Wolf in the Fold

by Simon R. Green

  David, Holly, and Arthur were standing with their backs to the fireplace, toasting each other with cups of steaming punch. They were smiling and laughing as though they didn't have a care in the world. As though they'd forgotten all about the dead man and the disguised freak. Hawk sniffed, and shrugged inwardly. The Quality were well known for ignoring things they didn't want to think about. Behind them, Greaves was down on his knees, encouraging the crackling fire with vigorous use of a poker. He had his coat off and his sleeves rolled up, and looked thoroughly disgusted with the whole business. Presumably in the past he'd had underlings he could call on to deal with such menial tasks.

  Over by the desk, Marc had backed Katrina into a corner and was apparently addressing her about something earnest and worthy and incredibly dull. Certainly Katrina's desperation was becoming clearer by the minute as she smiled mechanically and looked past Marc for something she could use as an excuse to escape him. Hawk looked quickly away before she could lock eyes with him, and watched thoughtfully as Alistair took a book from one of the shelves and flipped slowly through it. Jamie and Brennan were arguing quietly about something just behind him, and Alistair was going to great pains to make it clear he wasn't listening. Hawk nudged Fisher's elbow, and the two of them moved over to join Alistair. Hawk had a strong feeling Alistair was keeping something back, apart from the matter of the Red Marches, and this seemed as good a time as any to find out what. Alistair looked up as they approached, and nodded amiably.

  "Something interesting?" said Fisher, glancing at the book Alistair was holding.

  "Not really, my dear. Just old Family history." He snapped the book shut and replaced it on the shelf. "You're looking very fresh, Isobel. The short rest seems to have agreed with you. In fact, you look quite splendid. Tell me, is there a young man in your life yet?"

  "Oh, yes," said Fisher. "Can't seem to get rid of him. What about you, Alistair? Do you have any Family of your own, back in the Red Marches?"

  "No. They all died some time ago. I've been on my own ever since. But I still come, when the Family calls. As we all do." He looked round the crowded room, and scowled disapprovingly. "Though in my day we came for the sake of the Family, not ourselves. Look at them; gathered together like so many vultures, waiting to see who can snatch the biggest titbits from the dear departed." He stopped, looked at Hawk, and cocked an eyebrow. "No offence intended, Richard."

  "Of course," said Hawk calmly. "Personally, Isobel and I will be grateful for whatever largesse Duncan may leave us, but that's not why we're here. We just wanted to meet Jamie and get reacquainted with the Family. We've been out of touch too long."

  "A long way to come, just for that. Lower Markham's pretty remote, after all. In fact, I wasn't even aware the Family tree had any branches in that area. Tell me, what branch of the Family are you descended from?"

  There was an awkward pause, as Hawk chose and discarded a dozen names, and hoped desperately Fisher would bail him out. It quickly became clear that she was as thrown as he was. Hawk smiled easily at Alistair, and fought to keep his voice calm and even. "I believe we're descended from Josiah MacNeil, on our father's side."

  Alistair frowned. "Josiah? I was just looking at the Family tree in that book, but I don't seem to recall…"

  "Wrong side of the blanket," said Fisher quickly. "That's why he left Haven in the first place. You know how these things are…"

  "Oh, I see. Yes, of course. Happens in the best of Families…" Alistair smiled, just a little coldly and nodded to them both. "If you'll excuse me…"

  He moved away to join Katrina and Marc. Katrina looked openly relieved at being rescued from Marc's monologue. Hawk and Fisher looked at each other, and smiled grimly.

  "That was close," said Fisher.

  "Right," said Hawk. "If it had been any closer, it would have been behind us. We should have spent more time working out a background on the way here. It's always the niggling little questions that catch you out."

  "We can worry about that later. Right now, the day's dragging on and we're no nearer working out which of this bunch is the freak and which is the spy. What are we going to do?"

  "Mingle, and keep our eyes and ears open. What else can we do? We can't just drag them off and interrogate them one by one. Unfortunately. We'll just have to keep digging away, and hope somebody lets something slip."

