Guards of Haven: The Adventures of Hawk and Fisher (Hawk & Fisher) (26 page)

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Authors: Simon R. Green

BOOK: Guards of Haven: The Adventures of Hawk and Fisher (Hawk & Fisher)
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“Good thinking,” said Hawk. “I’ve always admired your essentially sneaky and devious nature.”
“You say the nicest things,” said Fisher.
The footsteps grew louder. Hawk drew his sword, and he and Fisher stood side by side. Jamie and David appeared round the curve of the corridor, and came to a sudden halt as they saw their prey waiting patiently for them. Alistair and Brennan moved quickly in beside Jamie and David. Hawk fixed Jamie with his best authoritative gaze.
“Listen to me, Jamie; I’m not the freak, but I know who is.”
“Kill him,” said Jamie. “Shut his lying mouth.”
The four of them started forward, swords raised. Hawk cursed, but held his ground. “Listen to me, dammit! I can prove what I’m saying!” Jamie broke into a run, David only a step behind him. Hawk looked at Fisher. “All right; do it.”
Fisher struck a match. It flared up on the first try, and she dropped it into the oil. It caught in a second, and flames leapt up to block off the corridor. Hawk and Fisher backed away from the searing heat, and then tensed as a dark figure came hurtling through the flames. It was Alistair. He stood before them, smoke rising from his smouldering clothes, his mouth stretched in a cold and deadly grin. He stepped forward, sword at the ready, and Hawk went to meet him. Sparks flew in the narrow corridor as steel rang on steel, and Hawk knew right away that he was in serious trouble. Alistair was a superior swordsman, and Hawk wasn‘t, anymore. With his axe in his hand he could probably still have given a good account of himself, but as it was, it was all he could do to defend himself. He backed slowly down the corridor, using every trick he knew to buy himself some breathing space, but Alistair knew them all, and their counters. He began to press home his attack, his death’s-head grin never once faltering. And then Fisher stepped out of the shadows to Alistair’s left, and kicked him expertly behind the knee. He collapsed and fell forward as pain exploded in his leg. Hawk and Fisher turned and ran down the corridor.
Alistair slowly forced himself back onto one knee, paused for breath, and then got to his feet, favouring his aching leg. He’d underestimated Isobel. He wouldn’t do that again. He looked back, and saw the others gingerly making their way round the edges of the dying flames. He gestured impatiently for them to join him, and started down the corridor after his prey, ignoring the pain in his leg.
Farther down the corridor, Hawk stopped suddenly and Fisher almost ran into him. “What is it, Hawk? Problem?”
“More like a stroke of luck,” said Hawk. “I remember this bit of corridor. There’s a secret passage here ... somewhere. Jamie showed it to me earlier on.” He pressed hard against a particular piece of stone moulding, and a section of the wall swung soundlessly open. Hawk grinned.
“Grab a lamp, Isobel. With any luck, it’ll be ages before the others can be sure we’re no longer on this floor.”
Fisher took a lamp from the wall and lit it, and the two of them plunged into the narrow tunnel. The section of wall closed silently behind them.
 
In the library, Holly sat staring disconsolately into the fire. The quiet crackling of the flames was the only sound in the room. Arthur had tried to keep her spirits up with his usual dry humour and amusing anecdotes, but he soon stopped when he realized she wasn’t listening. She couldn’t seem to concentrate on anything but the thought that David was in danger and there was nothing she could do to help him.
She still couldn’t believe how easily Richard had taken her in. Taken them all in. She should have sensed something was wrong about him ... but she hadn’t. Instead, she’d actually found him rather likeable, in an unpolished kind of way. The thought depressed her, and she looked listlessly round the room, searching for something her eyes could settle on that wouldn’t require her to think or feel anything in particular. Arthur was sitting next to her, his eyelids drooping, a glass of something as always in his hand. He looked half asleep; either the drink or the strain was getting to him. Sitting next to him, Katrina glared blindly straight ahead, lost in thought, the heavy iron poker still clutched firmly in both hands. Her knuckles showed white from the fierceness of her grip. And Marc was sitting comfortably in his chair, a little away from the rest of them, staring thoughtfully at nothing. He seemed perfectly relaxed and at ease, and Holly looked at him enviously. Sometimes it seemed to her that she’d never feel relaxed again.
