The Last Aerie (88 page)

He went from maths to science: dynamics, which was simply another branch; or rather, the
application
of numbers. And he enjoyed it, for here at last Nathan could see that they could
be
applied. But of course! No more guesswork required to work out how many cogs were required on a wheel: the baffling mathematics of circles was a mystery no more. Not with the principle of
π
fixed firmly in his head.

He undertook all of these studies with gusto; for this was the knowledge—these were the benefits—he would take home with him. But not
all
the benefits, and not all of them harmless. For he also studied weapons and practised with a variety of handguns, semi-automatics, shotguns, sub-machineguns, and grenades, on an all-but obsolete Army firing range in the old garrison town of Aldershot…

Last but not least (foremost in many ways), Nathan practised his deadspeak. Except now it was easy, for the teeming dead talked back to him without reservation. However unintentionally, he had done himself the greatest possible favour in going to the aid of poor little Cynthia in the Hartlepool cemetery. It stood him in great stead, for the dead knew now beyond a shadow of a doubt that they had found a new champion in Nathan. Whatever his fight or quest was or would be, from this time forward it would also be theirs.

Frequent trips to Hartlepool, Harden, Edinburgh, and all of the many graveyards which Harry Keogh had frequented, furnished him with an almost complete picture of the man who had been his father, the man whom the dead had known as the Necroscope. And despite what Harry had been at the end, Nathan was not ashamed of him. For not one of Harry’s many dead friends had a bad word for him, and as a man they regretted the fact that they’d ever turned their backs on him.

In every possible way the dead put themselves at Nathan’s command; he received introductions to members of the Great Majority in many lands, and only had to reach out his mind to find them, however far distant. Along with all of his new scientific knowledge, his esoteric talent grew apace almost as if to accommodate the unaccustomed demands he placed upon it. And whenever he met with difficulties, the dead were there to help out…

Except in the one area where their help would be most appreciated. For not one of them knew Harry’s greatest secret, or was able to offer a clue as to where Nathan might find the answer. The metaphysical Mobius Continuum seemed as far from his grasp as ever.

And suddenly, it was the middle of May.

The changing seasons astonished Nathan, but all in all his senses were becoming used to abrupt changes: the ever-changing concrete “scenery” of the cities, eye-blurring transport systems such as cars, trains, subways and airplanes, the dramatic variety of the countryside—especially the coastal regions of the North-east, with their crumbling shale cliffs, brooding grey ocean and plaintive seagulls, a species unknown on Sunside—and a hundred other concepts away and beyond all previous experience. Now he was much more given to taking things in his stride.

The one thing he was not ready for, because he had put it out of his mind (his yearning was too great; it was too much of a distraction), was that which Trask sprang on him one Tuesday morning in the middle of the month.

“The resurgent tributary at Radujevac is down to its lowest level in five years,” Trask told him, waking him up in his father’s old room. “I’ve arranged our flight to Belgrade for a week Friday. Anna Marie English has been out there for months now, and she’s really got things moving. She tells me that our potholers have been up the sump to the Gate. They can get you there with all the stuff you’ve been gathering together, weapons, ammunition, anything you can carry. Plus all that you’ve learned, of course, locked away in your head.”

“But not the thing I most wanted to learn.” What Trask had said was still dawning on Nathan; he was still waking up, blinking sleep out of his eyes. “And will some of your men be coming with me?”

“No.” Trask shook his head. “We’ve made a deal with Gustav Turchin. We sit still until Turkur Tzonov makes his move,
if
he makes it. Meanwhile, men loyal to Turchin are infiltrating Perchorsk. Turchin thinks he can stop Tzonov right there, on his own ground.”

Nathan paused in getting dressed to blurt out: “I hope he
fails
to stop him! I’d like to meet up with that man in my own world. Better by far, I’d like some of its
inhabitants
to meet up with him! For by comparison, Turkur Tzonov is only a very small monster.”

“Still thinking about Siggi?”

“If Siggi Dam went through into Starside deprived of her senses, her mind, by that machine —” Nathan shook his tousled head, “— then thinking about her really won’t do us much good. But I would like the chance to avenge her, yes.”