  "It's possible, I suppose," said Fisher, looking unobtrusively around her. "They're scared, all of them. Some of them are hiding it better than others, but you can feel it on the air. If the atmosphere were any tenser, they'd be choking on it. As it is, they're all smiling too much and laughing too loudly; making a pretense of enjoying themselves so they won't have to think about what's been happening."

  "I don't blame them," said Hawk. "One of them is a murderer, and they could be talking to him right now and not know it. Even worse; they might be him and not know it."

  Fisher shivered quickly. "That's spooky."

  "Damn right."

  "Let's split up, and see if we can get a few helpful answers to some carefully phrased questions. I'll try Alistair again, since he has such an eye for a pretty face. You try Holly and her two swains."

  She was already off and moving before Hawk could raise his objections. Lord Arthur might not have recognized him so far, but Hawk had a strong suspicion he shouldn't press his luck. Drunks sometimes had a way of seeing things that other people missed, especially things they weren't supposed to spot. Hawk shrugged, and moved over to join the group by the fireplace. Greaves had given up on the fire and had gone over to try and mediate between Jamie and Brennan, but David and Holly greeted Hawk warmly, and Arthur presented him with a cup of the steaming punch. Hawk blew on it cautiously, and took a careful sip. It tasted hot and spicy, and then blazed down his throat to explode in his stomach.

  "Hell's teeth," said Hawk respectfully, when he got his voice back. "No wonder you're all looking so cheerful. This stuff is strong enough to bring a smile to a dead man's lips."

  "Thank you," said Holly, blushing. "It's an old Family recipe I found in a cookbook. I thought it might be fun to try it out."

  "If your ancestors drank this stuff on a regular basis they must have had insides like old boots," said David, and Holly giggled.

  "I don't know what you're all making such a fuss about," said Arthur, draining his cup in easy swallows. Hawk stared at him openly, half convinced that smoke was going to come pouring out of his ears. Arthur just smiled his usual vague smile and held out his cup to Holly for a refill.

  "I think you've had enough for the moment, Arthur," said Holly firmly. "You mustn't be greedy."

  Arthur nodded and looked at David. "I hope you're not going to let her boss you around like this, Davey."

  "Damn right I'm not," said David. "I'm my own man, always have been. I go my own way, come what may."

  "You always were stubborn," said Holly, leaning against David as he put an arm around her waist. "But so am I, when I want to be. You needn't think you're going to have everything your own way, David Brook."

  "We'll discuss this later," said David, and whispered something in her ear that made her giggle again. Arthur looked resignedly at Hawk, and though he'd been drinking steadily ever since Hawk first saw him, he seemed just as calm and sober as ever. Interesting, that.

  Holly, on the other hand, looked quite perky. Hawk thought at first that she was flushed from the heat, but then realized it was expertly applied cheek rouge. At some point during her brief absence Holly had subtly remade her face with a liberal use of makeup. She looked ten years older, much more sophisticated, and altogether more fashionable. Though perhaps not as pretty or as pleasant, if truth be told.

  "Well?" said Holly, grinning. "What do you think?"

  "Sorry," said Hawk, "I didn't realize I was staring. You look very splendid. Do I perhaps detect Katrina's hand in this transformation?"

  "Got it in one," said Holly. "I couldn't believe it was me, the first time I looked in the mirror."

>   "You look marvelous," said David.

  "Very striking," said Arthur.

  "Jamie hates it," said Holly, the corners of her mouth turning down. "He still thinks I'm ten years old. He wanted to send me back to my room to wash it all off, but as Robbie is busily pointing out, the will is to be read soon, and they can't have that without me. Jamie's in a frightful temper. Serves him right for being so pompous."

  "Well," said Arthur, after a slight pause, "only a few moments now to the reading of the will and the great share-out. I take it you're hoping for a suitable windfall, Richard?"

  "Arthur!" said Holly, shocked, but David just chuckled.

  "Since Arthur and I won't be getting anything out of the will, it allows us to be a little more direct," he said impishly. "Even in the face of sudden death and supernatural freaks, the MacNeils can still find time to argue over money."

