Hawk & Fisher

"They helped;"

"Did they? Every time some fool jumped at his own shadow and shouted 'werewolf!' you went racing off to track it down. And how many did you find, out of all those dozens of hunts? One. Just one. That was why the King made you resign, wasn't it? Not just because you'd reached the retirement age, but because you were never there when he needed you!"

"Don't," whispered Roderik, squeezing his eyes shut. Elaine rose quickly out of her chair and hurried over to kneel beside him. She put a hand on his arm, and he reached blindly across to squeeze it tightly.

"It's all right, my dear," said Elaine softly. "I'm not angry with you, I'm just worried. Worried about you. You've been so; different lately."

"Different?" Roderik opened his eyes and looked at her uncertainly. "How do you mean, different?"

"Oh, I don't know; moody, irritable, easily upset. I'm not blind, you know. And there've been other things;"

"Elaine;"

"Once a month, you go off on your own. You don't come back for days on end, and when you do, you won't tell me where you've been or what you've been doing."

"I have my reasons," said Roderik gruffly.

"Yes," said Elaine, "I think you do. You mustn't feel badly about it. Rod. When a man gets to your age I know that sometimes they, well, start to feel insecure about; themselves. I just want you to know that I don't mind, as long as you come home to me."

"You don't mind?" said Roderik slowly. "Elaine, what are you talking about?"

"I don't mind that you have another woman," said Elaine steadily. "You shouldn't look so astonished, my dear. It wasn't that difficult to work out. You have a mistress. It really doesn't matter."

Roderik stood up, took his wife by the shoulders and made her stand up, facing him. He tried to say something, and couldn't. He took her in his arms and held her tightly. "Elaine, my dear, my love. I promise you I don't have another woman. You're the only woman I ever wanted, the only woman I've ever loved. I promise you; there's never been anyone in my life but you, and there never will be."

"Then where have you been going all these months?"

Roderik sighed, and held her away from him so that he could look at her. "I can't tell you, Elaine. Just believe me when I say I don't go because I want to, I go because I have to. It's important."

"You mean it's; political?"

"In a way. I can't talk about it, Elaine. I can't."

"Very well, my dear." Elaine leaned forward and kissed him on the cheek. "Tell me about it when you can. Now let's go to bed. It's been a long day."

"I think I'll sit up for a while. I'm not sleepy. You go to bed. I won't be long."

Elaine nodded, and turned away to pull back the sheet. She didn't see the tears that glistened in Roderik's eyes for a moment. When she looked at him again, having first settled herself comfortably in bed, he was sitting on the chair, staring at nothing.

"Rod;"

"Yes?"

"Who do you think killed William?"

"I don't know. I can't even see how he was killed, never mind who or why."

"Are we in any danger?"

"I shouldn't think so. Gaunt is on guard now; nothing will get by him. And there's always the two Guards downstairs. They're proficient enough at the simple things, I suppose. There's nothing for you to worry about, my dear. Go to sleep."

"Yes, Rod. Blow out the lamp when you come to bed."

"Elaine;"

"Yes?"

"I love you. Whatever happens, never doubt that I love you."

The witch Visage lay in her bed and stared at the ceiling. She didn't really like the bed. It was very comfortable, but it was too big. She felt lost in it. She stirred restlessly under the single thin sheet covering her. She felt hot and clammy, but she didn't like to throw back the sheet, not in a stranger's house. She'd feel naked and defenseless. Not that she was in any danger. She'd locked the door and set the wards. No one and nothing could get to her now. She was safe.

But only for the moment. She'd worked for William Blackstone all her adult life, and she didn't know what would become of her now that he was dead. William had always been much more than an employer to her; he had been her god. He was wise and just, and he fought the forces of evil in Haven. He always knew what to do, and he was always right, and if he hardly ever noticed the quiet young witch at his side, well, that was only to be expected. He always had so many important things on his mind.

Graham Dorimant had noticed her. He was always kind to her, and said nice things, and noticed when she wore a new dress. Perhaps he would look after her and take care of her. It was a nice thought.

Visage thought of the two Guards who'd questioned her, and frowned. They'd been polite enough, she supposed, but they hadn't really liked her. She could tell. She could always tell. And Hawk, the one with the scars and the single cold eye; He frightened her. She didn't like to be frightened. Visage pouted unhappily in the darkness. She'd told the Guards about Katherine and Edward, but they hadn't believed her. Not really. But all they had to do was start digging, and they'd find out the truth. And then everyone would see what had really been going on.

If the truth was ever allowed to come out. Visage scowled. There were a great many people who wouldn't want the truth to get out. After all, it might taint William's memory. Well, she didn't want that, but she couldn't let Katherine and Edward get away with it. She couldn't let that happen. She wouldn't let that happen. They had murdered her William, and they would pay for it, one way or another. Her hand went to the bone amulet that hung on a silver chain around her neck. She might be only a witch, but she had power of her own, and she would use it if she had to. If there was no other way to get justice for William. Visage sighed tiredly. Poor William. She would miss him very much. She'd followed him for so many years; and now she would have to find someone else to follow. Someone else to tell her what to do. She'd talk to Graham about it in the morning. He liked her. She could tell.

The sorcerer Gaunt lay on his bed, in his laboratory. The air was deliciously cool and fresh, the summer heat kept at bay by his spells. The room was brightly lit by half a dozen oil lamps. For many reasons, some of them practical, Gaunt felt uneasy about sleeping in the dark. He lay on his back and looked slowly round the familiar, crowded room, taking in the plain wooden benches and their alchemical equipment, the shelves of ingredients, all neatly stacked in their proper order; Gaunt felt at home in the laboratory, in a way he never did anywhere else in the house. He didn't really like the house much, if truth be told, but he needed it. He needed the security and the privacy it gave him, even if he did tend to rattle around in it like a single seed in a pod. There were times when he was tempted to give in to Stalker and sell him the damn house, but he never did. He couldn't.

He put forth his mind and tested the wards in and around the house, like a spider testing the many strands of its web. Everything was peaceful, everything as it should be. All was quiet. Gaunt frowned slightly. It worried him that he still had no idea how William had died. It worried him even more that the killer had to be one of his guests. There was no way an assassin could have got past his defenses without him knowing. And yet he'd known these people for years, known and trusted them; It just didn't seem possible.

Gaunt sighed tiredly. Everyone had their secrets, their own hidden darkness. He of all people should know that.

"Darling;"

The voice was soft, husky, alluring. Gaunt swallowed dryly. Just the sound of her voice sent little thrills of pleasure through him, but he wouldn't look at her. He wouldn't.

