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 her 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.
"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
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 evide
nce 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 makes 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