As Nikos and his wonderful three-wheel workhorse made an awkward turn an d went rattling and jolting back down into the valley, Darcy shielded his ey es to gaze up at the ominous walls of the castle, standing guard there as it had through all the long centuries. 'But ... is there a way up?'

'Yes,' Manolis nodded. 'A goat track. Hairpins all the way, but quite saf e. According to the fishermen, anyway.'

Carrying the basket between them, they set out to climb. Beyond the mon astery and before the real climbing could begin, they paused to look back.

Across the valley, they could pick out the boundaries of long-forsaken fiel ds and the sh.e.l.ls of old houses, where olive groves and orchards had long r un wild and returned to nature.

'Sponges,' said Manolis, by way of explanation. 'They were sponge fisherm en, these people. But when the sponges ran out, so did the people. Now, as yo u see, it's mainly ruins. Perhaps one day the tourists will bring it back to life again, eh?'

Darcy had other things than life on his mind. 'Let's get on,' he said. 'Alr eady I don't want to go any further, and if we hang about much longer I won't want to go at all!'

After that it was all ochre boulders, yellow outcrops and winding goat t racks, and where there were gaps in the rocks dizzying views which were almo st vertiginous. But eventually they found themselves in the shadow of enormo us walls and pa.s.sed under a ma.s.sive, sloping stone lintel into the ruin itse lf. The place was polyglot and Darcy had been right about its historic value . It was Ancient Greek, Byzantine, and last but not least Crusader. Climbing up onto walls three to four feet thick, the view was fantastic, with all th e coastlines of Halki and its neighbouring islands laid open to them.

They clambered over heaps of stony debris in the sh.e.l.l of a Crusader cha pel whose walls still carried fading murals of saints wearing faded haloes, and finally stood on the rim of the ruins looking down on the Bay of Trachia .

'Down there,' said Manolis. That's where they are. Look: do you see tho se signs of excavation, where all of that rubble makes a dark streak on the weathered rocks? That's them. Now we must find the track down to them. Dar cy, are you all right? You have that look again.'

Darcy was anything but all right. They . . . they're down there,' he said. '

I feel rooted to the spot. Every step weighs like lead. Christ, my talent's a co ward!'

'You want to rest here a moment?'

'G.o.d, no! If I stop now I'll not get started again. Let's get on.'

There were several empty cigarette packets, scuff marks on the rocks, p laces where the sandy soil had been compacted by booted feet; the way down was neither hard to find nor difficult to negotiate. Soon they found a rust ing wheelbarrow and a broken pick standing on the wide shelf of a natural l edge which had weathered out from the strata. And half-way along the ledge . . . that was where much of the stony debris had been excavated from the m ouths of several gaping caves. Moving quietly, they approached the cave sho wing the most recent signs of work and paused at its entrance. And as they took out spearguns from their basket and loaded them, Manolis whispered: 'Y ou're sure we'll need these, yes?'

'Oh, yes,' Darcy nodded, his face ashen.

Manolis took a step into the echoing mouth of the cave.

'Wait!' Darcy gasped, his Adam's apple working. 'It would be safer to call them out.'

'And let them know we're here?'

'In the sunlight, we'll have the advantage,' Darcy gulped. 'And anyway, my urge to get the f.u.c.k out of here just climbed the scale by several big no tches. Which probably means they already know we're here!'

He was right. A shadow stepped forward out of the cave's darker shadow s, moving carefully towards them where they stood in the entrance. They looked at each other with widening eyes, and together thumbed the safeties o ff their weapons and lifted them warningly. The man in the cave kept comin g, but turned his shoulder side on and went into something of a forward le aning crouch.

Manolis spat out a stream of gabbled Greek curses, s.n.a.t.c.hed his Beretta from its shoulder holster and transferred the speargun to his left hand. The man, thing, vampire was still coming at them out of the dark, but they saw him more clearly now. He was tall, slim, strangely ragged-looking in silhoue tte. He wore a wide-brimmed hat, baggy trousers, a shirt whose unb.u.t.toned sl eeves flapped loosely at the wrists. He looked for all the world like a scar ecrow let down off his pole. But it wasn't crows he was scaring.

