Read Online Necroscope: Harry and the Pirates: and Other Tales from the Lost Years by Brian Lumley - Free Book Online Page A

do your research . . . er, though not on Hadrian’s Wall again, surely?” Here he actually offered the ghost of a smile—but in thenext moment was sober again—and almost apologetically continued, “Just give me a second or two to find the keys, and I’ll be pleased to accompany you upstairs. . . .”
     
    The old building lacked an elevator; as the pair climbed a wide mahogany staircase, then walked down an echoing parquet-floored corridor that ran the length of the building, they conversed. “Well then,” said the curator, “may I ask what you’re researching? Perhaps I’ll be able to offer some assistance. The section you’ll be entering isn’t the tidiest in the museum, I’m afraid. I never seem to have enough time to put things straight—and I dare not trust my cleaner to go in there without damaging something. A manuscript is just a bundle of old papers to him—and given a chance I know he would smoke in there. Oh yes, I’m sure he would! And why not, since he smokes everywhere else? Even in the toilets, where the atmosphere is sufficiently, er,
fragrant
without that we need to introduce burning tobacco into it!”
    “Well, you needn’t worry about me,” said Harry. “I’ve been known to smoke on occasion but haven’t any with me. As for what I’m researching: there’s a densely forested place some miles to the south. It’s called Hazeldene. Some years ago a girl disappeared there, presumably murdered. I want to know if that was an isolated incident, or if—”
    “—Or if, historically,” the curator interrupted, “there have been similar, er, ‘incidents’?” And unlocking the door of a room towards the end of the corridor, he glanced back over his shoulder at the Necroscope. “Well now! What an odd coincidence! And what’s more, it appears I really can help you!”
    “A coincidence?” Harry followed him inside the room, where he saw what the old man had meant when he said that this wasn’t the tidiest place in the museum. In fact it seemed to be one of the most cluttered, with open books scattered across the top of a leather-topped table, numerous scrapbooks and albums of newsprint clippings lying four volumes deep on the seat of a chair, magazinesand pamphlets of bygone times piled up totteringly on the floor, and shelves and pigeonholes where yellowing scrolls and other seemingly fragile documents looked in imminent danger of falling into dusty ruin.
    Seeing Harry’s look of dismay, the curator offered a sigh, shrugged, and said, “You see what I mean? Where would I find the time? It would take days—maybe a whole week—to put all of this back in order and get everything correctly located. Oh, the shelves are labelled clearly enough, but everything else is completely confused, a literary jigsaw puzzle where I might search for hours for just one piece! But as for
your
search . . . yes, I really do think I can help.”
    “A coincidence,” the Necroscope said again. “You mentioned a coincidence? Can I take it that in fact someone else has been researching murders in Hazeldene? Was that your meaning? And if so, when? Years ago or more recently?” He already suspected the latter.
    The curator dusted off a chair by the table and sat down, indicating that Harry should do the same. Harry removed a pile of books from another chair, positioned it facing the old man, seated himself, and said, “Well, then? Are you going to tell me about it?”
    Tapping a long finger on the cover of a visitor’s book or register lying on the table directly in front of him, the other nodded and said, “Yes, of course.” And indicating the book: “At least I located this easily enough, eh?” And he opened the register to a leather bookmark.
    “A visitor’s book?” Leaning forward, the Necroscope tried to read and decipher the entries: signatures and dates, presumably a record of past visitors. But the curator was once again tap-tapping with a fingernail, partly obscuring the entries or