Arthur. You'd think I'd know better by now than to argue with you while you're
drunk. Just… snap out of it. You've got a lot to live for. There's a lot more to
life than drink."
"I don't care for drugs," said Arthur. "I'm a traditionalist at heart."
"You're just trying to annoy me, aren't you? Look, you can't kill yourself.
Think how upset Holly would be. Now let's change the subject. Gods, you can be
depressing at times, Arthur. You're not the only one with problems, you know. I
have problems too, but you don't see me crying into my wine over them."
Arthur looked at him steadily. "You've never had problems. You've always been
handsome and popular. Your Family bend over backwards to indulge you. Women have
been chasing you ever since your voice dropped. You have so many friends your
parties often spill over into a second house. What problems do you have, Davey?
Not being able to choose which shirt to wear next?"
David looked at him for a long moment. "You know your trouble, Arthur? You're so
wrapped up in your precious self-pity you can't see beyond the end of your own
nose. Haven't you ever wondered why I spend so much time with you and Holly and
Jamie, instead of running off to join the army and see the world, like the rest
of our contemporaries ?"
Arthur frowned. "That's right. Your Family's famous for its strong tradition of
military service, isn't it? Practically obligatory, from what I've heard. I
suppose I just assumed you had more sense than the rest of your Family. All
right, tell me. Why aren't you in the army?"
"Because the army wouldn't have me. I spent two years cramming with my tutors to
get me past the Military Academy entrance exams, two years working my guts out,
and I still didn't pass. I didn't even come close. "Whatever it takes to be an
officer, I don't have it. There was nothing my Family could do. There were all
kinds of strings they could have pulled on my behalf, once I got into the
Academy, but not even their influence could persuade the Academy to accept such
a spectacular failure as me.
"They couldn't even get me into the diplomatic corps, where most of our Family's
second-raters end up.
"My father threatened to disown me. Most of my Family aren't talking to me, and
those that are never miss an opportunity to remind me how badly I let them all
down. And as for my friends, practically everyone I grew up with is in the army
now, scattered across the Low Kingdoms, defending our borders. Some of them have
already died doing it. And every time I find a familiar name in the death lists
I think That could have been me. That should have been me. We've more in common
than you think, Arthur."
Arthur looked at him unflinchingly. "I'm sorry, Davey. You're right, I should
have known, but I just never thought about it. You see, you're the only man I
ever envied. Because you've got the only thing I ever wanted. You have Holly."
There was a long pause as they looked at each other. To his credit, David didn't
look away. "So it is her. We often wondered, but you never said anything. Holly
and I love each other, Arthur. We always have. We're going to be married soon. I
wish… things could have been different. We used to be so close, the three of
us."
"We were children then. Children grow up."
There was a sudden knocking at the door. The two men jumped to their feet as the
door burst open and Jamie hurried in.
"What is it?" asked David, as Jamie shut the door behind him. "What's happened?"
"Relax," said Jamie. "There's no emergency. I just needed someone to talk to. I
don't know what to do. At the moment I'm pinning all my hopes on Dad's will,
that there'll be something in it that can help us, but it's a slim hope at best.
I'm not up to this. In the past, whenever there was a problem, I could always
turn to Dad. He always knew what to do. Now there's just me, and everything's
going wrong."
"Oh hell," said David. "Another one."
"Ignore him," said Arthur quickly. "You mustn't blame yourself, Jamie. You're
doing everything you can. We understand how hard it is. It's not easy, learning
how to stand on your own feet. Some people never do learn. But you're doing fine
so far. Isn't he, Davey?"
"Damn right," said David. "You found your father's papers, didn't you? Without
them, we might never have found out what kind of monster we were dealing with."
"I can't help feeling Dad would have done things differently," said Jamie. "He
was the great warrior, after all; the great hero. Everyone said so, even the
King. I was so proud of him… even though I never got to see much of him. He was
away with the army a lot, especially after Mother died when I was young. But he
was spending more time at the Tower just recently, and we were really getting to
know each other. And then he had to go and die in that stupid little clash on
the border. I couldn't believe it when I heard. How could he have been so
stupid? He didn't have to go up there in person, not someone of his rank. He
must have known it wasn't safe up there! But he went anyway, because he couldn't
bear to miss out on the action. And he got himself killed, leaving Holly and me
alone. And on top of all that, he hadn't even bothered to tell me the Secret, as
he should have!"
He was close to tears, his face bright red with anger and frustration. Arthur
took him by the arm, and gently but firmly made him sit down on the nearest
chair. "It's all right to be angry, Jamie," he said softly. "I was angry at my
Family when they all died so suddenly, going off and leaving me all alone. But
it wasn't your father's fault. He didn't mean to leave you. He just made a
mistake, that's all; a simple mistake in judgment."
