Necroscope V Deadspawn - By Brian Lumley Page 0,22

Harry's humility? What on earth had got into him? Perhaps Möbius should let him continue to expound and then try to pick holes, bring him down a peg or two.

And time? And the multiverses?

But Harry had been ready for him: 'The space-time universe - which has the same size and age as any and all of the parallels - is cone-shaped, the point of the cone being the Big Bang/Primal Light where time began, and the base being its current boundary or diameter. Is that feasible, logical?'

Desperately seeking errors, still Möbius had been unable to discover them. Yes, he was obliged to answer, eventually. Feasible, logical, but not necessarily correct.

'Grant me feasible,' said Harry. 'And then tell me: what lies outside the cone?'

Nothing, since the universe is contained within it.

'Wrong! The parallels are cone-shaped, too, born at the same time and expanding from the same source!'

Möbius had pictured it. But... then each cone is in contact with a number of other cones. Is there evidence of this?

'Black holes,' said Harry at once, 'which juggle with matter and so perform a necessary balancing act. They suck matter out of universes which are too heavy, into universes which are too light. White holes are, of course, the other ends of the black holes. In space-time such holes are the lines of contact between cones, but in space they are simply - ' (a shrug,) ' - holes.'

Möbius was tired, but: Cones are circular in cross-section, he'd argued. Put three together and you get a triangular shape between them.

And Harry had nodded his agreement. 'Grey holes. There's one at the bottom of the Perchorsk ravine, and another up an underground river in Romania.'

And so he'd made his point and won his argument, if there had been one to win in the first place. For the fact was he'd only argued for the sake of it and neither knew nor cared if he was right or wrong.

But Möbius had cared, because he didn't know if Harry was right or wrong either...

Another time, the Necroscope had talked to Pythagoras. Again his principal reason for going to see him was to convey his thanks (the great Greek mystic and mathematician had been of some assistance in his quest for numeracy), but again the visit had ended in argument.

Harry had thought to find the Greek's grave at Metapontum, or if not there then at Crotona in southern Italy. But all he found was a follower or two until, by pure chance, he stumbled upon the forgotten, 2,480-year-old tomb of a member of the Pythagorean Brotherhood on the Island of Chios. There was no marker; it was a stony, ochre place where goats ate thistles not fifty yards from a rocky shore looking north on the Aegean.

Pythagoras? No, not here, that one informed, in a hushed and very secretive manner, when Harry's dead-speak broke into his centuried thoughts. He is elsewhere, waiting out his time.

'His time?'

Until his metempsychosis, into a living, breathing man!

'But do you converse? Are you able to contact him?'

He will occasionally contact us, when a thought has occurred to him.

'Us?'

The Brotherhood! But I have said too much. Begone. Leave me in peace.

'As you wish,' Harry had told him. 'But he won't thank you that you turned away the Necroscope.'

What? The Necroscope? (Astonishment, and awe.) You are that one, who taught the dead to speak out in their graves, so enabling them to talk to one another as in life?

'The same.'

And do you seek to learn from Pythagoras?

'I seek to instruct him.'

That is a blasphemy!

'Blasphemy?' Harry had raised an eyebrow. 'And is Pythagoras a god, then? If so, a painfully slow one! Consider this: I have already achieved my metempsychosis. Even now I embark upon a second phase, a new... condition.'

Your soul is in process of migration?

'I may say that a change is in the offing, certainly.'

And after a while: If I speak to our master Pythagoras on your behalf, and if you have lied to me, be sure he willdamn you with Numbers. Aye, and possibly me with you! No, I dare not. First prove yourself.

'Perhaps I can show you some numbers.' Harry had contained his impatience as best he could. 'As a member of the Brotherhood, I'm sure you will appreciate their importance.'

Do you seek to seduce me with your puny figures? What, the work of a mere lifetime? Are you suggesting that in the two thousand years and more which have passed since I was lain to rest here I've dreamed no numbers