'Only . . . one of them?' Darcy gasped - and felt his hair stand on end as he heard pebbles sliding and clattering on the ledge behind them!

The man in the cave lunged forward; Manolis's gun flashed blindingly, d eafeningly; Darcy looked back and saw a second - creature? - bearing down o n them. But this one was much closer. Like his colleague in the cave he wor e a floppy hat, and in its shade his eyes were yellow, viciously feral. Wor se, he held a pickaxe slantingly overhead, and his face was twisted in a sn arl where he aimed it at Darcy's back!

Darcy - or perhaps his talent - turned himself to meet the attack, aimed point-blank, squeezed the trigger of his speargun. The harpoon flew straigh t to its target in the vampire's chest. The impact brought him to a halt; he dropped his pickaxe, clutched at the spear where it transfixed him, stagger ed back against the wall of the cliff. Darcy, frozen for a moment, could onl y watch him lurching and mewling there, coughing up blood.

In the cave, Manolis cursed and fired his gun again -and yet again - as he followed his target deeper into the darkness. Then . . . Darcy heard an inhuman shriek followed by the slither of silver on steel, and finally the meaty thwack of Manolis's harpoon entering flesh. The sounds brought him o ut of his shock as he realized that both his and Manolis's weapons were now empty. He leaned to grab a harpoon from the open basket, and the man on th e ledge staggered forward and kicked the whole thing, basket and contents, right off the rim!

'Jesus!' Darcy yelled, his throat hoa.r.s.e and dry as sandpaper as again t he flame-eyed thing turned towards him. Then the vampire paused, looked abou t and saw its pickaxe where it lay close to the rising cliff. It moved to pi ck it up, and Darcy moved too. His talent told him to run, run, run! But he yelled 'f.u.c.k you!' and flew like a madman at the stooping vampire. He bowled the thing over, and himself s.n.a.t.c.hed up the pick. The tool was heavy but su ch was Darcy's terror that it felt like a toy in his hands.

Manolis came unsteadily out of the cave in time to see Darcy swing his weapon in a deadly arc and punch the wider point of its dual-purpose head into his undead opponent's forehead. The creature made gurgling, gagging sou nds and sank to its knees, then slumped against the cliff face.

'Petrol,' Manolis gasped.

'Over the edge,' Darcy told him, his voice a croak.

Manolis looked over the rim. Further down the mountain, maybe fifty feet lower, the wicker basket was jammed in the base of a rocky outcrop, where d ebris from the diggings had piled up to form a scree slide. The lid was open and several items lay scattered about. 'You stay, keep watch, and I'll get it,' Manolis said.

He gave Darcy his gun and started to clamber down. Darcy kept one eye o n the vampire with the pickaxe in his head, and the other on the leering mo uth of the cave. The creature he had dealt with - a man, yes, but a creatur e, too - was not 'dead'. It should be, but of course it was undead. The sma ll percentage of its system which was vampire protoplasm was working in it even now, desperately healing its wounds. Even as Darcy watched it shuddere d and its yellow eyes opened, and its hand crept shakily towards the harpoo n in its chest.

Gritting his teeth, Darcy stepped closer to it. His guardian angel howled at him, poured adrenalin into his veins and yelled run, run! But he shut out all warnings and grasped the end of the spear, and yanked it this way and th at in the vampire's flesh, until the thing gnashed its teeth and coughed up b lood, then flopped back and lay still again.

Darcy stepped back from it on legs that trembled like jelly - and gave a mighty, heart-stopping start as something grasped his ankle!

