now?"
"Perhaps we're being allowed to see it," said Marc. "Perhaps the freak doesn't
need to hide it from us any longer."
They all looked at him. "You mean the freak knows we're here, and what we're
doing?" said Jamie.
"Haven't you felt you were being watched?" said Marc. "Haven't you had that
feeling right from the start?"
"The freak must be a magic-user of some kind," said Alistair. "He set up the
illusion after he broke out; first so that the servants wouldn't see the hole,
and then so that we wouldn't… until he wanted us to. Now he's hiding behind
another illusion, dogging us from one floor to another and laughing at us all
the while."
"Oh great," said Hawk. "Not only is he inhumanly strong and a killer, but he can
mess with our minds as well."
They stood quietly for a while, staring into the creature's cell, because it was
easier than looking at each other and admitting they didn't know what to do
next. Marc finally broke the silence, his voice soft and reflective.
"Think what he must have endured, shut up in that tiny cell for years on end. No
way to measure time, save by the passing of day into night and night into day.
No sound save his own voice, no company save his own thoughts. And all the years
passing, one into another… Did he ever understand why he'd been shut away and
left to die, except as a punishment for being… different? Perhaps in the end
that's what kept him alive so long; a slow-burning fuse of hatred, waiting for a
chance at revenge.
"Don't start feeling sorry for the creature," said Alistair. "He's already
killed one man. And he would undoubtedly kill you, given the chance."
"We don't know the freak is the murderer," said Marc. "There's no evidence, no
proof; nothing to tie him directly to the killing. For all we know, one of us
may be the murderer, for reasons of his own."
Hawk studied him thoughtfully but said nothing.
"We can discuss this better downstairs," said Jamie, with just enough of an edge
to his voice to make it clear that this was an order and not a suggestion. "It's
obvious the freak isn't using his cell anymore, so there's no point in hanging
around here. We've been gone a long time. The others will be worried about us."
He turned his back on the gaping hole in the wall, and started off down the
corridor, followed by the others. They made their way silently back down the
staircase, and all the way down Hawk thought of the dead rats in the freak's
cell. He'd studied the fresher bodies very carefully, and as far as he could
see, none of them had any signs of a death wound. Just like the dead man in the
chimney.
In the drawing room, after the search party left, those left behind at first
busied themselves stacking furniture against the door, but that didn't take
long. The atmosphere became tense and strained. No one felt much like talking.
Holly sat with her back pressed against the wall, her face pale and bloodless.
Her hands were clasped tightly together in her lap, and she jumped at every
sudden noise or movement. Katrina had given up trying to get through to her, and
sat elegantly on her chair, sipping unhurriedly at her wine and thinking her own
thoughts. Greaves and Brennan stood self-consciously on guard by the barricade.
Brennan had an old short sword he'd taken from a plaque on the wall, while
Greaves was holding a heavy iron poker from the fireplace. The butler's cold
features could have been carved in stone, as usual, while Brennan looked somehow
larger and more imposing, as though having a sword in his hand had awakened
memories of the man he used to be. David Brook and Lord Arthur sat close by
Holly, trying to comfort her with their presence. And Fisher stood with her back
to the fireplace, watching them all unobtrusively, and wishing desperately for a
sword.
She wasn't sure she believed in the freak, but that didn't mean there was no
danger. In her opinion there were enough human killers around without having to
turn to the supernatural to explain a sudden violent death. It was much more
likely the killing had something to do with the spy Fenris. She shifted her
thought more clearly when she had Hawk to discuss things with.
Lord Arthur got up and helped himself to another drink. David glared at him.
"Don't you think you've had enough, Arthur? You're no use to us drunk."
Arthur smiled. "I'm no use to anyone, drunk or sober, Davey. You should know
that. Besides, to a seasoned drinker such as myself, getting drunk isn't nearly
so simple as it once was. As my system grows increasingly pickled, alcohol has
less and less effect on it. I suppose eventually I shall reach a stage where
alcohol has no effect on me whatsoever, but I hope and pray I shall have
departed this sad vale of tears long before then. But whatever you do, Davey,
don't have me cremated. There's so much booze in my body it would probably burn
for a fortnight."
"Don't talk that way," said Holly. "It's depressing."
"I'm sorry," said Arthur immediately. "How are you feeling now, Holly?"
"Better, I think." She smiled at him tremulously. "Do you think I could have a
sip of your drink?"
"Of course," said Arthur, and handed her his glass. "Approach it carefully; it's
rather potent."
Holly took a cautious sip, and then swallowed hard. She pulled a face and thrust
the glass back at him. "And you drink that stuff for fun? You're tougher than
you look, Arthur."
"Why, thank you, my dear. It's nice to be appreciated."
