These were Harry Keogh’s perfectly mundane thoughts in the few seconds which ticked by after he stepped out of the metaphysical Möbius Continuum on to the esplanade of Edinburgh Castle, and saw Darcy Clarke standing there with his back to him, hands thrust deep in the pockets of his overcoat, reading the legend on a brass plaque above a seventeenth-century drinking trough.
The iron fountain, depicting two heads, one ugly and the other beatific, stood:
. . . Near the site on which
many witches were burned at the
stake. The wicked head and serene
head signify that some used exceptional
knowledge for evil purposes, while others
were misunderstood and wished their
kind nothing but good.
The bright May day would be warm but for the gusting wind; the esplanade was almost empty; two dozen or so tourists stood in small groups at the higher end of the broad, walled, tarmac plateau, looking down across the walls at the city, or taking photographs of the great grey fortress – the Castle on the Rock – behind its facade of battlements and courtyards. Harry had arrived in the moment after Clarke, vainly scanning the esplanade for some sign of him, had turned to the plaque.
A moment ago Clarke had been alone with his thoughts and no living person within fifty feet of him. But now a soft voice behind him said: ‘Fire is an indiscriminate destroyer. Good or evil, everything burns when it’s hot enough.’
Clarke’s heart jumped into his throat. He gave a massive start and whirled about, the colour rushing from his face and leaving him pale in a moment. ‘Ha-Ha-Harry!’ he gasped. ‘God, I didn’t see you! Where did you spring – ?’ But here he paused, for of course he knew where Harry had sprung from . . . because the Necroscope had taken him there once, into that every-where and -when place, that within and without, which was the Möbius Continuum.
Shaken, heart hammering, Clarke clutched at the wall for support. But it wasn’t terror, just shock; his talent read no sinister purpose into Keogh’s presence.
Harry smiled at him and nodded, touched his arm briefly, then looked at the plaque again. And his smile at once turned sour. ‘Mainly they were exorcizing their own fears,’ he said. ‘For of course most if not all of these women were innocent. Indeed, we should all be so innocent.’
‘Eh?’ Clarke hadn’t quite recovered his balance yet, wasn’t focusing on Keogh’s meaning. ‘Innocent?’ He too looked at the plaque.
‘Completely,’ Harry nodded again. ‘Oh, they may have been talented in their way, but they were hardly evil.
Witchcraft? Why, today you’d probably try to recruit them into E-Branch!’
Suddenly, truth flooded in on Clarke and he knew he wasn’t dreaming; no need to pinch himself and start awake; it was just this effect which Harry always had on him. Three weeks ago in the Greek islands (was that all it had been, three weeks?) it had been the same. Except at that time Harry had been near-impotent: he hadn’t had his deadspeak. Then he’d got it back, and set out on his double mission: to destroy the vampire Janos Ferenczy and regain his mastery of –
Clarke snatched a breath. ‘You got it back!’ He grabbed Harry’s arm. The Möbius Continuum!’
‘You didn’t get in touch with me,’ Harry accused, albeit quietly, ‘or you’d have known.’
‘I got your letter,’ Clarke quickly defended himself, ‘and I tried a dozen times to get you on the ‘phone. But if you were home you weren’t answering. Our locators couldn’t find you . . .’ He threw up his hands. ‘Give me a chance, Harry! I’ve only been back from the Med a few days, and a pile of stuff to catch up with back here, too! But we’d finished the job in the islands, and we supposed you’d done the same at your end. Our espers were on it, of course; reports were coming in; Janos’s place above Halmagiu, blown off the mountain like that. It could only be you. We knew you’d somehow won. But the Möbius Continuum too? Why, that’s . . . wonderful! I’m delighted for you!’