Wolf in the Fold

by Simon R. Green

  "Well, Jamie, you're the MacNeil now. I want you to know that whatever happens, I was always proud of you. I should have told you that before, but somehow I never got round to it. We always think we've got all the time in the world for all the things we want to do and should do, but time has a nasty habit of running out on you just when you need it most. I should have made out this will before. Don't know why I didn't. Perhaps Billy's death made me too aware of my own mortality… I don't know. Fact is, there are a lot of other things I've been putting off, but I'll take care of them when I get back from the border. Sorry, I'm wandering. Let's get on with it."

  He looked down and read from the will in his hands.

  "Be it known; I leave my entire estate to my son Jamie, with the exception of certain bequests I shall describe shortly. He shall be the MacNeil in my place, and speak for the Family in all things. Look after your sister, Jamie. See she wants for nothing and marries well. She's your responsibility now."

  The dead man looked at the chair where Holly was sitting. "To my daughter Holly, I leave her mother's jewels. She always meant for you to have them. I wish I could have spent more time with you, my dear. You grew up to be a very beautiful young lady, a lot like your mother. Look after your brother. See that he has good advice when he needs it, and when you've got him alone nag him unmercifully till he marries. The Tower always seems a happier place with a pack of kids running loose in it."

  "Is that it?" said David angrily. "Jamie gets the estate, and all you get is some old jewelry?"

  "Hush, David," said Holly. "Not now."

  David slumped back in his chair and folded his arms angrily, while Duncan MacNeil looked at Katrina and smiled wryly.

  "To you, sister dear, I leave ten thousand ducats. That's all. Enough to give you some independence till your divorce comes through, but not enough that you can afford to put it off too long. Knowing you, you'll drag the process out as long as you can just to get back at Graham, and I won't have that. I always liked Graham. More than I liked you, if truth be told, and it might as well be, now I'm dead. We never warmed to each other, did we, Kat? Too late now. I don't know whether to feel sad about that, or relieved. Divorce Graham, and make a new start with someone else. Assuming you can find someone else who'll put up with you."

  He turned to Robbie Brennan, and his smile softened. "Robbie, old friend, you get twenty thousand ducats. It's my hope you'll stay at the Tower and be as good a friend to Jamie as you were to me, but if you feel you have to leave, the money should help you on your way. We had some good times together, you and I. I'd have left you a damn sight more than twenty thousand, but knowing you, you wouldn't have taken it. Money always did make you nervous. The Gods know I've tried to give you wealth and position time and again over the years, and you've run a mile from all of them. But I wish you'd take my sword, at least. You know you always admired it, and it's no use to me now. Whatever you do, Robbie, be happy."

  "They never did find his sword," said Robbie softly. "It was lost, somewhere on the battlefield."

  Duncan looked out over the chairs before him, and Hawk felt a chill run through him as the sightless eyes passed over him. Duncan cleared his throat, and looked back at the will before him. "To my butler Greaves, who has always served me faithfully, five thousand ducats. And to every member of the Family who has come to the Tower to pay homage to the new MacNeil, five thousand ducats.

  "That's it. I've said my piece. May the Gods preserve and protect you from all harm."

  The air shimmered and he was gone; the last sight of Duncan MacNeil of Tower MacNeil. There was a long silence. Hawk glanced at Greaves, to see how he'd taken being lumped in with the visiting relatives rather than being singled out for reward as he'd obviously expected. The butler was leaning forward on his chair, and tugging at his collar as though he couldn't breathe. His face was pale and sweaty, and he looked sick. He lurched to his feet suddenly, clawing at his throat. Alistair rose quickly from his seat to hold and support him, while everyone else scrambled to their feet. The butler grabbed at Alistair, fighting for air, his eyes bulging from his face. Hawk moved in quickly beside Alistair as Greaves suddenly collapsed, and they lowered him to the floor. His skin was icy cold to the touch, and he was trembling violently.

  "What is it?" said Jamie, his voice cutting through the general babble. "What's happening? Is he ill?"

  "I don't know," said Hawk, yanking open the butler's collar. "Looks more like he's been poisoned."