"Why don't you call to me, darling? All you have to do is call, and I'll come to you. You'd like that, wouldn't you?"

He didn't answer. He was a sorcerer, and he was in control.

"Always the same. You want me, but you won't admit it. You desire me, but you fight against it. I can't think why. If you didn't want me, why did you summon me?"

"Because I was weak!" snapped Gaunt. "Because I was a fool."

"Because you were human," purred the voice. "Is that such a terrible thing to be? You are powerful, my sweet, very powerful, but you still have human needs and weaknesses. It's no shame to give in to them."

"Shame?" said Gaunt. "What would you know about shame?"

"Nothing. Nothing at all." The voice laughed softly, and Gaunt shivered at the sound of it. "Look at me, darling. Look at me."

Gaunt looked at the pentacle marked out on the floor on the far side of the laboratory. The blue chalk lines glowed faintly with their own eerie light. Inside the pentacle sat the succubus. She looked at Gaunt with jet black eyes, and smiled mockingly. She was naked, and heart-stoppingly beautiful. The succubus was five feet tall, with a disturbingly voluptuous figure and a rawboned sensual face. The lamplight glowed golden on her perfect skin. Two small horns rose up from her forehead, almost hidden among the great mane of jet black hair. She stretched languidly, still smiling, and Gaunt groaned softly as the old familiar longing began again, just as he'd known it would.

"Yes," said the succubus. "I am beautiful, aren't I? And I'm yours, any time you want me. All you have to do is call me, darling, and I'll come to you. All you have to do is call to me;"

"Come to me," said Gaunt. "Come to me, damn you!"

The succubus laughed happily and rose to her feet in a single lithe movement. She stepped out of the pentacle, the blue chalk lines flaring up briefly as she crossed them, and strode unhurriedly over to the sorcerer's bed. She pulled back the single sheet and sank down beside him.

"Damn me, my darling? No. You're the one who's damned, sorcerer. And isn't it lovely?"

Gaunt took her in his arms, and the old sweet madness took him once again.

Katherine Blackstone sat in the chair by the bed and looked listlessly round the spare room that Gaunt had opened up for her. The air was close and dusty, and the bed hadn't been aired, but she didn't care. At least it was a fair distance away from the room where her husband had died; the room where the body still lay;

The body. Not her husband, or her late husband, just the body. William was gone, and what was left behind didn't even have to be addressed by name.

Katherine looked at the bed beside her, and looked away. Sleep might help, but she couldn't seem to summon the energy to get up, get undressed, and go to bed. And anyway, if she waited long enough she was sure Edward would come to her. She'd thought he'd be here by now, but he was probably just being sensible. It wouldn't do for them to be caught together tonight, of all nights. He'd be here soon. Maybe then she'd know what to do, what to say, for the best. For the moment, all she wanted to do was sit where she was and do nothing. She'd been married less than seven years, and here she was a widow. Widow; There was a harsh finality to the word; that's all there is, there isn't going to be any more. It's over. Katherine's thoughts drifted back and forth, moving round the subject of her husband's death but unable to settle on it. It was impossible to think of the great William Blackstone being dead. He'd been such an important man; meant so much to so many people. Katherine wanted to cry. She might feel better if she could only cry. But all she had inside of her was tiredness.

How could he have done it? How could he have left her in this mess? How could William have killed himself?

The Guards thought it was murder. So did everyone else. Only she knew it was really suicide. The Guards were already looking for signs of guilt, for something they could use as a motive. She'd known they were bound to bring up Edward Bowman, so she'd met that attack as she always had, by throwing it back in their faces as a lie and defying them to prove otherwise. If has been suggested to us; Oh, yes, she'd just bet it had. That little bitch Visage wouldn't have waited long to start spreading the poison.

She and Edward would have to be very careful in the future. For a while, at least.

Hawk and Fisher sat stretched out in their comfortable chairs, facing the hall. They'd put out all the lamps save two, and the parlor was gloomy enough to be restful on the eyes while still leaving enough light to see by. The house was quiet, the air hot and stuffy. Hawk yawned widely.

"Don't," said Fisher. "You'll set me off."

"Sorry," said Hawk. "I can't sleep. Too much on my mind."

"All right, then; you stand watch and I'll get some sleep."

"Suits me," said Hawk. "I shouldn't think we'll have any more trouble tonight."

"You could be right," said Fisher, settling herself comfortably in her chair and wishing vaguely that she had a pillow. "Whoever killed Blackstone, it didn't have the look of a spur-of-the-moment decision. A lot of careful planning had to have gone into it. What we have to worry about now is whether the killer had a specific grudge against Blackstone, or if he's just the first in a series of victims."

"You know," said Hawk, "we can't even be sure that Blackstone was the intended victim. Maybe he just saw someone in the wrong place at the wrong time, and had to die because he was a witness. The killer might still be waiting for his chance at the real victim."

"Don't," said Fisher piteously. "Isn't the case complicated enough as it is?"

"Sorry," said Hawk. "Just thinking;"

"Have you had any more ideas on who the killer might be?"

"Nothing new. Bowman and Katherine Blackstone have to be the most obvious choices; they had the most to gain. But I keep coming back to how the murder was committed. There's something about that locked room that worries me. I can't quite figure out what it is, but something keeps nagging at me; Ah, well, no doubt it'll come to me eventually."

"My head's starting to ache again," said Fisher. "I'm no good at problems. Never have been. You know. Hawk, what gets me is the casual way it was done. I mean, one minute we're all standing around in here, knocking back the fruit cordial and chatting away nineteen to the dozen, and the next minute everyone goes off to change and Blackstone is killed. If the killer was one of the people in this room, he must have cast-iron nerves."

"Right," said Hawk.

They sat together a while, listening to the quiet. The house creaked and groaned around them, settling itself as old houses will. The air was still and hot and heavy. Hawk dropped one hand onto the shaft of his axe, where it stood leaning against the side of his chair. There were too many things about this case he didn't like, too many things that didn't add up. And he had a strong feeling that the night still had a few more surprises up its sleeve.

Time passed, and silence spread through the old house. Everyone was either asleep or sitting quietly in their rooms, waiting for the morning. The hall and the landing were empty, and the shadows lay undisturbed. A door eased silently open, and Edward Bowman looked out onto the landing. A single oil lamp glowed dully halfway down the right-hand wall, shedding a soft orange light over the landing. There was no one else about, and Bowman relaxed a little. Not that it mattered if anyone did see him. He could always claim he was going to the bathroom, but why complicate matters? Besides, he didn't want to do anything that might draw the attention of the Guards. He stepped out onto the landing and closed his bedroom door quietly behind him. He waited a moment, listening, and then padded down the landing to Katherine's room. He tried the door handle, but the door was locked. He looked quickly up and down the landing, and tapped quietly on the door. The sound seemed very loud on the silence. There was a long pause, and then he heard a key turning in the lock. The door eased open, and Bowman darted into the room. The door shut quietly behind him.

