Guards of Haven

Hawk and Fisher watched closely as the others disappeared into their rooms on the second floor, and made careful mental notes as to who was staying where. You never knew when information like that might come in handy. Jamie escorted Hawk and Fisher to their room, and even opened the door for them. Hawk thought about offering him a tip, but decided Jamie wouldn’t see the joke. Jamie made the usual polite remarks about hoping they’d be comfortable, and Hawk made the usual polite remarks in reply. Then they all smiled at each other, and Jamie went back down the corridor. Hawk immediately closed the door, locked it, and put his back against it. His chin dropped forward onto his chest, and he let out a long slow sigh of relief. Fisher made vague grunts of agreement from where she lay stretched out full length on the bed, indifferent to the damage it was doing to her dress.

“I never knew behaving respectably could be such hard work,” said Hawk finally. “I’ve done so much smiling it feels like I went to sleep with a coat hanger in my mouth. I don’t know if I can keep this up till tomorrow morning.”

“I don’t know what you’re complaining about,” said Fisher unsympathetically. “At least you don’t have to be sociable and cope with a corset at the same time. My waist isn’t on speaking terms with the rest of me.” She sat up slowly and carefully, levered off her fashionable shoes, and wriggled her toes gratefully. “I don’t know how women can bear to wear those things. My feet are killing me.”

Hawk threw himself into the nearest chair, slumped back, and stretched out his legs before him. It felt good to be able to relax, even if only for a while. The chair was almost sinfully comfortable, and Hawk closed his eyes the better to appreciate it. Some moments were just too precious to be interrupted. But it didn’t last. There were too many more important things clamouring for his attention. He opened his eyes reluctantly, and glanced round the room Jamie had given them; just on the off chance he’d spot something that would let him ignore his problems for a while, till he felt better able to deal with them. The room looked back, determined not to be helpful.

It was fairly luxurious as far as Quality standards went; and Quality standards went pretty far. There were thick rugs on the floor, an assortment of classically elegant furniture, and a bed with a mattress deep enough to swim in. Paintings of famous military scenes covered the walls (military art was in that Season), and half a dozen small nude statuettes smiled and posed tastefully on alabaster pedestals. And over by the window, half hidden by drapes heavy enough to block out the harshest sunlight, stood the room’s own private liquor cabinet. Hawk smiled. Now, that was what he called civilized. He started to lever himself up out of his chair, but Fisher intercepted his gaze, and shook her head firmly.

“You’ve had enough for one day, Hawk. Let’s try and concentrate on the matter at hand. Namely, what the hell is going on here? Every time I think I’ve got it worked out, something else happens that throws it all back up in the air again.”

“It’s not really as confusing as it seems,” said Hawk, settling back in his chair. “It just looks that way because we don’t have all the facts yet. Or if we do, we haven’t got them arranged in the right order. What’s really complicating the hell out of things is that we’re dealing with two separate cases here. On the one hand we have an escaped killer freak, disguised as one of us by an illusion, while on the other hand we have our missing spy Fenris, disguised as one of us by a shapechange. We can’t sort the two cases out because they keep interfering with each other, and we can’t tell which evidence belongs to which case.”

“Could that be deliberate?” said Fisher, thoughtfully massaging her left foot and staring off into the distance. “Maybe Fenris recognized us despite our disguises, and let the freak loose himself, as a way of throwing us off his trail.”

“I don’t think so,” said Hawk slowly. “The way we look now, our own creditors wouldn’t know us. And from the mess the freak made of his cell wall, I don’t think he needed any help in getting out. But certainly. Fenris could be using the situation to keep the waters muddy. I would, in his shoes.”

“That’s enough,” said Fisher flatly. “Whatever information Fenris has, it must be bloody important to have panicked the Council so badly. And if it’s that important, it must be worth a lot of money to the right people.”

