by Brian Lumley
“But with Ali Bey Burdur on our backs—” said Garvey.
“—Exactly,” said Trask. “So we’ll have to wait till we’re on the move again—settled in our next port of call, wherever that may be—before we bring our secret weapon into play.” He looked at Liz.
“Jake,” she said. “I came close to calling him last night, at the Tundźa. And again in the Kino Square.”
Trying his best not to scowl at her, Trask said drily, “Oh, joy!” His sarcasm dripped. “Why, yes! What a marvellous notion! I mean, can’t you just picture it? Jake Cutter, appearing right out of nowhere, and probably with no IDs? Now that really would give our suspicious policeman friend something to think about!”
“I know.” Liz bit her lip. “But I was jittery, and we were so very close to those monsters. I’m just like Millie, Ben…I’ve been close once before. Anyway, I didn’t do it.”
“No,” said Trask, “you tried to track them instead—which was almost as dumb because they were that close to us! And you have to promise me you won’t do it again. Not on your own, anyway. Now listen, Liz, when I’m ready to turn you loose—when it gets close up and personal and I really need your talents—believe me, you’ll be the first to know, all of you. But it will probably be a concerted effort, each and every one of us doing his or her bit. And I want us all in one piece when that time comes.”
They were finished eating, not that anyone had eaten very much. Paul Garvey poured a little hot water onto the dregs in his cup, added a lump of sugar, and asked, “So what’s next? I feel about the same as Lardis: now that we’re out here—now that the game’s afoot—I’m sure that too much inactivity is bound to get to me.”
“To all of us,” said Trask. “Okay, this is what we’ll do. It’s daylight and we’re comparatively safe. So we’ll form two teams. Myself, Lardis, and Ian: we’ll pay a visit to this Kino place and see if my theory’s correct; and if so, we’ll try to find out where those girls—if we can still call them that—where they’re playing next. Which leaves Paul and the ladies, bold telepaths all. You three will go up to one of the rooms, use a small-scale map of this region, and see if you can pick up the trail.” Then he frowned at Liz and added, “But no deep probing. That’s out. I’m talking about their trail, the route they took out of here, if in fact they’ve gone. I know you’re not locators, but working in tandem, as it were…let’s see what you can do anyway. And I just want to stress it one more time: the moment you sense mindsmog you’re out of there, back off and leave it at that. Oh, and there’s one other thing: in case Ali Bey Burdur decides to drop in on you, you might want to make sure you’re up to scratch on the local ‘anti-tikkies,’ okay?”
He stood up. “That’s all for now, people. Ian and Lardis, if you’re ready?”
And they were…
In the Kino Square the burned-out car had been security-taped off and covered with a tentlike tarpaulin, beneath and around which the members of a scenes-of-crime team in masks and white smocks performed their gruesome tasks. Above the Kino’s double doors, the billboard had been stripped and two men were busy on fragile-looking scaffolding where they were pasting up a new poster. It looked like Trask’s theory was proven.
As best possible, Trask and his two avoided looking at the tented enclosure—avoided thinking about Bernie and the method of his disposal—and tried to make themselves inconspicuous as they mingled with a thin queue of Turkish men waiting in the Kino’s foyer at a ticket window. The small crowd was in an ugly mood and Trask soon found out why: the revue had been cancelled and last night’s show had been the last of its kind. The girls, who had been booked for another three days, had apparently quit and moved on, and these men were here to get their money back.
At the window, Trask asked if it was known where the girls had gone. What was their next venue? The harassed agent in the booth didn’t understand him, became impatient, waved him aside. But a Turk who stood next in line behind the E-Branch group had heard Trask’s enquiry and said, “They gone. No one knows where. They just go. Is too bad. Was very good the show. The sexy English girls. The vampire ladies, yes?”
“Yes, indeed,” Trask answered the toothy, grinning Turk. “A great pity we missed them.”
Outside again, the three could scarcely avoid observing the tented enclosure which stood directly opposite the Kino. But as they paused at the kerb a police car drew up and Ali Bey Burdur got out. “Ah! Finding you,” he said.
