Necroscope 9: The Lost Years (62 page)

Avoiding the brambles as best he could, Harry ran up the garden path and quickly let himself in. He could have taken the Mobius route, of course, but the more sparing he was in his use of the Continuum, the less likely he’d be to give away its secret inadvertently. In a few seconds he was through the house to the front, where it took only a moment or so to unlock and open the door. Outside, a tall, slim young man was already halfway back down the walled yard to the gate that he had left open. In his hand was a large manila envelope. Beyond the gate, a black car stood waiting on the rutted service road. Hearing the door of the house open, the man turned and saw Harry.

‘Delivery,’ he said, showing Harry the envelope. And trying hard not to show too much interest, his keen, curious eyes looked the Necroscope over.

Harry returned the other’s cautiously appraising look and said: ‘You don’t much look like a typical postman.’ And it was true, he didn’t. No uniform for one thing, and the car outside wasn’t a post van, and the envelope had no address or stamps.

The other shrugged. ‘Wel then, let’s say it’s “special” delivery. Or beter still—’

‘—E-Branch,’ Harry’s mouth turned down at the corners as the man started back up the path. ‘Do I know you?’ He held the house door open to let his visitor in.

They both had to avoid trampling a month’s worth of mail - most of it junk - on the coconut-fibre mat just inside the door.

The other shook his head, held out his hand, which Harry pointedly ignored. He’d told Darcy he was finished with al of this. ‘Munroe,’ the stranger let his hand fal. ‘James Munroe. And no, we haven’t met. I’m usualy on embassy duties here and abroad, “checking out the talent,” so to speak. I’m a spoter, only recently returned from Italy to home duties - rotation of embassy staff, and what have you. Today I sensed you were back at last…’ He paused and frowned. ‘But I’m puzzled you didn’t answer the door sooner. Is there a problem, Mr Keogh?’

‘No problem,’ Harry led him through the house to the room he’d designated as his study, whose patio doors looked out over the garden, directed him to a chair and seated himself. ‘I was out in the garden, that’s al. But did you say “back at last?” How long have you been waiting for me, then?’

‘For a fortnight. In Edinburgh, coming out here each day to see if you were home yet.’

As they talked, Harry had checked James Munroe over. He would be six foot one or two, twenty-six or twenty-seven years old, one hundred and forty-five pounds maximum. His fare was angular: jutting chin, pointed nose and ears, and jet-black hair, swept back and lacquered down. His eyes saved him from looking cynical, or even sinister; they were wide, brown, penetrating and honest. The sort you could look into and not worry about what was going on in there.

‘A fortnight? Coming out here every day? It’s that important?’

To you, I believe.’ Munroe shrugged. ‘And possibly beneficial to the Branch, too, but I’m just guessing. It’s the way we work, as you know.’ He was staring, and Harry was suddenly uncomfortable.

‘Is there something?’ he snapped.

‘Eh?’ the other sat up straighter, was at once startled. ‘Oh, I’m sorry! I was staring, right? It’s just that when you asked if you knew me, I almost answered, “No, but I once knew you.” But Darcy Clarke has told me you’re touchy about that.’

Harry sighed, nodded and said, ‘Alec Kyle. Yes, I’m sometimes

Brian Lumley

Necroscope: The Lost Years - Vol. I

325

324

touchy about it. But I’m geting used to it - to him - to certain aspects of him, anyway.’ He.was nervous. This was geting too close to stuff he couldn’t talk about.

‘It’s funny,’ the other said, ‘but on you he looks - oh, I don’t know -younger?’

‘Oh? Wel,
he feels
ancient!’

‘I meant younger …
overall,’
Munroe hurriedly corrected himself. ‘I mean, it’s like I can sense a younger man shining through. But shining too brightly, maybe?

Burning up?’ ‘What are you, an empath, too?’

The other’s turn to sigh. ‘I’m sorry, but I’m realy fucking this up, right? But I’ve read your files. You’re the Necroscope, and I expected … no, I didn’t know
what to
expect! And I didn’t mean to say
that,
either! I mean - you know - I’m not usualy a rude person, Mr Keogh …”

And now there was an awkward silence, until: ‘Harry,’ the Necroscope said at last, his unnatural antagonism colapsing. ‘Cal me Harry, please. And I’m afraid I
have
been rude, so don’t you go apologizing. Just recently I’ve been doing more than my fair share of tripping over
my
tongue!’ And changing the subject: ‘So what’s in the envelope?’

