And all of it flowing out, drawn out of Zarakis, into Malinari’s mind. But not all of his memories, not all of his learning, and certainly not enough to kill him. For he was a vampire after all; a lieutenant who aspired—or who had once aspired—to be Wamphyri, and would prove very hard to kill by this means alone. Even with his mind three-quarters incapacitated, emptied of knowledge, his vampire essence would fight on, those strands of mutant DNA that one day might even have metamorphosed into a leech. And:
“There now, there,” Malinari murmured, withdrawing his red wet hands and reshaping them. “Rest now, and live, Zarakis. For if or when that mistress of mirages reaches out from her monastery aerie with a piddling probe, I want her to be able to read your signature here and to know that all is well … even if it isn’t.”
With which he dragged the drooling lieutenant far back into the access tunnel, then into a cobwebbed niche where he propped his limp body against the wall before setting off with all the authority of a man born to this labyrinth (or one who had lived here for a long time) to examine Vavara’s boat for himself.
As he strode across the spawning chamber, the protoplasmic devolved filth of the cavern reached out and groped upwards as if to grasp him.
And though there was no mind there to mention, still Malinari lashed out: Begone! I am not for you!
Recognizing his authority, like a hand scorched by a flame, the filthy mulch at once snatched itself back and withdrew from him; and sneering as he went on, Malinari was uncaring where he stepped or how many toadstools he crushed …
17
JAKE CUTTER—RECONNAISSANCE
Three days earlier, Thursday evening:
Why Marseilles? Korath was curious. What will you do here?
“I need time to think,” Jake murmured low under his breath, apparently muttering to himself like a disturbed person—which in a way he was—as he walked the city’s boulevards. “Time to rest up, think things out. Things have changed, and yet they haven’t. I need to get it sorted.” His words were deadspeak, of course; thoughts would have sufficed, but he found it easier to actually speak, as if to a real, three-dimensional person walking beside him.
Real, yes, said the other, however incorporeal. But walking beside you? No, except in the sense that our route is the same. Alas that our destinies aren’t.
“Our destinies?” Jake was only half-listening.
My destiny, said Korath bitterly, when all of this is done, is to return to my dank and dreary sump. While yours … can be whatever you make it. Unfair, wouldn’t you say?
“That’s life,” said Jake, shrugging, and wishing that the vampire would shut up so that he could think—think about how things had changed, and yet hadn’t.
No, said the other, I’m obliged to disagree. It isn’t life but death. And you can take it from me, Jake, that the two have nothing in common!
“Much like you and I,” said Jake.
Except your mind, Korath reminded him. From which you have the power to exclude me in a moment. Your mind Jake: the one sentient place in all my empty universe. The only place where I can touch, taste, hear, see, and even feel—but only what you feel, or sense, and oh-so-temporarily.
“So instead of constantly moaning about it,” Jake replied, “why not make the best of what you’ve got while you’re able?”
Because it isn’t the best that I could have … or of what you could have, that’s why.
“That again!” said Jake, crossing the road to a bank where a cash outlet stood gleaming in a windowed recess. “I’m to open my mind, let down all my shields, and bid you enter of your own free will, right?” He was getting wise to the other’s aims now, and also to his motives. Long-term residence.
Yes! Korath replied at once, a little too eagerly. From which time forward—or at least until our dual objectives were met—we would act and react almost as one. We would be as twin wheels, their cogs meshing precisely, working in perfect unison. You would no longer need to call out for me in times of danger, for I would know the danger! I would already be here, advising, assisting, even protecting you. Why, I would know your needs at once, and all of my instincts would be yours! So that in time—and given that I’d be here to encourage you in your efforts, of course—it’s even possible that you could learn Harry Keogh’s formula for yourself. Then, in every respect, at last you could be the Necroscope that he was!
