Wolf in the Fold h&f-4

by Simon R. Green

  won't be top-notch staff, of course, but they'll do. Until we can sort this mess

  out. Now, what was I saying? Oh yes; breakfast. Cold collation, I'm afraid, but

  I suppose I shouldn't complain. It's very good for the figure, and I have been

  putting on a little weight recently."

  She glanced coquettishly at Hawk, obviously expecting some chivalrous denial. He

  was still trying to come up with an answer that was both polite and noncommittal

  when they reached the dining room, at the end of the long, twisting corridor.

  The room was grand in design, if not in scale, most of it taken up by the single

  great table, which looked as though it could easily seat thirty, and another

  dozen or so if everyone was feeling chummy. A magnificent white tablecloth lay

  half hidden under the glistening silver service and three blazing candelabra.

  Everyone took seats at one end of the table with a minimum of fuss, and Hawk

  ended up with Katrina on one side and Fisher on the other. Arthur Sinclair was

  sitting opposite him, and Hawk's heart missed a beat as that gentleman suddenly

  leaned forward and addressed him.

  "Tell me… Richard?"

  "Yes."

  "Yes, Richard… something I've been meaning to ask you. Why is your hair black

  and your sister's yellow?"

  "Mother was frightened by an albatross," said Hawk solemnly.

  Lord Arthur blinked at him, nodded, and returned his attention to his wineglass.

  Hawk looked at the setting in front of him and panicked briefly as he found he

  didn't even recognize some of the more sophisticated cutlery. Start at the

  outside and work inwards, he told himself firmly, reaching for the outer knife

  and fork. It's got prongs on it; it's got to be a fork… Greaves and Robbie

  Brennan appeared through the swinging service door, carrying trays of cold meats

  and artfully arranged raw vegetables.

  "When you're ready, Greaves, do you think you could do something about the

  fire?" said Jamie. "It seems rather cold in here today."

  "Of course, sir." Greaves gestured for Brennan to put his trays down on the

  table and see to the fire. Brennan gave him a look, but did as he was bid.

  For a while, there was only the occasional murmur of conversation as everyone

  heaped their plates and then set about the serious business of breakfast. Hawk

  in particular tucked into his food with gusto, but Marc, sitting opposite

  Fisher, seemed to be just toying with his. Hawk assumed he was one of those

  people who couldn't face a heavy meal first thing in the morning. Meanwhile, the

  minstrel had called on Greaves to help him get the fire going. Hawk smiled

  slightly. The butler obviously didn't care at all for being involved in such a

  menial task. He gave Brennan a hard look, and then reached gingerly up into the

  chimney to tug at some obstruction. Whatever it was, it didn't want to budge,

  and Greaves had to try again, harder. And then he and Brennan jumped back from

  the fireplace with cries of shock and horror as a body fell down out of the

  chimney and crashed into the grate. It was a man, entirely naked and stained

  with soot, and very obviously dead. The whole of his face had been burned away

  by the fire.

  Chapter Four

  Wolf in The Fold

  For a long moment nobody stirred, and then there was a general scramble round

  the table as people surged to their feet. Greaves backed away from the body,

  unable to take his eyes off it, until he bumped into the edge of the table

  behind him. Brennan stayed where he was, rooted to the spot. Hawk pushed past

  them both and knelt down beside the dead man. Jamie and Alistair crowded in

  behind him, peering over his shoulder but apparently unwilling to get any closer

  than that to the body. Fisher leaned gingerly into the fireplace and peered up

  the chimney, just in case it held any more nasty surprises. Everyone else

  huddled together at the far end of the table, torn between edging closer for a

  better look and making a mad dash for the door. Holly's face was bone white, and

  she clung desperately to Katrina for support. Katrina patted her niece's hands

  in an absent-minded, comforting way while she craned her neck to see what was

  happening. David and Arthur had both moved to put themselves between the ladies

  and the dead man, as much out of gallantry as anything. Marc stood beside them,

  gazing with fascination at the dead man.

  Hawk did his best to ignore Jamie and Alistair breathing down his neck, and

  looked the dead man over carefully, starting at what was left of the head and

  working his way slowly down the body. There were a number of cuts and scrapes,

  presumably from being wedged up the chimney, but no sign of any death wound. He

  turned his attention back to the burned face, and winced despite himself. The

  eyes and nose were gone, and the teeth grinned horribly through a mask of

  charred flesh and bone. There was no hair left, and the ears were nothing more

  than blackened nubs. Hawk breathed shallowly through his mouth, trying to avoid

  the smell. He'd seen many dead men in his time, often in worse condition than

  this, but there was something disturbingly cold and calculating in the manner of

  this man's death. He touched the man's shoulder gently with his fingertips. The

  flesh was cold to the touch, already showing the purplish bruises caused by

  blood sinking to the lowest part of the body. The dead man had been in the

  chimney for some time. Maybe overnight. Hawk tried the neck, but it didn't seem

  to be broken. He worked the dead man's arm gently, and it bent easily at the

  elbow, indicating rigor mortis either hadn't set in yet or had been and gone.