They shared a smile. David stirred impatiently. "Don't encourage him, Holly. We
might need his sword yet."
"If we ever reach the stage where everything depends on me and my poor skill
with a sword, then we will be in serious trouble," said Arthur calmly. "I have
all the fighting skills of a depressed rabbit. I never was much of a warrior; I
always believed in seeing the other fellow's point of view. Preferably over a
glass of something. No, Davey; if trouble occurs, I have every confidence that
you will defend us nobly. You're the swordsman here."
"That's right," said Holly. "You always had to be the hero, David, even when we
were young. I'd be the captive Princess, and you'd be the valiant hero on his
milk-white charger, come to rescue me. I always needed saving back then for some
reason or another."
"I remember," said Arthur. "I always had to be Davey's squire, even though I was
the eldest. I didn't mind. My father was furious when he found out, though.
You're a viscount! he used to thunder. The son of a Lord! Try to act like one! I
always was a disappointment to Dad." He shrugged, and taking a healthy sip from
his drink, looked directly at Holly. "They were good days, then. When we were
young, and the world was so simple."
"You're getting maudlin, Arthur," said David warningly. He turned to Holly and
smiled reassuringly. "There's really nothing to worry about, Holly. I'll protect
you, just as I always have."
"And I'll do my bit, however small," said Arthur. "I would defend you with my
life, Holly."
Holly smiled genuinely for the first time, and reached out to clasp each of them
by the hand. "I feel so safe with you two here. My guardians."
"They've been gone too long," said Katrina suddenly. "It shouldn't take this
long to check a few windows. Do you suppose something's happened to them?"
"It's too early to start panicking," said Fisher. "They haven't been gone an
hour yet."
"Is that all?" said Holly. "It seems longer."
"It's the waiting," said Fisher. "Time always drags when you're waiting for
something to happen."
"It still seems too long," said Katrina stubbornly. "I'm sure Jamie didn't
intend for us to be left alone this long. Something's happened, I'm sure of it.
I think someone ought to go after them and make sure everything's all right."
"Don't look at me," said Arthur. "I may be drunk, but I'm not crazy."
"Damn right," said Fisher. "No one is to go off on their own. It isn't safe."
"Who the hell do you think you are, giving everyone orders?" said Katrina
angrily. "Hold your tongue, and remember your place. David, if Arthur hasn't the
courage to go, I'm sure you'll…"
"Not this time, Katrina," said David firmly. "For once, I find myself in
agreement with Arthur. If the freak is roaming about out there, a man on his own
would make a perfect target. And no, you can't send one of the servants,
either."
"Thank you, sir," said Greaves. Brennan grinned.
Katrina slumped back in her chair and pouted. "So; we just sit here and wait for
them to come back, do we? What if they never come back?"
"They'll be back," said Fisher.
Holly looked at her. "How can we be so sure?"
Fisher smiled. "I have faith in my brother. We've been through a lot together."
"Yes," said Katrina darkly. "I'll just bet you have."
Fisher looked at her with a slightly raised eyebrow, and Katrina decided to go
back to pouting.
The trip down through the Tower seemed to take forever. The stairs fell away
endlessly before them, curling round and round the inner wall. Hawk's thighs
ached from the strain, and his back ached from the tension of constantly waiting
for an attack. They were at their most vulnerable on the stairs, and the freak
must know it. He'd never get a better chance at them. But landing corners came
and went without an ambush, and doors passed unopened. Hawk's scowl deepened. He
almost wished the freak would attack and get it over with. But they reached the
ground floor without incident, and Jamie led the way back to the drawing room.
Hawk brought up the rear, sword at the ready, his gaze still darting from shadow
to shadow. He was beginning to wish he hadn't left the sledgehammer up on the
third floor. Alistair and Marc moved close together, also with swords at the
ready, almost treading on Jamie's heels. Hawk didn't blame them. It was always
when you were nearly back to safety that your adrenalin really began to pump. It
was only then, when you stopped thinking about your mission and started thinking
about being able to relax and take it easy again that you realized how much you
had to lose if something were to go wrong at the last moment. He hung back a
little, giving himself room to move, and swept the surrounding corridor with a
steady, professional gaze. It wasn't likely the freak would make a move now,
after turning down so many other, better opportunities, but Hawk wasn't about to
drop his guard just because safety was so near at hand.
Jamie reached the drawing room door, banged on it with his fist, and called out
his name. Marc and Alistair moved in close behind him, staring almost hungrily
at the door as they listened to the barricade being dismantled. Hawk stood with
his back to the door, watching the corridor. He looked left and right at random,
careful not to give any attacker a pattern he could anticipate and elude. There
was a movement to his right, and he looked sharply round to find Alistair beside
him, looking slightly sheepish.
