Blood Moon (20 page)

T
here was no sign of the Water Sprites. Every time I crossed through the windbreak of drooping eucalyptus trees that surrounded the beach I thought I might catch a glimpse of them. But the Water Sprite had been speaking the truth when she said we’d never know they were there. The last month would have been so much easier if others had spoken the truth too.

I sighed and leant against the control tree, and stared out at the waves, rearing up and crashing down again as though each one planned to invade the sand, then changed its mind and retreated, back to the safety of its fellows.

It was a good design. A nicely varied design. Even I who had created it could watch it, simply enjoying the patterns of the water, with no thought of the programming beneath. And that, I supposed, was the ultimate success with artwork, if it transcended the memory of its creation.

Water Sprites didn’t lie; if they lusted after an octopus, they admitted it. Neil didn’t lie either; neither did Theo and Elaine. Even when I had been pursuing the vampire that Theo turned out to be, neither he nor Elaine had lied to me. They had told the truth, and nothing but the truth. Not the whole truth, admittedly. But they hadn’t lied. I supposed that in small communities like this there wasn’t much point in lying. Everyone knew too much about their neighbours for casual lies to work.

The Forest hadn’t lied to each other either. Like Neil, I had grown up in a group who simply expected the others to tell the truth. I would never make a good detective, I thought. I was too unpractised in the world of lies.

It was because I was not a detective, not schooled in the world of lies and deliberate deception, that Len had died.

I hadn’t let myself feel grief before. Now, suddenly, it overwhelmed me. Confident, compassionate Len. Len who had saved me from the Dog, even if the poor toothless beast had been no threat. Len the tolerant, who would have allowed his father honourable defeat and survival. Len the able, the secure, who wouldn’t mind the older wolf at his shoulder. Emerald was right. Len was special. And I had let him die.

‘It’s beautiful, Danny. Simply beautiful. You must be proud.’

It was Eleanor. She strode towards me, the hologram image perfect, the heated air above the hot white sand shimmering around her.

Like her sister, Eleanor looked different. No longer pregnant, no longer even a hint of ungainly. I looked for signs of grief and found them—the lines around her eyes and mouth more deeply etched, the lips tighter. Beneath the loose confidence of her body there seemed at least a touch of tension too.

‘I did my best,’ I said.

‘It’s superb.’ There was only the faintest hint of condescension in her voice, the serious administrative consultant praising the dilettante, the artist with nothing better to do that play around with sand and waves and amuse children and Water Sprites.

She was wearing a long linen dress today. The linen
suited her long, clean lines, the dress split at the sides to allow her natural grace of movement. She sat herself down a few metres away from me and crossed her legs neatly, her back relaxed and straight. Her legs were hairless. I presumed she shaved them, or used a depilatory. Even Truenorm women had some hair on their legs.

‘Emerald told you I called,’ I said.

‘Emerald told me. She almost didn’t, you know. But finally she did her duty.’

‘Emerald has never quite accepted her role as subordinate.’

‘I wondered if you’d notice that. Most people just see the teatowel in her hands, the flour on her fingers. They don’t see the way she watches me. A good subordinate would never observe quite like that.’

‘But she does her duty.’

‘Oh, yes,’ said the hologram Eleanor. It was hard to remember she was really in her study and an hour’s flight away. ‘She does her duty.’

‘You told me once,’ I said. ‘That a wolf never kills for pleasure. Only for food, or to protect their loved ones. Everyone kept telling me that.’

‘It’s true,’ said Eleanor. She was smiling now, apparently as carefree as if I had a picnic basket behind the tree, with sandwiches perhaps and a thermos of tea.

‘Yes, it is true. But not the whole truth.’

Eleanor watched me, smiling.

‘Whoever did those killings was performing a duty.’ I said. ‘They killed two unpleasant men, and another who was dying, whose wife would never have found the courage to shorten his life, even when he was in desperate pain. It couldn’t have been coincidence that
only those who needed to die, or deserved to die, were attacked.’

‘Really?’ she said lightly. ‘You do get to the heart of things. Michael was right.’

‘Any number of people could have killed one, or even two of them. But there could only have been one reason to kill all three, and that was to incriminate your family. To make it seem to those who didn’t really understand wolf society as though the wolf strain had broken free.’

‘Well,’ said Eleanor. ‘That is what people assumed, at any rate.’