  "Oh quite," said Arthur. "Still, some of us don't have to worry about inheriting money; not when they can marry it instead."

  David looked at Arthur sharply, as though unsure whether to react to the barb or not, and then smiled and laughed and hugged Holly to him. "That's right, Holly. I'm just an unscrupulous fortune hunter after your inheritance! Probably strangle you on our wedding night and flee the country on a coal-black horse! Isn't that what the villains always do in those romances you read?"

  "It seems Arthur isn't the only one who's had too much punch," said Holly sternly, though a smile tugged at her lips. "Don't worry, Richard, they're always like this. And I'm sure you'll find Father has left you a generous reward for making such a long journey here."

  "Oh, I expect there'll be a little something," said Hawk. "But that really isn't why we came. Isobel and I are both comfortably well off. Mostly because there's not a lot to spend money on in the wilds of Lower Markham."

  "I sometimes wish that was the case in Haven," said David wryly. "There are all kinds of expensive temptations here. Right, Arthur?"

  "You should know, Davey. I think between us we've managed to lose money in every card game, gambling den, and race course in Haven. I tell you, Richard, not only is Davey the world's worst card player, but some days he just can't wait to find a horse that's going to lose so that he can put some money on it."

  David glared at him. "This from a man who once bet the deed to his house that he could drink one glass of every potable an inn had to offer!"

  Arthur raised a sardonic eyebrow. "I won the bet, didn't I?"

  "That's not the point!"

  "Boys! That's enough!" Holly looked apologetically at Hawk. "Maybe the punch was a bad idea after all. They're not normally this rowdy."

  "You're right," said David. "It's only money, after all. Take our minds off it, Holly, with some juicy titbit of gossip." He grinned at Hawk. "Holly's always up on the latest gossip."

  Holly scowled. "I used to be, until all the servants left. You'd be surprised what servants hear. For instance, have you heard about Jacqueline Fraser? Her husband came home unexpectedly and found her in bed with the head groom! Apparently it wasn't just the horses he'd been giving a good rubdown. Anyway, he threw her out without a penny! She had to go begging to her own Family for support. What made me think of that was… well, I can't help worrying if something similar might happen to Katrina. I mean, I haven't heard anything definite yet, and Graham's always been very good about paying her bills so far, but he could change his mind tomorrow, and then where would she be?"

  "Still here, sponging off Jamie, I should think," said David briskly. "At least she and Jacqueline both have a Family to back them up. I sometimes think my Family would stand by and watch me go under without a single qualm. Tightfisted bunch, the lot of them. Still, bad luck about poor Jackie. I hadn't heard about that. Her husband never did have a sense of humor. You know, it never ceases to amaze me how much there is going on in High Society these days. There ought to be a news-sheet that concerns itself with nothing but gossip and rumor; just so that we could keep up with everything. Maybe I'll start one myself. There might be money in it."

  "Really, Davey," said Arthur, feigning shock. "You'll be talking about going into trade next. I had no idea your debts were so worrying. I'm afraid you'll have to give up your disgraceful gambling habits if you're going to support Holly in the manner to which she's accustomed."

  "I think we'll manage, thank you," said David frostily.

  "Of course we will," said Holly. "Stop teasing him, Arthur."

  "Sorry," said Arthur immediately.

  On the other side of the room, Katrina chattered blithely on, unaware of how glazed her audience's eyes were getting. Fisher smiled determinedly, Alistair nodded politely while staring into his cup of punch, and Marc's thoughts were obviously elsewhere. Fisher didn't blame him. She'd never known anyone who could talk so much and say so little. Even Katrina's gossip was boring. And then Fisher's ears pricked up as she finally caught something interesting.

  "Wait a minute," she broke in, not even trying to be polite about it. "Are you saying Duncan may not have any money to leave? At all?"

  "Of course I'm not saying that," said Katrina, her eyes flashing angrily, as much at being interrupted as anything else. "My brother was a very wealthy man. It's been generations since our Family had to concern itself with money. It's just that Duncan was always very careful with money while he was alive, and I don't see why that should have changed just because he's dead. So anyone who came here expecting to get rich off Duncan's death is probably in for a very nasty shock."