He glanced back and down, and saw the one from the cave where he'd come crawling, his iron hand clasping Darcy's foot. There was a spear through h is throat just under the Adam's apple, and the right side of the thing's fa ce had been shot half away, but still he was mobile and one mad eye continu ed to glare from a black orbit set in a mess of red flesh. Darcy might easi ly have fainted then; instead he fell backwards away from the undead thing, and sat down with a b.u.mp on the ledge. And aiming directly between his fee t, he emptied Manolis's gun right into the grimacing half-face.

At that point Manolis returned. He hauled the basket up behind him, rip ped open its lid and yanked out Harry Keogh's crossbow. A moment later he w as loading up, and just in time ... for the one on the ledge had torn the p ickaxe from its head and was now working to pull out the harpoon from its c hest!

'Jesus! Oh, Jesus!' Manolis croaked. He stepped close to the blood-frothi ng horror, aimed his weapon from less than three feet away, and fired the woo den bolt straight into its heart.

Darcy had meanwhile scrambled backwards away from the other creature. Ma nolis caught hold of him and hauled him to his feet, said: 'Let's finish it, while we still can.'

They dragged the vampires back inside the cave, as far back as they dared, then hurried back out into sunlight. But Darcy was finished; he could do no m ore; his talent was freezing hiiri right out of it. 'Is OK,' Manolis understoo d. 'I can do it.'

Darcy crawled away along the ledge and sat there shivering, while Manoli s took up the petrol and again entered the cave. A moment later and he reapp eared, leaving a thin trail of petrol behind him. He'd liberally doused ever ything in the cave and the container was almost empty. He backed away toward s Darcy, sprinkling the last few drops, then tossed the container far out in to empty air and took out a cigarette lighter. Striking the flint, he held t he naked flame to the trail of petrol.

Blue fire so faint as to be almost invisible raced back along the ledge and into the mouth of the cave. There came a whoosh and a tongue of fire l ike some giant's blowtorch - followed in the next moment by a terrific expl osion that blew out the mouth of the cave in chunks of shattered rock and b rought loose scree and pebbles avalanching down from above. The shock of it was sufficient to cause Manolis to stumble, and sit down beside Darcy.

They looked at each other and Darcy said: 'What the - ?'

Manolis's jaw hung loosely open. Then he licked dry lips and said: "Thei r explosives. They must have kept their explosive charges in there.'

They got up and went shakily back to the blocked mouth of the cave. Dow n below, boulders were still bounding down the mountain's steep contours to the sea. Hundreds of tons of rock had come crushingly down, sealing the di ggings off. And it was plain that nothing alive - but nothing - was ever go ing to come out of there.

'It's done,' said Manolis, and Darcy found strength to nod his agreement.

As they turned away, Darcy saw something gleaming yellow in the rubble.

Next door to the collapsed cave another, smaller opening was still issuing p uffs of dust and a little smoke. The stone wall between the two excavations had been shattered, spilling fractured rock onto the ledge. But among the de bris lay a lot more than just rocks.

Darcy and Manolis stepped among the rubble and looked more closely at w hat had been unearthed. There in that broken wall, carefully packed in and sealed behind cleverly shaped blocks of stone, had lain the treasure for wh ich Jianni Lazarides - alias Janos Ferenczy - had searched. That same treas ure he himself had lain down all those centuries ago. Only the changing con tours of the mountain, carved and fretted by nature in storms and earthquak es, had confused and foiled him. The old Crusader castle had been his landm ark, but even that ma.s.sive silhouette had crumbled and changed through the long years. Still, he'd missed his mark by no more than two or three feet.

The two men scuffed among the dust and broken rocks, their excitement dulled to anticlimax after the horror of their too recent experience. They saw a treasure out of time: Thracian gold! Small bowls and lidded cups . . . gold rhytons spilling rings, necklaces and arm clasps . . . a bronze helmet stuffe d to br.i.m.m.i.n.g with earrings, belt clasps and pectorals . . . even a buckled b reastplate of solid gold!