Katherine clung desperately to Bowman, holding him so tightly he could hardly breathe. She burrowed her face into his neck, as though trying to hide from the events of the day. He murmured soothingly to her, and after a while she quietened and relaxed her grip a little. He smiled slightly.

"Glad to see me, Kath?"

She lifted her face to his and kissed him hungrily. "I was so afraid you wouldn't come to me tonight. I need you, Edward. I need you now more than ever."

"It's all right, Kath. I'm here now."

"But if we're caught together;"

"We won't be," said Edward quickly. "Not as long as we're careful."

Katherine finally let go of him, and sat down on the edge of the bed. "Careful. I hate that word. We're always having to be careful, having to think twice about everything we do, everything we say. How much longer, Edward? How much longer before we can be together openly? I want you, my love; I want you with me always, in my arms, in my bed!"

"We won't have to keep up the pretence much longer," said Edward. "Just for a while, till things have quietened down. All we have to do is be patient for a little while;"

"I'm sick of being patient!"

Edward gestured sharply at the wall. Katherine nodded reluctantly, and lowered her voice before speaking again. It wouldn't do to be overheard, and there was no telling how thin the walls were.

"Edward, did the Guards say anything to you about who they think killed William?"

"Not really, but they'd be fools if they didn't see us as the main suspects. There's always been some gossip about us, and we both stood to gain by his death. We could have killed him;"

"In a way, perhaps we did."

"What?" Edward looked at her sharply. "Katherine, you didn't;"

"William committed suicide," said Katherine. "I; told him about us."

"You did what?"

"I had to! I couldn't go on like this, living a lie. I told him I was still fond of him, and always would be, but that I loved you and wanted to marry you. I said I'd do it any way he wanted, any way that would protect his political career, but that whatever happened I was determined on a divorce. To begin with he refused to listen, and then; then he told me he loved me, and would never give me up. I said I'd walk out on him if I had to, and he said that if I did, he would kill himself."

"Dear God;" breathed Bowman. "And you think William;"

"Yes," said Katherine. "I think he killed himself. I think he died because of us."

"Have you told anyone else about this?"

"Of course not! But that's not all, Edward, I;"

She broke off suddenly and looked at the door. Out on the landing someone was walking past the door. Katherine rose quickly to her feet and held Edward's arm. They both stood very still, listening. The sound came again;soft, hesitant footsteps that died quickly away as they retreated down the landing. Bowman frowned. There was something strange about the footsteps; Katherine started to say something, and Bowman hushed her with a finger to his lips. They listened carefully for a while, but the footsteps seemed to be gone.

"Did anyone see you come in here?" said Katherine quietly.

"I don't think so," said Bowman. "I was very careful. It could have been one of the Guards, just doing the rounds to make sure everything's secure. It could have been someone going to the bathroom. Whoever it was, they're gone now. I'd better get back to my room."

"Edward;"

"I can't stay, Kath. Not tonight, not here. It's too much of a risk. I'll see you again, in the morning."

"Yes. In the morning." Katherine kissed him goodbye, and then moved away to ease the door open a crack. The landing was completely deserted. Katherine opened the door wide, and Bowman slipped silently out onto the landing. She shut the door quietly behind him, and Bowman waited a moment while his eyes adjusted to the dimmer light. He started along the landing towards his own room, and then stopped as he heard a faint scuffing sound behind him. He spun round, but there was no one there. The landing stretched away before him, open and empty, until it disappeared in the shadows at the top of the stairs. And then the smell came to him;a sharp, musky smell that raised the hackles on the back of his neck. Bowman reached into the top of his boot and drew out a long slender dagger. The cool metal hilt felt good in his hand. He was in danger; he could feel it. Bowman smiled grimly. If all this was supposed to frighten him, his enemy was in for an unpleasant surprise. He'd never backed away from a duel in his life, and he'd never lost one. He wondered if this was William's killer after all. He hoped so; he would enjoy avenging William's death. He might not always have liked the man, but he'd always admired him. Bowman stepped forward, dagger in hand, and something awful came flying out of the shadows at the top of the stairs. Bowman had time to scream once, and then there was only the pain and the blood, and the snarls of his attacker.

Hawk sat bolt upright in his chair as a scream rang out on the landing and then was cut suddenly short. He jumped to his feet, grabbed his axe and ran out of the parlor, followed closely by Fisher with her sword in her hand. They ran down the hall and pounded up the stairs together. The first scream had been a man's scream, but now a woman was screaming, on and on. Hawk drove himself harder, taking the stairs two at a time. He burst out onto the landing and skidded to a halt as he looked around him for a target. Edward Bowman lay twisted on the floor, his eyes wide and staring. His clothes were splashed with blood, and more had soaked into the carpet around him. His throat had been torn out. Katherine Blackstone stood over the body, screaming and screaming, her hands pressed to her face in horror. Fisher took her by the shoulders and turned her gently away from the body. Katherine resisted at first, and then all the strength went out of her. She stopped screaming and stood in silence, her hands at her sides, staring blindly at the wall as tears ran unheeded down her cheeks. The other guests were spilling out of their doors in various stages of undress, all of them demanding to know what had happened. Hawk knelt beside the body. There was a dagger on the carpet, not far from Bowman's hand, but there was no blood on the blade. The attack must have happened so quickly that Bowman never even had a chance to defend himself. Hawk looked closely at Bowman's throat, and swore softly. The killer hadn't been as neat with Bowman as he had with Blackstone. Hawk sat back on his haunches and scowled thoughtfully at the body.

There were footsteps on the stairs behind him. He straightened up quickly and turned, axe in hand, to find Gaunt almost on top of him. He was wearing only a dressing gown, and looked flushed and out of breath.

"What is it?" he rasped, staring past Hawk. "What's happened?"

"Bowman's dead," said Hawk. "Murdered." He looked quickly around to see if anyone was missing, but all the guests were there, kept at a respectable distance from the body by Fisher's leveled sword. Dorimant was the nearest, with the witch Visage at his side. Their faces were white with shock. Lord and Lady Hightower stood in the doorway, halfway down the landing, both in their nightclothes. Lord Roderik was holding his wife protectively close to him. Stalker stood in the middle of the landing, his face set and grim, wearing only his trousers and boots but holding a sword in his hand. Hawk looked carefully at the sword, but there was no blood on the blade. He looked again at Stalker, taking in the dozens of old scars that crisscrossed the huge muscular frame, and then looked away, wincing mentally.

