Wolf in the Fold h&f-4

by Simon R. Green

  patient. And when the freak had finally learned, he let his Family back into

  Tower MacNeil.

  They couldn't leave the Tower permanently. People were already asking questions.

  And they couldn't kill the freak. His magic had grown as he got older, tapping

  into people's minds until they were afraid to antagonize him. As long as he was

  fed regularly he remained quiet, and the Family learned to live with it.

  Years passed. One by one, everyone who knew about the freak died, until it

  became a Family Secret, handed down from father to eldest son. Feed the freak

  what he wanted, and he would remain quiet. And so it went, down the many years.

  The freak lived on, in his cell. Until finally Duncan MacNeil grew careless, and

  never got around to telling his new eldest son. He died in battle, and the

  supply of living food stopped. And the freak woke up hungry.

  "The rest of it seems fairly obvious," said Hawk. "He drained the servants to

  begin with, as they passed unknowing by the hidden room. Remember the colds they

  kept getting? Then he broke out, and drained all the life out of someone."

  "The dead man in the chimney," said Jamie. "But why did he burn the victim's

  face?"

  "I think I know," said Hawk. "But you're not going to like it. Remember, when he

  drained his mother, he acquired her voice and memories. Even thought he was her,

  for a time. I think he took one of your guests, Jamie, destroyed the victim's

  face so it couldn't be recognized, and then took his place. Only the memories

  were so strong, after so many years' abstinence, the freak forgot who he was and

  thought he was the person he'd killed. That's why we haven't been attacked;

  because one of us is the freak, and doesn't know it."

  For a long moment they just stood there and looked at him.

  "That's ridiculous!" said David. "How could he not know what he is?"

  Hawk shrugged. "All those years alone must have driven him crazy. Maybe his own

  personality had become so fragile…"

  "Wait a minute," said Alistair. "What about the illusion on the cell wall? The

  freak kept that up for a while, and then dropped it when he realized it wasn't

  needed anymore. How could the freak do that if he doesn't remember who he is?"

  "Maybe he remembers sometimes, when he has to, to protect himself," said Hawk.

  "How should I know? I'm not an expert on freaks or madness!"

  "You're accusing one of us of being the freak?" said Katrina shrilly. "That's

  crazy! Jamie, tell him it's crazy!"

  "Be quiet. Auntie," said Jamie. She looked at him reproachfully, but his face

  was stem and uncompromising. At that moment he looked every inch the MacNeil,

  head of the Family, and Katrina subsided, limiting herself to a couple of

  bad-tempered sniffs. Jamie looked hard at Hawk. "If one of us is a murderer, and

  truly doesn't know it, how can we tell who it is?"

  "Perhaps there's something in the documents," said David. "Something we missed."

  "No," said Alistair flatly. "Young Richard has summed up the papers' contents

  very thoroughly. He didn't miss a thing."

  "We've got to do something," said Katrina stubbornly. "That… creature could be

  leeching the life out of us even as we speak."

  "Has anybody felt ill recently?" said Marc. "Does anyone feel tired or

  listless?"

  They all looked at each other, but nobody said anything. Hawk frowned as he

  tried to judge how he felt. After the hectic events of the past night and early

  morning he'd have been surprised if he hadn't felt a little frayed around the

  edges, but he couldn't say he felt unusually tired. He cocked an eyebrow at

  Fisher, and she shook her head slightly.

  "We have to find the freak," said Jamie. "Find him and kill him. He's too

  dangerous to be allowed to live."

  "Right," said David. "If we don't find him before he feeds again, he could be

  the only living thing left in this Tower when the wards go down tomorrow

  morning."

  Holly paled suddenly, and turned away. Arthur looked hard at David. "Steady on,

  old chap. You're frightening the girls."

  "Shut up, Arthur," said Jamie. "This is serious."

  "Are you sure we can kill the freak?" said Marc. "He's not human. Perhaps he

  can't be killed by ordinary methods."

  Alistair nodded thoughtfully. "You mean like silver for a werewolf, and a wooden

  stake for a vampire?"

  "Perhaps the reason why they didn't kill him is because they couldn't," said

  Marc slowly. "If that is the case, the wisest thing for us to do would be to

  lock ourselves up in our rooms, barricade the doors, and wait it out till

  morning. As soon as the wards go down, we could make a run for it."

  "And leave the freak free to turn on the city?" said Jamie. "Hundreds of people

  could die before he was finally hunted down and destroyed. The Secret of the

  MacNeils would become the Shame of the MacNeils. I can't allow that. The freak

  is our responsibility. It's a Family problem. And we have to deal with it."

  "Besides," said Hawk quickly, "splitting up is a bad idea. There's safety in

  numbers."

  "So you keep saying," said David. "What's the matter, Richard? Can't you cope

  without someone to hold your hand?"