Hawk scowled. “I can’t believe we’ve been here all this time and we’re still no nearer identifying Fenris. Look: We know Fenris went to the sorcerer Grimm for an emergency shapechange. That means the body he’s got now isn’t his usual one. Which means we can eliminate all the people here who can prove they’ve had the same form for more than twenty-four hours.”

“And Lord Arthur,” said Hawk. “I’ve met him before. And since Arthur and Jamie have both known David for some time, that just leaves Alistair and Marc.” Hawk nodded slowly to himself. “And we’ve already established Alistair is lying about where he comes from; he didn’t know the Red Marches are flooded these days.”

“He could if he was a friend of the MacNeils in his true form. According to Jamie, his Family have a long history of bad feelings with the Court. Which would explain why Fenris made a beeline for Tower MacNeil in the first place. But, on the other hand ...”

“Nothing so far. He’s a quiet sort; hasn’t much to say for himself at the best of times. Doesn’t seem to care much for us, but we can’t drag him off in chains just for that.” Hawk frowned. “But ... in all the time we’ve been here, Marc hasn’t volunteered one thing about his past; not a single damned thing about who or what he was before he came to Tower MacNeil. Interesting, that.”

“Why? Once again it has to be someone not well known by the others. The freak might have taken on someone else’s memories, but he’s still stuck with his own face. So, we’re back to Marc and Alistair again. And if Alistair is Fenris, then Marc has to be the freak. Right?”

“You’re forgetting the illusion spell the freak cast to cover up the hole in the wall on the third floor. It’s quite possible the freak is still messing with our minds, to make us see someone else’s face, instead of his own. Which means he could be anyone. Male or female. And with complete access to that person’s memories, there’s no way anyone’s going to trip him up with an unexpected question.”

“Wait. It gets worse. It seems to me the freak may be interfering with our minds in other, subtler ways as well. Jamie seemed quite determined to split up the group, despite everything I’ve said, and everyone else just went along with it. Which is rather unusual, considering this bunch can’t normally agree on anything without several minutes worth of arguments, insults, and recriminations. Perhaps the freak influenced everyone to accept Jamie’s idea, in order to make us easier targets.”

Fisher looked at him thoughtfully, still holding her bare foot absently in her hand. “It’s possible, I suppose. But how could we tell, one way or the other? And besides, if they’re all being influenced, why aren’t we? If the freak was controlling the way we think, then this idea wouldn’t have occurred to us at all. Would it?”

Holly sat unhappily in her chair by the fire while Katrina Dorimant studied her makeup in the dressing-table mirror. Looking good, thought Katrina contentedly. Don’t look a day over twenty-five. Not bad for an old broad past forty. Graham never did appreciate me, rot his socks. She smiled. Graham might not have, but there were those who had. Sometimes in Graham’s own bed. He never was very observant. She pouted at her reflection. It was all his fault anyway. If he hadn’t spent all his spare time and money on his silly politics, instead of lavishing it on her, they might still be together.

She’d told him right from the start; she was prepared to put up with a lot of things from him, but coming second wasn’t one of them. She expected all his attention all the time. She wasn’t unreasonable; she realized he had commitments. She just wanted him to be there when she needed him. What was so unreasonable about that? Things had been different when they first met. He’d been all over her then, bright and witty and attentive, always ready with a smile or a compliment or an out-of-season flower. When he finally worked up the nerve to ask her to marry him, long after she’d decided to accept, he’d promised her faithfully that she’d always come first with him. Graham was always very big with promises. She should have remembered that promises were a politician’s stock in trade.

Still, she hadn’t done so badly for herself since she left him. She ran up the bills and he paid them, just as always. And why not? That was what men were for. Among other things. She smiled. Richard MacNeil was an unexpected bonus. Tall, dark, handsome, and wonderfully innocent in the ways of the world. He all but blushed every time she looked at him. She pulled the front of her dress down another inch to show off more cleavage, and considered the effect in the mirror. No, better not. She wanted to attract Richard’s attention, not give him a coronary. Besides, it would undoubtably scandalize Jamie, and she couldn’t afford to get on his wrong side at the moment. Dear Jamie; so young and already so prudish. Never even had a girlfriend, as far as she knew. She’d have to do something about that, once this nonsense was over and done with. In the meantime she’d do better to concentrate on Richard. He needed ... encouraging. She produced a small silver makeup case from inside her sleeve, opened it, and pawed thoughtfully through the contents.

