4
SECRETS
Edward Bowman sat back in the chair by his bed and looked round the room Gaunt had given him. It was a comfortable enough room, all told, but the color scheme was a dark, disturbing shade of mauve. It looked like the room had died. Bowman wondered vaguely why the sorcerer should have chosen such an unrelentingly repulsive décor. The man usually showed such excellent taste. On the other hand, Gaunt hardly ever used these rooms. Maybe he’d inherited the décor from the old days, when the house still belonged to the DeFerrier family. Now that was a definite possibility. The DeFerriers had always been ... strange. Bowman looked again at the clock on the mantelpiece. The clock had a loud aggressive tick, but its hands seemed to crawl round the dial. Bowman stirred impatiently in his chair. He’d wait another three quarters of an hour, to be sure everyone was asleep, and then, finally, he could go and see Katherine.
He frowned thoughtfully. Katherine had taken the death of her husband pretty badly. He’d known she was still fond of William, even though their marriage had fallen apart, but he’d still been surprised at how upset she’d been.... He wondered if she’d have taken the news of his death as badly. Bowman shook his head irritably. He hadn’t been jealous of William when he was alive, and he wasn’t going to start now the man was dead. Katherine was his, just as she’d always been his. He’d go and see her in a while, and hold her in his arms, and everything would be fine again. Another three quarters of an hour ... He’d have to be careful, though, or Hawk and Fisher might hear him. And that might prove rather embarrassing.
Hawk and Fisher ... Bowman’s mouth tightened. They were going to be a nuisance; he could tell. Damn their impertinence! Of all the Guards Dorimant could have chosen as William’s bodyguards, he had to pick those two—the only really honest Guards in the city. Anyone else would have had enough sense to ask a few polite questions, and then step aside and let their superiors take over—men who understood the political considerations. But not these two. They didn’t seem to care how much dirt they stirred up, or who got hurt in the process. All right, finding William’s killer was important, but the cause for which William had stood was more important. A scandal now could set Reform back a dozen years.
Bowman scowled thoughtfully. Maybe he shouldn’t have tried to chat up Captain Fisher after all. It had seemed like a good deal at the time. It would draw attention away from him and Katherine, and besides, he’d always had a thing about tall blondes.... But now he was a murder suspect, and one of the investigating officers had a grudge against him. Great. Just what he needed.
His scowl deepened as he tried to think which ranking officers in the Guard owed him a favor or two. There had to be someone; there was always someone. He finally shook his head and gave up. It was late and he was tired; he couldn’t even think straight anymore. Besides pulling strings was the last resort. It might not even come to that. As long as he and Katherine kept their mouths shut and brazened it out, no one could prove anything. Let people think what they liked; without proof they wouldn’t dare say anything.
Bowman looked at the clock again. He’d better not stay long with Katherine tonight. He’d have to get some sleep if he was to get any work done tomorrow. And there was a hell of a lot to be done. With William dead, Reform could lose the whole Heights area if someone didn’t step into the breach pretty damned quick. Tobias had never made any bones about wanting his old seat on the Council back, and with William’s last bill still hanging in the balance ... There were a great many pressure groups with an interest in that bill, and together they could make or break the man who took over from William. Bowman shook his head angrily. Whatever else happened, Tobias had to be kept out of the Council. All on his own that scheming hypocritical crook could undo everything Reform had achieved so far. Someone would have to stand against him at the next election. And who better than William Blackstone’s loyal and faithful right-hand man?
But he couldn’t just stand up and announce his candidacy. That would look bad, so soon after William’s death. No, he’d need someone else, to suggest him. Someone like Katherine, perhaps. Only that might look bad, too.... He smiled, and shook his head. There had to be a way. There was always a way, if you looked hard enough.
He leaned back in his chair, and carefully didn’t look at the clock again. He could be patient, when he had to. He’d learned a lot about patience during his long years as William’s right-hand man. Bowman frowned thoughtfully. It was going to feel strange, working without William. They’d been partners for so long ... but now, finally, he had his own chance to be the front-runner, and that felt very good. It was a shame about William’s death, but then, life goes on.... He thought about Katherine, waiting for him to come to her, and smiled.
Life goes on.
