The Source

Underground!

'Like at Perchorsk?'

Unlike Perchorsk. Belos gathered his senses, looked all around. The sphere he had fallen through was embedded in the ceiling of a great horizontal borehole, over a ledge of smooth dripstone. Through the bed of the bore rushed a black, gurgling river. Belos knew not where it came from, nor where it went. All around the sphere where it hung suspended, great holes were apparent in the ceiling — like these magmass holes of yours at Perchorsk. Likewise in the ledge where Belos had landed. The extent of the cave, and its ledge, was not great. Where the river rushed from cave into darkness, the gap between ceiling and water came down to a few inches. The ledge was large enough for a man to walk maybe ten paces this way, ten paces that, before it narrowed down and smoothed into the glistening wall of the bore. There was no way out. Or there was, if a man had the stomach for it.

'A subterranean sump!' said Harry.

Exactly. The river might run for miles. It might never surface at all! That was Belos's predicament…

Others had been there before him, and some of them were still there. He found their remains, ossified. Things he called 'trogs', and 'Travellers', even the skulls and mummified remains of Wamphyri, who'd preferred to sit here on the ledge and wither rather than risk the unknown. But Belos's heart was bigger than that.

'He dared the river?' Harry was fascinated.

Faethor's shrug. What else could he do? First he tried to re-enter the sphere, of course, but it rejected him. When he held up his arms to plunge them into its light, they were repelled. The Gate into the hell-lands had closed on him. But to sit here with these others and stiffen into stone was not his way. He would go now, while he still had all of his great strength.

Now, Harry, I suppose you have heard this myth, how vampires fear running water?

'Next to you,' said Harry, Tm the world's greatest expert on vampires! Or as much of one as you'll find, anyway. You're going to tell me the myth stems from this underground river, which the Wamphyri had to overcome to make their way to the surface of this world, right?'

Correct.

Thibor had a different explanation.'

Faethor sighed. Thibor didn't know, as I've explained. He could have learned so much from me, that one. But not knowing, he obviously invented an explanation. Devious, as you've said.

'I've said that of all of you,' Harry reminded. 'But you've side-tracked. Get back to the point.'

Very well, but the underground river is the source of that particular myth. A vampire is flesh and blood and bone, Harry. Immerse him in water long enough and he will die. Now let me get on:

Belos braved the river, was washed along downstream. At times his head was above water, but there were other desperate moments when the gap narrowed to nothing, so that he was pushed under. It seemed a long time before the ceiling receded, before natural light returned, glimmering at the end of the watercourse. Then came the resurgence, into a basin, which emptied itself into a sluggish river. But this time, as I've said, on the surface. Bedraggled and a little battered, coughing up the river water until he thought he'd dislodge his lungs, at last Old Belos was in this world!

The time — the era — was some three hundred years before your Christ. And the place…

'Yes?' Harry could scarcely contain himself.

As the crow flies: one hundred and seventy miles from the very spot where you now stand!

And indeed Harry was on his feet. 'Where, exactly?' he asked.

Near Radujevac, on the Dunarea, Faethor told him. Or on the banks of the Danube, as it might be better known to you. That's where you'll find this resurgence. It is the source of the legend, and the legend is the source of the Wamphyri! Will you go there now, at once?

'Now? No,' Harry shook his head. 'Tonight I plan. I go there tomorrow.' He stood there in the darkness and sighed.

A weight off your shoulders, Harry?

'Perhaps — or maybe it's just one more burden.'

have kept my part of the bargain.p>

'And I'll keep mine, if the time should come. Meanwhile, you have my thanks.'

Aye, and those of the teeming dead. Hah! Talk about legends! But your own legend is spreading, Harry. And soon to spread much farther, I think. I bid you farewell

Harry beat his arms across his body, loosening the stiffness in his joints and driving out the cold. Then:

'Goodbye, Faethor,' he said. And as always, the Mobius Continuum was waiting to welcome him…

Harry's plans and preparations were the simplest of things, easily carried out. Back at E-Branch HQ he told Darcy Clarke what he required, and while the items were being assembled he brought Clarke up to date and went a little deeper into detailing what the boss of E-Branch already knew.

When he'd finished Clarke said: 'Let's get this right. You're going to Romania, the Danube in the vicinity of Radujevac, where you'll travel upstream along the course of an underground river, right?'

'That's right.'

'Somewhere up there you expect to find a Gate like the one at Perchorsk, except there won't be anyone who'll shoot you dead on sight.'

There might well be people there,' said Harry. 'A handful, maybe, but they won't shoot at me. They won't be able to. If I know my business they'll welcome me; they may even have valuable information for me.'

Clarke looked at him and thought: Dear God! — he's human but he's so bloody inhuman! Out loud, quietly, he said: 'Dead people, right?'

'Corpses, yes. Maybe not even that. Maybe just memories of people.'

Now Clarke shuddered, long and visibly and violently. He was remembering the Bodescu affair, a time when he'd witnessed with his own eyes the unbelievable extent of Harry's power over the dead. Or rather, the result of their respect for him. In fact it hadn't been Harry who called up the dead that time but his son, the then infant Harry Jnr. But Harry could do it too, when he had the need.

Finally Clarke steadied himself and continued. 'And having found this Gate, then you'll use it to go… wherever! To another world, the place where your wife and son are. And presumably Jazz Simmons, too.'

Harry nodded. 'And Zek Foener, and maybe one or two others. If they're still alive, and you know I believe they are, then I should have some friends there -1 think. But I may also have enemies. At least one, anyway: a KGB thug called Karl Vyotsky.'

'But assuming everything works out OK, then you'll speak to Brenda, Harry Jnr, and when that's done you'll see who wants to come back with you?'

'Something like that, except I still don't know if there's a way back. Remember, I know that nothing from this world has ever got back here, and I know that nothing that's come here can ever go back there! Does that make sense? Anyway, that's the way it is.'

'In short, you're risking your life.'

'Do you want it done or don't you?'

'I want it done, yes; in my own way I'm as curious as you are. And the next thing I want is to see Perchorsk closed down. Even if they don't make those things there, still it's a time-bomb.'

Harry nodded. 'I feel the same way about it — but I have Viktor Luchov's word that nothing will ever escape from Perchorsk again. That's good enough for me.'

Clarke gave a snort. 'Harry, your word is good enough for me any time, but I'm just one small cog in a very big wheel. I don't suppose that anyone is going to take preemptive or any other sort of action against Perchorsk. Especially not now, in this new climate of "political understanding," but if something else does escape…' He threw up his hands.