Katrina removed a tiny black patch from the makeup case, balanced it on the tip of her finger, and pressed it firmly onto the right side of her face, just above the jaw. It was very slightly but quite definitely heart-shaped. Katrina turned her face back and forth, studying the effect in the mirror.

“The point is to attract a young man’s interest. Beauty spots are supposedly there to cover some minor flaw or defect; this intrigues the young gentleman as to what that flaw might be, and how he might get a look at it. Personally, I just think they look pretty.”

“Better, I suppose. I’m sorry I went all to pieces downstairs, but it all just got too much for me. I’ve not been sleeping well recently. I’m sure I could cope a lot better if I wasn’t so tired all the time.”

“Yes. It doesn’t help. It doesn’t stop me dreaming. That’s why I don’t sleep; I’m afraid to. It’s always the same dream. I’m lying in bed, in the dark, unable to move, and there’s something in the room with me. I can’t see it, but I know it’s there. It comes slowly closer, creeping towards the foot of my bed. I can hear its heavy footsteps, and its harsh breathing. And I know it wants to do something to me; something horrible. I know I’m dreaming, and I try to wake myself up, but I can’t. It starts to heave itself up onto the end of my bed. I can feel the mattress sink down around my feet, feel the creature’s horrid weight on my legs. I try to scream, but I can’t make a sound; and that’s when I finally wake up. Only each night, the creature seems to get a little further before I can wake myself up. That’s why I’m so afraid to sleep, because I know that one night I’m not going to wake up in time.”

“I did. He said it wasn’t that unusual a dream for a girl my age, and advised Jamie to get me married off as soon as possible. I wasn’t supposed to hear that, but I was listening outside the door. Jamie said he’d think about it. But my dream is real. I know it. That’s why I began praying for the Family Guardian to come and save me. He’s my only hope now.”

Katrina’s eyes narrowed. “Men! Now don’t you worry, Holly, as soon as this nonsense is over I’ll see Jamie gets you the best doctors and specialists in Haven. They’ll find out what’s really wrong with you, and what to do about it. In the meantime, you need something to take your mind off things. Come with me, dear. Come on!”

She took Holly firmly by the arm and dragged her over to the dressing table. Ignoring Holly’s protests, Katrina sat her down before the mirror and retrieved her makeup case from her sleeve. She took hold of Holly’s chin and turned her face back and forth, frowning thoughtfully as she studied the girl’s pale and tired features in the mirror.

“Don’t you worry about a thing, dear. Auntie is going to remake your face from top to bottom. You won’t know yourself when I’m finished. Then you can walk into the will-reading with your head held high, and knock them all dead. David isn’t going to believe his eyes the next time he sees you!”

Marc and Alistair sat stiffly in chairs on opposite sides of the room, carefully not looking at each other. They’d taken turns freshening up in the adjoining bathroom, and now they were waiting to be called downstairs for the reading of the will. In all the time they’d been alone together they hadn’t exchanged a dozen words. Alistair crossed and uncrossed his legs, and drummed his fingers on the arm of his chair. He glanced briefly at the liquor cabinet, and looked away. That wasn’t what he was here for. His Family needed his help, and he wouldn’t let them down. He looked round the room Jamie had given him. There’d been quite a few changes in the decor since he was last here. He didn’t like them. Too bright and gaudy, by half. But, fashions change, and he had been away a hell of a long time....

He looked over at Marc, who was sitting perfectly still, staring at nothing, his face as inscrutable as ever. Was this what the Family had come to, a cold fish like him? The MacNeil blood must be running pretty damned thin these days. The man looked more like a funeral director than a young blade of the Quality. Alistair stirred impatiently. He found Marc’s continued silence intensely irritating. There were things he needed to say, things he needed to discuss with someone, important things; and who had Jamie paired him off with? An undertaker who’d taken a vow of silence, with all the open emotions of a garden statue.