Adam Stalker slowly pulled off his shirt and dropped it on the chair by his bed. He was tired, and his back ached unmercifully. He sat on the edge of the bed, and felt it give perceptibly under his weight. Damn thing was too soft for his liking. He preferred a hard support for his back. The room was hot and muggy with the shutters closed, but he knew better than to try and open them. Gaunt would have fixed them not to open. The sorcerer worried about assassins. Stalker stretched slowly and looked down at himself. His frame was still muscular, his stomach still flat and hard, but the scars depressed him. The thin white lines sprawled across his chest and gut, digging pale furrows in his tan, crossing and recrossing, and finally spilling down his arms. There were more on his back. Stalker hated them. Each and every one was a constant reminder of how close he’d come to dying. Each scar was a wound that might have killed him if he’d been a little slower or a little less lucky. Stalker hated reminders of his own mortality.
He looked round the room Gaunt had given him. Not bad. The dull red color scheme looked grim and disturbing in the light from the single candle, but he didn’t mind. He’d known worse in his time, in his travels. He lay back on his bed and stretched out, without bothering to remove his trousers or his boots. It wouldn’t be the first time he’d slept in his clothes; he’d done it often enough in the past, out in the wilds. And he was tired. Very tired. It had been a long hard day.... He stared drowsily at the ceiling, letting his mind drift where it would. Hawk and Fisher ... the Guards. A good team. They worked well together, and from what he’d heard, they’d done a good job on the Chandler Lane vampire. He sighed wistfully. Staking vampires ... that was real work for a man. Not like all this standing around at political meetings he’d had to get used to. Politics ... He’d rather face a vampire than another committee. Maybe he should take a break for a while; get out of the city and back into the open lands, into the wilder areas where he belonged.
Stalker frowned, and grimaced resignedly. No, that was a younger man talking. Those days were over for him. Sleeping in the rough would play hell with his back, even in this weather. Besides, he had a real chance of taking William’s place as the official Reform candidate at the next election, if he played his cards right. It shouldn’t be too difficult. With his name and reputation, the opposition wouldn’t stand a chance. Stalker yawned widely, and wriggled himself into a more comfortable position. If he was going to take over William’s place, he’d better start talking to the right people. Not too soon; that would look bad. But leave it too late, and other people might get in ahead of him. He’d start with Katherine.... She’d need some support in the next few months. Though she’d probably be getting enough of that from Bowman. Stalker’s lip curled. William should have done something about that, not let it go dragging on. A man looks after what’s his, no matter what. William should have been tougher with her, knocked some sense into her, made it clear who wore the trousers. Stalker sighed. He’d been tempted to do something about Bowman himself, but he never had. Never interfere in other people’s domestic problems. He’d learned that the hard way.
Still, Katherine was going to need him a damn sight more than she would Bowman, for the time being at least. Things were liable to get a bit rough, once the various factions in the Council learned of William’s death. And you could bet there’d be factions jostling for position within the Reform cause, as well. Katherine was going to need a bodyguard. Stalker smiled sourly. Bowman might fancy himself a duellist, but he’d be damn-all use in a back-alley brawl. And Visage might be good at fending off magic, but she’d be no use at all when it came to stopping a dagger thrown from a crowd. No, Katherine was going to need him for a while yet. And he could make good use of her....
Unless she decided to go into politics herself. Stalker scowled. She just might; women didn’t seem to know their place anymore. That Captain Fisher might look and talk tough, but she’d probably fold in a minute when the going got really hard. Women always did.
Stalker stirred restlessly. The room was swelteringly hot, and he thought seriously about trying to open the shutters. He finally decided against it. Knowing Gaunt, even if he could get the shutters open, he’d probably set off an alarm or something. The whole house was crawling with sorcery. Stalker sneered silently. Magic ... He never did trust sorcerers. A man should make his way in the world, with courage and a sword, not by hiding away in stuffy rooms, poring over old books and making nasty smells with chemicals. All of Gaunt’s so-called power hadn’t been enough to protect William.
Stalker sighed. If only he and William hadn’t quarrelled ... so many things might have been different.
If only ... the most futile phrase in the language. Stalker looked up at the ceiling, mostly hidden in the gloom. It had been a long time since he’d last slept under this roof, in this room. Must be all of thirty years, and more. He wondered if Gaunt knew this had once been his bedroom, when he was a boy. Probably not. Just one of life’s little ironies no doubt. There was no one left now who knew that Adam Stalker had been born a DeFerrier, and that this house had once been his home. Until he ran away, sickened at what his family had become. They were all dead now; parents, brothers, sisters, aunts and uncles. All gone. The DeFerriers were no more, and Adam Stalker was happy with the name he had made for himself.