‘It was what they were
meant
to assume. A wolf was guilty. And, of course, the more wolf-like one of your clan was, the more likely it was that they’d be chosen as the target of hatred.

‘There are only four in the family who are really wolf-like. Great Aunt Lexie, but she’s bedridden. Uncle Dusty, but he’s arthritic; he could never have made it all the way to Nearer to Heaven or the Andersons’. Rusty, now he could have been a real suspect. But he was conveniently away for two of the murders, though I suppose he could have done them at a pinch. And Len.’

The smile left Eleanor’s face. ‘Poor Len,’ she said. There was no denying the grief in her voice.

‘Someone wanted to frame Len for the killings. That’s why they were committed—with three victims whose deaths were a blessing, in some respects at least.’

‘Aren’t you forgetting that you were attacked too?’

‘No.’ I absently touched the scars again. ‘No, I can’t forget that. But I’d just done something unforgivable. I’d found another possible culprit, that poor toothless Dog. Someone had to be killed after the Dog’s death and I was a convenient target.

‘If I was attacked then Len’s defenders at Black Stump would swing the other way. And Michael—Michael would blame Len too.’

Eleanor crossed her legs the other way again, her body straight and supple as only a regularly exercised body can be. ‘So,’ she said. ‘Who do you think framed my poor, sweet Len?’

‘Someone who hated werewolves,’ I said. ‘That’s really what all this has been about. But no one seemed to fit. Even Nearer to Heaven didn’t hate you any more than any other modification and besides, they’re absorbed in their own comfortable lives.

‘No one at Black Stump hates werewolves. The Patriarch’s family tolerated you, the Andersons liked you until Andy was killed. Which leaves your own clan. And there is only one person who hates wolves at the Tree, and that’s you.’

Eleanor’s face was perfectly blank. ‘I really don’t see how you came to that conclusion,’ she said. ‘But please go on.’

‘Len was going to become the leader in a few years, when he challenged his father. And Rusty doted on Len, so he’d let him win. To some extent they’d rule together. But Len would be the breeder. Len the wolf, and you had tried so hard to keep the wolf at bay.’

‘Can you really blame me?’ She was very serious now. ‘But, really, you misunderstand. I’m proud of the wolf in my veins. It makes me what I am. I am probably much more wolf than you know. But it’s inside, where no one can see. Not outside. To be a wolf outside makes you an outsider.’

‘And you are ambitious for your family.’

‘Yes,’ she said lightly. ‘You’re right about that. I am
very ambitious for my family. I do not want them to have the handicap of looking like wolves. I want them to be accepted for what they are.’

She smiled at me, a friendly ‘girls together’ smile. ‘You wait till you have children of your own. You won’t be so complacent about being Proclaimed then. It’s all very well for you to take the high moral ground. But what will happen when your children and Neil’s are forbidden the education their intelligence gives them a right to, just because of a few aberrant genes? How will you feel when your children have to rely on Outland Meditechs, instead of City doctors? When any career of challenge and achievement is impossible for them, so they are condemned to be farmers or labourers all their lives? When even rejuvenation must be performed by semi-amateurs?’

‘It won’t happen,’ I said quietly. ‘If Neil and I have children, they won’t inherit my modification. It’s recessive.’

‘Really? But mine will,’ said Eleanor.

‘And if Len became the family’s next sire, there would never be any hope of changing that, would there Eleanor? With Len as the sire the next generation would be indisputably part wolf. So you had to get rid of Len.’

‘Len was my son,’ said Eleanor slowly.

‘Was he? Or is that just how the clan refers to him? Wasn’t he really Emerald’s son? That’s what really threw me. The lead wolf is always the mother, the other females just the aunties. But for a little while Emerald was lead wolf. She was Rusty’s mate. And she bore a litter too: Len, and Ben and Jennie.’

‘Dear Jennie,’ said Eleanor. ‘She is so like me.’

‘But Len wasn’t, was he? Len was more wolf-like than
any of you. I’ve been reading up on wolves, Eleanor. I should have done it long before, but I finally got round to it now. Did you know that in the wild a female wolf would tear apart a malformed cub and eat it, to protect the rest? You’re the mother of your whole family. And if one has to be sacrificed for the good of the clan, then you’d have the…the courage to do it.’

‘I loved Len,’ said Eleanor. ‘My litter or not, I loved him.’ She wasn’t smiling now.

‘I’m not disputing that. But you still killed him. Besides, there was another factor, wasn’t there?’

‘There was?’