"All right," said Hawk harshly. "Everyone downstairs. I can't work with all of you cluttering up the place. Stay in a group, and don't go off on your own for any reason. Don't argue, just move! You can wait in the parlor. You'll be all right; there's safety in numbers. Gaunt, you stay behind a minute."

Hawk waited impatiently as the guests filed past him, keeping well clear of the body. Lord and Lady Hightower helped Katherine down the stairs. Her tears had stopped, but her face was blank and empty from shock. Hawk stopped Stalker as he passed.

"I'll have to take your sword, sir Stalker."

Stalker looked at Hawk steadily, and his eyes were very cold. Fisher stepped forward, and lifted her blade a fraction. Stalker looked at her, and smiled slightly. He turned back to Hawk and handed him his sword, hilt first.

"Of course, Captain Hawk. There are tests you'll want to run."

"Thank you, sir warrior," said Hawk, sliding the sword through his belt. "The sword will be returned to you as soon as possible."

"That's all right," said Stalker. "I have others."

He followed the other guests down the stairs and into the parlor. Hawk and Fisher looked at each other, and relaxed a little.

"For a minute there," said Hawk, "I wondered;"

"Yeah," said Fisher. "So did I."

Hawk turned to Gaunt, who was kneeling by the body. "Careful, sir sorcerer. We don't want to destroy any evidence, do we?"

Gaunt nodded, and rose to his feet. "His throat's been torn out. There's no telling what the murder weapon was; the wound's a mess."

"That can wait for the moment," said Hawk. "Is your isolation spell still holding?"

"Yes. I'd have known immediately if it had been breached. There can't be any more doubt; the killer has to be one of us."

"All right," said Hawk. "Go on down and wait with the others. And you'd better take a look at Katherine Blackstone. She's in shock. And coming so soon after the last shock to her system;"

"Of course," said Gaunt. He nodded quickly to Hawk and Fisher, then made his way back down the stairs. Hawk and Fisher looked thoughtfully at the body.

"We can't afford to wait till the experts get here in the morning," said Fisher. "We've got to find the killer ourselves."

"Right," said Hawk. "If we don't, there might not be anybody left come the morning."

Chapter Five

BLOOD In THE NIGHT

"Well, first things first," said Hawk. "Let's check the body."

He and Fisher put away their weapons, knelt down beside Bowman, and studied the dead man carefully. Bowman's throat had been torn apart. Hawk frowned grimly as he examined the wounds.

"This wasn't done with a sword," he said slowly. "The edges of the wounds are ragged and uneven. It could have been a knife with a jagged edge; See how it's ripped through the skin? What a mess. If I didn't know better, I'd swear Bowman had been attacked by some kind of animal."

"Right," said Fisher. "Take a look at his chest and arms."

There were long bloody rents in Bowman's shirtfront. Similar cuts showed on both his forearms, as though he'd held them up to try and protect his throat.

"Strange, that," said Hawk, indicating the torn and bloody arms. "If he had time to raise his arms, he should have had time to use his dagger. But there isn't a drop of blood on the blade."

"Maybe he dropped it in the struggle," said Fisher. "It must have all happened pretty fast. Bowman never stood a chance. Poor bastard." She sank back on her haunches and stared unhappily at the body. "You know, Hawk, I wouldn't feel so bad if I hadn't disliked Bowman so much. There were times when I could quite happily have run the arrogant bastard through myself. I was so sure he was the murderer;"

"I know what you mean," said Hawk. "I'd almost convinced myself he was the killer. It all made sense. He had both the motive and the opportunity; and I didn't like him either." He shook his head tiredly. "Well, we can't apologize to him now, lass. But maybe we can bring his killer to justice. So, with Bowman gone, who's the main suspect now?"

Fisher rubbed her jaw thoughtfully. "Katherine? She was first on the scene at both the murders."

"I don't think so," said Hawk. "A knife in the chest is one thing, but this; Whatever actually made these wounds, there must have been a hell of a lot of strength behind it to have done so much damage in so short a time. A starving wolf couldn't have done a better job on his throat. And remember, Katherine was standing right over the body when we found them, and there wasn't a trace of blood on her clothing."

"Very observant," said Fisher approvingly. "Whoever killed Bowman had to have got blood all over him. Did you see;"

"No," said Hawk. "I checked them all carefully as they filed past me, and no one had any blood on their clothes. The killer must have had time to change."

"Damn," said Fisher. "It would have simplified things."

"There's nothing simple about this case," said Hawk dourly. "We'd better check all the rooms, just in case there's some bloodstained clothing to be found, but I'm betting we won't find a damned thing. Our killer's too clever for that."

"What about Stalker's sword?" said Fisher suddenly.

"All right," said Hawk. "What about it?"

Fisher gave him a hard look. "You said you wanted to run some tests on it. What did you have in mind?"

"Nothing, really," said Hawk. "I just didn't want him looming over me with a sword in his hand. Remember, at the time all he had on were his trousers and boots. Where was his shirt? It occurred to me that he might have had to take it off because he'd got blood on it."

"I see," said Fisher. "You know, Hawk, we've been on some messy cases before, but this has got to be one of the messiest. Nothing makes sense. I mean, I can understand someone wanting Blackstone dead; he had more enemies than most of us make in a lifetime. But why Bowman? And why rip him apart like this?"

"Beats me," said Hawk. He got to his feet, and then bent down again to retrieve Bowman's dagger. He studied it a moment, and then tucked it into the top of his boot. Fisher got to her feet and looked down at Bowman's body. "Maybe;"

"Yeah?"

"Maybe he was just in the wrong place at the wrong time. He came out onto the landing, maybe to use the bathroom, and saw something or someone he shouldn't have. So the killer hit him then and there, on the spot. No time to be subtle or clever; just do the job."

Fisher thought about it. "That doesn't explain the savagery of the attack. Or the nature of the wounds. I don't know about the throat, but those cuts on his chest and arms look a hell of a lot like claw marks to me."

"So what does that mean? He was killed by an animal?"

"Not necessarily. Remember the valley killer a couple of years back? Everyone thought it was a bear, and it turned out to be a man using a stuffed bear paw strapped to a club."

"Yeah," said Hawk. "I remember that case. But why should the killer use something weird like that, when a knife was good enough for Blackstone? Unless;"

"Unless what?" said Fisher as Hawk hesitated.

