicians played their bazouras and tambours; and meat roasting on spits while the menfolk clapped and young girls whirled in the dance. And wheeled caravans, trundling through the woods as of yore, bearing a people as free as the air; or at least free of Nephran Malinari, if not the rest of the Warnphyri. True travellers again, aye, in the forests of Sunside— '—And all a lie.

'"Come, bring your cups," Malinari cried. "Come drink with me, to your freedom!" And his men went among my people, leading them to the tables laden with tribute.

'But supported between those who had converted me, with my poor sick head lolling this way and that, I saw how the strange dark cloud — that cloud of ill-omen — was settling towards the clearing, and how a ground mist was once more gathering in the earth.

'As for my father:

'It cannot be said that he had been a good man, but where he grovelled now under the sandalled foot of a brawny lieutenant… who can say what thoughts passed through his mind? One thing for sure: he knew Malinari for a great deceiver, and his mind-pictures for lies. Also, he knew that he was done for; or, in Malinari's own words, that the "hated chief of the Vadastras was "no more". Wherefore, what had he to lose? At least he might make a quick end of it.

'Squirming free of the lieutenant's foot, Dinu sprang up, pointed at the hovering cloud, and cried, "He brings his warrior creatures! He calls them down upon your heads! He destroys the Vadastras entire! Flee for your lives! Flee!"

'Too late, for again Lord Malinari was employing his mentalism, and now his pictures told the truth:

Warriors circling in the shrouding cloud, held aloft on their fully-inflated gas bladders, extended air~scoop mantles, and spiralling updraughts from Sunside's night forests. Now they channelled gas to their propukors, trimmed their mantles, came sputtering and issuing their poisonous vapours, descending towards the woods about the central clearing. And flanking them, controlling their tight aerial formation, a host of manta flyers, their eager thrall riders gauntleted to a man, and their purpose all too obvious!

'The tithe? Hah! Don't talk to me of tithes. Never such a tithe in all the history of Sunside. The tribute? But Malinari had come to claim the greatest tribute of all: an entire clan!

'The people fled. Coughing, choking, sickened by the vile exhaust fumes of Malinari's warriors, they fled for the forest… but again, too late. For the night was now a greater nightmare than ever. Hideous beasts were descending on the caravans and rude dwellings about the central clearing, flattening them to the earth. Vampire thralls slid down ropes dangling from the flyers. The people were surrounded. There was no escape!

'And through all of this, that demon Lord's laughter tinging out. And my father on his knees now, wringing his hands and asking, "But why, Lord, why? Tell me this is not of my doing."

'Above the thunder of raging warriors, the cries of lusting lieutenants and thralls, and the screams of the doomed people, Lord Malinari heard him. He swept back his robe, took his gauntlet from his belt and thrust his hand into it, answering, "Your doing? Yours, Dinu? Do you truly think that anything you could do would be of any moment in this world? Because you were devious, is that your meaning? No, you fool, nothing is of your doing! Why, there never was a supplicant chief in all Sunside — from here to the furnace desert — who was not an enormous liar and cheat! It is your nature, even as it's mine."

' "But Lord, if not to punish me, why do you do this thing? Towards what end…?" Dinu's jaw had fallen open; his eyes were wide in a face that craved understanding. And:

'"It is the provisioning," Malinari told him. "But a great provisioning! My manse is a fortress where in times of peace we do well enough. But soon the peace will be ended. I am building an army, Dinu, and my needs are great. For in Starside a bloodwar is in the offing, and bloodwars are built on blood. In this case, yours.'"

'With which he flexed his hand inside his glove, until all its hooks and blades stood out. And he cried out to his men and monsters: "Take the young and healthy alive as best you can. As for the children, the middling-old and the dodderers — they are fodder." Then, to my father:

'"And you, Dinu… alas, you're middling-old."

'His gauntlet of bright metal made a downward-sweeping arc in the smoky firelight, then gleamed red — dripped red — where he held it up to the reeking night. Almost as red as his eyes.

'And after that I saw no more…'

'… Until I awakened in Malstack, my Lord's manse in Starside.

'Now, an aerie is an aerie, and all of them much alike. Or at least they were in the olden times. Since when it seems some terrible vengeance has visited itself upon Starside; for I have seen the cadavers of those same vast dwellings, like the skeletal spines of giants, lying sprawled and broken where they fell on the barren boulder plains. And only hollow stumps remaining, mute revenants of castles that once were mighty.

'However, and in the time of which I speak:

'The Mind's manse stood far out on the plains, at the rim of that great clump of carven stacks, spires, and towers whereof the vampire Lords were wont to fashion their homes. Guarding its lower levels — in the scree jumbles at its foot, and in its high-walled, gantletted approaches — Malstack had many flightless warriors faithful only to Lord Malinari, who was after all their father. Lean and hungry, they were ever watchful.

'Within: there were wells in the aerie's basement, flabby siphoneers in the stubby turret of its roof, and in between all manner of levels to house Malinari's men and monsters, his vats of metamorphism and other workshops, stables for his flyers and warriors alike, launching bays, barracks for the soldiers, kitchens, workplaces, and quarters for specialist thralls such as weavers, metal-and leather-workers, and even musicians. Music, aye! For The Mind had something of an ear for Szgany tunes. The stringed bazoura, with its swift, sweetly liquid notes, was like a balm to ease the pain of his troubled head. For his mentalism was all things to Malinari: a blessing and a bane. One thing to hear the mere voices of men — when you have the power to stop them with a command or simple gesture — but something else to hear their very thoughts, so clamorous loud in your mind that you must struggle not to hear them!

'That was the curse of Malinari's mentalism: that it was there whether he wanted it or not. That while giving it direction, controlling it, took a great effort of will, shutting out its generally useless babble — the tumult of an entire aerie's thoughts — were almost impossible! And when the sun was up and the barrier mountains rimmed in gold, many a sleepless day for my master if not for the musicians who laved his mind with the songs of Sunside.

'But I fear I have strayed. For I was speaking of Malstack and now have returned to Malinari. Or perhaps not, for this was what you wanted: to learn about The Mind and his ways. And anyway, and as I've said, an aerie is an aerie, and all much of a kind. Enough of Malstack.

'So, what else can I tell you of my master as was? Let me think a moment…

'His origins? Oh, yes, I know of them also. For with time, after I had proved myself as a thrall, rising through the ranks to become a lieutenant — and when during the bloodwars I became the first of his lieutenants — we got to be close, Malinari and I. Well, as close as master and slave can get. And upon a time, during a brief lull when we took respite in Malstack, I remember he said to me:

' "Do you know, but what is in the blood usually comes out in the flesh?"

'To which I replied, "Master?"

'"Your father," he said. "Do you know how he became chief of the Vadastras?"

' "I was a child at the time," I answered, "But yes, I remember. You made him the chief, my Lord."

' "And do you know why?"

'"I have no idea, Lord."

'"Several reasons. One: because he desired the job. Among Szgany supplicants it takes a strong man — a man with a strong stomach — to be a chief and give away his own people. Two: because he was big and insensitive and a bully born, which I suppose is much the same as one. And three: because Dinu was rare among men, one of a small number that I could bear to converse with. Or rather, with whom I conversed on a level, without concerning myself whether or no they lied, and so not caring."

'"I am trying to understand, master," I told him, since it seemed he required an answer.

'"I divine men's thoughts," Malinari explained. "When they think against me, then I am… angered. And when I am angered, then I lose good men. Wherefore it sometimes serves me well not to read them! And I tell you, I lied to your father when I told him that his devious ways were known to me. Suspected, perhaps, but never known for a fact, not until the night when that woman he'd used betrayed him. Not that it mattered greatly; the Vadastras were doomed anyway, fuel for my bloodwar. Let me make myself plain: your father's mind was closed to me. As is yours." '"Mine, Lord?"

'"Indeed, for what is in the blood comes out in the flesh. You are heir to Dinu's mental processes… your minds are much alike, so that your thoughts, too, are vague and shadowy things to me, which I read as through a writhing mist. Oh, I could get to them more directly; should we say, by contact:3 With the very brain that holds them? For, as you are surely aware, these fingers of mine are especially gifted in their own right. Alas, but that would probably mean the

loss of yet another good man. That is a luxury which I cannot afford."

'"No, Lord," I said, and I admit I backed off a pace. "No, indeed, Lord!"

'But Malinari merely tut-tutted and shook his head, then winced and twitched a little as was sometimes his wont, saying, "No, no! Have no fear, Korath. For while the rest of this manse of mine is filled with men and creatures — creatures with minds that make noise and babble and uproar in my bead, even when all else is silent! — you seem as empty as those great dark spaces out between the stars. Oh, yes, and I like you for it."

'Then in the privacy of my master's chambers, we would sit and listen to his music together — and I would try my best not to think…'

'He told me of his beginnings.

'His father was Wamphyri: Giorgas Malin, who sniffed out even the craftiest of the Szgany by tracking the aura of their fear. He wasn't a mentalist as such — he read no minds — but he was sensitive to sentience, and knew when intelligent, fear-filled minds were close by. He sensed the shuddering and trembling of the very brains of his prey, even when they themselves were still and silent. Wherefore Sunside's nomads feared Malin worse than any other Lord; for despite their skill at cloaking their thoughts, he was usually able to discover them. In short, his talent had been similar to that of his son. Indeed, it had been the source of Malinari's mentalism.

'Or it was one of the sources. For, of course, Malinari was right: what's in the blood will out in the flesh. But it takes two to make a bloodson, a vampire born of woman, and The Mind's mother was a Szgany healer, whose power was in her hands. Do you understand the principle? She could cure the sick and the fevered by holding them, stroking them, by balming them with her lullabies and her loving touch. Ah, but I see that there are such in your world, too… faith healers, yes. And I also see that some are fakers, here as in my world. But Illula was the real thing.

'So, hunting in Sunside one night Giorgas found Illula the Healer — who had no man, for she had given her life over to her calling — and saw that she was beautiful. He had heard of her; the Wamphyri had their spies in Sunside, and little escaped the notice of the Starside Lords. However, there was no requirement for a healer in Giorgas's manse or in any of the aeries, for common ailments were unheard of among the Wamphyri, whose systems are so imbued with evil that lesser evils can gain no foothold. I exclude, of course, the various mutations, autisms, metamorphisms and madnesses with which the Great Vampires were ever afflicted, if afflicted is the right word. For apart from lunacy — oh, yes, and leprosy, the so-called "bane of vampires" — these other conditions were rarely considered illnesses at all; they were simply facts of life and longevity. For where men in their old age are prone to aches and pains, vampires in theirs are prone to all manner of weirdness.

'At any rate, while Illula's skills were of little use to Giorgas, her beauty — not to mention her virginity, which was a rarity in females of an age, even in Sunside — was a sure fascination. And of course he had the latter from her, then had her to wife. Yes, for Giorgas wanted sons to manage his aerie, and where better to get them than from a handsome woman? According to Lord Malinari, his sire was not without good looks himself; which perhaps accounts for The Mind's darkly handsome appearance.

'Ah, but the rare combination of Malinari's parents' talents accounted for a lot more than his merely physical attributes…

'So, Illula the Healer was vampirized, and of course suffered the sleep of change. When she awakened, she was Wamphyri! And Giorgas's manse now had both master and mistress. But if men should be careful in choosing their wives, how much more careful in the making of vampires? Especially Great Vampires.

'Anyway, Illula was Wamphyri, and a deal of Giorgas's essence was circulating within her; even the first nodes and

filaments and foetal foulness of a parasite leech, gathering to her spine to suck on its marrow. That is ever the way of it. But as if to compensate for such depredations, the burgeoning vampire invariably accentuates the senses of the initiate. Not only the five mundane senses, but also — when such enhancement is of benefit to the parasite — any additional senses…

'Illula and Giorgas shared a bed and, of course — being his wife now and a Great Vampire in her own right — she clung to him through long Starside days, when the spires of the tallest aeries glowed golden in the seething rays from Sunside. And when her Lord started or moaned in his sleep (for even the most terrible of the Wamphyri are prone to nightmares, and some even more so, which usually spring from memories of their own conversions or initiations), then she would employ her healer's hands to soothe his brow and her soft-crooned lullabies to drive away whichever terrors invaded his dreams. But in the twilight before the night — when despite her ministrations he would come awake showing little or no benefit from his rest — then Illula would be nonplussed; and Lord Malin, he would laze around Malstack as if suffering from a crippling malaise… which he was. And she was it.

'The fault lay in her once-healing hands, her once-calming songs, her once-balming presence. For now, enhanced by Giorgas's vampire essence and her ascension, her healing powers were reversed. Before, where Illula had given life — or at least given it back — now she drew it off. She battened on it like… why, like a vampire, naturally! For even if she would have it otherwise, her vampire would not. And there never was a vampire who gave of life, nor would there ever be.

'Thus Giorgas's life-force was drawn from him, and while he grew weak she grew strong, and her vampire stronger still. Wamphyri, aye, and what a monster she would have made. Except that wasn't to be.

'For she was pregnant by Giorgas, and on the day he died gave birth to a boy child whom she called Nephran, because that is the Szgany word for a wrong that may not be righted. And she knew that bringing this child into the world was wrong, but her mothering instinct made her keep him. As for his surname: certain tribes (Illula's being one such) used "ari" as an alternative to "son". Thus instead of Malinson, he became Nephran Malinari.

'And as he grew to a man so the strange mixture or mutation of the joint skills of both of his parents — that which had been in their blood — came out in his flesh and grew with him. But unlike his father's half-mentalism, Nephran's was whole and wholly monstrous, and unlike Illula's healing touch, his was an evil life-devouring Power right from the beginning. And in combination these altered talents matured into the form which made him what he was and what he still is: Malinari the Mind. 'His love of music, he got that from his mother. Likewise his blinding headaches: she also passed those down to him. For, as a healer in Sunside, that had been her payment — or lack of payment — for the good works she did: something of the illnesses of her patients transferred to her, presumably so that they might be cured! But in Nephran these migraines were made worse, complicated by the tumultuous, pounding thoughts of others.

'Well, and there we have the man. As for his mother: 'As time passed Illula's mind slowly slipped from her… or at least, the problems started with her mind. But gradually she developed so many illnesses in her body, boils and bruises, cankers and gangrenes, aches and pains and general disabilities, that her vampire was hard put to keep up. Let her parasite cure one disorder, another would spring up in its place. In Illula's more lucid moments, she would try to explain these things away: they were all the ailments she had cured in Sunside, now coming out in her. For her capacity for good had been robbed from her, and with it whatever was in her that kept these evils at bay.

'She might have died a slow death, or Malinari might have seen fit to put her away, but it didn't come to that. Illula's time

was up and she knew it. When her son was eighteen she gave him Malstack, took a flyer and flew back to Sunside in the twilight before the dawn. Over the barrier mountains the sun found her, and she and her flyer both paid their dues in smoke, steam and stench.

'Well, and so much for Nephran Malinari's beginnings.' With which, finally, Korath was finished. For a while, at least…

Korath, you've done well so far, said Harry. But his deadspeak voice was noticeably fainter now. And before the extinct vampire could begin preening, Jake queried:

'Are you all right, Harry?'

I am… called to many places, the other answered. I can be me as a boy, and as a man, or I can stand off and, watch myself as I was. But I'm not much for doing what's already been done. And there are places to be where I need to be a lot more completely than I am here. None of which will make much sense to you, I know. But physically, I can effect very little here, except I do it through you.

And Korath added, hopefully: And through me?

But Harry shook his incorporeal head. You are less than I am. You can affect nothing, unless someone were foolish enough to let you get too deep into his mind, into his bones— which isn't going to happen. Jake, be warned: this Korath was a four~hundred-y ear-old vampire. If you should ever need to speak to him again, don't open your mind to him, not all the way. Never let him in, or you could end up carrying him. with you forever.

And Jake shivered, hugged himself and said, 'Don't let it worry you. I can't see me returning to this place without damn' good reason.' And the water gurgled darkly, and the sump stank of nitre and stale explosives, of horror and death and crumbling, shock-stressed concrete.

Then… you are finished here? Korath's doomful voice trembled. And is this my fate, to be left alone down here forever? Why, you have not even thanked me, much less pardoned me for being what I was made to be!

Thanked you? Harry said, his voice still far-distant and faintly echoing. Pardoned you? How many women did you rape and vampirize when you and your master %unted' the Szgany in Sunside? How many good men have you killed with your gauntlet and your bare hands?

Agghhh! Korath cried. And: Ah, no, don't… don't remind me! he pleaded. That wasn't me! Or it was, but I was driven to do these things. I was driven by… driven by my… (But here he came to an abrupt, stumbling, tongue-biting halt.)

… By your leech? Harry finished it for him. Your leech, Korath? And then to Jake: Do you see what I mean? Nothing more devious than a vampire, even when he's dead. This one had developed a leech and was ready to ascend. And Malinari was right to recruit him, for he was obviously the right stuff.

'But he is dead now/ Jake answered. 'And being dead, what more mischief can he possibly get up to?'

I sometimes wonder if you listen at all! Harry told him. can only hope you'll remember some of this when you're awake.p>

'Lord, who would want to?' Jake replied, then shivered and hugged himself tighter yet. 'And talking about being awake — or, if not awake, at least out of this place — aren't we just about finished here?'

Jake, (Harry sighed) try to get this foxed in your stubborn head. I'm not sure I'll be back. I may not be able to come back. So while I am here you had better be taking in everything you can. And whatever else you do, remember that in future time I've seen your blue life~thread crossed by the red of vampires. So, like it or not, one way or the other it's coming.

And Harry's deadspeak voice — despite that it was fainter yet

— was so sincere, so urgent and fraught, that finally Jake had to take note of what it was telling him. With which he resigned himself yet again, and said: 'So… what's next?'

Korath isn't finished, Harry answered, with something of a sigh

— but different this time because it was a sigh of relief, not one of frustration. We still don't know how he — how they — ended up here. We've only heard half of the story, and we still don't know very much at all about Vavara and Szwart.

Jake might have contradicted him, for he had learned something of Vavara and Szwart himself, from Lardis Lidesci. Before he could speak, however:

Nor are you going to know much about them! (Korath's surly voice.) Not from me, anyway. For you are ungrateful, and I have spoken my last. But:

Not your last and not nearly enough, Harry told him. Bluster all you like, Koratl, but I say you will speak.

Oh, and are you then a necromancer after all? Korath queried, sarcastically. If so, perhaps I should point out that I've neither living nor dead flesh for you to worry with your pincers and hot irons.

That's very true, Harry replied. But I think I could probably find a bone or two, washed clean in this pipe — if I were a necromancer. But I'm not, and anyway there's no need. For you know as well as I that as little as you are now, if we take our leave of you then you'll be even less. Or is our company worth nothing? In which case we must assume that you prefer this endless darkness, this eternal silence, and leave it at that. And leave you for ever and ever.

After a long moment it seemed that Korath sobbed, but very quietly. Until finally he answered: But you're a cold and cruel one, Harry Keogh.

And Harry told him, Ah, but I had good teachers. And they were vampires, too. So say on while you still have the chance, Korath, and while we are still here to bear you out…

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE A Dark Lady… and a Darker Lord

'Fuelled by blood, Nephran Malinari's bloodwars were a terrible scourge on humanity/ Korath picked up the threads of his story. 'For as long as he ravaged on Sunside to provision fortress Malstack, so must the rest of the Wamphyri forage, lest Malinari's army so outstrip theirs as to whelm them under. Thus the Szgany suffered as never before — at least, not for sixty thousand sunups—' (twelve hundred years) 'since the mythic and immemorial time of Shaitan the Unborn's great wars, before he was unseated and banished north to the Icelands.

'The Mind's foes were many, his friends few. Even the latter were not his "friends" in the human sense of the word, that sort of comradeship being so rare among the Wamphyri as to be a myth in its own right! But at any rate, his dubious allies were Vavara — a Lady in all but name, for she would not accept that men call her "Lady" for fear it might damage her status by making her seem less than a Lord — and Szwart, which was the only name that suited a Thing such as he. Szwart, which means darkness! For indeed he was darkness, literally the darkest of all the Lords of the Wamphyri; something which I shall endeavour to explain in a little while. But for now, so much for Malinari's allies. Oh, there was a handful more, but Nephran, Szwart and Vavara (who insisted upon the status of a man despite her obvious, indeed devastating feminine charms and attributes), they were the generals, the triumvirate, the Big Three.

'Then there were The Mind's foes, the enemy proper; first and foremost, Drama! Doombody, the most powerful of the Wamphyri of that period. Some thirty years earlier, at the pinnacle of his power, Drama! had contracted leprosy from a comely Szgany woman in whom the disease had seeded itself but was not yet manifest; since when he had accepted to be known as "Lord Doombody". For, of course, his body was doomed, no matter how long it might take the great "Bane of Vampires" to run its course.

'As to Dramal's surname prior to his long-term but inevitably lethal error, I have no knowledge. But I do know that his aerie, Dramstack — one of the most massive of all the stacks — was generally avoided as a pesthole, even in my time. Nathless, before Dramal's leprosy began wearing on him — which is to say, for the duration of Malinari's war — he shared his stack with a lesser "colleague", Lord Zaddok Zangastari, who had the topmost ramparts and the aerie's penultimate level (called Zadscar, because it was his headquarters, and also because of its external figuration of slanting gouges) for his own. Not that Zaddok was in any way careless of his health, but this sharing was an expedience of war: since Dramstack (including Zadscar) stood close to Darkspire, Lord Szwart's manse near the centre of the clump, it were better that two armies occupy Dramal's vast aerie, thus presenting a powerful front across the dividing gulf and threatening Szwart's forces with a partial siege at least.

'But as for battle tactics… I cannot admit to any great authority. These things I mention were overheard and remembered from those occasions when Nephran's war-council of three — himself, Szwart, and Vavara — met in whichever of their aeries to consider and order the ongoing hostilities. So let me not stray but get on with naming names:

'After Dramal and Zadok came Lord Belath, a young Lord who had just the one name, with no sire's name and no cognomen.

Perhaps there was some secret in his ancestry that he did not wish divulged. As for a descriptive name or device which might best characterize him — there were some who fancied him "Belath the Beast", though I'm certain that no one ever suggested it to his face. Need I say more?

'But if Belath were beastly, then what of Lord Lesk, known as Lesk the Glut? For Lesk was a young berserker, only recently ascended, who was given to abandon himself as totally in battle as in his gluttony. Easily offended, he had even been known to take umbrage at his own personal warriors! If they were idle in answering his call, Lesk would work himself into a frenzy, challenge them to combat and beat them soundly… before returning them to their basics in his vats of metamorphism. And when his fury was in abeyance and his mood improved, then he would find time to rebuild them all over again. Thus, while The Glut could never be reckoned one of the great schemers, he was most certainly a mighty engine of destruction.

'Nor were the vampire Lords alone in their awful strength and monstrous habits; many of Starside's Ladies were certainly their peers in malign intent, and a deal more devious and treacherous in their scheming. Vavara, who took sides with Malinari (we shall get to her, aye), was only one such; there were plenty of others who came close equals in malevolence. For example: Lady Jemma Freydaskith, of Hagspire.

'But surely the name of her manse says it all! Jemma was a hag, and a lustier, more ancient, wicked and withered hag there never was! Similarly, and where the name of her aerie describes her nature, surely the Lady's surname describes its origin. For there was only ever one Freyda among the Wamphyri, and that was Freyda Ferenc in the days of Shaitan the Unborn. Jemma Freydaskith knew the myths associated with that Lady's name; she likewise associated them with her own peculiarities of habit — her idiosyncrasies? — and so claimed direct descent from that ancient line. Now normally this would be disputable; the Wamphyri were bad record-keepers; living so long (some of them), history was yesterday to them; they saw no point in looking back beyond their own immediate forebears. But Jemma was reputed to be more than seven hundred years old! Since no one else had memories of that primeval time, who was there to dispute her claim?

'Anyway, while true histories, pedigrees and lineages were scarcities among the Wamphyri, certain myths were such as would live forever. Just so, and the myths surrounding Freyda Ferenc — while the Lady herself was long gone into oblivion — were of that order. Obviously she had been a Ferenczy, which in itself loaned authenticity to Jemma's claim, insofar as the Ferenczys were present in every Starside myth and legend (or at least the few that existed), even the most ancient of them. And what with Jemma's — predilections? — it seemed certain that something of Freyda's blood had found its way down the ages to her.

'For Freyda Ferenc had been gross of face and form, a veritable troll, with the thick skin of a trog and the fangs of a warrior! Men, even the most powerful of Lords, shrank from her person (likewise from her smell: she never washed) since for her hideous pleasure she was known to suffocate male and female thralls alike with her sex! Which of itself was surely quite enough to make her a legend in her own time and a mythical figure in mine… but there was more.

'Freyda was that merciful rarity: a Mother of Vampires who, when she was ripe and in her final confinement, produced an hundred eggs, being so depleted during the which that she withered to a wisp and expired. But her spawn, all save one egg, was diseased and likewise died. The lone surviver fused with Bela Manculi, a Szgany thrall, and Bela became heir to Freydastack.

'And so to the final proof of Jemma's lineage, if such were needed: her sire had been Lord Bela Belari, or "Bela's son" — an ancient in his own right — which might well make Jemma the great-granddaughter of Freyda Ferenc! Anyway, and having eschewed her father's name, "Freydaskith" was what Jemma had called herself for thirty-five thousand sunups, during which her life-style had more than adequately supported her claim to the noxious ancestral connection in which she revelled…

'I have digressed! Yet by your silence I'm encouraged that I have interested you—

'—But on the other hand I sense your impatience, too, so now let me get on with it — which I would, gladly, except there is one more Lord of that era who was or is worthy of mention… 'Shaitan the Unborn, before his banishment, had spread his spawn far and wide in Starside. And in those mythic times there were even Lords who were more trog than man… which in itself speaks of Shaitan's depravity. But there again, among the Wamphyri, miscegenation, incest, bestiality, and other perversions could scarcely be considered uncommon. And anyway, who am I to criticize? For Shaitan was after all the first of all, with no one to show him the way when he strayed or say him nay when he erred.