  "No," said Marc suddenly. "That's not it. Look at him. Isn't it obvious what's happening? The freak's grown hungry again! He's draining the life out of that man while we just stand around and watch!" He glared about him as everyone but Hawk and Alistair backed away from the trembling figure on the floor. "Leave him alone, you bastard! Leave him alone!"

  "Somebody do something!" said Holly shrilly. "Don't just let him die!"

  Greaves grabbed weakly at Hawk's arm and tried to say something, and then his breathing stopped and the life went out of him. Hawk searched for a pulse in the man's neck, but there was nothing there. He closed Greaves's staring eyes and then looked up at the others and shook his head slowly. Holly was sobbing quietly, her head pressed against David's chest as he held her tightly. Arthur patted her shoulder comfortingly, his face pale but angry. Katrina sat down suddenly, her face turned away from the dead man. Robbie Brennan was staring intently from one face to another, as though looking for the mark of the killer in their eyes. Hawk got slowly to his feet, and Alistair stood up with him, the man's face cold and determined.

  "This has gone on long enough," he said roughly, his words clipped short by barely controlled rage. "I'm damned if I'll lose anyone else to the freak. I've kept my peace till now because I wanted to be sure before I made any accusations, but I can't keep quiet any longer. If I'd spoken out before, maybe Greaves would still be alive."

  David gently pushed Holly away from him, and his hand dropped to his sword belt. "Are you saying you think you know who the imposter is?"

  "Out with it," said Jamie sharply. "If you've any evidence against one of us, I want to hear it."

  "Greaves knew who the freak was," said Brennan. "He told me earlier that someone here wasn't the aristocrat they pretended to be. He didn't give me a name, though."

  "And that's why he died," said Alistair. "The freak wanted him dead before he could identify our imposter. But I'll give you a name: Richard MacNeil."

  There was a flurry of shocked gasps and curses as everyone backed quickly away from Hawk, except for Fisher who stayed at his side, and Alistair, who stood facing him. Hawk stood very still, careful to keep his face composed and his voice even.

  "I'm not the freak, Alistair. There's no evidence against me, and you know it."

  "Get away from him, Isobel," said Alistair.

  "You're all crazy!" said Fisher. "He isn't the freak!"

  "You can't be sure," said Katrina. "Even the freak himself doesn't know who he is."

  "Get away from him, Isobel," said Alistair.

  "In case you've all forgotten," said Hawk tightly, "may I remind you that the man we found in the chimney had been dead for some time, long before Isobel and I got here."

  "We don't know when he died for sure," said Robbie Brennan. "You're not a doctor. Whatever else you are."

  "Besides," said David, "the freak could have killed the real Richard soon after he got here and taken his place, so as to throw us off the track after the first murder."

  "There's too many ifs and maybes," said Jamie. "We need evidence."

  "All right," said Alistair. "You want evidence? How about this: He's lied to us constantly, from the first time we met him. He said he was from Lower Markham, but none of us ever knew we had any Family there. Marc's from Upper Markham, and he'd never heard of him. Richard claimed to be descended from Josiah MacNeil, but I never heard of a MacNeil with a name like that. And according to the Family History I checked right here in the library, no one else has ever heard of him either. Richard m
akes out he's some quiet, book-reading type, but he acts more like a soldier or a brigand. Presumably from the memories of someone he's drained. But whatever else he is, he's not true Quality. He doesn't know his place."

  "And he was right there beside Greaves when he collapsed," said" Brennan excitedly. "Greaves grabbed at Richard when he knew he was dying, and tried to say his name! We all saw it!"

  "This is ridiculous!" said Fisher quickly. "Everything Richard has said is true! I ought to know!"

  "You can't be sure of anything," said Alistair. "It's obvious he's been clouding your mind right from the start. That's why you've been acting a little oddly yourself. Now please, Isobel, stand away from him. We have to deal with the freak before he kills again, and we don't want you getting hurt."