“That’s if I wanted to be the Necroscope,” said Jake. “And I’m not at all sure I do. There’s a lot more to this than meets the eye, more than Trask and his people have told me. Even when they did tell me something, I got the impression that what they weren’t telling me was a lot worse! So when this is all over—and by the time I know everything, if ever—it’s possible I’ll feel even less inclined than I do now. Right now it looks like I’ve swapped Harry Keogh for you, and if that’s really the case … then I was robbed! As for your ‘instincts’ being mine: what instincts are we talking about here? Your vampire instincts? In which case, I don’t think so.”
Ah! said Korath. A poor choice of words on my part. Let us say instead my heightened senses. For with our minds inextricably linked, so tightly meshed, you would be heir to my superior perceptions. Your sense of smell would be that of the wolf; you would have the hearing of a bat, and the night-seeing eyes of a cat. What price then the lives of this Luigi Castellano and his so-called “soldiers”? Hah! Small chance they’d have against one such as you … and I … or us.
“But there are a couple of senses you seem to have skipped over,” said Jake. “Your sense of taste, for example. And I like my meat well done. Then there’s your tactile senses. But when I touch a woman I like to know she’s thrilled, not chilled. And I want to sense her quivering, not shuddering.” He shook his head “No deal, Korath. And there’s something else … two somethings in fact. I don’t much like the idea of being ‘heir’ to anything of yours. Let’s face it, I’ve already been ‘willed’ something I didn’t ask for. As for being ‘inextricably linked’—it’s that word inextricable I don’t much care for. Which means we’re back to square one, and you can forget it.”
Bah! said the other. But you’ll come to your senses yet, I think. Or to mine.
It was 4:30 and the bank was closing. On seeing the automated teller, Jake had reached for his wallet, his plastic. But he didn’t have any plastic, and the cash machine was useless to him. Nor did he have any real cash money. For the last three or four weeks E-Branch had been seeing to his needs. By now they’d have fixed him up with an identity, too, and anything else he’d required, if he had stayed on with them. And if he’d known that what he and Natasha had had—or what he’d thought they had—wasn’t real …
But he was out now and it didn’t seem likely he’d be going back. He couldn’t if he wanted to, not until this was over. For it was as he’d told Natasha: it wasn’t just her—wasn’t just revenge for what they’d done to her, and to him—but something else inside him that was driving him on. Something someone else had started, that he had to finish. That was what was bothering him: things had changed, and yet they were the same …
He wondered how Liz was doing, wondered if she missed him.
Probably, said Korath. Didn’t I advise you to stay with E-Branch and deal with their problems—and with mine—first?
“See what I mean?” Jake muttered. “It’s bad enough having you on the edge of my mind where I can keep an eye on you, let alone inside it where I can’t! As for Liz … don’t talk about her. Don’t even think about her.”
But they were your thoughts, Jake, not mine! said Korath. What? Do you think I would take that sort of advantage? Not at all. Why, the very idea is abborrent to me! For even a vampire—a gross and monstrous creature such as I was—has a measure of honour …
“Oh, really?” said Jake. “Well, honour among thieves I’ve heard about. But I have to tell you, your kind have a very bad rep.”
In life, or undeath, I have to agree, said Korath. But in the true death—? Ev
en a vampire has time to recant.
“Not according to Harry Keogh.”
Bah! And there’s more to that one than meets the eye, too!
“Such as?”
I can’t say, Korath answered. The Great Majority know, but they won’t speak to me. And then there’s what you’ve said about E-Branch: how they, too, are evasive on that subject …
He let it taper off, but something he’d said had stuck in Jake’s mind, and:
“How are your shields?” he said.
Eh? Korath seemed surprised by the change of subject. My shields? They are in good order, of course. Vampires were ever adept at shielding their minds.
“Good,” said Jake. “Then from now on shield your thoughts from the Great Majority, and direct them only at me. Since the teeming dead won’t have anything to do with you, it strikes me you could queer my pitch, too.”
You are ashamed of me!
“If you say so,” said Jake.
Hah! A snort of “righteous” indignation.
But Jake’s thoughts had moved on. “Cash,” he muttered. “I need a place to stay, and hotels don’t come cheap.”