"Unless this is a different killer," said Hawk slowly. "Remember, Visage swore she'd kill Bowman in revenge for his murdering Blackstone;"

"Two killers under one roof?" said Fisher incredulously. "Oh, come on, Hawk! It's hardly likely, is it? I know what the witch said, but that was just anger and grief talking. I mean, you saw her. Can you honestly see a timid, mousy little thing like her tearing into a man like this?"

"No, I suppose not." Hawk scowled suddenly. "Mind you, I have seen something like this before;"

"Really? Where?"

"In the Hook," said Hawk grimly. He looked at the body, and shook his head angrily. "This case gets more complicated all the time. Come on, let's check the bedrooms. Maybe we'll get lucky."

"That'll be a change," said Fisher.

They started with the first door on the left at the top of the stairs, the spare room that Gaunt had opened up for Katherine after her husband's death. The room looked dusty and empty. The single oil lamp was still burning, and the bed obviously hadn't been slept in. The sheets hadn't even been turned back.

"Odd, that," said Hawk, looking at the bed. "She'd had a terrible shock, and Gaunt had given her a sedative, but she didn't go to bed. She should have been out on her feet, but she hadn't even changed into her nightclothes."

"Maybe she was waiting for someone," said Fisher. "Bowman, for example."

"Yeah," said Hawk. "That would explain what he was doing out on the landing; Okay, let's take a look around."

"Apart from bloodstained clothing, what are we looking for?"

"Anything, everything. We'll know it when we see it."

"That's a great help, Hawk."

"You're welcome."

They searched the room slowly and methodically. It didn't take long. The wardrobe was empty, and so were most of the drawers in the dressing table. There wasn't anywhere else to hide anything. Hawk looked under the bed, just on general principles, but all he found were a few piles of fluff and an ancient chamber pot with a crack in it. He straightened up and looked vaguely about him, hoping for inspiration. Fisher was leaning over the dressing table.

"Found something, lass?"

"I'm not sure. Maybe. Come and take a look."

Hawk moved over to join her. Fisher had found a small wooden box pushed to the back of one of the dressing table's drawers. The wood had been nicely stained and polished, but there was nothing special about it. Hawk looked at Fisher enquiringly. She grinned, and flipped open the lid. A tangled mess of rings, earrings, and necklaces glistened brightly in the lamplight. There were gold and silver, emeralds and rubies and diamonds, all mixed carelessly together.

Hawk picked out a ring and inspected it closely. "Good quality," he said approvingly. He dropped the ring back into the jewel box, and studied the collection thoughtfully. "That little lot is probably worth more than both our annual salaries put together. And she didn't even bother to lock the case."

"Which means," said Fisher steadily, "that either she's very careless or she's got a lot more like that at home."

"Wouldn't surprise me," said Hawk. "So, what's your point?"

"Think about it, Hawk. Suppose Katherine and Bowman got together and decided to kill Blackstone, for the reasons we've already established. Then Katherine decides that while she still wants the prestige and the money, she doesn't need Bowman anymore. He comes to her room, they argue, there's a fight, and she kills him."

"With what?" said Hawk. "Where's the murder weapon? She was standing right over the body when we got there, so she couldn't have had much time to hide anything. And even though she was fully dressed, there wasn't a spot of blood on her. And anyway, we've got the same problem with her as we had with Visage. How could she possibly have caused wounds like those? Even if she had such a weapon, she's not exactly muscular, is she?"

"You'd be surprised what people can do, when they're angry enough," said Fisher darkly.

"Yeah, maybe. Let's try the next room."

The next room proved to be the bathroom. Hawk and Fisher stared open-mouthed at the gleaming tilework and the huge porcelain tub. It was at least six feet long and almost three feet wide. Beyond the tub was a delicate porcelain washstand with its own mirror, and a wonderfully crafted wooden commode.

"Now that's what I call luxury," said Fisher, bending over the bath and running her fingers lovingly over the smooth finish. "No more copper tub in front of the fire for me, Hawk. I want one of these."

"You have got to be joking," said Hawk. "Do you have any idea how much something like that costs? Besides, from what I've heard, those things aren't really healthy."

"Not healthy? How can a bath be not healthy?"

"Well, think of all the steam and water in such an enclosed space. You could end up with rheumatism."

"Oh, but think of the luxury," said Fisher wistfully. "Feel how smooth this is, Hawk. And imagine being able to stretch out in one of these, up to your chin in hot water, soaking for as long as you wanted;" She looked at him sideways. "There might even be room for both of us;"

"I'll order one tomorrow," said Hawk. "But you can ask for the raise we'll need in order to pay for it."

They chuckled quietly together, and then set about searching the bathroom. It didn't take long; there was nowhere to hide anything.

"I don't know," said Hawk finally. "Could something have been stuffed down the commode, do you think?"

"I wouldn't have thought so," said Fisher. "If it was blocked, it would probably have flooded over by now. Of course, there's only one way to be sure;"

"If you think I'm sticking my hand down that thing, you're crazy," said Hawk. "It was just an idea, anyway; Come on, let's try the next room."

"That's where we left Blackstone."

"We'd better take a quick look, just to be sure."

"What about Bowman?" said Fisher suddenly.

Hawk looked at her. "What about him?"

"Well, we can't just leave him lying out there on the landing, can we? I thought maybe we could put him in with Blackstone. At least he'd be out of the way there."

"Makes sense," said Hawk. "All right, let's move him."

They left the bathroom, and went back to where Bowman lay huddled on the landing. He looked smaller somehow, now that he was dead. Hawk took his shoulders while Fisher took the legs, and between them they got him off the floor. The carpet clung to Bowman's back for a moment, stuck there by the drying blood, and then he came free.

"He's heavier than he looks," said Fisher, panting a little as she backed away towards Blackstone's door.

"You should worry," said Hawk. "You've got the lighter end, if anything. And he's staring at me."

Fisher backed into the closed door and kicked it open. She and Hawk then manoeuvred Bowman's body through the doorway and dropped him unceremoniously on the floor next to Blackstone. They waited a moment while they got their breath back, and then looked about them. Hawk took in the uneven trail of blood Bowman's body had left behind on the landing carpet. He winced slightly. Gaunt wasn't going to be pleased.

Tough, thought Hawk. I've got my own problems.

"Doesn't look like anything's been moved," said Fisher.

"Yeah, but we'd better check anyway," said Hawk. "It shouldn't take long."

They checked the wardrobe and the dressing-table drawers and under the bed, and drew a blank every time. No trace of a murder weapon, or any bloodstained clothing.

"It was worth a try," said Hawk as he and Fisher stepped out onto the landing again.

"Yeah," said Fisher, pulling the door to behind her. "We're not doing very well, though, are we?"

