Necroscope: The Plague-Bearer (6 page)

Harry lifted his head an inch from the pillows, nodded, and fell back again. And with his unblinking gaze fixed on hers, he said, “You think someone or thing is coming for you and I might get in its way, putting myself in danger.”

“That’s right!” she replied. “But if I am correct in what I more than suspect, it won’t come in the form of a human agency. This is a dark thing, Harry, from dark times. Now let me remind you:

“My Master has powerful enemies in the world. They hate him because he is unlike them; his
nature
is not like theirs. While I am less than he is—and my girls less than me—still they hate us also. They know that without me, a moon-child, sworn to serve Him in the Mount, he would be weakened, easy prey to them and their agents. And now I’m given to suspect that one or more such agents could be here in Edinburgh.

“As to what makes me think so:

“In the last few days, no more than a week, two of my girls have been followed by a furtive figure, both times on their way to late-night duties in the bar. On the first occasion the male figure kept its distance, head down and collar up, following in the darker shadows of the street’s buildings. It quickly turned away as Zahanine, my black girl, looked back as she reached the door to the bar; turned away and vanished into an alley. But he was so quiet—a wraith, like a shadow in himself—and there was something else about him: such an evil emanation that Zahanine felt this dreadful premonition. And it was such a terrible foreboding that as she entered the bar I saw how she shuddered! I am sure you’ll appreciate, Harry, that my moon-children, like myself, don’t take fright any too easily, and that when they do there is usually a very good—or very bad—reason!

“That was the first time, and despite that it might simply be an attack of nerves on Zahanine’s part—for she is known to be a little skittish on occasion—it sounded the alarm. But to tell the truth and because we were aware of Zahanine’s periodic panic attacks we weren’t too much concerned, just a little more alert and cautious. Which is as well, for the next incident was much more ominous.

“It was the youngest of my girls, Kate, who lives less than a mile away and always walks fearlessly to the bar on even the darkest night. And why not? For night is her element, as it is mine. But while Kate’s habitual route is the shortest, it passes through a maze of some of the city’s oldest, bleakest alleyways. Just three nights ago she walked that same route, and for the last two or three hundred yards of cobbled alleys was aware of soft footfalls from somewhere behind her—but ever closing the gap!

“Are you listening, Harry?” She stared hard at him, at his unchanging features and almost glassy eyes. “Can you understand what I’m telling you?”

Again the Necroscope lifted his head, nodded and said, “Yes, I understand. She was being pursued—possibly.”

“Huh!”
B.J. snorted. “Not just ‘possibly’, mah wee man, but definitely! Now let me get on:

“Kate came out of the alleys onto the street only a handful of doorways from the bar. Glancing back, she saw that her pursuer was very close now: a man all in black, his description was the same as the one given by Zahanine. Ah, but Kate is a feisty one for all that she’s young! And so she stood waiting beside a recessed doorway. For if this was just some man—some perverse but otherwise
ordinary
man, who fancied his chances for a quick grope or perhaps something more than that—then she would know how to deal with him. When a man’s penis is hard, there’s nothing compares with a kick between his legs to soften it up a bit And never forget, young Kate’s a moon-child with a moon-child’s strength. She had none of Zahanine’s nervousness and could take care of herself against most men, be sure. But as for
this
man:

“For all that the night was warm he wore a long black coat, buttoned to the neck, with its collar turned up. And as he came level with Kate on the empty street he grabbed her, forcing her back into the deeper shadows of the recessed doorway. Surprised by his ferocity and speed, still Kate fought back and momentarily drove him into the open. At which, further enraged, he took her by the throat; and now his grip and strength were such that she knew he was no ordinary man! But a madman? Well, possibly.

“She looked to the sky, intending to draw strength from her mistress moon, but all there was was a pale yellow crescent. In her panic she clawed at her attacker—and thought she saw how his eyes lit like dull lamps! What’s more, he seemed to be trying to bite her! That is how it appeared to her: that this…this
animal
was intent on fastening his teeth in her neck!

“Ah, but in order to do that he must first release his grip on Kate’s throat, where he held her with only her toes touching the pavement. When he did that her feet found purchase, and she was at last able to deliver that kick. It was a blow that would have felled most ordinary men; it should have sent him groaning to the ground. But he merely grunted and reached for her again.

“At that moment a car’s headlight beams flooded the street. It was a police vehicle: They patrol this area, however infrequently. Kate’s attacker was startled. Releasing her, he uttered a low curse and ran across the street into a narrow alley where the police car couldn’t follow.

“The vehicle stopped, and an officer got out to ask Kate if she was all right, was everything okay, and who was the man who had run off? She lied, said her attacker had demanded cash, and she was a little shaken but otherwise all was well. She pointed to the bar’s hanging sign, said she was on her way to work, and that she’d be safe here. But no, she had never seen the prowler before, and it had all happened so fast that she couldn’t describe him. Well at least that last was more or less true, but as for the rest: how to describe the entire experience? What could she say without having to answer more questions?

“Do you understand, Harry?” Again B.J. paused. “Kate didn’t want to attract too much attention to herself, not to mention to me and the other girls! Now tell me—do you know what her attacker was or might have been? Answer me.”

The Necroscope’s reply came almost at once: “He might have been a vampire,” he said, as if that was the most natural thing in the world. While deep within him some facet of his subconscious mind recalled the beach and his nagging, almost obsessive preoccupation with vampires—their many species, from Nature’s myriad parasitic creatures to those half-human fiends with whom he’d already had far too many dealings. So then, had that been some kind of precognition? Possibly a side-effect remnant of the brain-dead—now entirely dead—Alec Kyle’s oneiromancy? The last vestige of his talent, like an echo lingering on in an empty conch, still extant in the whorls of a brain which now housed Harry’s metaphysical mind? Had it perhaps been an inkling of something to come…or rather, of a
thing
that was now here?

