Harry, said Darcy, bitterly, there's no need for all this subterfuge. You don't have to try out your Wamphyri word-games on me. I'm admitting it: you won. I don't know why you wished me dead, but anyway you got your wish. I am dead! I really am.
Harry tossed and turned in his bed and began to sweat. Sometimes, like any other man, his dreams were just so much junk; or again they might be erotic or esoteric fancies and fantasies; or they could be, well, just dreams. But at other times they were a lot more than that. And this was beginning to feel like one of those times.
OK, he finally said, still unconvinced and wanting desperately to stay that way, so you're dead. So who killed you? And why?
The Branch, Darcy answered, with a typical deadspeak shrug. Who else? Whatever you did to my mind, the mere fact that you'd been in there gave me mind-smog. You interfered inside my head, cancelled something, took something away from me. And in its place I got your taint. No, I'm not saying you vampirized me, just that you... spoiled me. They could smell you on me - in the heart of my being - and they daren't take any chances with me. Which was surely the way you planned it... ?
Harry thought about it a moment, then said: Darcy, if you really are dead, if this isn't just my conscience acting up - because you're right and I did interfere with your mind, which I know was wrong - then I'll be able to find you when I'm awake. I mean, we'll be able to talk to each other again, through deadspeak. Right?
He sensed the other's nod. I'll be waiting for you, Harry. Except... it isn't easy. I'm still learning how to get it all together.
Eh? Will you explain?
They burned me and scattered my ashes, Darcy told him. I'm sure I don't have to tell you why...? But it means I have no focal point. I don't belong in any special place. I'm blowing on the winds, drifting on the tides, flushed away down the city's sewers.
And suddenly the Necroscope suspected it was true, and he began to toss and churn in his bed that much more violently. It seemed that Darcy picked up his torment, for when he spoke again his words were less harsh, even conciliatory. IfI wrong you with accusations, Harry, it's only because you've wronged me.
This has to be a nightmare, Harry gasped. Darcy it has to be! I didn't mean to harm you. Of all the men I've known, you are the one I couldn't harm! Not under any circumstances. Not because of your talent but because... because you're you. And so you see, this has to be a bloody awful nightmare.
And now Darcy knew that indeed Harry was just as innocent as ever, and that if anyone - anything - were to blame, then it was the creature inside him, which was rapidly becoming one with him. He would have comforted him then, if there was a way, but he felt himself drifting again, coming apart, and he knew he didn't have the strength or the know-how to keep it together. He was only recently dead, after all.
I'll be... around when you're awake, Harry. Try contacting me then. It will be... easier... if you... come looking... for me...
And with that Harry was alone again. For a while, at least. Gratefully, he relaxed and sank down deep in his bed, and even deeper into sleep. As is the way of dreams, he quickly forgot the last one and prepared to move on to the next –
- Which was when the Necroscope dreamed of someone else. Except that this time he knew for sure it was more than just a dream and that his visitor was or had been more than merely human. For his parasite responded to this visitor - this other vampire - in typical Wamphyri fashion, prompting Harry to inquire: Who are you, that you dare come creeping into my sleeping thoughts? Answer quickly... there are doors in my mind which would swallow you whole!
Ahhh! came back the answer at once. So it's true. You won your fight with Janos, but you also lost. I'm so sorry, Harry. So sorry.
And now Harry knew him. Ken Layard! he said. We took your head and burned your body in the mountains over Halmagiu. And you went willingly to your death.
Layard answered with a deadspeak nod. Death was nothing compared to the prospect of being undead, in thrall to Janos Ferenczy. He would have put me down into ashes, too... but only to have me at his beck and call, and bring me up again whenever he had need of my talent! Anyway, and as you said, I went willingly. For I knew it would be harder for me if I tried it the other way. And Bodrogk and his Thracians were quick about it. I didn't feel a thing.
Harry's deadspeak thoughts turned sour. But you owe me one, right? The worst one you can give me? Because whichever way you look at it, I was the one who tracked you down. And now they're about to track me down, and so you've come to gloat.
Layard was taken aback. How wrong can you be, Harry? he said. Listen, I know you've been getting a hard time from the teeming dead, but you still have a few friends left!
You came in friendship?
I came to say thanks! For Trevor Jordan.
Harry shook his head. I don't follow you.
To thank you for what you did for him. And to offer my help if there's anything I can do for you.
The Necroscope began to make sense of it. Trevor was your friend and colleague, right? You and he were one of the best teams - one of the best partnerships - E-Branch ever had.
The best! said Layard. So when I died it was only natural I'd want to keep tabs on him, see how he made out. What I did best in life came even easier in death, and in life I'd been one hell of a locator. Which was pretty fortunate for me, else I'd have had a really dreary time of it. What, me? A vampire? The dead didn't want to know me, Harry.
So locating people you'd known in life occupied a little of your time, eh?
A little of it? All of it! I mean, once you get over your fear of death - of being dead - it can pretty soon get boring! So I traced Trevor, and discovered that he was dead, too, and I would have spoken to him except the Great Majority did a job on me and blocked me out. There are some fine talents among the dead, Harry, and not a lot they can't do if they've a mind. So they'd throw up a lot of deadspeak flak every time I tried to talk to anyone. Anyone, that is, except...
... Me?
Exactly! They'll do their damnedest to mess us around, but they don't mess with us! We want to talk to each other, that's fine - just as long as we're not trying to pervert one of them.
I see, Harry said. So the only way you could get to speak to Trevor was through me.
That's right.
Except you're too late and your deadspeak won't work anyway - because Trevor is alive again. Which means you still can't communicate direct but must use me as a go-between.
Complicated but, in a nutshell, correct.
Well, you picked the wrong time, Harry was half-apologetic. Try me when I'm awake.
I'll do that. But in the meantime - maybe I can do you a favour, too.