The flames leapt up suddenly as a log shifted in the fire, and Arthur studied it out of one eye for a moment, before letting it half close again. In a way, he almost wished he’d gone with the others. At least then he would have been doing something, instead of just waiting and worrying, not knowing what was happening. Maybe it was all over by now, and they’d found Richard and killed him, and everything could get back to normal again. Or maybe Richard had killed them all, picking them off one at a time from hiding, and was now on his way back down the stairs, to finish the job and silence everyone who could identify him. Arthur stirred unhappily, but kept his features relaxed and his eyes half closed. He didn’t want Holly to see he was worried. She looked scared enough as it was.
His hand dropped self-consciously to the sword at his side. He’d had the same training all young Quality men went through as a matter of course, but truth be told he’d never drawn the blade in anger in his life. He’d never given much of a damn about his honour; certainly not enough to risk his life in a duel over it. Besides, he’d never been much of a swordsman, and he might have got hurt. But it wasn’t just his life that was at stake now. There was Holly to think of. She was depending on him and Marc to defend her if things went wrong. Arthur’s mouth tightened. Probably Marc would turn out to be an expert with a sword, and he wouldn’t be needed. That was how things usually went. No one had ever needed Arthur in his life. But if worst came to worst, and there was only him left between Holly and the freak, he hoped he’d find the courage to do the right thing, for once in his life.
He looked across at Marc, and frowned slightly. He couldn’t say he’d never warmed to the man. He seemed pleasant enough, in a dull, earnest kind of way, but basically Marc had all the character of a block of wood. He had no interests or opinions of his own, and absolutely no sense of humour. It wasn’t often that Arthur found someone he could feel superior to, and he rather enjoyed the novelty, but there was something about Marc he didn’t care for. He was too quiet, too bland, too self-effacing. It just wasn’t natural for a man to be that polite. And then Marc raised his head and looked at Holly, and Arthur felt a sudden chill go through him. Marc looked different somehow. He looked ... Arthur sat up straight suddenly as the thought hit him. Marc looked hungry.
Marc turned his head to look at Arthur, and smiled pleasantly.
“Something wrong, Arthur?”
Arthur tried to clear his throat, but his mouth was very dry. “I don’t know.”
“You look as though you’ve seen a ghost. Or something worse. What do you think, Arthur? Have you seen something worse?”
“Maybe. Maybe I have.”
Katrina looked at them both, frowning. “What are you two talking about?”
“We’re talking about me,” said Marc. “It’s a fascinating subject, really.” He rose lithely to his feet and stood with his back to the fire, smiling easily at them all. “Tell me, Arthur, when did you first begin to suspect?”
“I’m not sure,” said Arthur numbly. “Maybe earlier on, when I noticed you never ate anything that was offered to you, and although you always had a glass of wine in your hand, you never drank from it. Drunks notice that kind of thing. And you were always too self-controlled, too unaffected by the things that were happening here.”
“Ah yes,” said Marc. “Emotions. I never could get the hang of them. Unless you count hunger as an emotion. I’m always hungry.”
“No,” said Holly, her eyes widening as she shrank back in her chair. “It can’t be. You can’t be ...”
“I’m afraid so,” said Marc. “And they’ve all gone off and left the three of you alone with me. We’re quite safe in here. No one can get to us; I’ve seen to that. Or did you never consider that a barricade will serve just as well to keep people in, as well as out?”
Katrina glared at him, holding her poker before her. “You come near me, and I’ll kill you, you ... freak!”
“Such a harsh word,” said Marc. “But unfortunately for you, perfectly accurate. I’m afraid I’ve waited as long as I can, and I really don’t care to wait any longer. The others will be busy killing each other by now, so we shouldn’t be interrupted.”
“You don’t have to do this,” said Holly. “We wouldn’t tell anyone about you. Honest.”