Munroe shrugged. ‘I wasn’t told what’s in here.’ He handed it over, and Harry looked at it with an almost accusing expression. This could be some kind of hook, and him the fish. But on the other hand … it just
might
be news of Brenda.

And as he tore it open: ‘I imagine Darcy tried to get me on the telephone, right? And when he found he couldn’t get me, then he sent you?’

‘Your listed number?’ Munroe shook his head, and smiled. ‘But we’re E-Branch, Harry. No such things as listed numbers, not to E-Branch. Darcy Clarke could

‘phone you, if he wanted to. I suppose he’s doing his best to respect your privacy.’

The Necroscope said, ‘Huh!’ He took out a single, double-folded sheet of A-4 from the envelope. A leter, probably, but there was something stiff inside it - a photograph, maybe? And because it might be about Brenda, he wanted to open it at once. But because it mightn’t be, he didn’t.

‘It doesn’t make sense,’ he finaly shook his head. ‘Darcy can get me on the ‘phone and doesn’t. Or he could just write me a leter, asking me to contact him. But he doesn’t. Instead, he sends you.’ He glanced at the contents of the manila envelope - the leter, or whatever - still folded in his lap. ‘So what do you reckon, James? Was your journey realy necessary?’

The other raised a querying eyebrow. ‘I’m sorry, but—’

‘See,’ Harry cut him short. ‘I’m not going to look at this - this

whatever it is - until I know why you had to deliver it personaly. In fact, if you don’t tell me, and in the very near future at that, say the next five seconds, I’ll simply set fire to it and dump it in the fireplace there. And you’l have to go back down to London and tell Darcy Clarke what happened.’

He looked around for his table-lighter, began to stand up, and Munroe said: ‘Okay! You’re right. Darcy wanted me, or someone, to see you personaly. Yes.’

Harry sat back again. ‘Why?’

‘Just to see how you, wel, looked …”

‘He’s … what, worried about me?’

‘Maybe about how you’re taking things. Maybe he feels responsible. Guilty …”

Harry jumped on that. ‘Guilty? And maybe you’re right. So what would he have to feel guilty about?’

Munroe shrugged again, perhaps desperately this time, and said, ‘Harry, I’m just a messenger, that’s al. But Mr Clarke did say he was concerned about your general health. I mean, he knows your problems beter than I do, right? So why don’t you read the leter? Maybe it’s al in there.’

And in any case, despite his threat to burn it, the Necroscope had to know. So he unfolded the single sheet of A-4, laid the smal envelope inside to one side for the moment, and read what was writen in Darcy Clarke’s spidery script:

Hary—

First things first. Still nothing on Brenda, I’m afraid. And I suppose if you had heard anything, you would have told me. Don’t worry, we’re still on it.

Last time we spoke, you said you were thinking of taking a long holiday, except you were short of funds. So it could be you would take a sort of working holiday?

You asked if I’d check a few places out for you. Wel, I’ve found a place you might like - in the Mediterranean. The weather would be beneficial I’m sure, and the deal could work out realy cheap …

Oh, and you asked about exchange rates? Wel, they are prety good, too. So why don’t you contact me and we’l talk?

I enclose a photograph. Nice place. I think you’d enjoy working there …

Al best—

Darcy.

The Necroscope knew what Darcy was talking about; he remembered how he’d suggested doing a job on the Russian repository in Moscow, or maybe on some other outfit or organization in the Branch’s bad

Brian Lumley

326

Necroscope: The Lost Years - Vol. I

327

books, for monies to fund his search.
Damn!
Was that all this was? Darcy scratching his back - and maybe hoping to get a job done for free - all the time knowing it would put Harry in his debt, so that at some future time the Necroscope might feel obliged to do a little back-scratching in return? A sort of two-birds-with-one-stone scenario?

‘So why don’t you contact me and we’ll talk?’ —Indeed! E-Branch! It was typical! The nerve of the double-dealing . .

.!

He almost ripped the photograph from its envelope … and then sat there frozen, staring at it!

