Necroscope: Defilers by Brian Lumley
(And even now, in the lay-by, those words came back to haunt Trask: Black-clad nuns, of course … two of Vavara’s women.)
For it was only then that he had realized how totally he’d come to rely upon his lifelong talent, and how miserably insecure he’d become without it; how badly he’d let the side down by losing his grip on things and letting it slip away. But finally, as the Old Lidesci’s words had sunk in, so Trask’s weird talent had returned to him at least in part, and he’d known the truth:
Black-clad nuns … two of Vavara’s women! For despite that he had been dazzled, he’d seen them, too, as the big black limo turned off the road towards the monastery. And in that selfsame moment he had known where he’d seen them before! Then:
“Turn around!” Trask had cried out to Manolis. “We have to go back, right now, and in through those gates!”
“Eh? Are you mad?” But Manolis had slowed down more yet.
“We can’t do that!” Lardis had gasped his protest from the backseat. “What, and drive headlong into a hornet’s nest? Anyway, the gates are closing even now.”
“Then drive on!” Trask had howled, grasping Manolis’s arm.
“Drive like hell for Skala Astris, and pray that I’m wrong!”
But he hadn’t been.
At the Christos Studios, even as Manolis brought the four-wheel-drive skidding to a dusty halt, Trask had been out of his seat and striding for the chalets. But Katerina, Yiannis’s wife had been there almost as if to meet him. Carrying a tray with a glass of milk and a plate of sandwiches, she’d looked more than a little bemused.
“Twenty, maybe twenty-five minutes ago,” she’d told Trask, “Liz asked me for sandwiches. I having to work late anyway, so I make some sandwiches for her. Now she is not here. Maybe she takes thee night swim, eh?”
By which time Manolis had come from behind to take Trask’s arm. He’d also taken the tray from Katerina, telling her, “You are probably right. But don’t worry, I will make sure she gets thee sandwiches. Thank you.”
But as Katerina excused herself and headed for the administration building, Trask had suddenly gone weak at the knees. Staring at Liz’s chalet, trembling violently in all his limbs, and shaking his head in disbelief, he’d stammered, “The lights are on, and the door … the door’s open!”
“Try not to think thee worst, my friend,” Manolis had tried to calm him.
But Trask had wrenched himself free, saying: “What? Don’t think the worst! You bloody idiot! I know the worst! Surely you can see it? They saw her lights burning, and she answered the door thinking it was Katerina! Liz! Oh my God, Liz!”
That was when Manolis had grabbed Trask more fiercely yet, and as Lardis came on the scene he, too, had helped. But that look on Manolis’s face had been sufficient, warning Trask that if he didn’t quiet down and get a grip on himself immediately, the somewhat younger, rock-hard Greek policeman wouldn’t hesitate to do something about it!
By then the other car had arrived; it had taken just a few seconds to explain what was happening; they’d all gone in different directions, searching for Liz—
—And not finding her …
Half an hour earlier:
It was a little after 11: 15 P.M. local time—which is to say Greenwich mean time—when Millie Cleary regained consciousness in a dry, musty-smelling darkness. She checked the time by risking the oh-so-slight motion involved in opening her eyes to slits and glancing at the luminous dial of her wristwatch. This was an habitual, instinctive thing, almost a reflex reaction to dawning consciousness; Millie always checked the time on waking up. But while 11:15 was when she came to, and easily ascertainable, the where of it was something else entirely.
That she was underground seemed undeniable (Millie vaguely remembered something of her nightmarish descent to this place), but where and how deep underground … who could say?
And then, remembering how she’d been taken, and by whom—and on feeling a certain stiffness in her neck—Millie’s first truly coherent thought was: Oh my good God! Don’t let it be! Please don’t say it’s happened!
But then, as her left hand flew to the slender column of her neck, massaging both sides under the ears and searching for telltale punctures, so a voice came to her out of distance and darkness, saying: You need not concern yourself, little thought-thief For it has not happened … not yet. First I require you to see what I have done, to know what I will do, and of your own free will to acknowledge me your lord and master. Also I will require you to explain certain problematic matters of the outer world, so that in good time I may give them my attention. And finally, when we better understand each other, when I know what you know of this E-Branch and its slayers—who are even renowned to have killed such beings as myself—then I shall make you more truly mine, immortal within certain strictures, and send you into the world to do my bidding. My emissary and plaguebearer both, aaaaye!
