But like the cliffs on which it stood, and the dark city it overlooked, Tower
MacNeil had its grim and bloody secrets. Within the Tower, something had
stirred; something strange and awful, free of its chains at last.
Hawk trudged up the single narrow path, his cloak pulled tightly about him, his
head bowed against the gusting wind. This high up on the cliffs the wind blew
hard and bitter cold. The wild grasses seemed permanently flattened by the
weather, and nothing else grew about him for as far as he could see. Hawk wasn't
surprised, given the force of the winds. Anything that dared thrust its head
above the ground was probably ripped out by the roots for its impertinence. He
raised his head slightly, and scowled as he saw Fisher waiting for him some way
ahead, standing on the edge of the cliff and looking out to sea. He took a few
deep breaths, fighting to get his breathing back to normal before he joined her.
The long steep trail had winded him, but he didn't want her to know that. She'd
only make pointed comments about his being out of condition and put him on
another diet. Hawk hated diets. Why did everything that was good for you have to
taste so bloody bland?
He crossed over to stand beside Fisher on the cliff edge, careful to keep a
respectful distance between him and the crumbling stone brink. The wind tugged
at his hair and drew tears from his eyes. Fisher nodded at him happily, and
indicated the view with a sweeping wave of her arm. Hawk had to admit it was
pretty breathtaking. Far below, waves pounded the rocks with unrelenting fury,
falling reluctantly back in streams of froth and spume. The choppy sea stretched
away to the horizon in endless shades of blue and green and grey, empty of sails
for once. Winter was closing in, and ships now were few and far between. The
steely blue sky was clear of clouds for the moment, thanks to the city weather
wizards, and gulls hung on the air like drifting shadows, tossed here and there
by the gusting wind. Their mournful keening was all that broke the morning
quiet, save for the distant crash of breakers down below.
"Listen to the sea and the gulls," said Fisher. "So wild, so free. We really
should get out here more often, Hawk."
"Maybe we will, come the summer. And you'd better call me Richard from now on,
even when there's no one around. We don't want to get caught out on something
that simple."
"Sure. Why did we have to be brother and sister? Why couldn't we be husband and
wife?"
"Beats me. Maybe we're supposed to get information out of people by romancing
them."
Fisher wrinkled her nose. "Not really our style, that."
"True."
"I never get tired of looking at the sea. I never even saw the ocean before we
left the North."
"I like the view too, Isobel, but we can't stay here. We have a job to do, and
time is pressing."
"I know. It's just that we never seem to have any time to ourselves these days."
"When did we ever?"
"True. Let's go."
They turned away from the cliff edge and made their way back through the grass
to the narrow stony trail. The Tower loomed ahead of them, straight and
uncompromising against the skyline, silent and enigmatic. Its height made it
look deceptively slim until you got close enough to realize just how huge the
Tower really was. Hawk thought for a moment on how backbreaking it must have
been, hauling building stone up the cliffs to this spot, and then decided firmly
that he wasn't going to think about it anymore. Just trying to visualize the
logistics was enough to make his head ache. He realized Fisher was staring at
the Tower too, and deliberately quickened his step.
"Come on, Isobel," he said briskly. "There's no telling how long Fenris will
stay put in the Tower. If he decides to leave before we can get there to stop
him, Dubois will have our heads. Probably literally."
"I don't know why Fenris didn't just keep running," said Fisher, picking up the
pace. "I would have. What made him think he'd be safe here?"
"The longer he stayed in the open, the more likely it was he'd be spotted," said
Hawk. "And the Tower's a good place to go to ground. It's within easy reach of
the city but out of everyone's thoughts. I wouldn't have thought to look for him
here. If it hadn't been for the Council's sorcerers, he'd have probably got away
with it. And let's face it. If worst came to worst, and for some reason the
MacNeils decided not to hand him over, we'd have one hell of a job getting him
out of the Tower. You'd need an army and every sorcerer in the city to breach
those walls, by all accounts. No, my guess is Fenris is probably biding his time
in there, looking over his shoulder a lot and waiting for one of his own people
to contact him with a safe route out to the Low Kingdoms. Assuming someone
hasn't already done so."
"I still haven't figured out what we're going to do once we're inside the
Tower," said Fisher. "I mean, we've no idea what he looks like now. He could be
anybody. He could be passing himself off as an out-of-town MacNeil cousin, like
us, or a friend of one, or a newly hired servant, or… Hell, I don't know. The
man's a spy, after all; he's used to pretending to be someone he isn't. How are
we going to trip up someone like that? This case is a mess, and we've barely
even started yet. Do you think we're going to be able to recognize him?"
"Not a hope," said Hawk. "If I had to fight him again I might recognize his
style, but I'm damned if I'm going to go round challenging everyone to a duel.