He closed his eyes and breathed deeply. Get some sleep. There was a lot to be done, come the morning.
Graham Dorimant paced up and down in his room, and wondered what to do for the best. William was dead, and the Guards were no nearer finding his killer. And all too soon that slimy little creep Bowman would be angling for William’s seat in Council. The man was barely cold, and already the vultures were gathering. All right, somebody had to take his place, but it didn’t have to be Bowman. And it wouldn’t be, as long as Dorimant had any say in the matter.
He stopped pacing, and frowned thoughtfully. There was no guarantee it would be any of his business. He’d worked for William, and William was dead. Katherine might well decide she had no more use for him, and bring in her own advisers. Dorimant bit his lip uncertainly. Losing the job wasn’t in itself a problem; even after his divorce he should have more than enough money left to last him out. But to give up the excitement of politics, to go back to the empty-headed social whirl of endless parties at fashionable places, the childish fads and games and intrigues ...
Maybe Lord Hightower could offer him some kind of position; the old man wanted to get more deeply involved in politics, and he’d need an adviser he could trust.... Yes. That might be it. Lord Roderik wasn’t anything like the man William had been, but he was honest and sincere, and that was rare enough these days. He’d have a word with Hightower in the morning. Assuming William’s killer didn’t strike again, and murder everyone in their beds. Dorimant glanced nervously at his door. It was securely locked and bolted, with a chair jammed up against it for good measure. He was safe enough. The two Guards were just downstairs, keeping watch. After the Chandler Lane business a simple assassin shouldn’t give them too much trouble.
He frowned uncertainly. Maybe he should have told them about Visage, and what she’d seen. He’d wanted to, but she had begged him not to. Now both he and she were in the position of having lied to the Guard. If they ever found out ... He remembered Hawk’s cold, scarred face, and shivered suddenly. He didn’t care, he told himself defiantly. He’d done the right thing. Visage had come to him for help, and he had given it. Nothing else mattered.
He hadn’t realised before just how important Visage was to him.
He sighed, and sank into the chair by the bed. He knew he ought to go to bed and get some rest, but he wasn’t sleepy. It was hard for him to believe that William was really gone. He’d admired the man for so long, and been his friend for such a short time.... And now, here he was helping to conceal evidence that might help find William’s killer.
I’m sorry, William. But I think I love her, and I can’t risk her being hurt.
Lord and Lady Hightower got ready for bed in silence. Lord Roderik sat in the chair by the bed and watched his wife brush her hair before the dressing table mirror. When fully unbound, her long white hair hung halfway down her back. Roderik had always liked to watch her brush her hair, a simple intimate moment she shared with no one but him. He wondered wistfully when her hair had turned white. He couldn’t remember. When they were first married her hair had been a beautiful shade of honey yellow, but that had been long ago, when he was still a Captain. With something like shock, Roderik realised that that had been almost thirty years ago. Thirty years ... Where had the time gone?
Elaine looked into the mirror and caught him watching her. She smiled, but he looked quickly away. She put down her brush, and turned around to face him. She was wearing the white silk nightdress he’d bought her for her last birthday. She looked very lovely, and very defenceless.
Don’t ask me, Elaine. Please. I can’t tell you. I can’t tell anyone....
“What is it, Rod?” she said quietly. “Something’s been bothering you for months now. Why won’t you tell me about it?”
“Nothing to tell,” said Roderik gruffly.
“Bull,” said his wife. “I haven’t known you all these years without being able to tell when something’s gnawing at you. Is it Paul? I thought you were finally getting over his death. You should never have gone off on those stupid campaigns, the werewolf hunts. I should never have let you go.”
“They helped....”
“Did they? Every time some fool jumped at his own shadow and shouted ‘werewolf!’ you went racing off to track it down. And how many did you find, out of all those dozens of hunts? One. Just one. That was why the King made you resign, wasn’t it? Not just because you’d reached the retirement age, but because you were never there when he needed you!”
“Don’t,” whispered Roderik, squeezing his eyes shut. Elaine rose quickly out of her chair and hurried over to kneel beside him. She put a hand on his arm, and he reached blindly across to squeeze it tightly.
“It’s all right, my dear,” said Elaine softly. “I’m not angry with you, I’m just worried. Worried about you. You’ve been so ... different lately.”
“Different?” Roderik opened his eyes and looked at her uncertainly. “How do you mean, different?”
