for Brennan to pull up a chair facing him. He did so, and looked at Greaves
curiously.
'Robbie, tell me about Duncan,' said Greaves quietly. 'Tell me about the Duncan
you knew, in your younger days.'
'Why?' said Brennan.
'Because I want to know. Because I miss him.'
Brennan shrugged uncomfortably. 'You've heard all the songs, but you can forget
them. Songs are for entertainment, not history. I first met Duncan forty-four
years ago, almost to the month. He was a young officer, the ink still wet on his
commission. I was a mercenary out of Shadowrock, serving with Murdoch's
Marauders. An impressive name for a bunch of killers, half of them running from
the law under names their mothers wouldn't have recognized.
'Duncan and I first saw action together at Cormorran's Bridge. The way the
official histories tell it, it was a tactical defeat for the other side. I was
there, and it was a bloody massacre. We lost five hundred men in the first half
hour, and the river ran red with blood and offal. Murdoch's Marauders were wiped
out; only a handful of us survived. The main army was broken and scattered,
heading for the horizon with enemy troops snapping at their heels. There were
bodies everywhere, blood and guts lying steaming in the mud. The flies came down
in great black clouds, covering the dead and the dying like moving blankets.
Duncan and I ended up fighting back to back in the shallows. We would have run,
but there was nowhere to run to. We were surrounded, and the enemy weren't
interested in taking prisoners. So, we made our stand, and vowed to take as many
of them with us as we could. No one was more surprised than us when the enemy
finally retreated rather than face approaching army reinforcements, and we were
both still alive. We were a mess, but we were alive.
'We stuck together after that; we knew a hint from the Gods when we saw one. We
worked well together, and slowly became friends as well as allies. The army sent
us here and there, and we saw a lot of action in the kinds of places minstrels
like to call colorful. Arse-ends of the world, most of them. We fought in
twenty-three different Campaigns down the years, and not one of them for a cause
that was worth so much blood and dying. Still, we got to see some of the world.
Had some good times together. Even had a few adventures that had nothing to do
with the army; but none of them the kind of thing you'd want to make a song
about.
'Ah hell, Greaves. What can I tell you that you don't already know? Duncan was a
good soldier and a better friend. He had a bit of a temper, but he was always
sorry afterwards, and his word was good, unlike quite a few I could mention. He
brought me here to the Tower, when my soldiering days were over, and made me a
part of his Family in all but name. That's my old sword, hanging on the wall
there. And you tell me you'll miss him? I miss Duncan with every breath I take.
When I wake up in the morning, the first thing I remember is that he's dead.
It's like there's a hole in my life that he used to fill, and now it's cold and
empty. I should have been there, Greaves. I should have been there with him.
Maybe I could have done… something. He never did watch his back enough. But I
wasn't there, because we both thought I was too old. So he died alone, among
strangers, and I'll spend the rest of my life wondering if I could have saved
him if I'd been there.
'What do you want me to say, Greaves? That he liked you? He did, as far as I
know. Wait until after the will: I'll read his eulogy then. I wrote it myself
years ago; just needs a little updating. I'll say all the right things, make all
the proper comments, sing his praises and not mention any of the things he'd
rather were forgotten. Things that might shock young Jamie and his friends. I'll
polish up his memory one last time, and we can all say goodbye. You have to
learn to say goodbye, Greaves. It's the first real lesson every soldier learns.'
Brennan finally ran down, and the old library was quiet again. Greaves nodded
slowly. 'Thank you, Robbie. There were many things Mister Duncan could not bring
himself to tell me about his past, perhaps because he thought they might
distress me. But I wanted to know them anyway. Because they were a part of him.
But he is not really gone from us, you know. He has left behind the young
master, Jamie. There is a lot of his father in him.'
'I suppose so,' said Brennan. 'Sure, he's a good kid. Is there anything else, or
can I call the others down now?'
'We have to protect Mister Jamie!' said Greaves fiercely. 'He is the MacNeil
now. I think I know who our killer is. He masquerades as Quality, but he does
not have the true stamp of the aristocracy about him. Never mind who; I am not
certain enough yet to point the finger. But when the time comes, he must die.
And Mister Jamie may not be able to do the deed. He's young, and largely
untested. If he should balk, we must do the task for him. The Secret must not
get out. Or we betray Duncan's name and memory.'
Hawk hurried down the corridor to the bathroom, clutching at the right side of
his face with his hand. He banged on the bathroom door with his fist, waited a
moment to see if anyone would answer, and then pushed open the door and hurried
in. He slammed the door behind him with his foot, and made for the washbasin. He
splashed some water into the bowl, and then reached up and carefully eased the
glass eye out of his aching eye socket. He leaned against the wall as the pain
slowly receded, letting his breathing get back to normal, and then he dropped
the eye into the basin. It stared up at him reproachfully, as though someone had
told it about the problem being all in Hawk's mind. He turned his back on it,
and massaged the right side of his face. He was already feeling a lot better.
When this case was over he was going to have to have a stiff talk with himself
as to which part of his mind was in charge.
He turned back and studied himself in the wall mirror. With his right eyelid
closed to hide the empty socket, he looked somehow furtive. Not to mention
half-witted. If someone came up to him on the street looking like that, he'd
arrest the man on general principles. He glared down at the offending glass eye.
The pain was almost gone now, but he had no doubt it would start creeping back
as soon as he replaced the eye. As if he didn't have enough to worry about. The
case was complicated enough when he took it on, but now things were definitely
getting out of hand. Not only was he nowhere near identifying the spy Fenris, he
also had to find a magic-using killer freak before it killed everyone in the
Tower; whilst, at the same time, keeping the increasingly paranoid others from
figuring out that Richard and Isobel MacNeil weren't all they were supposed to
be. Hawk sighed, heavily, and fished the glass eye out of the water.
He held it up to the mirror, and then practically had a coronary as he saw the
door start to swing open behind him. He crammed the glass eye into his socket,
checked quickly that he'd got it the right way round and pointing in the right
direction, and then turned smiling falsely to face Katrina Dorimant. She had a
hand to her mouth, and was blushing prettily.