And Trask asked him, “Were you at our hotel?”
“Was going there, but seeing you here.”
Goodly nodded, and said, “We were paying our last respects. Since we won’t be here for the…” But there he paused.
“The cremation?” said Burdur. “I understanding. One cremation is enough, yes?”
“And that will be soon, I hope,” said Trask.
Burdur nodded. “We having the identity. Is Fletcher. And is…something strange.” He looked at Trask quizzically.
“Oh?” Trask tried not to sound too worried.
“This Fletcher, he have no family?”
“Distant relatives, I believe,” said Trask.
“That explaining things…perhaps,” said the Inspector.
“What things?”
“That they asking we cremate him here…which you knowing about? And that we do it soon, which is you suggest also.”
And again Trask found himself obliged to think quickly. “In many lands,” he said, “people are burning the dead—and doing it with despatch—because of the bubonic. It’s becoming almost standard practice.”
“Ah! The plague,” said Burdur. “But surely the poor Bernie Fletcher he had not the plague?”
“No, of course not,” said Trask. “But why take chances? He has no family, he’s dead, it’s as well he’s cremated here.”
“Hmmm!” said Burdur. “Same conversation I having with your people in London.”
But Trask wasn’t to be caught out so easily. “My people?”
“Er, I meaning the English authorities.”
“Oh,” said Trask. “Then I can only assume that the authorities in England will make good the expenses, too.”
“So I understanding.” Burdur nodded thoughtfully. And then, quickly changing the subject, “One other things. Chief of Turkish Security in Ankara—the Big Boss peoples—is speaking to me this morning. He is saying me to giving all assistance possible to Mr. Trask and his party. You having important friends!”
“Really?” said Trask, without having to act too surprised. And: Thank God for the Minister Responsible! he thought, for he had certainly outdone himself this time around. Quite obviously he’d broken new ground and developed some kind of alliance with Turkish Intelligence, isolated for many years now by reason of Turkey’s human rights record. And Trask couldn’t help but wonder how much information the Minister Responsible had passed on in order to achieve this level of cooperation.
“Yes, really,” said the Inspector. “But I asking to myself, security? Big Boss security? Now what having we here, eh?”
Trask shrugged, then said, “Oh, I don’t think there’s any great mystery. It’s not unusual when an Englishman dies abroad that our Foreign Office do their best to assist in every possible way.”
“Ah, yes,” said Burdur. “But assisting the dead man’s family, usually. Is not so?”
But wanting to have done with this now—and answering the Inspector perhaps a little too sharply—Trask said, “The point is, will you help us or not?”
Ali Bey Burdur drew back a pace. “I having no choice,” he said. “But was hoping you could helping me, too.”
“Me help? But how?”
“The proprietor of Tundźa he dead, too,” said Burdur. “And he is Turkish. The charity is beginning at home, eh? Also, the other Englishmens, and two more we not know at Tundźa. Finally, the owner of this burned car. The car he was stolen last night. We finding the owner. He dead, murdered we thinking, but…is a very bad, very strange thing.”
&
nbsp; “How, strange?” said Trask.
“He a young man,” said the Inspector. “Young, strong, with no sicknesses. But we finding him all old and twisted. How you say it…?” He sucked in his cheeks and squeezed down into himself, illustrating the word he was looking for. And:
“Shrivelled,” said Trask.
“Exactly!” And when Trask said nothing: “Please, Mr. Trask,” Burdur went on. “Listen, I coming clean. I having you followed when you leaving hotel. You come here, go in Kino asking about girls. For why? I not believing your anti-tikkies story—but I not thinking you the criminals. No, I thinking you the special policemans, is correct? And I also thinking I needing your help. If is bad something here in Sirpsindigi, I need knowing. So, will you telling Ali Bey Burdur what going on?”
“Ali Bey,” said Trask, “I’m not a policeman. But I am concerned with security. Security of my country, and occasionally of the world. Right now the security of the world. I can’t say more than that. But me and my people, we need to leave Sirpsindigi, if not tonight by tomorrow morning. If you can clear the way for us, perhaps I’ll have something more to tell you.”