‘The new cub. Oh sorry, I should say baby, shouldn’t I? Because that’s what he is. Mitch isn’t Rusty’s child; he’s Michael’s.’

Eleanor sat very still. For the first time my words seemed to have stunned her. ‘How could Mitch possibly be Michael’s son?’ she asked at last, just a little too lightly. ‘You can hardly get pregnant in Virtual.’

‘No,’ I said. ‘But you can use Virtual as an excuse when you sneak away some evening, and come back smelling of another man. Poor Rusty might be upset, but he wouldn’t suspect, would he? Because he’s a good wolf. He’d never believe his mate could leave the Tree, just like Emerald could never accept it either. But it’s so easy for you, shut up in your study where no one dares disturb you. You just slip out the window. That’s how you got pregnant this time, Eleanor.

‘This baby will hardly have a hint of wolf, will he?’ I went on, as her hologram sat watching me, so very still. ‘And you’ll make sure that he’s the one to challenge Rusty in years to come. Though of course it may not work. Maybe Rusty’s sons will be stronger than
Michael’s. Maybe Mitch will lose. Maybe he won’t even bother to challenge Rusty or his half brothers at all, maybe he’ll just accept Rusty’s son as his leader and it will all be for nothing.’

‘Assuming this were true,’ said Eleanor. ‘I wouldn’t underestimate dear Michael. He’s what? Third rung from the top in the City? The youngest ever to reach so high so soon. And what is Rusty? Leader of an Outland pack. Oh, yes, I would imagine Michael’s son could defeat Rusty’s. One way or another.’

‘And you’re attracted to the top dog, whoever they are?’

‘Perhaps,’ said Eleanor. ‘But attraction has really very little to do with it.’ She shrugged, and this time it was almost human. Perhaps she had been practising. ‘You don’t really think I have ever been attracted to Rusty, do you?’

‘Rusty is a good man,’ I said.

‘Rusty is an ambitionless farmer. It’s not his wolf genes that have let Rusty down, it’s his human ones.’

‘So, you’re not denying it all?’ I asked. I had expected—well, anything, rather than this amused acceptance.

‘No, I’m not denying it. It took me years of planning and it’s succeeded. The next generation and the next will not look wolf, no matter what they are inside. And everyone—even the Matriarch—is being so very kind to us—sympathy and guilt because their suspicions were correct. If they thought they’d been wrong they’d be defensive, but not now. I suppose you’ve even worked out how it was done?’

‘Yes. Holos of Len. You took my floater to kill Andy Anderson and flashed a holo of Len for Florrie to identify; you were unlucky though—Florrie didn’t
make out Len’s face. You attacked me in the darkness; and that time everyone saw the holo of Len. No one ever suspected it was you. You never leave the Tree, Emerald said. It never even occurred to her you might. But then Emerald is a good wolf woman, and you’re not. You attacked me with what? A knife. No, a knife doesn’t leave marks like claws.’

‘A small sharpened garden fork as a matter of fact,’ said Eleanor. ‘I hope you’ve had your tetanus shot. But you’d be modified against tetanus, wouldn’t you?’

I ignored her. ‘You loped back up to the Tree, through the window, into your CleanBreeze to remove the smell of blood, and there you were, the broken-hearted mother when they came for Len. Even heavily pregnant, you could be back there before any of the others realised that you had been away.’

‘I was broken-hearted,’ said Eleanor expressionlessly. ‘You’ll never know how much this has cost me, but it had to be done.’

‘No, I’ll never know,’ I said. ‘I don’t think it is anything I could ever understand. There’s just one thing—one final thing.’

‘Yes?’ said Eleanor.

‘Did Michael know what you planned? Is that why he asked me to investigate? As someone he could control, manipulate, to make it all so much easier for you? Is he so besotted that he’d do all that for you?’

For the first time I saw Eleanor hesitate. Then she answered, with every appearance of honesty. ‘No. He knew nothing. We had RealLife sex once, but I knew it was the right time.’ She smiled wryly. ‘One advantage of wolf hormones—when you’re fertile, you know. When Rusty mounted me, I used a diaphragm to make sure I didn’t fall
pregnant. There have been other—occasions—with Michael in Virtual. Not often. Not for months. It happened because he was lonely. It happened because I made sure it would. Michael assumes that Mitch is Rusty’s.’ She looked almost friendly now. ‘Your Michael hasn’t lied to you. I don’t think he could.’