Necroscope

voice in his head chuckled. 'There,' it said. 'You see? A friend...'

Dizzy and feeling sick, Harry gradually withdrew his fingers from loose, dry soil. He lifted his head a fraction, stared all about. Light and colour struck almost physical blows on his reeling vision. Light and warmth. That was the first impression to really get through to him: how warm it was. The soil was warm under his prone body, the sun unseasonally warm where it shone on his neck and his hands. Where on God's earth was he? Was he on Earth at all?

Slowly, still dizzy, he sat up. And gradually, as he felt gravity working on him, so things stopped revolving and he uttered a loud 'Phew!' of relief.

Harry wasn't much travelled or he'd have recognised the terrain at once as being Mediterranean. The soil was a yellowy-brown and streaked with sand, the plants were those of scrubland, the sun's warmth in January told of his proximity to the equator. Certainly he was thousands of miles closer to it here than he'd been in Leipzig. In the distance a mountain range threw up low peaks; closer there were ruins, crumbling white walls and mounds of rubble; and overhead -

A pair of jet fighter planes, like speeding silver darts against the pure blue of the sky, left vapour trails as they hastened towards the horizon. Their thunder rolled down over him, muted by distance.

Harry breathed easier, looked again towards the ruins. Middle-Eastern? Probably. Just some ancient village fallen victim to Nature's grand reclamation scheme. And again he wondered where he was.

'Endor,' said the voice in his head. 'That was its name when it had a name. It was my home.'

Endor? That rang a bell. The biblical Endor? The place where Saul went on the night before his death on

the slopes of Gilboa? Where he went to seek out - a witch?

'That is what they called me, aye,' she chuckled dryly in his mind. 'The Witch of Endor. But that was long and long ago, and there have been witches and witches. Mine was a great talent, but now a greater one is come into the world. In my long sleep I heard of him, this mighty wizard, and such were the rumours that they awakened me. The dead call him their friend and there are those among the living who fear him greatly. Aye, and I desired to speak with this one, who is already a legend among the tomb-legions. And lo! - I called and he came to me. And his name is Harry Keogh...'

Harry stared at the earth where he sat, put down his hands and pressed upon it. His hands came away dusty and dry. 'You're... here?' he said.

'I am one with the dust of the world,' she answered. 'My dust is here.'

Harry nodded. Two thousand years is a long time. 'Why did you help me?' he asked.

'Would you have me damned for ever by all the teeming dead?' she answered at once. 'Why did I help you? Because they asked it of me! All of them! Your fame precedes you, Harry. "Save this one!" they begged me, "for he is beloved of us.'"

Again Harry nodded. 'My mother,' he said.

'Your mother is but one,' answered the witch. 'She is your chief advocate, certainly, but the dead are many. She pleaded for you, aye, and many a thousand with her.'

Harry was astonished. 'I don't know thousands,' he said. 'I know a dozen, two dozen at most.'

Again her chuckle, long, dry and mirthless. 'But they know you! And how may I ignore my brothers and sisters in the earth?'

'You wish to help me?'

'Yes.'

'Do you know what I have to do?'

'Others have informed me, aye.'

'Then give me whatever aid you can - if you can. Frankly, and while I don't wish to seem ungrateful, I don't see how there's a lot you can do.'

'Oh? But I controlled some of these same powers you control two thousand years ago. And are my arts forgotten? A king came to me for help, Harry Keogh!'

'Saul? Little good it did him,' said Harry, but not unkindly.

'He asked me to show him his future,' she answered defensively, 'and I showed him.'

'And can you show me mine?'

'Your future?' she was silent for a moment. Then: 'I have already looked upon your future, Harry, but of that ask me not.'

'That bad, eh?'

'There are deeds to be performed,' she answered, 'and wrongs to be righted. If I were to show you what will be, it would not make you strong for the task ahead. Like Saul, perhaps you too would faint away upon the earth.'

'I'm going to lose...' Harry's heart sank.

'Something of you shall be lost.'

Harry shook his head. 'I don't like the sound of that. Can't you say more?'

'I will not say more.'

'Then perhaps you'll help me with the Mobius dimen­sion. I mean, how may I find my way about in it? I don't know what I'd have done if you hadn't guided me out of there.'

'But I know nothing of this thing,' she answered, obviously puzzled. 'I called to you and you heard me. Why not let them also guide you who love you?'

Was that possible? Harry thought it probably was. 'At

least that's something,' he said. 'I can give it a try. Now, how else can you help me?'

'For Saul the king,' she answered, 'I called up Samuel. Now there are also some who would speak to you. Let me be the medium of their messages.'

'But it's self-evident I can speak to the dead for myself!' he said.

'But not to these three,' she answered, 'for you know them not.'

'Very well, let me speak to them.'

'Harry Keogh,' a new voice now whispered in his head, a soft voice that belied the once-cruelty of its master. 'I saw you one time and you saw me. My name is Max Batu.'

Harry gasped, spat his disgust on to the sand. 'Max Batu? You're no friend of mine,' he scowled. 'You killed Keenan Gormley!' Then he thought about who he was speaking to. 'But you? Dead? I don't understand.'

'Dragosani killed me,' the other told him. 'He did it to steal my talent with his necromancy. He slit my throat and gutted me, and left my body to rot. Now he has the evil eye. I make no pretence of being your friend, Harry Keogh, but I'm much less a friend of his. I tell you this because it might help you to kill him - before he kills you. It is my revenge!'

And as Max Batu's voice faded, another took its place:

'I was Thibor Ferenczy,' it said, its timbre sad and soulful. 'I could have lived for ever. I was a vampire, Harry Keogh, but Dragosani destroyed me. I was undead; now I am merely dead.'

A vampire! Just such a creature had cropped up in Gormley's and Kyle's word-association game. Kyle had seen a vampire in Harry's future. But: 'I can hardly condemn Dragosani for killing a vampire!' he said.

'I don't want you to condemn him,' the voice grew harsh in a moment, shedding its sorrow like a worn-out

snakeskin. 'I want you to kill him! I want the lying, cheating, illegitimate necromantic dog dead, dead, dead! - like me! And I know he will be dead -1 know you will kill him - but only with my help. Only if you'll... bargain with me?'

'Do not, Harry!' the Witch of Endor warned him. 'Satan himself is no match for a vampire where lies and deceit are concerned.'

'No bargains,' Harry took her point.

'But it is such a small thing I want!' Thibor protested, his mental voice growing into a whine.

'How small?'

'Only promise me that now and then - once in a while, be it ever so long - when you have the time, then that you'll speak to me. For there are none so lonely as I am now, Harry Keogh.'

'Very well. I promise.'

The ex-vampire sighed his relief. 'Good! And now I know why the dead love you. Now know this, Harry: Dragosani has a vampire in him! The creature is still immature, but it grows fast and learns even faster. And do you know how to kill a vampire?'

'A wooden stake?'

'That is only to pin him down. But then you must behead him!'

'I'll remember that,' Harry nodded, nervously licking dry lips.