Don’t you have any friends either, then? Korath’s comment was deliberately snide.
“I have, or had, some,” Jake answered. “A few. Which probably answers your earlier question, too—it’s why I came back here—because I have friends in Marseilles. Here, and in Nice, and even in England … but on second thoughts, I wouldn’t want to involve them in this. Anyway, the bank’s about to close and people are looking at me. So let’s move on.”
But not too far, said Korath.
“Eh?”
You need money, don’t you? And where better to get it than from a bank?
Jake thought about it for a moment, then blinked and said, “You mean, I should use this Möbius Continuum thing to—?”
Indeed, Korath sighed impatiently, cutting him short. It’s an incredibly useful tool, Jake. Far more so than a key. But it seems to me you’ve a lot to learn—er, for a vicious murderer, that is. In fact, you’re rather innocent! So why don’t you just walk back across the road, and sit awhile under those umbrellas outside that cafe? You can watch the last of these people leaving the bank, while I engage myself in other small diversions.
“Diversions?”
Well, Korath explained, since you shouldn’t be seen paying too much attention to the bank, I wondered if between times … perhaps I might persuade you to direct your gaze elsewhere? For example, just look at all those pretty little French girls. The way they sit—cross-legged like that—all moist and warm in their skimpy little dresses. Aren’t they just fascinating? Why, there’s nothing quite like that in all Staaaarside!
If anyone else had said such a thing, Jake might well have chuckled. But Korath’s lascivious deadspeak voice was a gurgle, a grunt, the sound of snot in a rooting pig’s snout, a bubbling pit of depravity. And the mind behind it just didn’t bear delving into.
Thus, when Jake sat down under one of the umbrellas at the cafe across the road from the bank, he made a determined effort not to look at the pretty little French girls, and for the time being at least, Korath remained moodily silent …
The bank vaults were not what Jake had expected. They were like Russian dolls, within dolls, within dolls: “impenetrable” doors behind doors, behind doors. But doors whose designers hadn’t in any way anticipated the Möbius Continuum, and never would learn what had happened here. On the other hand, they had anticipated thieves, and alarms had been going off from the moment Jake materialized within the secure area and tripped the sensors. After that he moved fast, passing through or “around” the doors in a matter of seconds.
In the innermost vault Jake found what he wanted: the day’s take bagged up in its various denominations, all neatly pigeonholed in a rack of metal shelving. This wasn’t Fort Knox—not even remotely—and there was only a handful of small bags for the taking. But there again, Jake wasn’t a thief, and he wasn’t out to make a big killing here. He would be more than satisfied with just a few thousand francs to see him through until—
Until the next time? Korath cut into Jake’s thoughts, and quickly went on to explain himself: For who knows? perhaps this sort of venture could easily develop into something of a habit?
“And that would suit you right down to the ground, right?” Jake spoke through the handkerchief mask that hid his face from the security cameras, as he took up a bag with the legend FIFTY THOUSAND FRANCS, IN HUNDREDS. “Your ‘instincts’ sort of rubbing off on me, is that how you see it?” He replaced the bag, taking up another that said TEN THOUSAND FRANCS, IN FIVES.
Er, something like that, said Korath. But why is it you’ve chosen the lesser amount?
“When all of this is straightened out, if ever,” Jake told him, “I may even give this money back … or maybe not. Because I don’t have to. This was my bank, Korath! No, not this branch, but my bank. And as it happens there’s a lot more in my account than I intend to take. So in fact it’s like I’m simply making a small withdrawal here.”
Bah! said Korath disappointedly.
“And that’s it,” Jake told him, as he ripped the bag open and stuffed his pockets. “I’ve got what I came for, and now we can go.”
But Korath was silent now, and the alarms were still sounding …
“Korath?” Jake said, aware of a sullen silence in his head and beginning to sweat in the breathless confines of the place. “It’s time we weren’t here.”