Alistair settled back in his chair and put a curb on his impatience. He shouldn’t be too hard on the lad. After all, Marc was all alone and a long way from home. He was probably just shy and ill at ease. He could be waiting for Alistair to make the first move. Alistair ran through half a dozen possible openings, designed to lead the conversation round to what he wanted to talk about, but faced with Marc’s cold visage they all seemed either fatuous or foolish.

Marc met the older man’s gaze unflinchingly. “I don’t know, cousin. It could be any of us. If Richard is right, and the creature truly no longer remembers what it is, then I suppose it could even be you or I, and we wouldn’t know. It’s a frightening thought; the possibility that you might not be who you think you are, but actually someone else entirely. And yet I’m not sure that I agree with Richard. In order to pass as one of us, the freak must be maintaining a fairly complex illusion spell. How could he do that, and not be aware of what he is?”

“I don’t know,” said Alistair. “But the mind’s a funny thing. Maybe part of him remembers; just enough to protect him without breaking the hold his new memories have on him. But even so, we’re still dealing with someone who’s spent most of his life going crazy in solitary confinement. Even with his new memories to lean on, he’s bound to find himself in situations he can’t cope with. And that’s when his true nature can’t help but reveal itself.”

“Exactly,” said Alistair. “I don’t like the way Richard’s been acting. He’s from a very minor branch of the Family, lives in the middle of nowhere, and by his own account has spent most of his life with his nose in a book. But ever since we found the body, he’s been taking charge, snapping out orders and generally behaving more like a hardened soldier or a Guard. It’s as though he’s confused the memories of who he’s supposed to be with those of the people he read about. And out of all of us, he’s always seemed the least scared. Perhaps because deep down he knows he’s got nothing to worry about.”

“You may have something there,” said Marc slowly. “I’ve been watching Richard, too. He was very quick on picking up the freak’s story from the papers Jamie found, wasn’t he? Have you told anyone else of your suspicions?”

David paced impatiently up and down, glaring at nothing and everything, while Arthur freshened his glass with a bottle from the room’s liquor cabinet. He’d dragged the cabinet over to the bed, and was now seated with his back against the headboard and his legs stretched elegantly out before him. He watched David indulgently for a while, and then coughed politely. David shot him a glance without slowing his pacing. Arthur smiled at him.

David dropped reluctantly into the nearest chair, stirred uncomfortably, and then shifted forward until he was sitting right on the edge of the chair. “Arthur, how can you be so calm after everything that’s happened? Has the booze finally given up on rotting your liver and decided to go after your brain now? One of us is a murderer, an insane monster just waiting for his chance to kill again. And we’re trapped in the Tower with him!”

David looked at him disgustedly. “I should have known better than to expect any sense out of you. For once in your life, Arthur, try to concentrate on what’s happening around you! Holly’s in danger here. Doesn’t that mean anything to you?”

“Yes, it does. You know that. I’ll do anything I can to protect her and keep her safe. But right now she’s safe in her room behind a locked door. Just like us. What else can we do now except wait for Jamie’s call?”

“I don’t know!” David shook his head slowly and relaxed a little. “I’m sorry, Arthur. I shouldn’t take it out on you. I’m just ... scared, that’s all. Scared that something bad’s going to happen to Holly, and I won’t be there to stop it. I’ve always been her protector, even more than Jamie; standing between her and the bad old world. Taking all the knocks and bruises so she wouldn’t have to. I’d die for her, Arthur. But all I can do now is sit on my backside and wait for something to go wrong. I just feel so bloody helpless!”

“Sure,” said Arthur. “But what makes you think I give a damn? Nobody else does, so why should I buck the trend? It’s not enough just to live, Davey; there has to be some purpose in it, some reason to get out of bed in the morning. And I never found one.

