Wolf in the Fold Page 12

  Alistair sniffed and turned away, his back radiating disapproval. Marc just nodded and turned away. Hawk moved over to join Jamie, who was leaning over the desk, shuffling through a sheaf of papers and squinting at them in the meager light from the slit window. There was a lamp on the desk. Hawk picked it up and shook it, and heard oil gurgle. He raised an eyebrow. Someone had been in the room recently. Which meant there was a way in that they'd missed. He shrugged and lit the lamp, holding it over the papers. The crabbed handwriting was difficult to read, even with the additional light, but Hawk was able to make out enough of it to give him goose flesh. The author had to be the freak's father. Jamie swore softly as he struggled with the handwriting.

  "These are old, Richard, really old. I need to study them. This bit here seems to have been written directly after the freak was walled up and left to die; something about its…

  unnatural appetites. There are hints here about what the freak actually is, and how to deal with it; all the things Dad never got around to telling me. Richard, we've struck gold!"

  "Don't get too excited yet," said Hawk, keeping his voice low. "Here's something else for you to think about: Someone was in here before us, not long ago."

  Jamie looked at him sharply. "How can you tell?"

  "There was fresh oil in this lamp. What worries me is how he got in."

  "Presumably there's a secret mechanism here somewhere, and we missed it."

  "Maybe. And maybe there isn't, and our visitor used magic."

  They looked at each other for a long moment. "What are you saying?" said Jamie finally.

  "I'm not sure. But if there is a secret magic-user here in Tower MacNeil, that could complicate the hell out of things."

  Jamie frowned. "Dad was the magic-user in this Family; I never had much of a gift for it myself. He could have been here while he was putting together his notes for me."

  "That's a possibility," said Hawk. "But we can't bank on it. Let's keep this to ourselves for the time being. If there is a secret magic-user among us, we don't want to spook him. Or her."

  Jamie started to say something, then stopped as Alistair leaned in through the hole in the wall. "What are you two muttering about?"

  "Nothing," said Hawk. "We've just found some old papers, that's all. We'll check them out downstairs."

  "Right," said Jamie. He went quickly through the desk drawers, and gathered up a few more papers. He rolled them all up and stuffed them inside his shirt. "Let's go. We've still got to find the third room."

  They found it sooner than they expected. They rounded a curve in the corridor, and stopped dead in their tracks as they saw a great hole in the wall and debris scattered across the floor. Jagged half-bricks jutted from the sides of the hole like broken teeth, and the wall itself bowed slightly outwards into the corridor, as though there'd been an explosion in the room beyond.

  "That's not possible," said Jamie. "We passed this way less than half an hour ago, and there was no trace of this then!"

  "It's here now," said Hawk. He knelt down among the rubble and examined it closely in the light of the lamp he'd brought with him from the last room. "This happened some time ago. There's a layer of dust here that hasn't been disturbed. But you're right, Jamie; we did come this way before. You can see our footprints in the dust over there. Strange. There isn't this much dust anywhere else on this floor."

  "What does that mean?" said Jamie.

  Hawk shrugged. "Beats me. Maybe the servants just didn't feel like dusting this particular bit of corridor for some reason." He got to his feet, and moved over to inspect the broken wall. "This is interesting, too. Look at the way the bricks splay outwards. They must have been hit from the other side, from inside the room. The freak did this himself, presumably with his bare hands."

  "Gods save us," said Jamie. "What kind of monster is it?"

  Alistair moved over to study the hole, scowling thoughtfully. "Nothing human could have done this. The wall was stout and heavy, built to last." He peered through the hole at the room beyond, and his voice changed. "Richard, bring that lamp over here, would you?"

  Hawk did so, and the others crowded round so they could all see into the hidden room. Scattered across the floor of the tiny cell were hundreds of small bones. Among them were the bodies of several small creatures, rats and mice and other things too decayed and corrupt to identify. The room stank of age and decay, like a freshly opened tomb.

  "Well, now we know what he ate," said Jamie, his voice too steady to be natural.

  "It doesn't explain how they got into a bricked-up room," said Hawk. "Besides, some of the less decayed bodies look practically untouched."