"Not very," said Hawk. "But then, this isn't really our normal line of business. Locked-room murder mysteries are usually reserved for the experts. But;"

"Yeah." said Fisher. "But. We have to cope because we're all there is. Who does the next room belong to?"

"Bowman," said Hawk.

The room was clean and tidy, and the bed hadn't been slept in. Bowman's sword was still in its scabbard, hanging from the bedpost. Hawk drew the sword, checked the blade was clean, and then tried the balance. He nodded slowly. It was a good blade, long and thin and light.

"Dueling sword," said Fisher. "Apparently Bowman had something of a reputation as a duelist."

"Didn't help him at the end," said Hawk. "In fact, come to think of it, why wasn't he wearing his sword? After all, he was trapped in a strange house with a murderer on the loose;"

"Yeah, but you don't wear a sword on a lover's tryst, do you?"

"If that was where he was going."

"Seems likely. Doesn't it?"

Hawk shrugged. "I suppose so." He sheathed Bowman's sword and dropped it onto the bed. He and Fisher moved quickly round the room, checking in all the usual places, and once again ended up with nothing to show for their pains.

"This is a waste of time," said Fisher. "We're never going to find anything."

"Probably not, but we have to check. How would it seem if we missed some important piece of evidence, just because we couldn't be bothered to look for it?"

"Yeah, I know. Where next?"

"Across the hall," said Hawk. "Stalker's room."

Fisher looked at him uncomfortably. "Are you serious about this, Hawk? I mean, can we really treat Adam Stalker as a suspect? He's a hero, a genuine hero. One of the greatest men this city ever produced. They were making up songs and legends about his exploits when I was still a child."

"I don't trust songs or legends," said Hawk. "We check his room."

"Why? Just because he wasn't wearing a shirt?"

"Partly. And also because he was one of the last people to arrive on the scene."

Stalker's room looked lived in. His clothes lay scattered across the floor, as though he'd just dropped them wherever he happened to have taken them off. A broadsword in a battered leather scabbard lay across the foot of the bed. Hawk picked it up, and grunted in surprise at the weight of it. He drew the sword out, with some difficulty, and checked the blade. It was clean. Hawk took a firm grip on the hilt and hefted the sword awkwardly.

"How he swings this, even with both hands, is beyond me," he said finally.

"It probably helps if you're built like a brick outhouse," said Fisher.

"Probably." Hawk slipped the sword back into its scabbard and dropped it onto the bed. He took a long look at the rumpled bed with its thrown-back sheets, and smiled sourly. "At least someone got some sleep tonight."

"The joys of an undisturbed conscience," said Fisher, rummaging through the dressing-table drawers.

"Found anything?" said Hawk.

"No. You?"

"No. I'm beginning to think I wouldn't recognize a clue if it walked up to me and pissed up my leg."

They checked all the usual places; no murder weapon, no bloodstained clothes.

"Let's try the next room," said Hawk. "That's Dorimant's, isn't it?"

"Yeah."

The room was neat and tidy, and the bed hadn't been slept in. They looked everywhere and found nothing.

"I could do this in my sleep," said Fisher disgustedly. "And if I was just a little more tired, I would."

"Only two more rooms, and we can call it a day," said Hawk.

"You mean a night."

"Whatever. The next room is the Hightowers'."

"Good. Let's make a mess."

Hawk chuckled. "You're getting vindictive, you."

"What do you mean, getting?"

The Hightowers' room was neat and tidy, and the bed had been slept in. Hawk and Fisher turned the place upside down, and didn't find anything. They conscientiously cleared up the mess they'd made, and moved on to the last room, feeling pleasantly virtuous. They felt even better when the usual search turned up a small wooden casket tucked under Visage's pillow. Hawk removed the casket carefully and placed it in the middle of the rumpled bed. It was about a foot square, and four inches deep, made from a dark yellow wood neither of them recognized. The lid was carved with enigmatic runes and glyphs that spilled over the edges and down the sides. Hawk reached out to open it, and Fisher grabbed his arm.

"I wouldn't. If that is a witch's casket, it could be booby-trapped with all kinds of spells."

Hawk nodded soberly. Fisher drew a dagger from the top of her boot, and cautiously slipped the tip of the blade into the narrow crack between the casket and its lid. She took a deep breath, flipped the lid open, and stepped quickly back. Nothing happened. Hawk and Fisher moved forward to look inside the casket. There were half a dozen bone amulets, two locks of dark hair, each tied with a green ribbon, and a few bundles of what appeared to be dried herbs. Fisher picked up one of the bundles and sniffed at it gingerly. It smelled a little like new-mown hay. Fisher dropped it back into the casket.

"You recognize any of this?" she asked quietly.

Hawk nodded slowly. "Those amulets are similar to the one Blackstone was wearing. I think we could be on to something here, Isobel. What if these are real protective amulets, and the one Blackstone was wearing was a fake? That way, everyone would think Blackstone was protected against magic, when actually he wasn't."

"If he could be attacked by magic," said Fisher patiently, "why bother to stab him? Besides, we know the amulet was magical. Gaunt detected it, remember?"

"Oh. Yeah. Damn."

He closed the casket, and put it back under the pillow again. He and Fisher took one last look round the room, and then went back out onto the landing, shutting the door behind them. They stood together a while, thinking.

"Well," said Hawk, "that was pretty much a waste of time."

"I told you that," said Fisher.

"It just doesn't make sense," said Hawk doggedly. "How could someone kill two men in a matter of hours, and then disappear without a trace?"

"Beats me," said Fisher. "Maybe there's an old secret passage, or something."

They looked at each other sharply.

"Now that is an idea," said Hawk. "A secret passage would explain a lot of things; I think we'd better have a word with Gaunt."

"Worth a try," said Fisher, "but if he knew of any, he'd have told us by now. Unless he's the murderer, in which case he'd only lie anyway."

"This is true," said Hawk. "Let's check Blackstone's room anyway, just for the hell of it."

Fisher groaned wearily, and followed him down the hall and back into Blackstone's room. They moved slowly round the walls, tapping every foot or so and listening for a hollow sound. They didn't find one. They tried the floor, in case there was a trapdoor, and even had a good look at the ceiling, but to no avail. They stood together by the door and glared about them. Hawk shook his head irritably.

"If there is a secret passage here, it must be bloody well hidden."

"Secret passages usually are," said Fisher dryly. "If they weren't, they wouldn't be secret, would they?"

"You're so sharp you'll cut yourself one of these days," said Hawk. He took one last look round the room, and then frowned suddenly. "Wait a minute; Something's wrong."

Fisher looked round the room, but couldn't see anything out of place. "What do you mean, wrong?"