“Take care of your own first, Nathan,” was Trask’s advice. “For if there’s any justice in the world—and it’s my experience that there is—Tzonov has enough of hard times coming without your help.” And as he headed for the door: “Zek wants you to have breakfast with her, down in the hotel. Something that’s important to her.”

And Nathan knew what it was …

Three days later they flew out to the Greek islands. Nathan’s main interest was Samos: the teeming dead had told him Pythagoras was there, buried on the self-same island where he’d been born. It would be Nathan’s last shot at speaking to an expert, one of the greatest ever experts, who might yet help him. Oh, he had spoken to a good many mathematicians, orthodox and “lateral” thinkers alike, but the numbers vortex had baffled them all no less than it had baffled J. G. Hannant. It was the way the thing mutated, the way it wouldn’t sit still—not for a moment—to let itself be studied. And anyway, how could you ever be sure you were studying the right part of it?

Zek’s interest, of course, was Jazz Simmons; her husband’s grave was in Zakynthos close to her villa. And mid-May in the Greek Islands is a wonderful time; it would be Nathan’s chance to rest and recuperate, while she … would have the opportunity to say those few extra things which at the end she’d never had the time to say to Jazz. He knew them anyway—of course he did—but a last fond farewell couldn’t hurt.

Ben Trask had wanted to accompany the pair, but when Zek declined he had understood. He hadn’t been thinking, that was all. For despite all that had happened, all of the accumulated evidence, and the evidence of his own lie-detector talent, it was just—no, it was
still
—a very hard thing for Trask to believe in Nathan’s “art”, what he was and did; as it would be for any man who was not himself a Necroscope. But this was Zek’s last chance to be “together” with Jazz, and Ben had to accept that at least.

Samos, between the Aegean and the Dodecanese, proved to be an exercise in frustration; finally Nathan tracked down a disciple of Pythagoras, who had come to his own conclusions about the Master’s mysticism and dropped out of the Brotherhood. And so the location of Pythagoras’s grave was discovered.

When they got close Nathan went on alone, and as he reached the spot—a small olive grove on a terraced hillside, above a headland with a tiny white church—so he felt a far dim deadspeak presence; far in the sense of mentally remote, and dim in that of a deep, deep sleep. In a living man, this would be catatonia. In Pythagoras…

Shortly, returning to Zek, Nathan told her: “It isn’t any good. He’s way beyond my reach. J. G. Hannant was right: Pythagoras couldn’t face the greater knowledge of the modern world, the fact that science had outdistanced him. He discovered that while his calculations were right, his theology was all wrong. Unable to come to terms with it, he retreated into his own doctrines. Yet, in fact he has achieved a metempsychosis of sorts. But instead of migrating soul to soul, Pythagoras has fled into the core of his own mind. To him, numbers were The All. And so at last he’s satisfied with his lot. Finally, he
is
the first and last number: a big cipher, the Great Zero …”

They took a hydrofoil to Zakynthos, Zek’s island home in the Ionian, and a taxi from Zante town through Porto Zoro and along a winding, rising road that followed the mountain’s contours to the south-east. There, where tree-clad spurs descended into the incredibly blue ocean, Zek kept her villa: Harry Keogh’s final refuge at the end of his time here.

Then, briefly, they were free of Nathan’s minders; the Special Branch men had been left behind in the port of Zante, where it had taken them longer than they’d anticipated to collect their hire-car. But in the afternoon, when the cool shadows of the mountains sprawled down across the pine-clad slopes to paint the sea dark green, and Nathan and Zek sat out on her balcony with coffee and liqueurs, they were aware of the glint of chrome on the road up above, where a last beam of sunlight struck between the peaks. And they knew that their guardian angels were back …

Nathan had the guest bedroom. The following morning before he was awake, Zek got out her car and drove into town to replenish her refrigerator. Hearing her return, Nathan rose, showered and got dressed. By then the villa was full of great smells, and he found Zek in the breakfast room where she greeted him with: “A few of your favourite things.” Namely coffee, eggs and bacon.

And when they had eaten: “Jazz?” he said, carefully.

“Could we? Now?” She seemed uncertain.

“Whenever you’re ready.”

“I’ve … been thinking what to say to him.”

