Marc rose slowly to his feet. “We have to kill him. That’s all that matters.”
Holly sat down suddenly, her hands folded in her lap like a child’s. “I can’t believe that all this time Richard was the freak. 1 liked him.”
“So did I,” said Alistair. “But I didn’t let that blind me to his constant lying and evasions. Richard is the freak, Holly; don’t doubt it for a minute.”
“Of course he’s the freak,” said Jamie impatiently. “He ran when we challenged him, didn’t he? If he wasn’t guilty, why did he run?”
“But then why did Isobel go with him?” said Holly. “She swore he wasn’t the freak.”
“He’d probably been messing with her mind for so long she no longer knew what was true and what wasn’t,” said Brennan.
“Then why did Richard take her with him?” insisted Holly.
“Food,” said Alistair. “He’s woken up and remembered who he is, and he’s hungry.”
“If we’re to have any chance of saving her, we’ve got to get moving,” said Jamie.
“Of course,” said Alistair. “But we’re not all going. Too large a group would just slow us down, and I don’t want anyone with us who can’t look after themselves in a crisis. The two ladies will stay here, of course, so someone will have to stay with them, to protect them. Any volunteers?”
Holly looked immediately at David, but he shook his head. “I’ve got to go with them. They’re going to need my sword. Arthur will stay with you, won’t you, Arthur?”
“Of course,” said Arthur. “I’ll keep you safe, Holly. I know how to use a sword. I’ll die before I’d let anyone hurt you.”
Holly didn’t even look at him; her gaze was fixed accusingly on David. Marc cleared his throat.
“I’ll stay. I’m not much good with a sword, but given time I think I can build a bloody good barricade against that door.”
Alistair nodded to him curtly. “I take it the rest of you are with me?”
“Damn right,” said Brennan. He was standing straighter than usual, and he held himself with a brisk, professional manner that made him look twenty years younger. “The freak has to pay for Greaves’s death. Greaves wasn’t the easiest of people to get along with, but he was still a good man, for all that. We were never friends, but I would have trusted him with my life and my honour. He didn’t deserve to die like that. I’m going to find the freak and cut him into bloody pieces.”
“We won’t find him by standing around here talking about it!” said Jamie. “The freak’s caused my Family enough heartbreak. It’s time to put an end to him. We’re going, Alistair; right now.”
Alistair bowed slightly. “You are the MacNeil. Just give me a moment to force the door open, and we’ll be on our way.”
Jamie hefted his sword. “I want him dead, Alistair. No mercy and no quarter. I want him dead.”
Hawk and Fisher finally staggered to a halt somewhere on the third floor and leaned against a wall, heads bowed, fighting for breath. Fisher wiped the sweat from her face with her sleeve, and looked back the way they’d come. The corridor was quiet and deserted, the shadows undisturbed. She looked down at her bare feet, and winced. She’d kicked off her fashionable shoes some time back, so that she could run faster, and the cold from the bare stone floor had nipped unmercifully at her feet. Hawk reached up and took out his glass eye, sighed with relief, and dropped the eye into his pocket. The ache in his face immediately began to subside. All in the bloody mind.... He looked down at the duelling sword in his hand, sheathed it and sniffed disdainfully.
“If I’d had my axe, I’d never have run. I’d have stood my ground and chopped them all up like firewood. I mean, running from odds like that.... If this ever gets out, we’ll never live it down.”
Fisher shook her head slowly. “We can’t fight them, Hawk; they’re just innocent bystanders. They don’t understand what’s going on here.”
“I’m not so sure I do anymore,” said Hawk. “This case has got completely out of hand. Look, there’s no point in going any further. The only place above this is the battlements, and there’s not enough room to manoeuvre up there. We’re safe enough here, for the time being. It’ll take the others a while before they can get this far, so let’s use that time to get some hard thinking done. We ought to be able to figure out who the freak is by now.”
Fisher looked at him. “And what makes you think they’re going to listen to us? More than likely they’ll cut us down on sight.”