  "That's enough, David!" said Jamie sharply. "Richard's done very well by us so

  far. Now listen to me, all of you. There's still one source of information we

  haven't consulted, and that's my father's will. There may be something in the

  will that can help us, so Greaves and I will set up the right conditions for the

  reading. It may take a little time, and I think we could all use a break to

  freshen up, so I suggest you all repair to your rooms and compose yourselves

  until we're ready down here. But, just to be on the safe side, I think it might

  be wise if no one was to be left on their own. So choose a partner and stick

  with them at all times. Happy now, Richard?"

  "Not really," said Hawk. "But it's better than nothing. I'll look after my

  sister."

  "Of course," said Jamie. "Aunt Katrina, if you'd be so kind as to look after

  Holly…"

  There was a brief rumble of conversation as the others sorted themselves out.

  David and Arthur paired up together, leaving Marc and Alistair to form the final

  pair. Neither of them looked too happy about it, but they both made diplomatic

  noises. Brennan realized he was left on his own, and quickly volunteered to help

  set up the reading of the will.

  There was a pause after that as everyone waited for everyone else to make the

  first move. Jamie broke the mood by nodding curtly to Greaves and Brennan to

  help him dismantle the barricade at the door. It was soon done, and everyone set

  off up the stairs to the bedrooms on the next floor, eyeing each other

  suspiciously when they thought no one was looking. Hawk still wasn't happy about

  the group splitting up, but Jamie was the authority here, not him; he couldn't

  push the matter too hard without arousing suspicions. Besides, he could use the

  opportunity to talk with Isobel in private. He always did his best thinking when

  he could discuss things with Isobel. And he had a strong feeling he was going to

  need all the help he could get on this case.

  Chapter Five

&n
bsp; Plans And Secrets

  Hawk and Fisher watched closely as the others disappeared into their rooms on

  the second floor, and made careful mental notes as to who was staying where. You

  never knew when information like that might come in handy. Jamie escorted Hawk

  and Fisher to their room, and even opened the door for them. Hawk thought about

  offering him a tip, but decided Jamie wouldn't see the joke. Jamie made the

  usual polite remarks about hoping they'd be comfortable, and Hawk made the usual

  polite remarks in reply. Then they all smiled at each other, and Jamie went back

  down the corridor. Hawk immediately closed the door, locked it, and put his back

  against it. His chin dropped forward onto his chest, and he let out a long slow

  sigh of relief. Fisher made vague grunts of agreement from where she lay

  stretched out full length on the bed, indifferent to the damage it was doing to

  her dress.

  "I never knew behaving respectably could be such hard work," said Hawk finally.

  "I've done so much smiling it feels like I went to sleep with a coat hanger in

  my mouth. I don't know if I can keep this up till tomorrow morning."

  "I don't know what you're complaining about," said Fisher unsympathetically. "At

  least you don't have to be sociable and cope with a corset at the same time. My

  waist isn't on speaking terms with the rest of me." She sat up slowly and

  carefully, levered off her fashionable shoes, and wriggled her toes gratefully.

  "I don't know how women can bear to wear those things. My feet are killing me."

  Hawk threw himself into the nearest chair, slumped back, and stretched out his

  legs before him. It felt good to be able to relax, even if only for a while. The

  chair was almost sinfully comfortable, and Hawk closed his eyes the better to

  appreciate it. Some moments were just too precious to be interrupted. But it

  didn't last. There were too many more important things clamoring for his

  attention. He opened his eyes reluctantly, and glanced round the room Jamie had

  given them; just on the off chance he'd spot something that would let him ignore

  his problems for a while, till he felt better able to deal with them. The room

  looked back, determined not to be helpful.

  It was fairly luxurious as far as Quality standards went; and Quality standards

  went pretty far. There were thick rugs on the floor, an assortment of

  classically elegant furniture, and a bed with a mattress deep enough to swim in.

  Paintings of famous military scenes covered the walls (military art was in that

  Season), and half a dozen small nude statuettes smiled and posed tastefully on

  alabaster pedestals. And over by the window, half hidden by drapes heavy enough

  to block out the harshest sunlight, stood the room's own private liquor cabinet.

  Hawk smiled. Now, that was what he called civilized. He started to lever himself

  up out of his chair, but Fisher intercepted his gaze, and shook her head firmly.

  "You've had enough for one day, Hawk. Let's try and concentrate on the matter at

  hand. Namely, what the hell is going on here? Every time I think I've got it

  worked out, something else happens that throws it all back up in the air again."

  "It's not really as confusing as it seems," said Hawk, settling back in his

  chair. "It just looks that way because we don't have all the facts yet. Or if we

  do, we haven't got them arranged in the right order. What's really complicating

  the hell out of things is that we're dealing with two separate cases here. On

  the one hand we have an escaped killer freak, disguised as one of us by an

  illusion, while on the other hand we have our missing spy Fenris, disguised as

  one of us by a shapechange. We can't sort the two cases out because they keep

  interfering with each other, and we can't tell which evidence belongs to which

  case."

  "Could that be deliberate?" said Fisher, thoughtfully massaging her left foot

  and staring off into the distance. "Maybe Fenris recognized us despite our

  disguises, and let the freak loose himself, as a way of throwing us off his

  trail."