  Hawk frowned. That was probably a clue as to how long the man had been dead, but

  he didn't understand such things. He'd never needed to. That was what forensic

  sorcerers were for. He looked round sharply as Jamie MacNeil crouched down

  beside him. Alistair leaned in closer, one hand resting supportively on Jamie's

  shoulder.

  "How did he die, do you think?" said Jamie steadily.

  "Hard to tell," said Hawk. "There's no actual death wound that I can see, just

  the damage to the face."

  "Nasty way to go," said Alistair. "I once knew a tribe of savages who killed

  their prisoners this way; hung them over an open fire till their brains boiled.

  Nasty."

  "I don't think that's what happened here," said Hawk slowly. "Look at the back

  of the head." He gingerly lifted the burned head off the floor so they could

  see. "The face has been totally destroyed, but the back of the head is barely

  touched. I think someone pushed this poor bastard's face into the fire and held

  it there till he died."

  "Gods!" Jamie looked suddenly as though he might vomit, and turned his head

  away, eyes squeezed shut.

  "There's no sign of any struggle here, as far as I can see," said Fisher, her

  voice coming hollowly from inside the chimney. She ducked her head back out, and

  beat soot from her hair and shoulders. "Looks to me like he was already dead

  when the killer stuffed him up the chimney."

  She started towards the group round the body, but Alistair moved quickly to

  block her way. "That's quite close enough, my dear. Please return to the others.
>
  This is no sight for a young lady such as yourself."

  Fisher was about to ask sarcastically whether he was referring to the dead man's

  injuries or his nakedness, when she caught Hawk glaring at her. At which point

  she remembered she was supposed to be a sheltered young flower of the Quality,

  not a hardened city Guard, and she went reluctantly back to join the others. She

  put a comforting arm round Holly's snaking shoulders and listened carefully to

  what was being said about the dead man.

  "Any idea who this is? Or rather, was?" said Hawk to Jamie.

  The MacNeil looked back at the body. His face was very pale, but his gaze was

  steady and his mouth was firm. "Whoever he is, he shouldn't be here. The last of

  the servants left two days ago, and the only guests I know of are all in this

  room."

  "Maybe one of the servants came back," said Alistair.

  "Not without Greaves knowing, and he would have told me." Jamie shook his head

  slowly. "None of this makes any sense. No one could have got in past the Tower's

  wards without setting off all kinds of alarms. It's impossible. And who would

  want to kill a man here, and like… that? It's insane!"

  Alistair gripped Jamie's shoulder firmly. "Easy, lad. Don't go to pieces on us

  now. You're the MacNeil, and the others will be looking to you for guidance. We

  have a murderer loose in the Tower somewhere, and we have to find him. Before he

  strikes again."

  "He's right," said Hawk. "This is a very nasty business, Jamie. You'd better

  call in the Guard."

  "No!" said Alistair sharply. "This is a Family matter. We don't bring outsiders

  into Family business."

  Hawk got to his feet and stared at Alistair. "What century are you living in?

  You can't keep the Guard out of something like this! This is murder we're

  talking about, not who put some chambermaid up the stick. Our best bet is to get

  the hell out of here, send for the Guard, and then block off all the exits till

  they get here. Let them find the killer; they're experts."

  "I'm afraid it's not that simple," said Jamie, rising to his feet. "I've already

  raised the final wards. I did it just now, so that we could get on with the

  reading of the will. I never thought… The wards can't be lowered for another

  twenty-four hours. That's the way they're designed. I'm sorry; there's nothing I

  can do. None of us can leave the Tower."

  David Brook stepped forward, staring disbelievingly at Jamie. "Are you saying

  that we're all trapped in here with a killer? That whatever happens, there's no

  way out?"

  "Yes," said Jamie. "I'm afraid so." He stopped abruptly and looked at Hawk, who

  was frowning down at the body. "What is it, Richard?"

  "I was just wondering why the killer took the time to strip the body naked.

  Presumably the killer didn't want us to be able to identify the victim. Which

  suggests that at least one of us would have recognized him. That explains the

  burned face, as well."

  There was a short pause, broken by Fisher. "Something else to think about. That

  body had been wedged quite a way up the chimney, going by the traces I found.

  Whoever the killer is, he must be pretty strong. It can't have been easy,

  stuffing a limp dead body feet first up a chimney."

  Holly moaned quietly, and several of the others looked quite disturbed by

  Fisher's remark.

  "The man must have been mad," said David. "Madmen are supposed to be incredibly

  strong, aren't they?"

  Alistair cleared his throat meaningfully. "Thank you for sharing your thoughts

  with us, Isobel, but I really feel you and the other ladies should withdraw.

  This is not a subject suitable for your tender ears."

  "No!" said Hawk quickly. "I don't want anyone going off on their own. Unless

  they like the idea of being an easy target. Until we know what the hell's going

  on here, we'd do better to stick together. There's safety in numbers."

  Jamie looked at him strangely. "You sound almost as though you've had experience

  with this sort of thing before, Richard."