“Oh, I don’t know; moody, irritable, easily upset. I’m not blind, you know. And there’ve been other things....”
“Elaine ...”
“Once a month, you go off on your own. You don’t come back for days on end, and when you do, you won’t tell me where you’ve been or what you’ve been doing.”
“I have my reasons,” said Roderik gruffly.
“Yes,” said Elaine, “I think you do. You mustn’t feel badly about it, Rod. When a man gets to your age I know that sometimes they, well, start to feel insecure about .... themselves. I just want you to know that I don’t mind, as long as you come home to me.”
“You don’t mind?” said Roderik slowly. “Elaine, what are you talking about?”
“I don’t mind that you have another woman,” said Elaine steadily. “You shouldn’t look so astonished, my dear. It wasn’t that difficult to work out. You have a mistress. It really doesn’t matter.”
Roderik stood up, took his wife by the shoulders and made her stand up, facing him. He tried to say something, and couldn’t. He took her in his arms and held her tightly. “Elaine, my dear, my love. I promise you I don’t have another woman. You’re the only woman I ever wanted, the only woman I’ve ever loved. I promise you; there’s never been anyone in my life but you, and there never will be.”
“Then where have you been going all these months?”
Roderik sighed, and held her away from him so that he could look at her. “I can’t tell you, Elaine. Just believe me when I say I don’t go because I want to, I go because I have to. It’s important.”
“You mean it’s ... political?”
“In a way. I can’t talk about it, Elaine. I can’t.”
“Very well, my dear.” Elaine leaned forward and kissed him on the cheek. “Tell me about it when you can. Now let’s go to bed. It’s been a long day.”
“I think I’ll sit up for a while. I’m not sleepy. You go to bed. I won’t be long.”
Elaine nodded, and turned away to pull back the sheet. She didn’t see the tears that glistened in Roderik’s eyes for a moment. When she looked at him again, having first settled herself comfortably in bed, he was sitting on the chair, staring at nothing.
“Rod ...”
“Yes?”
“Who do you think killed William?”
“I don’t know. I can’t even see how he was killed, never mind who or why.”
“Are we in any danger?”
“I shouldn’t think so. Gaunt is on guard now; nothing will get by him. And there’s always the two Guards downstairs. They’re proficient enough at the simple things, I suppose. There’s nothing for you to worry about, my dear. Go to sleep.”
“Yes, Rod. Blow out the lamp when you come to bed.”
“Elaine ...”
“Yes?”
“I love you. Whatever happens, never doubt that I love you.”
The witch Visage lay in her bed and stared at the ceiling. She didn’t really like the bed. It was very comfortable, but it was too big. She felt lost in it. She stirred restlessly under the single thin sheet covering her. She felt hot and clammy, but she didn’t like to throw back the sheet, not in a stranger’s house. She’d feel naked and defenceless. Not that she was in any danger. She’d locked the door and set the wards. No one and nothing could get to her now. She was safe.
But only for the moment. She’d worked for William Blackstone all her adult life, and she didn’t know what would become of her now that he was dead. William had always been much more than an employer to her; he had been her god. He was wise and just, and he fought the forces of evil in Haven. He always knew what to do, and he was always right, and if he hardly ever noticed the quiet young witch at his side, well, that was only to be expected. He always had so many important things on his mind.
Graham Dorimant had noticed her. He was always kind to her, and said nice things, and noticed when she wore a new dress. Perhaps he would look after her and take care of her. It was a nice thought.
Visage thought of the two Guards who’d questioned her, and frowned. They’d been polite enough, she supposed, but they hadn’t really liked her. She could tell. She could always tell. And Hawk, the one with the scars and the single cold eye ... He frightened her. She didn’t like to be frightened. Visage pouted unhappily in the darkness. She’d told the Guards about Katherine and Edward, but they hadn’t believed her. Not really. But all they had to do was start digging, and they’d find out the truth. And then everyone would see what had really been going on.
If the truth was ever allowed to come out. Visage scowled. There were a great many people who wouldn’t want the truth to get out. After all, it might taint William’s memory. Well, she didn’t want that, but she couldn’t let Katherine and Edward get away with it. She couldn’t let that happen. She wouldn’t let that happen. They had murdered her William, and they would pay for it, one way or another. Her hand went to the bone amulet that hung on a silver chain around her neck. She might be only a witch, but she had power of her own, and she would use it if she had to. If there was no other way to get justice for William.