  Hawk backed away, looking quickly around him as Alistair drew his sword. Jamie and David were already reaching for theirs. Hawk drew his own sword, but without his axe he didn't like the odds at all. He glanced at Fisher, who raised an eyebrow slightly and glanced at the door. Hawk nodded briefly, grabbed the nearest chairs and overturned them between him and the others, then turned and ran for the door with Fisher close behind him. There was a roar of outrage as Alistair led the others after them, kicking the chairs out of the way. Hawk charged out into the corridor, waited a second for Fisher to get clear and then slammed the door in Alistair's face. He held the door handle tight, pulled a wooden wedge from his pocket, and jammed it under the door. He'd brought the wedge in case he needed to ensure his privacy, but it was proving its worth now. He ran down the corridor to the stairway and started up it without slowing, taking the steps two at a time. Fisher ran beside him, holding up her skirts to run more easily.

  "Where are we going?" she demanded.

  "Damned if I know," said Hawk. "I just want to put some space between us and them. We've got to find somewhere we can hide out for a while and do some hard thinking. Our only hope is to prove my innocence by revealing the real freak."

  "Not forgetting the spy we came here to find," said Fisher.

  Hawk scowled. "I hate this case. We should have held out for a bigger bonus."

  "Right," said Fisher.

  They both shut up and saved their breath for the stairs.

  Chapter Seven

  Death of a Lonely Man

  For a time there was nothing but chaos and bedlam in the library as everyone shouted at everyone else. Alistair finally got the floor by shouting the loudest and glaring down anyone who tried to object. He stared grimly about him as the noise gradually subsided and a sullen silence fell across the room. Jamie and David had their swords in their hands, and looked dangerously eager to use them. Arthur was clumsily trying to comfort Holly, who was clearly only putting up with him to keep him calm. Katrina had retreated to the fireplace, and was glaring suspiciously out at the room, gripping the heavy iron poker with both hands. Robbie Brennan had thrown aside his short-sword and taken down his old claymore from its plaque on the wall, hefting the great length of blade with professional skill. Marc was still kneeling beside the fallen butler, apparently unable to believe the man was really dead. Alistair looked unhurriedly about him.

  "There's no need to get yourselves in such a panic; it'll take us a while to get the door open, but the freak can't get out of the Tower. The wards are still in place, remember? He's still here somewhere, hiding with the girl. If he hasn't killed her already. Finding him isn't going to be easy; the Gods know there are enough bolt-holes and hiding places he could crawl into. But wherever he's gone to ground, we can't just go chasing after him. The cornered rat is always the most dangerous. And knowing Richard, I wouldn't put it past him to have set up some very nasty booby traps for us to walk into. So, we'll go after him, but we'll do it in a sensible, professional way, checking each floor room by room and watching our backs at all times. Anyone have any problems with that?"

  Marc rose slowly to his feet. "We have to kill him. That's all that matters."

  Holly sat down suddenly, her hands folded in her lap like a child's. "I can't believe that all this time Richard was the freak. I liked him."

  "So did I," said Alistair. "But I didn't let that blind me to his constant lying and evasions. Richard is the freak. Holly; don't doubt it for a minute."

  "Of course he's the freak," said Jamie impatiently. "He ran when we challenged him, didn't he? If he wasn't guilty, why did he run?"

  "But then why did Isobel go with him?" said Holly. "She swore he wasn't the freak."

  "He'd probably been messing with her mind for so long she no longer knew what was true and what wasn't," said Brennan.

  "Then why did Richard take her with him?" insisted Holly.

  "Food," said Alistair. "He's woken up and remembered who he is, and he's hungry."

  "If we're to have any chance of saving her, we've got to get moving," said Jamie.

  "Of course," said Alistair. "But we're not all going. Too large a group would just slow us down, and I don't want anyone with us who can't look after themselves in a crisis. The two ladies will stay here, of course, so someone will have to stay with them, to protect them. Any volunteers?"

  Holly looked immediately at David, but he shook his head. "I've got to go with them. They're going to need my sword. Arthur will stay with you, won't you, Arthur?"

  "Of course," said Arthur. "I'll keep you safe, Holly. I know how to use a sword. I'll die before I'd let anyone hurt you."

