"I think you look very handsome, my love. But then, I always did."
Hawk leant forward to kiss her, and Mistress Melanie yelled at him. "No touching till the makeup's set! I don't want to have to fix her face all over again!"
Hawk and Fisher shared a wry smile. There was a loud knocking at the door.
"Are you two decent?" called Commander Dubois from outside.
"Near as we ever get," said Hawk loudly, and nodded for Mistress Melanie to let the Commander in. Hawk and Fisher struck carefully aristocratic poses and stared haughtily at Dubois as he came in. He walked slowly over to them, and looked from one to the other and back again.
"I'm… impressed," he said finally. "You might just bring this off after all. I wish we had time to give you a full briefing on how to behave, all the little tricks of etiquette and the like, but we're way behind schedule as it is."
"Don't worry," said Hawk. "We know which fork to use, and which way to pass the port. We've been around."
"Right," said Fisher. "You'd be surprised."
"Yeah, well," said Dubois. "We've worked out a rough background for you. You're going to be remote country cousins of the MacNeils; a brother and sister from the wilds of Lower Markham. That's way out on the Eastern border, so no one should be able to trip you up on local details. Make up anything you like; they won't know the difference. But keep it simple. You don't want to end up contradicting each other. Also, they'll expect a certain amount of gaucherie and unfamiliarity with the latest styles, so that should help excuse any foul-ups you do make. Now then, you're going to have to get used to your new names. Captain Fisher can use her given name of Isobel. That's quite a fashionable name at the moment. But we don't seem to have a given name on the files for you, Captain Hawk."
"There isn't one. I'm just Hawk."
"You only have the one name?"
"I've had others. But I'm just Hawk now."
"Be that as it may," said Dubois, in the tone of someone determined not to ask questions he's sure he wouldn't like the answers to. "As far as you're concerned, from now on you're Richard MacNeil. Got it?"
"Richard…" said Hawk. "Yeah, I can live with that."
"I'm so pleased," said Dubois. "One last thing: Leave your axe here. We'll supply you with a standard dueling sword. And Captain Fisher will have to go unarmed, of course. No young lady of the Quality would wear a sword. It simply isn't done."
Hawk and Fisher looked at each other.
"No axe."
"No sword."
"Tight trousers."
"And a bloody corset."
They looked hard at Dubois. "We want a bonus," said Hawk flatly.
"In cash," said Fisher.
"In our hands, before we go."
"I can arrange that," said Dubois.
Hawk looked at Fisher. "They must really be desperate."
"Maybe we should hit them for overtime while we're at it," said Fisher.
"Don't push your luck," said Dubois.
Chapter Three
Ghosts And Memories
Haven was an old city, but the dark and brooding cliffs that overlooked it were older still. Huge and forbidding, they rose out of the restless sea like grim, watchful guardians, protecting Haven on three sides from the raging storms that swept in off the sea. The waves pounded endlessly at the jagged spurs of rock, throwing spray high into the wind even on the calmest of days. Tower MacNeil stood firm and unyielding on an outcropping of dark basalt that jutted from the cliff face like a clenched fist against the encroaching sea.
The Tower was tall and elegant, built entirely from the local white stone, with its distinctive pearly sheen. Its lines were clean and functional, the wide glass windows its only concession to comfort and luxury. It stood five stories tall, surmounted by open crenellated battlements. Down the centuries, Tower MacNeil had defied both time and the elements, as well as countless enemy attacks. Often scarred, and as often restored, it had never once fallen to its adversaries. Brilliant engineering and subtle sorceries maintained the Tower, as it maintained and protected the Family who dwelt within.
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 t
he 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 betters 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 for as long as you wish; there are plenty of spare bedrooms, and Haven's inns 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.
Wolf in the Fold Page 6