'Thus, despite that he was gone, his line lived on. Bloodsons and a few — daughters bore Shaitan's name and likeness down the march of years. And each and every one of them proud of the connection, even as he had been proud in his time, with a pride that knew no shame, for which ultimately he had paid the price. But his heirs cared nothing for that, cared only that they were spawn of the spawn of Shaitan the Unborn, the first Great Vampire, the one true Lord and sire of the Wamphyri.

'And just as the first of his vampire progeny had borrowed from their illustrious forebear's name in the earliest days of Starside mythology (Lords and Ladies such as Sheilar the Slut, Shaithar Shaitanson, Shailar the Hagridden, Shaithag the Harrower, Shang Shaitari, and Shaithos Longarm), so in my time his descendants — or perhaps I should say descendant, for by then there was only one of "pure" or direct line of descent — continued this great vanity. And that one's name was Shaithis.

'Shaithis was a "young" Lord then, little more than a hundred years of age. But of course he could be as young or as old as he willed it; simply a matter of rigidly controlled metamorphism. And Lord Shaithis — who took no other name or sigil, but deemed his titular connection a blazon and statement sufficient in its own right — willed himself forever young and handsome.

'So he was, indeed beautiful, despite that he was as evil as any of the Great Vampires, and probably more so than most of them; and clever, too, skilled in controlling the lesser Lords, who were a rabble, adrift, and of little strategic consequence under Drama! Doombody. And not only men, but Shaithis was also good with monsters. His vats bred many a nightmarish warrior.

'These and other attributes of leadership were proven during the course of Malinari's bloodwar of a thousand sunups, so that Shaithis rose even to the rank of Dramal himself, becoming his righthand man and equal. And while many Lords were lost in that holocaust of blood, Shaithis went from strength to strength, until everyone supposed he would be a Power one day…

'And he probably was, but alas I was not there to see it. For my master and his allies were the losers. Malinari, Vavara, and Szwart, they were whelmed under, their great aeries sacked, their possessions looted, and their thralls and creatures converted.

'Well, as was the way of it in those days, they were banished north to the Icelands forever. And I, Korath Mindsthrall, my master's chief lieutenant… I went with them, of course.

'As to how it happened:

'In the beginning, Nephran Malinari was short of friends. And this had always been the case, ever since his mother Illula flew off into the sun and left him Malstack for his own. It was his weird talent that cost him the "companionship" of the other Lords and Ladies. They could not trust him; they even feared to be close to him, who could be into their minds so easily. Also, his stack was a mighty fortress filled with men and beasts, and it was suspected that his ambitions reached beyond his station. Which of course they did, like the ambitions of all of them who were Lords. For lust, greed, and territorialism were ever their way of life.

'But isn't it true that a man who cannot make friends will usually make enemies? And as easily as that, the rumours sprang up: that Malinari was searching out allies and making ready his aerie for a bloodwar to rival the mythic wars of yore. But when I say "easily", that is not to say quickly; I would remind you that time is of small concern to the Wamphyri, and in fact the enmity that developed between The Mind and the others took decades in its shaping.

"Thus, when Malinari ravaged among the supplicant Vadastra clan on the night that I was taken and my people destroyed, his terrible tithe-gathering venture wasn't solely of his initiation or invention; Lord Doombody was also provisioning, and likewise the rest of the vampire Lords.

'Aye, for the simple truth of it was that they each feared each other. And fear fuelled fear, do you see?

'So naturally when The Mind first observed how his mentalist talents had isolated him, indeed he commenced searching out others who might also be under threat, to enlist their aid. Nor were they hard to find:

'The Lady Vavara, for one, but I use the term "Lady" where she would not because I have seen and been close to her; and to see her… There never was a more perfect definition of femininity, though whether or no she affected her outward appearance (as, for instance, did Shaithis, by means of metamorphism), of that I have no knowledge. But I find it hard to ascribe so much beauty to Nature alone. Yet if she was Nature's handiwork… then why was that work so perfected in a female of the Wamphyri? It is a paradox to which I have no answer.

'So, I have seen and been near her — too near and once too often, for I believe it was Vavara bade Malinari ram me in this pipe! — yet I cannot recall her clearly to memory. Perhaps that in itself defines her beauty: that its power is such as to maze common men, and no less common women. But here another paradox: for despite that she was that beautiful — a beguiler, a gorgeous witch, a sensuous sorceress — still she was unsure of

herself, uncertain of her beauty. I can offer no other explanation for her habits, that a goddess (albeit a demon goddess) such as she was so offended by the concept of beauty in others that she could not bear it, and so was wont to remove the breasts, lips, noses, and other parts of her female thralls to make them ugly!

'There, in a nutshell, we have Vavara. And just as my vampire world was separated in two parts that were opposites, Sunside and Starside, so was she separated: her luminous exterior from the dark and swirly deeps within.

'She was Malinari the Mind's first choice as an ally; not because he lusted after her but because he knew that certain of the other Lords did. And Vavara had determined she would not be any Lord's woman, nor would she ever take a man until she found one who was at least her equal in desirability. An unlikely occurrence, for she was the one who had described Shaithis — generally considered godlike — as a mere "lump" of a man! Oh, she took men, be sure, but they were her thralls and easily disposable in the unlikely event of complications.

'And Vavara, too, had heard rumours of a bloodwar in the offing, and also how Lesk the Glut had been boasting of what he would do to her after he'd sacked Mazemanse, her spindly, fretted, many-spired aerie where it stood not far from Malstack and Lord Szwart's Darkspire. How he would put out her ruby-red eyes to kill their fascination, singe her eyebrows, her long lashes, and the hair of her head to make her a hag, then fuck her every opening into great holes fit only for shads in the rut. Hah! So much for Vavara's "beauty", if Lesk the Glut had his way! Is it any wonder she sided with Malinari?

'And finally there was Lord Szwart. But if I have found it difficult to describe Vavara, how then shall I portray Szwart who was and still is literally indescribable? For, of course, all three of them are extant still…

'… I see by your silence that you would have what I know, despite that I know so little. So be it; what knowledge is mine shall be yours, no more nor less.

'As to who or what Szwart is: the best that I can offer — he is Wamphyri! But he is the essence of Wamphyri, distilled or filtered by the foulness of his forebears, mutated beyond recognition not by Nature but by necessity, more leech than Lord, and a fly-the-light in the fullest sense of the word.

'The flickering light of candles, torchlight, firelight — the light of man-made combustion — these are the only kinds of light his eyes can bear, and even then not with complete impunity. But if the light matches the fire of his eyes he is fairly safe. Brighter than that, he knows pain! And any who would give Szwart pain… let him first pierce himself with silver dipped in kneblasch, fasten boulders to his neck, slit his wrists, and leap from the topmost battlements of the tallest aerie.' Then he might be safe from Szwart.

'And only let someone declare enmity towards Szwart — let him broadcast his aversions or discuss them with his peers, and then have his words find their way back to the night-black master of Darkspire — and no matter who this loudmouth might be, whether high or low in the Wamphyri pecking order, be sure that Szwart would do his damnedest to put a stop to such mutterings.

'Aye, and when Szwart did his damnedest… 'There was one Narkus Stakis, Lord of Narkslump, a collapsed pile on the western fringe of the clump, who from the onset of all the rumour-mongering and side-choosing had voiced abroad his detestation of Lord Szwart. Precisely why he held Szwart in such low esteem, who could say? Perhaps he'd had wind of Lord Doombody's provisioning and other preparations for war, and the accompanying rumour that Drama! intended to root out all "deviants" (which is to say his enemies, real and imagined) from the ranks of the Wamphyri.

'If that were a fact, then the proximity of Szwart's Darkspire to DramaTs Dramstack in the core of the clump would seem certain to make Szwart just such an enemy. For if Lord Doombody

wished to expand territorially (assuming that this was his real purpose) he must first annex Darkspire, Szwart's gloomy, shadow-shrouded manse across too small a gulf of air. And so, and also because Drama! controlled a large percentage of Starside power, the very inferior Narkus Stakis had determined to side with him — whether or no Dramal required him as an ally.

'Alas for him that he made known his decision, especially his disinclination towards Szwart…

'Lord Szwart was black; his aerie was black, and shadowed for the most part by mighty Dramstack; his warriors and flyers were black, and the black of night was his medium. Lord Stakis's Narkslump, more a great cleft knoll than a stack proper, stood in the western fringe of the cluster and low to the earth, and its silhouette against the northern auroras was more a ragged hump than a fang. Gloom was its constant companion.

'On the night that Narkus died a great drift of cloud obscured the moon and stars, and Starside was never so dark. The clouds sweeping north out of Sunside were black and swollen in their bellies, pregnant with rain that lashed at the aeries of the Wamphyri. There had been fantastic lightnings over the barrier mountains, and the wide forests of Sunside would be awash in the aftermath of the storm. Not a good night for raiding on the Szgany, not with the air full of ozone, when careless flyers and riders might so easily attract hellfire from the sky, to singe them and send them plummeting. For which reasons most of the Lords and Ladies stayed to house. Most of them.

'But throughout the night several watchkeepers in aeries near the western rim, where they looked down on Narkslump's split dome, had noted how Lord Stakis's nightlights — the braziers within his battlements, behind the merlons and embrasures, and the torches in his watchtower turrets — were going out one by one, as if extinguished by the torrential rains. Except they were still going out long after the rains were done.

'Came morning; the Wamphyri stayed abed while the accursed sun rose up and up, to its zenith, when the spires of the highest stacks were lit by its rays, and many-layered curtains were drawn against its lethal heat. The day passed as all days must; soon it was night again, and the Lords and Ladies up and about. Lights burned in all the aeries — except Narkslump.

'And slow but sure the truth became known. A small handful of thrall survivors came on flyers and on foot, over the barren boulder plains to neighbouring Scarstack and Lurelodge, begging refuge from the master and mistress respectively of those middling manses. A body of men flew out from Scarstack to Narkslump and down into its landing bays. And later, in the midnight hour, they reported back to Lord Oulios the Scar on Narkslump's condition as they had found it. Also on Narkus's condition, as they had found him, his three lieutenants, and the body (or bodies?) of his thralls.

'Word spread swiftly abroad, to all the stacks of the Wamphyri. And now certain things were remembered from the previous night:

'In Dramstack, when the rains were at their worst, how the aerie's Desmodus colony was startled from its roost. A thousand great bats, all chittering and panicked for no apparent reason, whirling, colliding, and scolding where they circled the fretted ceiling of their cavern lair. And Lord Dramal Doombody, nodding in his private chambers, startled awake by confused mental messages from these bat familiars: A dark shadow — a stranger, doubtless an enemy — has passed close by. Though he was cloaked in darkness, we sensed him, his eyes burning on Dramstack. They seethed and were full of hatred!

'But Dramal's watchmen, huddling miserably in their draughty turrets and cold stone niches, and his flightless guardian warriors, rumbling behind the earthworks and on the boulder-strewn approaches to towering Dramstack, had seen nothing but a fleeting shadow: that of a cloud, they said. And cold, wet and dull, they failed to wonder why the shadow had sped west rather than north.

'And so Dramal had ordered his familiars: Go back to sleep! You

nightmared. The pounding rain and lightning shook you loose from your dusty perches. No stranger is come to harm me or mine in Dramstack.

'Not him or his, no…

'A similar disturbance had been recorded in Karl Szorkala's Karlspire. And further west, in the grounds of Lady Sasha Lureswain's Lurelodge, one of her earthbound warriors had reared up and buffeted ineffectually at a dark blur of a shape that fluttered to a landing just beyond the bounds of Sasha's demesne — in Lord Stakis's territory, aye.

'So to the report of them that flew from Scarstack to Narkslump, when they returned to Oulios the Scar in his high place. Narkslump was intact, as were its flyers and warrior creatures, all dutifully in their places, however nervous, unattended, and unfed. Vampire thralls, however — male and female, eunuchs and fighting men alike, some twenty in all — lay dead in their beds or at their various places of duty: in the walls and corridors, on the causeways, and in Narkus's harem. Likewise Narkus himself and his three lieutenants, all dead in their quarters.

'Well, Narkslump was scarcely a fortress such as towering Dramstack. And Narkus lorded it — or he had used to — over a mere dribble of men and monsters compared to the greater Lords in their lofty aeries. Even a small invasion force, if its components were stealthy and well ordered, could have infiltrated Narkslump's defences under cover of the storm. But that wasn't the way the survivors in Scarstack and Lurelodge told it.

'According to one of them, a sentry on the night in question:

'"The night was dark and overcast; residual rain dripped from roofs, buttresses, causeways, overhangs. I was cold, wet, uncomfortable in my niche. And I admit that I stayed well back, to avoid getting wetter still. But it was also a night of shadows. When I came out one time to scan abroad, I looked down on the lower ramparts where a colleague was keeping watch. Failing to see him, I assumed that he too was avoiding the worst of the drench. But I did see a shadow — or I thought it was a shadow — that flowed swiftly along the walkway and disappeared into a niche, then returned and continued along the ramparts. A stain, a blot on the stone, a shadow, aye… but mobile?

'"There again, the clouds were fleeting and there were so many shadows, and I have only a thrall's eyes. A lieutenant's eyes might have been keener, better suited, but lieutenants do not guard the walls. My Lord Stakis's eyes would certainly have noted any weirdness or peculiarity, but he was in his chambers. ' "When next I looked out and down, my colleague's brazier was out; a hiss of steam rose up; I assumed that there had been more rain, or my friend had been negligent of his fire. And the night was even darker.

' "My duty station was lit fitfully by twin torches ensconced under slate awnings that fended off the rain. I replenished them with fresh faggots before returning to my niche and snuggling deeper yet. Time passed; perhaps I heard a grunt or call — a gurgled cry? — from the north flank. But in any case I ventured out again, to the northernmost point of my picket, where I leaned from an embrasure to look down on the adjacent flank. In the misted gloom of a landing bay, there was no watchman to be seen, but the steam of his extinguished brazier rose up!

' "It was time I made report. But only recently recruited, my vampire skills were weak; I was not yet linked to my master. If I cried out with my mind alone, Lord Stakis would not 'hear' my alert, and deep within the rock he couldn't possibly hear my voice. Wherefore a dilemma: should I desert my position and go to the Lieutenant of the Watch, who I knew to be a very difficult man? And if I did, and nothing was found amiss, what then?

' "I leaned out again and looked down… and at once drew back! For traversing the scarp directly below me — coming diagonally upwards across the treacherous, rain-slick face of the rock and scarcely pausing to negotiate the way — I had spied a lumpy shadow like a dark blot against the lesser darkness. But did I say dark? The shadow was block! And where it merged with other shadows it disappeared completely, only

to emerge a moment later, always climbing towards my battlements station.

' "Now I knew to run and make report — or at least to run, if nothing else! But already the shadow was stretching itself, groping like the fingers of some phantom hand towards the merlons between myself and the entrance to Narkslump's east wing. Even if I ran this unknown thing would be there first, perhaps waiting for me. Neither was there any other route of entry — nor of escape — from my position on the outer face.

' "Now, I am not a man to shrink from any normal darkness. Murky gloamings and the weird nebulosities of Sunside bogs had never frightened me. But this was no ordinary shadow. There was something sinister, knowing, clever, about it; it moved as on a mission, and in my heart I knew I couldn't stop it. Only let me try… it would certainly stop me! But as yet it didn't even know that I was there. Or at least, I hoped that was the case.

' "And as quietly as possible I crept into my niche, drew as far back as I could go among the spiders and beetles — then farther yet until the sharp rock of the split scraped my chest and my back — and finally held still, so very still, there in the dark and the dust.

' "And eventually something came.

' "Do not ask me what it was, but it came and was a part of the darkness. And while I couldn't see it, I knew it was there. Then—"

""Indeed I am here!' A voice came to me like the rustle of leaves, so close I felt the breath of it! And it continued: 'I see you are afraid, and that is good. Be afraid, my friend, and make no outcry. Stay here for long and long in this tight crevice, while I go about my business, and I won't harm you. But if you come out… ah, that would be a brief but very unfortunate affair. So then, do we have an understanding?'

'"I could only nod, and though I saw nothing at all, still the shadow saw me. 'Good,' it husked, and spoke no more.

' "Then I was alone again — and pleased to be alone — for long and long…

'"… How long I cannot say. But when I dared to come out I saw that my torches were expired, and looking closer I saw they had been capped — put out — deliberately. And not only my torches but all the lights in Narkslump, till tip to toe the aerie stood in darkness most utter.

'"Then when I went inside I found what I found, and discovered the hidy-holes of a handful of others with tales to tell much like my own. Following which… can you blame us that we fled that haunted place, and came with all dispatch here…?"

'That was the thrall's story, and the other survivors with him agreed with everything he said. But survivors of what?'

Since the answer to Korath Mindsthrall's final question was obvious, a reply seemed unnecessary. But Harry Keogh answered him anyway, saying, Survivors of Lord Szwart, of course.

Harry's words — more definite, decisive in Jake Cutter's mind — startled him from the reverie induced by Korath's narrative; from what had seemed like a dream within a dream, where everything that the ex-vampire lieutenant described had seemed as real as if Jake himself had been there, in another time and another world. And:

'What? Where?' Jake gave himself a shake. And looking all about he saw debris: the buckled stanchions and shattered concrete slabs fallen from the ceiling, the partly-gleaming, scorch-scarred rim of the monitor conduit rising from the sullen swirl of dark waters. That was where this fragment of the history of a vampire world had its origin: that ugly pipe where Korath had died the true death, which still contained his bones, sloughed clean and washed white by the water. And Jake shuddered.

Harry sensed his unease, and asked, Are you all right?

'No,' Jake answered. "And I don't think I'll ever be all right again.'

You will lie, the other told him. You have to be. Anyway, we still aren't through here. I want to know more about Szwart — what he is and how he came to be — and I think Korath knows it all. But I sense that he's slowing up, holding back

To which Korath immediately replied, And you are correct! For it dawns on me that I do myself no good here. When you have learned your fill, what then of me? No forgiveness, shunned by the living and the dead alike, washed away to nothing and dispersed across an alien land? Hah! Surely I can do better.

You are dead, said Harry. These things are what happen to the dead, in circumstances such as yours.

And Korath answered, Ah, cold, cold!

No, said Harry, not entirely. Merely truthful. I won't lie to you that there's anything in this for you. Only our company, for however long it lasts.

But Korath said:

Yet your dead converse! I know, for I have heard them whispering in their graves. When they sense me listening, then they keep quiet or exclude me. So why can't they converse with me?

They don't like you, said Harry. Can you blame them? Being dead, they hate death. And they know that you thrived on it! -

I did what vampires do. Is there no pity?

For you, none.

Then I have none for you! Korath sulked. You dare to go up against Vavara, Szwart, Malinari? Without knowing all there is to know about them? Good luck to you. You are dead men and may think of me again some time, when you lie broken or drained, or minced into warrior feed. Then perhaps you'll wish we had spoken at greater length, but too late. Until that time you'll hear no more from me. He fell silent. But:

You have no idea how weary I am of all your bluff and bluster, Harry told him. What do you expect of me? What can I possibly do for you? You are dead, Korath!

You, too, Korath answered. And yet you have mobility, companionship… a future?

My case is different, said Harry. And as for the future, I never underestimate it.

And Jake's case? His future?

There was a slyness in Korath's deadspeak voice, and Harry didn't like it. He wondered if he detected some hidden innuendo, or more likely some kind of threat. Jake is a dreamer, he said. Right now he is no more and no less. He's my apprentice, if you like, and for the moment knows very little about such things — but he will learn. And:

'Huh!' Jake snorted. 'Even if I don't want to, it seems!'

Yessss, said Korath. And I can feel your apprehension. But still Harry is right and you should… learn. If not from him, then perhaps from me?

Harry was at once alarmed. You know what we want from you. And that's all we want. So what's it to be Szwart's origins?

(Harry's deadspeak nod). And more about Malinari's bloodwar — how you survived the Icelands, and how finally you came here.

Korath sighed and said, Very well For I am forgiving, even if you are not.

He was silent for a moment, then sighed again and said: The rest of it, then…

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO Survivors

'I can't swear to Szwart's origin/ Korath commenced the final chapter of his story. 'I can only repeat what I heard of him in the service of my master, Malinari of Malstack, all those years ago. And of course I can report what I have seen of him, for he was after all Malinari's co-conspirator, along with Vavara, and shared with them in their banishment when they were whelmed by the forces of Dramal Doombody…

'As for Szwart's "visit" to Lord Stakis's Narkslump: while that had occurred as a prelude to the actual hostilities, obviously it was an important factor in the heightening tension between the soon-to-be-warring parties. I recall that soon after Narkus's demise, as angry rumblings from the aeries grew louder, Malinari arranged the latest of several get-togethers with his future partners, Vavara and Szwart.

'By then, when they ventured abroad from their respective stacks, all three "outsiders" — rejects, as it were, excluded or ostracized by the rest of the Wamphyn — were constantly on the alert for trouble: the imposition of restrictions over disputed airspace, skirmishes over boundaries, even ambushes were by no means unlikely. But since by chance their stacks formed a close triangle in the centre of the clump, and the space within that triangle was theirs, flights between were generally accomplished without threat or interruption. And of course the close proximity of their aeries was yet another good reason for forming their alliance: back to back, they presented a more formidable foe.

'Anyway, Szwart and Vavara came on flyers across the respective gulfs from Darkspire and Mazemanse, to meet with my master in Malstack. And that was the first time that I saw Szwart. For contrary to certain Szgany campfire tales of the time, Lord Szwart was visible when he so desired. In any reasonable degree of light, and when he chose to assume an acceptable form (which invariably cost and, indeed, still costs him no small effort of will) he could be seen, though he much preferred not to be. But in his condition… well, that was surely understandable.

'But I sense that I've whetted your curiosity; you are wondering what "condition" I speak of, and what do I mean by "acceptable form"? We shall get to these things.

'So then, Lord Szwart came from Darkspire, and I was sent to bid him welcome to Malstack and organize the stabling of his flyer, just as I had seen to Vavara's when a little earlier she had arrived from Mazemanse, her castle of vertiginous balconies and fretted, spindly spires.

'I remember the time was several hours past sundown, when only the last faint rays of a dying sun limned the peaks of the barrier mountains in gold. This vestigial glimmer posed no real threat to the Wamphyri in general (even at noon the deadly rays probed only the uppermost spires of Starside's tallest aeries), but it was a problem for Szwart, who dreaded to be seen. 'And there we have it:

'Lord Szwart's fear of light wasn't that it might destroy him but that it made him visible.' This weird photophobia wasn't so much a physical as a mental disability. Which perhaps serves to explain his reclusive nature: his rumoured celibacy, and the fact that he so rarely went abroad from his aerie (and then only into Sunside, to hunt) and never mingled with other than his thralls or creatures of his own device in lonely, shadow-cursed Darkspire.

'But it wasn't only in his mind, this ugliness that Szwart

couldn't bear to display. It wasn't merely imaginary. Rather it was very real, and hereditary…

'He arrived in a Malstack landing bay. His flyer was black as night; swooping across the gulf it had been clearly visible, but in the shadow of Malstack it simply disappeared. I stood in the gape of the landing bay, waiting — and suddenly Szwart was there! A black shape buffeted night-black air in my face as the shadows that were Szwart and his flyer alighted. Then, while he dismounted, I called for thralls to see to his beast. And looming close, Szwart said:

'"You, lieutenant — take me to Malinari."

'His voice was a gasp, a pant, a flurry of wind through a narrow crevice. And there he was, Szwart himself, all cloaked in black — a blot of a figure that showed neither features nor anything else of its once-humanity — standing before me in the flickering torchlight of the landing bay!

'But while Szwart himself was featureless, carved from jet, and his voice a flutter of bat-wings, his presence was awesome; as solid as the great rocks on Starside's barren boulder plains. And his aura in the night: that was such as to make even my vampire flesh creep — and I was a lieutenant! So that I could well understand how Narkslump's lowly thralls had felt when confronted by Lord Szwart.

'He gloomed at me through eyes like slits of fire, his only parts that weren't black. "Well? And am I to be left to find my own way?" For I was so startled, I had made no effort to attend him!

'"No, Lord," I answered. "I am your guide. But here in Malstack, protocol demanded that I stood silent until commanded by you."

' "Fool!" he said. "I did so command you! And now take me to Malinari! Or perhaps I strike you as… odd in some weird way? Is it so?" With which he flowed closer, and his outline became less manlike, even more a blot or a shadow, like a lump drifted from the darkness in the unlit deeps of Malstack's basement.

'"Not at all, Lord!" I backed off. "I was simply in awe of my master's honoured guest — so much so that my tongue clove to… to the roof of my… of my mouth." It was scarcely a lie!

' "You must consider yourself fortunate that you still have a tongue," Szwart whispered, withdrawing something that was not quite a hand from where it had been reaching for me. "Also fortunate that my protocol forbids the killing of an ally's lieutenant on his home ground."

' "Yes, Lord!" I bowed, and before things could go even more awry turned and forced my numb legs to bear me in the direction of my master's chambers. Lord Szwart followed on behind me, and I could feel him there, silent, intense, and seething; though I fancied it wasn't his thoughts that seethed so much as his person! Perhaps it was so. I can't rightly say, for I never looked back…

'When Szwart left I was there to see him go, though on this occasion there was no contact. When the keeper of Malinari's pens handed him the reins of his flyer, I was situated in a window a little higher in the sheer wall of the aerie. From there I watched him mount, launch, and fly away.

'Aye, and I also saw his manlike outline melt to a liquid blot of a shape that hunched down and became one with the silhouette of his black flyer. And I saw the burning eyes — but far too many eyes — that gazed back on Malstack from that hideously humped shape, as if their owner suspected that someone watched!

