Necroscope: Harry and the Pirates: and Other Tales from the Lost Years Read Free Page A

his guest more closely and biting his lip as his narrowed eyes swept the Necroscope up and down. And finally, shaking his head, he said, “Even now—I mean, you
know
what I mean—even now I’m not quite, not entirely—”
    “What, not sure, Jimmy?” Harry cut him short. “And is this the same bloke who stood beside me on the beach after I knocked that bully Stanley Green on his fat backside? Oh, you were sure enough then! There was a whole bunch of our classmates there. I had given Green a beating, then offered the same to anyone else who fancied it. I told them: ‘What I said to this shit goes for the rest of you.’ Something like that, anyway. Then I said: ‘Or should any
one
of you just happen to fancy his chances here and now . . . ?’ Which was when—”
    “—When I came to stand beside you,” Jimmy took over from him, “and said, ‘Or any
two
of you?’ There were no takers.
Huh!
They weren’t cowards, just a bunch of ordinary school-kids. And after they’d seen big bully Green knocked down in the dirt, his nose all wobbly, blubbing and grovelling, they were relieved it was over, that’s all. . . .”
    Harry nodded. “Yes, that’s exactly how it was. So then, is this me or isn’t it?”
    “Well, it better be,” the other grinned ruefully. “Especially since you’ve been sleeping in my spare bedroom for a week! But even so you tell a damn strange story. Like, you were working for the government on a secret job when you were caught in an explosion that wrecked your face, so they fixed you up with plastic surgery? I mean, how weird is that?”
    The Necroscope shrugged. He wasn’t much for lying—certainly not to a friend—but he knew that the truth was strangeryet. Jimmy
really
wouldn’t have been able to accept the truth, which would have thrown everything else into doubt, causing all sorts of complications. Harry might have had to find other lodgings, for one thing, or go back along the Möbius route to his place on the outskirts of Edinburgh every night, which wasn’t a good idea. He was actually enjoying his time away from that old house, in the company of one of his few
living
friends from his school days, and the trouble with indiscriminate and unnecessary use of the Möbius Continuum was that he might be observed stepping out of nowhere when he arrived back in Harden one morning. Life was difficult enough already, and Harry was an adherent of the creed that the easiest plan is usually the best.
    “I mean,” Jimmy went on in that questioning manner of his, “why couldn’t these secret government people fix you up with a younger face? Er, not that you’re ugly, you understand, but was that the best they could do for you?”
    Fortunately Harry had seen fit to devise an answer to that one in advance. “They couldn’t just pick and choose, Jimmy!” he said. “And neither could I. This is how it came out, and that’s it. And anyway, it serves a purpose: with these new looks I can go on working undercover, you know?”
    Jimmy scratched his head. “My old pal has become some kind of secret agent!” he said. “Harry Keogh, aka 008! So why aren’t you working ‘undercover’ right now—or are you? What, here in Harden? Hell no! No way! Impossible!—unless some crazed terrorist is building a nuclear device in one of Harden’s old mineshafts! Mind you, he’d have to be
really
crazy, because there’s not too much that’s worth blowing to smithereens around here!”
    “Ha! Ha!” said Harry, however humourlessly. “No, you know I’m looking for Brenda. See, I’m still a bit, er, shell-shocked after the explosion—just one of the hazards of being a field operative—and this is how I’m using some of my R and R time.” He tried not to look or feel too guilty, and knew that in fact he
wasn’t
guilty; for despite that he was lying now, it wasn’t long ago that the Necroscope
had
been involved—in his unique way, and however involuntarily—insome vastly important