For a moment Harry thought it must be one of Alec Kyle’s ‘things’ again, his precognition. Hell! - it
was
one of Kyle’s things, but this time it was real! As real as this photograph, anyway:

The stark yellow and white clifs, coloured by sunlight. And the squat, white-walled castle, mansion, chateau, whatever it was, perched
there on the edge of oblivion. A fortress on a mountainside, at the rim of a sheer drop. The scene was Mediterranean; yes, of course it was, and
Harry had seen it before. All sun-bleached rocks, brittle scrub, a few stunted pines; he could almost taste the salty tang of an unseen ocean.

Finally he moved, rocked back in his chair, and James Munroe was at his side in a moment. ‘Harry? Are you okay? I mean, your face. You looked stunned … ”

Harry got a grip on himself. He didn’t know what all this meant, but he would soon damn well find out. ‘I… I’m okay,’ he said. ‘It’s . , . something you wouldn’t understand.’
Because
I
don’t understand it!
‘Look, you get on back to London. Sorry I can’t be more hospitable, but I’ve things to do. Especially now. And don’t worry, you’ve done your job. I’ll be getting in touch with Darcy Clarke and E-Branch, yes.’

And after he’d seen Munroe off, he did just that…

The Necroscope could have just telephoned Darcy, but there was a better, almost an easier way. And anyway, face to face Darcy wouldn’t be able to hide too much. That is, assuming there was anything to hide.

Not so long ago, using the Mobius route to E-Branch would have been
much
easier, but Harry couldn’t do that now. Part of him realized that Darcy knew all about it anyway, but he still didn’t like the
idea
that he knew - Darcy or anyone else, for that matter! And so he was restricted in his use of the Continuum; he couldn’t do it in front of people.

So there was no way he could simply materialize in Darcy’s office.

But that was all right, for there was another way. Harry doubted if they would have converted his room just yet; Darcy had told him they’d keep it for him just the way it was, even if he never had cause to use it again. So he couldn’t see any reason why he shouldn’t use it now, one last time.

He did: used it as one of his Mobius co-ordinates—

—And a moment later stepped out through the door of his old room into the main corridor of E-Branch in central London.

About halfway to Darcy’s office, situated at the far end of the corridor, two Branch agents were talking to each other. Harry headed their way, and for a moment they scarcely noticed him. But as he passed the open door of the Duty Officer’s room he heard someone say,
‘Holy shit!’
and guessed he’d been recognized. So, in another five seconds maximum Darcy Clarke would know he was here, too. Then, as he closed with the two espers, they finally saw him, snapped erect as soldiers on parade, and slid to one side out of his way. Harry was aware of their surprised glances, at him and at each other, as he passed by.

Darcy’s office was full of security gadgets; the Necroscope knew that if he just barged in, he would probably set some of them off. So he went to knock … but before his fist could strike home the door was yanked open from within.

And Darcy was there - in his shirt-sleeves, open-mouthed -beckoning him to come in. ‘Harry! It’s … really great to see you! In fact I was just talking about you—’

‘—With Munroe, on his car-phone?’ the Necroscope nodded. ‘Or with the Duty Officer?’ He tossed Darcy’s letter and photograph down on the Head of E-Branch’s desk. And without further ado: ‘Would you care to explain this?’

Darcy moved to close the door. Before he could close it all the way, Harry looked back down the corridor and saw half-a-dozen faces peering from their respective offices. Darcy saw his raised eyebrow and knowing, even scornful expression, gave a shrug and said, ‘Er, word travels fast around here.’

‘In some cases as fast as thought,’ Harry nodded.
‘Especially
around here!’ He placed extra emphasis on the ‘esp’ of

‘especially.’ ‘So how will it be? Can we have some privacy for once? I mean
complete
privacy?’ He sat down in a chair facing Darcy’s desk. ‘You have more than your fair share of listening devices around this place, Darcy: gadgets and ghosts and what-al. But your people would do wel to remember how curiosity killed the cat. Maybe the two-legged variety could use a reminder now and then?’

Darcy sat down in his own chair, flipped a switch on the desk and said, ‘All stations. We have a guest who’s a personal friend of mine, and of the Branch. You all know who he is, and of course he’s to get the same degree of respect that we give each other. So this is private - and that’s a capital “P.” ‘

As he switched off again, Harry nodded and said, ‘Gadgets and ghosts, yes. Machines are easy to switch off. But minds … are something else, right?’ He glanced about the office. ‘Well, nothing seems to have changed much around here.’

328

Brian Lumley