'He didn't,' said Mistique flatly. 'I've been following you for some time, and
they were already here waiting for you when you went in to talk to the
Advisors.'
Hawk looked at her narrowly. 'I didn't see you following us.'
Mistique smiled. 'Well, after all, darling, I am a sorceress.'
Hawk nodded slowly. 'All right; want to tell me why you were following us? And
why you dropped out of sight right after we left the Hook?'
The sorceress scowled, and leaned back against the alley wall with her arms
folded. 'I know something that certain important people don't want known.
Something… dangerous. So I decided to disappear for a while, and do some hard
thinking. I needed someone to talk to, someone I could trust. You were the
obvious choice, Hawk, but I had to be sure you were what you were supposed to
be. So I've been following you.' She looked at him for a long moment. 'Even now
I'm not sure I'm doing the right thing. You're not going to like this, Hawk.'
'Tell me,' said Hawk. 'Tell me what you know.'
'I was talking to one of the prisoners we took in Morgan's factory, before we
brought them back to Headquarters,' said Mistique steadily. 'He was mad as hell
because the Guard Captain that Morgan had been paying off hadn't warned them
about the raid. I asked him for the Captain's name, but he didn't know it. He
knew what the Captain looked like, though. He recognized her when he saw her
during the raid.
'It was Fisher, Hawk. Captain Isobel Fisher.'
Chapter Seven
Scapegoat
Fisher looked out the repaired study window and glowered sourly at the array of
armed men camped out on the wide lawns. There had to be a hundred men out there
now, wearing chain mail under their furs and warming their hands at the
scattered iron braziers. If the Peace Talks had had this kind of protection
before, two of the delegates and all of the original security force might still
be alive. Fisher felt obscurely guilty that she hadn't got to know the men under
her command before they were killed. As it was, it would take a hell of an army
to get past the new security force; that, or a particularly nasty piece of
magic. Fisher decided she wasn't going to think about that. She still got edgy
every time she remembered the flood of twisted creatures that had come spilling
out of the split in reality. She'd only just got over jumping at every sudden
noise.
Raised angry voices cut across her reverie, and she turned her back on the
window to study the squabbling delegates. Her mouth compressed into a thin, flat
line as she realized they were going round and round in the same futile circles.
The Peace Talks were becoming increasingly warlike, with the two lords blaming
everyone and everything but themselves for the present sorry state of affairs.
Lord Nightingale of Outremer was the loudest voice, quite openly determined to
lay the blame for everything at Haven's door. Lord Regis was trying to be
reasonable and diplomatic, but his temper was visibly shortening, and his voice
had already risen to match Nightingale's.
The two Majors, Comber and de Tournay, had withdrawn from the fray and settled
themselves in a corner with the drinks cabinet. They were busily comparing
whiskies and doing their best to ignore the whole unpleasantness. They had no
interest in recriminations or name-calling, and had said so loudly.
Unfortunately, it hadn't been loud enough to compete with the racket Regis and
Nightingale were making, so their objections had gone completely unnoticed by
the two lords.
Captain ap Owen was standing with his back to the fireplace, watching everything
and saying nothing. He hadn't spoken a dozen words to anyone since he'd overseen
the new security force as they cleared up the mess left by the assault. Fisher
understood. The men under his command had been longtime associates and friends,
and now he'd lost them all in one brief clash of arms. The bodies were gone now,
along with the dead mercenaries, but the smell of blood and death was still
strong in the house.
Major Comber stirred suddenly, and slammed the flat of his hand against the top
of a nearby table. It made a satisfyingly loud noise, and the two lords shut up
and looked round to see what was happening. Comber carefully put down his whisky
glass, and glared at each lord in turn.
'I think this nonsense has gone on long enough,' he said firmly. 'We're supposed
to be here to discuss the border problem, not play at who can shout and stamp
their foot the loudest. We'll probably never find out exactly who betrayed us,
and it doesn't matter worth a damn anyway. The attack was a failure and the
Talks can go on. Now, may I respectfully suggest that we get back to what we're
supposed to be doing, and leave the squabbling and whining to the politicians.
That's what they're paid for.'
De Tournay started to nod vigorously in agreement, and then stopped as he
realized both Nightingale and Regis were glaring at Comber.
'Your opinion is noted, Major Comber,' said Lord Regis icily. 'But allow me to
remind you that your function at these Talks is to provide us with military
information and advice. Nothing more. The Lord Nightingale and I are quite
capable of deciding what is important here, and right now nothing is more
important than determining who betrayed us. We could all have been killed,
dammit, and I want to know who was responsible! Particularly since it seems we
can't trust our own security people to keep us safe.'
He glared at Fisher and ap Owen, who stared back calmly, fully aware that
anything they said would only end up being used against them. Major de Tournay
stirred in his corner, and then shrugged uncomfortably as Regis turned his glare
on him.
'With respect, my lord, no security system is perfect. Fisher and ap Owen did
their best, in extremely difficult circumstances.'
He shut up as Nightingale turned to glare at him too. Nightingale's voice was
low and deadly. 'When I want your advice, Major de Tournay, I will ask for it.
Until then you will oblige me by keeping your mouth shut. Is that clear?'
De Tournay and Comber looked at each other, nodded formally to their respective
lords, and returned their attention to the whisky decanters. Regis sniffed, and
looked back at Fisher and ap Owen.
'Now then, Captains, it cannot have escaped your attention that our security
here has been hopelessly breached. Whether this was the result of internal
treachery or simple incompetence on your part has yet to be determined. You can
both be very sure there will be a full enquiry into your behavior today…'
'I don't think we can wait for that,' said Nightingale flatly. 'Someone has
revealed to our enemies not only the location of this house, but also the
coordinates of the pocket dimension. Quite a few people knew about the
house—that was inevitable—but only a handful knew about the pocket dimension.