“Oh, I think you would.” said Marc. “If you had the chance. But I’m afraid I can’t afford to leave any witnesses. So I’ll take care of you three first, and then I’ll go upstairs and introduce myself to whatever survivors there may be. I couldn’t do that before: I wasn’t strong enough. And the memories got in the way. But now Greaves is mine, the memories are under control, and after I’ve drained the life and strength out of you as well ... When the wards go down tomorrow morning, I shall leave this Tower and go down into the city, and I will feed and feed and feed, and never be hungry again.
“I think I’ll start with you, Holly. I’ve always admired you. Like a rose without a thorn; so pretty, so vulnerable. That’s why I came to you in the night, while you slept, and took a little life from you, to keep myself going. Your memories drifted through my mind like petals on a breeze, sweet but unsatisfying. Did you dream of me, perhaps? I’d like to think you did. I dreamed of someone like you for years. And now you’re mine.”
He started towards Holly, and Arthur scrambled to his feet. He drew his sword and put himself between her and the freak, hoping he looked more impressive than he felt.
“Get away from her, you bastard. I won’t let you hurt her.”
The freak just stood there, smiling. “Very nicely said, Arthur. Now. put away your sword and sit down. I’ll get round to you, when I’m ready.”
“I mean it!”
“I’m sure you do. But there’s nothing you can do to stop me. As long as I’m within arm’s reach of someone, I can drain the life right out of them. Besides, it’s obvious from the way you’re holding your sword that you don’t really know how to use it. Marc knew about things like that, and now, so do I. I wonder what I’ll know when I’ve emptied your head, Arthur. How to mix cocktails, perhaps?”
“Stay back,” said Arthur. His voice sounded shaky, even to him, but at least his sword hand was steady. He’d often dreamed of standing between Holly and some unidentified villain, being the hero of the moment, but now the time had come and he’d never felt so scared in his life. But he wouldn’t back down. Holly needed him. The thought steadied him, and he stepped smartly forward, his sword shooting out in a textbook lunge. Marc sidestepped elegantly, and dropped a hand on Arthur’s outstretched arm. The sword fell to the floor as his hand went numb. A wave of shuddering cold swept through him as the strength went out of him and into Marc. He fell limply forward, his face striking hard against the floor, but he couldn’t feel it. He tried to get to his feet again, and couldn’t move. He would have been frightened, but his thoughts were growing too dim even for that. And then Marc’s hand was suddenly jerked away from his arm, and his thoughts began to clear.
Marc fell back a step as Katrina swung the iron poker with both hands again. The first blow had connected strongly enough with Marc’s head to send him staggering sideways, but there was no sign of any wound.
Of course not,
thought Katrina crazily.
He’s not really there. That’s just an illusion of Marc. Behind the illusion, he’s probably bleeding like a stuck pig.
The thought comforted her as she swung the poker again, putting all her strength into it.
Marc’s hand shot out at the last moment and intercepted the poker, absorbing its momentum with hardly a jolt, though Katrina’s hand went numb from the impact. Marc smiled at her, and her eyes rolled up in her head as he sucked the strength out of her. She collapsed in a heap, and Marc let the poker drop to the floor beside her. He turned to face Holly again, and then stopped as Arthur grabbed him by the ankle. Marc tried to pull free, and couldn’t.
Arthur’s fingers whitened as he put all his remaining strength into his grip. Holly needed him. Nothing else mattered. Marc bent down and picked up the poker he’d dropped. Arthur knew what was going to happen, but didn’t have the strength to turn his head away. He couldn’t even shut his eyes. Marc struck down hard with the poker, and Arthur’s vision disappeared behind a sudden rush of blood. He still wouldn’t let go. Holly needed him. Marc hit him again, and again.
Holly burst out of her chair and threw herself at Marc, screaming and flailing at him with her fists. Marc stumbled backwards and almost fell, but he quickly regained his balance and grabbed one of her waving arms. She fell to her knees as the strength went out of her, and he smiled down at her.
“Don’t be so impatient, Holly. I’ll be with you in a moment.” He bent down and struck repeatedly at Arthur’s hand with the poker. The sound of bones breaking and splintering was horribly loud on the quiet. Marc pulled his foot free, threw aside the poker, and turned back to look at Holly. “There; that didn’t take too long, did it? Now I’m free to give you my full attention.”

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