“Come away from the edge,” said Hawk. “You might fall.”
“I’m not going back,” said David. “If I were put on trial, it would disgrace my Family’s name. I can’t do that. I’ve been enough of a disappointment to them as it is. Besides, my friends would be found guilty by association, just for knowing me. And Holly would be hounded, ostracized, because she was close to me. I can’t have that. I think Holly could be happy with Arthur. Don’t you?”
“Yes,” said Hawk. “He cares for her.”
“Good,” said David, and pushed himself out and away from the wall. He didn’t scream, all the way down to the rocks at the bottom of the cliffs.
8
Saying Goodbye
The wards finally went down at ten o’clock the next morning. A subtle vibration came and went on the air, and the solid weight of Tower MacNeil seemed to settle itself more comfortably, and as suddenly and simply as that, it was over. Hawk ceremoniously opened the front door, and he and Fisher stepped out into the brisk morning air. It was a fine sunny morning, with only the cold nip of the wind to remind them of how close winter was. Gulls rode the wind on outstretched wings, crying and keening, and from far below came the endless crash of waves on the rocks.
Only Jamie and Robbie Brennan were there to say goodbye, and Hawk and Fisher were just as happy that way. It had been an uncomfortable time for all of them, waiting for the wards to go down. Hawk and Fisher might have saved the day, but their very presence was a reminder of things the MacNeils were eager to forget. The four of them stood together a moment, two within the Tower and two without, none of them sure what to say for the best. In the end, Jamie coughed awkwardly, and they all looked at him expectantly.
“You’ve done my Family a great service,” he said firmly. “The freak is finally at rest, and the MacNeils are free of their Curse, if not their Shame. I wish you’d let me reward you in some way. Just saying thanks doesn’t seem nearly enough.”
“Thanks are all we want,” said Hawk. “We’re just grateful you haven’t insisted on knowing who we really are.”
“I have a strong feeling I should,” said Jamie, trying not to stare at Hawk’s closed right eye, “But I’m equally sure I wouldn’t like the answer. You’d probably only lie, anyway.”
Hawk and Fisher grinned, and said nothing.
“I’m afraid we’re all the send-off you’re going to get,” said Brennan. “The others have all managed to be very busy just at the moment. Holly and Lord Arthur are comforting each other, as best they can. For the moment they both miss David too much to think of anything else, but I wouldn’t be surprised if they ended up staying together. I think they’d be good for each other. Who knows? Maybe she’ll even stop him drinking.”
Hawk smiled. “It’s possible, I suppose. Stranger things have happened.”
“Aunt Katrina is upstairs packing,” said Jamie. “I told her she was still welcome to stay as long as she wished, but it would appear she can’t wait to leave. She says she doesn’t feel safe here anymore. I can understand that. I’ve lived all my life in the Tower, and I don’t feel the same about it now. It’s as though an old and trusted friend had suddenly revealed a dark and violent side to his nature, something you’d never even suspected before. I’ll probably get over it, but I don’t think I’ll ever really trust the Tower again.”
“Where’s she going?” said Hawk.
Jamie shrugged. “Back to the city. I don’t think she herself knows where she’s going yet.”
“Maybe she’ll go back to her husband,” said Fisher.
“I hope not,” said Brennan. “For his sake. I wouldn’t wish Katrina on my worst enemy. At least not unless I was in a really nasty mood.”
“What about Alistair?” said Hawk. “He spent most of yesterday evening trying to avoid us.”
“He’s around somewhere,” said Jamie. “Hiding his face. I think he still feels guilty about accusing you of being the freak. No doubt he’ll turn up again, once you’re safely gone.”
There was another pause as they ran out of polite, unimportant things to say.
“I’m sorry about David,” said Hawk finally. “He wasn’t a bad sort. We would have taken him alive, if we could.”
“I know that,” said Jamie. “I’ve no doubt it happened just the way you described. David was many things, but he was never a coward. He knew there was only one thing he could do to protect his Family, and he did it. I don’t know what I’m going to tell them. Some of the truth is bound to come out, eventually. I can’t even bring his body home to them. The tides have already taken it out to sea. I still feel guilty about him, you know. I was his friend. I should have realized something was wrong. If I had, maybe I could have found a way to help him, before he got mixed up with the wrong people....”
“Stop that,” said Brennan firmly. “If David had wanted you to know. he would have told you. He had enough opportunities. But his pride wouldn’t let him. Or perhaps he just didn’t want to drag his friends down with him. Whatever happened is his responsibility, no one else’s. You’re the MacNeil now, Jamie. You must learn not to worry about things that can’t be changed.”
Jamie nodded slowly, but still looked unconvinced. Hawk decided this might be a good time to change the subject, and cleared his throat loudly. “What about you, Robbie? What are you going to do with yourself, now that Duncan’s left you such a sizeable windfall?”
Robbie grinned. “Damned if I know, to be honest. But I might just do a little travelling. It’s a long time since I was out in the world. There’s bound to have been a lot of changes, and I think I’d like to see some of them while I still can. Not that I haven’t been happy here, Jamie, but it’s not the same with Duncan gone. I’ll look back from time to time, see how you’re getting on; sing you any new songs I’ve picked up.”
“Yes, of course,” said Jamie. “That would be nice.”
Brennan laughed. “You’re not fooling anyone, Jamie. You never did appreciate my singing.”
“It’s an acquired taste,” said Jamie solemnly. “And I’ve only been listening to you for about twenty years.”
They all smiled genuinely, and Hawk put out his hand to Jamie. The MacNeil shook it firmly. There was a quick burst of handshaking all round, and Hawk led Fisher away, before the goodbyes could become awkward again. They set off down the trail that led to the city, and didn’t look back.
“Well,” said Hawk finally, “how did you like being one of the Quality, Isobel?”