'Then he was off, and flyer and rider both, black on black, disappeared into the yawning gulf like a scrap of burned cloth, or a tattered pennant slipped from its staff, fluttering on the winds that whine around the aeries of the Wamphyri…'

'That same time:

'Having seen Szwart off from Malstack's lofty premises, I returned to my master and the luminous Vavara — the very opposite of Szwart — where they continued to talk in Malinari's private chambers. In his absence, Szwart had become the subject

of their conversation. Hearing his name mentioned, and because my interest had been piqued, however morbidly, I slipped back into the shadows and listened.

' "It was in his blood," Malinari was saying (so that I knew what next he would say), "and what is in the blood always comes out in the flesh — or in Szwart's case, what passes for flesh!" And he went on to explain:

'"Seventy years ago — a little before your time, Vavara — Szwart was born to a Lord and Lady of the Wamphyri. That alone would make him an exception to the general rule. For as you are well aware, when the time is right the Wamphyri transfuse their eggs to make egg-sons or — daughters; or we take Szgany women — er, forgive me, or men — and so beget blood-children. But it's rare that a Lord will take a Lady to wife, or vice versa. Rarer still where Lord Szwart is concerned, whose father was also his mother's brother!

' "Incest? — not so strange among the Wamphyri. But incestuous marriage, between twins?

' "To find a reason you must look back in time, but not too far. Szwart's grandsire, his blood-grandsire, was cursed with a certain disorder which our kind don't care to mention. Oh, as a skill — a fearsome talent — we mention it with pride! But when it runs amok, then it becomes wnmentionable. Metamorphism, aye. But note, my voice is hushed. Such matters are not to be spoken of lightly.

' "Before he knew that this weirdest and most loathsome of diseases was upon him, Lord Szwart's grandsire got twins out of a Szgany girl. Brother and sister, they grew up in their sire's aerie — Mittelmanse as it was then, named for its proximity to the centre — and ascended. They were Wamphyri!

' "By then their father's curse was known to all and sundry: he had practised his metamorphic flux beyond reasonable bounds, putting too great a strain on a leech which finally rebelled or went insane. Whichever, his flesh was out of control. Once in a thousand years this will happen: that instead of remaining symbiont and host — two mutually dependent creatures in one body — the flesh of both mingles, and a resultant Thing emerges as a mindless, loathsome hybrid.

' "But the process was a slow one; the Lord of Mittelmanse was not immediately a madman, and knew as well as his children what was happening to him. The horror of it played on his mind; as his flesh gradually succumbed, he would come shrieking awake from nightmares, to find his limbs like ropes draped all about his room.' Or he would wander abroad in his sleep, to trap and convert his own loyal thralls by means of absorption and assimilation. Instead of the blood, whole bodies were the life.' And he grew gross, when at times his flesh was soft as mud, and at others horny and corrugated. And even his colour was changed — no longer that of undead flesh but the mottled and leprous hue of the leech.

' "And when he was lucid he made his children promise that they would not spread this thing abroad. Great Vampire that he was and malicious, still he would not wish this on another man or creature. For he knew what was in his blood, and in theirs, and that given the opportunity it would out. Wherefore it must not be given the opportunity…

'"The twins, grown up now, planned to put their father in a pit; for according to the lore or history of Starside — what little has ever been recorded — that was usually the best way. Or they could kill him out of hand, by trapping him in an inescapable place and setting fire to him, before he became totally ungovernable.

' "But it didn't come to that. Fond of flying, he formed an airfoil and flew out upon the gulf one night. This involved, of course, a great effort of will — which he relaxed, perhaps deliberately, high over the boulder plains. And Thing that he was, his immediate devolution into something less than airworthy was instantly fatal. He fell like a stone, and even protoplasm will only stretch so far.

' "So much for him.

' "His sibling children made a pact: they would not go with others to spread the curse abroad but cleave to each other, and so keep the thing to house. And all the while, year after year, they lived in fear that it might be in them, too — which indeed it was. But because they kept their flux under strict rein, and used it sparingly, the curse skipped their generation — only to emerge in the next!

'"It came out in the young Szwart, aye. Having been suppressed in his parents, the vampire essence they passed down to Szwart was of an entirely different order. How best to explain? When a man is born blind, his remaining senses may develop more fully in order to compensate for the loss. In Szwart's parents, the normal functions of their vampire leeches had been suppressed — which served only to magnify the essence that they passed down to Szwart!

'"Szwart's will has kept him sane within limits, but he is a totally devolved creature. He sleeps alone, to ensure that no bloodson of his will carry this thing into the future. His ugliness is such that men might easily go insane if they saw him in the worst of his myriad… designs. Tonight he maintained something of a manlike outline in order to be here with us, but normally he can't bear to be seen, which is why he shuns light and companionship. This last is no great hardship; we Wamphyri were ever loners. But let any man speak out against him as a freak — or shrink from the horror of him — it's as if his phobias were reinforced. And despite that he knows his ugliness well enough, knows the truth of it, still he will kill the offender, if only because his action or reaction reminded him of his infirmity."

'And Vavara said, "Yet you say he's not mad?"

'"Not yet," Malinari told her, "Though it must come eventually. Perhaps in a hundred years, or fifty, or maybe less. But he was here tonight; you saw him; he reasons."

' "I have seen him, yes," Vavara answered. "And his reasoning is as warped and fluctuating as his flesh! He looked like a mad thing to me, or close enough."

'"Have it your own way," my master told her. "But if he is a mad thing, then for the moment he's our mad thing. Also, he's the Lord of Darkspire, commander of men and monsters, and Darkspire guards our flanks…"

'Then for a while they were silent, until Vavara inquired: "What of his parents, the incestuous twins?"

'"Szwart was born beautiful and seemed perfect," Malinari answered. "At seventeen he ascended. And at eighteen his father found him in Darkspire's Desmodus colony, hanging with the bats from the fretted ceiling — but hanging in flaps and folds, like a blob of dough such as the Szgany use when baking their bread! In his gluttony, he had absorbed a great many bats before falling asleep.

' "Father and mother both, they tried to trap and burn him. He trapped and burned them! So the story goes. My advice: never treat Szwart with disdain because he is not pretty. And as for his quirks: we are Wamphyri and we all have quirks — even you, Vavara, or so I've heard it rumoured. But with the exception of our mutual enemies, no one takes us to task over our little… idiosyncrasies? As for Szwart, who is our ally: neither slight nor scorn him. And don't underestimate him, either

Korath had been silent for some little time. Perhaps he brooded on the past. Whatever, Harry prodded him with a thought:

Korath? And he responded with a grunt:

Huh?

My time fare grows short now, (Harry's deadspeak voice was faint and wavering) and Jake isn't far from waking. We've come a long way, in more senses than one, but we're by no means finished. When I go, your contact with Jake goes with me. Then you will be alone. If you ever want to hear from us again — for who knows? We might yet find some mutual benefit in renewed contact — then you'd fast get on with your story. But make it as brief as possible. Here's how it goes:

Malinari and the others, they lost their bloodwar and were banished. Then for four hundred years you survived the Icelands and eventually returned to Starside. And finally you came fare. That's the story, now fill in the details.

And Korath answered, Ah, but the details may take a little longer!

But not too long, said Harry.

As for Jake: this time he voiced no complaint. He was so 'into' Starside now — Korath's story had so intrigued him — that he wanted to know the rest of it, no matter how ugly it might get. And:

Very well, said Korath. Then let's be done with it…

'So then, Malinari, Vavara, and Szwart, they were made out to be the weird ones, the freaks, the outsiders. But in fact they were no more freakish than many of the Lords and Ladies in the camp of Dramal Doombody. Ah, but Lord Doombody had problems of his own. For the time being it seemed he had his leprosy under control, true, but what of the future? Even a man as mighty as Dramal has his limits, and likewise his vampire leech. He knew it was time to consolidate his position against a dubious future, when he might become weak and vulnerable.

'Since his aerie towered close to the centre of the clump, Dramal had resolved to annex all of the neighbouring stacks and so make them his own, or at least give them to allies with whom he had unbreakable pacts. This way — as he became less capable over however long a time — he would be surrounded by "friends" as opposed to enemies. And there in a nutshell we have the real basis of what was falsely termed "Malinari's bloodwar": in fact it was forced on The Mind and the other "freaks" by Dramal himself.

'Anyway, my master and his allies were determined to make a good long fight of it, and they did. Briefly, then:

'Malinari, Vavara, and Szwart: they set to and strengthened their earthworks in Starside's bottoms, and manned them with every sort of vicious atrocity from their vats. The triangle of barren earth accommodating their aeries became their first line of defence. As for the stacks themselves: Malstack wasn't altogether impregnable, but still Malinari felt fairly secure. The landing bays and walled ledges were few and well defended, and the gantlet approaches terrible in their severity. Over every possible avenue of invasion, corbels carved in the likeness of vomiting warrior-heads threatened boiling piss and flaming tar.

'Vavara's Mazemanse was more problematic. But it had good points as well as bad. In silhouette, the aerie looked like the roof of an ancient cave upended, with spindly stalactites going up instead of down. Causeways and buttresses stretched between, and various levels were roofed over with timbers out of Sunside and slate tiles from the scree slopes of the barrier mountains. Towards the centre the many rock spires were joined by massive, mortared walls to form the bulk of the aerie. Externally, radiating ribs of timber, the boles of Sunside ironwoods, supported slate rooves and timbered battlements, and boulder walls built by ancestral inhabitants protected the whole from attack up the sliding scree shambles of the bottoms.

'When the war came, Mazemanse suffered its greatest damage from aerial warriors driven to crash headlong into the delicate outer spires, thus bringing them down on the inner walls, causeways, barracks, and other habitations. Small-minded, such creatures as were crippled in these deliberately contrived collisions would then sacrifice themselves by smashing down on roofs to break them in. Sometimes this worked, but on many occasions the roofs were false and hid needle spires or stakes of mountain pine. Impaled warriors would then be set on fire and fried in the fiery jets of their own gas-bladders; their molten fats and noxious liquids would be drained off as ammunition for the castle's corbel chutes.

'Szwart's Darkspire proved the most obstinate of Dramal's targets, and Szwart's men the most furious fighters. For there was something of Szwart himself in all his creatures. His warriors in the stony rubble at Darkspire's foot were night-black things that could not be seen by foot-soldiers until too late; his men manning the gantlets never retreated but fought to the death; others where they fed the corbel chutes — in the event that

blazing fluids or white-hot-boulder ammunition should run low — would hurl themselves down on the invading hordes rather than quit the machicolation. Such dedication!… but a rather simple explanation. Men and monsters both, they had been given a choice: deal with the enemy, or be dealt with by Szwart.

'Well, there you go… the picture I paint is inadequate, but you require that I make a speedy end of it. We fought well, but a losing battle. Three stacks against the combined might of Starside? Still, I suppose it had to be. Avarice, bloodlust and territorial expansion: such things are life itself, or undeath, or the true death, to the Wamphyri. But at least we were spared the true death. Had we died in battle, then that were something else. But we didn't. When the end was inevitable and we huddled in the blazing bulk of Malstack — Szwart blinded by the fires, Vavara smudged, bloodied and wilting, and Malinari almost mindless from the sheer force of the telepathic demands he had made on his last few defenders — finally Dramal called for our surrender. What else could we do but accept? Following which, and in short order, we were spat upon, buffeted, generally humiliated, and banished.

'We were allowed one small warrior for escort, our flyers, and a handful of lieutenant and thrall survivors. That was all. Not much by way of a retinue, but beggars can't be choosers.

'And so we headed north for the Icelands, at first a distant shimmer, and then a hazy grey blanket that flickered on a horizon warped by weaving auroras and ice-chip stars. And from the moment of setting out, not one of us knew if we would make it or plummet into some frozen ocean and drown. But make it we did…

'Below us the landscape changed, however slowly:

'First the bitter, white-rimed earth; then the blue-grey lakes, whose cold and sluggish waves seemed to crawl to shore; finally the endless white drifts that went on and on as far as the eyes could see, sprawling ever northwards. The snow wasn't entirely strange to us; we had seen it before, however rarely, on the higher ridges of the barrier mountains — but never like this! No earth showed through; we could not know if we crossed land or iced-over ocean deeps. We fed ourselves and our beasts on the blood and flesh of great white bears — and only occasionally on thralls — and forged on. We had no other choice; if we tried to sneak back into Starside, that would mean the true death for all of us.

'It was hard. When there were no bears we sipped sparingly from the stoppered spines of our flyers. One of Vavara's lieutenants let his greed get the better of him; when his exhausted flyer spiralled down to an icy hummock, we followed him down to feed. We fed on him, too, for without his flyer he wasn't going anywhere.

'Another time, a blizzard came up. We could not afford the energy required to climb above it. Landing, we sheltered behind the bulk of the warrior, one of Malinari's. Then it was that my master took from me — took more than was good for me, so that I was weakened. But at the same time I received of his strong vampire essence, which helped in my survival — the tenacity of the Great Vampire, aye.

'Where the auroras soared highest, we came upon mountains; a lesser range than the barrier mountains of Sunside/Starside — and never a tree to be seen — but with crags, gulleys, and ice-castles, even rivers of ice, frozen in position on the mountain slopes! And if nothing else, the endless boredom of our passage over this white wilderness was broken.

'But we were broken, too, and exhausted we put down. Worst hit by the journey, Malinari's warrior was ready to give up the ghost. We saw to it that the beast didn't go to waste. Only its bones would be left, where for a while its ribcage would form the frame of an ice-house that we would build. But before then, while still the warrior's shrivelled flesh provided sustenance, we had time and strength for exploration.

'To the south a crack of fuzzy light showed on the horizon:

sunup on Sunside, so faint and distant that even Szwart made no complaint! And making use of what little warmth it brought, the four of us — Szwart and Vavara, Malinari and myself— flew off to investigate the range of ice-draped mountains. My master and I, we headed west, Vavara and Szwart went east. When total darkness crept in again and the writhing auroras returned, we would join up and make report at the carcass of the warrior. The rest of our men and beasts (four junior lieutenants and their flyers, for there were no more thralls left) would live off the carcass until we got back. In the bitter cold, the warrior's meat would keep for long and long…

'We flew for many a mile, Malinari gaunt where he sat tall in his ornate saddle only a wingspan's distance from my own flyer. Gaunt and silent, aye, so that I wondered what he was thinking — perhaps that he was hungry, and that he had had enough of stinking warrior meat!

'And indeed The Mind was thinking, though mercifully his thoughts were not of me. No, for I could feel them, probing out and ahead of us, searching for other lives in this white waste. And he pointed, and called out to me:

'"That way: an ocean where mighty fishes cruise the deeps, only surfacing to break the thin ice and breathe. But these are great hot-blooded things, and never a Szgany hook and line that could pull them forth!" Then he shook his head, and said: "This place — this land, these mountains at least — are cold and barren, and yet…" And he frowned.

'"Master?" I said.

'"Something…" he answered, still frowning. "Something up ahead."

'And in another mile or so… smoke, a distant puff! Several puffs, and a smudge, going up. And still we flitted across the wind-carved ice-castles and frozen fangs of the mountains.

'But now Malinari's concentration was rapt on that column of fire-smoke rising ahead. I saw what he saw, or so I thought: a fire-mountain, black against white, where the snow had melted from its flanks.

'Then, suddenly, Malinari hauled on his reins, rose up and to one side and climbed in a spiral. I quickly joined him, but when I might have questioned him — or rather, as my mind framed its concern — he held up a hand to silence me. And now his mental probes were venting in such powerful bursts from Malinari's mind that I could "hear" his questions, which he asked of some unseen other:

' "Who are you, in the mountain there? What do you here? Is this your territory, and if so by what right? By right of conquest, or simply because you are here?"

'And the answer came back with such force, in such a doomful cadence that we knew, my master and I, this was no middling intelligence or power which he had discovered:

'"It is my territory because it is mine. That is my right. If you dispute it, then come on by all means. I have creatures to shatter you in pieces. Or go away, and I shall perhaps leave you in peace — and in one piece. As to who I am: I am who I am. As to what I was: I was the first, even though I may not be the last. I have been here a thousand years, which is my sole right to this place and sufficient. So begone!"

'Then with a hiss Malinari ceased all telepathic sendings. And I felt his guards go up as he turned and gazed wide-eyed at me. "I know him!" he said, his jaws agape. "Something of him is in all of us!" And for a moment that was all he said…

'Then I spied a pair of great white bears at the edge of a frozen lake. They had broken a hole in the ice and were fishing in the black water. I pointed them out to Malinari, and he took us down to hover over our prey. The bears, startled by our sudden arrival, took to the water and vanished under the ice. Malinari was quick to dismount; he waited at the hole until one of the bears lifted her head. Then my master struck — struck with the strength of three or four men — and his gauntlet crushed in the bear's ear and the side of its head. Brained, the huge creature was dead in the water. We dragged it onto the ice in time to

see the bear's mate surface. This time, in the moment before Malinari delivered his devastating blow, the great white beast roared its fury and raked his forearm. Containing his pain, my master wrapped his torn limb. Then, as we ate bear-heart while our flyers sipped blood, he said:

"'My wound is slight, and it will heal quickly. His won't, ever. The strongest survive. You are a strong one, Korath, and quick-sighted. So you survive. If you had not seen these bears, perhaps you would not survive. For I wish to stay here a while, to explore these ice-castles, and blood and flesh are the fuels I burn. If not the flesh of bears, what then?" And his red eyes gloomed on me.

'Understanding him well enow, I deigned not to answer.

'And explore we did, but what we found…!

'"Korath," my master said, as we entered an ice-encased cavern. "Before I sensed the Greater Power in yonder fire-mountain — if it is a living fire-mountain, for I fancy the smoke is of man's making rather than Nature's — I sensed lesser thoughts, dreamier thoughts, from this frozen cave. Aye, and from others near and far. Who sleeps, I wonder, in such places?"

'We soon found out.

'Locked in the ice where he had frozen himself solid — completely encased, indeed buried in the clear ice — we found the much-reduced body of what was once a Lord of the Wamphyri! Wrinkled he was; his skin as white as snow, whose deep corrugations were like some strange pale leech's. And so we knew that he had been here for long and long. But strangely, his eyes were open, however glazed over. And:

' "Here we have one such dreamer," said Malinari, and even his voice was hushed in this cold and echoing chamber. "Except he doesn't so much dream as nightmare."

' "A dreamer, master?" I said. "But surely he is dead?"

' "Eh?" He raised a scornful eyebrow. "Where is your faith, Korath? Is it likely that Nephran Malinari is mistaken? And for that matter, where is your faith in the Wamphyri, in their tenacity, their longevity? I heard this one's thoughts, I tell you — and I sensed his fear! No, he is not dead. Now look there."

'I looked where he pointed.

'The ancient sat behind twelve or fifteen feet of ice. But level with his ribs, a row of holes some two to three inches in diameter had been drilled a third of the way through to him. On the floor, the accumulated ice chippings were heaped into small mounds directly beneath the holes.

'And Malinari said: "I don't think we need puzzle over the look of horror on his face. Something has been busy here, doing its best to get at him! But this ice is centuries old and hard as iron, and he chose his niche well. When it is time to freeze ourselves

— when our food is used up — we must do the same…" ' "Time to… to freeze ourselves?" I repeated him. 'He looked at me. "In this cold place, only one way to survive the centuries. Like this one, we go down into the ice. But first we put some distance between."

'And like a fool, I repeated him again: "Between?" 'But he only nodded musingly, and said, "Between ourselves and Shaitan, aye. A thousand years ago and more he was banished here, and now lives in that fire-mountain. Others like this one, who came before or since, have found their own ways to live out the years: they sleep in the ice. But Shaitan is awake! Can you doubt it was a creature of his did this drilling? Well, he has the mountain's warmth and shelter, and no doubt defends it with just such beasts as did this. And here we are starvelings, with just one dead warrior to sustain us. So it's the ice for us, be sure. But not here, not this close to Shaitan in his fire-mountain."

'Following which we returned to the bears and loaded their drained carcasses aboard our flyers, then flew back to rendezvous with Vavara and Szwart…

'Malinari told his colleagues what we had found. He convinced them that indeed Shaitan the Unborn held dominion in the west,

and they agreed, however reluctantly, with his long-term plan of survival. As Vavara pointed out: "We shall only know if we are successful when we wake up. And if we don't, we weren't."

'The warrior lasted some little time, while we gradually stripped the flesh from its bones. Eventually its flensed ribs formed the framework of an ice-house, which in the next blizzard became one with the landscape. But towards the end Malinari, Vavara, Szwart and the others were weary of all this and ready for ice-encasement. Meanwhile they had explored the local terrain, discovering an ice-cavern that suited their purpose.

'There in a niche, broad at the front, narrowing to nothing in the rear, we positioned ourselves. In front, the three lieutenants (they were down to three now); then the flyers all in a huddle, and behind and beneath their shielding wings Malinari and his Wamphyri colleagues. Myself, I was positioned on a ledge overlooking the rear of the niche.

'So stationed, the lieutenants would be the first to feel any exploratory stab from outside the ice. With any luck their physical agonies would transfer mentally and be "heard" by Malinari. He and the others might then be able to melt themselves free by will alone… if they retained sufficient strength.

'But the surest way to remain alive and intact down all the unknown and unguessable years to come would be to fashion such an ice-shield as could not be broken into and looted. To this end the Wamphyri trio willed a mist like none before. It swirled up from the ice-layered floor, down from the festoons of jagged icicles in the cavern's roof, out from the crystallized walls, but mainly from their own pores. And drawn down by their massed will to where we sat in our places, the mist solidified to form layer upon layer of ice, thick and thicker far than the sheath we had seen in the hidey-hole of the ancient.

'For long and long I watched it forming — until my eyes were frozen and I saw no more…

'We woke up!

'The ice was melting, and the air… was wanner! Still cold, but warmer. Two lieutenants were dead — the true death, aye — and three flyers. Well, the third and last lieutenant, barring myself, was useless without a mount. He was Szwart's man, and though his blood was pale and slow, still it flowed… until Szwart stilled it forever.

'Then the three Great Vampires drained him, and I had my fill of his shrivelled flesh. Shrivelled, desiccated, sunken in: such was the case with all of us, our flyers, too. But at least we lived.

'And the great cave dripped with running water, and outside—

'Such a transformation! Over the far southern horizon, a glow as was never before seen from the Icelands. It could only be the sun, but visible in the sky however low to the horizon. Malinari and Vavara felt its rays at once; not so much a burning as a severe irritation. It was the great distance, and the dimness of the glow through a mist over the ocean. But it must be said that Lord Szwart suffered, until he covered himself in his robe, averted his eyes and retreated into gloom. His suffering was more mental than physical, I fancy.

'There were bears in some profusion, many with cubs, and even a fox or two, snowy white where they scavenged for sprats at the water's rim. And great fishes as big as warriors spouting in the sea. "More than sufficient of food," said Malinari, "to fuel us on our journey home."

'And Szwart wanted to know: "What has happened here?" '"A freak in the weather," my master told him. "It is the only answer. And it is our freedom to return to Starside!"

'"We were banished," said Vavara, who had been a hag, but already was regaining much of her former beauty.

'"Aye, long and long ago," said Malinari. And he took her down to the ice-house in the ribs of our long-extinct warrior. Gnawed on by bears, wolves, foxes, whatever, its bones had collapsed to nothing and lay flat to the cold slurry. And: "A hundred years," said Malinari. "Or two, or three — or maybe more! And our enemies in Starside? Killed off by now in their bloodwars. And that diseased old tyrant, Dramal Doombody: by now he is no more, sloughed away to rot and ruin. But we, the forgotten of Starside, go on. We are survivors, Vavara. And we shall return!"

'And we did. But before then we flew west to explore Shaitan the Unborn's fire-mountain. This was only made possible by his absence; Malinari no longer sensed his presence in the extinct volcano, and the smoke of his fires no longer rose up. We found mighty vats of plasma; once frozen, they were now rancid, crawling with maggots, and gave offence. These and other signs of fairly recent habitation told of a Being not long moved on.

' "It seems that he, too, has returned into Starside," was Lord Szwart's opinion.

'But be that as it may, we never found him there…'

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE Nathan's War

In the sump of the once-refuge (and yet not really there, for in fact Jake Cutter was asleep and uneasily dreaming in a jetcopter speeding east towards Brisbane across the vastly sprawling Simpson Desert) Harry Keogh's deadspeak voice once again startled Jake from the weird reverie induced by Korath MindsthralTs story: You've done well, Korath, and we are almost finished now, Harry said. Almost? The vampire answered gloomily, by now perhaps resignedly. What more can you possibly want of me?

Well, we know what you failed to find when you returned to Starside, the ex-Necroscope, or rather his revenant — or, better still, this facet of him — answered. You didn't find Shaitan or any others of the Wamphyri, and you certainly didn't find their aeries! Instead you found the hollow stumps of those once-great stacks, which you, your master, and Us colleagues were obliged to use as temporary dwelling places. Then, once again, you commenced raiding on Sunside's Szgany. You can take it from there.

But it scarcely seems worthwhile, Korath protested. For it appears you already know it all!

Not all of it. (The shake of an incorporeal head.) How didMalinari and the others fair on Sunside,for instance? We would like to know how the Szgany… welcomed them? Also, we want to know what made those three Great Vampires desert Starside, risk their necks by venturing into the ill-omened subterranean Gate, and come here. And since you were involved, who better to ask?

Very well, Korath grated, his patience all but used up. If it would please you—

— It would, Harry told him. And it would serve to keep us here a while longer at least.

Then, with a sigh, Korath put the finishing touches to his tale:

'We flew home, to what had been our home. You are correct: the aeries were gone, like vast stone corpses fallen on the barren boulder plains. And arriving in the hour before sunup, we were obliged to find shelter in their shattered stumps.

'The desmodus colonies were still there, and we found ourselves greeted by descendants of the descendants of our former familiars. At least they were the same! And like the bats themselves, we sheltered from the sun (which seemed to rise marginally higher in the sky) in their lowly crumbling caverns in the echoing basement levels of the shattered stacks.