Their find eventually got through to Manolis. 'But what do we do with it?'

'We leave it here,' Darcy straightened up. 'It belongs to the ghosts. We do n't know what it cost Janos to bring it here and bury it, or where - or how - h e got it in the first place. But there's blood on it, be sure. Eventually someo ne will come looking for those two, and find this instead. Let the authorities handle it. I don't even want to touch it.'

'You are right,' said Manolis, and they climbed back up to the castle.

By 12:30 the two were back down into the village, where Manolis refuell ed the boat for the trip to Karpathos. While he worked his fishermen friend s came over and asked how were the diggers. 'They were blasting,' Manolis a nswered after a moment, 'so we didn't disturb them. Anyway, the cliffs are very steep and a man could easily fall.'

'Snotty b.u.g.g.e.rs anyway,' one of the fishermen commented. 'They don't bo ther with us and we don't bother with them!'

Finished with his fuelling, Manolis bought a litre of ouzo and they all sat around tables in an open taverna and killed the bottle dead. Later, as their b oat pulled away from the stone jetty, the Greek said, 'I needed that.'

Darcy sighed and agreed, 'Me, too. It's nasty, thirsty work.'

Manolis looked at him and nodded. 'And a lot more of it to come before we're through, my friend. It is perhaps the good job ouzo is cheap, eh? Jus t think, with all of that gold we left up there, we could have bought the d istillery!' Darcy looked back and watched the hump of rock which was Halki slowly sinking on the horizon, and thought: Yes, and maybe we'll wish we ha d . . .

Halki to Karpathos was a little more than sixty miles by the route Manol is chose; he preferred to stay in sight of land so far as possible, and to c ruise rather than race his engine. When the rocks Ktenia and Karavolas were behind them, then he set a course more nearly south-west and left Rhodes beh ind for Karpathos proper.

That meant the open sea, and now Darcy's stomach began to play him up a little. It was a purely physical thing and not too bad; after what he'd face d already he wasn't going to throw up now. At least his talent wasn't warnin g against shipwrecks or anything.

To take Darcy's mind off his misery, Manolis told him a few details abou t Karpathos: 'Second biggest of the Dodecanese Islands,' he said. 'She lies just about half-way between Rhodes and Crete. Where Halki goes east to west, Karpatho s she goes north to south. Maybe fifty kilometres long but only seven or eig ht wide. Just the crest of submarine mountains, that's all. Not the big plac e, really, and not many peoples. But she has known the turbulent history!'

'Is that right?' said Darcy, scarcely listening.

'Oh, yes! Just about everyone ruled or owned or was the governor of Karp athos at one time or another. The Arabs, Italian pirates out of Genoa, the V enetians, Crusaders of the Knights of St John, Turks, Russians - even the Br itish! Huh! It took seven centuries for us Greeks to get it back!'

And when there was no answer: 'Darcy? Are you all right?'

'Only just. How long before we're there?'

'We're almost half-way there already, my friend. Another hour, or not mu ch more, and we'll be rounding the point just under the landing strip. That'

s where we should find the Lazarus. We can take a look at her, but that's al l. Maybe we can hail someone - or something -on board, and see what we think of him.'

'Right now I don't think much of anybody,' said Darcy . . .

But as it happened Manolis was wrong and the Lazarus was not there. The y searched the small bays at the southern extremity of the island, but foun d no sign of the white ship. Manolis's patience was soon exhausted. In a li ttle while, when it became obvious that their searching was in vain, he hea ded north for the sandy shallow-water beach at Amoupi and anch.o.r.ed there wh ere they could wade ash.o.r.e. They ate a Greek salad at the beach taverna, an d drank a small bottle of retsina between them. When Darcy fell asleep in h is chair under the taverna's split-bamboo awning, then Manolis sighed, sat back and lit a cigarette. He smoked several, admired the tanned, bouncing b reasts of English girls where they played in the sea, drank another bottle of retsina before it was time to wake Darcy up. Just after 5:05 they set ou t to return to Rhodes.

