Three days later....287Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡrDmVFQKRVD
Roman Demochev, Makar Alexeyeva and Agnes Daschner stood on the scarred rim of the gorge in the Carpathians and gazed gloomily on a great mound of scree and rubble, where only the stumps of the ancient castle's massive outer walls protruded. The scene was desolate as only these mountains can be, with jagged crests and peaks all around, an eerie wind moaning up off the plain, and birds of prey circling slowly in a sky ribboned with cloud. It was evening, and the light was beginning to fade, but Demochev had insisted upon seeing the site. There was nothing they could do tonight, but at least it would give him an idea of what must be done tomorrow.
Demochev was here because Leonid Brezhnev had given him one week to come up with the answer---one all inclusive answer----to the destruction of the Castillo Mikhailov; because Yuri Andropov also needed answers; Agnes in order that Demochev could keep an eye on her. She said she had lost her talent on the night of the as yet unexplained inferno---and worse, that all memory of what she'd learned from Harry Moradian had also been burned out of her----but Demochev thought otherwise. In which case he couldn't be sure that if she were left on her own in Moscow she'd keep her mouth shut.
But most importantly, and if she were lying, she was here because she was the world's foremost close-range telepath. If danger threatened from any source, Agnes Daschner would probably know it first; and so her actions would be Demochev's indicator that all was well---or otherwise. After what had happened at the Castillo one must look to one's personal safety, and a mind such as Agnes's could well be of the utmost importance.
"Nothing," she said now, frowning at the gray ruins, her forehead furrowed. "Nothing at all. But even if there were something here I couldn't read it. Not now. I've told you, Roman, my talent has been destroyed. It burned up in that great bonfire and now---I can't even remember what it was like."
She told a part-truth: her talent was intact, all right---she knew that from the seething cauldron of Demochev's mind, and the cesspool of Alexeyeva's---but she really couldn't detect anything else. Only someone like the Mollyscope can talk to the dead or hear them speaking to each other.
"Nothing!" Demochev repeated her, his voice rasping. He kicked at the dirt and sent some pebbles flying. "Then it's a black day for us."
"For you, Comrade, maybe," said Alexeyeva, turning up the collar of his coat. "But you're up against the Party Leader, who happens to have lost a lot. Andropov may not have gained anything, but he certainly hasn't lost much. Not that he'll notice, anyway. And there's no point in him taking it out of my hide. As for E-Branch; he's waged war with you espers for years, and now you're through. No skin off his nose. He won't agonize over it, believe me."
Demochev turned on him. "You fool! So you'll return to simple thuggery, will you? And how far will that get you? You could have gone up in the world, Makar, with me. Right to the top. But now?"
At the back of the ruins in the heaped shale and fallen scree, something stirred. The rubble formed a little mound, cracked open, and foul gasses filtered up into the evening air. A bloodied hand, that of a corpse, scrabbled for a moment until it found purchase in the rocks. The two men and the girl heard nothing.
Alexeyeva scowled at the smaller man. "Comrade, I'm not sure I want to go anywhere with you," he said. "I prefer the company of men---and sometimes women." He glanced at Agens Daschner and licked his lips. "But I warn you, be careful of who you're calling a fool. Head of E-Branch? You're head of nothing now. Just another citizen, and a poor specimen at that."
"Idiot!" Demochev muttered, turning away from Alexeyeva. "Dolt! Why, if you'd been at the Castillo that night I'd suspect you of being involved in that mess, too! You're too bloody good at blowing things up, Makar!"
Alexeyeva caught his slender arm, turned him about. Demochev's talent was alerted---but so far the KGB man intended no real harm. "Listen, you spindly thing," Alexeyeva spat the words out. "You think you're so high and mighty, but you forget that I've still got enough on you to put you away for the rest of your days!"
Back in the ruins, his movements covered by their arguing, Immanuil Vorobyov got to his knees and then dragged himself to his feet. He'd lost an arm and a shoulder and most of his face, but the rest of him still worked. He shuffled awkwardly into the shadow of the cliff, drew closer to the three live ones.287Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡ1kDDnJ6JlQ
"But it's mutual, Makar, it's mutual!" Demochev mocked the KGB agent. "And it's not only you I can damage but your boss, too. How would Andropov fare if I let it out that he'd been trying to interfere with branch work again? And how would you fare after that? Overseer in a salt mine, that's where you'd be, Makar!"
"You runt!" Alexeyeva swelled up huge. He raised his fist---and a strange expectant something filled the air. However blunt his senses, Alexeyeva felt it too. "Why, I could...."
Demochev faced him squarely. "But that's just the point, Makar. You couldn't1 Neither you nor any other man. Try it and see for yourself. It's waiting for you to try, Makar. Go on, strike me if you dare. You'll be lucky if you merely miss, fall over in the stones and break your arm. But if you're not lucky this wall could fall on you and crush you. Your superior physical strength? Bah! I----" He paused and the sneer dropped from his face. "What the hell was that?!"
