and that's why he took to spying. With so many of his Family in the army and the
diplomatic corps, he had opportunities to get at all sorts of information. He's
our spy, Isobel. No doubt about it.'
'Wait just a minute,' said Fisher. 'That's all very well, but it doesn't help us
one damn bit with our current problem, which is how to identify the freak before
the others get here. If we can't point a convincing finger at someone else,
they'll kill us. Or we'll have to kill them. And if we end up having to kill a
bunch of Quality, even in self-defense, that's the end of us in Haven. All the
Families in the city would declare vendetta against us, and the Guard would
withdraw our immunity rather than openly confront the Quality.'
'All right,' said Hawk. 'Don't panic. I'm working on it. I still think it's
Alistair. He lied to us about the Red Marches, and he was very quick to condemn
me as the freak. Perhaps he thought he could turn suspicion away from himself by
accusing me.'
'He was pretty eager, wasn't he?' said Fisher. 'And it's interesting that no one
seems to actually remember him being banished from Tower MacNeil in the first
place. He had to have been a contemporary of Duncan's, so how is it Katrina had
never even heard of him?'
'Because Alistair doesn't exist,' said Hawk. 'He's just a mask the freak created
to hide behind. Well, at least now we should be able to sow a few doubts;
assuming we get a chance to speak our piece.'
He broke off suddenly and looked towards the stairs. They both tensed as they
heard quiet, furtive footsteps slowly drawing nearer. They rose quickly to their
feet, throwing off their tiredness with practiced ease. They'd be tired later,
when they had the time. Fisher's hand dropped to her side where her sword should
have been, and she cursed briefly.
'We never did get round to finding me a sword.' She reached out and took an oil
lamp from its niche in the corridor wall. She shook it and listened to the oil
gurgle, unscrewed the lamp into its two parts, and spilled the oil in a wide
sweep across the floor. She then threw away the lamp, took a box of matches from
her pocket, and held them concealed in her hand.
'Good thinking,' said Hawk. 'I've always admired your essentially sneaky and
devious nature.'
'You say the nicest things,' said Fisher.
The footsteps grew louder. Hawk drew his sword, and he and Fisher stood side by
side. Jamie and David appeared round the curve of the corridor, and came to a
sudden halt as they saw their prey waiting patiently for them. Alistair and
Brennan moved quickly in beside Jamie and David. Hawk fixed Jamie with his best
authoritative gaze.
'Listen to me, Jamie; I'm not the freak, but I know who is.'
'Kill him,' said Jamie. 'Shut his lying mouth.'
The four of them started forward, swords raised. Hawk cursed, but held his
ground. 'Listen to me, dammit! I can prove what I'm saying!' Jamie broke into a
run, David only a step behind him. Hawk looked at Fisher. 'All right; do it.'
Fisher struck a match. It flared up on the first try, and she dropped it into
the oil. It caught in a second, and flames leapt up to block off the corridor.
Hawk and Fisher backed away from the searing heat, and then tensed as a dark
figure came hurtling through the flames. It was Alistair.
He stood before them, smoke rising from his smouldering clothes, his mouth
stretched in a cold and deadly grin. He stepped forward, sword at the ready, and
Hawk went to meet him. Sparks flew in the narrow corridor as steel rang on
steel, and Hawk knew right away that he was in serious trouble. Alistair was a
superior swordsman, and Hawk wasn't, anymore. With his axe in his hand he could
probably still have given a good account of himself, but as it was, it was all
he could do to defend himself. He backed slowly down the corridor, using every
trick he knew to buy himself some breathing space, but Alistair knew them all,
and their counters. He began to press home his attack, his death's-head grin
never once faltering. And then Fisher stepped out of the shadows to Alistair's
left, and kicked him expertly behind the knee. He collapsed and fell forward as
pain exploded in his leg. Hawk and Fisher turned and ran down the corridor.
Alistair slowly forced himself back onto one knee, paused for breath, and then
got to his feet, favoring his aching leg. He'd underestimated Isobel. He
wouldn't do that again. He looked back, and saw the others gingerly making their
way round the edges of the dying flames. He gestured impatiently for them to
join him, and started down the corridor after his prey, ignoring the pain in his
leg.
Farther down the corridor, Hawk stopped suddenly and Fisher almost ran into him.
'What is it, Hawk? Problem?'
'More like a stroke of luck,' said Hawk. 'I remember this bit of corridor.
There's a secret passage here… somewhere. Jamie showed it to me earlier on.' He
pressed hard against a particular piece of stone moulding, and a section of the
wall swung soundlessly open. Hawk grinned.
'Grab a lamp, Isobel. With any luck, it'll be ages before the others can be sure
we're no longer on this floor.'
Fisher took a lamp from the wall and lit it, and the two of them plunged into
the narrow tunnel. The section of wall closed silently behind them.
In the library, Holly sat staring disconsolately into the fire. The quiet
crackling of the flames was the only sound in the room. Arthur had tried to keep
her spirits up with his usual dry humor and amusing anecdotes, but he soon
stopped when he realized she wasn't listening. She couldn't seem to concentrate
on anything but the thought that David was in danger and there was nothing she
could do to help him.
She still couldn't believe how easily Richard had taken her in. Taken them all
in. She should have sensed something was wrong about him… but she hadn't.
Instead, she'd actually found him rather likeable, in an unpolished kind of way.
The thought depressed her, and she looked listlessly round the room, searching
for something her eyes could settle on that wouldn't require her to think or
feel anything in particular. Arthur was sitting next to her, his eyelids
drooping, a glass of something as always in his hand. He looked half asleep;
either the drink or the strain was getting to him. Sitting next to him, Katrina
glared blindly straight ahead, lost in thought, the heavy iron poker still
clutched firmly in both hands. Her knuckles showed white from the fierceness of
her grip. And Marc was sitting comfortably in his chair, a little away from the
rest of them, staring thoughtfully at nothing. He seemed perfectly relaxed and
at ease, and Holly looked at him enviously. Sometimes it seemed to her that
she'd never feel relaxed again.
The flames leapt up suddenly as a log shifted in the fire, and Arthur studied it
out of one eye for a moment, before letting it half close again. In a way, he
almost wished he'd gone with the others. At least then he would have been doing
