room had died. Bowman wondered vaguely why the sorcerer should have chosen such an unrelentingly repulsive decor. The man usually showed such excellent taste. On the other hand, Gaunt hardly ever used these rooms. Maybe he'd inherited the decor 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 <em>someone</em>. 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 duelist, 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 quarreled; so many things might have been different.
<em>If only</em>; the most futile phrase in the language. Stalker looked up at the ceiling, mostly
