Necroscope 9: The Lost Years (83 page)

434

AYE, I SAW THAT, IN HIS MIND. IT WAS … IT WAS HARRY!

‘And is he invisible, this “Harry?” ‘ Francesco snorted his sarcasm.

APPARENTLY - OR
NOT
APPARENTLY! The Thing had its sense of humour.

‘And his master, the people he works for?’ (From Tony.)

HOW CAN YOU BE MY SONS, AND DEAF, DUMB, AND BLIND, TOO?

Again the brothers glanced at each other. And: ‘Are you saying—’ Tony began, only to be cut off at once by a howl of rage, frustration:

HE STRIKES BACK, EVEN FROM HIS LONG SLEEP!
YOUR INTRUDER WAS NO COMMON MAN - WHAT, BUT HE SPEAKS

TO THE DEAD! - AND HE WORKS FOR NO COMMON MASTER. YOU TOOK ONE OF HIS, AND THIS WAS HIS REVENGE … OR
PART
OF IT.

Angelo was mistaken, in part at least, but his logic was perfectly sound.

‘Radu?’ And now there was a tremor in Tony’s voice.

THE SAME, his father answered. HE FLEXES WASTED MUSCLES, AND TESTS OUR METAL IN ADVANCE OF HIS RETURN. AND HE HAS

FOUND IT WEAK!

Tony grabbed Francesco’s arm. ‘I think he’s right. I
know
that he believes it!’

‘I need proof!’ the other snarled. ‘Oh, I know we can move on our father’s word, bring about mayhem in England or wherever, perhaps track this Radu to his lair and destroy him there - and perhaps expose ourselves, too! Not to any old vampire Lord, but to the authorities! What, centuries of secrecy wasted? Ah, and how many of our good
friends
across the world would “flock” to our assistance then, do you suppose? No, before I make another move, I need proof.’

I, I, I. It was always T with Francesco and never ‘we.’ Tony narrowed his eyes. But before he could answer, there came a shout from the stairwel:

‘Francesco, Anthony! Sir, and sir!’ A man in a white smock waved something excitedly. ‘Photographs! The intruder! We have him on film!’

And: ‘Proof?’ Tony said, his red eyes lighting like lamps. ‘Wel, perhaps now we have it!’

And behind them as they left the place, the ancient thing in the pit thought: IT BEGINS! - then relapsed into gibbering and darkness …

THE CALM BEFORE THE STORM

In the privacy of Francesco’s rooms, the brothers studied the photographs at greater length; but even at first glance in the cavern of the pit that housed their terrible father, Francesco had gasped,
‘What in the—?’
before showing the badly mottled pictures to his brother. Tony’s reaction had been more or less the same: not shock but dismay, that it appeared the pit-thing, old Angelo Ferenczy, was right. For he had to agree with Francesco that for all the distortion of the grainy prints he, too, was certain they’d seen images of this man before.

Some months earlier their sleeper in the British Isles - a trusted, senior lieutenant - had sent them a series of snaps taken outside ‘the woman’s place’ in Edinburgh. Just like these current pictures they too had been badly lit, monochrome, spur-of-the-moment efforts; scarcely studio quality. But then, they weren’t required to be. They had been obtained ‘for information only,’ items destined for the brothers’ file on one Bonnie Jean Mirlu, whom they had long suspected of being in thrall to Radu Lykan.

Now the contents of that file lay sprawled across a massive desk; one picture uppermost, where Francesco had thrown it in a rage. For it was clear to both men - or monsters - that the man in the Edinburgh photograph, and the intruder pictured inside their treasure vault, was indeed one and the same man.

‘A
dead
man!’ Francesco snarled for the third time. ‘Him, the woman, Radu too! Al of them!’

‘You agree that our father was right, then?’ Tony made no attempt to hide his smugness; he took pride if not pleasure in the fact that he’d been wise to take Angelo’s side in this matter.

‘Eh?’ Francesco rounded on him. ‘And what difference does it make if that … that disgusting
Thing
was right? Yes, yes, of course he was right - but isn’t he always? It’s his function to be fucking right! And yours to bolster his bloody ego, or so it seems to me!’

Necroscope: The Lost Years - Vol. I

Brian Lumley

439

438

Tony smiled thinly and said,
‘We
were right, then.’ And before his brother could rage again: ‘Which seems to mean that we now have a feud on our hands. You and I, and the people we control - all of us, under the, er,
Thing’s
guidance, of course - against this elusive character in the photographs, his mistress Bonnie Jean Mirlu and her people, and the sleeping but by no means silent Radu Lykan.’