Especially without my axe. Have you seen this stupid sword they've given me? One
good parry and it'll snap in half. I'd be better off sneaking up behind my
opponent and clubbing him to death with the hilt."
"So what are we going to do?"
"Same as usual, lass. Ask lots of questions, keep our eyes open, and hopefully
make enough of a nuisance of ourselves that the killer will do something stupid
to try and shut us up."
"Great," said Fisher. "I just love being a target."
They both fell silent as they finally drew near the Tower MacNeil. The large,
squarish front door was a different shade of white from the surrounding
stonework, and Hawk felt a sudden, unsettling thrill go through him as he
realized the door had been carved from a single huge slab of polished ivory. He
tried to visualize the size of the whale that could donate such a bone, and
quickly decided he'd rather not know. He tugged briskly at the bell pull, and
then he and Fisher took turns using the black iron boot-scraper. They were
Quality now, and had to keep up appearances.
The door swung smoothly open on well-oiled counterweights, revealing a
medium-height, heavyset man in his mid-forties, wearing the slightly outdated
formal wear that was the accepted hallmark of the Haven butler. He had dark,
lifeless hair, a flat immobile face that might have been carved from stone, and
a general air of gloomy efficiency for which the long black frock coat was the
perfect finishing touch. He bowed formally to Hawk and Fisher, each bow nicely
calculated to the inch to show respect for his bette
rs whilst reminding them
that as butler of the household he was a force to be reckoned with in his own
right. It was a masterful performance. Hawk felt like applauding.
"I am Richard MacNeil of Lower Markham," he said gravely. "This is my sister,
Isobel. We've come to pay our respects to the new head of the Family."
"Of course, sir and madam. I am Greaves, butler of Tower MacNeil. Please come
in."
He stood back to allow them to enter. He seemed faintly disapproving, possibly
because they came from a backwater like Lower Markham, but most likely because
butlers always seemed faintly disapproving. Hawk suspected it was part of the
job description. He strolled into the hallway as though he owned the place, with
Isobel on his arm, smiling demurely. The smile didn't suit her, but Hawk admired
the effort that had gone into it. Greaves closed the door behind them, and
Hawk's ears pricked up as he heard the sound of heavy bolts being thrown home.
It could be that the Tower MacNeil household was routinely security-minded… or
it could be that right now they had reason to be. He took off his cloak, and
found the butler already there waiting to receive it. Fisher handed Greaves her
cloak, and raised a painted eyebrow enquiringly.
"Are you the only staff here, Greaves? Surely it's not a butler's place to take
the cloaks from guests. Don't you have any maids under you?"
Greaves's expression didn't alter in the least as he arranged the cloaks neatly
on the wall by the door. "Alas, madam, I'm afraid Tower MacNeil is extremely
short staffed at present. Normally we have a staff of twenty-two, but everyone
else left some time ago."
Hawk looked at him sharply. "And why is that?"
"It's not really my place to say, sir. If you and the young lady would care to
follow me, I'll take you to the MacNeil himself. I'm sure he will be happy to
answer any questions you may have."
He turned his back on them, politely but firmly, and started off down the hall.
Hawk and Fisher exchanged a look behind his back, shrugged pretty much in
unison, and followed him. They'd only been in the place a few moments and
already they were up to their ears in questions. What the hell could have
happened here to drive all the servants out? And since it had happened recently,
could it have something to do with Fenris' arrival? The butler worried Hawk as
well. The man was being far too calm and pleasant. Most butlers were worse snobs
than their masters and would have had coronaries at the mere mention of their
doing maids' work. And yet Greaves seemed to be implying he was doing all the
servants' work at Tower MacNeil. What kind of hold could keep him at his duty,
despite the humiliation?
Hawk shrugged inwardly. Perhaps Greaves was just angling for a larger than usual
gratuity when Hawk left. In which case, he was going to be disappointed.
Wardrobe might have provided Hawk with aristocratic clothes, but they'd
absolutely declined to fill the purse on his belt. He'd had to do that, with his
bonus money, and he was damned if he was going to part with one penny more than
he absolutely had to.
The butler led Hawk and Fisher down a stylishly appointed passage and ushered
them into a large and spacious drawing room. Early morning light streamed
through the immaculately polished windows, reflecting brightly from the pure
white of the stonework, illuminating the room like a vision of paradise. The
whole ceiling was covered with a single delightful piece of art depicting nymphs
and shepherds at play. In a romantic and extremely tasteful way, of course.
Everywhere there were luxurious chairs and couches, fine displays of wines and
spirits, silver trays bearing all kinds of cold food, and every other comfort
the mind could imagine. Hawk did his best to look unimpressed.