“Szwart!” Millie gasped his awful name into the almost tangible darkness, which to her five cringing mundane senses felt like so much black velvet.
And: Indeed! that gasping, rasping, gurgling voice answered in her head. I am the Lord of Darkness and the Master of Night. But Szwart? Simply Szwam Ah, no! For I am Lord Szwart to such as you, little thought-thief.
“Where am I?” Millie found herself whispering. And far more to the fearful point: “Where … where are you!?”
I am about my business and may not be disturbed. I spoke to you because I sensed that the fear in your mind might kill you. Such a strong mind in such a frail, entirely human body. An odd paradox, is it not, that one such as you—with mentalist powers almost the equal of my own, which I admit are only middling for a Great Vampire—should be so utterly at the mercy of your own darkling fears? Hah! I suppose that it’s “all in the mind,” eh? Oh, ha-ha-haaa! (His mental “laughter” was numbing, and the silence that followed it terrifying, until eventually he continued. Ab, but your sweet human body is frail, and I do not want you rushing blindly to and fro in the darkness, perhaps dasbing yourself down from a high place, and so becoming … useless to me. As to where you are: you are in just such a high place, and I counsel you not to move too suddenly or too far.
While Szwart had spent time “talking” to her, Millie’s eyes had gradually grown accustomed to the no-longer-utter darkness. Now as he fell silent, she thought to detect movement: a dimly flickering light source that periodically disappeared, only to come on again but closer. And something else: she began to hear soft footfalls, and a faint, wheezy breathing.
Millie was lying on her right side on what felt like an old mattress. Stretching out her left arm and hand in front of her, she felt soft dirt where the mattress lay on the ground. Straining her eyes to look beyond the mattress’s rim, she saw an edge of hard darkness, like a solid beneath the liquid velvet of the upper air, and beyond that sensed a great emptiness. She lay on the edge of some subterranean chasm; hence Szwart’s warning not to “rush to and fro” or even “move too suddenly.”
But what is this place? Millie wondered, this time guarding her thoughts. The last thing she needed was a conversation with Lord Szwart. And now she unfroze her mundane senses, and called them into play despite their unwillingness.
It wasn’t cold, but it wasn’t too warm; the temperature was adequate. Behind her, against what felt like a vertical wall of rock, a blanket lay rumpled where it had been thrown aside. For a single moment Millie allowed herself to touch and identify it before snatching back her hand. She didn’t know who or what had lain in it.
A cliff in front and a solid wall of rock behind; she must be lying on a ledge. But how high above the floor of the chasm? The flickering light source was closer and steadier now (a candle? It must surely be), and likewise the slow shuffle of feet, the sound of almost asthmatic breathing. The candle was perhaps eight feet below Millie’s position on the ledge (she must therefore be some twelve feet above the actual floor), and it seemed to be advancing over a fairly even surface. For the time being, s
As for hearing: the place was an echo chamber. It had acoustic qualities. She only discovered that fact now, when for the first time she let herself breathe more easily, without holding it to a whisper, and was at once conscious of the air whistling in her lungs and out through her mouth, its sound amplified by this cavern of darkness. The beat of her heart, too: its thudding was like the steady pounding of some distant trip-hammer.
Moving to the edge of the mattress, she reached out again, her hand creeping to where the floor suddenly fell away. But in doing so she dislodged a pebble from the rim; in a split second it landed with a small clatter, which was followed by a multitude of fading, hollowly clattering echoes. And:
“Ah! So you’ve come to ’ave you?” A human voice that seemed short of breath, coming from the direction of the candle’s tiny flame; a wheezy whisper that yet carried easily in the dark, so that even the whisper had its echoes.
The motion of the candle had stopped; now it came on faster and the footfalls a little heavier. And behind the candle, holding it up, a tortured shape that Millie at once recognized from earlier. Small and humpbacked, this could only be the dwarfish man she had seen on the underground railway platform before the lights went out. The little man who had put the lights out. One of Lord Szwart’s creatures, obviously.