‘Because of that girl we took?’ Francesco was trying hard to control himself.

That’s what Angelo said,’ Tony nodded.

This Radu: he goes to war over a thrall, while he himself is still in hibernation or whatever?’

‘So it would seem.’

Then he must be pretty damn sure of himself!’ Again Francesco’s outburst. And again his brother’s nod:

‘Pretty damn sure of his thralls, anyway. What are we up against, brother? Oh, we now know what our intruder looks like - but how did he do it? Where did he come from, and where did he go? And how? Angelo says he talks to dead people!’

‘Angelo babbles!’

‘Frequently, yes. But at other times he’s perfectly lucid. Today … he seemed lucid enough to me.’

‘Lucid
and
devious,’ Francesco snarled. ‘He took Guy Cavee knowing that he was innocent. This intruder had no inside help, and our bloody father knew it!’

‘He was hungry,’ Tony shrugged. ‘As always. And anyway, it was your idea. Cavee was
your
example …’

Pacing to and fro, Francesco scowled and nodded grudgingly
‘Yesss,’
he hissed, ‘he was! But anyway, it did produce results of sorts. We appeased the old bastard and he did speak to us - if only to talk rubbish.’

‘Some of it, maybe. But we do know the intruder’s name, at least. What, Harry? British, isn’t it?’

‘Probably.’ Francesco picked up the vault photographs from a corner of his desk. ‘He looks British, anyway.’

Tony took the initiative. ‘Let’s take a look at what we’ve got and try putting it all together. We’ve been watching Bonnie Jean Mirlu for years, but from a distance. Recently, because of Angelo’s warnings, we’ve been taking a lot more interest in her. We could have had her taken out a long time ago, but that would have alerted Radu’s other thralls and it still wouldn’t tell us the location of his lair. So, we waited. More warnings from our father in his pit; we saw an opportunity to grab one of Mirlu’s people, the girl. We got very little out of her - yet in a way we did. At least she showed us how strong Radu’s power is over his people. Even our father failed to get into her … well, in one way at least. Or perhaps she didn’t know a lot? But in any case she was only a thrall. Oh? But she was one of
his,
Radu’s.

And apparently he cares for

his own, even from his secret lair. How we were traced, tracked down, and discovered after all this time … who can say? But we were. And last night the dog-Lord struck back, hit us where it hurts most. So, what use is money to such as him? But as you and I know well enough, in this modern world money is all-important! Especially to someone attempting to re-establish himself, who will doubtless build his own power base, his own army. And what a wonderful irony - to fund it with the proceeds of a strike against his greatest, his oldest enemies!’

‘But we were
not
his enemies!’ Francesco burst out. ‘After two thousand years? Radu’s enemies were all dead long before we were born!’

‘Perhaps you should have paid more attention to our father when … when you could have,’ Tony told him. ‘For to the Wamphyri, the blood is the life. And a bloodfeud is a bloodfeud, unending until… until it ends. This Radu
will
seek to avenge himself. Yes, even for alleged crimes committed against him in another world, another time, by an earlier generation.’

‘Another world, another time!’ Francesco mimicked. ‘Myths and legends - and lies, of course. And tell me, how would our dear father know about that, anyway! What? Why, he never knew
his
father, Waldemar Ferrenzig! So what are his sources to all this Wamphyri history? What makes
him
such an authority?’

Anthony smiled wryly at what he could only assume was his brother’s naivete, his stupidity, his petty, argumentative nature.

‘Now I know that you are playing word games,’ he said. ‘Or you are being stupid and arguing for argument’s sake. Our

“dear father,” as you have it, had centuries in which to research his forebears. I’ll tell you something you don’t know, for you were away at the time in the USA, Rome, Berlin. That was a most difficult period, as you’ll perhaps recall?’

‘What, the Second World War?’

‘Exactly. You remember the American invasion?’

‘Of course I remember. Wasn’t I your go-between, “Emilio” Francezci’s spokesman in America? Didn’t I bargain for Luciano’s freedom, in return for a “soft landing” for the American invasion force? And also to ensure that no shells fell in the vicinity of Le Manse Madonie?’

