Read Online Necroscope: The Mobius Murders by Brian Lumley - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Brian Lumley
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face, which for the moment was ruddy with his victim’s colour, would soon return to a more accustomed hue. As for his repast: rarely had he indulged himself so gratifyingly and so cheaply. But what a pity that the tramp had claimed his fiver before the door claimed him.
And one other thing. Before voiding the door, for a single instant Hemmings had caught himself peering half fearfully into the darkness beyond it. But there’d been nothing there. So perhaps that other thing—that yesterday thing—perhaps that had been his imagination…his conscience? But no , he thought and shook his head, hardly that! And grinning, with a spring in his step, he carried on walking…
Early that same evening, as the Necroscope Harry Keogh tried to relax in an easy chair in his rather dusty but comfortably familiar living room—as he sat there pondering this strange new case, this murder whose author used the Möbius Continuum as his weapon—he was startled from uneasy thoughts that were slowly but surely deepening into the reverie which in him usually preceeded sleep, by the sudden purring of his telephone.
It was B.J. Mirlu, enquiring: “Harry, mah wee man —are ye all right? Ah was expectin’ yere call—which didnae come. Now why is that, Ah wonder?”
Mah wee man! Those three small words of evocation which the Necroscope couldn’t ignore even if he fought them with his last breath; that post hypnotic-command that B.J. had anchored irremovably in his mind. If she were to call for him now that would mean the end of his investigations, at least for the time being. But well aware of the constraint, the imposition she had placed upon him, still Harry was largely in possession of his own mind and perfectly able to answer her, albeit carefully:
“I’ve been busy, Bonnie Jean, and it’s not over yet because I’m still trying to work something out. I was going to call you but you’ve beaten me to it! So…are you okay?”
“Oh, Ah’m fine, Harry. It’s just that Ah like tae hear yere voice now and then. Ye ken how Ah get out o’ sorts when Ah dinnae hear from ye.”
“But it’s only been a day, B.J.!”
She chuckled huskily. “So then, ye’ve no found someone else tae take mah place?”
“Is that likely?” He gave a derisive snort, then continued: “Now, what’s the real reason for your call?”
“Oh, aye?” she replied. “So it’s straight tae the point, is it? Well so be it! And maybe it’s just as well ye’re still busy wi’ whatever…so long as its no another woman!” She chuckled once again, then dropped the accent and quickly continued:
“Don’t come to the bar tonight, Harry. Not even if you manage to get done with your business. I could use a little sleep, especially if I’m to be up in the middle of the night.”
“Oh really!” said the Necroscope, in a mock suspicious tone of voice. “So now maybe I should be concerned about who’s going to be sleeping in my bed, should I? Who’s huffing, puffing, and threatening to blow me out of your…?” At which, no sooner were the words out, or almost—words that were so evocative of the tale of the three little piggies,—than he was biting down on his tongue! For even imagining the worst of his enigmatic moonchild lover, and especially when under her thrall actually knowing almost everything about B.J., it would never be a good idea to let any kind of wolf creep into their conversations! No, because this was by no means a fairy tale!
And quickly changing the subject, he went on: “So then, why will you be up in the middle of the night?” Another ill-advised question, possibly; and, in light of what she was, something he might not want to know and which B.J. probably wouldn’t want to tell him. But she at once replied:
“Because I want to get underway while the roads are all but empty. One of the girls will be driving me up to Inverdruie, to see Auld John, an old friend of mine for so many years now that…well, that would be
And one other thing. Before voiding the door, for a single instant Hemmings had caught himself peering half fearfully into the darkness beyond it. But there’d been nothing there. So perhaps that other thing—that yesterday thing—perhaps that had been his imagination…his conscience? But no , he thought and shook his head, hardly that! And grinning, with a spring in his step, he carried on walking…
Early that same evening, as the Necroscope Harry Keogh tried to relax in an easy chair in his rather dusty but comfortably familiar living room—as he sat there pondering this strange new case, this murder whose author used the Möbius Continuum as his weapon—he was startled from uneasy thoughts that were slowly but surely deepening into the reverie which in him usually preceeded sleep, by the sudden purring of his telephone.
It was B.J. Mirlu, enquiring: “Harry, mah wee man —are ye all right? Ah was expectin’ yere call—which didnae come. Now why is that, Ah wonder?”
Mah wee man! Those three small words of evocation which the Necroscope couldn’t ignore even if he fought them with his last breath; that post hypnotic-command that B.J. had anchored irremovably in his mind. If she were to call for him now that would mean the end of his investigations, at least for the time being. But well aware of the constraint, the imposition she had placed upon him, still Harry was largely in possession of his own mind and perfectly able to answer her, albeit carefully:
“I’ve been busy, Bonnie Jean, and it’s not over yet because I’m still trying to work something out. I was going to call you but you’ve beaten me to it! So…are you okay?”
“Oh, Ah’m fine, Harry. It’s just that Ah like tae hear yere voice now and then. Ye ken how Ah get out o’ sorts when Ah dinnae hear from ye.”
“But it’s only been a day, B.J.!”
She chuckled huskily. “So then, ye’ve no found someone else tae take mah place?”
“Is that likely?” He gave a derisive snort, then continued: “Now, what’s the real reason for your call?”
“Oh, aye?” she replied. “So it’s straight tae the point, is it? Well so be it! And maybe it’s just as well ye’re still busy wi’ whatever…so long as its no another woman!” She chuckled once again, then dropped the accent and quickly continued:
“Don’t come to the bar tonight, Harry. Not even if you manage to get done with your business. I could use a little sleep, especially if I’m to be up in the middle of the night.”
“Oh really!” said the Necroscope, in a mock suspicious tone of voice. “So now maybe I should be concerned about who’s going to be sleeping in my bed, should I? Who’s huffing, puffing, and threatening to blow me out of your…?” At which, no sooner were the words out, or almost—words that were so evocative of the tale of the three little piggies,—than he was biting down on his tongue! For even imagining the worst of his enigmatic moonchild lover, and especially when under her thrall actually knowing almost everything about B.J., it would never be a good idea to let any kind of wolf creep into their conversations! No, because this was by no means a fairy tale!
And quickly changing the subject, he went on: “So then, why will you be up in the middle of the night?” Another ill-advised question, possibly; and, in light of what she was, something he might not want to know and which B.J. probably wouldn’t want to tell him. But she at once replied:
“Because I want to get underway while the roads are all but empty. One of the girls will be driving me up to Inverdruie, to see Auld John, an old friend of mine for so many years now that…well, that would be
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