  Being called Richard brought Hawk up short, as he remembered who he was supposed

  to be. He shrugged, thinking quickly. "There was a murder at one of the inns

  Isobel and I stayed at on our way here. I did a lot of thinking about it

  afterwards, and all the sensible things I should have done. But you're the

  MacNeil, Jamie, and this is your home. You're in charge. I wasn't trying to

  usurp your authority."

  "Don't be daft," said Jamie. "This is all new to me. If you've got any ideas on

  what we ought to be doing, speak out."

  "Well, to start with I think we should get back to the drawing room. I don't

  think we ought to move the body, and we can't hope to discuss this mess sensibly

  while it's lying right there in front of us."

  "Are you saying we should just leave the body here?" said Robbie Brennan.

  "Why not?" said Alistair. "It's not going anywhere."

  "At least cover him," said Katrina unsteadily. "Give the poor man some dignity."

  "And just what are we supposed to cover him with?" asked Marc. "I'm afraid I

  didn't think to bring a shroud with me to breakfast."

  "Maybe someone could fetch a cloak from the main hall," said David.

  "No!" said Holly quickly. "You heard Richard; it's not safe for anyone to go off

  on their own."

  "We can't just leave the man like this!" said Katrina shrilly, with a

  stubbornness that bordered on hysteria. "He's got to be covered decently!"

  Fisher grabbed one end of the magnificent white tablecloth and gave it a good

  hard jerk. Food, china, cutlery, and flowers went flying in all directions. The

  candelabra collapsed, and rivers of spilled wine cascaded over the sides of the

  table as she kept pulling. The last of the tablecloth finally came free, and

  Fisher draped it roughly over the dead man. Jamie stared speechlessly at the

  mess she'd made, and then looked at her. She smiled back at him.

  "Can we get the hell out of here now?" she said pointedly. "This place makes me

  nervous. Besides, I need a good stiff drink, and the good brandies are back in

  the drawing room."

  Hawk fought to keep the smile off his lips. He should have known Fisher wouldn't

  be able to keep up the demure young lady pose for long. He supposed he should be

  grateful that at least she hadn't hit anyone yet. He coughed loudly to draw

  everyone's attention back to him.

  "If we're going to move, let's move. If nothing else, I think we'll be safer in

  the drawing room. It's a lot easier to defend than this place. There are too

  many doors here for my liking."

  Alistair nodded approvingly. "Good thinking, lad. The drawing room's only got

  one door, and we can barricade that if necessary."

  Katrina's hand rose unsteadily to her mouth, and her eyes widened. "You mean the

  murderer might try and attack us?"

  "It's possible," said Hawk. "We don't know what we're dealing with yet."

  "I think you're all worrying needlessly," said Marc. "This is one man we're

  talking about, not an army. If worst comes to worst, there are more than enough

  of us here to overpower him."

  "It might not be that simple," said Jamie slowly. "There's only one man who


  could have done something like this. The freak. He's got out, after all these

  years, and he wants revenge. Revenge on the Family that walled him up alive."

  Silence fell across the dining room as they all looked at each other, the

  tension almost crackling on the air. Hawk silently cursed the young MacNeil.

  He'd already worked out that the freak was most likely the murderer, but he'd

  wanted the others safely back in the drawing room before he told them. The last

  thing he needed was a panic here. He tried his cough again, and everyone's eyes

  shot to him.

  "There'll be time to discuss all this later," he said firmly. "Right now, I want

  everyone concentrating on getting back to the drawing room safely."

  "What gives you the right to give everyone orders?" said Marc. "Why should we

  listen to you?"

  "Because he's talking sense," said Jamie. "All right, Richard, let's take a look

  out in the corridor and make sure it's clear."

  The two of them moved over to the main door, eased it open a crack, then took

  turns peering out down the corridor. Nothing moved in the clear morning light,

  and the few shadows were comfortingly small. Jamie looked at Hawk.

  "How do you want to do this, Richard?"

  Hawk frowned. "First thing, all the men draw their swords. Just in case. I'll go

  first, then you and Alistair. The women will come after us, with the rest of the

  men bringing up the rear." He looked back at the others and gave them his best

  reassuring smile. "There's no reason for anyone to be worried. We're just taking

  sensible precautions, that's all."

  None of them looked particularly convinced. Hawk sighed, and gave up on the

  smile. He'd always done better with a glare than a smile. He looked at Jamie for

  help, and the MacNeil quickly got everyone moving with a brisk mixture of tact

  and authority. Hawk nodded approvingly. Jamie had the right touch; that

  particular mixture of arrogance and charm that was the hallmark of the

  aristocracy. Hawk led them out into the corridor, and headed back to the drawing

  room at a carefully unhurried pace. It wouldn't do to take it too quickly; most

  of them were so rattled they'd break into a run first chance they got. And that

  would be a real recipe for disaster. Once they were all just running wildly, the

  freak could pick any one of them off without being noticed. So Hawk strode along

  at a casual pace, carefully checking each turn of the corridor as he came to it.