‘Good question. Not sitting on a cloud playing a harp, that’s for sure.’
After a minute, Henry realised that was the only answer he was going to get and said, ‘No, I mean – ’ He stopped himself. He knew he was falling into one of his famous waffles and that was really, really stupid. If he was talking to Mr Fogarty, if he was talking to somebody who had died and was still dead and was somehow talking back, then he was in a position to find out stuff, important stuff, nobody in the whole world knew about. It was incredible, but it was happening. He started again, his voice firmer this time. ‘Can you remember exactly what happened when… when it happened? When you – ’ he coughed discreetly ’ – passed on.’
‘Of course I can,’ said Mr Fogarty. ‘I’m dead, not senile.’
‘Will you tell me?’
‘Look, Henry, there are other things I need to talk to you about right n-’
For once in his life, Henry found the courage to interrupt him. ‘Please,’ he said. ‘This is really important.’ On inspiration he added, ‘It might, you know, help us sort of… communicate properly. Better. Or something.’
It sounded fairly feeble, but it seemed to touch a chord. Mr Fogarty said, ‘Okay. We have time. It was like this: I woke up in the bed -’
‘So you didn’t actually have fever? You weren’t in a coma or anything?’
‘No, I was awake.’
‘And no fever?’
‘Look here,’ said Mr Fogarty, ‘if you’re going to keep interrupting me -’
‘Sorry. Sorry. No, please, go on.’
Mr Fogarty sighed, ‘I woke up in the bed and everything was fine for a couple of minutes, but then I had the odd sensation of being under water. I -’
‘This wasn’t a relapse, was it?’
‘No, nothing to do with the fever. Nothing like the fever. Why do you keep asking about the bloody fever? I -’
‘Are you sure?’
‘Oh, for Christ’s sake, Henry!’
‘Sorry. Sorry. Go on. I won’t – I won’t say -’
‘It was more of a sinking feeling. I was weak, but that was no surprise. You ever get the fever you’ll know it weakens you. But this was different. It felt as if my body was shrivelling. I’ve never had that sensation before. Then my eyesight got blurred: that’s when it felt like being under water.’ To Henry’s surprise he hesitated, then said, ‘Sorry I snapped at you. It’s only natural you’re curious. You can ask questions if you like.’
Henry blinked. Death seemed to have mellowed Mr Fogarty a bit, but probably best not to say so. He opened his mouth to ask a question, then discovered he didn’t have one. So all he said was, ‘Thank you. Yes, thank you. Yes, I will.’
Mr Fogarty said, ‘Everything started to go numb. Can’t say I liked that much, but to be honest with you I didn’t realise I was dying. But then I got cold and the room started to fade away. I couldn’t hear the noises outside any more. That’s when I knew I was in trouble, but – know something? – I didn’t really care. Some reason, nothing seemed to matter. After that. I couldn’t be bothered to breathe any more and I felt my heart stop.’
‘Wow!’ Henry exclaimed.
‘Didn’t matter,’ said Mr Fogarty and Henry could almost hear him shrug. ‘Strange that. You spend your whole life trying to keep going, and in the end it doesn’t matter.’ He paused thoughtfully for a moment, then went on. ‘Odd thing was, I was still there. Couldn’t see the room and I know I wasn’t thinking straight, but I was still me. Surrounded by a sort of… luminous darkness, I suppose you’d call it. All a bit drifty-dreamy. Then I passed out.’
He said it with such finality that Henry said tactlessly, ‘You were dead.’
‘Interesting thing was I didn’t stay dead,’ Mr Fogarty told him.
‘You didn’t?’
‘No. I was only out for a few seconds, felt like. Then I was in the dark, like I was half asleep with my eyes shut. Then it all started to lighten up and I was back in my hospital room at the Palace.’
Henry had stopped following this. ‘So you weren’t really dead?’
‘Oh, I was really dead all right, except I didn’t know it. Felt better than I had in years. All the arthritis gone, eyesight sharper, lot more energy. There were healers coming in and out – you know how the buggers hate to leave you alone – but when I tried to tell them I was better they ignored me. Took me a while to figure out what was going on, but when I walked through a wall, the penny dropped. I was a ghost. Funny thing was, I never noticed the old body on the bed before then. But there it was, eyes closed, pious expression, gone-to-meet-my-Maker look and far too pale to be healthy. I was really dead all right.’
‘So that’s what you are now?’ Henry asked. ‘A ghost?’ He wondered how Mr Fogarty’s ghost had found its way here, got itself into a Luchti ark. He wondered how Mr Fogarty was able to talk now when he couldn’t talk to the healers in the bedroom.
‘Not exactly,’ Mr Fogarty said. ‘This is hard to explain: I’m not sure you’ll get it until you’ve been through it yourself. The thing is
… know how you go to sleep every night and dream?’
‘Yes…’ Henry said uncertainly.
‘After you’re dead, you dream while you’re awake.’
Mr Fogarty was right: Henry didn’t get it. ‘You mean you went to sleep?’
‘Listen to what I just told you,’ Mr Fogarty said with more than a hint of his old irritation. ‘You don’t go to sleep. But you dream while you’re awake. I even had a visit from Beleth, thought That’s it – I should never have robbed those banks.’ He gave a short, sharp laugh.
‘Beleth?’ Henry asked. ‘The Demon King? You mean there’s, like, a Hell?’
‘You know there’s a Hell,’ Mr Fogarty said impatiently. ‘You were the one got Pyrgus out of it. But you don’t go there after you die: that’s just something they make up to scare you.’
‘But you just said Beleth…’
Mr Fogarty sighed, ‘I just said Beleth came to visit. Made sense. After all, he was dead too after Blue slit his throat. But it wasn’t Beleth. I was dreaming. I dreamed Beleth turned up. The trouble is, it’s very hard to tell when you’re dreaming and when you’re not. Dreams feel real and reality feels peculiar. Took me a long time to figure out what was going on. But then Jesus arrived to take me to heaven and I thought Hold on, this isn’t right, not after everything you’ve done. So I figured I had to be dreaming. After that I watched what was happening more carefully and got to where I could tell when I was dreaming and when I wasn’t. At least most of the time. Sometimes I’m not sure – like now.’
‘You’re not dreaming now,’ Henry said at once.
‘No, I don’t think I am.’
Henry suddenly became aware of a hand on his elbow. He glanced up to find himself looking into the sober face of Euphrosyne. ‘There is not much time left, En Ri,’ she said.
‘She’s right,’ Mr Fogarty said. ‘That device you’re using is really interesting – hugely advanced psychotronics: God knows how these people got hold of it – but it runs on some sort of pulse battery I haven’t quite figured out yet. I think it may be linked to the position of the sun. Anyway, the point is we won’t be communicating much longer and there are things I have to tell you.’
‘Yes, okay,’ Henry said. For no reason at all, he found himself wondering why the Luchti thought Mr Fogarty was the god Charaxes. And what they’d done for a god before Mr Fogarty died. Come to think of it, that didn’t make sense. The first Euphrosyne was talking to Charaxes long before Mr Fogarty was even born.
‘Okay, Henry, pin back your ears,’ said Mr Fogarty briskly. ‘And if we get cut off, have them work the gizmo again the minute it comes back on – okay?’
‘Yes, okay,’ Henry said again. Now he was starting to feel nervous, but this time he knew the reason. When Mr Fogarty used that tone, it always meant trouble usually for Henry.