“Is good,” said the other. “Tomorrow, you going. Anythings you needing, asking me.”
“Good,” said Trask. “And now we’re going back to the hotel. You can contact me there early tomorrow morning.”
Burdur nodded. “I doing that for sure. And if I not seeing you tomorrow—” He stuck out his huge hand.
Trask took and shook it—and found Ali Bey’s card in his hand. He pocketed it as the Turkish policeman turned away, and then he and the others returned to their minibus…
Back at the hotel, Trask and his group found Paul Garvey, Liz, and Millie seated in the foyer. Trask asked what was happening and was informed by Garvey that they’d come down to escape the confines of Liz’s room, get a breath of fresh air, and stretch their legs; this following their combined effort at picking up the trail of the Wamphyri, and Garvey hinted that they’d found something.
Here in the foyer, however, with people sitting about reading newspapers and drinking coffee, and hotel staff coming and going, Garvey didn’t want to say too much.
In the cranky elevator, on their way back up to Liz’s room, Trask asked why everone seemed so quiet and nervous. And Garvey told him:
“Earlier, the telephone in Liz’s room went on the blink, so I went down to see if they could fix it—also to fetch coffee and sandwiches. Their room service is lousy. There was this man in the foyer who couldn’t seem to take his eyes off me. Well, I knew he was watching me; I could actually feel his eyes following me. You know how it is.”
“Yes,” said Trask, “but not as well as you do. Your talent will give you the edge every time.”
“Anyway, I went to check him out,” said Garvey. “I managed to get up close to him and tried to look into his eyes—just a glimpse should be enough—but he avoided me. And he was so intent on pretending not to be watching me, why, it was almost as if he was shielded! So I thought maybe he was a thrall, and that was scary. But I took a chance, ‘accidentally’ bumped into him, finally got to look him in the eyes. In one way that was a relief, but in another—”
“—It worried you,” said Trask. “But far better a policeman than a vampire thrall, right?”
As they got out of the elevator Garvey said, “Well, you’re obviously way ahead of me. So now it’s your turn: what’s happening? What did you find out at the Kino? And why are the Turkish police watching us and probably listening to our telephone conversations? I mean, I know why they’re watching us—of course I do—but how much do they know?”
“Whoah!” said Trask, as Liz let them into her room. “You’re not done yet. What did you find out? You gave me the impression that you’d got something for me.”
At which point Millie took it up. “We think perhaps we do,” she said. “But if we’re right it presents more difficulties.”
“Explain,” said Trask, as they all found places to sit.
And now it was Liz’s turn. “When I was Vavara’s prisoner on Krassos,” she began, “I experienced this weird ability of hers, I suppose we should call it her ‘talent,’ up close. Also, I saw what lurks beneath that talent, the wrinkled hag that she is in reality. I learned something then, something we all should have realized sooner, but even then I failed to recognize its importance. This morning, however, when we began our search, suddenly it dawned on me. When Malinari goes abroad in the world he goes as a man; which is no great effort to him, because he is a man. He scarcely needs to disguise himself at all. As for that thing called Szwart: he lives with his condition of constant metamorphosis, and it’s entirely ‘natural’ to him. He only wills changes in himself when it’s absolutely necessary. But when the hag Vavara goes abroad she goes as a beautiful girl or woman. It’s that important to her, a matter of vanity.”
“Aye,” said Lardis. “That’s very true—but she can’t stand beauty in others, which is why she mutilates her women. Especially the lovely ones.” And:
“I think I see what you’re getting at,” said Trask. “Vavara has to keep up appearances. She’s obliged to use her talent all the time. She never lets up!”
“Unless she’s angry, infuriated,” said Liz. “I’ve seen her like that, too, and close up, as I said. It isn’t a pretty picture.”
“You know her aura,” said Trask. “You’re able to recognize her psychic signature.”