Fisher snorted. “The food was good and the wines were splendid, but the company sucked and I hate their idea of fashion. The corset pinches me every time I breathe, having my hair piled up like this makes my head ache, and these shoes are killing me.”
Hawk smiled. “Just be grateful we didn’t have to mix with a dozen or more Families in High Society.”
“I am grateful,” said Fisher. “Believe me.”
“I don’t think we did too badly. We didn’t hit anyone.”
Fisher shook her head. “You don’t have the right attitude for High Society, Hawk.”
“Hark who’s talking.”
They laughed quietly together, and made their way back down towards Haven.
Alistair stood alone in the drawing room, looking up at the portrait of the Family Guardian hanging over the fireplace. The room was very quiet, the only sound the soft crackling of the fire. He knew he didn’t have much time before the others would come looking for him, but still he hesitated, torn with indecision. It was such a long time since he’d last walked the corridors of the Tower. He hadn’t realized he’d miss it so much.
He looked round the drawing room, deliberately not hurrying himself, taking in all the details. They’d made a lot of changes since his day. He didn’t care for most of them, but then, fashions change. He walked slowly round the room, smelling the flowers and admiring the paintings and tapestries, and letting his fingers drift over the polished surfaces of the furniture. He couldn’t stay. It was his home, but he couldn’t stay. He didn’t belong here anymore. The young girl Holly had begged for him to come, and so he had, but he wasn’t needed anymore. The freak was dead at last, finally at peace.
He turned back to face the portrait again. It was time to go, before the others realized he wasn’t really Alistair MacNeil after all. He wanted so much to stay, to walk in the real world, to see the sun rise and fall and feel the wind on his face ... but he still had his penance to fulfill. The penance he’d taken on so many years ago, for the terrible things he’d done to his son, the freak.
The MacNeil Family Guardian held his head high and disappeared back into the portrait hanging over the fireplace, waiting to be called again, in time of need.
Whenever they might need him.
GUARD AGAINST DISHONOR
1
Chacal
There are bad cities, there are worse cities; and then there’s Haven.
By popular acclaim the vilest and most corrupt city in the Low Kingdoms, Haven in midwinter gleams purest white under falls of frozen snow, and its towers shine with frost and ice like pillars of crystal. But only from a distance. The snow on the ground is a dirty grey from the unceasing factory smoke, and grey-faced people trudge wearily through the snow-choked streets.
Seen up close, Haven is an ugly city, in more ways than one. Even in the early morning, when the killing cold grips the streets like a clenched fist, there is still no peace for the city. There are still deals to be made, conspiracies to be entered into, and blood to be spilled. Death is a way of life in Haven, and sudden violence the pulse of its narrow streets.
And only the city Guard, stretched to breaking point at the best of times, stands between the city and open, bloody chaos.
Hawk and Fisher, husband and wife and Captains in the city Guard, strode briskly down the crowded street towards Guard Headquarters, their prisoner scurrying along between them. Winter had finally come to Haven, despite everything the city weather wizards could do, and the bitter air was several degrees below freezing. The street was ankle-deep in snow and slush, and thick icicles hung from every building. Roofs groaned under the weight of a week’s accumulated snow, and the iron-grey sky promised more blizzards to come. But still people packed the street from end to end; men, women, and children jostling each other impatiently as they hurried to and from work. No one jostied Hawk and Fisher, of course. It wouldn’t have been wise.
It was eight o’clock in the morning, but so dark that street lamps still burned at every corner, their amber glare doing little to dispel the gloom. Hawk hated the winter, and not just because the recent flu epidemic had hit the Guard badly and he and Fisher were working a double shift for the third day running. Winter meant hard times in Haven, and hardest of all for the poor and destitute. In every street, in every part of the city, there were bodies lying stiff and cold, caught out in the freezing night because they had nowhere else to go. They ended up in sheltered doorways, or huddled together under tarpaulins in back alleyways, sharing their meager warmth as best they could. Every day the garbage squad made their rounds and hauled the bodies away, but there were always more. Hawk found a young girl once, curled in a tight little ball over a street grating. She couldn’t have been more than five or six years old, and her staring eyes had frozen solid in her head. Hawk hated the winter, and sometimes he hated Haven too.
Captain Hawk was tall, dark-haired, and no longer handsome. A series of old scars ran down the right side of his face, and a black silk patch covered his right eye. He told lots of stories about how he got the scars, most of them contradictory. His thick furs and official black cloak made him look impressively bulky, but underneath his winter uniform he was lean and wiry rather than muscular, and building a stomach. He wore his shoulder-length hair loose, mostly to keep his ears warm, and kept it out of his vision with a plain leather headband. He’d only just turned thirty, but already there were streaks of grey in his hair. At first glance he seemed like just another bravo, a sword-for-hire already past his prime, but few people ever stopped at a first glance. There was something about Hawk, something cold and unyielding that gave even the most belligerent hardcase pause to think twice. On his right hip, Hawk carried a short-handled axe instead of a sword. He was very good with an axe. He’d had lots of practice.
Captain Isobel Fisher walked confidently at his side, echoing her partner’s stance and pace with the naturalness of long companionship. She was tall, easily six feet in height, and her long blond hair fell to her waist in a single thick plait, weighted at the tip with a polished steel ball. She wore a battered and almost shapeless fur hat, pulled down low to protect her ears from the bitter cold. There was a rawboned harshness to her face, barely softened by her deep blue eyes and generous mouth. She was handsome rather than pretty, her gaze was cool and direct, and she didn’t smile much. Sometime, somewhere in the past, something had scoured all the human weaknesses out of her, and it showed. She wore the same furs and cloak as Hawk, though with rather more grace and style. She wore a sword on her hip, and her skill with it was legendary, in a city not easily impressed by legends.