'Night came, and with it the fear that perhaps the Szgany were no more: that they, too, might have succumbed to whatever disaster had befallen here. But when we flew to the higher ridges of the barrier mountains and looked down on Sunside—

'—Ah! But the Szgany were there, and in such numbers!

'Their campfires — and in many cases more permanent town or settlement fires — lit the night like so many glow-worms in the dark of forests which, in our time, had not seen so much as a nightlight, but only the tell-tale smoke of cottage or caravan stoves! And here they were all joyous, juicy, and fearless, our beloved Szgany of Sunside. The sounds of their music drifted up to our keen vampire ears, and the smells of their cooking — and of them — to our wide, straining nostrils. Ah, that was a beautiful moment!

'And Malinari said: "The Wamphyri are gone. We three alone of all the Great Vampires survive." (He excluded me, of course.) Do you see, Vavara? We are survivors, the only survivors! And so I was right."

' "And now we go down," whispered Szwart, "to the feast!"

'But: "Ah, no, not so," said The Mind, holding up a cautionary hand. "Those tribes down there, they do not know we are back. If we raid here, now, then they will know. And next time will be that much harder. But we have aeries to build and furnish, lieutenants and thralls to recruit, warrior creatures and flyers to breed in our vats — hah! When we have first discovered or dug vats, in the wreckage of those shattered stumps!

' "Also, you must ask yourself what happened here. Did the Wamphyri destroy themselves or were they destroyed? And if the latter, by whom? The Szgany? Ah, no, Lord Szwart, having survived the Icelands, I am in no great hurry to show myself here. For my thoughts have gone out and found an odd sense of security and freedom in the Szgany. Why, they are unafraid! Perhaps because they no longer have reason to be afraid. Which in turn might mean that we do. Wherefore we must be cautious and first discover the secret of these changes in the scheme of things."

' "So what would you suggest?" Szwart hissed. "That we sit here all night and admire their fires?"

'Malinari shook his head. "Those tribes down there, close-packed in this central area of Sunside. If we raid on one, then by morning all of them will know. And we need time to re-establish ourselves. So this is what we will do. Tonight we split up. Vavara raids in the far west, you in the east, but this side of the great pass. I shall raid beyond the pass. And we glut, aye, but mainly we recruit — we recruitfuriously, taking as many as we can. We share our spoils equally, building together, allies by circumstance as we have always been. This way, gradually, we shall discover what's what here: how things stand, and why they seem so different now. Is it agreed?"

'After some small haggling it was so agreed, and as Malinari had decreed we recruited "furiously". We converted men into thralls, from whose ranks we chose lieutenants; these were soon able to make more thralls — and so on. And we stockpiled drink and foodstuffs (aye, and other good stuff) out of Sunside, and put a task force to work digging in the rubble-strewn stumps of the old fallen stacks, building walls around our chosen habitations and roofing them over.

'During all of this construction, occasionally our workers would uncover vats, gas-beast chambers, or cocooned matter from yesteryear. Of course, the greater mass of the once-living material was putrid, no longer usable; some of it, however, contained a spark and was digestible, assimilable by newer, fresher material out of Sunside. And so we progressed.

'But time passed, and word of our presence also passed — from tribe to tribe and clan to clan — until all the peoples of Sunside knew that the Wamphyri were back in Starside. It didn't take long, say ten or twelve sundowns.

'Meanwhile we had recruited some eight hundred men, women, and children. Moreover, deep beneath the foundations of a toppled aerie, our workers had discovered a cache of well-preserved metamorphic liquids requiring little more than imprinting — an infusion of essence and a few nodes of rudimentary intelligence — to stimulate growth. And now we could fill the vats with vampiric life.

'First we made flyers, successfully! And later we tried for warriors, but that was when the trouble started. It was a tribe known for its aggressive nature in the olden times, and no less ferocious now: the Szgany Lidesci, whose territory lay midwest of Sunside in fertile forests under cavern-riddled foothills.

'Apparently the Lidescis had found a hero, a youth or man called Nathan Kiklu, who had ventured into forbidden places and returned with awesome weapons. It was a story we heard over and over again from thralls recruited in Sunside: how this Nathan's brother had been Wamphyri — Lord Nestor, of an aerie so mighty it could only have been Dramstack, or whatever it was called in his time — and how he had contrived to hurl his Szgany sibling into the Hell-Lands Gate.

'Well, the Gate was a legend; in our time it had been used as a punishment, and no man or creature who entered, "banished" into the white glare of the Starside Gate, had ever returned to tell of his adventures. But that was then and this was now, and for a certainty this Nathan was extant; all too soon, we would begin to experience his works at first hand.

'He was of the Szgany Lidesci. No longer nomadic, the Lidescis had built a sprawling town or fortification called Settlement. And the first time we raided on them — which was also the last time — ah, but then we discovered the meaning of "awesome weapons!"

'Our warriors — which were far more complicated constructs than flyers — were not waxed as yet. We went in with a force of flyers and thrall riders, and a handful of lieutenants to guide the men into battle. Except it wasn't planned as a battle but a rout, when the Szgany would flee and we would pick off the hindmost. Vavara and Malinari between them made a mist (Szwart was above such devices when he could avoid them; since he could simply merge into the night, he deemed mists unsporting and indeed unnecessary deceptions). But be that is it may, the mist rolled down out of the foothills to swallow Settlement whole. We could see the fitful glow of the Lidescis' communal fires deep in its clammy heart.

'Then our flyers launched and settled towards the town… and flew straight into the teeth of hell!

'Fortunately, we leaders were not in the forefront of this offensive; instead, alerted by my master who was suspicious, we had held back to observe the initial Lidesci reaction. For when Malinari had sent his telepathic probes deep into the mist over Settlement, he had sensed something strange — a mental silence, an awareness, a threat. And he was right.

'The night came alive with deafening explosions, brilliant flashes of light and shrill screams — not Szgany screams! These were the shrieks of our thralls, and the hissing death-cries of stricken flyers. And echoing up to us from Settlement's wooden walls came sharp, spitting cracks of sound one after the other, like stones breaking in a fire or saplings snapping in an avalanche. And great, dazzling balls of fire came soaring up out of the mist into a body of flyers that was still descending. Wherever they hit,

destruction followed: flyers bursting into flame and blazing thralls leaping from their saddles!

'And finally more aerial fireballs: this time aimed at us, where we looked on in utter disbelief from our "safe" foothills ridge. Then:

'"Enough!" And uttering a curse, Szwart spurred his mount aloft and climbed into the night. A true fly-the-light, he had seen and suffered all he could bear; now he retreated from the blinding flares of man-made fireballs.

'Malinari and Vavara, they used Wamphyri mentalism to call off what handfuls remained of our forces, many of whom were too badly damaged to make it back across the barrier mountains into Starside. And as that sorry, scorched and blistered rabble came limping through the mist — glad to escape from the roil and the reek — so we launched and rose on sulphur thermals, and headed for home…

'… And for the surprise of our lives!

'As we fell towards the triangle of rubble wherein we had commenced to build our new empire, we saw what could not be — such devastation! Our central gas-beast chambers, blown asunder, and their occupants in tatters all strewn about, exploded in the blast of their own gases! And warrior vats ablaze with liquid fire that burned blue to melt the mewling monsters! And even as we circled overhead in stunned amaze, a thunderous explosion that tossed shattered vampire thralls and debris aloft over the battlement walls of one of Malinari's unfinished constructions (a warrior pen, which never would be finished now), bursting the walls themselves outwards with its force!

'We landed hurriedly, in unaccustomed disarray, and without ceremony my master and his colleagues hurled themselves in their fury upon those thralls who had been left behind to mind our works. But before a single question could be fired, a single thrall executed:

' "Ho, there!" A strange voice from on high — but not the harsh tones, warning growl or threatening hiss of the Wamphyri. No, this was the voice of a young man, and entirely human.

'He stood on the ledge of a shattered stump, his back to the sheer rock wall. There was no way up from his position and none down, not without he encounter the Wamphyri or their lieutenants and thralls. And he was tall but slight, with nothing of the bulk of a vampire or the leaden look of a Lord. He was, quite literally, a man — Szgany.

'"Who are you?" said Malinari. "This Nathan, perhaps? And is this your work? If so you are a dead man!" I felt my master concentrating, the waves of animosity beating out from him, to enter the stranger's mind and befuddle it.

'But young as he was, and obviously mad (or perhaps not?) he only smiled a knowing smile, shook his head, and said, "Ah, no, my mentalist friend — my mind is shielded. And if Maglore the Mage could not get to me, what chance have you? And you're right: I am Nathan, and this is my work. Nor have you seen the last of it."

'Malinari gestured (with his mind); thralls crept towards the broken stairway that led to Nathan's position. He glanced at them, saw them coming, appeared to ignore them.' Meanwhile, the voluptuous Vavara had stepped forward. She was almost physically aglow and issued her ultimate aura of feminine allure. Her mouth blew a kiss and a promise in Nathan's direction; she smiled up at him on his ledge — the knowing smile of a whore, yet one to cut into a man's soul, if he had one — and lit the night with the lustful heat of her jewel-green, crimson-cored eyes.

'Tipping back her hood and opening her collar, she shook out her raven hair, then let her long, bat-fur cloak fall open. Her blouse was a simple band of cloth crossing from shoulder to waist, cupping one breast and leaving the other bare. Her flesh was marble in moon and starlight, and that proud, naked, stiff-tipped breast shone with the oils she used. She twirled to send her skirt of ropes flying, then came to an abrupt halt. Tantalizing she stood, with her cloak poised on the air and the ropes of her skirt outflung.

Her sturdy legs were spread wide, thighs like pillars, buttocks as round as an apple, dark-tufted in its dimple where the stem has been plucked and a leaf or two remain. And I stood there drooling my lust, for I had grown just such a stem as might replace it! Then Vavara's cloak floated back into position and she was covered. But the picture stayed printed on every eye.

'I felt my blood pounding; I might myself have rushed upon her — to my doom — but Malinari's hand was on my shoulder; he held me back. And this tall, pale Szgany whelp, this Nathan, he looked down on the priestess of lust, looked down on Vavara… and curled his lip!

'Vavara was astonished; she felt her aura repelled as this mere man scorned her, saying, "As for you: you should know that I have been tempted by real Ladies! My mind is closed to you no less than to the mentalist there. And by the way, I know all of you. You: Vavara, Malinari, and Szwart. You were legends and now you are reality, come back from the Icelands. But if I were you I would return there, and now. There's nothing for you here but the true death. And like my father before me, who brought down these evil stacks to shatter into pieces on the boulder plains, so shall I bring you down. That is my vow, as a man of the Szgany Lidesci."

'Through all of this, Szwart had melted himself to a dark shadow on the strewn rubble. Now, flowing like a black and sentient lichen — a living stain — he moved towards the crumbling stairway. By now, too, Malinari's thralls had climbed halfway up, which was as far as they would ever get.

' "And you, Szwart," said the youth from on high, perhaps fifty feet up the stony skeleton of that ancient stairway. "Do you think to sweep over and devour me? As the legend goes, you are akin to the night and can disappear into it. But you and I know that men — and monsters — cannot simply disappear. It's true, Szwart, isn't it?" While he spoke he took something from his Szgany jerkin, twisted it in his hands, lobbed it down, to bounce from step to step. And he said, "Well, perhaps it's true for you, at least. But as for me: I must be on my way. You may not see me, but you'll definitely be hearing from me." So saying, he stepped back into the shadows where the wall angled.

'Lord Szwart flowed over the top of the wall where Nathan had stood, and onto the ledge from which he'd taunted all three of the Wamphyri. Szwart's darkness gathered there, shifting and seething, then rolled on into the selfsame shadows that hid the madman from view. And I knew that it was the end for Nathan Kiklu, whoever he had been. Lord Szwart's protoplasm would envelop him; its strange, metamorphic acids would work on him; he would shrink, devolve, and dissolve to become one with night's master. Or rather, his liquefied flesh would add to Szwart's bulk for a while, until it was converted into fuel.

'The egg-shaped item that Nathan had thrown bounced again, into the group of three climbing thralls. And there it exploded in a flash of light as bright and momentarily brighter than the sun itself! Light, heat, and a blast of alien energy that lacerated the flesh of the unfortunate thralls and blew them off the stone stairway, down into the rubble. They were in pieces, dead before they hit bottom. And Szwart hissing and shrieking, reeling on the high stairs where he tried to regain his man-shape, failed, and collapsed again to a slithering stain.

'All of this shocking, aye, but none so much as what Lord Szwart called out to us as finally he reformed, shaping himself into an airfoil and launching in search of some night-dark place in which to regain his composure:

'"He was not there!" he shrilled. "He is not here! No man, that one, but a ghost! Perhaps the spirit of all the Szgany we ever took in our lives, all combined in one vengeful ghost!"

'And Malinari turned to Vavara and said, "Szwart is right. Not that Nathan is a ghost, but that he's no longer here. For a moment I touched his mind — real in the field of my probes, as real as the shields he raised against me — and in the next moment, gone! So if you think we have seen awesome weapons at work this night, well, now we have seen a real weapon: the man Nathan himself.

But all of this bears thinking about, and I shall give it my gravest consideration."

'And despite that The Mind had chosen his words carefully, perhaps because he felt he must retain at least a measure of control, still his sprouting scythe teeth were awash in his own blood where he ground them deep into his lips and riven gums…

'And Malinari did give it his gravest consideration, as did we all; but no amount of thinking could compensate for our losses, or dream up a successful defence against future depredations by the demon Nathan. Thus that entire night was a disaster, and no guarantee that things were ever going to get any better.

'We went subterranean. Unthinkable, eh — that the Wamphyri should ever flee from a man? From the sun, aye, but not from a single man! — yet such was the case. If we could not build on high, then we must build below, where the stumps of the toppled stacks were riddled with tunnels, caverns, and places which, in the olden times, were only ever fit for bats and beetles.

'And despite that our work force was reduced — our flyers, too, and our warriors boiled in their vats — still we had several hundreds of thralls and provisions aplenty.

'The thralls were put to work; they cleared the debris from ancient diggings, moved our provisions to safety, and built defensive positions on the surface. New vats of metamorphosis were discovered or dug, into which we sacrificed a third of our manpower, the raw materials of our future flyers and warriors. And we commenced keeping a watch… can you believe it? The Wamphyri, vigilant against any further sabotage attempts by this mere man! Moreover, it was more rigidly enforced than any watch that our vanished ancestors had ever kept against each other.

'But this last was a necessity, for from then on, whenever we raided against the Szgany, we could be sure that retaliation would follow hot on our heels. And Nathan Kiklu — man or ghost or whatever he was — he was everywhere. If we raided in the far western reaches of Sunside, he would soon be there with a party of Lidesci fighters, with "guns," "grenades" and "rockets", setting fire to the wings of our flyers, blinding them with silver shot, and knocking our thralls out of their saddles before they could even touch down! Thus, for every man we recruited in Sunside, one of ours was killed by Nathan and his Szgany soldiers. And every forward step was followed by one to the rear.

'East, west, wherever we struck, Nathan and his men could be there in a trice. How? It was beyond us. Moreover, lie would snipe on us from afar, and shoot our thralls dead in their defensive or watchtower positions. Until my master and his colleagues were obliged to devise a new strategy.

'Instead of inhabiting just one central area of Starside's olden ruins, now we spread out and stationed men in every shattered stump and heap of rubble. For one thing was certain: whoever or whatever Nathan was, and for all that he could appear almost magically, anywhere, in extremely short order, he couldn't possibly be everywhere at once.' And so we maintained something of our equilibrium, despite that we made little progress…

'One night my master flew out alone. Returning shortly, he complained bitterly that: "This damned Szgany bastard — he has spies in the barrier mountains! Hah! That is how he knows where we will raid: they watch us fly up from the boulder plains, the direction we take, then make report to him. I tracked them with my mentalism — which is how I discovered theirs!"

' "What? They are thought-thieves, these men?" Vavara found it hard to believe. "Mentalists?"

'Malinari laughed like a madman, and answered, "Even as we are mentalists, aye. So says Malinari the Mind, the greatest of them all. But… they are not men!"

' "Not men?" And now Szwart was baffled. "Not men, you say? Then what — trogs?"

'Malinari gave a wild shake of his head and waved his arms in consternation. "Not trogs, no — but dogs!" ht said. "Wolves of the wild that think like men. Stranger still, they call this Nathan uncle! He is their kin!"

' "Then he is a dog-Lord!" said Vavara. "It's the only possible solution. This hated enemy of ours is Wamphyri! He dwells in the mountain heights, rules on Sunside, and keeps the Szgany for himself. His needs are so slight that the tribes suffer him for his protection. I must be right. Nathan is a changeling."

'And Szwart said, "But a dog-Lord? With powers such as he commands? And as for suffering him for his protection — against what? What was there before we came?"

'My master threw up his hands, crying, "I don't know! I no longer know anything… except that I am sick to death of this Nathan, of this ruined place, and of all this endless work performed without reward. This work that gets us nowhere…"

'We took to raiding separately but simultaneously in locations far apart, and we covered our movements with great stealth. For again the principle applied: that Nathan couldn't be everywhere at once. And at last a small measure of success — which didn't last long. He couldn't be everywhere, but his weapons could.

'From thralls freshly converted we learned how he had disseminated his destructive devices — his guns and grenades, and so forth — among as many of the tribes as possible. And he had taught them how to use them. But these weapons and the "ammunition" they used were not in unlimited supply. From time to time Nathan must replenish them by venturing into the Hell-lands.

'That in itself posed a question: how was it possible for Nathan to make these trips to the Hell-lands without using the Starside Gate? For the Gate was no longer accessible. Where in our time it had rested in the bottom of a crater in the lee of the foothills not far from the great pass, now it was raised up and stood in the centre of a lake! And that lake of white water had many small whirlpools to suck a swimmer down.

'Often in our forays across the barrier mountains into Sunside we had seen it there: that fountain of water, all lit from within, rising up high into the night and falling back into the lake.

'In order to solve that problem, we flew out one night; or rather, Malinari and Vavara flew out, and a few lieutenants and thralls in attendance. For Lord Szwart would not consider going anywhere near such a brilliant source of light, despite that it was cold.

'Ah, but that was indeed a fortunate trip — for the Wamphyri at least, if not (as it later turned out) for me; though of course I could not know that then. Anyway, during the long day previous, while we vampires slept or carried out our subterranean duties beneath the stumps of the old stacks, apparently the lake had run dry!

'And there stood the Gate, raised up in its crater socket, like the blind white eye of some fallen Cyclops shining up into the night. But as for the lake and its fountain of milky water: they were no more, not even a trickle.' The earth was dry, caked, and wrinkled into channels that showed how the water had disappeared down circular boreholes that angled into the bedrock like conduits to hell. A weird thing, this Gate; weird as the tumbling moon or ice-chip stars, and just as inexplicable.

'Malinari, Vavara and their men had left their flyers in the shadowy foothills between the Gate and the great pass, well away from the Gate itself. Facing downhill on a moderate slope, the flyers were positioned for immediate flight. It was a safety measure, to ensure a quick getaway should such become necessary. And so it may be seen that even among the Great Vampires the Hell-lands Gate was held in no small measure of respect.

'And separating into small, wide-spread groups, we applied the same caution to our method of approach — moving from boulder clump to boulder clump, and always sticking to the shadows — as we drew closer to the Gate. But we were still some distance away when suddenly my master threw up a warning hand, and issued a mental alarm that reached out to all of us:

'"Something is coming through the Gate!" his voice hissed in our minds, as we melted back into darkest shadows.

'And he was correct, of course. He had sensed their alien minds, these men of the Hell-lands (of your world, that is), as they stepped forth onto the surface of our world. Far more importantly, however, Malinari had sensed their unpreparedness. Oh, they had

weapons as devastating as Nathan's, but for protection as opposed to open aggression. Also, they had little or no idea what to expect in Starside, and to a man their minds were pre-occupied with greed for the heavy, malleable yellow metal that you call gold, which in my world is common.

'They were thirty-two in number, half of them being soldiers who took up positions on the flanks as the rest formed into an unruly, excited, and chattering body. Then they marched for the great pass. Two of the soldiers rode noisy, wheeled engines that cut the darkness with beams of cold white light; they went ahead to pick a route through the many boulders that litter the area. Keeping still and silent in the shadows, we let them pass right through the various groups of our divided party.

'Then it was that Malinari apprised us, "These men are not like Nathan. They are like infants, with little or no knowledge of what they are about! Those on the outside — the soldiers — they have weapons. When we strike, we take them out first. Kill them with dispatch. They barely outnumber us and shouldn't be a problem; this time the advantage of surprise is on our side. As for the central body: these are the minds behind the muscle… puny things by my reckoning, and not a mentalist among them. So be it; they are weaklings and we must take them alive for questioning. Now make ready — in the next few seconds your destiny may change beyond all recognition!"

'Which of course it did.

'I cannot describe what next took place as "a battle", nor even a rout, for none of our victims had time to flee! Surprise was indeed on our side, and add to this our flowing, lightning-strike speed, and our vampire strength, equal in each of us to that of four or five strong men… the result was overwhelming. Hell-landers they were, but they had never seen hell such as we delivered that night.

'There was some gunfire, soon silenced. We lost a lieutenant and three thralls. The Hell-landers lost everything — their so-called "fighting men", anyway. As for the two on their "motorcycles", when they returned to see what was the trouble, and having seen it didn't stop but headed out onto the barren boulder plains: We picked them off later.

'The freshly dead were carried back to fuel our vats, the living were taken for questioning by Malinari. I can't honestly say which group was least fortunate, the living or the dead… the living, I suspect. In the long run it would make no difference; the one group would join the other.

'What my master learned, however — ah, but that made a big difference! Sufficient to excite Malinari and his Wamphyri colleagues beyond measure. And for me, it was the beginning of the end.. '

Korath had fallen silent for a while. When next he spoke it was similar to a sigh in Jake Cutter's sleeping mind, and deadspeak in the metaphysical Harry Keogh's:

The rest you know. In a while, when Malinari had extracted and assimilated all he could of knowledge from the minds of the "scientists" and their military leader, it was time to take our leave ofStarside.

Before doing so, The Mind, Vavara, and Szwart made a great many lieutenants; they took them down into undeath, and brought them up again as burgeoning Wamphyri! And they divided between them all the remaining thralls, flyers and waxing warriors, and all territorial holdings, provisions, and so forth.

It was done for spite, out of malice; if the three Great Vampires could not have Sunside/Starsidefor their own, then neither could Nathan and the Lidescis, nor the Szgany as a people — not without they Jightfor it for long and long, and pay for it in blood. And so you may be sure that even now there are new Lords in Starside, while in Sunside the bloodJlows as of yore…

Finally Korath was done, and Harry said, From all you have told us, your lot was not a happy one. And your end was unfair, to say the least. I am glad you finally agree! said the dead vampire. But: —From what you have told us, at least, said Harry. But I am more concerned with what you haven't toM us, which is probably more important than all the rest put together. The Wamphyri have been here in our world for some time, but it would seem they've achieved very little. What are they up to, Korath? What is their plan? You were one of theirs, and so you must know.

Ahhhh! said the other slyly, in a tone that suggested the shake of an incorporeal head. And so to the crux of the matter. But no, what you ask is for me to know and for you to discover, or to guess at for a long, long time, until it is too late. For after all, it is my only remaining bargaining point— the last trick up a poor dead thing's sleeve. And when you have that, I shall have nothing at all

'Bargaining point?' said Jake, just a little surprised by his own voice, after keeping so long silent. 'But you're a dead thing! What can you possibly bargain for — what can we give you — apart from a little companionship, a little cold comfort?'

Well, that might be a start…

But the ex-Necroscope intervened and said: You have already had that, companionship and cold comfort, and probably too much of both. It isn't a healthy thing to spend too much time in the company of vampires. No, there's no bargain you can strike here, Korath Mindsthrall. Also, I sense that your will is strong. You are dead, but your tenacity is very much alive! Jake, it's time we were having.

'I thought you'd never get to it,' Jake answered.

only hope you remember some of this, said Harry.p>

Tm still not a hundred per cent sure I want to,' Jake vacillated.

Well, get sure! said Harry, his fading deadspeak voice frustrated and angry. Your entire world depends upon it. And if you can't remember anything else, do try to remember this:

An incredible wall of numbers — like a computer screen run riot— evolved in the eye of Jake's mind, its symbols and equations marching and mutating until they reached a certain critical point… and formed a door. A Mobius door! And Jake knew without knowing how that all that remained of Harry was passing through it, moving on to another place, perhaps another time.

'I… I'm supposed to remember that?' he said, as the door collapsed and left him on his own in the dank and gurgling sump of the once-Refuge. On his own, but not quite alone. For:

Do not concern yourself, Jake Cutter, Korath MmdsthraU's leering deadspeak voice came to him out of the sudden inky darkness that enveloped him and the sump and everything, a darkness that was prelude to the light of the waking world. No, for I am sure that we'll be able to work something out—

— Er, between us?

Jake made no reply, or if he did it was left behind as he went spiralling up and up to the waiting light…

CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR Synchronicity

Liz was leaning over him again. 'Remember what?' she said.

'Eh?' Jake blinked sleep out of his eyes, groped to brush grit from their corners.

'You were rambling on about having to remember something,' she told him. And while he was ordering his thoughts to frame a reply, she quickly went on: 'And before you ask — no, I wasn't snooping on you. I came back here to give you a shake; you were mumbling, and I thought you were speaking to me.' Well, he hadn't been, but he had been speaking to someone. Harry? Korath? But who the hell was Korath? The name, so familiar one minute, was already meaningless, slipping from the edge of his mind. So that now, just a moment later, Jake wasn't sure it meant anything at all.

Well, get sure!… get sure!… get sure! (Like an echo, fading in his memory.) And numbers — a swirl of numbers, equations, symbols, like a mathematician's nightmare — all collapsing to a big Zero, nothing, where before they had meant something.

