they were just innocent bystanders?'

'I just meant we shouldn't kill them. Apart from that, anything goes. No one

chases me up three flights of cold stone stairs in my bare feet and gets away

with it.'

Jamie and David made their way slowly along the first floor, carefully checking

each room as they came to it. It hadn't taken them long to work out an efficient

system. They'd stop and listen carefully at the door, while Alistair and Brennan

kept a watchful eye on the corridor. Then David would ease the door open, Jamie

would kick it in, and they'd both charge into the room, swords at the ready.

Once they were sure the room was empty, they'd turn the place upside down, just

in case there were any secret hiding places Jamie didn't know about. Then out

into the corridor, and do the same with the next room. Over and over again. The

long run of empty rooms was starting to take its toll on their nerves, but Jamie

and David stuck at it. Having to just stand and watch helplessly as the freak

drained the life out of Greaves had hardened their hearts till there was no room

in either of them for anything but revenge.

Jamie still had trouble believing Greaves was dead. The man had been with the

MacNeils for more than twenty years; to Jamie it seemed as though he'd always

been there. He'd often played with Jamie when he was a child, and been his

confidant and advisor when no one else could be bothered to listen. He'd never

been a warm man—there had always been something distant about him—but he was

always there when Jamie needed him. And now he was gone; dead and gone, like all

the others, and there was no one left to tell him what to do for the best. He

was the MacNeil now, and the Family depended on him. His Family and his friends.

He was damned if he'd let them down.

Alistair kept a careful watch on the empty corridor as Jamie and David ransacked

another room. The girl Isobel worried him. Why should she insist on sticking by

her brother when it must have been obvious to her that he was the freak, and her

real brother was dead? Surely the freak couldn't be controlling her that

completely… No, if he had that kind of control, that kind of power, he wouldn't

have run from them in the first place. Could it be that Isobel had seen

something in Richard that proved he was still who he claimed to be… ? Alistair

scowled. Richard had to be the freak; it was the only explanation that made

sense after all the lies he'd caught the man in. Isobel just didn't want to

believe her brother was dead. Alistair sighed, and hefted his sword

thoughtfully. He'd have to be careful she didn't get hurt when they finally

cornered the freak and killed him.

He glanced at Brennan, who was studying the darker shadows and alcoves with

professional thoroughness. The man looked solid and reliable and somehow more

alive than he'd ever seemed before. It was as though the man he'd once been had

woken up and taken over from the second-rate minstrel he'd become. Alistair felt

a hell of a lot safer with this new Brennan to guard his back. Jamie and David

meant well, but they had no real experience with blood and pain and sudden

death. That was why he let them check out the rooms. Wherever the freak had gone

to ground, it wouldn't be in any of the rooms. He was too clever for that. No;

far more likely he'd be using one of the old secret passages or hidden bolt

holes, waiting for a chance to jump out on his unsuspecting pursuers and pick

them off one at a time while they were busy searching empty rooms…

Alistair took a deep breath, and let it out slowly. And swore to himself that

when the moment finally came, no trace of compassion would stay his hand.

Hawk and Fisher sat side by side on the cold stone floor with their backs to the

wall, as far away from the stairs as they could get. They'd been arguing for

what seemed like hours, and they were still no nearer agreeing on anything.

There were just too many theories and too few facts. They were after two men,

not one, and anything that fit one case inevitably didn't fit with the other.

They finally fell silent, staring up and down the gloomy, curving corridor. They

didn't dare light any lamps for fear of giving away their position, and the

shadows all around seemed dark and menacing and not a little mocking.

'There has to be an answer here somewhere,' said Hawk wearily. 'But I'm damned

if I can see it.'

'Keep looking,' said Fisher. 'We're running out of time. They'll be here soon.

There must be something we're missing, something so obvious we're looking right

past it.'

'All right,' said Hawk, 'Let's try turning the problem on its head. Assume that

all our assumptions so far are wrong. Where does that take us?'

'Right back where we started,' said Fisher. 'We can't just throw everything out,

Hawk.'

'Why not? Our assumptions aren't getting us anywhere. Start at the very

beginning. We've been assuming the spy Fenris went to the sorcerer Grimm for a

complete shape-change, so that no one would be able to recognize him. Which

meant that anyone who could prove they'd had the same appearance for the past

twenty-four hours could be ruled out as a suspect. But… what if the spy had

already been to Grimm for a shapechange earlier on, and had just gone back there

to get his old shape back?'

Fisher looked at him. 'How the hell did we miss something that obvious?'

'Trying to do two jobs at once. This is the first real chance we've had to sit

down and think things through since we got here.'

'That's true. But if Fenris didn't change his appearance, then that throws

everything wide open again. He could be anyone. That shapechange was the only

way we had of separating Fenris out from the pack.'

Hawk grinned. 'There's one other way. Dubois told us the spy is a member of the

Quality. And like I said at the time, why would one of the Quality want to be a

spy? The usual incentives are politics and money, but most Quality don't give a

damn about politics and already have more money than they can hope to spend in

one lifetime. But one of our merry band here at Tower MacNeil has money problems

coming out of his ears. He's admitted he has huge gambling debts, and even more

damning, he actually talked about starting a business venture, a gossip paper,

on the grounds it might make him money. What respectable member of the Quality

would dirty his hands with vulgar trade, unless he was desperate to pay off his

debts?'

'David…' said Fisher. 'David Brook. You're right, Hawk; it fits!'

'He couldn't go to his Family or friends for the money without admitting he'd

made a fool of himself, and his pride wouldn't allow him to do that. The

moneylenders would want security he didn't have; he doesn't actually own

anything solid until he inherits his estate on his father's death. He was hoping

to marry money through Holly, but according to Duncan's will, all she gets is

some jewelry and whatever allowance Jamie feels like granting her.'

'Right! That's why he got so upset on her behalf at the will reading!'

'Right. Holly was his last chance. He must have known he couldn't depend on her,

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