Alexeyeva lowered his threatening hand and listened. Nothing. Just the keening of the wind. "I didn't hear anything," he said.
"I did," said Agnes Daschner, shivering. "Rocks falling into the gorge. Come on, let's get out of here. The shadows are lengthening, and that ledge back there was bad enough in full daylight. Why are you arguing, anyway? What's done is done."
"Shhhh!" said Alexeyeva, his eyes widening. He leaned forward, pointing. "Now I hear it---from over there. Sliding shale, maybe..."
At the gorge's rim, back along the track and hidden by the undergrowth, blunt gray fingers came up from the depths.Eldar Polyakov's shattered head came up slowly and stiffly; then a shoulder, and an arm thrown forward to take the strain and give him leverage. Silent as a shadow now, he drew himself up onto firm, flat ground.
"The temperature is dropping fast," said Demochev with a shudder, maybe feeling the chill. "I've had enough for tonight. Tomorrow we'll take another look, and if it's quite hopeless we can decide what to do then." Wheezing with the effort and gritting his little teeth, he started back down the trail. "But this is all a great pity. I had hoped to salvage something, if only a little face...."
Alexeyeva grinned after him, calling out: "We're pretty close to the border, Comrade. Have you ever thought of defecting?" When Demochev failed to answer, he muttered. "Shriveled little shit!" Then he put his hand on Agnes's shoulder and she felt his fingers bite. "Well, Agens, shall we join him, or maybe we'll hang back a little and do some stargazing, eh?"
She looked up at him first in astonishment, then outrage. "My God!" she said. "I'd prefer the company of pigs!"
Before he could reply she'd turned away. She started after Demochev---then jerked to a halt, freezing in her tracks. Someone was coming up the trail towards them, closing on Demochev. And even in the failing light it was obvious that the someone was a dead man. Lord God---he had only half a head!
Alexeyeva saw him, too, and knew him. He recognized his fouled clothing, the damage a snub-nosed bullet had done to his head. "Mother!" he gulped. "Oh, mother!"
Agnes screamed, then screamed again as a huge bloody hand passed over her shoulder, grabbed Makar Alexeyeva by the collar and spun him around. Alexeyeva's eyes stood out in his face. Behind the girl he saw a second corpse, Immanuil Vorobyov. And, God---Vorobyov had taken hold of him with his one remaining arm!
Like a startled cat, Agnes bounded out from between them, feeling after Demochev. She didn't hear the mental voices of the dead, saying:
Oh, yes, these are the ones, Molly! But she did hear her/his answer:
Then I can't stop you taking your revenge. And she knew who was speaking, and guessed who s/he was speaking to.
"Molly Stewart!" she screamed, flinging herself breakneck down the track. "God, oh, God, you're worse than all of us together!"
Until a moment ago Molly had been beyond Agnes's reach both mental and physical, hidden in the metaphysical Mobius continuum. Now s/he stepped out of the shadows directly in her path, so that she flew gasping into her/his arms. For a moment she thought s/he was another dead man and pounded at her/his chest; but then she felt her/his warmth, the beat of her/his heart against her breast, and heard her/his voice. "Easy, Agnes, easy."
Wild-eyed, she pulled back from her/him. He held her arms. "Easy, I said. If you go running like that you'll hurt yourself."
"You---you're commanding them!" she accused.
S/he shook her/his head in denial. "No, I only called them up. I'm not calling the shots. What they do is for themselves."
"What they do?" Breathlessly she looked back towards the ruined castle, where mad, frenzied shadows fought and tore. She glanced down the track: Demochev had somehow avoided Polaykov's lunges (his talent, of course), but the dead man was limping after him. Winds tugged at Polyakov, threatening to blow him back into the gorge, and thorns tore at his legs trying to trip him....but still he pursued.
"Nothing can hurt that one," Agnes gasped. "Living or dead, men are only men. They can't touch him.287Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡzeGiEex1SU
"But he can be hurt," said Molly/Harry. "He can be frightened, too, made incautious. And it's getting dark; the ledge back there is narrow and dangerous; there can easily be an accident. That's what my friends are hoping, that there'll be an accident."287Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡ0KkhQ2tLXo
"Your---friends!" Hysteria lifted her voice.287Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡbOFjrAu9my
Gunshots sounded from the ruins, and Alexeyeva's hoarse screaming. He wasn't just shouting but screaming, like a terrified animal, for he'd just discovered that you can't kill the dead. Molly/Harry covered Agnes's ears, drew her head to his shoulder, her face buried in her/his neck. S/he didn't want her to see or hear. S/he didn't want to see or hear, and so stared out over the gorge instead.287Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡW4MOLuatDD
Weaker than he'd ever been before in his life, weak with terror, Makar Alexeyeva was being dragged towards the rim of the almost sheer drop. Immanuil Vorobyov, on the other hand, was as strong as he'd ever been in life, and he no longer felt pain. With his one good arm around Alexeyeva's neck, the huge ganger had him in a necklock which he wouldn't release until the man was dead. And now they were almost there, battling ferociously on the very edge of the gorge. Which was when Alik Morozov and Alex Picardi showed up.287Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡCtIbt7vNFm
Blown to pieces, the two hadn't been able to do much until now; but finally Picardi's arms---only his arms---had dragged themselves up from below, and Alik's upper torso, limbless, had wriggled its way out of the castle's debris. As the arms of Picardi came up over the rim and grabbed Alexeyeva, and as Alik's severed, sluglike cadaver wriggled into view and began to bite at him, so he gave up. He drew air for one final scream, filled his lungs to brimming---and the scream just died on his lips, the merest gurgle of sound. Then he shut his eyes and sighed, and all of the air whooshed out of him.287Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡqXvUbs1jH0
But they made sure anyway, and with one final effort dragged him over the edge into space. His body pinwheeled down the face of the cliff, bounding from one projection to the next, all the way to the bottom.
