she was the only one who ever 'felt' warm! Or maybe not so strange. She was his Ma, after al.
'So, that's it then,' he said after a while, and shrugged. 'Oh, there's other stuff, but maybe it wasn't such a good idea to tel you what was happening in the world after al. I mean, when you think about it, that meltdown at Three Mile Island is probably the least of our worries!'
And she was glad to change the subject, too. But if this ... 'meltdown?' is so dangerous, then why did they do it?
'What?' (Was her understanding that limited?) 'But it was an accident, Ma! They didn't do it on purpose!'
Oh! (She gave a litle laugh). Then I suppose it can't be helped, can it? But her laughter quickly died away, and it was time to be serious again.
So in fact nothing is very much different from what it always was: men go on making mistakes. And I don't suppose there's much help for that.
But now you've got to tell me what can be helped, Harry. Tell me how I can help. And more especially, how I can help you ...
So finaly the Necroscope's beloved mother, his frequently omniscient Ma (where he was concerned, anyway), had got to the point. She sensed it when his shoulders slumped a litle, just before he sighed and told her: 'I haven't found them yet, Ma - Brenda and my baby son. Oh, there are a milion places I've not even thought to look yet, I know, but that seems a milion too many to even know where to start!'
For a while she was silent, then quietly said, Do you want me to ask among the dead, Harry? I mean, do you think it's possible that...?
Harry scarcely dared question her on the subject, but knew he must. 'Surely not, Ma?' he said, almost pleadingly. 'If that was the case, wouldn't you have known by now? If they were ...?'
Not necessarily, son, she said. It depends where, and when. I mean, if it were you we'd know, be sure! And no matter where or when, for there's only one Necroscope ... well, two now. And we'd know it at once, if your light went out. But death is generally a common affair: someone is born, lives, and dies. Inevitably. Brenda is Brenda, just another ordinary person, another life. And if she were to die in some far place, well that could take some little time to get back to me.
'And your grandson, Harry Jr? Is he just another "ordinary" person? I don't think so - and not just because he's your grandson. He knows about you! You know about him! Wouldn't the Great Majority know it if his light was extinguished, too?'
But you have been with us for some time, Harry, she reminded him. And the Great Majority didn't know about you, either, at first. Why, they didn't even know about each other until you came on the scene! Oh, I knew you were different, but then I was your mother! But believe me, it took quite a while to convince the rest. Finally, they believed; how could it be otherwise? They felt your warmth as you passed close by; they heard your dreaming, and sensed you trembling when you were afraid. In those days of your childhood, they sprang to champion you. Little did they know that one day you would be the champion of the dead!
'You mean, they don't know him yet? He hasn't been around long enough? But in Hartlepool that time - what, a year and half ago? - they even came up out of their graves for him!'
For both of you, Harry. Oh, Harry Jr caled them up, but who did they come to save?
'Isn't he ... warm, then? Like me?'
He's warm, yes. And the dead feel him like a small, kindly flame. But he isn't the light in their darkness, like you. One day, maybe, but not yet.
'You won't know it, then, if he dies . . .' It wasn't a question but a statement. And in a way Harry was glad. He wouldn't want to be appraised of his son's death, nor of Brenda's, ever. Neither by the living nor the dead.
I would know it... sooner or later, his mother told him. But right now, I can promise you this much at least: nothing of that nature has reached me yet. To my knowledge, they are still among the living.
Harry breathed a sigh of relief. If his