  He stepped back from the hole to get some fresh air, and the others gladly took this as an excuse to do the same. They looked at each other for a while, at a loss for words.

  Hawk nudged a brick on the floor with his foot, and the sudden grating sound seemed very loud.

  "Perhaps there's something in the papers that will explain this," said Jamie finally. "I'll check them when we get downstairs."

  "There's only one explanation," said Alistair. "Magic. Some kind of illusion. The hole in the wall was there all the time, and we walked right past it without seeing it. Hell, we must have been practically stumbling over the rubble."

  "So what happened to the illusion?" said Hawk. "Why are we able to see the hole now?"

  "Perhaps we're being allowed to see it," said Marc. "Perhaps the freak doesn't need to hide it from us any longer."

  They all looked at him. "You mean the freak knows we're here, and what we're doing?" said Jamie.

  "Haven't you felt you were being watched?" said Marc. "Haven't you had that feeling right from the start?"

  "The freak must be a magic-user of some kind," said Alistair. "He set up the illusion after he broke out; first so that the servants wouldn't see the hole, and then so that we wouldn't… until he wanted us to. Now he's hiding behind another illusion, dogging us from one floor to another and laughing at us all the while."

  "Oh great," said Hawk. "Not only is he inhumanly strong and a killer, but he can mess with our minds as well."

  They stood quietly for a while, staring into the creature's cell, because it was easier than looking at each other and admitting they didn't know what to do next. Marc finally broke the silence, his voice soft and reflective.

  "Think what he must have endured, shut up in that tiny cell for years on end. No way to measure time, save by the passing of day into night and night into day. No sound save his own voice, no company save his own thoughts. And all the years passing, one into another… Did he ever understand why he'd been shut away and left to die, except as a punishment for being… different? Perhaps in the end that's what kept him alive so long; a slow-burning fuse of hatred, waiting for a chance at revenge.

  "Don't start feeling sorry for the creature," said Alistair. "He's already killed one man. And he would undoubtedly kill you, given the chance."

  "We don't know the freak is the murderer," said Marc. "There's no evidence, no proof; nothing to tie him directly to the killing. For all we know, one of us may be the murderer, for reasons of his own."

  Hawk studied him thoughtfully but said nothing.

  "We can discuss this better downstairs," said Jamie, with just enough of an edge to his voice to make it clear that this was an order and not a suggestion. "It's obvious the freak isn't using his cell anymore, so there's no point in hanging around here. We've been gone a long time. The others will be worried about us."

  He turned his back on the gaping hole in the wall, and started off down the corridor, followed by the others. They made their way silently back down the staircase, and all the way down Hawk thought of the dead rats in the freak's cell. He'd studied the fresher bodies very carefully, and as far as he could see, none of them had any signs of a death wound. Just like the dead man in the chimney.

  In the drawing room, after the search party left, those left behind at first busied themselves stacking furniture
against the door, but that didn't take long. The atmosphere became tense and strained. No one felt much like talking. Holly sat with her back pressed against the wall, her face pale and bloodless. Her hands were clasped tightly together in her lap, and she jumped at every sudden noise or movement. Katrina had given up trying to get through to her, and sat elegantly on her chair, sipping unhurriedly at her wine and thinking her own thoughts. Greaves and Brennan stood self-consciously on guard by the barricade. Brennan had an old short sword he'd taken from a plaque on the wall, while Greaves was holding a heavy iron poker from the fireplace. The butler's cold features could have been carved in stone, as usual, while Brennan looked somehow larger and more imposing, as though having a sword in his hand had awakened memories of the man he used to be. David Brook and Lord Arthur sat close by Holly, trying to comfort her with their presence. And Fisher stood with her back to the fireplace, watching them all unobtrusively, and wishing desperately for a sword.

  She wasn't sure she believed in the freak, but that didn't mean there was no danger. In her opinion there were enough human killers around without having to turn to the supernatural to explain a sudden violent death. It was much more likely the killing had something to do with the spy Fenris. She shifted her weight from one foot to the other, and hoped Hawk wouldn't be long. She always thought more clearly when she had Hawk to discuss things with.

