Necropolis

was Professor Chambers, even without turning round. The smell of her cigar had given her away and, sure enough, there it was. She was clutching it in one hand with a glass of Peruvian brandy in the other.
    "Are you two going in?" she asked. "I'm putting on the alarms."

    The house was completely surrounded by a security system that had been installed shortly after Richard, Pedro, and Matt had arrived. There were no fences or uniformed guards — the professor had said she couldn't live like that. The system was invisible. But there was a series of infrared beams at the perimeter, and the garden itself had pressure pads concealed in different places under the lawn. Most sophisticated of all was the radar dish mounted on the roof, sweeping the entire area. It could pick up any movement a hundred yards away. That was how they had been living. It might look as if they were free, but they had all been aware that they were actually in a state of siege.
    "We were just talking about tomorrow," Richard said.
    "It'll be here soon." Chambers blew smoke. "It's after ten. Shouldn't you be in bed?"
    Richard tapped Matt on the shoulder. "After you."
    The three of them went inside. Matt said good night to Richard and climbed the stairs to the small room he had chosen at the back of the house. He liked it there. When he was lying in bed, his head was directly underneath a slanting roof with a skylight so, lying on his back, he could look up at the stars.
    His small canvas bag was already packed and sitting on the floor. He wasn't taking much with him. If he needed anything in London, he could always buy it there.
    Matt undressed quickly, washed, and slipped between the sheets. For the last few months, he had been searching for Scar in the only way that he could — in his dreams. Time and again he had visited the dreamworld. He had been there so often that he knew the landscape well: the shoreline stretching along a great sea with everything dead and gray, the island where he had once found himself trapped.
    The dreamworld baffled him. Was it a dream or was it a real world? That was the first question. And was it there to help him or to throw him off balance? On the one hand, it was a frightening place, conjuring up strange, violent images that he couldn't understand: giant swans, walking statues, guns, and knives. But at the same time, Matt didn't think he was in any danger there. The more he visited it, the more he felt it was on his side. He wondered if anyone actually lived there — or was it simply there for the Gatekeepers, its only inhabitants?
    At any event, he had gone back there almost every night, floating out of the bed, out of the room, out of himself. Then he had begun to travel, searching for Scar. Sometimes he would see a flicker of lightning, an approaching storm. Once, he found footprints. Another time he came upon a grove of trees, which at least proved that the place wasn't entirely dead, that things could grow there.
    But there had never been any sign of Scar.
    There was no point in searching for her tonight. In just twenty-four hours he would be meeting her anyway. But even so — maybe it was just habit — he found himself back in the dreamworld almost at once. As usual, he was on his own. He was climbing a steep hill, but it took no more effort than if he had been walking on level ground. Far behind him, the wilderness stretched out, wide and empty.
    And then he noticed something strange. The ground underneath his feet had changed. He knelt down and examined it, brushing aside the dust that covered everything. It was true. He was standing on a path fashioned out of paving stones that had been brought here and laid in place. He could see the joins, the cement gluing everything together. Even though he was asleep, Matt felt a surge of excitement. A man-made path! This was completely new and confirmed what he had always thought: The dreamworld was inhabited. There might be buildings, even whole cities there.
    He looked up. The path had to lead somewhere. There could be something on the other side of the hill.
    But he wasn't going to find out — not then. Suddenly he was awake. Someone was shaking him, calling his name. The lights were on in his room. He opened his eyes. It was Richard.
    "Wake up, Matt," he was saying. "There's someone here."
    EIGHT
    The Man from Lima
    Matt heaved himself out of bed, threw on some shorts and a T-shirt, and ran downstairs barefoot. The whole house was awake. There were lights on