"Right," said David, sitting on the arm of the chair. "Everyone makes mistakes,
Jamie. Even a great hero like your dad."
"The whole border situation is a mess right now," said Arthur. "Practically
everyone I know has lost somebody to one border clash or another. If Outremer
doesn't back down soon, we could find ourselves in a full-fledged war."
"It won't come to that," said David. "No one wants a war, at least no one that
matters, and no one really cares about the borders. It's just politics, that's
all. The diplomats will sort it out. Eventually."
"We're getting away from the point," said Arthur. "Which is, all you can ever do
is give it your best shot, and hope that's enough. That's all your father would
expect of you, Jamie. That's all any of us expect of you. You're doing fine.
Don't let anyone tell you otherwise. Right, Davey?"
"Sure," said David. "We'll find the freak and kill him, and no one will ever
have to know about it."
"Right," said Arthur. "Care for a drink, Jamie?"
Greaves looked round the library and nodded approvingly. Everything was where it
should be, ready for the reading of the will. Duncan would have been proud to
see all his wishes carried out to the letter. The chairs had been set up in a
semicircle facing Duncan's favorite desk. The wax-sealed will had been placed
neatly in the middle of the desktop, ready to be opened. All it lacked now was
the man hims
elf.
Greaves' breath suddenly caught in his chest, and he looked away. He'd known the
master was dead for some time now, but somehow the reading of the will confirmed
it, made it real. Duncan would never again come striding through that door, to
warm his hands at the fire and roar for cigars and his best brandy. Once the
will was read, Duncan would become just a memory, a portrait on the wall; and
young Jamie would be the new MacNeil in fact as well as name. Greaves sighed.
He'd serve Jamie faithfully, just as Mister Duncan had ordered, but it wouldn't
be the same. Mister Duncan had been a great man, and Greaves would miss him.
He felt suddenly tired, and sat down on one of the chairs, something he would
never have done if anyone else had been present. But it was all right; there was
no one to see him. Robbie Brennan was off on an errand, and Mister Jamie and the
guests were all safely occupied upstairs. Greaves leaned back in the chair and
looked slowly around him. The library had always been his favorite room. Many an
evening he had served Mister Duncan and his guests as they sat in the library,
telling and retelling marvelous tales of their younger, soldiering days. And
Greaves had moved from chair to chair, handing out glasses of mulled wine and
dispensing cigars, inventing extra tasks so that he could stay a little longer
and listen, too.
The butler scowled, pursing his lips tightly together. It was all gone now. No
more evening stories. No more fine parties of great people for him to look
after. And the MacNeil himself dead and lost on a battlefield too far away even
to imagine, let alone visit. There had been little warmth in Greaves's life as a
butler, only orders and duties and the comfort of knowing his place and keeping
to it. But Greaves had always thought of himself as someone who might have been
Duncan MacNeil's friend if things had been different. And now the man was dead,
and Greaves would never be able to tell him that.
The door opened and Greaves was quickly back on his feet, but it was only Robbie
Brennan, carrying the extra candelabrum Greaves had sent him for. Greaves
pointed silently to where he wanted it, and Brennan lowered it carefully into
place. He straightened up and glared at Greaves.
"That has to be it. We've moved everything in here that isn't actually nailed
down."
"The MacNeil was very particular in his wishes," said Greaves calmly.
"Everything had to be just so. But we are finished now."
"Good," said Brennan. "I think I've done my back in, shifting that desk. I'd
better go and tell Jamie his guests can come down now."
"Just a minute… Robbie. I want to talk to you."
Brennan looked at the butler in surprise as Greaves sat down again and gestured
for Brennan to pull up a chair facing him. He did so, and looked at Greaves
curiously.
"Robbie, tell me about Duncan," said Greaves quietly. "Tell me about the Duncan
you knew, in your younger days."
"Why?" said Brennan.
"Because I want to know. Because I miss him."
Brennan shrugged uncomfortably. "You've heard all the songs, but you can forget
them. Songs are for entertainment, not history. I first met Duncan forty-four
years ago, almost to the month. He was a young officer, the ink still wet on his
commission. I was a mercenary out of Shadowrock, serving with Murdoch's
Marauders. An impressive name for a bunch of killers, half of them running from
the law under names their mothers wouldn't have recognized.
"Duncan and I first saw action together at Cormorran's Bridge. The way the
official histories tell it, it was a tactical defeat for the other side. I was
there, and it was a bloody massacre. We lost five hundred men in the first half
hour, and the river ran red with blood and offal. Murdoch's Marauders were wiped
out; only a handful of us survived. The main army was broken and scattered,
heading for the horizon with enemy troops snapping at their heels. There were
bodies everywhere, blood and guts lying steaming in the mud. The flies came down
in great black clouds, covering the dead and the dying like moving blankets.