And after a little while: What would happen to you, said the other, in the event that I forgot Harry Keogh’s remarkable formula and left you here for them to find? For the fact is, Jake, it’s no easy trick to keep conjuring those figures and symbols. In my world, we had little use for numbers—mathematics was literally an unknown science. A Lord or Lady of the Wamphyri would keep a tally of his or her thralls, and that was about it. But as for decimals, fractions, and algebra … I mean, algebra? All such would be algibberish, to the Wamphyri! And the Szgany weren’t that much smarter.
“This isn’t funny,” said Jake, sweating harder. “You got me in and you can get me out. So get to it. Roll those numbers and I’ll do the rest.”
Ah, but where’s the incentive in that? said Korath. What, I should do all the work while you reap all the benefits? Perhaps our arrangement—this so called “partnership”—wasn’t such a good idea after all. I feel that I am being used, and all those constantly mutating equations make me dizzy. Wherefore, I think we should … renegotiate?
“I don’t follow you,” said Jake, despite that he did.
Indeed you do not, said the other, not any longer. Nor need I follow you. We go together, as equals, or not at all.
“That again?”
That again, said Korath, but for the last time. So make up your mind, Jake, what’s it to be?
Jake listened to the alarms, sweated some more, then tossed several bags of money onto the floor … and sat down on them.
What? Korath seemed astonished. What are you doing?
“What’s it look like?” Jake answered. “I’m waiting for them to get here and throw me back into a different kind of cage. Or they might simply shoot me on sight. Let’s face it, I’m trapped here, caught red-handed. For me, it’s the end of the line. And for you—I don’t know—a return to that sump you’re so fond of? The one I rescued you from?”
Ah, no! said Korath, and Jake sensed a sly deadspeak smile, albeit one that wavered. You’ll break before they come.
“No way,” said Jake, putting his hands behind his head and leaning back against the shelving, making himself comfortable.
Then let this be the end of it! Korath blustered, but very nervously now. For in any case, I can see no future in it.
“The police will be into the bank by now,” said Jake, “and the guy with the keys will be on his way. Ten more minutes and they’ll be opening up this vault. If they don’t shoot me first, E-Branch will probably lay claim to me. Then I’ll be forced to
tell Trask about you, and he … will have various options.”
Such as? Positive alarm now, in Korath’s query.
“He has telepaths, access to all kinds of shrinks. They’ll probably try to get into my mind and force you out. That’ll be the first thing they’ll try. But whatever they do, it will have to be better than you. After that—I don’t know—prefrontal lobotomy, maybe? Even the word is unpleasant, right? The way it sort of slithers off the tongue: lob-ot-omy … Ugh! You’ll be a part of the part they lob.”
You’re bluffing!
“No,” Jake shook his head, “I’m serious. You’re testing my strength, and I’m not giving in.”
What if E-Branch doesn’t claim you?
“Then I’ll languish in jail,” said Jake, “and you’ll be up against the same problem. Except by then they’ll know who I am; which will mean that in future it will be harder to move around undetected, and I’ll be easier to find and kill. And if or when I die, you die. Ben Trask took a little of the heat off me, but this is bound to put it on again, and …” He broke off, put a finger to his lips, and whispered, “What was that?”
Eh? What? Jake “felt” Korath’s start. I heard nothing.
“The sound of the outer lock clanging open,” Jake told him. “You didn’t hear it because I’m slowly raising my shields—and the stakes. I bet you’ve never played poker, have you, Korath?”
Wait! Korath cried. If you do that—if you shut me out—we’ll lose contact, and I won’t be able to … to …
“To save my neck?” said Jake. “That’s right, you won’t. And yours is in the same noose. So now who’s bluffing?”
Why are you so … so obstinate? Korath whined.
“They’re at the second lock,” said Jake. “So we’d better be saying our farewells. By the time I’ve shut you out, they’ll be in.”
No! Don’t do it! STOP! the dead vampire “shouted” in Jake’s mind.
And a moment later, when Jake said nothing: Damn … damn … DAMN—but you’re good! Korath grated the words out as if they were choking him, and gave a furious shake of his incorporeal head before continuing, And of course you’re right: I was only testing you.