That evening, coming in stiff, weary, and tanned by sun and sea-spray, Darcy and Manolis found four people waiting for them in the lounge of the ir hotel. There were several moments of confusion. Darcy knew two of the a rrivals well enough, for Ben Trask and David Chung were his own men; but Z ekintha Foener (now Simmons), and her husband Michael or 'Jazz', were stra ngers to him except by hearsay. Darcy had antic.i.p.ated four and had booked accommodation accordingly, but of this specific group he had only expected two. On Harry Keogh's advice he had tried to get a message to Zek and Jaz z that they should stay out of it, but either it hadn't reached them or th ey had chosen to ignore it. He would find out later. The two missing men w ere E-Branch operatives finalizing a job in England, who would fly out her e a.s.a.p. on completion of that task.

The four newcomers, having already dropped off their luggage in their rooms and introduced each other, were more or less ready to talk business. D arcy need only introduce Manolis and make known the Greek policeman's role in things, then replay the action so far, and all systems would be go. Befo re that, however . . .

. . . Darcy and Manolis excused themselves and took invigorating shower s before rejoining the E-Branch people where they waited for them. Then Man olis took them all to a rather expensive taverna on the other side of town which wasn't likely to be swamped with tourists, and there arranged seating around a large secluded corner table with a view on the night ocean. Here Darcy quickly restated the introductions, this time detailing the various t alents of his group.

There was the married couple Zek and Jazz Simmons, who had been on Sta rside together with Harry Keogh. Zek was a telepath of outstanding ability and an authority on vampires. She was experienced as few before her, in t hat she had met up with the minds of the Real Thing, the Wamphyri themselv es, in an entirely alien world. She was very good-looking, about five-nine in height, slim, blonde and blue-eyed. Her Greek mother had named her aft er Zante (or Zakinthos), the island where she was born. Her father had bee n East German, a parapsychologist. Zek would be in her mid-thirties, maybe eighteen months to two years older than her husband.

Jazz Simmons had no extraordinary talents other than those with which a n entirely mundane Mother Nature had endowed him, plus those in which Briti sh Intelligence had expertly instructed him. After Starside, he had opted o ut of intelligence work to be with Zek in Greece and the Greek islands. Jus t a fraction under six feet tall, Jazz had unruly red hair, a square jaw un der slightly hollow cheeks, grey eyes, good strong teeth, hands that were h ard for all that they were artistically tapered, and long arms that gave hi m something of a gangling, loose-limbed appearance. Lean, tanned and athlet ic, he looked deceptively easy-going . . . was easy-going in normal circ.u.ms tances and when there was little or no pressure. But he was not to be under estimated. He'd been trained to a cutting edge in surveillance, close prote ction, escape and evasion, winter warfare, survival, weapons handling (to m arksman grade), demolition and unarmed combat. The only thing Jazz had lack ed had been experience, and he'd got that in the best - or worst - of all p ossible places, on Starside.

Then there were the two men from E-Branch: David Chung, a locator and s cryer, and Ben Trask, a human lie-detector. Chung was twenty-six, a Chinese 'c.o.c.kney' tried and true. Born within the sound of Bow bells, he had been with the Branch for nearly six years and during that time had trained himse lf to a high degree in the extrasensory location of illegal drugs, especial ly cocaine. If not for the fact that he'd been working on a long-term case in London, then he and not Ken Layard might well have been out here in the first place.

Ben Trask was a blocky five feet ten, mousey-haired and green-eyed, ove rweight and slope-shouldered, and usually wore what could only be described as a lugubrious expression. His speciality was Truth: presented with a lie or deliberately falsified concept, Trask would spot it immediately. E-Bran ch loaned him out to the police authorities on priority jobs, and he was in great demand by Foreign Affairs to see through the political posturing of certain less than honest members of the international community. Ben Trask knew the ins and outs of London's foreign emba.s.sies better than most people know the backs of their hands. Also, he'd played a part in the Yulian Bode scu affair and wasn't likely to take anything too lightly.

