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,