  "I don't think so," said Hawk slowly. "The way we look now, our own creditors

  wouldn't know us. And from the mess the freak made of his cell wall, I don't

  think he needed any help in getting out. But certainly Fenris could be using the

  situation to keep the waters muddy. I would, in his shoes."

  "He might know who we are, regardless of our disguises," said Fisher. "There

  could be a leak at Headquarters. Hell, half the force is on the take these days,

  one way or another."

  "True. But how many people actually know about us? Commander Dubois, Mistress

  Melanie, and that sorcerer doctor, Wulfgang. That's all."

  "That's enough," said Fisher flatly. "Whatever information Fenris has, it must

  be bloody important to have panicked the Council so badly. And if it's that

  important, it must be worth a lot of money to the right people."

  Hawk thought about it. "All right. There's a chance Fenris knows who we really

  are. Which means we can't trust anyone here."

  Fisher smiled. "What's new about that?"

  Hawk scowled. "I can't believe we've been here all this time and we're still no

  nearer identifying Fenris. Look: We know Fenris went to the sorcerer Grimm for

  an emergency shapechange. That means the body he's got now isn't his usual one.

  Which means we can eliminate all the people here who can prove they've had the

  same form for more than twenty-four hours."

  Fisher looked at him. "That's brilliant, Hawk. Why didn't we think of that

  before?"

  "Well, we have been rather preoccupied."

  "Right," said Fisher. "So, that cuts out Jamie, Katrina, and Holly. And the two

  servants, Greaves and Brennan."

  "And Lord Arthur," said Hawk. "I've met him before. And since Arthur and Jamie

  have both known David for some time, that just leaves Alistair and Marc." Hawk

  nodded slowly to himself. "And we've already established Alistair is lying about

  where he comes from; he didn't know the Red Marches are flooded these days."

  "Yes," said Fisher, in a voice that indicated she was about to get picky. "But

  he does seem to know a hell of a lot about MacNeil Family history. How would our

  spy know things like that?"

  "He could if he was a friend of the MacNeils in his true form. According to

  Jamie, his Family have a long history of bad feelings with the Court. Which

  would explain why Fenris made a beeline for Tower MacNeil in the first place.

  But, on the other hand…"

  "We shouldn't dismiss Marc out of hand. Do we have any actual evidence against

  him?"

  "Nothing so far. He's a quiet sort; hasn't much to say for himself at the best

  of times. Doesn't seem to care much for us, but we can't drag him off in chains

  just for that." Hawk frowned. "But… in all the time we've been here, Marc hasn't

  volunteered one thing about his past; not a single damned thing about who or

  what he was before he came to Tower MacNeil. Interesting, that."

  Fisher shook her head. "Just because he hasn't opened up to us doesn't mean he

  hasn't talked to the others."

  "True. So, for the time being I think we'll concentrate our attention on

  Alistair, as far as finding the spy is concerned. Trac
king down the freak is

  going to be rather more difficult."

  "Why? Once again it has to be someone not well known by the others. The freak

  might have taken on someone else's memories, but he's still stuck with his own

  face. So, we're back to Marc and Alistair again. And if Alistair is Fenris, then

  Marc has to be the freak. Right?"

  Hawk shook his head regretfully. "Nice try, Isobel. Unfortunately, it's not that

  simple."

  Fisher groaned. "Somehow I just knew you were going to say that. All right, what

  have I missed this time?"

  "You're forgetting the illusion spell the freak cast to cover up the hole in the

  wall on the third floor. It's quite possible the freak is still messing with our

  minds, to make us see someone else's face, instead of his own. Which means he

  could be anyone. Male or female. And with complete access to that person's

  memories, there's no way anyone's going to trip him up with an unexpected

  question."

  "Oh great," said Fisher. "So where does that leave us?"

  "Wait. It gets worse. It seems to me the freak may be interfering with our minds

  in other, subtler ways as well. Jamie seemed quite determined to split up the

  group, despite everything I've said, and everyone else just went along with it.

  Which is rather unusual, considering this bunch can't normally agree on anything

  without several minutes worth of arguments, insults, and recriminations. Perhaps

  the freak influenced everyone to accept Jamie's idea, in order to make us easier

  targets."

  Fisher looked at him thoughtfully, still holding her bare foot absently in her

  hand. "It's possible, I suppose. But how could we tell, one way or the other?

  And besides, if they're all being influenced, why aren't we? If the freak was

  controlling the way we think, then this idea wouldn't have occurred to us at

  all. Would it?"

  "That's a good question," said Hawk. "Wish I had a good answer."

  "Hell," said Fisher. "I'd settle for a bad one."

  Holly sat unhappily in her chair by the fire while Katrina Dorimant studied her

  makeup in the dressing-table mirror. Looking good, thought Katrina contentedly.

  Don't look a day over twenty-five. Not bad for an old broad past forty. Graham

  never did appreciate me, rot his socks. She smiled. Graham might not have, but

  there were those who had. Sometimes in Graham's own bed. He never was very