“We’ll just have to make them listen.”
“In that case, I want a sword. I can be much more convincing with a sword in my hand.”
Hawk looked at her, amused. “I thought we weren’t supposed to hurt them because they were just innocent bystanders?”
“I just meant we shouldn’t kill them. Apart from that, anything goes. No one chases me up three flights of cold stone stairs in my bare feet and gets away with it.”
Jamie and David made their way slowly along the first floor, carefully checking each room as they came to it. It hadn’t taken them long to work out an efficient system. They’d stop and listen carefully at the door, while Alistair and Brennan kept a watchful eye on the corridor. Then David would ease the door open, Jamie would kick it in, and they’d both charge into the room, swords at the ready. Once they were sure the room was empty, they’d turn the place upside down, just in case there were any secret hiding places Jamie didn’t know about. Then out into the corridor, and do the same with the next room. Over and over again. The long run of empty rooms was starting to take its toll on their nerves, but Jamie and David stuck at it. Having to just stand and watch helplessly as the freak drained the life out of Greaves had hardened their hearts till there was no room in either of them for anything but revenge.
Jamie still had trouble believing Greaves was dead. The man had been with the MacNeils for more than twenty years; to Jamie it seemed as though he’d always been there. He’d often played with Jamie when he was a child, and been his confidant and advisor when no one else could be bothered to listen. He’d never been a warm man—there had always been something distant about him—but he was always there when Jamie needed him. And now he was gone; dead and gone, like all the others, and there was no one left to tell him what to do for the best. He was the MacNeil now, and the Family depended on him. His Family and his friends. He was damned if he’d let them down.
Alistair kept a careful watch on the empty corridor as Jamie and David ransacked another room. The girl Isobel worried him. Why should she insist on sticking by her brother when it must have been obvious to her that he was the freak, and her real brother was dead? Surely the freak couldn’t be controlling her that completely.... No, if he had that kind of control, that kind of power, he wouldn’t have run from them in the first place. Could it be that Isobel had seen something in Richard that proved he was still who he claimed to be ... ? Alistair scowled. Richard had to be the freak; it was the only explanation that made sense after all the lies he’d caught the man in. Isobel just didn’t want to believe her brother was dead. Alistair sighed, and hefted his sword thoughtfully. He’d have to be careful she didn’t get hurt when they finally cornered the freak and killed him.
He glanced at Brennan, who was studying the darker shadows and alcoves with professional thoroughness. The man looked solid and reliable and somehow more alive than he’d ever seemed before. It was as though the man he’d once been had woken up and taken over from the second-rate minstrel he’d become. Alistair felt a hell of a lot safer with this new Brennan to guard his back. Jamie and David meant well, but they had no real experience with blood and pain and sudden death. That was why he let them check out the rooms. Wherever the freak had gone to ground, it wouldn’t be in any of the rooms. He was too clever for that. No; far more likely he’d be using one of the old secret passages or hidden bolt holes, waiting for a chance to jump out on his unsuspecting pursuers and pick them off one at a time while they were busy searching empty rooms....
Alistair took a deep breath, and let it out slowly. And swore to himself that when the moment finally came, no trace of compassion would stay his hand.
Hawk and Fisher sat side by’ side on the cold stone floor with their backs to the wall, as far away from the stairs as they could get. They’d been arguing for what seemed like hours, and they were still no nearer agreeing on anything. There were just too many theories and too few facts. They were after two men, not one, and anything that fit one case inevitably didn’t fit with the other. They finally fell silent, staring up and down the gloomy, curving corridor. They didn’t dare light any lamps for fear of giving away their position, and the shadows all around seemed dark and menacing and not a little mocking.
“There has to be an answer here somewhere,” said Hawk wearily. “But I’m damned if I can see it.”
“Keep looking,” said Fisher. “We’re running out of time. They’ll be here soon. There must be something we’re missing, something so obvious we’re looking right past it.”
“All right,” said Hawk, “Let’s try turning the problem on its head. Assume that all our assumptions so far are wrong. Where does that take us?”
