the wilds of Lower Markham. That's way out on the Eastern border, so no one
should be able to trip you up on local details. Make up anything you like; they
won't know the difference. But keep it simple. You don't want to end up
contradicting each other. Also, they'll expect a certain amount of gaucherie and
unfamiliarity with the latest styles, so that should help excuse any foul-ups
you do make. Now then, you're going to have to get used to your new names.
Captain Fisher can use her given name of Isobel. That's quite a fashionable name
at the moment. But we don't seem to have a given name on the files for you,
Captain Hawk.'
'There isn't one. I'm just Hawk.'
'You only have the one name?'
'I've had others. But I'm just Hawk now.'
'Be that as it may,' said Dubois, in the tone of someone determined not to ask
questions he's sure he wouldn't like the answers to. 'As far as you're
concerned, from now on you're Richard MacNeil. Got it?'
'Richard…' said Hawk. 'Yeah, I can live with that.'
'I'm so pleased,' said Dubois. 'One last thing: Leave your axe here. We'll
supply you with a standard dueling sword. And Captain Fisher will have to go
unarmed, of course. No young lady of the Quality would wear a sword. It simply
isn't done.'
Hawk and Fisher looked at each other.
'No axe.'
'No sword.'
'Tight trousers.'
'And a bloody corset.'
They looked hard at Dubois. 'We want a bonus,' said Hawk flatly.
'In cash,' said Fisher.
'In our hands, before we go.'
'I can arrange that,' said Dubois.
Hawk looked at Fisher. 'They must really be desperate.'
'Maybe we should hit them for overtime while we're at it,' said Fisher.
'Don't push your luck,' said Dubois.
Chapter Three
Ghosts And Memories
Haven was an old city, but the dark and brooding cliffs that overlooked it were
older still. Huge and forbidding, they rose out of the restless sea like grim,
watchful guardians, protecting Haven on three sides from the raging storms that
swept in off the sea. The waves pounded endlessly at the jagged spurs of rock,
throwing spray high into the wind even on the calmest of days. Tower MacNeil
stood firm and unyielding on an outcropping of dark basalt that jutted from the
cliff face like a clenched fist against the encroaching sea.
The Tower was tall and elegant, built entirely from the local white stone, with
its distinctive pearly sheen. Its lines were clean and functional, the wide
glass windows its only concession to comfort and luxury. It stood five stories
tall, surmounted by open crenellated battlements. Down the centuries, Tower
MacNeil had defied both time and the elements, as well as countless enemy
attacks. Often scarred, and as often restored, it had never once fallen to its
adversaries. Brilliant engineering and subtle sorceries maintained the Tower, as
it maintained and protected the Family who dwelt within.
But like the cliffs on which it stood, and the dark city it overlooked, Tower
MacNeil had its grim and bloody secrets. Within the Tower, something had
stirred; something strange and awful, free of its chains at last.
Hawk trudged up the single narrow path, his cloak pulled tightly about him, his
head bowed against the gusting wind. This high up on the cliffs the wind blew
hard and bitter cold. The wild grasses seemed permanently flattened by the
weather, and nothing else grew about him for as far as he could see. Hawk wasn't
surprised, given the force of the winds. Anything that dared thrust its head
above the ground was probably ripped out by the roots for its impertinence. He
raised his head slightly, and scowled as he saw Fisher waiting for him some way
ahead, standing on the edge of the cliff and looking out to sea. He took a few
deep breaths, fighting to get his breathing back to normal before he joined her.
The long steep trail had winded him, but he didn't want her to know that. She'd
only make pointed comments about his being out of condition and put him on
another diet. Hawk hated diets. Why did everything that was good for you have to
taste so bloody bland?
He crossed over to stand beside Fisher on the cliff edge, careful to keep a
respectful distance between him and the crumbling stone brink. The wind tugged
at his hair and drew tears from his eyes. Fisher nodded at him happily, and
indicated the view with a sweeping wave of her arm. Hawk had to admit it was
pretty breathtaking. Far below, waves pounded the rocks with unrelenting fury,
falling reluctantly back in streams of froth and spume. The choppy sea stretched
away to the horizon in endless shades of blue and green and grey, empty of sails
for once. Winter was closing in, and ships now were few and far between. The
steely blue sky was clear of clouds for the moment, thanks to the city weather
wizards, and gulls hung on the air like drifting shadows, tossed here and there
by the gusting wind. Their mournful keening was all that broke the morning
quiet, save for the distant crash of breakers down below.
'Listen to the sea and the gulls,' said Fisher. 'So wild, so free. We really
should get out here more often, Hawk.'
'Maybe we will, come the summer. And you'd better call me Richard from now on,
even when there's no one around. We don't want to get caught out on something
that simple.'
'Sure. Why did we have to be brother and sister? Why couldn't we be husband and
wife?'
'Beats me. Maybe we're supposed to get information out of people by romancing
them.'
Fisher wrinkled her nose. 'Not really our style, that.'
'True.'
'I never get tired of looking at the sea. I never even saw the ocean before we
left the North.'
'I like the view too, Isobel, but we can't stay here. We have a job to do, and
time is pressing.'
'I know. It's just that we never seem to have any time to ourselves these days.'
'When did we ever?'
'True. Let's go.'
They turned away from the cliff edge and made their way back through the grass
to the narrow stony trail. The Tower loomed ahead of them, straight and
uncompromising against the skyline, silent and enigmatic. Its height made it
look deceptively slim until you got close enough to realize just how huge the