"Must be getting old," said Alistair gruffly. "Forgetting to watch my back, just
because I'm nearly home. You'd make a good soldier, lad. You've got the right
instincts. You sure you've never had any training?"
Hawk cast about for a convincing answer, but was saved by the sound of the
drawing room door opening. Jamie hurried in, followed by Marc and Alistair. Hawk
took one last look round the empty corridor, then backed unhurriedly into the
drawing room. He kicked the door shut and pushed a heavy piece of furniture up
against it. And then, finally, he put away his sword and allowed himself to
relax a little.
Holly and Katrina were taking turns hugging the breath out of Jamie, while David
and Lord Arthur clapped Marc and Alistair on the shoulder and pumped them for
details about what they'd found out. Greaves and Robbie Brennan nodded politely
to Hawk as he put down his lamp, congratulated him on his safe return, and set
about rebuilding the barricade. Fisher came over to Hawk and offered him a
brandy, which he accepted gratefully.
"Any sign of the freak?" she asked quietly.
"We found his lair, but he was long gone. Jamie's got some documents that should
fill us in on what the freak actually is. Apart from that, it was pretty much a
wasted journey. One bit of bad news: There's a good chance the freak is a
magic-user. We ran into a pretty good illusion spell up around his lair."
Fisher pursed her lips thoughtfully. "That's all we needed. Did you come across
anything that might tie in with Fenris?"
"Not a damn thing. I'm beginning to wonder if we might have been sent on a
wild-goose chase. I haven't come across anything to suggest Fenris was ever
here."
"The circle of sorcerers said they tracked the spy right to Tower MacNeil."
Hawk sniffed. "I wouldn't trust that lot to cast my horoscope."
Fisher smiled. "Are you going to tell Commander Dubois that, or shall I?"
At that point, Jamie launched into an excited, only slightly exaggerated account
of their journey. Fisher listened skeptically while Hawk enjoyed his brandy. He
might not know much about vintages, but he knew enough not to waste a chance at
a good brandy. It wasn't often he could afford the good stuff on a Guard's
wages. Jamie finally wound up his report, and spread out the papers he'd found
on one of the larger tables so that everyone could take a look at them. With
perseverance, and a little discreet elbowing, Hawk and Fisher made sure they got
places in front of everyone else.
The pages were faded and cracked, and written in several different hands,
running from the time of the freak's birth to well after his incarceration. One
writer was definitely the freak's father. The others could have been anyone,
from members of the Family to some of the MacNeils' security people. The story
that finally emerged from the assembled pages was more than a little unsettling.
The Family could have lived with the physical abnormalities exhibited by the
freak at birth. Occasional unfortunates were inevitable when the Quality became
as inbred as it had in Haven. It wasn't until the child grew older that they
discovered just how inhuman h
e really was. The freak didn't need food or drink;
he drained the life force out of anyone and anything that came within arm's
reach of him. At first, no one understood what was happening. When those close
to the child felt ill and listless, they just put it down to a bug that was
going around. Then someone gave the freak a puppy for his sixth birthday, and
the Family watched in horror as he drained the life right out of it. The freak
laughed delightedly and clapped his hands again and again, glowing with health
and vitality, while the puppy lay shriveled and still on the carpet.
After that, the freak was kept in isolation. Poultry and small animals were
provided to satisfy his "unnatural appetites," but no one save his mother and
father ever saw him again. And they were always careful to visit him only after
he'd just been fed. The father spent years searching for a cure, almost
bankrupting the Family in the process. And then the mother went to visit her son
one day, and never came back. By the time the household realized she was
missing, it was far too late. His father found him squatting beside her body,
singing in her voice. The MacNeil almost fainted with shock when the monstrous
child addressed him in his dead wife's voice. It seemed he didn't just suck the
life out of people; he took their memories as well. The freak actually thought
he was his own mother. For a time…
The MacNeil finally did what his Family had been begging him to do for years. He
had a secret room constructed on the third floor, and walled up the freak inside
it. Since the boy was only ten years old, the MacNeil gave him poison to drink
first. It didn't work. The freak lived on, draining the strength out of anyone
who passed by his room. The MacNeil was at his wits' end. Since he'd already
told everyone the freak was dead, and established his second son as heir, he
didn't dare go outside the Family for help. So he did the only thing he could.
He evacuated the Tower, and left it empty long enough to weaken the freak. He
hoped the freak would die, but it didn't. He could hear it screaming.
Eventually, he went back inside and made a small opening in the wall. And fed
his son a rat. He slowly taught the freak to drain only food that was offered,
and not the person who fed him. It took a long time, but the MacNeil was