"I don't know. Something here isn't quite the way I remember it." He glared about him, trying to work out what had changed. And then he looked down at Blackstone's body, and the answer came to him. "The wineglass! It's gone!"

He got down on his knees beside Blackstone's body. The wine stain on the carpet was still there, but the glass Blackstone had been drinking from was gone. Hawk peered under the bed in case the glass had rolled away, but there was no sign of it.

"Was it there the first time we checked this room?" asked Fisher.

"I don't know. I didn't look. Did you see it?"

"No. I didn't look either. I wouldn't have noticed it was gone now if you hadn't spotted it."

Hawk straightened up slowly. "Well, at least that tells us something."

"Like what?" said Fisher.

"It tells us the wineglass was important," said Hawk. "If it wasn't, why bother to remove it? In some way, that wineglass must have played an important part in Blackstone's death."

"The wine wasn't poisoned," said Fisher. "Gaunt told us that."

"Yeah," said Hawk. "He also said he was going to take a sample of the wine so that he could run some tests on it. We'd better check that he did."

"If he didn't, we're in bother."

"Right." Hawk scowled fiercely. "Why should the wine be important? I'm missing something, Isobel, I can feel it. It's important, and I'm missing it."

Fisher waited patiently as Hawk concentrated, trying to grasp the elusive thought, but in the end he just shook his head.

"No. Whatever it is, I can't see it. Not yet, anyway. Let's go downstairs. I want to check the lower rooms as well, before I talk to Gaunt about the wine sample."

"And if he didn't take one?"

"Burn that bridge when we come to it." Hawk looked down at the two bodies lying side by side on the floor. "I've got a bad feeling about this, Isobel. I don't think our murderer is finished with us yet."

Hawk thought furiously as he and Fisher made their way down the stairs and into the hall. He'd gone about as far as he could on his own. If he was going to get any further, he had to have more information from Gaunt and his guests, and that meant more cooperation on their part. Some would cooperate, some might, and some wouldn't. In theory, he could order them to do anything and they were legally obliged to obey him, but in reality he had to be very careful about what orders he gave. Most of his suspects were important people in Haven. They had a great deal of clout, if they chose to use it. Hawk worried his lower lip between his teeth. If and when he felt able to accuse someone, he'd better have overwhelming evidence to back him up. Nothing else would do.

Unfortunately, evidence was in very short supply at the moment. All he had were endless theories, none of which seemed to lead anywhere. He couldn't be sure of anything anymore. He stopped suddenly at the foot of the stairs, and looked down the hall at the closed front door. Fisher stopped beside him and looked at him curiously.

"Hawk, what is it?"

"I just had an intriguing thought," said Hawk. "We've been assuming that no one could get in or out of this house because of the isolation spell. Right?"

"Right."

"How do we know there is an isolation spell?"

"Gaunt said so. And besides, we felt the effects when he cast it."

Hawk shook his head. "Gaunt has said a lot of things. We felt a spell being cast, all right, but how do we know it was an isolation spell? Could have been anything. You go into the parlor and talk to Gaunt a minute. Keep him occupied. I'm going to open that front door and see if we really are isolated from the outside world."

Fisher nodded reluctantly. "All right. But you be careful, Hawk."

Hawk grinned, and set off down the hall as Fisher went into the parlor. The hall was large and gloomy, and the shadows seemed very dark. His footsteps echoed loudly on the quiet. He finally came to a halt before the closed front door, and looked it over carefully. It looked normal enough. He reached out his left hand and gently pressed his fingers to the wood. It felt strangely cold to the touch, and seemed almost to pulse under his fingertips. Hawk snatched his hand away and rubbed his fingers together. They were still cold. Hawk braced himself, and took a firm hold of the door handle. It seemed to stir in his hand, and he tightened his grip. He turned the handle all the way round, and then eased the door open a crack. The hall was suddenly very cold. Hawk opened the door a little wider and looked out. And outside the door there was nothing; nothing at all.

Hawk clung desperately to the door. It was like standing on a narrow ledge and looking out over a bottomless drop. No matter where he looked there was only the dark, as though the house were falling on and on into an endless night. A cold wind blew from nowhere, searing his bare face and hands. Hawk swallowed sickly, and with a great effort tore his eyes away from the dark. He stepped back, and slammed the door shut. He moved quickly away from the door and leaned against the nearest wall while he got his breath back. His hands and face were numb from the cold, but feeling quickly returned as the summer heat inside the house drove the cold out of him. He smiled slightly. If nothing else, he had established that the house was very definitely isolated from the outside world. He wondered how Fisher was getting on.

When Fisher had entered the parlor, the assembled guests met her with a frosty silence. They were sitting together in a group, having apparently discovered that there was comfort as well as safety in numbers. They made an ill-assorted group, with some fully dressed and some still in their nightclothes. (Catherine Blackstone was once again sitting by the empty fireplace. She'd regained some of her composure, but her face was still very pale and her eyes were red and swollen. She held a handkerchief in one hand as though she'd forgotten it was there. Stalker sat beside her, drinking thirstily from a newly filled glass of wine. Lord and Lady Hightower sat together, staring into the empty fireplace, both lost in their own thoughts. Visage had pulled her chair up next to Dorimant's, and she leaned tiredly against him, his arm round her shoulders. The young witch looked frightened and confused, while Dorimant looked stubbornly protective. Gaunt was sitting nearest the door, and stood up as Fisher entered.

"Well, Captain Fisher, what have you found?"

"Nothing particularly helpful, sir sorcerer. Judging from the extent of his wounds, it seems likely Edward Bowman was attacked by a madman or an animal. Or by someone who wanted it to look like an animal attack."

Gaunt raised an eyebrow. "Why should anyone want to do that?"

"Beats me," said Fisher. "Nothing in this case seems to make sense."

"Some things never do, girl," said Stalker. "You learn that as you get older."

Fisher looked at him sharply. There had been something in his voice, something; bitter. Stalker finished off the last of the wine and stared moodily into the empty glass. Fisher turned back to Gaunt.

"Earlier on this evening. Hawk asked you to run some tests on the wine Blackstone was drinking just before his death," she said quietly. "Did you take a sample to test?"

"I'm afraid not," said Gaunt. "I was going to do it first thing in the morning."

"Damn."

"Is there a problem, Captain Fisher?"

"You could say that. Someone has removed the wineglass from Blackstone's room."

"You should have put a guard on the door," said Lord Hightower suddenly. His voice was flat and harsh.

"We could have, my Lord," said Fisher. "But we thought it more important to protect all of you against further attacks."

"You failed at that too," said Hightower. "I'll have your heads for this incompetence, both of you!"

Fisher started to answer him, and then stopped as Gaunt's head suddenly snapped round to stare at the hall.