While they waited for their meals, Darcy filled in all the missing piece s for his team and watched them tighten up as the full horror of the situati on was brought home to them. Then he was interested to know why Jazz and Zek had invited themselves in on this thing.

Jazz answered for them. 'It's Harry, isn't it? Harry Keogh? He gets our vo te every time. If Harry has problems, it's no use telling Zek and me to keep a low profile.'

That's very loyal of you,' Darcy told him, 'but it was Harry himself wh o would have preferred to keep you out of it - for your own sakes. Not that I'm complaining . . . I'm short of a couple of good hands and you two prob ably fit the bill perfectly. Harry's main concern was that Janos Ferenczy i s one powerful mentalist. He has already killed Trevor Jordan and controls Ken Layard, so you can see why Harry was worried. He was mainly concerned a bout what would happen if Janos came up against you, Zek. However, since Ja nos is now in Romania - that is, to the best of our knowledge - and with Ha rry gone there to hunt him down . . .' Darcy shrugged. 'Myself, I'm delight ed to have you on the team!'

'So when does it all start - for us, I mean?' David Chung was eager to get i nto it.

'For you it starts tomorrow,' Darcy told him. 'The "active service" part of it, anyway. Tonight, back at the hotel after we've finished here, that w ill be the time for preparation and planning. That's when we detail, as best we can, who will be doing what - and to whom!' He spied a waiter moving tow ards their table with a loaded trolley. 'As for this very moment: I suggest we enjoy our food and relax as best we can. Because you'd better believe tha t tomorrow's a busy day.'

While Darcy Clarke and his team thought forward to their next day, Har ry Keogh was looking back on the one just ended.

Harry's flight to Athens had been uneventful. Aboard the plane for Budap est, however, when he'd closed his eyes even before takeoff and determined t o catch an hour's sleep . . . . . . He'd felt them there the moment he began to drift into dreams: al ien probes touching on his mind. And knowing they were there he'd forced hi mself to stay awake and alert, while yet hiding that fact from the telepath ic talents who had found him. 'They' could only be Ken Layard and Sandra, b ut their ESP was cold now and tainted. Almost completely in thrall to Janos Ferenczy, their tentative touches were slimy as the walls of a sewer, so t hat Harry must fight not to recoil from them. But he remembered what Faetho r had told him, and strangely enough accepted that it was probably good adv ice: Instead of shrinking back from him when you sense him near, seek him o ut! He would enter your mind? Enter his!

And as the vampire intelligences grew less apprehensive of discovery an d avidly scanned him, so Harry in turn scanned them. Indeed he spoke to the m in whispers, under his breath: 'Ken? Sandra? So he has your co-operation now. Well, and you've done a good job for him. But why so secretive about it, eh? I was expecting you. I knew that he would use you, that in fact he can't do without you. What, hi m? Face to face and man to man? Not a chance. Your vampire superman is a co ward! He fears I'll creep up on him in the night. One man against him and e verything he harbours up there in that pesthole in the mountains, and he's afraid of me. You warned me he'd read the future and seen his victory there . Well, you can tell him from me that the future doesn't always work out th at way.'

Ahhh! He sensesss ussss! It was Sandra, hissing like a snake in Harry's mind. He knows us. His thoughts are strong. His hidden strengths are surfaci ng.

She was right and Harry felt the strangeness of it. He was stronger, and didn't know the source of his new vitality. Was it Faethor? he wondered. Po ssibly. But for the moment there was nothing he could do about Faethor, and in a storm any port is better than none.

Ken Layard's locator's mind was fastened on Harry like a carrier beam. He let his own slide down it (but secretly) to its source, gazed out through La yard's eyes.

