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