  Lord Arthur got up and helped himself to another drink. David glared at him. "Don't you think you've had enough, Arthur? You're no use to us drunk."

  Arthur smiled. "I'm no use to anyone, drunk or sober, Davey. You should know that. Besides, to a seasoned drinker such as myself, getting drunk isn't nearly so simple as it once was. As my system grows increasingly pickled, alcohol has less and less effect on it. I suppose eventually I shall reach a stage where alcohol has no effect on me whatsoever, but I hope and pray I shall have departed this sad vale of tears long before then. But whatever you do, Davey, don't have me cremated. There's so much booze in my body it would probably burn for a fortnight."

  "Don't talk that way," said Holly. "It's depressing."

  "I'm sorry," said Arthur immediately. "How are you feeling now, Holly?"

  "Better, I think." She smiled at him tremulously. "Do you think I could have a sip of your drink?"

  "Of course," said Arthur, and handed her his glass. "Approach it carefully; it's rather potent."

  Holly took a cautious sip, and then swallowed hard. She pulled a face and thrust the glass back at him. "And you drink that stuff for fun? You're tougher than you look, Arthur."

  "Why, thank you, my dear. It's nice to be appreciated."

  They shared a smile. David stirred impatiently. "Don't encourage him, Holly. We might need his sword yet."

  "If we ever reach the stage where everything depends on me and my poor skill with a sword, then we will be in serious trouble," said Arthur calmly. "I have all the fighting skills of a depressed rabbit. I never was much of a warrior; I always believed in seeing the other fellow's point of view. Preferably over a glass of something. No, Davey; if trouble occurs, I have every confidence that you will defend us nobly. You're the swordsman here."

  "That's right," said Holly. "You always had to be the hero, David, even when we were young. I'd be the captive Princess, and you'd be the valiant hero on his milk-white charger, come to rescue me. I always needed saving back then for some reason or another."

  "I remember," said Arthur. "I always had to be Davey's squire, even though I was the eldest. I didn't mind. My father was furious when he found out, though. You're a viscount! he used to thunder. The son of a Lord! Try to act like one! I always was a disappointment to Dad." He shrugged, and taking a healthy sip from his drink, looked directly at Holly. "They were good days, then. When we were young, and the world was so simple."

  "You're getting maudlin, Arthur," said David warningly. He turned to Holly and smiled reassuringly. "There's really nothing to worry about, Holly. I'll protect you, just as I always have."

  "And I'll do my bit, however small," said Arthur. "I would defend you with my life, Holly."

  Holly smiled genuinely for the first time, and reached out to clasp each of them by the hand. "I feel so safe with you two here. My guardians."

  "They've been gone too long," said Katrina suddenly. "It shouldn't take this long to check a few windows. Do you suppose something's happened to them?"

  "It's too early to start panicking," said Fisher. "They haven't been gone an hour yet."

  "Is that all?" said Holly. "It seems longer."

  "It's the waiting," said Fisher. "Time always drags when you're waiting for something to happen."

  "It still seems too long," said Katrina stubbornly. "I'm sure Jamie didn't intend for us to be left alone this long. Something's happened, I'm sure of it. I think someone ought to go after them and make sure everything's all right."

  "Don't look at me," said Arthur. "I may be drunk, but I'm not crazy."

  "Damn right," said Fisher. "No one is to go off on their own. It isn't safe."

  "Who the hell do you think you are, giving everyone orders?" said Katrina angrily. "Hold your tongue, and remember your place. David, if Arthur hasn't the courage to go, I'm sure you'll…"

  "Not this time, Katrina," said David firmly. "For once, I find myself in agreement with Arthur. If the freak is roaming about out there, a man on his own would make a perfect target. And no, you can't send one of the servants, either."

  "Thank you, sir," said Greaves. Brennan grinned.

  Katrina slumped back in her chair and pouted. "So; we just sit here and wait for them to come back, do we? What if they never come back?"

  "They'll be back," said Fisher.

  Holly looked at her. "How can we be so sure?"