“For a while I tried to be the kind of man my Family wanted, but after they all died I lost interest. There didn’t seem any point in it once they were gone. I had all the money I’d ever need, and the estate practically runs itself. So mostly I just settled for having a good time. Believe me, Davey, you’d be surprised how deadly dull having a good time can be after a while. One party blurs into another, the days drag on, and sometimes you think the night is never going to end. I can’t seem to get interested in anything anymore. Nothing really matters to me. Except you and Holly. You’re important to me, Davey. You do know that, don’t you?”

“Because I cared for her too much to ruin her life by becoming a part of it. I’ve messed up my own life quite thoroughly. I’m damned if I’ll drag her down with me. Besides, she already has someone, someone who’ll make her much happier than I ever could.”

“Friends,” said Arthur, sipping at his drink. “I used to think I had a lot of friends. After all, there’s no one so popular as a drunk with money. But I had to make out my will the other week. Instructions from the Family lawyer. So there I was, sitting at my desk in my study, and I found there was hardly anyone I wanted to leave anything to. I know lots of people, but the only time I ever see them are at parties. Not one of them ever called at my house during the day to say hello, or ask how I was, or just to chat for a while over a glass of something. In the end, I found there were only three people in my life who I thought might regret my passing. You, Holly, and Louis Hightower. That’s it. And be honest now. How many of you would even bother to come to my funeral if it was raining?”

“Look, if you’re so determined to kill yourself, why are you dragging it out? Do the honourable thing and put yourself out of your misery! Oh hell ... I’m sorry, Arthur. You’d think I’d know better by now than to argue with you while you’re drunk. Just ... snap out of it. You’ve got a lot to live for. There’s a lot more to life than drink.”

“You’re just trying to annoy me, aren’t you? Look, you can’t kill yourself. Think how upset Holly would be. Now let’s change the subject. Gods, you can be depressing at times, Arthur. You’re not the only one with problems, you know. I have problems too, but you don’t see me crying into my wine over them.”

Arthur looked at him steadily. “You’ve never had problems. You’ve always been handsome and popular. Your Family bend over backwards to indulge you. Women have been chasing you ever since your voice dropped. You have so many friends your parties often spill over into a second house. What problems do you have. Davey? Not being able to choose which shirt to wear next?”

David looked at him for a long moment. “You know your trouble, Arthur? You’re so wrapped up in your precious self-pity you can’t see beyond the end of your own nose. Haven’t you ever wondered why I spend so much time with you and Holly and Jamie, instead of running off to join the army and see the world, like the rest of our contemporaries?”

Arthur frowned. “That’s right. Your Family’s famous for its strong tradition of military service, isn’t it? Practically obligatory, from what I’ve heard. I suppose I just assumed you had more sense than the rest of your Family. All right, tell me. Why aren’t you in the army?”

“Because the army wouldn’t have me. I spent two years cramming with my tutors to get me past the Military Academy entrance exams, two years working my guts out, and I still didn’t pass. I didn’t even come close. Whatever it takes to be an officer, I don’t have it. There was nothing my Family could do. There were all kinds of strings they could have pulled on my behalf, once I got into the Academy, but not even their influence could persuade the Academy to accept such a spectacular failure as me.

“My father threatened to disown me. Most of my Family aren’t talking to me, and those that are never miss an opportunity to remind me how badly I let them all down. And as for my friends, practically everyone I grew up with is in the army now, scattered across the Low Kingdoms, defending our borders. Some of them have already died doing it. And every time I find a familiar name in the death lists I think That could have been me. That should have been me. We’ve more in common than you think, Arthur.”

Arthur looked at him unflinchingly. “I’m sorry, Davey. You’re right, I should have known, but I just never thought about it. You see, you’re the only man I ever envied. Because you’ve got the only thing I ever wanted. You have Holly.”

There was a long pause as they looked at each other. To his credit, David didn’t look away. “So it is her. We often wondered, but you never said anything. Holly and I love each other, Arthur. We always have. We’re going to be married soon. I wish ... things could have been different. We used to be so close, the three of us.”