'Numbers/' Jake croaked, forcing the word out of his dehydrated throat. Liz handed him a can of Coke that she was drinking from, and he sat up and swilled his mouth out, then let the fizzing liquid burn and cool and sting all the way down. 'Numbers?' Liz repeated him. 'What about them?' Awake now, he frowned at her. 'Are you sure you weren't in

there with me?' Then, seeing that look on her face: 'Okay, okay! Just checking.' He took another swig, climbed unsteadily to his feet. 'I think I was dreaming about — hell, I don't know — all sorts of stuff He looked at his boots, then stooped to touch the bottoms of his jeans and wondered why he thought they might be wet. 'I can't remember. A damp place? Voices? Numbers?'

But Liz only shrugged. 'You tell me,' she said, and turned away so that he wouldn't see the look she flashed at the others up front. And over her shoulder she told him, 'We're on our way down. Brisbane next stop.'

Ben Trask, Lardis, Goodly and the others were looking at Jake where he worked the stiffness from his joints and followed Liz to her gunner's chair. As she strapped herself in, he indicated the gun ports and asked: 'Is it okay to open one of these up? And which side is Brisbane?'

One of the technicians answered him: 'Sure — you can open the doors. But you better hook yourself up first. Brisbane's to port.' There were safety straps dangling from the ceiling. Jake pulled one down, hooked it to his belt, jerked on the port-side door's handle, and slid the door open. Air blasted in, the downdraught from the big fan, and immediately the whup, whup, whup of the rotors was a deafening throb.

Liz hooked up, joined him at the door. 'Have you been here before?' she inquired, but her words were whipped away. It made no difference; he 'heard' her anyway. And answered:

No, I haven't. And you're getting good at that.

She only looked at him and said, But I'm not a natural — not at sending, not yet anyway — so maybe you're the one who's getting good at it.

No. He shook his head to give his thoughts emphasis. It's all you, Liz. It's your talent, getting stronger all the time. And maybe some kind of rapport we seem to be developing. Which was the closest he had yet come to admitting any kind of serious involvement.

Their eyes met, locked just for a moment, and each of them knew that the same thought was in the other's mind: that out of the blue Jake was accepting telepathy that much easier — as if he'd been getting in some practice. And they both knew where he had been getting it. It was as he'd explained to Lardis: sleep, the subconscious mind, was a strange thing. And dreams could be stranger yet. Sometimes they could even be more than dreams.

Then they looked down on a small airfield six hundred feet directly below them, and, two or three miles to the east, central Brisbane.

Brisbane was big and sprawling, but it didn't lack order. On the contrary, for if anything it was too symmetrical, ultra-modern. Its streets were too broad, with too many parks, pools, green areas. It should have looked as cool and fresh as an oasis, which in all this heat, when even the downdraught of the rotors felt as hot as hell, would have seemed very welcoming. But the river, instead of being a fat, winding silver eel, was more a thin, snakelike whiplash. Most of the pools were empty down to their liners, and all of the green places had yellow tints.

Jake frowned and might have commented, but the horizon was rapidly narrowing down. As they watched, Brisbane came up level, finally disappearing behind the airport buildings. And just a moment or two later they bumped down.

When the rotors went into braking mode, their whine became unbearable. Grimacing, Jake slammed the door to shut it out…

The small airport — more an airstrip, really — belonged to a private flying club for well-to-do members of Brisbane society. The chopper's pilot had been directed to it by air traffic control, who in turn had taken their orders from higher authority. It might seem odd if a paramilitary jetcopter was seen to land at a main international airport… especially carrying the E-Branch contingent, whose members were by now beginning to look something less than reputable.

Trask had radioed ahead before decamping on the other side of the continent; discreet arrangements had been made while the chopper was still in the air. Met by a pair of clean-cut, immaculately-uniformed 'chauffeurs,' the drivers of limos with one-way-glass windows, Trask and his people were soon on their way into the city.

As they left the airport, heading for a main arterial road, they passed a small parking lot. Sitting on the hood of a battered blue-grey Range Rover-styled vehicle, a tall, angular male figure in jeans, open-necked shirt and broad-brimmed hat gazed intently into the sky over the airport through a pair of binoculars. With his hat shading his face, his features were blankly anonymous under the brilliance of the mid-afternoon sunlight.

Except to Liz, there seemed nothing special about him. Liz had noticed him. She'd seen how, at the last minute, before the car threw up a screen of dust in their wake, the man had turned his binoculars on the two vehicles. Now, with a frown, she tapped Trask on the shoulder where he sat in front of her.

'That man back there/ she said, hurriedly. They were negotiating a bend and the parking lot was already disappearing in the driver's rearview. Trask turned his head, looked back where Liz was indicating; he saw nothing but a dust-plume and a distant shimmer of heat-haze.

'A man?' he said. 'What about him?'

The intercom was on, and the chauffeur — a special agent — asked, 'Something suspicious, miss? A man, did you say? Back there? What was he doing?'

'Sitting on a car,' Liz answered. 'He was watching the sky through binoculars.'

'A plane-spotter?' Through the plate-glass screen that divided them, they saw the driver shrug. 'A wannabe fly-boy member of the club. Hull Some hope. Flying is for rich folks.'

But Liz leaned forward and quietly, right in Trask's ear, said, 'The last thing I saw, he was looking at us.'

They were turning onto the main road and picking up speed. 'Let it go,' Trask told her. 'It may have been nothing, and in any case it's too late now. If we've been made we've been made. But if we've been made, then obviously someone was sent to make us — sent by someone. Now all we have to do is find out who and where.'

Liz nodded, said: 'And… he was wondering about us.'

'That's all you got?'

'Yes.'

Trask shrugged, but not negligently. 'Maybe he was simply curious. But by the same token maybe this wasn't as discreet as it might have been. Two chauffeur-driven limos, doing reception at a small, private airport? I mean, turn the situation around and I might be curious myself. Do you think you'd recognize him again?'

'Probably,' she answered. 'There was something unpleasant, spidery about him.'

'Well, if you do see him let me know,' said Trask. 'Once is coincidence. Twice… this spider might need stepping on.' And the cars sped for the near-distant city…

Back at the parking lot, the long thin man got into his car and called a number on his portaphone. A disinterested female voice said, 'Xanadu, reception?'

'I want to speak to Milan,' the thin man told her.

There was a pause and she said, 'Your identification?' Now she was a little more animated.

'Mind your business/ the thin man replied, with the emphasis on 'mind', but with nothing of rebuke or unpleasantness in his voice. It was simply a code.

'Just a moment, sir,' said the girl. And the phone played some indifferent Musak.

While he waited, the thin man coughed to clear his throat, mopped sweat from his brow, got his thoughts in order. His employer — Mr Milan, to whom he was about to make report — had a liking for ordered minds; he much preferred to hear and understand things clearly and precisely the first time around. And in a little while:

'Milan speaking/ a deep, accented, seemingly cultured yet vaguely threatening male voice replaced the Musak. 'What do you want?'

And the thin man told his employer what he had seen of the jetcopter, gave him brief descriptions of the people he'd seen getting into limos outside the flying club's main building, and closed by saying: 'They drove off towards Brisbane.'

There was a brief pause before the other queried: 'And you didn't follow them?'

'It was the chauffeurs/ the thin man answered. 'They were too good to be true. No one looks as neat, tidy, and as cool as they looked — not in this weather — without they're trying real hard. They looked like government men. And if they were, they'd be on me like flies on shit as soon as they spotted me in their rearviews/

'I see/ said the foreign, Mediterranean-sounding voice of Mr Milan. And in a moment: 'Would you know these people again?'

'Sure.'

'Good. I think this may be what I've been waiting for. You can call your other observers off, Mr Santeson. Let them report to you in Xanadu. From now on I think you will find your duties more to your liking up here at the resort. Just be sure to come and see me as soon as you get in/

'I'm on it/ the thin man said. And under his breath, when the phone went dead: 'What are you — some kind of mind-reader? But anyway, you're right — that's just exactly what I wanted to hear after a day spent sweltering in all this heat, sweating my balls off, watching, waiting, and trying not to look suspicious. Shitty work, in weather like this. But up there at the Pleasure Dome.. p>

… Up at the Pleasure Dome, he thought, putting the car in first and turning out of the parking lot, life is sheer luxury! The pools, the broads in their bikinis, the good food and drink — even the casino, huh! — where I can spend my money almost as fast, or faster, than Mr fucking Milan pays me! And he grinned.

But on the other hand, no one could call Milan mean. Garth Santeson, a private investigator for twenty years and then some, had never had it so good. What? Milan, mean? No way! Shady, definitely — how else would you describe a guy who only ever comes out at night? But never mean — hell, no! The way Aristotle Milan throws money around, it's like… like tomorrow there'll be no use for it!

Never knowing just how close he had come to the truth, and in more respects than one, Santeson headed his battered vehicle for the ring road south around Brisbane. Then he would look for the signpost for the town of Beaudesert, which would put him on a heading for the Macpherson Range right on the border with New South Wales. Eighty miles of good road, and he'd be up into the mountains, yes. And finally Xanadu…

On the way into town, Jake said, 'Now I remember!'

'What you were dreaming about?' said Lardis Lidesci.

'Eh?' Jake looked at him.

'On the plane, you were dreaming about something. When Liz woke you up you couldn't remember.'

Jake shook his head. 'No, not that,' he said. 'I'm talking about Brisbane — I'm remembering about this place. Looking down on the city from the chopper, I thought it looked too neat, too new. Well, that's because it is new.'

Jake and Lardis were travelling in the first limo with the team's top technicians, a pair of young, whizz-kid computer and communications types who were fully-fledged members of E-Branch but not espers as such. One of these, Jimmy Harvey — a compact, prematurely bald man of perhaps twenty-six, with lush red sideburns and bushy eyebrows that together were trying hard to make up for his baldness, grey, watery eyes, and a genius for electronics — wanted to know: 'Jake, where have you been hiding out these last three or four years? I mean, on the Richter Scale of national disasters, Brisbane's Great Fire of 2007 ranks several notches higher than the sinking of the Titanic, and very nearly as

high as Krakatoa!' There was little or nothing of sarcasm in Harvey's comment, just surprise.

Jake sighed, shrugged apologetically, and said, 'Yes, that was what I remembered. As for where I've been: mainly I've been doing my own thing. My world has been — I don't know — kind of a small place, for a long time. I've only had room for personal problems, things that I need to get sorted out.'

'Aye,' Lardis grunted. 'Your vow! I can understand that.'

'My vow?' Jake frowned at him. As usual, he found the old boy full of indecipherable statements. But now:

'In Sunside,' Lardis deciphered, 'when a man has something to do — a wrong that needs righting — he makes a vow, usually in public. And he holds to it until it's done. I made just such a vow one time, and it still isn't done. But if I can't be killing the bloodsucking bastards there, at least I'm helping to kill them here.'

Jimmy Harvey, despite that he wasn't privy to Jake's past, believed he'd got the drift of it. 'So how about you, Jake?' he said. 'You mentioned things you "need" to get sorted out: present tense. So like Lardis, you're not finished yet, right?'

'Not quite, no,' Jake shook his head. 'But there's plenty of time yet.' And to change the subject: 'Why don't you tell me about Brisbane, fill in whatever it is I've missed?'

The other wasn't about to start prying; the one thing he'd learned in his time with the Branch was that these people hated to talk about their private lives almost as much as about their weird 'talents'. And as far as their powers were concerned: the majority didn't see them as bonuses at all, just extra baggage. Jake hadn't been around too long and was a new one on Harvey. Still, he was on the team and so must be an esper. Well, no one can be expert in everything. But… the Great Fire of Brisbane? Something like that had escaped his notice? Jake had to be pulling his leg. But he didn't look like he was. And so:

'It was about this time of year,' Harvey started out. 'And what do you know, 2007 was another El Nino year, just like this one — synchronicity, or something! Anyway, these freaky weather years have been coming around far too often. 1997—98, and again in 2002, and finally in 2007. And this current one, of course.

'In an El Nino the currents in the Pacific go all to hell. They circulate the wrong way, or something like that. The water gets warm where it should be cold, and vice versa. Since everything is connected to ocean temperatures — like, you know, the ecosystem? — the weather goes to hell in a bucket. Everywhere, everything, and everyone gets affected.

'Add to this the depletion of the rain forests, soil erosion, acid rains, holes in the ozone, the not-so-gradual melting of the ice caps, earthquakes, volcanoes blowing their tops left, right and centre… the whole thing seems symptomatic of planetary and climatic upheaval. Or maybe I should say "seemed", past tense, because these aren't just symptoms I'm talking about but the actual disease. In short, we're in it up to our necks! And finally people are beginning to sit up and pay attention to the ecologists and environmentalists, the guys who used to get tagged as sensationalists and doomsayers.

'Back around 1997—98 was when it became really noticeable. Now, hey, we're only talking a time-span of maybe twelve or thirteen years here, but the speed at which things have changed you really wouldn't know it. Like, a thousand years worth of climatic damage packed into just a decade and a half?

'So, let's go back to the years leading up to and including 1997 and '98.

'The Antarctic pack ice had already started breaking into icebergs bigger than large English counties. There were grasses and mosses and flowers where before there'd only ever been ice. Similarly, in the Arctic, the sea ice was getting thinner every year, the so-called "permanent" ice simply wasn't permanent any more, and the cap in general was shrinking. So, all that water had to go somewhere, right? My guess: into the air, the atmosphere, Jake. And as the old saying goes, what goes up must come down again — in precipitation. And brother, did we get rain!

'The Netherlands: flooded to hell… so badly that for a while it looked like all the major dams would go. Germany, and Poland: all the rivers breaking their banks. Greece: unseasonal hail, with hailstones as big as ping-pong balls that flattened the crops. The USA: Jesus, the Mississippi! All that water trying to get out of there, and God help anything that got in its way! And in '97, right here in Australia: first they had fires that scorched people out of their homes — destroying thousands of acres of prairie, woodlands, and national parks, and killing people, livestock, wildlife galore — and then monsoon rains to match anything the rest of the world had suffered. It was just crazy fucking weather!

'But the hell of it was, these were only warnings. The El Nirios are warnings; the melting ice is a warning, and likewise the ozone layer. Like planetwide alarms that have been sounding for a long, long time, all in vain because no one has been listening. Or rather, no one was listening to the ones who were listening…

'In the Far East, they wouldn't stop burning the rain forests. The Americans took the hump when people said their carbon dioxide emissions were off the scale… but they weren't half as snooty in the summer of '98 when Texas turned into a desert! Heat wave? They'd never seen anything like it! As for the Russians: well as usual they hid or disguised or denied any and all wrongdoings whatsoever. Huh! What else would you expect of the people who turned the Aral Sea into the Aral Pond… the folks with more toxic nuclear and chemical garbage per acre than most countries have per square mile! In E-Branch — during my three years with the Branch, anyway — we've been monitoring the hell out of the Russians. Ask Ben Trask about it some time.'

And Jake cut in, 'Well, at least I know something about all that: the way they dump their clapped-out subs, et cetera.'

'That's part of it,' Harvey agreed, 'but the rest of it is just as bad. Anyway, all that's away from the main subject, and in fact we were talking about—?'

'—The big fire,' Jake reminded him. 'Until you went a bit off track.'

Harvey nodded. 'Yeah, the Great Fire of Brisbane, 2007. It was around this time of year, and El Nino was up to its unusual tricks. The weather had been freakish everywhere, especially in the UK, England. For fifteen years the various water boards had been moaning about declining water tables. It could rain all it wanted during the winter, but given just three days of good old heartwarming sunshine in July and these jokers would start leaping up and down, and tearing their hair, and sticking in meters and standpipes, and demanding that people should save water by cutting down on their bathing and putting bricks in their water closet cisterns… and so on, and so forth, ad infinitum. What a load of crap, zfyou could afford to take one! It was Nature all those years, warning us that the Big One was coming.

'Well, in 2007 in England it came, and that year we didn't have a summer…'

'It was washed out?' Jake felt obliged to ask. 'It was drowned out!' Harvey told him.

'I seem to remember something about that,' Jake said. 'But I missed it. I was on the Continent.'

'But you must have read about it, seen it on TV?' 'I told you, I was doing my own thing. On the Continent.' 'Yeah,' Harvey agreed. 'About the only place in the world where the weather was moderately normal. You were lucky. But in England it rained, and rained, and rained! And as for declining water tables: forget it. There's been no shortage of water ever since. Anywhere below sea level turned into a swamp. The Thames Barrier failed, and high tides combined with a flooded river to drown the city six feet deep. Through July, August, and September — shit, there were gondolas in Oxford Street! Okay, so I'm exaggerating — maybe it wasn't quite as bad as all that, but it was bad enough. And I could go on and on. Except…' He paused again.

'Except that was the UK,' Jake helped him out. 'And the

people had plenty of warning, and there was little or no loss of life. Yes, I remember it now. But we were talking about Brisbane, not quite so close to home.'

'Not just Brisbane,' the other told him. 'In 2007 it was Australia as a whole. Now, you've got to remember that in Australia the climate works backwards to how we'd expect back home. It's way hotter in January than in July: the difference between summer and winter, right? Oh, really? Well, in 2007 everything went wrong. From February on the summer weather held, there was no winter and it didn't get any colder. Just like now, in fact exactly like now, they had the freakiest of freak weather.'

Turning his head, Harvey gazed out through the limo's one-way windows at suburbs becoming city. 'I mean, just take a look out there.'

Jake looked, lifted an enquiring eyebrow. 'Well?'

'Dry, brittle, parched. Those gardens that should be green are more like miniature deserts. The grass is withered to straw and the leaves are dead on the trees and bushes. Almost all the swimming pools are empty, and you won't see anyone watering any lawns. It should be a maximum of sixty, sixty-five degrees Fahrenheit out there, but it's well over eighty, and this is late afternoon. And naturally, it's an official drought. Perfect!'

'Perfect for what?' Now Jake was really puzzled… not to mention tired of this circuitous route they were taking to the Great Fire.

'Earth Year!' said Harvey. 'The big conference that starts tomorrow right here in Brisbane, billed as the ultimate ecological summit meeting. Synchronicity at work again, or maybe not. Naturally they chose this place, because of the fire.'

'Well, you've lost me again,' Jake told him. 'And we still haven't got to the fire itself.'

The other shrugged apologetically. 'I'm sorry — it's this grasshopper mind of mine. Start me on a subject, it devours me. Okay, the fire:

'It was the weirdest thing ever — a one-of-a-kind sort of thing, or at least everyone hopes so. 2007, and we thought we'd seen it all: the worst tornadoes the USA had ever suffered, the worst floods, the strangest fluctuations and reversals of climate right across the world, with Australia taking the brunt of it. But no, we hadn't seen it all.

'Brisbane was like a tinderbox. The whole east coast from Rockhampton to Canberra — normally a green strip in the lee of the Great Dividing Range, with no water shortage and an excellent annual rainfall — was bone dry from this drought that had lasted for eighteen months. Oh, they'd had rain, but all of it had fallen on the wrong side of the Great Divide! And daily the temperature was up in the hundreds.

'And it was then that it happened. It was like… what, a tornado? An almighty tornado, a whirlwind, yes. But a whirlwind of fire! Ma Nature, Jake, getting all hot under the collar. It started in the Gidgealpa and Moomba oil and gas fields, but how or why it started, no one knows. There are various theories but, like I said, no one really knows. Though miles apart, suddenly the oil wells and gas installations became the epicentre of an enormous fireball. That in itself was a disaster, but nothing like what was to come.

'A fireball, vast, hot, rushing up on its own thermals, and sucking in the air to fuel itself; sucking the air into a self-perpetuating spiral, a superheated whirlwind. It swept east out of the Sturt Desert, its base widening out as it came, a column of fire five and then ten miles across. At more than a hundred miles an hour it hit a place called Dirranbandi and burned the entire town, just took it out. And everything it burned fuelled the fire, that got hotter and hotter. And on it came. The thing moved like a drunkard — never in a straight line but just exactly like a tornado — a pillar of fire reaching up through the clouds. 'Of course it was monitored, thousands of people reported seeing it. It came terrifyingly close to some towns, scorching them but leaving them intact; then again it seemed to swoop on

others, tossed them into the sky in blazing rags. Firefighters tried to plot its course from the air; some airplanes flew too close and got sucked in, incinerated. And rotating ever faster, it rushed east to refuel itself on the Alton oil field…

'So it goes, and I can't remember all of it. But who would want to? Anyway, the whole thing was on every TV channel. Every Aussie there ever was watched it happening, couldn't do a thing about it. The authorities thought the mountains would stop it — they were wrong. It blazed across the Divide, leaving a smoking track twelve miles wide in its wake, with secondary fires still ranging outwards. The latter would burn for weeks until torrential rains stopped them.

'And with only an hour's warning to the people of Brisbane — an indefinite warning at that, for no one could say for sure what this thing would do — finally it hit, this firestorm from hell, such as the world had never before seen. Never before and never since, thank God!

'Everything that could burn burned. If it couldn't burn it calcined. And if it couldn't calcine it melted. As for the Brisbane River: forget it. It was running at a trickle and had been for a nine-month. The firestorm took what was left of the river water, turned it to steam in a couple of seconds and kept right on going.

'And that was it: a one-hundred-miles-per-hour blast furnace had killed a city and everyone it it who couldn't or hadn't tried to get out following the warning. They hadn't all died by burning; a great many people, gone underground or into cellars, suffocated because the fire needed their air. All of it. Then:

'The thing hit the sea and sucked up a waterspout into its raging funnel. The water put the fire out, turned to steam, and formed clouds. The clouds drifted inland and rained on the raging inferno that had been Brisbane. Finally it was over. End of story…'

… And after a while:

'Christ!' Jake said, under his breath. And a moment later:

'That is some encyclopedic memory you've got there, Jimmy. What are you, an authority on world disasters?'

Harvey shrugged a little selfconsciously — perhaps sheepishly? — and said, 'Me? No — but I know a woman who is. Before we broke camp, I had to talk to HQ about a couple of communications problems. Millicent Cleary was on Duty Officer. She's our current affairs lady; she has that kind of memory, keeps a mental record of just about everything that's going or gone down. As lan Goodly knows the future, she knows the recent past; but of course she has a big advantage: like, it's already happened. And unlike lan's her knowledge comes in amazing detail. So when I told her we'd be setting up next in Brisbane, she clued me in on the city, the fire, the Earth Year Conference. And there you have it: the fire's still fresh in my mind from my conversation with Millicent Cleary.'

Harvey sat back and looked out of his window. After a moment's silence he said, 'But actually, I wish it wasn't…'

In the other limo, the episode of the tall, thin plane-spotter (if that was what he had been) had been forgotten by everyone except Liz Merrick. She, too, was trying to put it to the back of her mind, but knew she'd be able to recall it if or when it was required — His silhouette etched on her memory: his angular shape. And the tilt of his broad-brimmed hat, that kept the sun out of his eyes. The way his binoculars were trained on… trained on what, a mainly empty sky? That was what had been bothering her! That, and the way those glasses had suddenly dipped., turning towards the limo.

That was when Liz's mind had been closest to his, the moment when she'd sensed his interest in the vehicle and its occupants…

'So how about it?' said Ben Trask, causing her to start as he reached over her and switched off the intercom connection to their driver.

'Eh?' she said. And: 'Oh, I'm sorry, Ben. I must have been daydreaming. How about what?'

'Jake, on the chopper. What was going on? Did you get anything?'

And now the image of the thin man with the binoculars vanished completely from her mind as the other question arose, the one Liz had known she would have difficulty answering.

At first it had seemed simple, even exciting in a strange and morbid sort of way. The answer to not just one question but many. But after thinking it over she had seen the enormous hurt it might cause, so that now she had to find a way around it. If Trask would let her.

'But I thought we had an understanding on that,' she said. 'I don't like spying on Jake, and—'

'What?' He cut her off. 'But on the chopper you seemed to indicate that you'd got something. So why are you holding back, Liz? What the hell is going on here?' The look on Trask's face was one of incredulity; he'd been sure they'd hammered this out and from now on it would be plain sailing. So what had happened to change her mind?

'I… I'm not sure what I got!' she blurted it out, lying so unconvincingly that even without his talent Trask would have known. And she saw in his eyes that he knew, and in the way his lips tightened. 'But… but he's my partner!' She quickly went on the defensive. 'He's got to be able to trust me. He saved my life, and—'

'Oh, for Christ's sake spare me!' Trask barked. But before he could say anything else:

'Damn you!' Liz snapped. And then more quietly, even desperately: 'Can't you see? I'm trying to spare you, Ben!'

Which set him back a little, because he saw that that was the truth, too. And despite that Trask was still frowning, his tone was less severe when he said: 'All right, so don't try so hard.'

And after a moment, when she remained silent, he went on, 'Look, whatever this is, there's only you, me, and lan here to share it. So let's have it out in the open here and now, while we can still deal with it in private. For if it has to do with me — and if it's got anything at all to do with the Branch or the job in hand — then obviously I have to know.'

'But it's so very little,' she answered. 'And his shields were up, like a blanket covering his mind, and—'

'Liz, I have to know!' Trask insisted. 'It doesn't matter how small a thing it might seem to you, it could be all-important to everyone else.'

'In its way, I'm sure it is/ Liz said. 'It's just that I would have liked to find a way to tell you — I mean a different way to tell you — without this.'

'This what?' said Trask. 'And Liz, if you lie to me again I'll know.'

She looked at him, looked at lan Goodly, sighed and shook her head. 'I didn't want to lie, but I didn't want to hurt you either. You see, it's.where Jake was — in his dream, I mean — and it's who he was speaking to.'

'Go on,' Trask nodded.

'He was down in the wrecked sump of the Romanian Refuge,' she blurted it out. 'But Ben, it had to be much more than just a dream because from what I saw of it — despite that it was so dark and shrouded — it was all so very real.''