Visage sighed tiredly. Poor William. She would miss him very much. She’d followed him for so many years ... and now she would have to find someone else to follow. Someone else to tell her what to do. She’d talk to Graham about it in the morning. He liked her. She could tell.
The sorcerer Gaunt lay on his bed, in his laboratory. The air was deliciously cool and fresh, the summer heat kept at bay by his spells. The room was brightly lit by half a dozen oil lamps. For many reasons, some of them practical, Gaunt felt uneasy about sleeping in the dark. He lay on his back and looked slowly round the familiar, crowded room, taking in the plain wooden benches and their alchemical equipment, the shelves of ingredients, all neatly stacked in their proper order.... Gaunt felt at home in the laboratory, in a way he never did anywhere else in the house. He didn’t really like the house much, if truth be told, but he needed it. He needed the security and the privacy it gave him, even if he did tend to rattle around in it like a single seed in a pod. There were times when he was tempted to give in to Stalker and sell him the damn house, but he never did. He couldn’t.
He put forth his mind and tested the wards in and around the house, like a spider testing the many strands of its web. Everything was peaceful, everything as it should be. All was quiet. Gaunt frowned slightly. It worried him that he still had no idea how William had died. It worried him even more that the killer had to be one of his guests. There was no way an assassin could have got past his defences without him knowing. And yet he’d known these people for years, known and trusted them.... It just didn’t seem possible.
Gaunt sighed tiredly. Everyone had their secrets, their own hidden darkness. He of all people should know that.
“Darling ...”
The voice was soft, husky, alluring. Gaunt swallowed dryly. Just the sound of her voice sent little thrills of pleasure through him, but he wouldn’t look at her. He wouldn’t.
“Why don’t you call to me, darling? All you have to do is call, and I’ll come to you. You’d like that, wouldn’t you?”
He didn’t answer. He was a sorcerer, and he was in control.
“Always the same. You want me, but you won’t admit it. You desire me, but you fight against it. I can’t think why. If you didn’t want me, why did you summon me?”
“Because I was weak!” snapped Gaunt. “Because I was a fool.”
“Because you were human,” purred the voice. “Is that such a terrible thing to be? You are powerful, my sweet, very powerful, but you still have human needs and weaknesses. It’s no shame to give in to them.”
“Shame?” said Gaunt. “What would you know about shame?”
“Nothing. Nothing at all.” The voice laughed softly, and Gaunt shivered at the sound of it. “Look at me, darling. Look at me.”
Gaunt looked at the pentacle marked out on the floor on the far side of the laboratory. The blue chalk lines glowed faintly with their own eerie light. Inside the pentacle sat the succubus. She looked at Gaunt with jet black eyes, and smiled mockingly. She was naked, and heart- stoppingly beautiful. The succubus was five feet tall, with a disturbingly voluptuous figure and a rawboned sensual face. The lamplight glowed golden on her perfect skin. Two small horns rose up from her forehead, almost hidden among the great mane of jet black hair. She stretched languidly, still smiling, and Gaunt groaned softly as the old familiar longing began again, just as he’d known it would.
“Yes,” said the succubus. “I am beautiful, aren’t I? And I’m yours, any time you want me. All you have to do is call me, darling, and I’ll come to you. All you have to do is call to me....”
“Come to me,” said Gaunt. “Come to me, damn you!”
The succubus laughed happily and rose to her feet in a single lithe movement. She stepped out of the pentacle, the blue chalk lines flaring up briefly as she crossed them, and strode unhurriedly over to the sorcerer’s bed. She pulled back the single sheet and sank down beside him.
“Damn me, my darling? No. You’re the one who’s damned, sorcerer. And isn’t it lovely?”
Gaunt took her in his arms, and the old sweet madness took him once again.
Katherine Blackstone sat in the chair by the bed and looked listlessly round the spare room that Gaunt had opened up for her. The air was close and dusty, and the bed hadn’t been aired, but she didn’t care. At least it was a fair distance away from the room where her husband had died; the room where the body still lay....
The body. Not her husband, or her late husband, just the body. William was gone, and what was left behind didn’t even have to be addressed by name.