Standing with his back to the roaring fire was a tall, well-built young man with
broad shoulders and a barrel chest. He couldn't have been more than twenty, and
his unruly mop of tawny hair made him look even younger. Nevertheless, there was
a dignity and strength in his stance, and a composure in his face, that was
quietly impressive. Hawk didn't need Greaves to tell him this was their host,
Jamie MacNeil. The MacNeil, as he now was. He was dressed all in black, being
still in mourning for his father, but the clothes were of the finest cut and
impeccably fashionable. He stepped forward as the butler introduced them, and
greeted his two cousins warmly, kissing Isobel's hand with style, and shaking
Hawk's hand in a grip that was firm without being overbearing. He gestured for
the butler to leave them, and Greaves bowed and backed out, closing the door
after him. Jamie led Hawk and Fisher over to the drinks cabinet and politely
enquired as to their pleasure. He seemed genuinely pleased to see them, and yet
somehow preoccupied, as though part of his attention was always somewhere else.
"So good of you to come," he said graciously. "Did you have a good journey?"
"Bearable," said Hawk, accepting his drink with a nod. "We left our belongings
in Haven, ghastly place, and came straight here. Though I gather from your
butler that we may have arrived at a bad time… he said something about all the
servants leaving?"
Jamie MacNeil smiled easily, but Hawk could see the effort it took. "Just a
minor domestic crisis, but I'm afraid we're all going to have to rough it for
the moment. Please accept my apologies, and bear with us. Do feel free to stay
are notoriously unsafe."
"That's very kind of you," said Hawk.
"Not at all, not at all. I'll just let Greaves know, and he'll prepare rooms for
you and your sister."
He reached for the bell pull by the fireplace, but had barely taken hold of it
when the door swung open and Greaves entered. Hawk blinked bemusedly at such a
quick response, and then smiled slightly as Greaves stepped to one side and two
ladies of the Quality swept in, not even deigning to notice the butler's bow.
Jamie smiled at them both, a genuine smile full of warmth and affection, and
more than a little concern. Hawk sipped his wine thoughtfully as Jamie spoke
quietly to the butler. He was beginning to get a bad feeling about Tower
MacNeil. Something was going on here; something he was beginning to suspect had
nothing to do with the spy Fenris. He took a healthy gulp of his wine, careful
to keep his little ringer crooked. On the other hand, he could just be getting
paranoid. If Jamie MacNeil knew about the spy, then getting rid of a bunch of
gossiping servants was a sensible precaution. But according to Greaves, the
servants had left some time ago, long before Fenris could have arrived… Hawk
quickly put the thought to one side for later consideration as Jamie dismissed
the butler and turned to him and Fisher.
"Dear cousins, allow me to present my sister Holly, and my aunt, Katrina
Dorimant."
Hawk bowed and the women curtsied, Fisher with more efficiency than grace. Holly
MacNeil was a blazing redhead in her late twenties, almost as tall as her
brother, but as slightly built as he was
broad. Hawk's first thought was that
the poor lass could do with a good meal or two. Her pale face was gaunt and
strained, though still attractive, her large green eyes giving her an innocent,
vulnerable look, like a young fawn suddenly confronted with a pack of wolves.
Whatever was going on at Tower MacNeil, it was clear she knew about it too. Like
her brother, Holly MacNeil was formally but stylishly dressed in black, which
against the paleness of her skin only served to emphasize her frailty. She
offered Hawk a trembling hand, and he had to steady it with his own before he
could kiss it. He gave her hand a reassuring squeeze before releasing it, and
thought he glimpsed a quick smile. Holly and Fisher embraced each other briefly.
There was no warmth in it, and Holly held the contact only as long as convention
demanded.
Jamie's aunt, Katrina Dorimant, was a roguishly attractive woman in her
mid-forties, with a broad grin and flashing eyes. She wore a long, wine-red
gown, and enough jewelry to finance a minor war or two. She was average height,
with a tight, compact body and a brisk, captivating manner. She smiled widely at
Hawk as he kissed her hand, and her eyes lingered on him for a long moment
before she turned to embrace Fisher. Once again the embrace was over almost as
soon as it had begun, and the two women exchanged a cool, appraising look before
dismissing each other with averted eyes. Hawk hid a smile. Fisher had better
keep her guard up. Katrina looked like a scrapper.
"Welcome to Tower MacNeil!" said Katrina brightly. "I'm so glad you're here. We
need some new blood to stir things up. The place has been awfully gloomy just
lately, though I can't think why. Dear Duncan never approved of sour faces when
he was alive, and he certainly wouldn't have expected us to wander around
sobbing and beating our breasts just because he's dead."
"You never did believe in tears or regrets, did you, Aunt?" said Holly flatly.
"Certainly not. They make your eyes puffy and give you wrinkles."
"Are you here for the reading of the will?" asked Fisher politely.
"Actually, no, my dear. I'm currently separated from my husband, bad cess to the
man, and dear Jamie has been kind enough to allow me to stay here until the
divorce is finalized."
"I had in mind a few weeks, Auntie," said Jamie good-naturedly. "In actual fact,