"The Refuge?' Trask repeated her. 'Jake dreamed he was in the wrecked sump? And he was… speaking to someone?'

'To more than one,' Liz corrected him. And now that she'd got started, she quickly went on, 'But you know how dreams are supposed to happen in the last few minutes before you wake up? Well, not this one. It started the moment he fell asleep, went on until he woke up. And it was more than just a dream, Ben.'

The other's face was grey now, gaunt with the sudden, sure knowledge of what Liz was about to tell him. He knew, but asked her anyway. 'Who was Jake talking to?'

'To Harry Keogh,' she answered, 'and to someone else who I didn't know and don't want to know, ever. I couldn't read him — he was a complete blank — but I could sense his presence like a sick taste in my throat. And just the opposite to him, a little

earlier there'd been a third presence like… like a breath of fresh air. She was someone I'd never known, who I wish I had.'

'It was Zek!' Trask groaned. 'He was talking to Zek. Jake was talking to Zek, through Harry.' And clasping Liz's hands in his: 'Liz, what was she saying? What did Zek say?'

'I don't know,' she shook her head, wanted to put her arms round him but couldn't for fear it would crack him up. And anyway, they wouldn't be Zek's arms. 'I got something of what Jake was saying — though very little, because he didn't say much — but nothing of what the others actually said. That was a void.'

lan Goodly said, 'Of course it was. You heard Jake because he's alive. That was your telepathy working, Liz. But Harry and the others… they're a different category, and they were in a different mode.'

'Deadspeak, yes,' Trask murmured, gaunt and visibly shaken where he let his head flop back against the seat's headrest and closed his eyes. 'And whether I like it or not, it looks like I now have to accept it. Jake is our new Necroscope, and Harry is introducing him to… to people who'll be able to help him. As for this numbers thing that Jake was talking about when he woke up — the difficulty he seemed to be having — I think that can mean only one thing.'

Trask looked at the precog and Goodly nodded his confirmation. 'Despite that Jake's future is beyond me, uncertain now,' he said, 'still I can only go along with you. It was the Necroscope's sidereal maths, his numbers, that gave him the edge. And now it looks like the old master is trying to teach his apprentice the tricks of the trade…'

CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE Synchronicity Again

The safe house set aside for E-Branch use was in the New Marchant Park district, north of the city. An ugly two-storey affair, it had aluminium cladding designed and painted in a rather poor imitation of timber; Brisbane no longer favoured wooden structures of any kind.

The house was set back from the road up a short palm-lined drive; its gate was remote-controlled from inside the lead limo and opened into a featureless garden. Two medium-sized, innocuous-looking saloon cars stood on a gravel drive in front of the house. In fact they were fitted with bullet-proof windows, heavily-plated bodywork, hidden roll-bars and other anti-crash/anti-terforist devices. Short of a bomb-blast or a head-on collision at speed, no one was going to come to harm driving one of these vehicles. They were for the use of Trask and his people.

Laid to lawn and enclosed within high stone walls, the garden was on a level and surrounded the house on all sides; every inch of grass (or straw as it was now) was clearly visible from the windows of both storeys. Of the house itself: it had bullet-proof, heavily curtained windows, and a security/intruder warning system second to none. In plan, the ground floor consisted of four long rooms, one on each side, each furnished and decorated in a slightly out-of-date style, with little or nothing to show that the place was anything other than a fairly expensive private dwelling house. The central room, however, which wasn't visible from the gardens, was an operational and communications nerve centre of screens and computerized equipment.

The sleeping quarters (in fact a pair of cramped dormitories with beds for up to fourteen people, or maybe eighteen at a push, and a handful of curtained-off, cell-like units for VIPs) were upstairs. And overhead on the roof, a bank of 'solar-heating panels' (tinted windows) concealed an array of hi-tech communications aerials and dishes.

The agent-chauffeurs showed Trask and his crew of six over the house, asked how they could help them settle in or if there was anything else they needed. Trask checked with Jimmy Harvey and Paul Arenson — in their element as they switched on and got acquainted with the gadgets in the ops room — and Arenson told him:

'We're fully compatible throughout. Give us ten minutes to hook our stuff up to this lot, and we'll have the HQDuty Officer up there on that big screen so clear you'll think you're in London.'

'Scrambled?' Trask wasn't that easily satisfied.

'As per SOPs, yes,' said the other.

At which Trask thanked the ASI men (Australian Special Intelligence), who headed back to the airstrip to connect with incoming Chopper Two's military commanders and three more members of Branch ground staff. Once they were in, and until the slower back-up squads of Australian SAS types had arrived and taken up their tactical locations, the advance party was on its own…

In fact, it took the technicians half an hour to complete their hook-up. Meanwhile an uncharacteristically subdued Liz had brewed a pot of Earl Grey for Trask and herself, coffee for Jake and the others. Goodly had taken his coffee through into ops. Trask was enjoying his tea in one of the living rooms while poring over a small-scale map of the Queensland/New South Wales border areas. It was somewhere there, in the vicinity of the border, that the locator Chung had detected mindsmog, probably due to the mental activity of a master vampire, Wamphyri! Probably, but not definitely, not with one hundred per cent certainty; the Branch had long since discovered psychic 'hotspots' where a proliferation of lesser, human ESP talents could produce the same result. It had been David Chung's 'hunch', however, that this time it was the real thing, which the synchronous 'coincidence' of vampire lieutenant Bruce Trennier's death had seemed to confirm.

Jake took his coffee over to where Trask worked, watched him use a red highlighter to plot a dotted line along the border from Stanthorpe to Coolangatta, then circle the whole area in a ring of pale red ink. As Trask looked up from what he was doing, Jake lifted an enquiring eyebrow.

'If our target is here/ Trask explained, 'and if he has established himself, then he's somewhere inside this ring. Personally, I fancy he is. I've known David Chung for a long time and he doesn't make too many mistakes. It was Chung who discovered Trennier. Once we had an approximate location, we checked with the local police and picked up on a handful of disappearances — Trennier's recruits, those creatures we killed at the Old Mine gas station. That one was fairly easy; in a region as thinly populated as the Gibson Desert, people are wont to take notice when their kith and kin cease to exist! But here in the east, on the coastal strip…' He paused, glanced again at the map, shook his head.

'Densely populated,' Jake nodded. 'And that circle you've drawn covers, what — maybe five, six thousand square miles?'

'Closer to eight,' Trask corrected him glumly. 'And folks disappear around here every other half-hour, about the same as they do in similar areas of population all over the world.'

Lardis Lidesci had been talking to Liz. Now he came over, put a gnarled finger on the map and growled, 'These?' 'Mountains,' Trask answered.

'Huh!' Lardis grunted. 'Thought so. And the border follows the mountains, right?'

'In part,' Trask nodded. 'A natural boundary, yes.'

'An wnnatural boundary, in Sunside/Starsidef Lardis said. 'But there again, the Barrier Mountains are different entirely, and they never knew sunlight such as these mountains have seen. But beggars, and even the Wamphyri, can't be choosers. Not in a world like this. So there you are. And now maybe you can narrow it down.'

Concentrating on the map, Trask was only half-listening to what Lardis was saying. But in another moment he looked up from where he sat at the table. 'Eh?'

'Mountains,' Lardis said. 1 understand 'em. And so do the Wamphyri. If this one's a Lord, where do you think he'll be?'

'Where do I think—?' Trask frowned, looked again at the map, then came erect and snapped his fingers.

'In the mountains, aye,' Lardis anticipated him, scowling in his fashion. 'In his aerie, of course. That's a logical con— er, conclusion? — wouldn't you say? And here's another: if it is one of them, it isn't Szwart. What, in all this heat and light? No way — not a chance. It's too much for me, let alone for Lord Szwart. Huh! Darkness himself, that one!'

And: 'Damn! You're probably right!' Trask husked.

At which point lan Goodly returned from the ops room. 'Up and running,' he said. 'And Ben, David Chung's on-screen, wanting to speak to you…'

'I have some hot-off-the-press news for you,' Chung told Trask as he seated himself within the screen's viewing arc.

'Big deal,' Trask answered wearily, with a touch of sarcasm but no real malice. 'Just about any news fits that description! We've been busy, air-mobile, and only just got settled in here. So, what's going down in your neck of the woods that's such hot stuff?'

Chung shrugged. 'In my neck of the woods? Not a lot. But in yours: an opportunity to speak to an old pal of ours, maybe, if that's of any interest?' And then, more seriously: 'It's Gustav Turchin. He's going to be there at the Earth Year Conference in Brisbane. The time in the City is now—' he glanced off-screen '—a little after eight a.m. But just an hour ago Turchin himself was on-screen, unscrambled, from Moscow. He was interested to know if you'd be attending the conference. He was very careful, oh-so-polite, and diplomatic as usual, but John Grieve was doing Duty Officer and read him like a book. Premier Turchin is eager to see you, Ben. It was a last-minute call, probably monitored, before he boarded an Aeroflot VTOL Atmozkim to Brisbane. And John says Turchin stressed the fact that he would be accompanied by "several members of his staff…'

'That's very interesting,' Trask answered. 'His bodyguards will be special police, KGB lookalikes — watchdogs for the real leaders, all the military types like Mikhail Suvorov — who will be making sure he doesn't step out of line. So maybe Turchin is on his way out, his days of power at an end. But of course I'll see him. I have a few questions for him, and while he still has some pull there's a favour I need to ask of him…' Trask glanced at Jake, perhaps musingly, then turned back to the screen.

'So thanks for the information, David,' he continued, 'and you can be sure I'll act on it. But now I'd like you to tell me something about our main problem. How is the search going? Have you picked up anything new to corroborate your original lead?'

Chung pulled a wry face. 'There's something there, I would swear to that. But it's too distant, too shielded, literally on the other side of the world! Your side of the world, Ben. Which is where I have to be if you want any kind of accuracy. I mean, how can I be expected to locate someone or something through eight thousand miles of solid rock and white-hot magma?' 'You want in on this?' Trask's face was a blank. 'Absolutely!'

'And you wouldn't be playing on your talent simply so you can come swarming around out here?'

Chung's face showed his confusion. For the truth was that he would dearly love to go 'swarming around' in Australia with his E-Branch colleagues — and if he denied it Trask would know he was lying! So after letting his face work its way through a number of mutually contradictory expressions, finally he said, 'But isn't that the wrong question? What you should have asked is, do I think I'll be better placed to find what we're searching for if I'm out there with you?… To which I would have to answer, yes.'

At which Trask's stony expression broke and he grinned. 'I know,' he said. 'I'm good at asking awkward questions, right?'

'Too true!' Chung rubbed his chin and looked hurt — until a moment later, when Trask said:

'Okay, so how soon can you be out here? The fact is you'll come in useful apprising Premier Turchin first-hand of all that you've discovered about the Russian navy's illegal pollution of the world's oceans… and in Earth Year at that! Which in turn will afford me a little more leverage on what I would like from him. That's if leverage is required, which I doubt. For, in fact, Gustav Turchin isn't a bad sort of bloke.'

Watching Chung's face come alive with anticipation on the wall screen, Jake thought: Synchronicity again! Like some kind of weird word~association. E-Branch: Gustav Turchin: the down-at-heel Russian military's systematic pollution of the oceans: the Earth Year eco~summit. And all of it coming together right here and now, in Brisbane — along with a whole hunch of other shit, possihly.

And meanwhile, with a smile as broad as his face, the locator was saying, 'I, er, already mentioned the possibility that I mightbe needed to John Grieve. He's happy to take over here, and there'll be no shortage of staff in support. So… when is the next flight out?'

Trask nodded, knowingly. 'I'm sure you'll be able to check that out for yourself,' he said. 'Er, if you haven't already.'

And Chung laughed and said, 'I have an hour and forty minutes to make Heathrow!'

'I thought so,' Trask said. 'Very well, lan Goodly can get his head down now and pick you up in the wee small hours at the airport. You'll travel under an assumed identity, of course.'

'Of course.' And Chung was still grinning his delight when Trask broke the connection…

Chung wasn't the only one who was met at the airport in the wee small hours. Premier Gustav Turchin was there first, along with his minder entourage. No one paid them much attention.

Russia was no longer a world superpower — in fact, she was rapidly crumbling, held under siege not by the world community but from within her own borders by political and ideological intractability, corruption, organized crime, and desperate poverty — but still Turchin was recognized as a world leader of sorts, if only a figurehead without any real power. In any case the Earth Year Conference wasn't diplomacy-conscious; it wasn't that kind of venue: the eco-summit's organizers were not so much standing on ceremony as requiring action.

Australia, now a republic and a very powerful nation in its own right, was still viewed as a 'clean' country and was determined to stay that way. While the all too frequent El Ninos and other ecological disasters were not caused by Australians, Australians were suffering their consequences. Now they and other like-minded — indeed right-minded — countries were considering real action, political, legal, and economic, against nations with bad-to-criminal ecological records. Since Russia was reckoned more than merely 'suspect' in this regard, and since Premier Turchin's attendance had been an eleventh-hour decision, no red-carpet arrangements had been made for him and his party.

A limo and driver had been arranged — which was literally the least that the organizers could do without being seen to be rude — but Trask had seen to it that these had been called off. This hadn't been the easiest thing in the world to arrange, but Trask's connections were second to none.

Diplomatic immunity saw the Russian Premier and his poker-faced party of four clone-like minders through the international airport's red-tape entry procedures without too much fuss, each man carrying his own spartan to modest luggage, until they were met in the arrivals lounge by a pair of'chauffeurs' who introduced themselves as 'Mr Smith' and 'Mr Brown'.

Swiftly escorted to the carport by Smith and Brown, Turchin was bundled into the back of the first limo… the doors of which immediately clicked shut and locked, all except the driver's door, which stood open. And before the jet-lagged, travel-disorientated quartet of grey-suits could even begin to object, Mr Smith slid into the driver's seat and drove away.

As the minders got into the second limo, one of them growled a concerned, heavily accented: 'Who was that man sitting in the front of the first car?'

'Er, that was Mr Smith,' said Mr Brown. 'I believe he's an important convention official. It seemed only right that a person of stature should welcome your Premier personally.'

'Oh, indeed, yes!' said the other, gruffly. And then, with a frown: 'But, er… wasn't the driver also Mr Smith?'

'That's correct,' said Brown, quickly recovering from his gaffe. 'We have an awful lot of Smiths, you know — and Browns, too, for that matter. Why, we even had a Prime Minister called Smith once over! And anyway, what's wrong with that? I imagine it's much the same with Ivans and Ivanovs in your country.'

'Yes, certainly. I understand. Pardon me. Ahem!' To cover his embarrassment, the minder coughed into a handkerchief.

Over the intercom Mr Brown chuckled and said, 'Let's face it, this is Australia! I mean, who did you think would be meeting you — Marx and Engels?'

'Oh, ha ha ha ha!' The minders laughed woodenly, almost in unison. 'No, not at all. Indeed, no!' But when they'd quietened down, their head man cautiously enquired, 'Er, how long will it be before we get to the hotel?'

'Eh?' said Mr Brown, grinning. 'Well, I don't really know, mate. All I know is I have orders to tail the car in front, and that's it. About an hour, at a guess — maybe more, maybe less. But now, if you'll excuse me, I have to concentrate on my driving.'

'Yes, of course. Just as long as you stay right behind the car in front.' But the car in front was already out of sight.

'Oh, don't worry, I won't lose him. No fear of that. But I do understand your concern. It must be very daunting, having to keep an eye on someone like Gustav Turchin. What, dodgy is he?'

But now Mr Brown's familiarity was getting to be too much. 'What's that?' the leading grey-suit said stiffly. 'Did you say dodgy? Something about keeping an eye on him? Now you listen to me, Mr…'

'… Well, that's what you are, aren't you?' Brown cut him off. 'I mean, just how long have you lot been special policemen anyway — or KGB as was — or whatever you call yourselves now?'

But suddenly the four were very tight-lipped, scowling at each other. And with his mouth twitching in one corner, and his eyes like black marbles, their leader slowly answered, 'We have been — ah, shall we say, specialists? — a lot longer, I fancy, than you have been a chauffeur, Mr Brown!'

At which Brown looked back, grinned, and then switched off the intercom…

Out on the airport service road, Trask got out of the front of the limo and into the back with Turchin. Then they shook hands, and Turchin hugged him in a typically Russian greeting. 'Funny, but we've never met person to person/ Turchin said then. 'Yet it seems I know you.'

'A meeting of minds, perhaps?' said Trask. And, 'Listen, I apologize for the subterfuge back there, but your friends—'

'No friends of mine!' Turchin cut him short. 'Indeed, they are only here to make sure I don't talk out of turn. But before you ask… yes, I do know about the despicable and destructive activities of our armed forces. They are like dogs fouling someone else's garden. But Trask, understand this: I am not the one who let those dogs off the leash. In today's Russia, my friend, they roam wild. Indeed, I've been lucky to hold on to what small degree of power still remains to me. But if I were to tell this conference everything I know, then even that would be lost, and our currently uneasy east-west relationship would slip a little bit farther downhill.'

Trask nodded. 'I understand, and it's much as I suspected. But Premier, you don't have to explain to me, not about that, at least. And I know that you won't be able — won't be allowed — to explain it to the conference. So, why are you here?' He fell silent, wanting to let the other do the talking. Maybe he would learn more that way.

'How long do we have?' Turchin inquired.

'The drivers are taking the scenic route,' Trask told him. I've asked for half an hour at least, an hour at most. In fact we could be at your hotel in twenty minutes, but I wasn't quite sure what degree of privacy you'd have later.'

'Half an hour?' Turchin nodded. 'Good. I'm sure it's going to be enough, but we'll need to get on. As for privacy later — huh!'

'My fault,' said Trask. 'I should have been more subtle. I didn't want to compromise you, but I simply didn't have time to make any other arrangements.'

'No,' Turchin shook his head. 'It's just how things are. I have made myself unpopular with certain people. If a country is rich and strong and its people are well fed, then maybe the man in charge can afford to be unpopular and do things his own way. Me, I can't afford to do anything my own way! The only reason I hold on is in the hope that things will change. But change is a long time coming.'

Trask had been studying him. The Russian Premier wasn't by any means the same man he'd known previously. Even though Trask had only ever seen him in television broadcasts or on-screen at E-Branch HQ, still he had radiated a lot more power than he did now. And Trask's mind took him back to a time all of five years ago, when he had negotiated a course of action on the Perchorsk Gate with this selfsame man:

Then, Gustav Turchin had seemed unshakeable. He had been a rock of a man. Blockily built, square of face and short in the neck — with a shock of black hair, bushy black eyebrows, dark, glinting eyes over a blunt nose, and an unemotional mouth — he had been a veritable bulldog. But even then the Premier had had problems. Coinciding with Trask's, they had served to bring the two together in a mutually beneficial understanding.

Now… there had been changes. Turchin was a lot thinner, grey-streaked where his hair was brushed back from his temples, less bright and sharp of eye; even his voice had lost something of its former authority. The intellect was still there — still lethal, Trask supposed — but the drive was failing. Seven years of political power, and nothing to show for it, had taken their toll of him.

But the way the Russian Premier was studying Trask… the head of E-Branch couldn't suppress a snort of self-derision. If he found Turchin changed, what must Turchin think of him? As if reading his mind, the other said:

'The years haven't been kind to us.'

And Trask smiled wrily and answered, 'It's not so much the years as the mileage.' Then he stopped smiling and said, 'We've not long had definite evidence about what your navy is doing. I certainly won't be saying anything about it here in Brisbane. I wouldn't embarrass you like that. In fact, I'm not here on Earth Year business at all, and I doubt if I'll attend a single session. But you should know that sooner or later — probably sooner — I'll have to bring it to the attention of our Minister Responsible, and that he has obligations, too.'

'I appreciate that, er, Benjamin?' 'Ben.'

'Then by all means call me Gustav. But you are not the only one whose purpose here is other than it seems. Indeed, I am here simply because you are here! Oh, they have been badgering me to attend these things all over the world, but so far I've managed to hold them off. The admirals, generals, despoilers, et cetera, requiring me to lie for them — huh! Well, and now that I'm here I shall lie for them, telling Brisbane and all the world of the marvellous efforts Russia is making to clean up her act. But you and I, we know the truth. And, as you have pointed out, so will everyone else in the not too distant future. Unfortunately, that is the least of my worries — or if not the least, it is not my major concern. No, for that is something else entirely.'

Trask nodded. He remained silent and thoughtful for a few moments, then said, 'Perhaps I can anticipate you? I think it's only fair to tell you that I'm also aware that Mikhail

Suvorov has led an alleged "expeditionary" party of soldiers and scientists through the Perchorsk Gate into Sunside/Starside, Nathan Keogh's world.'

Now it was Gustav Turchin's turn to smile wrily. 'Ah!' he said. 'The Opposition! And sharp as ever. Yes, and you are correct: that is my problem. But, alas, it's also yours.'

'Probably more than you suspect,' said Trask. 'But perhaps I should hear your side of the story first.'

'My side is simple,' said the other. 'Five years ago, when Turkur Tzonov escaped justice in Perchorsk by fleeing into Starside, some of his dupes were taken prisoner. That was a mistake on my part; I should have had them shot for mutiny, conspiracy, desertion of duty, sabotage… oh, half a dozen charges. But I didn't, and one of them talked to Mikhail Suvorov. Not the best possible move, for fehad them shot! Or rather, he saw to their disposal. There were several very unfortunate accidents.'

Trask understood, and said, 'Which left General Suvorov as the sole heir to whatever he could steal from Sunside/Starside. He knew that the Gate would lead him into an alien world, knew about the gold, and wanted it for himself

'The gold and whatever else he could find there,' Turchin answered. 'A whole new world, which he would annex and rape for its riches. And he would have control of the Gate. Why, in retrospect it seems perfectly obvious: if Suvorov had wanted these things for the good of his country, for Russia — which was what he told me — then surely he would have explained his purpose to everyone; to his military colleagues and the whole country, and not just… not just to me.' He turned his face away.

'He told you he was going through the Gate? And you didn't try to stop him?' Trask believed he understood something of the predicament Turchin must have faced, but wanted to hear it from the horse's mouth.

'How could I stop him?' Turchin threw up his hands. 'After the Perchorsk Complex was flooded, a task force of military engineers was sent in to strip and salvage lead from the shielding in the ravine. That was what I was led to believe, though later it turned out that wasn't all they were there for. Anyway, many of these men were long-term criminals from the punishment garrisons at Beresov and Ukhta. Hand-picked by Mikhail Suvorov, they had been given the choice of serving out their sentences or serving him: his first step towards securing Perchorsk. In return, and after the job was done and everyone else had moved out, Suvorov let them stay on and turn the dry upper levels into living quarters serviced by hydroelectric power from the dam. They had vehicles, and documentation that allowed them to resupply themselves from Beresov. From then on they were the "official" team of engineers, responsible for servicing and running the dam. As for the dam's continued existence: that was easily justified in that the bulk of its electrical power had been re-routed to the service of local logging camps and other communities…'

'And you were in the dark about all this?' Despite Trask's respect for the other — and the fact that so far the Premier's every word had been the truth — still he was relentless in his pusuit of all the answers.

'I was kept in the dark about it!' Turchin told him. 'Ben, I don't control the armed forces and I never have. If they want me to know something, then they tell me. And if I require their services, I tell them. And that's it.'

'Bringing a democracy to life isn't easy,' Trask said. 'Neither is killing Communism!' said the other, then went on to explain: 'Oh, they are still there, the hard-liners. And so we're — how do you say it — between a rock and a hard place? The old guard on the one hand, and all the greedy opportunists, like Suvorov, on the other. Do you know what happens to a Russian bank if it runs out of money?'

Trask shrugged. 'It goes bankrupt?'

'No, they turn it into a pizza house! Huh! Among the Muscovites, that is currently a "joke." Here's another that's not so funny: what does a General do when there's no money

to fund his parades or pay his troops, and his pension's only good for cheap vodka and cabbage soup?'

And Trask nodded. 'He goes gold-prospecting. But you know, no one lives forever. Not me and not you. Somewhere there must be documentation on the Perchorsk Project, the Gate, the complex, and everything that happened there. While we're alive, of course we'll do our best to protect such records, such secrets. But when we're dead or no longer in office — what then? If not Suvorov, sooner or later someone else would have tried it.'

'I thought of that a long time ago,' said Turchin. 'Also, I liked Nathan and I'm sure I would like his people. There was something about him that was very Russian, you know? And in my way, well, I'm a humanitarian, too… you'll just have to take my word for that. So, I took what precautions I could.'

'Precautions?'

'Long before Mikhail Suvorov found out about Perchorsk, I was destroying everything I could find on that place. Every bit of documentation, records, reports, you name it. Not the experiment, you understand, not the Projekt itself — for it's better that men should learn from their mistakes — but the horror that came after it, the very knowledge of a vampire world. And I was quite successful, perhaps even too successful. For now… why, even the so-called Opposition knows a lot more about it than I do, and certainly more than anyone else!'

'We always did,' said Trask.

'Of course you did, yes — and of course you do — for you have even been there, to Nathan Keogh's world in an alien parallel dimension. But isn't that a peculiar circumstance in itself, since Perchorsk and the Gate lie deep inside my homeland? And if you were me, wouldn't you feel… left out?'

'Not really,' Trask shook his head. 'No one who saw what I saw, experienced what I experienced, would ever want to go back there. Believe me, you must consider yourself fortunate. And as for General Mikhail Suvorov: well, you can consider him unfortunate. He's dead, Gustav.'

'Oh?' And Turchin lifted a great bush of an eyebrow. 'Does that explain it, then? The accident or vandalism or whatever it was at the Romanian Refuge? Was that Suvorov?'

'You know about the Refuge?'

'I have my sources.' Turchin shrugged.

For the moment at least Trask let that one slide and said, 'No, it wasn't Mikhail Suvorov — but it was as a direct result of his "invasion" of Sunside/Starside. That was what brought it about' And he quickly told the Russian Premier everything that had happened, including the fact that three Great Vampires were now at large in the world, and that he and E-Branch were trying to hunt them down.