My only one now, said Szwart in her mind, causing Millie to start, because for a moment she’d let her guard down. Or rather, he was the only one. But now I have you, too. He’s not the most handsome of men, to be sure. But then again, who am I to criticize? In any case, don’t be afraid. Wally will not barm you. He knows of your importance to me.
Your only one? (Millie couldn’t help but think it). What of those women, and Andre Corner?
Ah yes, those women, Szwart repeated her (mockingly, Millie thought). And Andre Corner. Hmmm! (He paused, as if to consider it.) Well, Vavara’s women have served their purpose. And as for Mr. Corner—an “expert” in the minds of men, who couldn’t have fathomed mine not even in a hundred years—he is a long time gone. But he was useful, in his way. He guided me to London and told me of older, gloomier places in lightless burrows beneath. But then I discovered this forgotten realm, the most ancient of all Londons, since when I have made it my own.
Millie shuddered, and Lord Szwart felt it. You find me ugly, don’t you? he growled then, very menacingly. My person and even my thoughts. Ugly, aye. Very well then, so be it! And enough of this for now! Until I return in person, better for you that you guard your thoughts well, little thought-thief, and be sure not to distract me further. Lord Szwart is about his businessss …
Szwart was gone instantly from Millie’s mind. But the hunchback Wallace Fovargue was closer now, and for the time being he was a more physical reality if not an actual threat. Millie had seen the candle’s glow vanish somewhere to the left of her dark horizon, some distance beyond her feet, but from the same direction she could still hear Wally’s heavy breathing as he climbed some sort of stairway to her level. Now the “candle” came swaying up into view, and Millie saw that in fact it was an ancient oil lamp with the wick turned low. And behind that dim glimmer, Wally himself, like a lumpish monochrome menace from an antique horror film.
With Wally approaching her along the wide ledge, Millie got to her knees facing him. In doing so she felt her frilly blouse fall open, unbuttoned where it had been pulled from her trouser band, and felt the cups of her bra cutting her flesh where they had been lifted up over her breasts to expose them. She quickly adjusted her clothing, tucked the blouse in again, then held up her hands before her defensively, with her fingers crooked into raking claws.
“I warn you,” she said, gaspingly. “Don’t try anything.”
Wally had seen her fumbling with her blouse and had come to a halt. “Er, about your clothin’,” he whispered then, his voice surprisingly timid, panting like a dog. “It ’appened when I … when I dragged you up ’ere. But you shouldn’t be thinkin’ I did it delib‘rately, ’cos I wouldn’t do somethin’ like that without … without permission. I don’t need to, see, ’cos I ’ave … I ’ave my pictures.”
The senses of sight, hearing, touch, and now smell. And Millie couldn’t help thinking: God forbid taste! But smell was the most recent sense activated, and it was one that she could well have done without. For the stomachwrenching stench that wafted from the ex-flusher Wally was one of ordure, London’s sewers in full flood. It was even on his breath, carrying to her across a distance of six or seven feet, so that she must literally turn her face away.
As if reading her mind, Wally drew back a pace and said, “I don’t look much, I s‘pose, and I prob‘ly smell a bit rank—but that’s the place. It’s the gettin’ ‘ere what does it. The mucky ways you ‘as to go an’ all the manoeuv‘rin’ in tight spots. But hey, you don’t smell so good yourself, now. You’re still pretty though. And nice to … to touch.”
Touch: the fifth sense, and Wally had crept forward an inch or two on the ledge, his free hand half raised. Millie’s vision was improving moment by moment, helped by the lamp no doubt but also of necessity. Now in relative closeup she saw the dwarf’s patchy, flaky face, his raw, ravaged scalp, where tufts of hair had fallen from the scabby pink surface under his slipped halo. And:
“You … you’re sick,” she said, without intending a double entendre but recognizing it immediately. “I mean, you look ill. And I wish you wouldn’t stare at me like that.”
