Ahhh! smiled the gurgling, hissing, monstrous thing in his mind. But that's better. So much better to be on familiar termsss.

'What is it you want, Faethor?' Harry was suspicious, careful. 'Is it that you've heard the dead whispering of my fix and so you've come to taunt me?'

Your fix? Faethor feigned surprise, but not so much as to disguise his oozing sarcasm. You are in a fix? But is it possible? With so many friends? With all the teeming dead to advise and guide you?

Even dreaming, Harry was well versed in the ways of vampires - even the 'harmless', expired variety. 'Faethor,' he said, 'I'm sure you know well enough the problem. But since you've asked I'll state it anyway: I'm Necroscope no longer, except in my dreams. So enjoy my predicament all you can, for awake it's a pleasure you'll never know.'

Such bitterness! said Faethor. And there, I thought we were friends, you and I.

'Friends?' Harry felt inclined to laughter, but controlled it. Better not to antagonize one of these unduly, not even one as surely dead and gone forever as Faethor. 'In what way friends? The dead are my friends, as you've pointed out, and to them you're an abomination!'

And so you deny me, said the other, and the cock not yet crowed three times.

'That is a great blasphemy!' Harry cried.

And he sensed Faethor's vile, yawning grin. But of course it is. For I am a great blasphemy, Haaarry! In the eyes of some.

'In the eyes of all,' said Harry. 'In the eyes of sanity itself, Faethor.' And with finality: 'Now leave me, if you've done with mocking. There must be better things to dream.'

Your memory is short! the other now snarled. When you sought advice you came to me. And did I turn you away? Who was it destroyed your enemy in the mountains of the Khorvaty?

'You aided me because to do so suited your own ends, and for no other reason. You assisted me in order to strike at Thibor, and so avenge yourself a second time even from the grave! You tossed down Ivan Gerenko from the cliffs guarding your castle because he had caused it to be destroyed. You did nothing for me. In fact and as I see it now, you used me more than I used you!'

So! Faethor snapped. Not quite the fool I thought! Little wonder you prevailed, Harry Keogh! But even if what you say is true, still you must admit that the advantage was mutual?

And now Harry knew that the old vampire wasn't here simply to mock; no, there was more to it than that. That much was made perfectly obvious by Faethor's manner of expression, his use of the words 'mutual' and 'advantage'. And Harry wondered, would their conversation now prove mutually advantageous? What did the monster want, and perhaps more importantly, what was he willing to exchange for it? Only one way to find out.

'Out with it, Faethor,' said Harry. 'What is it you want from me?'

Shame on you! said the other. You know how I like a good argument: the persuasion of unassailable logic, the deft manipulation of words, the skilful haggling before a bargain is struck. Would you deny me these simple pleasures?

'Spit it out, Faethor,' said Harry. 'Tell me what you want, and also what it's worth to you. And only then - if I can deliver and still live with myself - only then let's talk about bargains.'

Bah! the other answered; but was equally quick to follow up, Very well. And without more ado: / have heard it from the dead that you are come upon hard times. Yes, I admit it, I knew that you had been stripped of your powers. Oh, it's true, I am a pariah among the dead, but sometimes when they talk it pleases me to 'overhear' what is said.Much has been said about you, Harry Keogh, and I have overheard it. Not only are you forbidden to deadspeak, but you no longer command the facility of instantaneous transportation. This is all true?

'Yes.'

So (Harry sensed Faethor's curt nod.) Now, I know nothing of this... teleportation? And so in that sphere may not help you. It involves numbers, I believe - the simultaneous resolution of myriad complicated equations? - and in that I admit to a failing. I am out of touch by a thousand years, and even in my heyday was never much of a mathematician. But as for the question of deadspeak, there we might come to some agreement.

Harry tried not to show his eagerness. 'An agreement? You think you can return it to me? You don't know what you're saying. Experts have handled my case. In my waking hours I can no more speak to the dead than pour acid in my ears! That is, I can, but the result would be the same. I know for I've tried it - once! And also because it was forced upon me - once!'

So, said Faethor again. And I have also heard it whispered by the dead, that this mischief was worked upon you by your own son in a world other than this world. Astonishing! So, you found your way there, did you? Aye, and suffered the consequences...

'Faethor,' said Harry, 'get to the point.'

The point is simple. Only the Wamphyri could so interfere with your mind, and even then only one of their most powerful. It was the art of fascination - hypnotism -as used by a great master of that art, which crippled you, Harry Keogh. Ah, and I pride myself that I too was just such a master!

'You're saying that you can cure me?'

Faethor chuckled darkly, for he knew as well as Harry himself that the ex-Necroscope was hooked. What is written may be erased, he said, as you now appreciate. But just as surely, what is set askew may be put to rights! Only put yourself in my hands, and it shall be done.

Harry shrank back. 'Put myself in your hands? Let you into my mind, as Dragosani once let Thibor into his? Do you think I'm mad?'

/ think you are desperate.

'Faethor, I-' .

Now listen to me, the long-extinct vampire interrupted. / have spoken of mutual advantage, and of the dead whispering in their tombs. But some of them do more than merely whisper. In the mountains of the Metalici and Zarundului there are those who cry out in their very terror of that which is risen up! For not even the centuries-dead -not even their bones and their dust - are safe from this one. Aye, and I know his name, and I deem myself responsible.

And now Harry was hooked more surely than ever, but like a fish on a line he intended to give the vampire a good run for his money. 'Faethor,' he said, 'you're saying that one of the Wamphyri has come among us. But I already knew this. Where's the advantage in that? Was I supposed to deliver my mind into your hands for such a scrap as this? You do think I'm mad!'

No, I think you are dedicated. To the eradication of what you term a foulness. You would destroy it before it destroys you. You would do it for the safety and sanity of your world, and I would do it... solely for my satisfaction. For I hated this one even as I hated Thibor.

'Who was he?' Harry shot the question, hoping against hope to catch the other out and read the answer in his startled mind.

But Faethor only tut-tutted, and Harry sensed a saddened, disappointed shake of his head. No need for that, my son, he said, oh so quietly, for I'll gladly tell you his name. Why not? For you won't remember it when you awaken. His name - his most hated, despised name - was Janos! And such was the venom in his voice that Harry knew it was true.

'Your son,' he sighed, nodding. 'Your second son, after Thibor. Janos Ferenczy. So now at least I know who I'm up against, if not what.'

The who of it is Janos, said Faethor, and without my help the what of it will destroy you utterly!