“Right back where we started,” said Fisher. “We can’t just throw everything out, Hawk.”
“Why not? Our assumptions aren’t getting us anywhere. Start at the very beginning. We’ve been assuming the spy Fenris went to the sorcerer Grimm for a complete shapechange, so that no one would be able to recognize him. Which meant that anyone who could prove they’d had the same appearance for the past twenty-four hours could be ruled out as a suspect. But ... what if the spy had
already
been to Grimm for a shapechange earlier on, and had just gone back there to get his old shape back?”
Fisher looked at him. “How the hell did we miss something that obvious?”
“Trying to do two jobs at once. This is the first real chance we’ve had to sit down and think things through since we got here.”
“That’s true. But if Fenris didn’t change his appearance, then that throws everything wide open again. He could be anyone. That shapechange was the only way we had of separating Fenris out from the pack.”
Hawk grinned. “There’s one other way. Dubois told us the spy is a member of the Quality. And like I said at the time, why would one of the Quality want to be a spy? The usual incentives are politics and money, but most Quality don’t give a damn about politics and already have more money than they can hope to spend in one lifetime. But one of our merry band here at Tower MacNeil has money problems coming out of his ears. He’s admitted he has huge gambling debts, and even more damning, he actually talked about starting a business venture, a gossip paper, on the grounds it might make him money. What respectable member of the Quality would dirty his hands with vulgar trade, unless he was desperate to pay off his debts?”
“David ...” said Fisher. “David Brook. You’re right, Hawk; it fits!”
“He couldn’t go to his Family or friends for the money without admitting he’d made a fool of himself, and his pride wouldn’t allow him to do that. The moneylenders would want security he didn’t have; he doesn’t actually own anything solid until he inherits his estate on his father’s death. He was hoping to marry money through Holly, but according to Duncan’s will, all she gets is some jewellery and whatever allowance Jamie feels like granting her.”
“Right! That’s why he got so upset on her behalf at the will reading!”
“Right. Holly was his last chance. He must have known he couldn’t depend on her, and that’s why he took to spying. With so many of his Family in the army and the diplomatic corps, he had opportunities to get at all sorts of information. He’s our spy, Isobel. No doubt about it.”
“Wait just a minute,” said Fisher. “That’s all very well, but it doesn’t help us one damn bit with our current problem, which is how to identify the freak before the others get here. If we can’t point a convincing finger at someone else, they’ll kill us. Or we’ll have to kill them. And if we end up having to kill a bunch of Quality, even in self-defence, that’s the end of us in Haven. All the Families in the city would declare vendetta against us, and the Guard would withdraw our immunity rather than openly confront the Quality.”
“All right,” said Hawk. “Don’t panic. I’m working on it. I still think it’s Alistair. He lied to us about the Red Marches, and he was very quick to condemn me as the freak. Perhaps he thought he could turn suspicion away from himself by accusing me.”
“He was pretty eager, wasn’t he?” said Fisher. “And it’s interesting that no one seems to actually remember him being banished from Tower MacNeil in the first place. He had to have been a contemporary of Duncan’s, so how is it Katrina had never even heard of him?”
“Because Alistair doesn’t exist,” said Hawk. “He’s just a mask the freak created to hide behind. Well, at least now we should be able to sow a few doubts; assuming we get a chance to speak our piece.”
He broke off suddenly and looked towards the stairs. They both tensed as they heard quiet, furtive footsteps slowly drawing nearer. They rose quickly to their feet, throwing off their tiredness with practiced ease. They’d be tired later, when they had the time. Fisher’s hand dropped to her side where her sword should have been, and she cursed briefly.
“We never did get round to finding me a sword.” She reached out and took an oil lamp from its niche in the corridor wall. She shook it and listened to the oil gurgle, unscrewed the lamp into its two parts, and spilled the oil in a wide sweep across the floor. She then threw away the lamp, took a box of matches from her pocket, and held them concealed in her hand.