Katherine looked at the bed beside her, and looked away. Sleep might help, but she couldn’t seem to summon the energy to get up, get undressed, and go to bed. And anyway, if she waited long enough she was sure Edward would come to her. She’d thought he’d be here by now, but he was probably just being sensible. It wouldn’t do for them to be caught together tonight, of all nights. He’d be here soon. Maybe then she’d know what to do, what to say, for the best. For the moment, all she wanted to do was sit where she was and do nothing. She’d been married less than seven years, and here she was a widow. Widow ... There was a harsh finality to the word; that’s all there is, there isn’t going to be any more. It’s over. Katherine’s thoughts drifted back and forth, moving round the subject of her husband’s death but unable to settle on it. It was impossible to think of the great William Blackstone being dead. He’d been such an important man; meant so much to so many people. Katherine wanted to cry. She might feel better if she could only cry. But all she had inside of her was tiredness.
How could he have done it? How could he have left her in this mess? How could William have killed himself?
The Guards thought it was murder. So did everyone else. Only she knew it was really suicide. The Guards were already looking for signs of guilt, for something they could use as a motive. She’d known they were bound to bring up Edward Bowman, so she’d met that attack as she always had, by throwing it back in their faces as a lie and defying them to prove otherwise. It has been suggested to us ... Oh, yes, she’d just bet it had. That little bitch Visage wouldn’t have waited long to start spreading the poison.
She and Edward would have to be very careful in the future. For a while, at least.
Hawk and Fisher sat stretched out in their comfortable chairs, facing the hall. They’d put out all the lamps save two, and the parlour was gloomy enough to be restful on the eyes while still leaving enough light to see by. The house was quiet, the air hot and stuffy. Hawk yawned widely.
“Don’t,” said Fisher. “You’ll set me off.”
“Sorry,” said Hawk. “I can’t sleep. Too much on my mind.”
“All right, then; you stand watch and I’ll get some sleep.”
“Suits me,” said Hawk. “I shouldn’t think we’ll have any more trouble tonight.”
“You could be right,” said Fisher, settling herself comfortably in her chair and wishing vaguely that she had a pillow. “Whoever killed Blackstone, it didn’t have the look of a spur-of-the-moment decision. A lot of careful planning had to have gone into it. What we have to worry about now is whether the killer had a specific grudge against Blackstone, or if he’s just the first in a series of victims.”
“You know,” said Hawk, “we can’t even be sure that Blackstone was the intended victim. Maybe he just saw someone in the wrong place at the wrong, time, and had to die because he was a witness. The killer might still be waiting for his chance at the real victim.”
“Don’t,” said Fisher piteously. “Isn’t the case complicated enough as it is?”
“Sorry,” said Hawk. “Just thinking ...”
“Have you had any more ideas on who the killer might be?”
“Nothing new. Bowman and Katherine Blackstone have to be the most obvious choices; they had the most to gain. But I keep coming back to how the murder was committed. There’s something about that locked room that worries me. I can’t quite figure out what it is, but something keeps nagging at me.... Ah, well, no doubt it’ll come to me eventually.”
“My head’s starting to ache again,” said Fisher. “I’m no good at problems. Never have been. You know, Hawk, what gets me is the casual way it was done. I mean, one minute we’re all standing around in here, knocking back the fruit cordial and chatting away nineteen to the dozen, and the next minute everyone goes off to change and Blackstone is killed. If the killer was one of the people in this room, he must have cast-iron nerves.”
“Right,” said Hawk.
They sat together a while, listening to the quiet. The house creaked and groaned around them, settling itself as old houses will. The air was still and hot and heavy. Hawk dropped one hand onto the shaft of his axe, where it stood leaning against the side of his chair. There were too many things about this case he didn’t like, too many things that didn’t add up. And he had a strong feeling that the night still had a few more surprises up its sleeve.
Time passed, and silence spread through the old house. Everyone was either asleep or sitting quietly in their rooms, waiting for the morning. The hall and the landing were empty, and the shadows lay undisturbed. A door eased silently open, and Edward Bowman looked out onto the landing. A single oil lamp glowed dully halfway down the right-hand wall, shedding a soft orange light over the landing. There was no one else about, and Bowman relaxed a little. Not that it mattered if anyone did see him. He could always claim he was going to the bathroom, but why complicate matters? Besides, he didn’t want to do anything that might draw the attention of the Guards. He stepped out onto the landing and closed his bedroom door quietly behind him. He waited a moment, listening, and then padded down the landing to Katherine’s room. He tried the door handle, but the door was locked. He looked quickly up and down the landing, and tapped quietly on the door. The sound seemed very loud on the silence. There was a long pause, and then he heard a key turning in the lock. The door eased open, and Bowman darted into the room. The door shut quietly behind him.
