'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