“I think so, yes,” Liz nodded. “Well, something like that.”
And now Paul Garvey took it up. “We sat at that small round coffee table there, and bonded. Then we concentrated on various areas of the map where it lay in the middle of the table, areas lying outside the town limits. We were looking for mindsmog, of course—even the faintest trace—which might perhaps indicate that the Wamphyri had passed that way. Since they probably left by road—I mean, how else could they have gone?—that’s what we concentrated on: roads and crossing points.”
“Crossing points?” Trask repeated him.
And Garvey nodded. “If you look at the map you’ll see we’re pretty close to the borders of both Greece and Bulgaria. If the Wamphyri have left Sirpsindigi—which we’re fairly certain now that they have—they had a choice of going back into the Turkish heartland, or crossing into Greece or Bulgaria.”
“Greece wouldn’t be their best choice,” said Trask, looking at the map. “The borders with Turkey are closed…territorial disputes and what have you. And anyway, Vavara’s been there and done that, and both she and Malinari know now that we have good friends in Greece.”
“That was our opinion, too,” said Garvey, “so we spent only a little time sweeping west. But as for north, south, and east: we covered them extensively. And that brings us back to Liz and Millie.”
The latter took it up. “There was something to the north—into Bulgaria—that I didn’t much care for,” said Millie. “I’m much like Liz, and my time with Szwart has left a kind of stain on my psyche. I felt, or thought I felt, something of his passing by or through. In my mind it was as if the northern area of the map lay under a shadow that was gradually clearing. Well, as you can see for yourself, the way north is a narrow route along a second-class road—and a Turkish second-class road at that—that parallels the Tundźa into Bulgaria. There’s a customs post marked on the map at the border. If in fact they went that way, they would have had to pass through that border crossing.”
“And you think they did?” said Trask.
“That’s where I come back in,” said Liz. “But before I say any more, what did you find out at the Kino? It seems only fair that you tell us now, Ben. Have they in fact left—or haven’t they? I mean, have we three been sitting here, wasting our time and imagining things, or what?”
“You mean you don’t already know?” he answered, and saw all three telepaths glance at each other with lowered eyes. Then he grinned, albeit wryly, humourlessly, and said, “Okay, under the circumstances I accept that you couldn’t wait. So
just to clarify matters, yes, they’ve left.” And he quickly went on to tell them the story of the dance troupe’s departure, and also of his conversation with Ali Bey Burdur, finishing up with, “So now go on, Liz. What was it you thought you sensed about that northern route into Bulgaria?”
“But that’s precisely the point,” she answered. “It’s what I didn’t feel! In every other direction there was motion, struggle, the massed turmoil of people, intelligences, thoughts. And Paul and Millie detected much the same thing…the telepathic background, the mental static of all those people. Our combined talents let us sense the backwash of humanity, all their triumphs, frustrations, and disappointments. But to the north…that was different. Everything was peaceful, Ben, and I knew that it was false!”
“Vavara,” Trask nodded. “The route she’s taken out of here, like some kind of slimy snail trail.”
“That’s how I thought of it, too,” said Liz. “But you know, there are times when the sun lights on a snail’s track that it can look quite beautiful? In this case a hideous beauty. And I can’t be mistaken. That’s where they’ve gone, and that’s where she is now: in Bulgaria.”
And Millie added, “I think Liz is right. It’s very strange, but in combining our talents like that, we seemed to achieve a great deal more than we could possibly have done on our own. I know it’s an old trick among E-Branch espers, but this time it seemed to work so much better. And I for one felt far more…powerful? My talent, I mean.”
“Me, too,” said Liz, nodding her concurrence. “There was a clarity to everything that I’ve never known before, but it was the negative aspect that drew my attention north.”
Trask turned to Paul Garvey for the last word, but expressionless as always, Garvey could only shrug. “It’s all down to the ladies,” he said. “I like to think I boosted their probes, but the credit is theirs. It must be as they’ve said: previous close contact has given them the edge and given us a brand-new weapon. From now on David Chung must look to his laurels.”