Katherine clung desperately to Bowman, holding him so tightly he could hardly breathe. She burrowed her face into his neck, as though trying to hide from the events of the day. He murmured soothingly to her, and after a while she quietened and relaxed her grip a little. He smiled slightly.
“Glad to see me, Kath?”
She lifted her face to his and kissed him hungrily. “I was so afraid you wouldn’t come to me tonight. I need you, Edward. I need you now more than ever.”
“It’s all right, Kath. I’m here now.”
“But if we’re caught together ...”
“We won’t be,” said Edward quickly. “Not as long as we’re careful.”
Katherine finally let go of him, and sat down on the edge of the bed. “Careful. I hate that word. We’re always having to be careful, having to think twice about everything we do, everything we say. How much longer, Edward? How much longer before we can be together openly? I want you, my love; I want you with me always, in my arms, in my bed!”
“We won’t have to keep up the pretence much longer,” said Edward. “Just for a while, till things have quietened down. All we have to do is be patient for a little while....”
“I’m sick of being patient!”
Edward gestured sharply at the wall. Katherine nodded reluctantly, and lowered her voice before speaking again. It wouldn’t do to be overheard, and there was no telling how thin the walls were.
“Edward, did the Guards say anything to you about who they think killed William?”
“Not really, but they’d be fools if they didn’t see us as the main suspects. There’s always been some gossip about us, and we both stood to gain by his death. We could have killed him....”
“In a way, perhaps we did.”
“What?” Edward looked at her sharply. “Katherine, you didn’t...”
“William committed suicide,” said Katherine. “I ... told him about us.”
“You did what?”
“I had to! I couldn’t go on like this, living a lie. I told him I was still fond of him, and always would be, but that I loved you and wanted to marry you. I said I’d do it any way he wanted, any way that would protect his political career, but that whatever happened I was determined on a divorce. To begin with he refused to listen, and then... then he told me he loved me, and would never give me up. I said I’d walk out on him if I had to, and he said that if I did, he would kill himself.”
“Dear God...” breathed Bowman. “And you think William...”
“Yes,” said Katherine. “I think he killed himself. I think he died because of us.”
“Have you told anyone else about this?”
“Of course not! But that’s not all, Edward, I ...”
She broke off suddenly and looked at the door. Out on the landing someone was walking past the door. Katherine rose quickly to her feet and held Edward’s arm. They both stood very still, listening. The sound came again-soft, hesitant footsteps that died quickly away as they retreated down the landing. Bowman frowned. There was something strange about the footsteps.... Katherine started to say something, and Bowman hushed her with a finger to his lips. They listened carefully for a while, but the footsteps seemed to be gone.
“Did anyone see you come in here?” said Katherine quietly.
“I don’t think so,” said Bowman. “I was very careful. It could have been one of the Guards, just doing the rounds to make sure everything’s secure. It could have been someone going to the bathroom. Whoever it was, they’re gone now. I’d better get back to my room.”
“Edward ...”
“I can’t stay, Kath. Not tonight, not here. It’s too much of a risk. I’ll see you again, in the morning.”
“Yes. In the morning.” Katherine kissed him goodbye, and then moved away to ease the door open a crack. The landing was completely deserted. Katherine opened the door wide, and Bowman slipped silently out onto the landing. She shut the door quietly behind him, and Bowman waited a moment while his eyes adjusted to the dimmer light. He started along the landing towards his own room, and then stopped as he heard a faint scuffing sound behind him. He spun round, but there was no one there. The landing stretched away before him, open and empty, until it disappeared in the shadows at the top of the stairs. And then the smell came to him—a sharp, musky smell that raised the hackles on the back of his neck. Bowman reached into the top of his boot and drew out a long slender dagger. The cool metal hilt felt good in his hand. He was in danger; he could feel it. Bowman smiled grimly. If all this was supposed to frighten him, his enemy was in for an unpleasant surprise. He’d never backed away from a duel in his life, and he’d never lost one. He wondered if this was William’s killer after all. He hoped so; he would enjoy avenging William’s death. He might not always have liked the man, but he’d always admired him. Bowman stepped forward, dagger in hand, and something awful came flying out of the shadows at the top of the stairs. Bowman had time to scream once, and then there was only the pain and the blood, and the snarls of his attacker.