  She managed to look disparagingly at all three of them while not looking at any of them in particular. Alistair smiled coldly.

  "The fact that you too are hoping for a decent-sized legacy has nothing to do with your opinion, of course."

  Katrina stared calmly back at him. "I don't know what you're talking about."

  "Don't you? From what I've gathered of the way you treated your husband, it's a wonder he's supported you as long as he has. Your only hope for independence is whatever your dear departed brother may have bequeathed you. Seems to me we may not be the only ones in for a shock."

  For a moment Katrina glared at him openly, her face hardening into ugly lines, and then she recovered herself and smiled sweetly at Alistair. "I think I know my own brother better than some reprobate banished by the Family so long ago that most of us can't even remember it."

  Fisher's ears pricked up again. She'd assumed Alistair and Katrina had at least known each other in the days before Alistair was exiled, but now apparently Katrina was saying she'd never heard of him before he turned up at the Tower. Which was another small piece of evidence that Alistair might not be who he was supposed to be…

  "The money doesn't matter," said Marc suddenly. "What matters is finding the killer among us, before his hunger gets the better of him again. Or has everyone forgotten about that?"

  "No," said Alistair patiently. "Not all of us. But it has to be said there's nothing like the imminent distribution of large amounts of money to distract the attention. Let them get it out of their systems, and they'll be ready to concentrate on more important matters again. In the meantime, at least this way we can keep an eye on each other. Ah, it appears Jamie is finally ready to start."

  A sudden silence fell across the library as everyone turned to watch Jamie take his place behind the desk. He looked down at the folded and sealed will, reached out as though to touch it, and then drew back his hand. He looked out at his attentive audience and smiled briefly.

  "I'm sorry to have kept you waiting so long. Holly, Katrina, and Robbie… please sit in these chairs at the front. Then we can start."

  The three he'd named moved uncertainly forward, glancing at each other as Jamie courteously but firmly settled them into three specific chairs immediately before the desk. He selected another at the front for himself, and then indicated that everyone else was allowed to sit where they wanted. Hawk chose an end seat near the door, only just beating Fisher to it. She sat next to him, apparently relaxed and at ease, but h
er hand kept drifting back to where she normally wore her sword. Hawk didn't blame her. Will readings were notorious for bringing out the worst in people even under ordinary circumstances. With the freak manipulating their thoughts and feelings, anything could happen.

  Jamie moved back to stand stiffly behind the desk, waiting patiently until everyone was settled and quiet. Then he leaned forward and broke the wax seal on the will, and spoke a Word of Unbinding. A subtle, barely felt tension in the room suddenly broke and was gone, replaced by the sense of an almost tangible presence hovering by the desk. Jamie moved quickly out of the way and took his place on the other side of the desk, in the chair he'd set aside for himself. He'd barely taken his seat when the air behind the desk suddenly rippled and flowed, and a large stern figure was sitting where Jamie had stood. Hawk didn't need to be told that this was Duncan MacNeil.

  Duncan was a broad, imposing man with a barrel chest, harsh but not unpleasant features, and close-cropped red hair and beard. He was in his late fifties and looked as though he'd spent most of his life in the wilds on one campaign or another. He wore the latest fashion with an uncomfortable air, as though he would rather have been wearing the trail clothes and chain mail of a soldier on the road. His gaze was direct and uncompromising, and Hawk could tell Duncan would have been a hard man to cross.

  The late MacNeil looked out over the assembled group and smiled slightly.

  "If you're listening to me now, then I've been dead for some time. I'm not really here. This is just an illusion, a moment in time recorded by magic, so I can tell you my wishes after I'm gone." He paused, stirred uncomfortably, and glanced at the chair where Jamie was sitting. "You know, this was hard enough the first time, when I made out my will for your brother William. I thought it would be easier this time, but it isn't. Poor Billy. He wanted so much to follow in my footsteps, but he was never cut out to be a soldier.