Wolf in the Fold

by Simon R. Green

  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 he 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 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

  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. Tracking 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?"