  Fisher smiled. "I have faith in my brother. We've been through a lot together."

  "Yes," said Katrina darkly. "I'll just bet you have."

  Fisher looked at her with a slightly raised eyebrow, and Katrina decided to go back to pouting.

  The trip down through the Tower seemed to take forever. The stairs fell away endlessly before them, curling round and round the inner wall. Hawk's thighs ached from the strain, and his back ached from the tension of constantly waiting for an attack. They were at their most vulnerable on the stairs, and the freak must know it. He'd never get a better chance at them. But landing corners came and went without an ambush, and doors passed unopened. Hawk's scowl deepened. He almost wished the freak would attack and get it over with. But they reached the ground floor without incident, and Jamie led the way back to the drawing room.

  Hawk brought up the rear, sword at the ready, his gaze still darting from shadow to shadow. He was beginning to wish he hadn't left the sledgehammer up on the third floor. Alistair and Marc moved close together, also with swords at the ready, almost treading on Jamie's heels. Hawk didn't blame them. It was always when you were nearly back to safety that your adrenalin really began to pump. It was only then, when you stopped thinking about your mission and started thinking about being able to relax and take it easy again that you realized how much you had to lose if something were to go wrong at the last moment. He hung back a little, giving himself room to move, and swept the surrounding corridor with a steady, professional gaze. It wasn't likely the freak would make a move now, after turning down so many other, better opportunities, but Hawk wasn't about to drop his guard just because safety was so near at hand.

  Jamie reached the drawing room door, banged on it with his fist, and called out his name. Marc and Alistair moved in close behind him, staring almost hungrily at the door as they listened to the barricade being dismantled. Hawk stood with his back to the door, watching the corridor. He looked left and right at random, careful not to give any attacker a pattern he could anticipate and elude. There was a movement to his right, and he looked sharply round to find Alistair beside him, looking slightly sheepish.

  "Must be getting old," said Alistair gruffly. "Forgetting to watch my back, just because I'm nearl
y home. You'd make a good soldier, lad. You've got the right instincts. You sure you've never had any training?"

  Hawk cast about for a convincing answer, but was saved by the sound of the drawing room door opening. Jamie hurried in, followed by Marc and Alistair. Hawk took one last look round the empty corridor, then backed unhurriedly into the drawing room. He kicked the door shut and pushed a heavy piece of furniture up against it. And then, finally, he put away his sword and allowed himself to relax a little.

  Holly and Katrina were taking turns hugging the breath out of Jamie, while David and Lord Arthur clapped Marc and Alistair on the shoulder and pumped them for details about what they'd found out. Greaves and Robbie Brennan nodded politely to Hawk as he put down his lamp, congratulated him on his safe return, and set about rebuilding the barricade. Fisher came over to Hawk and offered him a brandy, which he accepted gratefully.

  "Any sign of the freak?" she asked quietly.

  "We found his lair, but he was long gone. Jamie's got some documents that should fill us in on what the freak actually is. Apart from that, it was pretty much a wasted journey. One bit of bad news: There's a good chance the freak is a magic-user. We ran into a pretty good illusion spell up around his lair."

  Fisher pursed her lips thoughtfully. "That's all we needed. Did you come across anything that might tie in with Fenris?"

  "Not a damn thing. I'm beginning to wonder if we might have been sent on a wild-goose chase. I haven't come across anything to suggest Fenris was ever here."

  "The circle of sorcerers said they tracked the spy right to Tower MacNeil."

  Hawk sniffed. "I wouldn't trust that lot to cast my horoscope."

  Fisher smiled. "Are you going to tell Commander Dubois that, or shall I?"

  At that point, Jamie launched into an excited, only slightly exaggerated account of their journey. Fisher listened skeptically while Hawk enjoyed his brandy. He might not know much about vintages, but he knew enough not to waste a chance at a good brandy. It wasn't often he could afford the good stuff on a Guard's wages. Jamie finally wound up his report, and spread out the papers he'd found on one of the larger tables so that everyone could take a look at them. With perseverance, and a little discreet elbowing, Hawk and Fisher made sure they got places in front of everyone else.