“Relax,” said Jamie. “There’s no emergency. I just needed someone to talk to. I don’t know what to do. At the moment I’m pinning all my hopes on Dad’s will, that there’ll be something in it that can help us, but it’s a slim hope at best. I’m not up to this. In the past, whenever there was a problem, I could always turn to Dad. He always knew what to do. Now there’s just me, and everything’s going wrong.”

“Ignore him,” said Arthur quickly. “You mustn’t blame yourself, Jamie. You’re doing everything you can. We understand how hard it is. It’s not easy, learning how to stand on your own feet. Some people never do learn. But you’re doing fine so far. Isn’t he, Davey?”

“I can’t help feeling Dad would have done things differently,” said Jamie. “He was the great warrior, after all; the great hero. Everyone said so, even the King. I was so proud of him ... even though I never got to see much of him. He was away with the army a lot, especially after Mother died when I was young. But he was spending more time at the Tower just recently, and we were really getting to know each other. And then he had to go and die in that stupid little clash on the border. I couldn’t believe it when I heard. How could he have been so stupid? He didn’t have to go up there in person, not someone of his rank. He must have known it wasn’t safe up there! But he went anyway, because he couldn’t bear to miss out on the action. And he got himself killed, leaving Holly and me alone. And on top of all that, he hadn’t even bothered to tell me the Secret, as he should have!”

He was close to tears, his face bright red with anger and frustration. Arthur took him by the arm, and gently but firmly made him sit down on the nearest chair. “It’s all right to be angry, Jamie,” he said softly. “I was angry at my Family when they all died so suddenly, going off and leaving me all alone. But it wasn’t your father’s fault. He didn’t mean to leave you. He just made a mistake, that’s all; a simple mistake in judgment.”

“The whole border situation is a mess right now,” said Arthur. “Practically everyone I know has lost somebody to one border clash or another. If Outremer doesn’t back down soon, we could find ourselves in a full-fledged war.”

“It won’t come to that,” said David. “No one wants a war, at least no one that matters, and no one really cares about the borders. It’s just politics, that’s all. The diplomats will sort it out. Eventually.”

“We’re getting away from the point,” said Arthur. “Which is, all you can ever do is give it your best shot, and hope that’s enough. That’s all your father would expect of you, Jamie. That’s all any of us expect of you. You’re doing fine. Don’t let anyone tell you otherwise. Right, Davey?”

Greaves looked round the library and nodded approvingly. Everything was where it should be, ready for the reading of the will. Duncan would have been proud to see all his wishes carried out to the letter. The chairs had been set up in a semicircle facing Duncan’s favourite desk. The wax-sealed will had been placed neatly in the middle of the desktop, ready to be opened. All it lacked now was the man himself.

Greaves’ breath suddenly caught in his chest, and he looked away. He’d known the master was dead for some time now, but somehow the reading of the will confirmed it, made it real. Duncan would never again come striding through that door, to warm his hands at the fire and roar for cigars and his best brandy. Once the will was read, Duncan would become just a memory, a portrait on the wall; and young Jamie would be the new MacNeil in fact as well as name. Greaves sighed. He’d serve Jamie faithfully, just as Mister Duncan had ordered, but it wouldn’t be the same. Mister Duncan had been a great man, and Greaves would miss him.

He felt suddenly tired, and sat down on one of the chairs, something he would never have done if anyone else had been present. But it was all right; there was no one to see him. Robbie Brennan was off on an errand, and Mister Jamie and the guests were all safely occupied upstairs. Greaves leaned back in the chair and looked slowly around him. The library had always been his favourite room. Many an evening he had served Mister Duncan and his guests as they sat in the library, telling and retelling marvelous tales of their younger, soldiering days. And Greaves had moved from chair to chair, handing out glasses of mulled wine and dispensing cigars, inventing extra tasks so that he could stay a little longer and listen, too.