It was as if Harry were there in the flesh . . . and he was, in Layard's flesh! They were in the same subterranean room as before. Sandra sat opposite him (opposite Layard) at the table, and Janos furiously paced the pavings to and fro, to and fro. 'Where is he? What is he thinking?' the monster's eyes burned red where he turned them on Sandra. Plainly he was worried, but he tri ed to hide it behind a mask of fury.

'He is aboard a plane,' Sandra answered, 'and he is coming.'

'So soon? He's a madman! Doesn't he know he'll die? Can he not see tha t my plans for him go beyond death? What are his thoughts?' 'He hides them from me.'

Janos stopped pacing, thrust his half-handsome, half-hideous face at he r. 'He hides his thoughts? And you a mentalist, a thought-thief? What, and do you seek to make a fool of me? And have I not warned you how it will go for you, if you continue to place obstacles in my way? Now I ask you again: what - are - his thoughts!'

The master vampire had come forward to lean upon the table with both han ds, glaring into the frightened girl's eyes from only inches away. His lips curled back like a leather muzzle shrivelling from the jagged teeth of some dead carnivore, threatening her all too graphically, but she had no answer f or him except: 'He - he is too strong for me!'

'Too strong for you?' Janos raged. 'Too strong? Listen: in the bowels of this very castle lie the ashes of men like satyrs who in their day swarmed rampant across this land raping to the death women, men and babes alike!' he told her. 'Aye, and when they'd slain the lot, then even the beasts of the field were not beneath their l.u.s.t! For two thousand years some of these crea tures - whose loins are now dust, whose bones are turned to salts - have gon e without. But I say this to you: do my bidding now before I'm tempted to ra ise them up and command them how to instruct you! An unending torment, Sandr a, aye: for I would line them up against you, and as fast as they tore you y our vampire would repair the damage! Only picture it: your sweet flesh awash in all their filth, ruined and ruined again . . . and again . . . and again!'

Harry looked at him out of Layard's eyes, drew phlegm up from Layard's th roat, and spat it into the vampire's face. And as the monster went reeling, g urgling and clawing at his face, Harry said to him with Layard's voice: 'Are you deaf as well as insane, Janos Ferenczy? She can't see into my affairs - f or I am right here, seeing into yours!'

Layard, shocked and astonished, sat clutching at his own throat; but fo r a few seconds more at least, Harry kept a grip on what he now commanded.

Janos staggered back to the table, his head c.o.c.ked questioningly, disbeli evingly on one side. 'What?' he glared madly at Layard. 'What?' He lifted a c law of a hand.

'Go on,' Harry taunted. 'Strike! For it's only your thrall you'll hurt and not the one who commands him!'

Janos's jaw fell open. He understood. 'You?' he breathed.

Harry caused Layard's face to split into a humourless grin. And: 'You kn ow,' he said, 'this fascination of yours with my mind isn't merely unhealthy and irksome, I suspect it's also contagious. I had thought you would learn your lesson, Janos, but apparently I was wrong. Very well ... so now let's s ee what goes on in your head!'

'Release him!' Janos howled, clutching his head in talon hands and hurli ng himself away from the table. 'Send the Necroscope out of here! I don't want him in my mind!'

'Don't worry,' Harry told him, as Layard jerked and writhed where he sa t. 'Did you really think I would bathe myself in a sewer? Only remember thi s, Janos Ferenczy: you sought to discover my plans. Well, and now I'll tell them to you. I'm coming for you, Janos. And as you now see, our powers are more or less equal.'

He withdrew from Layard's mind and opened his eyes. The plane was off the ground, heading north and a little west for Budapest. And Harry was we ll satisfied. Back in Edinburgh less than a week ago he'd wondered at his precognitive glimpses of some vague and frightening future, and felt that he stood on the threshold of strange new developments. Now he experienced a sense of justification: his Necroscope's powers were growing, expanding to fill the gap created by Harry Jnr's tampering. That was Harry's explana tion, anyway . . .