“I know,” he told her, gently. “I lay awake for the best part of an hour last night, listening to you tossing and turning in your room. It won’t be the same for me, either. Not this time. Because it’s personal. Because I know how much you miss him. But do you know what you want to say to him? Did you work it out?”

“I think so, yes. There’s not a lot, really. All I have to do is … not hint at what’s come between us. I mean,
nothing
came between us in life—not ever, not even the Wamphyri—until the
end
of life itself. I have to remember that and try not to cry. crying’s not like me. Not that he’ll hear me anyway. I have to just talk to him, through you, as if … as if he were Jazz. I mean, he is Jazz. And yet it can’t be like a simple telephone call…”

It was the first time he’d seen her distraught. And very unlikely that he’d ever see it again. Zek was a strong woman.

She saw the look on his face—the sadness, for her, in his eyes—and turned away. And Nathan told her:

“It won’t be as hard as you think. Deadspeak can be made to convey more than is actually said. It’s a matter of feelings as well as words. We’ll use telepathy, you and I, so that we’re closer. Jazz won’t hear telepathy, but that way I’ll be able to straighten out your thoughts if they get tangled, and relay his to you without any … pain. If there is pain. But from what I know of him, from what I’ve heard, Jazz was built of much the same stuff as you. It will be all right.”

She turned back to him. “Will it?” There was hope in her eyes.

He nodded and smiled. “Yes, I’m sure it will be.” And he was sure, for he would make it so …

Some hours later, on the way to her car:

Zek paused by a leaning Mediterranean pine to gaze out over the sea. “We loved this view,” she said.

Nathan could well understand that. There was nothing he wouldn’t give to have Misha here right now, looking out over that marvelous ocean with him. No sight she’d ever seen in all Sunside could ever compare with it.

Zek had fallen silent. Glancing at her, Nathan saw that she was frowning. He followed her gaze to a boat at the edge of the water directly below. “A caïque,” she said. “The first of the holidaymakers. They hire boats and find secluded bays, like the one down there. Occasionally they climb up through the trees, picnic, leave stuff behind and generally spoil things. There are more of them every year. I don’t think I’ll be able to live here much longer, not on my own. I thought I could, but…” She stumbled to a halt.

Nathan believed he understood. This had been their place, and magical. But the boat was reality; stealing away the last of the magic, it spoiled Zek’s solitude.

“Let’s go and see Jazz,” he said …

Between Porto Zoro and Argasi, they turned off the road onto a pebble track through the trees. There on a rocky promontory, a small white church shone like alabaster in the midday sunlight and was reflected in the sparkling waters of the bight. Between the trees and the pebble beach, a graveyard was laid out in neat, regularly tended plots. All of this well off the tourist beat, in as tranquil a spot as may be imagined.

“Jazz liked to fish for grouper just off the point there,” Zek explained. “And when he knew it was all over … he chose this place himself,”

And so they went to Jazz’s grave.

And Nathan made it easy for them. For both of them…

At the end, when she’d said it all and couldn’t hide the tears any longer, Zek walked out of the cemetery and onto the beach, and stood at the edge of the sea. And Nathan told Jazz:
We’re going now.

It was nice of you to come,
Jazz answered. And it’s great what
you’ve done for Zek. 1 know that Harry would be proud of you. But listen, I don’t like her hurting and lonely. So do me a big favour: if the time comes when someone really cares, see to it that she doesn’t feel guilty. I mean, tell her not to feel guilty. Let her know that I only want her to be happy.

Nathan nodded.
If I’m still here when, if, that happens, then … you have my promise.

But not until then.

Of course.

That’s good enough for me,
said Jazz …

Nathan left Zek on the beach to get done with it in her own way, and walked back to the car. Before leaving, he noticed that the caique from Zek’s place was drawn up on the pebbles, but there was no one in it; and before reaching Zek’s car he saw a glint of chrome in a grove of olive trees and knew that his minders were there.

Then, looking closer, he saw one of them—or the arms of one of them—sticking out from both sides of the bole of a gnarled old tree. The hands were on the ground, resting on their knuckles. The man must be sunbathing, but … his hands were so still. And in the car, the second Special Branch man seemed asleep behind the steering wheel.