The butler scowled, pursing his lips tightly together. It was all gone now. No more evening stories. No more fine parties of great people for him to look after. And the MacNeil himself dead and lost on a battlefield too far away even to imagine, let alone visit. There had been little warmth in Greaves’s life as a butler, only orders and duties and the comfort of knowing his place and keeping to it. But Greaves had always thought of himself as someone who might have been Duncan MacNeil’s friend if things had been different. And now the man was dead, and Greaves would never be able to tell him that.

The door opened and Greaves was quickly back on his feet, but it was only Robbie Brennan, carrying the extra candelabrum Greaves had sent him for. Greaves pointed silently to where he wanted it, and Brennan lowered it carefully into place. He straightened up and glared at Greaves.

Brennan shrugged uncomfortably. “You’ve heard all the songs, but you can forget them. Songs are for entertainment, not history. I first met Duncan forty-four years ago, almost to the month. He was a young officer, the ink still wet on his commission. I was a mercenary out of Shadowrock, serving with Murdoch’s Marauders. An impressive name for a bunch of killers, half of them running from the law under names their mothers wouldn’t have recognized.

“Duncan and I first saw action together at Cormorran’s Bridge. The way the official histories tell it, it was a tactical defeat for the other side. I was there, and it was a bloody massacre. We lost five hundred men in the first half hour, and the river ran red with blood and offal. Murdoch’s Marauders were wiped out; only a handful of us survived. The main army was broken and scattered, heading for the horizon with enemy troops snapping at their heels. There were bodies everywhere, blood and guts lying steaming in the mud. The flies came down in great black clouds, covering the dead and the dying like moving blankets. Duncan and I ended up fighting back to back in the shallows. We would have run, but there was nowhere to run to. We were surrounded, and the enemy weren’t interested in taking prisoners. So, we made our stand, and vowed to take as many of them with us as we could. No one was more surprised than us when the enemy finally retreated rather than face approaching army reinforcements, and we were both still alive. We were a mess, but we were alive.

“We stuck together after that; we knew a hint from the Gods when we saw one. We worked well together, and slowly became friends as well as allies. The army sent us here and there, and we saw a lot of action in the kinds of places minstrels like to call colorful. Arse-ends of the world, most of them. We fought in twenty-three different Campaigns down the years, and not one of them for a cause that was worth so much blood and dying. Still, we got to see some of the world. Had some good times together. Even had a few adventures that had nothing to do with the army; but none of them the kind of thing you’d want to make a song about.

“Ah hell, Greaves. What can I tell you that you don’t already know? Duncan was a good soldier and a better friend. He had a bit of a temper, but he was always sorry afterwards, and his word was good, unlike quite a few I could mention. He brought me here to the Tower, when my soldiering days were over, and made me a part of his Family in all but name. That’s my old sword, hanging on the wall there. And you tell me you’ll miss him? I miss Duncan with every breath I take. When I wake up in the morning, the first thing I remember is that he’s dead. It’s like there’s a hole in my life that he used to fill, and now it’s cold and empty. I should have been there, Greaves. I should have been there with him. Maybe I could have done ... something. He never did watch his back enough. But I wasn’t there, because we both thought I was too old. So he died alone, among strangers, and I’ll spend the rest of my life wondering if I could have saved him if I’d been there.

“What do you want me to say, Greaves? That he liked you? He did, as far as I know. Wait until after the will; I’ll read his eulogy then. I wrote it myself years ago; just needs a little updating. I’ll say all the right things, make all the proper comments, sing his praises and not mention any of the things he’d rather were forgotten. Things that might shock young Jamie and his friends. I’ll polish up his memory one last time, and we can all say goodbye. You have to learn to say goodbye, Greaves. It’s the first real lesson every soldier learns.”

Brennan finally ran down, and the old library was quiet again. Greaves nodded slowly. “Thank you, Robbie. There were many things Mister Duncan could not bring himself to tell me about his past, perhaps because he thought they might distress me. But I wanted to know them anyway. Because they were a part of him. But he is not really gone from us, you know. He has left behind the young master, Jamie. There is a lot of his father in him.”

