At 8:05 p.m. the call Manolis was expecting from the pilot of the Rhodes-Karpathos Skyvan materialized; it transpired that Jianni Lazarides's aircraft, piloted by a man in his employ, had taken off at 3:00 a.m. from the Karpathos airstrip, destination unknown, with Lazarides himself aboard - accompanied by a man and woman answering Sandra's and Ken Layard's descriptions!

Harry had steeled himself to expect something of the sort and wasn't so badly shocked, but he was puzzled. 'How do you mean, destination unknown? Wouldn't the aircraft require some sort of clearance? Didn't he log himself out, go through customs, or whatever they have to do?'

Manolis gave a snort. 'I say again, this is Greece. And Karpathos is a small island. The airport is ... a shack! It has only existed for a year or two, and wouldn't be there at all if not for the tourists. But, did you say customs? Hah! Someone to stamp your passport if you're a foreigner coming in, maybe, but not if you're Greek and going out! And at 3:00 in the morning - why, it amazes me that anyone has even bothered to remember the time so precisely!'

'Stymied,' said Darcy. 'He could have gone anywhere.'

Harry shook his head. 'No, I can find him. The problem is, it may not be so easy for me to go where he's gone. We'll jump that one when we reach it. Meanwhile, I have to speak to Armstrong.'

That caught both Manolis and Darcy off balance - for a moment. Darcy was the first to recover, for he'd seen the Necroscope at work before. 'You want us to take you to him?'

'Yes, and right now. Not that I think time is any longer of the essence, for I don't. Wheels have been set in motion and everything will eventually come to a head, I'm sure. But if all I had to do was sit twiddling my thumbs ... I think I'd go mad.'

Manolis had caught up. 'Are you saying you're going to speak to a dead man?'

Harry nodded. 'Yes, at the incinerator. That's where he is and where he'll always be, from now on.'

'And... and he'll talk to you?'

'It doesn't trouble the dead to talk to me,' said Harry. 'Armstrong's no longer in thrall to Janos. He might even be eager to square things. And later, tonight, then there's someone else I must try to reach.'

'Möbius?' Darcy wondered.

'The same,' Harry nodded. 'A vampire tangled my mind and took away my deadspeak, and it took another vampire to put the mess to rights. But the one who caused the damage was also a great mathematician: my son, who inherited his talents from me. And while he was in my mind he also closed certain doors, so that now I'm' innumerate. Well, if Faethor could do what he did, maybe Möbius can restore that other talent of mine. If so, then Janos gets a real run for his money.'

The incinerator was still working. A young Greek labourer on overtime shovelled timber waste into the red and yellow maw of a glaring, roaring beast, while overhead, smoke shot with dying sparks billowed blackly from a high chimney. Darcy and Manolis stood to one side watching the stoker at work, and Harry sat on a crate a little apart from them, his strange eyes staring and almost vacant. His mind, however, was anything but vacant, and the Necroscope's every instinct assured him that Seth Armstrong's spirit was here. Indeed, he could hear its moaning cries.

Armstrong, Harry said, but softly, you're out of it now. You've been released. Why all the sorrow?

The moaning and sobbing stopped at once, and in another moment: Harry Keogh? Armstrong's dead voice was full of astonishment and disbelief. You'd talk to me?

Oh, I've talked to a lot worse than you, Seth, Harry told him. And anyway, it's my guess you were just another victim, like so many others. I don't think you could help what you'd become.

I couldn't, oh I couldn't! the other answered, with obvious relief. For five and a half long years I was just a ...a fly in his web. He was my master; I was in thrall to him; nothing I did was of my own free will.

I know, Harry told him, but they like to pretend it is. I suppose that even knowing it's a lie, still it's the one salve to their conscience: that you are theirs of your own free will.

Conscience? Armstrong's spirit was bitter. Don't make me laugh, Harry. Creatures such as Janos Ferenczy never suffered such common complaints!

You're glad to be free of him, then? So why the remorse? You're as one with the teeming dead now. Which, as so many of them have told me, isn't as bad as you might think.

Oh? said Armstrong. And do you honestly believe the dead will wish anything to do with me?

Harry thought about it a moment, then said: Two of them, at least, that I can think of. And probably more. What of your parents, Seth?

He sensed the other's nod. Dead some time ago, yes. But... do you think...?

I think that when you've got yourself together, it might be a good idea to try and reach them, said Harry. As for the Great Majority: who can say? Maybe they won't come down on you as hard as you think. Certainly I can put in a good word for you.

And you'd do that?

Why don't you ask the dead about me, said Harry, when the time comes? I think they'll tell you I'm not such a bad sort. But until then there's a favour you could do for me.

Armstrong's thoughts turned bitter again. Nothing for nothing, eh? Even here.

No, you've got it all wrong, Seth, said Harry. Turn me down, it will make no difference. I'll still ask them to go easy on you. You're dead and burned away, and as all the rest of them know, you can't be any more punished than that.

What is it you want to know?

Janos has gone now, Harry told him, out of Rhodes, probably out of the islands. And he took the woman - I suppose you'd say my woman - with him. I want to know where he is.

She's the bait in his trap, I suppose you know that?

Oh, yes, I know. But I'd go after him anyway.

Then go to Romania.

Harry groaned. It was the worst possible scenario. I've just been to Romania, he said. It won't be so easy a second time.

Nevertheless, that's where he is. His castle in the mountain heights over Halmagiu. He said you were his only living enemy and the greatest possible enemy, and that when he met you it must be there, on his terms and in his territory. He read it that way, and that's how he'll play it. But Harry... I hope you didn't love that girl.

Don't! Harry gritted his teeth, shook his head, rejected the unthinkable pictures Armstrong's words had conjured. Instinctive reactions to something he'd hoped would not be mentioned. Don't tell me about that.

Armstrong was silent, but the Necroscope could sense his sympathy and even his ... remorse? And suddenly Harry knew. He'd suspected it might be so, but had tried to keep it out of his mind. Until now. It was you who took her for him, right?

Armstrong was sobbing again. It changes everything, doesn't it? he said. But it was a statement of fact, not a question. Yes, he got into her mind, and I took her to him.

Harry didn't rave, didn't curse, but simply stood up and walked away, with his head down.

Darcy and Manolis came after him, looked at him and at each other, and asked no questions. Behind them the incinerator's furnace hissed and roared, and a man sobbed rackingly, but only Harry Keogh could hear him.