Duncan and I ended up fighting back to back in the shallows. We would have run,
but there was nowhere to run to. We were surrounded, and the enemy weren't
interested in taking prisoners. So, we made our stand, and vowed to take as many
of them with us as we could. No one was more surprised than us when the enemy
finally retreated rather than face approaching army reinforcements, and we were
both still alive. We were a mess, but we were alive.
"We stuck together after that; we knew a hint from the Gods when we saw one. We
worked well together, and slowly became friends as well as allies. The army sent
us here and there, and we saw a lot of action in the kinds of places minstrels
like to call colorful. Arse-ends of the world, most of them. We fought in
twenty-three different Campaigns down the years, and not one of them for a cause
that was worth so much blood and dying. Still, we got to see some of the world.
Had some good times together. Even had a few adventures that had nothing to do
with the army; but none of them the kind of thing you'd want to make a song
about.
"Ah hell, Greaves. What can I tell you that you don't already know? Duncan was a
good soldier and a better friend. He had a bit of a temper, but he was always
sorry afterwards, and his word was good, unlike quite a few I could mention. He
brought me here to the Tower, when my soldiering days were over, and made me a
part of his Family in all but name. That's my old sword, hanging on the wall
there. And you tell me you'll miss him? I miss Duncan with every breath I take.
When I wake up in the morning, the first thing I remember is that he's dead.
It's like there's a hole in my life that he used to fill, and now it's cold and
empty. I should have been there, Greaves. I should have been there with him.
Maybe I could have done… something. He never did watch his back enough. But I
wasn't there, because we both thought I was too old. So he died alone, among
strangers, and I'll spend the rest of my life wondering if I could have saved
him if I'd been there.
"What do you want me to say, Greaves? That he liked you? He did, as far as I
know. Wait until after the will: I'll read his eulogy then. I wrote it myself
years ago; just needs a little updating. I'll say all the right things, make all
the proper comments, sing his praises and not mention any of the things he'd
rather were forgotten. Things that might shock young Jamie and his friends. I'll
polish up his memory one last time, and we can all say goodbye. You have to
learn to say goodbye, Greaves. It's the first real lesson every soldier learns."
Brennan finally ran down, and the old library was quiet again. Greaves nodded
slowly. "Thank you, Robbie. There were many things Mister Duncan could not bring
himself to tell me about his past, perhaps because he thought they might
distress me. But I wanted to know them anyway. Because they were a part of him.
But he is not really gone from us, you know. He has left behind the young
master, Jamie. There is a lot of his father in him."
"I suppose so," said Brennan. "Sure, he's a good kid. Is there anything else, or
can I call the others down now?"
"We have to protect Mister Jamie!" said Greaves fiercely. "He is the MacNeil
now. I think I know who our killer is. He masquerades as Quality, but he does
not have the true stamp of the aristocracy about him. Never mind who; I am not
certain enough yet to point the finger. But when the time comes, he must die.
And Mister Jamie may not be able to do the deed. He's young, and largely
untested. If he should balk, we must do the task for him. The Secret must not
get out. Or we betray Duncan's name and memory."
Hawk hurried down the corridor to the bathroom, clutching at the right side of
his face with his hand. He banged on the bathroom door with his fist, waited a
moment to see if anyone would answer, and then pushed open the door and hurried
in. He slammed the door behind him with his foot, and made for the washbasin. He
splashed some water into the bowl, and then reached up and carefully eased the
glass eye out of his aching eye socket. He leaned against the wall as the pain
slowly receded, letting his breathing get back to normal, and then he dropped
the eye into the basin. It stared up at him reproachfully, as though someone had
told it about the problem being all in Hawk's mind. He turned his back on it,
and massaged the right side of his face. He was already feeling a lot better.
When this case was over he was going to have to have a stiff talk with himself
as to which part of his mind was in charge.
He turned back and studied himself in the wall mirror. With his right eyelid
closed to hide the empty socket, he looked somehow furtive. Not to mention
half-witted. If someone came up to him on the street looking like that, he'd
arrest the man on general principles. He glared down at the offending glass eye.
The pain was almost gone now, but he had no doubt it would start creeping back
as soon as he replaced the eye. As if he didn't have enough to worry about. The
case was complicated enough when he took it on, but now things were definitely
getting out of hand. Not only was he nowhere near identifying the spy Fenris, he
also had to find a magic-using killer freak before it killed everyone in the
Tower; whilst, at the same time, keeping the increasingly paranoid others from
Wolf in the Fold h&f-4 Page 17