'And that is why you're here?'

'We believe that one of them is here in Australia, yes.'

And Turchin said, 'Ah! Then that would explain why initially you were on the other side of the continent, and not here in Brisbane. And so it's a pure coincidence that the trail has led you here: you think that he — your "man," shall we say? — is close by.'

'He's not far away, that's for sure,' said Trask. 'And now I have a question for you.'

'Go ahead.'

'If you knew we were in the west, in the Gibson Desert on the other side of Australia, why did you ask my headquarters if I'd be attending the conference? Also, how did you know we were in Western Australia in the first place?'

'That's two questions,' Turchin smiled.

Trask nodded. 'Yes, but please don't spoil things by lying to me on either one of them.'

'To you?' Turchin raised that eyebrow again. 'Do you think that's likely, Ben?'

'No, because I know it isn't possible,' said the other. 'I was reminding you of that fact, that's all.'

'I don't need reminding,' the Premier told him. 'And I say again, I'm not here to lie to you but to ask for your help. And now you ask how I know so much. Very well, then listen:

'When our Russian equivalent of your E-Branch failed — and failed so very spectacularly at the hands of Harry Keogh — then ESP as a weapon was largely discredited and the Russian organization disbanded. Or at least it was "officially" disbanded. For our military commanders, down-to-earth fellows who would rather put their faith in conventional spying techniques, wanted nothing more to do with it. Which made it an ideal tool for a Premier who—'

'—Who was pretty much powerless but desperate to keep an eye on things,' Trask finished it for him. 'You yourself, Gustav. You are now in charge of the Opposition!'

'Covertly, yes. What's left of it,' Turchin nodded.

'And you've been using your mindspies to watch us?'

'Don't look so hurt, Ben! Haven't you been watching me and mine?'

Trask thought about it and grinned… and was serious again in a moment. 'But you still haven't told me why you asked my HQ if I was attending the conference?'

The other smiled. 'It was my way of telling you that I was attending, without spelling out a request to meet with you.'

'Still sharp as a tack,' Trask said. And: 'Okay. So, as you now know, I too have a problem… shit, I mean the whole world has a problem! Three of them, and big ones. But yours has to be urgent, too, and probably personal, else you wouldn't be taking chances talking to me. Obviously we need to make a deal, and we will, a mutually beneficial arrangement. But I can't do or promise anything until I know what your problem is.'

'Urgent, yes, definitely,' said Turchin. 'But personal? Not any longer, not after what you have told me. For it seems to me our problems mesh, becoming one and the same. Very well, I know one of yours — or ours, as it now appears — and the worst of them at that: that there are vampires in our world. But somehow I think there's a lot more than that to it. Am I right?'

'A tangled skein, yes,' Trask nodded. 'But synchronous, all coming together at the same time. And meanwhile our time is flying. So okay, you first Just what is your problem, comrade?'

CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX Dilemmas, Dreams, And Deadspeak

'My problems, plural, are not so simple,' said Gustav Turchin. 'Suvorov told a handful of his military cronies that he was onto something big,' also that he'd probably be incommunicado for a while, but in the event he was gone for too long they should come to me for answers. Well, some eighteen months ago they started to ask questions, not too many, for with Suvorov out of the way they had been playing their own hands. These are people with small armies of their own, funded by the drugs trade, I suspect, for they certainly can't be getting it through official channels. Why not? Because the bank is broke.' Anyway, sooner or later they'll become more insistent, and I'm the one whom they'll squeeze for information. Obviously I don't want to tell them anything about Perchorsk, so what can I tell them?

'Next problem:

'The Perchorsk complex is still dry, the Gate stands open, and the Wamphyri are back in Sunside/Starside. Which means, of course, that the Gate has to be closed. But how, since Mikhail Suvorov's gang of criminal "engineers" are still in control up there, standing guard on the place and waiting for his return? Which brings up another question: how long before some of them decide to follow him through the Gate?

'Well, despite that the complex is isolated, remote, still I can't attack it. Even if I had the military muscle I wouldn't dare use it for

fear of attracting the rest of Suvorov's "colleagues" to Perchorsk. There you have it: it's a vicious circle, and frankly I can't see any easy way to break out of it.'

'Me neither,' said Trask, frowning. 'But that doesn't mean it's hopeless. In E-Branch I have a good many first-class problem-solvers, and I promise I'll do what I can. But first let me get it straight. No one else knows about Sunside/Starside's mineral riches?'

'Now that Suvorov is dead, no. Not that I'm aware of.'

'And there are no documents to lead anyone in that direction?'

'None that I know of.' Turchin shook his head.

'Then what it boils down to is this: you've got to find a way to tell Mikhail Suvorov's cronies he's dead, while simultaneously ensuring that they don't go looking for him.'

'What?' Turchin was at once alarmed. 'And without telling them how or where he died, surely — that is, if you would save Nathan's world from uttermost destruction! For if you think for a moment they wouldn't go searching for Suvorov, you're wrong. They would. And they would see what they would see, and having seen it… then they would turn a whole world into a nuclear, chemical, and biological wasteland!'

'Zfthey managed to get back here to tell about it,' said Trask. 'But in any case you're right: eventually we'll have to get into Perchorsk and close the Gate, for good this time.'

'Precisely. Until which time the problems remain…'

Trask was silent for a moment, then said, 'As for the one we've just formulated, how to get into Perchorsk and close the Gate: I may soon have the answer to that one at least. But not right now. It's something I'm working on.'

'Harry Keogh could have done it,' said Turchin knowingly, perhaps wistfully.

'Harry's dead,' said Trask.

'But Nathan isn't/ said Turchin. 'And he owes me.'

Trask shook his head. 'No, Nathan can't help us. Not right now. He has problems of his own, in Sunside/Starside. And there isn't any way we can contact him.'

But didn't you say you were working on something?'

'Something, someone, yes. Don't ask me any more about it.'

Turchin nodded. 'I see…'

'But don't lose hope,' Trask told him. 'Like I said, we'll do what we can. Meanwhile you'll have to sit tight, play dumb.'

'Play dumb?' Turchin snorted. 'I may be the Premier, but I can't hold these people off forever! Suvorov and a good many men, scientist and soldier both, have gone missing and they believe I have the answers. And when I won't supply them, then they'll think I'm involved.'

'Then keep out of their way for as long as you can.'

'I intend to,' said Turchin. 'That is the other reason I'm here in Brisbane. Because it keeps me out of Russia. And that's why those "friends" of mine in the other car, those—'

'Those goons?'

'—Why those goons are here, yes.' Turchin tried to smile but it was a futile effort. 'To make sure I'll find my way back home again. Hub!'

'You could seek political asylum.'

'Which might solve my problem, but it wouldn't solve ours, yours, Russia's, or the world's.'

'So what will you do?'

'These conferences look like they'll go on forever. Certainly for the rest of this year. Here, and in London, Brussels, Rio de Janeiro, Calcutta, you name it. I shall attend them all, one after the other if that's at all feasible. And of course I shall sweat and worry, and wait for you to come up with an answer.'

'And at the same time do something for me,' said Trask. 'Ah, yes! Your problems/ said Turchin. 'I had almost forgotten that this isn't a one-sided affair. So then, what can I do for you?'

'It's all part of the same problem,' Trask told him. 'Remember that and it might give you an incentive. First, call off your mindspies. If we're to work together — or at least on the same wavelength — you don't need to be watching me. But on the other hand I do need them to be watching out for me. Or rather, for vampires. But there's more than one kind of bloodsucker involved here. You mentioned the illicit drugs trade. It's no big secret how the so-called Russian Mafia are flushing your people and your country down the toilet. But in another way, a different way, they're also connected with our problem in general. So here's what I want you to do…'

And he quickly explained what he wanted: information from Turchin's side on the Moscow Mafia's connection with Marseille, with specific reference to Luigi Castellano's organization and its operation in the northern Mediterranean. And:

'This man Castellano is of particular interest to us,' he finished up. 'He's a dark horse indeed. My people in the Branch haven't so far been able to pin him down, and Interpol has next to nothing on him. I mean, it's not unusual for a drugs boss to keep a low profile, but this one's near-invisible. And frankly, I want his backside in a sling.'

Turchin looked doubtful. 'But doesn't this smack of common or garden police work? How does it fit into the big picture?'

'I'm trying to help someone who may soon be in a very good position to help me — or us,' Trask answered. 'If I scratch his back, with a bit of luck he'll scratch ours.'

And Turchin nodded. Til see what I can do. Is there anything else?'

'You can try to find out just exactly what we'll be going up against if or when we do try to take Perchorsk,' Trask said.

The Russian Premier looked at him; indeed, his dark, glinting eyes bored into him as he inquired, 'With a British force, do you mean? In which case you might require a route of access. Not to mention one of egress, an escape route.'

'Good idea,' said Trask. 'You can look into that, too, by all means. And you can think how to give us cover in the event of political flak, that is if we were seen to be involved. But at the moment I don't see it as a problem. It's like you said: Perchorsk is remote, isolated.'

'Oh? And you can come and go into foreign lands and alien places at will, can you?' And now Turchin's gaze was even more intense.

But Trask only said, 'We've talked enough, and our time's up.' Then he switched on the intercom and said: 'Mr Smith, the hotel, if you please.'

In a little while, Turchin said. 'Well, it seems our business is done for now. But if that's all you want, and if things eventually work out, it would appear I get the best of the bargain.'

Trask looked at him and shook his head. 'I understand what you're saying, Gustav, but I think it's a very narrow viewpoint. The way I see it, the whole world gets the best of the bargain. Which is to say, we all come out of it alive… and as men.'

Turchin shrugged and answered, 'Yes, yes, of course you're right. Still, on a moment-to-moment basis, one's own skin is oddly precious.'

But Trask only said, 'How about one's soul?'

And a little later, while Turchin thought about that — if he thought about it — the limo arrived at his hotel…

… And Trask was long gone before the second limo drew up where Turchin stamped 'angrily' to and fro, waiting for his minders.

Tfw^He grunted as they got out of the car. 'Couldn't at least one of you have made an effort to stay with me?'

'But Premier—' the senior man began to protest.

'No buts.'' Turchin snapped. 'I shall report your inefficiency back in Moscow. And I'll also be making a strong complaint here.'

'A complaint?' The other's jaw dropped.

'Of course, fool! No, no, not about you, but my driver and this bloody conference official, this Mr, er—'

'Smith?'

'Indeed, yes!'

'Both the driver and the official were Smiths?' 'Eh? Yes, I know that, you idiot! Please try not to inform me of what I already know. But, damn! You'd think that at least one of them would know the way to the hotel, wouldn't you…?'

By the time the precog lan Goodly picked up the locator David Chung from Brisbane's international airport, Trask was in bed asleep. But he had left a message not to be disturbed, with a note that said:

David, welcome—

But I'm afraid you will have to start 'swarming' in the morning. Right now we're all badly in need of a few hours' sleep. I imagine it must be pretty much the same for you, what with jetlag and all.

lan: make sure the D.O. knows to wake me if anything important comes in during the night. Other than that, give me a shake when the sun's up and there's a pot of coffee on the go. Thanks…

Jake Cutter had had his fill of sleep en route; so he thought. He sat up downstairs and played a quiet game of poker with the Warrant Officer commanders of the military contingent from the second jetcopter. By three in the morning, however, they were all yawning; then, deciding to call it a night (or a new day), each of them went off to his cramped sleeping quarters.

Jake didn't know it, but on the other side of his bunk's thin plasterboard panelling Liz Merrick had taken the cubicle next to his. Acting on Trask's instructions, she was intent on getting into his mind and following his progress through whatever esoteric activities might take place in his — and whoever else's — head or heads. Still not keen on what she was doing, Liz had nevertheless come to realize its importance.

Frustrated when Jake stayed up, she had tried to wait him out and failed. But as finally he went to his bunk, and tossed and turned a while before settling down, she was disturbed and came awake. Following which it became a matter of establishing telepathic rapport. As Jake grew still and his breathing deepened, so Liz concentrated on strengthening her now instinctive connection with his subconscious mind, inviting his 'detached' thoughts to mingle with her own.

Then for a while there was nothing, just a vague uneasiness of psyche as Jake's shields relaxed and his thoughts automatically sought to rearrange themselves into typical dream patterns, or perhaps into something else. And before too long Liz found herself nodding again…

… Until she came starting awake to an unnatural psychic stillness or pent awareness which had its origin in Jake. Next door, he was motionless and physically asleep; but psychically his mind was something else. It, too, was still — breathlessly still — like a cat watching a mouse emerge nervously from its hole; or more probably (Liz decided), like someone in an empty house, suddenly aware of an unusual sound in the night.

He was listening to something — but so intently! — and for a moment Liz thought he had detected her presence. But no, while Jake's attention was definitely rapt upon a subconscious something, it wasn't focussed on Liz at all. On what, then?

And so for an hour Liz 'listened' to Jake as attentively as he was listening to some sensed but unheard other or others, but with little or no result. On occasion he would come alive and ask, 'Who are you?' Or he would say: 'I know you are there — I hear you whispering — so why not talk to me instead of about me?'

But even though Liz was given to understand something of this, she sensed rather than 'heard' what he said, because (a) Jake wasn't speaking to her directly, and (b) his recently discovered shields, while they weren't fully engaged, were neverthless shrouding his thoughts.

Until unable to bear the not-knowing any longer, she tried to break in on him and ask, 'Who is it, Jake? Do you know them?

What are they talking about?' At which the doors of Jake's mind at once slammed shut and she found herself locked out entirely. For a while, at least.

But lying there on her bed, Liz believed she knew who he had been trying to talk to. And that was knowledge that sent a shudder down her spine, so that even in the oppressive heat of this El Nifio night, still she felt cold. And she also knew how he had detected her and shut her out. It was the difference.

For the precog lan Goodly had had it right when he'd said: 'When you heard Jake speaking, or thinking, that was your telepathy working. You heard him because he's alive. But the others… they were in a different category, using a different mode.'

Deadspeak, yes. The difference between a live conversation and a dead one…

They were talking — arguing among themselves — about him, Jake Cutter. And Jake knew it. More than that, he knew or suspected who or what they were, which was something he had yet to remember and admit in his waking hours, perhaps because no sane man would ever want to admit such a thing. Well, with the possible exception of a handful of dubious psychic mediums.

The dead in their graves were talking about him, and Jake could hear them like the buzzing of bees in a clover field, or more properly the rustle of dry leaves on a wintry garden path. For bees and flowering clover are redolent of burgeoning life, while the rustle of fallen leaves… isn't.

All of the voices belonged to strangers; he didn't know — or hadn't known — a single one of them. And while it was quite obvious that they heard him, no one bothered to answer Jake on the few occasions when he felt galvanized to break in on their conversation; but his brief bursts of eager questioning invariably found long-drawn-out silences following in their wake.

And the worst of it was that these voices seemed afraid to talk out loud: they whispered, so that he found it difficult to follow what they were saying. But they seemed to be arguing the pros and cons, Jake's merits against his drawbacks, to what end he couldn't rightly say.

We don't — we daren't — let them in among us! one of the voices said quite clearly. While another mumbled:

But he isn't one of them. See, his light hums like a lantern in the dark, and we feel its warmth. Only the Necroscope — only Harry Keogh and his sons were ever like this — beacons in our everlasting night, or places to warm ourselves in the presence of the living; our only contact with the world and all the loved ones we left hehind.

And another voice said, But in the end even the Necroscope succumbed. Is that what you would have us doP Befriend this one and give him access to the deadPAndifhe, too, were seduced — what then? A vampire in our midst, and. one who knows our every thought and secret? But the difference between a Necroscope and a necromancer… 15 vast.

Andmonstrous! said yet another, whose voice shuddered. We can't risk giving such a gift to anyone who would misuse it.

But he already has the gift! said the voice, or its owner, who spoke in Jake's defence. And given to him by Harry himself, if we can believe what she has said.

Ah, but she's not long cold. Naive in the ways of the long night, what can she know?

She knew Harry,

And what good did that do herp Like so many others before her, and like Harry himself, she too became a victim. No, she's no guarantee. And as for Harry: don't speak of him. The teeming dead know all about him.

But Harry never harmed us! He was our friend and champion, right to… to the end. But here the defending voice grew very quiet and uncertain.

And what an end, said another small voice, when the Necroscope must Jlee his own world in order to keep faith!

She was the last of the living who Harry spoke to, the one who was unafraid came back. She says he made promises — and he kept them.

True, said another, more doleful voice. But Harry isolated himself for the sake of the living, not for the dead.

I say we should trust the woman, the other insisted.

No, said the doleful one. For in the end she brought down a DOOM upon herself. Why, she was fortunate that she only died! And now— if we trust this one on her word — perhaps she will bring a DOOM on all of us.

At which point:

'Zek?' Jake tried again to cut in. 'Is it Zek you're talking about? Zek Foener?'

And again a long, cold silence. Until out of nowhere:

I presented your case, Jake, and now we must let them talk it through. (Zek's voice, which he recognized at once.)

'Talk what through? I'm not with you.'

If the Great Majority, the teeming dead, decide that they don't want you to have or to use deadspeak, Zek explained, then you can talk all you like and they won't listen. They'll simply ignore you. Oh, they're drawn to you — we're all drawn to your warmth, Jake — but at the same time they're afraid of you. They were afraid of Nathan, too, once upon a time, but Nathan proved himself, showed them they were mistaken. If he was here now… well, he could far better plead your case than I can.

'And what about Harry?' Jake said. 'Where is he? Couldn't the Necroscope, er, "plead my case" — whatever that's supposed to mean — even better?'

Nof any longer, Zek answered.

'He did something to upset them?'

Something… happened to him, she answered carefully.

'So/ Jake tried to reason it out, 'Harry is dead, but the Great Majority won't have any truck with him. Yet you get along okay with him, and that thing in the sump was positively clinging to him. All very weird.'

IfE-Branch, or Harry himself, had wanted you to know certain things, then I'm sure they would have told you, said Zek.

But Jake was still puzzling it out. 'Trask, lan Goodly and Lardis — yes, and Liz, too — they've all had a go at hinting at something without being specific. They seem concerned that once I know the whole thing, or when I can see the big picture, then I'll run from it. But surely it would have to be something terrible to scare the Great Majority, who have absolutely nothing to lose! Yet even the dead won't spit it out up front. They speak in whispers, as if afraid to even talk about it. Not only that but Harry Keogh, a once-powerful metaphysical mind, is now an outcast among his own kind. So what in hell did he do…?'

Jake sensed that he must be close now. But so did Zek, who was anxious to divert him. And:

Jake, she cut in, you'll have an explanation. All of this will be explained eventually — or you'll work it out for yourself— but for now let it go, and let the teeming dead deliberate. The wisdom of the ages is down in the earth, Jake. I can't see that they'll make a mistake on your account, know they'll let you in… eventually.p>

'Huh!' he snorted. 'In a way they're just like Trask; even like you, Zek! Everyone seems to think I should want to be "in" — that I should consider it a privilege — but all of these E-Branch types will tell you their talents are a curse. So why is it different for me? Why should I accept a curse? And just what sort of a curse is it, anyway? I mean, that is what this is all about, isn't it? The stuff that Trask isn't telling me? The bottom line? The downside?'

Then for a while there was silence in the psychic aether, until Zek said, I can't ask you to trust me, can't promise you anything, for the dangers are enormous. But one thing is certain: you can be the new Necroscope. You are the Necroscope, if only you'll accept it.

'I would accept it,' he told her then. 'I have accepted it in a way. For how can I deny what is? But if there's a short cut to my — well, to my being — then why can't I take it now? And as for the drawbacks… surely it's my right to know what they are? I mean, what's the big mystery?'

Jake, Zek answered, Harry Keogh was born with his skills, or with some of them at least, but you've had them thrust upon you. What came naturally to Harry is coming unnaturally to you. But some things are so unnatural— and the very possibility of others is so frightening — as to make deadspeak and the Mobius Continuum seem mundane by comparison.

'Now, if that was intended to give me confidence—' Jake started to say, only to be cut off as Zek broke in:

Personally, you wouldn't have been my choice. (He sensed the sad, reluctant shake of an incorporeal head.) But you were Harry Keogh's choice, which has to be good enough, for he must have had good reasons. And now there are others I have to talk to, others to convince — on your behalf, yes — on the far side of the world. Before I go, however, it seems only fair to tell you: you're not making it easy, Jake…

'That seems to be one of my big problems—' he started to say, then realized that she was gone.

But I am here, Jake, always, said another voice, phlegmy, lustful and darkly sinister, close and even too close to hand. The voice of Korath Mindsthrall, fading to a distant, bubbling chuckle.

And in a little while, coming to Jake as if from far, far away, the whispering of the teeming dead started up again. But it was now more fearful than ever…

Morning found Jake in an introspective mood. But before he was up and about Liz took the opportunity to have a word in private with Trask about her experience of the previous night.

They were out in the grounds, walking under the high wall, breathing easy while still the sun hung low in the east. It was early, and the dawn chorus of various parrot species was clattering in the still air. Another hour or two, the air would be dry and 'subtropical' Brisbane baking in furnace heat.

Trask heard Liz out, was silent a while, thinking it over. Then he asked her: 'He was definitely using deadspeak?'

'I don't think so… but does it matter? I mean, the way I understand it, as a Necroscope — or the Necroscope — his very thoughts are deadspeak. Unless he's shielding his thoughts, the dead will hear him thinking. And they will always know where he is. It's like an extra sense, their only sense. They can't see, hear, feel, taste or smell, but they'll know when he's near.'

Trask shook his head defeatedly. 'I probably know as much about deadspeak as anyone else,' he sighed. 'Indeed, more than anyone else. But I still don't know about it. I talk about it, yes — I know it exists — but sometimes it's hard to believe in it. So don't ask me about it, because I don't know. Hell, Liz! You're the telepath!'

'It was deadspeak,' she said. 'Or at least, he was listening to deadspeak. Listening to — my God! — to dead people, conversing in their graves. And they were talking about him. That was all I got: the fact that he could hear them and was trying to join in their conversation, but they wouldn't let him.'

'Huh!' Trask grunted. 'Who can blame them? Neither would I "let him in" if I could help it. His bloody attitude…'

'But to mature, to be the Necroscope, he has to be able to talk to them, right?'

'That's part of it, yes. Well, let's just hope it comes to him, as everything else will have to come to him — the good and the bad. And meanwhile you keep an eye, or an ear, on him.'

'You're still hot sure of Jake, are you?' Liz said.

Trask shrugged. 'I'm not sure he's sure of us! And despite what he has said, I know he still has his own agenda. Anyway, I spoke to Premier Turchin about that, and I'm hoping he can come up with some answers. If we can just find a way to lay that one ghost — kill off the one thing that's burning a hole in Jake's brain, this revenge thing, this course he's set on — maybe it will leave him with an open mind.'

'You mean with Castellano out of the way, Jake would more easily be able to concentrate on the job in hand?'

'Right. So Turchin will try to dig some dirt on this fellow, see if he can get something solid on him. If we could lock him away it would be a start. But lan doesn't think that would be enough, not for Jake. And the hell of it is I understand: I know how Jake feels. Think yourself lucky, Liz, that you don't know the kind of hatred we're all capable of. What if I should tell you that I would gladly give my right arm at the shoulder just to see Nephran Malinari writhing, burning on a cross, and to revel in the stink of his smoke? Well, now I'm telling you. And I mean it.'

'And Jake's no different,' she said, with a small shiver.

'Neither was the Necroscope Harry Keogh,' Trask told her.

'And neither am I. Few men are, when the crime and the pain it brings are nasty enough. An eye for an eye, Liz.'

'But in fact, Jake hardly knew that girl.'

'He knows that she was raped and tormented and died horribly, because of him. He knows it was fixed so that he'd take the blame, and that Castellano tried to have him killed in the jail in Turin. That's enough. It would be enough for me, too.'

'Yet you're still hard on him. You think hard on him.'

But the other shook his head. 'He's hard on himself. Anyway, let it go now. And let's hope Turchin comes up with something.'

Hearing footsteps on the gravel drive, they look'ed toward the house.

It was the precog, lan Goodly. He came in his accustomed, long-legged lope — with a long face, too — for all the world a cadaverous mortician. 'Fresh coffee's on the go,' he said in his piping fashion. And: 'Did I hear someone mention Turchin?'

'What about him?' said Trask.

'It was on the early news,' the precog answered. 'He'll be attending a couple of conference sessions this morning, but tonight or tomorrow he's out of here and back to Moscow.'

'What?' Trask frowned. 'Moscow is the last place he'd want to be right now. What happened?'

'A fist fight, apparently,' Goodly answered. 'In Turchin's hotel bar last night. An Australian delegate got drunk, accused the Premier point-blank of lying about Russia's soft ecological policy, went on to call him a puppet mouthpiece for his industrial and military masters back home.'

'Which right now is true as far as it goes,' Trask nodded. 'Mainly because he has no other choice. So what else?'

'Turchin got a drink thrown in his face before his minders stepped in and started throwing their weight around. The upshot is that he'll speak today — state Russia's case, protest about his treatment and what have you — and take the first plane out tomorrow. Tonight, if he can get one.'

Turning it over in his mind, Trask stroked his chin. 'That doesn't sound like Gustav Turchin to me/ he said. 'Long before he made Premier he was a diplomat, could talk his way through a minefield. Something like this happens… I just can't see him letting it happen.' He shook his head. 'Not unless he wanted it to happen. In which case… it has to be a ploy.'

'A ploy?' Goodly looked surprised.