Tony smiled. That wasn’t all you bargained for, or with. Our dear father had told me about a plan he’d been working on: a saturation air-raid on Nazi-held territory north of Ploiesti in Romania. It called for pinpoint bombing.’

‘I remember,’ Francesco answered. There was to be a top-brass meeting of German strategists, to redirect the course of the war they were losing. This was a valuable piece of information that Angelo wanted passed on to the Americans.

The meeting place would be the target for the bombers, who would then head south and raid the oil installations at Ploiesti. What of it?’

441

Necroscope: The Lost Years - Vol. I

Brian Lumley

440

“There were no German strategists north of Ploiesti on the night of the 1st August 1943,’ Tony told him. ‘Just a village, or a huddle of rich homes and fine gardens. And in one of those houses … a Ferenczy!’

‘What?’ Francesco frowned. ‘What are you saying?’

‘Our father’s brother, a bloodson of Waldemar, but out of a different mother - which is to say our
uncle,
Francesco! -lived there. As he had lived there for hundreds of years! His name was Faethor, and he was or might possibly become a threat.
Such
was our father’s research, brother, that he was aware of Faethor without that Faethor ever knew of him!

And such was - such
is -
his wicked intelligence, that he had Faethor removed without that he, or we, could ever be shown to have been involved. That way if Faethor had survived, he would never know that the bombs that night were intended specifically for him! But in any case, he didn’t survive.’

‘And I never knew about this? I was never informed?’ Francesco’s brows were black as thunder.

Tony held up a hand placatingly. ‘You were the negotiator. You were our liaison with the Americans - among others. If you had known, would your story have held the same conviction?’

‘I arranged for the death of my own uncle?’

‘Before he could discover you and arrange for yours, yes.’

‘I don’t know how I should take this …’

‘Take it as it was intended. Angelo - he and I - were protecting you, us, the Francezcis.’

‘Without my knowing? All these years …’

‘You were
away
for years! It was one thing, one incident. Why, I wouldn’t have remembered it myself, if you hadn’t questioned our father’s authority in such matters. But it’s as I’ve said: he
is
an authority, mainly as a result of research in his youth. Such research as led him to the conclusion that this was the way forward:
his
way - and
our
way.’

‘Our way?’

‘Strength in riches, in secrecy, in ritual silence, Francesco. Why are the Sicilians the way they are?
Omerta!
Because of the Mafia. Why
is
the Mafia? Because of the Francezcis. Why were we - until last night -untouchable? Because we are the heart of a secret empire of terror. And why all or any of this? Because of Angelo Francezci’s talents! What? But he knew something of everything, even of the future. And he knew that the blood wars were not finished!’

‘Huh! Francesco snorted. The sins of the fathers, indeed. But out of another world and time? Did we inherit that, too?’

‘Apparently, along with everything else. Haven’t you enjoyed it, then? What? And isn’t it worth fighting for? You say we weren’t the dog-Lord’s enemies … oh, really? but the Ferenczys have been his enemies as long and longer than you or I can possibly remember. When

we took that girl, to examine her, we rekindled an old fire, lit an old fuse. Yes, and it’s burning down even now, Francesco …”

‘We have to find him,’ Francesco was paler than ever.

‘Him?’

The intruder. Find him, extract every ounce of knowledge, and kill him!’

But Tony shook his head. ‘No, we have to find
them.
And I mean al of them. The Lykans, the Drakuls, their aeries, their thrals to the last man. And we have to do it soon. Then - and only then - can we move against them. And even then in stealth and secrecy.’

‘A bloodfeud,’ the other mused.

But again his brother disagreed. ‘I would cal it a bloodwar,’ he said. ‘Oh, yes, for that’s how hot it could get to be! Yet on the surface al must appear calm - the world can’t know. We must use our wits, as Angelo used his. It must be something like that bombing raid on those “German strategists.” ‘

‘It is definitely coming, then?’

‘It has come. And no use to plead innocence or ignorance; for just like last time, we Ferenczys are the ones who started it.’

‘Damn it to
hel!’
Francesco slammed a clenched fist down onto the desk top, scatering papers.

To hel, yes,’ Tony agreed. ‘Or maybe to glory? We have the advantage, brother. Radu isn’t back yet, but we’re already here! Not only do we have the inteligence of a certain - what, “disgusting thing?” - but also of the Mafia, the KGB, and even our several contacts in the CIA.