to be just about the safest man I know - or knew. But quite apart from Darcy's talent, he was also a good friend. And better to have him as a friend than a foe, Harry, what with that guardian angel of his and all! You certainly wouldn't want to go up against him in a duel, now would you? So if Darcy wants to keep his eye on you, don't complain about it.
I'll try to remember that, Harry told him. But that's not what I meant. I wasn't talking about Darcy.
No, of course you weren't. But I thought it worth mentioning, thafsall. I'm just so glad to see that you're still with E-Branch. He fel silent for a moment, muling the real question over in his incorporeal mind. Then:
I think ... (Sir Keenan's disembodied voice was much more sober, thoughtful now), that I would probably try to fight fire with fire. For talking to you about Darcy and the Branch brings back to mind some of the amazing talents you have at your command. Quite literally, yours to command. If you so desire them.
Oh? Harry waited. And shortly:
Your quarry appears to be some kind oftelepath, which so far has given him an advantage. But you ham al the fuly developed talents of E-Branch. So why not give him a taste of his own medicine, Harry? From what I know of you, thafs your way, isn't it? An eye for an eye, and al that?
Harry was interested. I should use an E-Branch telepath?
Now that you know what you're up against? You'd be a fool not to! And Sir Keenan explained what he meant.
Harry thought about it a while and said, Maybe, if that's what it comes down to. But right now I have to be saying goodbye. For shortly I'll be speaking to Derek Stevens, the second of this lunatic's three policemen victims.
But Keenan Gormley had already drawn back; Harry felt him shrinking away, as from a scowl or a slap. And he felt obliged to ask: Is there something I should know?
He sensed the other's nod and eventually, hesitantly, his answer: Sometimes ... some people ... just aren't ready for it, Harry. Some people don't get used to death so readily. And some ... well, they don't get used to it at all, ever. When I found out you'd be handling this, I tried speaking to Stevens myself, just as I've spoken to others of the victims: in order to save a little time, you know? (Harry sensed his sigh). I'm sorry, my boy, but. . . Derek Stevens hasn't got used to it yet.
Harry felt Darcy Clarke's elbow giving him a gentle nudge. Looking up, he saw that the car was at a standstill outside the Muswell Hill cemetery. And since they were here, it seemed only right that he should give it a try.
Well, if you must, I suppose you must, Sir Keenan Gormley told him, his ghostly echo of a voice fading to a distant whisper in the Necroscope's metaphysical mind. But better you than me, Harry. Far better you than me ...
From this side of Muswell Hill, the fact that the district was elevated was obvious. Southwards, the nighted streets of London sprawled like some giant, shimmering cobweb woven on the curve of the world. It had done raining for now, but in Harry Keogh's fertile imagination the cold glitter of distant street lamps in the moisture-laden air was the reflection of a myriad jewels of dew on the blacktop strands of the great web. And the vehicles crawling on the roads were Mama Spider's children, learning the skills of the silken tightrope.
But evocative though the vista was, it wasn't the Necroscope's reason for being here. As he penetrated the graveyard, the concerned, concerted, ever-burgeoning clamour of incorporeal voices sounding in his metaphysical mind brought him back down to earth - and below it -in a moment. Their concerned clamour, yes.
Ful of concern, for Stevens. They weren't talking to Harry (not yet, for they didn't know he was here), but to each other, and to Stevens. Trying to talk to him, anyway.
Discovering the dead man's plot wasn't difficult: it lay dead centre of the physicaly silent but psychicaly noisy babble which, as Harry approached, grew louder by the moment. The brand-new marker, clean gravel chips and fresh flowers provided al the corroboration he needed. These things and Stevens's name, his dates, and his epitaph, of course:
A Man of Law & Order,
- a Fighter to