'An excuse to get him out of here,' Trask said. 'He has a couple of things to organize in Moscow. I made a deal with him, gave him one or two problems to solve on our behalf. It's possible that the only place he could work on it is back in Russia. And isn't there another Earth Year Conference starting in Oslo in just a few days time? Acid rain or some such? I'll give you odds that's his next stop. He's something of a fox, Gustav Turchin. I'm betting he'll go home, set a few wheels turning, then head for Oslo. And of course, with the rest of the world baying at his heels, it will make him something of a hero with his own people. A temporary thing, but it ought to distract his enemies a while. Anyway, and whatever's going on, wish him luck. Gustav has come through for us in the past and he probably will again. I'll brief you on our conversation later.'

'Gustav?' said Goodly. 'First-name terms?'

'Right,' said Trask. 'It's called detente, my friend. And with the Opposition, as it happens. Well, it won't be the first time.'

'Tell me more,' said Goodly, wide-eyed.

'Later,' Trask said again, as they headed back towards the house…

CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN Mindsmog!

In general, Trask's briefing would be the very simplest thing. As yet he wasn't speaking to a full team — and he wasn't about to mention his private arrangement with Premier Gustav Turchin to any others than core members of E-Branch — but in the current lull he knew that he needed to keep his people sharp, keep them in the picture and give them some sort of incentive. Thus, while he intended to stick to a loose broad-screen scenario or overview, still he would remind them of what they were dealing with here, emphasizing the extreme dangers of the job in hand.

His audience included everyone available, which left only the technician Jimmy Harvey doing Duty Officer in the Ops Room; but in fact Trask's words were directed mainly at the Australian Military contingent. Dressed in casual, lightweight summer 'civvies/ and while for the moment they didn't much look like soldiers, in fact these young special-forces officers were the best that their vast country had to offer. Which was to say (in their own down-to-earth terms, and as members of an elite Australian regiment) they were 'bloody useful in a scrap, mate'.

'I know we've been over some of this before/ Trask began, 'but I just want to make it plain what we're dealing with. That job we did in the Gibson Desert — Bruce Trennier and his creatures — it wasn't big stuff. Trennier was a lieutenant, a righthand man, but he wasn't the boss by any means. Just what he and those others were doing out there in the middle of nowhere, we still aren't sure. Maybe that entire set-up was just a bolthole, somewhere that the big chief could run to if things went wrong. But as for the boss himself— who incidentally could as easily be herself — he or she is here, not far away from us even as I speak. At least that's our belief. It's what our experts are telling us.

'Now, that night when we camped out in the Gibson Desert. After the fireworks were over, one of you — no names, no pack drill — asked me a question. Normally it would be a perfectly reasonable question: why couldn't we take a lesser creature, a thrall, captive in order to talk to him, study him, and try to see what makes him tick? Which as I've said would seem reasonable… if we were dealing with an entirely human enemy. But circumstances being what they are, and our enemy being what he is, your question told me that you were either poorly informed, or you hadn't understood your original briefing, or you really didn't appreciate what you'd been dealing with that night. And for all I know, it mightn't be just one man I'm speaking about here, but all of you could have the same problem.

'So, despite that I've had experience of these things in the past — or maybe because I have — and you people are newcomers to the game, I tried to put myself in your shoes. Maybe it had seemed too easy. Unpleasant, yes, but not really difficult. And I began to see what the problem was. You've probably seen yourselves as men with a nasty job to do… but someone has to do it, right? I mean, maybe it seemed to you that these people you were killing were like, what — escapees from an isolation ward somewhere? — and you were putting them down simply to ensure they didn't pass on the infection. A pretty effective preventative measure, certainly, but perhaps a bit drastic to your way of thinking.

'So, let's go back to that perfectly reasonable question: why don't we just immobilize these things, lock them away, and study them? And wouldn't that be a far less drastic solution?

'Well, let me tell you again — let me remind you — about vampires:

'Oh, they can be downed. Shoot at them with bullets, especially silver bullets, and you can knock them down… even if they don't always stay down. Burn them — burn them entirely — and they die. Lock them up in silver cages, and keep their systems topped up with garlic so that they can't work up a head of steam, and you might even manage to confine them — for a little while. But as for studying them…

'Only make a mistake — your first mistake, just one — and you become the prisoner. And you don't get a second chance.

'Think of it this way. Men have devised chemical and biological weapons, toxins and living viruses, that could wipe us all out — destroy Mankind itself— if they were to get loose. We keep these things in secure laboratories where we study and even develop them. Well, when I say "we," I mean men: "scientists," in outlawed lands mainly, dabbling in a mainly outlawed science. For happily a majority of governments have long since banned all such agents; they deem them simply too terrible for study or development, and they're right.

'But the unpleasant fact is that because some people continue to experiment with this stuff, our people are obliged to follow suit in order to find vaccines and antidotes. They don't want us to be caught with our immune systems down, as it were. So yes, these terrible poisons still exist in just about every country that's capable of handling them. But by God, you'd better believe they take damn good care not to spill this stuff!

'So then, why am I bothering to tell you what you probably already know, and what does it have to do with vampires and the Wamphyri? Well, it's this simple:

'If you think of the Wamphyri and their works in just such terms of reference you won't go far wrong. That is, you have to think of them as something that must be destroyed. But whatever you do don't think of them on the same scale of danger! I mean, we all know that the Richter scale is a yardstick for the power of earthquakes. But if it was a scale for all potential disasters, then to cover man-made biological weapons it would have to stretch from the current nine to ninety, and to cover the Wamphyri it would need to carry on from ninety to infinity! That's by my personal scale of reckoning, and I am not wrong.

'And remember: our man-made toxins and viruses aren't bent on escaping; they can't think!Rut only imprison a vampire, and from that moment on he's thinking of ways to get free. He wants to be free, like you, and wants you to be a prisoner, like him. The prisoner of something growing inside you, that will gradually make you someone — something — else. Something other.

'So then, now maybe you can see why we can't suffer a vampire to live. The point being, we really won't suffer a vampire to live. Be sure of this: if you get infected, there's no cure. Which means we'll kill you. Oh, it'll be clean, but it will happen.

'So remember, a moment or so after one of us — I include myself— shows up positive, he also shows up dead… 'And on that point, enough said… 'Now let's move on:

'We think it's likely that our quarry has a hideout somewhere in the mountains. Where they come from, the Wamphyri are very fond of their aeries — the places where they live — and the higher the better. Unfortunately that doesn't tell us very much, doesn't narrow down his or her location. For as you know as well or better than I do, there are mountains galore around here. But there's also a paradox in that the Wamphyri don't go much on sunlight. And right now we've rather a surfeit of that, too! Weird, wouldn't you say, that our alien friend has chosen to set up shop here? Well, maybe not.

'You see, he's not dumb. He knows that we know his habits, and that we've known about his "invasion" from square one. That means he also knows that normally this would be one of the last places we'd expect to find him. So where better to hide himself away and do his thing, whatever that thing is? The only problem is, he might also know that we found and dealt with Bruce Trennier, and by now he could well be expecting us to come looking for him here.

Indeed, he could already know that we've arrived. And if so he'll be doubly dangerous, because there'll be little or no element of surprise.

'Okay, we have a couple of days before our back-up squads and the big ops vehicle are in situ. And that has to be one of our first priorities: to find suitable and preferably non-obtrusive sites, with access to principal mountain approach roads, where we can harbour these men and vehicles as they arrive. So as of noon today we'll be air-mobile again, but not in the jetcopters that you've grown used to. They may have been great in the desert, but to Brisbane's civilian population — not to mention our quarry — aircraft that look like they do are bound to attract attention. So for the time being they'll be on standby in hangars at the airfield where we came in.

'So, there's a firm in town that does aerial sightseeing trips by helicopter, north along the Coastal Range to Gladstone, and south over the Macphersons and along the Richmond Range as far as Grafton. Which is ideal for our purposes in that it covers the ground we're interested in, and the pilots know all the routes by heart and have first-class local knowledge. Alas that we can't simply commandeer this firm, its men and machines; but no, that would be to give the show away, and so we'll be paying our way. But I will try to get us a bit more clout than the average tourist. Obviously we have to have the final say on where we fly and what we look at. So later this morning I'll speak to Prime Minister Lance Blackmore and see if he can sort something out for us.

'Very well, so assuming we're airborne again, what will we be looking for? Military commanders, you'll be looking for naturally concealed campsites for your contingents, harbour areas, and access routes. And you'll also be checking your maps, doing an aerial reconnaissance of the entire area. As for my people:

'We'll be scanning the mountain heights for our quarry. In truth, we don't really know what we're looking for; we can only hope we'll know it when we see it. But it isn't all blind luck. Two of my men, Lardis Lidesci and David Chung, are specialists in this regard. One of them will travel in each chopper.

'Okay, that's it. From midday or soon after we should have these planes at our disposal. Get your maps, cameras, and whatever else you'll need sorted out now. As for myself: well, much as I'd like to be going with you, my duty for the time being is right here. Someone has to watch the shop.

'A final reminder. This is a covert operation. Try not to give anything away to these civilian pilots. Have a set of answers ready to hand. For instance, you could be fire chiefs carrying out preliminary aerial surveys, ensuring there won't be a second Great Fire of Brisbane. Something along those lines. I'm sure you'll think of something.

'That's it, and I hope I didn't bore you too much. Gentlemen, thanks for your time and attention…'

Brisbane's Skytours helicopters were small, conventional pleasure machines custom-built for the job. Capable of carrying four passengers, they had wraparound plexiglass side windows which allowed for superb viewing, but would prove a shade vertiginous for people with height problems. As the Old Lidesci would later describe it, it was like flying in a bubble!' — and he didn't much like it. The only other problem was their range. Two hundred and eighty miles was their safety limit without refuelling; which meant that a chopper on the northern route must land at a small airport in Gladstone, and on the southern route in Grafton. The good side of that was that it gave the passengers time to take on food and water to see them through the return trip.

The pilots were isolated up front behind see-through bulkheads, and they communicated with their passengers on headsets. But since in the main their commentaries consisted of monologues learned parrot-fashion over years of flying the same routes, pretty soon the drone of their voices became one with the whirring of rotors and ceased to have meaning. If passengers didn't want to listen they removed their headsets; when they wished to converse or ask questions, they replaced them. A simple system.

In the early afternoon, Jake flew south toward the Macpherson Range with lan Goodly, the Old Lidesci, and an Australian Major whose rank was never on display or used to unfair advantage; he had his job to do and was simply another member of the team. But truth be told, it was a strange team. The precog was there in the uncertain hope that should they fly over an 'aerie' — in whatever shape or form — he might catch a glimpse of some significant future event and recognize it for what it was. The SAS Major had his own tasks to perform; he understood that Jake, Goodly, and the old man were 'specialists' in their own right, but in what specific areas he neither knew nor cared.

As for Jake: ostensibly he had been sent along so that he could 'get a good look at the lie of the land,' but he assumed that in fact it was to keep him out of Trask's way. And he was partly right: Trask hadn't wanted him around cluttering up the place, asking awkward questions, generally getting in the way. But that wasn't the whole story. Mainly Jake had been sent out with Lardis and lan Goodly in the hope that something of their team spirit might rub off on him.

And truth to tell, Jake was actually developing a strong feeling of kinship with the Old Lidesci, and he already acknowledged a growing measure of respect for Goodly… this despite that the precog seemed as enigmatic as ever. As for the Australian Major: Jake wasn't about to mention (or invite questions about) his own brief 'career' as a member of the original British Special Air Service. For, after all, he had been 'required to leave' in rather short order, and compared to this professional would seem the veriest amateur. But at least he had remembered some of his training… the useful, more deadly bits, anyway.

And there they sat, scanning the beautiful, sun-bleached coastal strip far below, the valleys and hills, but especially the rearing mountains, as the Skytours helicopter whirled them south, and their pilot/tour-guide's monologue droned on and on in their headsets…

Flying north along the Coastal Range, the locator David Chung shared a second Skytours helicopter with two SAS Warrant Officers and Liz Merrick. It said a lot for their personal discipline and commitment that these fit young Australians were able to concentrate on their work with Liz along. For her part, she was aware of the occasional appreciative glance at her curvaceous figure in tight-fitting jeans and loose shirt. But while the SAS men found this British 'Sheila' easy to talk to, frank and friendly, they also knew that she was a member of E-Branch and so must be special in ways other than the purely physical. And she was treated accordingly, with the utmost courtesy.

Liz was part of this second team in her capacity as a telepath. Not that her talent was in any way specific to vampires, but if David Chung were to detect mindsmog, that might provide her with a target area, a 'direction' in which to cast her mental net if only to corroborate the locator's find. Before letting her go, however, Ben Trask had cautioned her that that was as much as she could do, and had warned her:

'Liz, you'd better know what you could be up against. That stuff with Bruce Trennier? Child's play by comparison with what you could expect from a "real" Lord of the Wamphyri! I remember once over — oh, it seems like a million years ago — how Harry Keogh wouldn't hear of Zek using her talent anywhere near Janos Ferenczy. Janos was a powerful mentalist, too, but according to what Lardis has said about Malinari, Janos couldn't have held a candle to him] And it might well turn out that Nephran Malinari is our man, that he's the one we're dealing with here. It's unlikely to be Szwart, we're fairly certain of that, so it has to be either Vavara or Malinari. But if it's the latter, and if he really is better than Janos…

'Listen, twenty-odd years ago I had a friend called Trevor Jordan. He was E-Branch, and a telepath. Janos Ferenczy caught

Trevor spying on him and got into his head — I mean literally! And later, at a distance of some seven hundred miles, Janos was able to invade and even inhabit Jordan's mind. And just to show us how good he was, he made Jordan put a gun to his own ear and pull the trigger! Now that… is mentalism!

'But this Nephran Malinari isn't just another telepath. In his own world, in Starside four hundred years ago, his own kind, the Wamphyri, called him Malinari the Mind. Doesn't that say it all? Anyway, we've learned the legends from Lardis, and the Old Lidesci's word is good enough for me. And even if it wasn't… well, I know I'll never forget the things that Zek showed me on the night she died. That bastard vampire thing, trying its best to leech on her mind.

'So I'm asking you, Liz. Please be careful. You… you're very special, and in my time I've lost too many special people. I just need to be sure you fully appreciate the danger. I don't want you locking on to something — and perhaps receiving something — that you don't want and can't get rid of.'

That had been some three hours ago, but now…

… Trask's words were still echoing in Liz's mind when the pilot's voice climbed a notch in her headset to declare: 'We're going down now, folks. Gladstone next stop. So if yer'll excuse me, I'll just radio a pal o' mine on the ground, tell him to get the beer out o' the cooler, and slice up a fresh batch o' sarnies. By the time yer've all freshened up, I'll be done refuelling and we'll start back. A slightly different route this time, if yer'd like. We can stick more closely to the coast and—'

'No,' Liz interrupted him. Tm sorry, but we're especially interested in mountains. On the way back, it would suit us just fine if you'd show us some mountains that we haven't seen yet.' And then, perhaps a little selfconsciously, 'Er, sorry to be a nuisance.'

The pilot glanced back though his window, looked from face to face, shrugged his shoulders and said, 'Suit yerself, Miss, fellers. I'm to accommodate yer as best I can, so whatever yer say is okay with me.'

At which Liz craned her neck and looked for confirmation from David Chung where he sat behind her… only to find that the locator's attention, indeed his concentration, seemed rapt on something that no one else could see. With his jaw hanging slack, he gazed as if transfixed eastward, out across the open sea. It lasted for a single moment only, then Chung started as he became aware of Liz's eyes upon him, the unspoken question that was written in them.

His gaze met hers and he half-nodded, half-shrugged, then said, 'I… I don't know. I can't be sure. It was so faint.'

They were settling fast towards a small airport. The locator snapped out of it, put his headset on, and asked the pilot, 'What's out there? I mean east, er, the sea?'

'Exactly, mate,' the other's tinny voice came back, seeming to vibrate as the pitch of the rotor vanes changed to landing mode. 'The sea, a handful o' little rocks, and stretching a thousand miles to the north, the Great Barrier Reef And then a laugh. 'Sorry, but all that's way out o' our itinerary…'

They freshened up, drank ice-cold beer out of glasses dripping with condensation, ate prawn sandwiches and barbecued chicken, and talked while they waited for their pilot to call for them.

They were in a private Skytours suite that overlooked the small airport through a soundproof panoramic window. While eating they had watched a handful of planes coming and going, not said too much, been glad of the overhead fan that struggled to waft a stream of warm, sluggish air around the room.

But eventually curiosity had got the better of the military men. Liz was aware of it but didn't find it intrusive, and anyway they were all members of a loose-knit team.

And the fact was that apart from Trask's briefings — and that these men had been ordered to accept all Branch members as voices of authority here — there hadn't been and could never be a great deal of understanding of E-Branch's role. Not to disparage the military, but it would have proved extremely difficult for entirely

military minds to grasp the concepts, motivations, and operating practices of an ESP-oriented intelligence agency. And, indeed, they weren't required to. But now, here in the intimacy of a much smaller grouping, these young soldiers had been presented with an opportunity to dig just a little deeper.

On the other hand and on behalf of E-Branch, both Liz and Chung were sworn to a modified version of the Official Secrets Act, and so had to be be circumspect in what they revealed.

'You're a psychic, right?' one of the Warrant Officers, a slim, well-muscled, crew-cut redhead in his early thirties asked of David Chung. 'I mean, don't take offence, but isn't it a bit strange, using — what do you call it? Parapsychology? — against bloody awful things such as that nest we burned out in the desert?'

'No offence taken,' said Chung. 'But you'd do well to remember that I'm the one who found those bloody things out in the desert! And I've been dealing with such things on and off— but mercifully more off than on — for some twenty years. Currently, however, we're definitely on again, and like,most of the others in E-Branch I'm getting past my sell-by date. Oh, we're recruiting young blood all right, such as Liz here, but the years take their toll. So on a job like this we're obliged to call in different kinds of "experts". We like to be sure there's plenty of muscle behind the mind.'

'Like us?' said the other.

And Chung nodded, smiled, raised an eyebrow and said, 'No offence?'

'But a psychic? I mean, how can you simply think the location of these creatures? Like, you read their thoughts or something?'

And though he was polite up front in his talking to Chung, Liz couldn't help reading that he was more than a little sceptical. She read one or two other things, too, such as: Never kid a kidder, Mr Chinaman. Old Red isn't buying it! Red: a nickname no one had used since his teens, and one which he wouldn't accept from anyone else despite that it fitted him so well and was how he continued to think of himself.

So before Chung could answer Liz told herself to hell with the rules and said: 'Whether you're buying it or not, my friend Mr Chung here — who is in fact a fourth-generation Brit, despite that his roots are oriental — isn't kidding, Red!'

The young soldier jerked in his seat, instinctively touched a hand to his crew-cut, and stuttered: 'Er, my hair, right?'

But Liz shook her head. 'Your thoughts/ she replied. 'And Red, the next time I walk into a place ahead of you, please try to remember I can't help how I walk, and find somewhere else to look… okay?'

Fuck me!!! thought the other.

And Liz said, 'No, thanks. I'm spoken for.'

'J-Jesus, I'm s-s-sorry!' the other gasped.

'It's okay/ Liz told him. 'But maybe we should change the subject now? And yes, you're safe: I promise not to peek.'

'What's going on?' asked the other soldier, genuinely puzzled.

'Nothing much/ Liz told him. 'I was reading your friend's thoughts, that's all. Yours, too, if you like.'

'Oh, really?' The second W.O. was older and less inquisitive. But he did have something on his mind.

'In the chopper/ Liz said, 'just as we were landing. You were wondering what was wrong with David. Like me, you noticed the way he was looking out over the sea, his expression.'

'You saw that?' the W.O. said.

'No/ said Liz, 'I overheard it, "Joe" — in your head/

And Joe accepted that she had, because they had only ever been introduced as Warrant Officers Bygraves and Davis!

'Let me have one of your maps/ Chung said, deciding that Liz had gone far enough. 'This area, and small-scale. Covering as much ground as possible/

'Red' Bygraves spread a map on the table, and Chung began poring over it. While he searched he explained:

'I'm a kind of bloodhound. It's nothing weird/ (though in

fact it was) 'just a knack, sort of instinctive. But sometimes I can sense where these things are hanging out. In the helicopter, I got a feeling that there just might be something… out there!'

He stabbed his index finger at the map, their current location, then drew it in a straight line east and a little north. 'In that direction, anyway. And you know, it's still there, but so very faint…' Chung shook his head, narrowed his eyes in a frown. 'What we could use, really, is a little triangulation/

'Now that I understand/ said Red. 'Let me see the map/

They let him jostle into position, watched him point out a location: Sandy Cape on the northern tip of Fraser Island. And: 'We can't ask the pilot to fly us east and out to sea/ he went on, 'because that will add air miles and run him low on fuel to get us back to Brisbane. But there's no reason why he can't fly us over Fraser Island, which lies south of here. He did suggest a coastal route, right?'

'Good!' said Chung. 'And as soon as we get over the northern tip of the island, I can — well, do my thing, take a bearing north — and see if we come up with something/.

Red looked at Liz. 'And you'll do what? Or does this part include you out?'

Now Liz saw the error of saying anything at all. But since it was too late now:

'If David senses anything, I'll try to, well, hitch a ride on his probe/ she said. 'But since this looks like a long-distance thing, I really can't be sure 111 get a reading/

And Joe asked Chung: 'Did this talent of yours really lead your people to that Gibson Desert nest? I mean, we haven't seen you around until today — and you weren't out there — so…?'

'Bruce Trennier had a very powerful aura/ Chung answered. 'But as a comparative newcomer among these creatures — even as a lieutenant — he wasn't too good at hiding himself away. When he slipped up, myself and some other E-Branch people, we picked him up from London. Since when the rest of them seem to be masking their presence — a kind of mental camouflage, you know?

So I came out here to get a little closer to the action. Well, and now we might have found some.'

'You picked Trennier up from London?' Joe said.

The locator nodded, and thought, Yes, like a dense bank of jog on a sunny day. Fog that's there one minute, gone the next. Minasmog! But out loud he only said, 'Yes, we did.'

To which there was no answer, and the two W.O.s could only look at each other and shake their heads in wonder…

In the other helicopter an hour later, Jake Cutter was lost in his own thoughts, somewhat moodily enjoying the mountain scenery, when Lardis Lidesci reached across the narrow aisle, jogged his elbow and said something.

'Um?' Jake murmured a response: He had long since removed his headset, and so had Lardis.

'I said, what's that?' the Old Lidesci said again, pointing out of the window on his own side of the aircraft.

'Why not ask the pilot?' Jake grumbled. 'How am I to know what something is?' But, loosening his belt, he stood up, leaned across and looked anyway.

lan Goodly was seated in front of Lardis. Feeling the movements, he looked back, saw where the others were looking.

They were on the return trip, covering different mountains than on the outward-bound leg. A thousand feet below, a massive geological 'wrinkle' in the Macpherson Range had left a tightly angled dog-leg fold. In the west-facing lee of the fold, a saddle or roughly oblong-shaped false plateau maybe two and a half by four acres in extent stood out in stark contrast to the surrounding heights. For it wasn't naked rock. Anything but.

At an elevation of almost three thousand feet, someone had built… a small town? No, not a town but a complex of sorts: with gardens, pools, fountains, a monorail, tennis courts, bowling greens, even a small ski-slope up against the mountainside, and terraced chalets to house the guests. The walkways between concentric rows of red-tiled chalet accommodations radiated out

from a roughly central location: a circular garden surrounding a great, silver-shining bubble of a structure, with windows on three levels and a smaller dome on top.

Lardis was lost for words; he found it too fantastic. But Jake only grunted and said, 'You should see Las Vegasf While in his own mind he wondered: A holiday campp A fantastic hotel complex for the jet-setters and beautiful people? Or maybe—

'An aerie!' sighed Lardis. 'Now wouldn't that make a wonderful aerie? Er, without all this sunlight, of course.'

The precog was still wearing his headset, and he had been conversing with the pilot. Now he put a hand over the mike and said, 'Xanadu, and the centrepiece there… why, that can only be Kubla Kahn's pleasure dome! Put on your headsets. The pilot knows some stuff

Jake and Lardis complied, heard the pilot tail off:

'… There were some private homes here, hence the road up the mountain. But after the fire some kind of tycoon bought up the land and built this place. He's a philanthropist, uses the money from this for other "good works", allegedly. Huh! A typical tax gimmick, if you ask me. All of these fat-cat rich bastards are the same. Xanadu, yeah, that's what it's called. The dome's a casino, all three floors of it.'

'The fire?' said Goodly. 'You mean the Brisbane Fire?'

'Nah, not the Great Fire,' said the other. 'This was back in '97, an earlier El Nino. The place was a tinderbox, and the fire must have started in one of the weekend homes. They were simple timber cabins, holiday homes, you know? Went up like so much kindling.'

'Take her lower, can you?' The precog was plainly interested.

'So what's on your mind, boss?' With a chuckle, the pilot leaned his machine into a descending spiral. 'You want to wave at the girlies around those pools?'

'Er, something like that,' said Goodly.

And certainly the girlies were there, and sun-bronzed fellows, too. There were three pools situated equidistant from the central dome; they glittered like dazzling blue jewels in Mediterranean settings, and were surrounded by low windbreak walls and mosaic-paved sundecks. The sundecks were dotted with chairs and sunbeds. And sure enough, as the chopper circled lower, the girls were sitting up, tilting their mirror-shades at the furnace sky, waving lazy arms at their imagined aerial 'admirers'.

'That's low enough/ Lardis muttered, nervously. 'The next thing you know, I'll be swimming!'

And the Major said, 'Mightn't we attract a little too much attention?' He was on the headset and the pilot heard him.

'So what's the problem?' he inquired. 'Are you worried the people who run the place will complain? Nah! It's good free advertising, and we do this all the time. Tourists who can afford it sometimes take time out after they've seen it to come up for a few days' relaxation — though how anyone with red blood in his veins could relax up here is beyond me!'

Then the precog said, 'That… that's enough. We'd better get on our way now.' And there was a certain edge to his piping voice that had Jake looking at him across the aisle.

He saw that Goodly's face was suddenly drawn, and noticed how his hands gripped the armrests of his seat…