  Holly didn't even look at him; her gaze was fixed accusingly on David. Marc cleared his throat.

  "I'll stay. I'm not much good with a sword, but given time I think I can build a bloody good barricade against that door."

  Alistair nodded to him curtly. "I take it the rest of you are with me?"

  "Damn right," said Brennan. He was standing straighter than usual, and he held himself with a brisk, professional manner that made him look twenty years younger. "The freak has to pay for Greaves's death. Greaves wasn't the easiest of people to get along with, but he was still a good man, for all that. We were never friends, but I would have trusted him with my life and my honor. He didn't deserve to die like that. I'm going to find the freak and cut him into bloody pieces."

  "We won't find him by standing around here talking about it!" said Jamie. "The freak's caused my Family enough heartbreak. It's time to put an end to him. We're going, Alistair; right now."

  Alistair bowed slightly. "You are the MacNeil. Just give me a moment to force the door open, and we'll be on our way."

  Jamie hefted his sword. "I want him dead, Alistair. No mercy and no quarter. I want him dead."

  Hawk and Fisher finally staggered to a halt somewhere on the third floor and leaned against a wall, heads bowed, fighting for breath. Fisher wiped the sweat from her face with her sleeve, and looked back the way they'd come. The corridor was quiet and deserted, the shadows undisturbed. She looked down at her bare feet, and winced. She'd kicked off her fashionable shoes some time back, so that she could run faster, and the cold from the bare stone floor had nipped unmercifully at her feet. Hawk reached up and took out his glass eye, sighed with relief, and dropped the eye into his pocket. The ache in his face immediately began to subside. All in the bloody mind… He looked down at the dueling sword in his hand, sheathed it and sniffed disdainfully.

  "If I'd had my axe, I'd never have run. I'd have stood my ground and chopped them all up like firewood. I mean, running from odds like that… If this ever gets out, we'll never live it down."

  Fisher shook her head slowly. "We can't fight them, Hawk; they're just innocent bystanders. They don't understand what's going on here."

  "I'm not so sure I do anymore," said Hawk. "This case has got completely out of hand. Look, there's no point in going any further. The only place above this is the battlements, and there's not enough room to manoeuvre up there. We're safe enough here, for the time being. It'll take the others a while before they can get this far, so let's use that time to get some hard thinking done. We ought to be able to figure out who the freak i
s by now."

  Fisher looked at him. "And what makes you think they're going to listen to us? More than likely they'll cut us down on sight."

  "We'll just have to make them listen."

  "In that case, I want a sword. I can be much more convincing with a sword in my hand."

  Hawk looked at her, amused. "I thought we weren't supposed to hurt them because they were just innocent bystanders?"

  "I just meant we shouldn't kill them. Apart from that, anything goes. No one chases me up three flights of cold stone stairs in my bare feet and gets away with it."

  Jamie and David made their way slowly along the first floor, carefully checking each room as they came to it. It hadn't taken them long to work out an efficient system. They'd stop and listen carefully at the door, while Alistair and Brennan kept a watchful eye on the corridor. Then David would ease the door open, Jamie would kick it in, and they'd both charge into the room, swords at the ready. Once they were sure the room was empty, they'd turn the place upside down, just in case there were any secret hiding places Jamie didn't know about. Then out into the corridor, and do the same with the next room. Over and over again. The long run of empty rooms was starting to take its toll on their nerves, but Jamie and David stuck at it. Having to just stand and watch helplessly as the freak drained the life out of Greaves had hardened their hearts till there was no room in either of them for anything but revenge.

  Jamie still had trouble believing Greaves was dead. The man had been with the MacNeils for more than twenty years; to Jamie it seemed as though he'd always been there. He'd often played with Jamie when he was a child, and been his confidant and advisor when no one else could be bothered to listen. He'd never been a warm man—there had always been something distant about him—but he was always there when Jamie needed him. And now he was gone; dead and gone, like all the others, and there was no one left to tell him what to do for the best. He was the MacNeil now, and the Family depended on him. His Family and his friends. He was damned if he'd let them down.