“Sick?” he repeated her, letting his hand fall to his side again. “III? That’ll be the ’epatitis, I s’pose. They told me I might become a carrier. Or p’raps it’s the Weil’s disease, what you gets from rat’s piss. The ‘azards of livin’ in a place like this. Anyway, ’e said as ’ow I should show you the place—show you ’is ‘andiwor—while ’e’s testin’ the flue. Are you up to it? Can you walk? Oh, an’ by the way, I’m Wally.”
Millie ignored the hand that Wally again held out to her, stood up, and said, “He? Do you mean Lord Szwart? And if you do, do you know what Szwart is? Do you know he’s a vampire who will drink your blood—if he hasn’t already?”
“Eh? Eh?” Wally started, glanced all about, licked suddenly dry lips, and turned up the wick of his lamp. “A vampire? A monster? Oh, I knows all that! I know ‘e can come in the dark, too, an’ you won’t never see or hear ’im. An’ I know that if I think too ’ard ’e knows what I’m thinkin’! Eh? Why, ’e can even speak to me from miles away, ’cept I’m not too smart at such as that, an’ can’t make ’ead or tail of it. But I knows what ’e wants me to do, okay, an’ does it quick like. So will you, if you’ve any sense.”
Millie nodded. “And do you know what he doesn’t want you to do? That he doesn’t want any harm to befall me?”
Wally looked at her slyly, handed her the lamp, and began to turn away … then paused and over his malformed shoulder said, “I knows that, too. But there’s ’arm an’ there’s ’arm. I mean, it’s ’uman comp‘ny what’s important, right? An’ it’s not like a bit of touchin’ can do any ’arm, now is it? Touchin’, an’ a bit of a cuddle, p’raps? I mean, we’re a very long way down, lady, an’ for you there haint no goin’ up again, ‘less ‘e sends you. By which time you’ll be ’is, an’ you’ll always come back to ‘im … an’ to me. Arter all, it’s ’uman comp’ny what’s important, right?”
Millie shuddered uncontrollably and said, “Turn up the lamp a little more and let’s see the place. I might easily fall.”
“Turn up the lamp?” Wally said. “Well, since ’e’s not ’ere I s’pose I might. But ’e don’t care for too much light, so if you should ’ear ’im comin’ you must tell me.”
“If I hear him coming?” Millie answered, following after the dwarfish figure where he led on, and looking about for something to hit him on the head with. “I should have thought you’d recognize his approach sooner than I.”
“Two ’eads work better than one,” Wally answered. “And mine haint workin’ too good at all these days.
They were down the stone stairway and onto the floor of the place, which Millie saw was a vast cave. “Just how did you find this place?” she asked her guide. “How deep under London are we anyway?”
“Me? I didn’t find it,” Wally answered. “Lord Szwart found it. Don’t arsk me ’ow. But men was ’ere before ‘im. Romans, I reckon, two tharsand years ago! As for ’ow deep: well, four or five Saint Pauls’s Cathedrals, easy.”
“Romans?” Millie gazed on a floor fashioned from hexagonal stone flags that were inches deep in dust in places, and close to hand a sunken area tiled in decorative if grimy mosaics; it could only be a Roman bath.
“Look there,” Wally directed her, “against the wall. Them statues, to Mithra, Summanus, an’ the others.”
She held up the lamp and looked. Crudely hewn from stone, a row of tenfeet-tall statues leered down at her from raised pedestals. A sun-crowned Mithra, with a hammer in one hand and the head of a bull in the other, appeared especially sinister. The radiating rays of his sun-crown looked more like serpents. And next to him a figure Millie didn’t recognize; it was naked and manlike but didn’t appear to have a mouth. Where its navel should have been, a tapering tentacle stuck out from its belly.
“Summanus,” Wally wheezed. “‘E was a rare one. We’ve never known much abart ’im. But from the looks of it, ’e wasn’t much shaped like us.”
“Metamorphic,” said Millie. “He might even have been Wamphyri!” She turned to her loathsome escort. “You seem to know a lot about these things …”
“British Museum,” Wally chuckled. “I’ve read up on ’em, I ’as. As for all the others, they’s been defaced. See?”
Millie held out her lamp again, and saw that he was right: the other statues had been hacked about. Their faces were gone along with various limbs, and one of them lay over on its side.