sweat. Make them afraid. You learn things like that in Haven. He looked casually around him, but the incident had passed so quickly that no one seemed to have noticed anything. He turned back to Sinclair, who was studying him thoughtfully.
'You know, that really was very impressive,' said Sinclair. 'I wish 1 could do things like that.'
'You could learn,' said Hawk.
'No, I don't think so. It probably involves a lot of things like practice and discipline and hard work. Not really me, I'm afraid. Did you know you have blood on your chin?'
Hawk took out his handkerchief and wiped carefully at his mouth and chin. 'You have to be able to stand up for yourself. It helps keep the flies off.'
Sinclair smiled. 'Like I said, not really me. It's not important. You see, I don't matter. Not to anyone. Never have and never will.' He stopped, and looked at Hawk. 'Is something wrong, Captain?'
'No. You just reminded me of someone I used to know. Someone who felt like that.'
'What happened to him?'
Hawk looked across at Fisher, on the other side of the room. 'He found someone who believed in him.'
Fisher had found herself to be very popular. Young men gathered around her, plying her with drinks and sweets and smiles, and vying with each other for her attention. The young rakes and blades were always on the lookout for a new pretty face, the more exotic the better. And compared to the carefully groomed and painted flowers of the Quality, the six-foot muscular blonde in the Guard's cloak seemed very exotic indeed. The female members of the Quality seemed caught between ostentatiously ignoring her and glaring at her when her back was turned.
Fisher didn't care much for the Quality, singly or en masse. More money than they knew what to do with, and nothing to give their lives meaning except an endless round of love affairs, duels, and Family vendettas. The ones with any guts went into the army; these here at the party were the ones who'd stayed behind. Which was why they joined the Hellfire Club. Their lives were so empty that there was nothing left but to play at being bad in the hopes of shocking each other, or at least their parents.
Fisher pumped the young men unobtrusively with leading questions, but didn't get much in the way of answers. The Quality were too busy making fools of themselves trying to impress her. They began to get on her nerves after a while, and when hints that she'd prefer to be left alone fell on deaf ears, she started to wonder if punching out one or two of them might help to get her message across. She'd just selected her first target, when a loud confident voice cut across the young men's babble, and quickly sent them all packing.
Fisher looked her rescuer over carefully. He was a little taller than she, elegantly slender, and dressed in well-cut, sombre clothes. He was in his late twenties at most, and good-looking in a dark, traditional way, though there was a self-satisfied look to his eyes and mouth that Fisher didn't like.
'Lord Graham Brunel, at your service,' he said smoothly. 'I do hope those boys weren't bothering you too much. I'm afraid the Club has grown so popular now that we seem to be letting just anyone in. I'll have to speak to Louis about it. Now, may I know your name, dear lady?'
'Isobel,' said Fisher carefully. 'This is my first time here.'
'Yes, I thought it must be,' said Brunel. 'I'm sure I'd have remembered so distinctive a beauty as yourself if we'd met before. That is a Guard's cloak you're wearing, isn't it? Is it the real thing, by any chance?'
'Oh, yes,' said Fisher. 'It's real.'
'You really must tell me how you came by it. I'm sure it's a fascinating story.'
'You wouldn't believe how fascinating,' said Fisher. 'Have you been with the Hellfire Club long?'
'Almost from the beginning, my dear. Arthur Sinclair came up with the idea originally, bless his booze-rotted brain, but it was Louis Hightower and I who brought the Club together and made it what it is.'
'But have you achieved any results?' said Fisher.
'You'd be surprised,' said Brunel. 'We're getting close to something very powerful, Isobel. I can feel it. Something so awful and magnificent it'll tear this dreary little city apart. But there's nothing to be worried about, my dear, I promise you. You just stay close to me, and I'll keep you safe.'
'That's very kind of you,' said Fisher, 'But I already have an escort.'
'Drop him. You're with me now.'
Fisher smiled at him. 'Fancy yourself, don't you?'
Brunel looked at her uncertainly. 'I beg your pardon?'
'You haven't achieved anything, have you, Brunel? In all the time you've been running this Club, have you raised a single demon, contacted a Power, or even managed to make the lights flicker a little?' She paused a moment while Brunel went red in the face and struggled for words. 'I thought not. The Hellfire Club, when you get right down to it, is just another game. Another excuse to get dressed up, drink too much, and have a good time jumping at shadows. Just a bunch of overgrown kids. I don't think I'll be staying.'
Brunel reached out quickly and took her by the arm. 'Oh, but I really must insist, my dear. You've been asking a lot of questions, but you haven't told us anything about yourself. I think it's time you told me who you really are.'
Fisher slowly raised her arm despite his hold, and showed him the silver torc at her wrist. 'Isobel Fisher, Captain of the city Guard. Now get your hand off me or I'll break your fingers.'
Brunel's face was suddenly harsh and ugly, all charm fled. His fingers dug into her arm muscle, trying to hurt her. 'A spy. A dirty stinking Council spy. You're not going anywhere, Captain. We can use you, in the Hellfire Club. Some of us have been wondering if a human sacrifice might not be just what we need, to make the breakthrough we've been looking for. We were going to use one of the servants, someone who wouldn't be missed, but you'll do nicely. No one's going to miss you; no one even knows you're here, right?'
Fisher smiled at him. 'I think this has gone far enough.' She reached out with her free hand and clapped him on the shoulder. Her thumb found the exposed nerve behind the collarbone, and pressed down hard. Brunel's face screwed up as the pain hit him, and his hold on her arm loosened. She shrugged free of him, and pulled his face close to hers. Brunel tried to pull away, but the stabbing pain paralysed him.
'No human sacrifice, Brunel. Not tonight or any other night. The Guard's going to keep a close watch on you from now on. And if we even suspect you're thinking about a human sacrifice, we'll come back here in force and drag each and every one of you out of here in chains. We've left you alone because you're harmless. Stay that way, or I guarantee you'll spend the rest of your days walking the treadmill under the city gaol. Got it?'
She let him go and he staggered back a pace, clutching at his shoulder. He tried to scowl at her, but couldn't meet her eyes. He turned and disappeared into the crowd, and was swallowed up in a moment.
Buchan wandered through a crowd of averted faces, feeling not unlike the ghost at the feast. Word of his arrival had circulated quickly through the gathering. Backs turned at his approach, and murmurs rose and fell as he passed. The Quality, young or old, liked to think of itself as being above petty moralities and restrictions, but when you got right down to it, their affairs and debaucheries still followed very strict guidelines. For all the freedom that wealth and position brings, there remained things that were simply not done. And when it came to matters of Family and inheritance, the Quality were very conservative. Wives and children were important; they continued and preserved the precious bloodlines, without which there would be no hundred Families, no Quality. So for an only son, the last of his line, to turn his back on marriage and make regular visits to the Sisters of Joy was simply unacceptable.
There was a stir in the crowd to his left, and Buchan looked round in mild surprise to find someone approaching him. His first thought was that he was about to be asked to leave, but as the crowd fell away he saw that it was the party's host, Lord Louis Hightower. Buchan winced mentally though his face remained impassive.
The Lord Hightower was of average height and stockily built, much like his late father. As a second son, he had been spending a quiet and not unsuccessful life in the army when his father and mother died in the same night, victims of a werewolf's curse. His elder brother had been murdered some months previously. So he resigned his commission and came home, and now he was the Lord Hightower, one of the leading lights in the Quality and chief organizer of the Hellfire Club. He and Buchan were the same age, and had been friends, once. Buchan waited for Hightower to come to him, and then bowed politely. He was ready for almost anything except the sad, exasperated sigh with which Hightower greeted him.