Molly/Harry uncovered Agnes's head, said, "He's finished----Alexeyeva, I mean."
"I know," she answered with a half-sob. "I read it in your mind. And Molly, it's cold in there...."
S/he gave a grim nod.
Moollllly? A distant voice came to her/him as s/he released her----one that only s/he and the dead could hear---one s/he knew and had thought never to hear again. Do you hear me, Moooolllllyy?"
I hear you, Thrulk of the Wamphyri, s/he answered. What is it you want.
Noooooo----it's what you want, Moooolllyyy. You want Roman Demochev dead. Well, now I give you his life.
Molly/Harry was puzzled. I haven't asked any favors of you, not this time.
But they did, Thrulk's voice was a grim chuckle. The dead!
Now Alik Morozov spoke up from the bottom of the gorge. I asked him to help, Molly. I knew you couldn't kill Demochev, no more than we can. Not directly. But intdirectly….?
I don't understand. Molly/Harry shook his head.
Then look up at the ridge there, over the ledge, said Thrulk.
Molly/Harry looked. Silhouetted against the dying day, a straggling line of scarecrow figures stood silent on the high, precarious ridge. They were fretted, skeletal, crumbling----but they stood there and awaited the old Benedekzig's command. My ever faithful, my Szgany! said Thrulk, that once-mightiest of all the Wamphyri. They have been coming here for centuries---coming here, waiting for me, dying and being buried here---but I never returned. Over them, whose blood is my blood, my power is as great as yours is over the commoner dead, Molly Stewart. And so I have summoned them.
But why? Molly/Harry demanded. You owe me nothing now, Thrulk.
I loved these lands, the vampire answered. Perhaps you cannot understand that, but if I ever loved it was this land, this place. Thago could tell you how much I loved it....
Now Molly/Harry understood. Demochev---invaded your territory!
The vampire's growl was deep and merciless. He sent a man here who was responsible for reducing my house to dust! My last vestige on earth! And now there is nothing to show that I ever existed at all! How then shall I reward him? Ahhh! But how did I reward Thago?
Molly/Harry saw what was coming. You buried Thago, he answered.
So be it! cried Thrulk. And he gave the Szgany on the ridge his last command---that they throw themselves down!
Halfway along the ledge, Roman Demochev heard the clattering of ancient, leather-clad bones and fearfully looked up. Down from that high place they fell, breaking up as they came; skulls and scraps of bone and flaps of fretted flesh, a rain of dead things that might drown him in mummied remains.
"You can't hurt me!" Demochev gibbered, covering his wrinkled head as the first gruesome fragments thudded down onto the ledge. "Not even dead mean----can---hurt me?"
But it wasn't their intention to hurt him; they didn't even know he was there; they'd simply obeyed Thrulk and hurled themselves down. And after that it was out of their hands, those of them who had hands. The clattering cascade continued, echoing loudly; and over and above the pelting of grisly bones, now there swelled a new sound: a terrible grumbling and groaning, but in no way the groaning of the dead. They were the groans of river rock, of sliding shale and scree and accumulated debris. Avalanche!
And even as that fact dawned on Demochev, so the face of the cliff fell on him and he was swept away!
Long after the dust had settled and the last rumbling echo faded away, Molly Stewart/Harry Moradian stood with Agnes and watched the rim of the moon come up over the mountains. "It will light your way," he told her. "Take care, Agnes."
She was still in her/his arms, had needed to be there else she might have fallen. Now she struggled free, wordlessly left her/him and headed for the scree-buried ledge. At first she stumbled, then righted herself and went with more certainty and resolve. She would pick her way over the fallen cliff to the bottom of the gorge, then follow the stream down to the new road.
"Take care," Molly/Harry called after her again. "And Agnes, don't ever come up against me or mine again."
She made no answer, looked straight ahead. But to herself: Oh no, I'll not do that. No one is any match for the Mollyscope!
THE END
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