“We have to protect Mister Jamie!” said Greaves fiercely. “He is the MacNeil now. I think I know who our killer is. He masquerades as Quality, but he does not have the true stamp of the aristocracy about him. Never mind who; I am not certain enough yet to point the finger. But when the time comes, he must die. And Mister Jamie may not be able to do the deed. He’s young, and largely untested. If he should balk, we must do the task for him. The Secret must not get out. Or we betray Duncan’s name and memory.”

Hawk hurried down the corridor to the bathroom, clutching at the right side of his face with his hand. He banged on the bathroom door with his fist, waited a moment to see if anyone would answer, and then pushed open the door and hurried in. He slammed the door behind him with his foot, and made for the washbasin. He splashed some water into the bowl, and then reached up and carefully eased the glass eye out of his aching eye socket. He leaned against the wall as the pain slowly receded, letting his breathing get back to normal, and then he dropped the eye into the basin. It stared up at him reproachfully, as though someone had told it about the problem being all in Hawk’s mind. He turned his back on it, and massaged the right side of his face. He was already feeling a lot better. When this case was over he was going to have to have a stiff talk with himself as to which part of his mind was in charge.

He turned back and studied himself in the wall mirror. With his right eyelid closed to hide the empty socket, he looked somehow furtive. Not to mention half-witted. If someone came up to him on the street looking like that, he’d arrest the man on general principles. He glared down at the offending glass eye. The pain was almost gone now, but he had no doubt it would start creeping back as soon as he replaced the eye. As if he didn’t have enough to worry about. The case was complicated enough when he took it on, but now things were definitely getting out of hand. Not only was he nowhere near identifying the spy Fenris, he also had to find a magic-using killer freak before it killed everyone in the Tower; whilst, at the same time, keeping the increasingly paranoid others from figuring out that Richard and Isobel MacNeil weren’t all they were supposed to be. Hawk sighed, heavily, and fished the glass eye out of the water.

He held it up to the mirror, and then practically had a coronary as he saw the door start to swing open behind him. He crammed the glass eye into his socket, checked quickly that he’d got it the right way round and pointing in the right direction, and then turned smiling falsely to face Katrina Dorimant. She had a hand to her mouth, and was blushing prettily.

“No need to be bashful, Richard dear. We don’t need to play games, surely; not at our age. We’re of an age where we can say what we mean, and pursue those things we desire without hiding behind false modesty. You’re a very attractive man, Richard.”

She stopped immediately in front of him, so close her bosom pressed lightly against his chest as she breathed. Her upturned face brought her mouth dangerously close to his, and he could feel her warm breath on his lips. Hawk swallowed hard.

“Oh, don’t bother about Graham. No one else does. We’ll just have to be discreet, that’s all. I’ve seen you watching me, Richard, when you thought no one was looking. Watching me, wanting me, desiring me. I can feel the passion rising within you. Why try and deny it? My heart is beating faster just at the closeness of you. Feel it!”

She grabbed his right hand and held it firmly to her breast. Her skin seemed impossibly soft and warm under his hand, and her perfume filled his head. He thought about calling for help, and then quickly decided against it. If Isobel was to find them like this, she’d kill both of them. Or laugh herself sick. Hawk wasn’t sure which would be worse. He tried to surreptitiously pull his hand free, but she had a grip like a beartrap.

“The will. Yes, of course.” She let go of his hand and stepped back, frowning thoughtfully. “You’re right, my dear; this isn’t the right time. But don’t worry, Richard. I’ll sort something out. Just leave everything to me. And the next time we meet, things will be very different, I promise you. See you later, my darling.”

She kissed the tip of her index finger, pressed it to his lips, and then turned and left the bathroom, carefully closing the door behind her. Hawk swallowed hard and slumped back against the washstand. Just when he thought the case couldn’t get any more complicated ... The bathroom door burst open, and Hawk almost screamed. Fisher looked at him.