Hawk sat bolt upright in his chair as a scream rang out on the landing and then was cut suddenly short. He jumped to his feet, grabbed his axe and ran out of the parlour, followed closely by Fisher with her sword in her hand. They ran down the hall and pounded up the stairs together. The first scream had been a man’s scream, but now a woman was screaming, on and on. Hawk drove himself harder, taking the stairs two at a time. He burst out onto the landing and skidded to a halt as he looked around him for a target.
Edward Bowman lay twisted on the floor, his eyes wide and staring. His clothes were splashed with blood, and more had soaked into the carpet around him. His throat had been torn out. Katherine Blackstone stood over the body, screaming and screaming, her hands pressed to her face in horror. Fisher took her by the shoulders and turned her gently away from the body. Katherine resisted at first. and then all the strength went out of her. She stopped screaming and stood in silence, her hands at her sides, staring blindly at the wall as tears ran unheeded down her cheeks. The other guests were spilling out of their doors in various stages of undress, all of them demanding to know what had happened. Hawk knelt beside the body. There was a dagger on the carpet, not far from Bowman’s hand, but there was no blood on the blade. The attack must have happened so quickly that Bowman never even had a chance to defend himself. Hawk looked closely at Bowman’s throat, and swore softly. The killer hadn’t been as neat with Bowman as he had with Blackstone. Hawk sat back on his haunches and scowled thoughtfully at the body.
There were footsteps on the stairs behind him. He straightened up quickly and turned, axe in hand, to find Gaunt almost on top of him. He was wearing only a dressing gown, and looked flushed and out of breath.
“What is it?” he rasped, staring past Hawk. “What’s happened?”
“Bowman’s dead,” said Hawk. “Murdered.” He looked quickly around to see if anyone was missing, but all the guests were there, kept at a respectable distance from the body by Fisher’s levelled sword. Dorimant was the nearest, with the witch Visage at his side. Their faces were white with shock. Lord and Lady Hightower stood in the doorway, halfway down the landing, both in their nightclothes. Lord Roderik was holding his wife protectively close to him. Stalker stood in the middle of the landing, his face set and grim, wearing only his trousers and boots but holding a sword in his hand. Hawk looked carefully at the sword, but there was no blood on the blade. He looked again at Stalker, taking in the dozens of old scars that crisscrossed the huge muscular frame, and then looked away, wincing mentally.
“All right,” said Hawk harshly. “Everyone downstairs. I can’t work with all of you cluttering up the place. Stay in a group, and don’t go off on your own for any reason. Don’t argue, just move! You can wait in the parlour. You’ll be all right; there’s safety in numbers. Gaunt, you stay behind a minute.”
Hawk waited impatiently as the guests filed past him, keeping well clear of the body. Lord and Lady Hightower helped Katherine down the stairs. Her tears had stopped, but her face was blank and empty from shock. Hawk stopped Stalker as he passed.
“I’ll have to take your sword, sir Stalker.”
Stalker looked at Hawk steadily, and his eyes were very cold. Fisher stepped forward, and lifted her blade a fraction. Stalker looked at her, and smiled slightly. He turned back to Hawk and handed him his sword, hilt first.
“Of course, Captain Hawk. There are tests you’ll want to run.”
“Thank you, sir warrior,” said Hawk, sliding the sword through his belt. “The sword will be returned to you as soon as possible.”
“That’s all right,” said Stalker. “I have others.”
He followed the other guests down the stairs and into the parlour. Hawk and Fisher looked at each other, and relaxed a little.
“For a minute there,” said Hawk, “I wondered...”
“Yeah,” said Fisher. “So did I.”
Hawk turned to Gaunt, who was kneeling by the body. “Careful, sir sorcerer. We don’t want to destroy any evidence, do we?”
Gaunt nodded, and rose to his feet. “His throat’s been torn out. There’s no telling what the murder weapon was; the wound’s a mess.”
“That can wait for the moment,” said Hawk. “Is your isolation spell still holding?”
“Yes. I’d have known immediately if it had been breached. There can’t be any more doubt; the killer has to be one of us.”
“All right,” said Hawk. “Go on down and wait with the others. And you’d better take a look at Katherine Blackstone. She’s in shock. And coming so soon after the last shock to her system...”
“Of course,” said Gaunt. He nodded quickly to Hawk and Fisher, then made his way back down the stairs. Hawk and Fisher looked thoughtfully at the body.
“We can’t afford to wait till the experts get here in the morning,” said Fisher. “We’ve got to find the killer ourselves.”
“Right,” said Hawk. “If we don’t, there might not be anybody left come the morning.”