It was only an idea, a vague and momentary thought from the innermost recesses of Harry’s mind, which was quickly occluded as Bonnie Jean confirmed what he had said:

“Yes! A vampire! An agent of my Master’s enemies, it has to be! I believe this morning’s newspapers have confirmed it. Some poor woman—a prostitute, or her remains at least—were found late last night in the blazing ruins of her gutted place in the red-light district. She had been beheaded and an accelerant had been used to burn her to a crisp! Now, what do you say to that? Answer me.”

And sounding completely detached, disinterested, the Necroscope said, “Little wonder you sounded so anxious when I called you.”

B.J. frowned and her mouth fell partly open. She had expected, demanded some kind of answer, but not quite this one. Oh, he was deep, this Harry Keogh! Even hypnotized, still his mind retained something of its integrity, a fact which she had noted on several previous occasions.

“Yes I was anxious,” she nodded. “For my girls, myself, and for you. Oh, I know how well you can look after yourself—
mah wee man—”
(that again, with its special emphasis; but in dealing with a mind like his it was surely prudent to reinforce her hold over him from time to time.) And having done so she continued: “Yes, I know that you are fast and strong and clever; sometimes I think
too
clever!” And again she frowned. “But I didn’t want you coming here all unprepared, only to run into something like that. That’s a measure of how much I care for you…”

And suddenly aware of the truth in those words, and finding herself sidetracked, she couldn’t help wondering out loud: “But how much do you care for me? Answer me, Harry.”

“As much and more than I ever cared for anyone,” the Necroscope immediately replied. “That’s how much I care for you.”

Now B.J. smiled. “Oh, and what of your Brenda? Answer me.”

“I used to love her…I think,” he answered. And still he retained his totally relaxed, hypnotized expression, showing no feelings whatsoever. “But Brenda has been gone a long time, and I can’t find her.”

“And does that pain you?” B.J. found herself fascinated now. “I mean, how are you affected? You may continue to answer me.”

“No, it no longer hurts me,” Harry answered. “But it frustrates me—because I don’t know where they are, Brenda and the little fellow, or even if they’re safe and well.”

“And you love no one else, just me?” B.J. felt herself softening. This serious business she’d commenced didn’t seem nearly so serious now. Oh, it was—yes of course it was!—but so was her relationship with Harry.

“No one else,” he replied. “Just you…now.”

“Oh?” And as quickly as that B.J. was frowning again. “Just me…
now?
Was there some other woman beside Brenda, then?”

“Before Brenda, yes—and since Brenda.”

B.J. was suddenly hot and flushed; she felt her concentration slipping. “You’ve never mentioned this before! Who else was it, or is it, that you love or loved? Who is she?”

“My mother,” Harry replied. “My Ma. She’s dead, you know.”

And feeling foolish, Bonnie Jean sighed her relief, letting it wash right over her before telling him: “Yes, I know. You’ve told me before. And you remember her, and love her still, after all this time?”

“Of course…because she loves me.”

Ah, the faith of the man!
thought Bonnie Jean.
He dreams of his Ma in heaven, looking down on him and loving him still!
For of course she couldn’t know the truth of it, and Harry couldn’t enlighten her; he had told her as much as he could tell anyone.

Then, finally, it was time to finish this.

“Harry, mah wee man,” she said. “I want you to remember all I’ve told you about this threat to me and mine, and to yourself. Not on the surface of your mind but deep inside it. Will you do that for me?” It was more a demand, a command, than a question.

And the Necroscope responded: “Yes, I’ll remember, but deep inside.”

B.J. felt satisfied at last. She smiled…then pursed her lips, nodded, and added one last thing. “Harry, I expect you to watch out for me and mine, but not so much that you’ll put yourself in harm’s way. Is all understood?”

For long moments he was silent; and then unusually, indeed uniquely in B.J.’s experience, a frown had crept onto his brow! It seemed that even hypnotized he could be puzzled, concerned.

And: “How am I to watch out for you,
and
stay out of harm’s way?” he queried. “What if I come face to face with a vampire?”

Ah!
Now B.J. understood the problem. Her fault, for she had issued what appeared to be contradictory instructions; at least to Harry’s way of thinking. And now she corrected herself. “No, Harry! I only meant that you should look after yourself
as best possible.
Is that understood?”

And as the frown disappeared from the Necroscope’s face, so he answered, “Yes.”

“Well then,” B.J. said, sitting back from him. “Now you may get up on your elbow—blink your eyes and yawn—stretch your limbs and come more properly awake. And you may want to give me a kiss before I go down to the bar. You might also want to tidy up a little before you come down. You may begin to do all those things now, Harry.”

Harry began to do exactly as ordered, of course; but before B.J. could go down to the bar her telephone rang, and she commenced a long angry argument, in fact a harangue, against one of her suppliers who was trying to apologise for the late delivery of various wines and spirits.

And so it was Harry who was first downstairs…

After sitting at the bar with a small beer, reading the evening paper and talking to one of the girls—conversing in fact with young Kate—Harry was on his way out into the Edinburgh night when finally B.J. came downstairs. She asked what he was doing, and without preamble he told her he thought he’d go out for an hour or so, take a walk in the warm night air.

Immediately alarmed, she leaned close and whispered: “Ye’ll do what? Take a walk in streets so poorly lit?” And shaking her head, “That’s no a good idea, Harry!”

He raised an eyebrow and for a moment looked surprised; and trying not to frown, B.J. wondered,
Is he just putting it on or what?
But just a moment later he answered, “If I remember correctly, B.J., they were also poorly lit in London that time. Are things any different now? I don’t think so.”