"Someone's trying to open the front door!"

"It's all right, sir Gaunt," said Fisher quickly. "It's only Hawk. He's just checking that the house is properly secure."

Gaunt relaxed a little, and stared sardonically at Fisher. "You mean he's checking the isolation spell. What's the matter, Captain? Don't you trust me anymore?"

"We don't trust anyone," said Fisher carefully. "That's our job, sir sorcerer."

Gaunt nodded curtly. "Of course, Captain. I understand."

"Then you'll also understand why we have to search all the rooms on the ground floor."

Gaunt frowned. "You've already seen them once."

"Not all of them, sir sorcerer. We haven't seen the kitchen, or your laboratory."

"My laboratory is strictly private," said Gaunt. "No one uses it but me. There's really no need for you to check it; you felt the avoidance spell yourself. It's impossible for anyone to enter the laboratory apart from myself."

"We'll still have to check it," said Fisher.

"I can't allow that," said Gaunt flatly.

"I'm afraid I must insist."

"No."

"Then we'll have to arrest you," said Fisher.

"On what charge?"

"We'll think of something."

Gaunt smiled coldly. "Do you really think you have the power to arrest me?" he said softly.

"We can give it a damn good try," said Hawk.

Everyone looked round to see Hawk standing in the parlor doorway, axe in hand. Gaunt started to raise his left hand, and then stopped as Fisher drew her sword in a single swift movement that set the tip of her blade against his ribs. Gaunt stood very still. The guests watched in a fascinated silence. Hawk took a firm grip on his axe. The tension in the parlor stretched almost to breaking point. And then Gaunt took a deep breath and let it out, and some of the strength seemed to go out of him with it.

"I could kill you both," he said quietly, "but what would be the point? They'd only send somebody else. And much as it pains me to admit it, you're the best chance I've got of finding William's killer. I will show you my laboratory. But if either of you ever draws steel on me again, I'll strike you down where you stand. Is that clear?"

"I hear you," said Hawk. "Now let's take a look at this laboratory of yours. Fisher, you come with us. Everyone else, stay here. We won't be long."

"One moment," said Stalker, rising unhurriedly to his feet. "You still have my sword. Captain Hawk. I'm afraid I must ask you to return it. With the murderer still loose in the house, somebody has to be able to protect these people."

Hawk nodded reluctantly, drew Stalker's sword from his belt, and stepped forward to hold it out to Stalker hilt first. Although it was nowhere near as heavy as Stalker's broadsword, the weight of the sword was still almost too much for Hawk to support one-handed. Stalker took the sword from him as though it were a child's toy. Hawk bowed politely, and turned to Gaunt.

"Shall we go, sir sorcerer?"

Gaunt led the way out of the parlor, across the hall, and into the library in tight-lipped silence. Hawk and Fisher followed close behind. Neither of them had put away their weapons. Gaunt opened the door into the kitchen and waved Hawk and Fisher through. They had a quick look round, but it looked like any other well-stocked kitchen, though surprisingly tidy for a man living on his own. They went back into the library, and found Gaunt standing before the laboratory door.

"Your partner asked me about the wine sample," said

Gaunt, not looking around. "I'm afraid I didn't take one. But I can assure you the wine was perfectly harmless. My magic would have told me if it was poisonous. I even tasted some myself, remember?"

"That's not really the point," said Hawk patiently. "The wineglass must have been important in some way, or it wouldn't have been taken. Did Fisher ask you about the secret passages?"

"No," said Gaunt. "I can see what you're suggesting, Captain, but there are no secret passages or hidden doors in this house. If there were, my magic would have found them."

"I see," said Hawk. "Well, then, I think that's all we have to talk about, sir sorcerer. Now, why don't you take off the avoidance spell and open that door?"

"I can't," said Gaunt quietly. "There is no avoidance spell."

Hawk and Fisher looked at each other, and then at the sorcerer.

"Then what the hell was it we felt?" asked Hawk.

Gaunt turned round and looked at them. He held his head high but his eyes were full of a quiet desperation. "She is my Lady," he said simply. "No one knows she's here. No one but me, and now you. If either of you ever talk about her to anyone else, I'll kill you. You'll understand why when you see her."

He turned back to the door and took a key from a hidden inner pocket. Hawk and Fisher looked at each other and shrugged. Gaunt unlocked the door, pushed it open, and walked forward into his laboratory. Hawk and Fisher followed him in, and then stopped just inside the doorway. Hawk clutched at his axe, and Fisher lifted her sword. The succubus smiled at them sweetly.

She reclined lazily in the pentacle, her feet just brushing the edge of the blue chalk lines. Hawk swallowed dryly. He'd never seen anyone so beautiful. He wanted her, he had to have her; he'd kill anyone who tried to stop him. He stepped forward, and Fisher grabbed his arm. He tried to pull free, and when he couldn't he spun furiously on Fisher and lifted his axe to split her skull. Their eyes met, and he hesitated. Reality came flooding back, and he slowly lowered his axe, horrified at what he'd almost done. He looked at the succubus again, and felt the same insane desire stir within him. He fought it down ruthlessly, and wouldn't look away until he was sure the beautiful creature no longer had any hold over him. He looked at Gaunt, standing beside him with his head bowed.

"You fool," said Hawk softly. "You bloody fool."

"Yes," said Gaunt. "Oh, yes."

The succubus laughed sweetly. "Visitors. It's not often I'm allowed visitors."

Fisher stirred uncomfortably. "Is that what I think it is?"

"Yes," said Hawk grimly. "That's a succubus. A female demon, the embodiment of sexual attraction."

Fisher looked at the creature in the pentacle, and shuddered. She felt a strange attraction burning deep within her, and her skin crawled. She shook her head sharply, and the feeling slowly died away. Fisher glared coldly at Gaunt. "No wonder you didn't want us in here. Your friends in the parlor would disown you in a moment at the merest hint that you kept a succubus under your roof. When did you summon her out of the dark?"

"A long time ago," said Gaunt. "Please. She's no danger to anyone. She can't leave the pentacle except at my bidding, and she can't leave the house at all. My wards see to that."

"You let her out once, though, didn't you?" said Hawk. "You let her loose in the Hook, and she killed at your command."

"Yes," said Gaunt. "But that was the only time. She was under my control;"

"I was there," said Hawk harshly. "I saw what she did to those men. It took weeks to get the stench of the blood off the streets. She's too dangerous, Gaunt. It would only take one slip on your part, and she'd be loose. With her power, she could destroy all Haven in a single night. You have to dismiss her, Gaunt. You have to send her back into the darkness."

"I can't," said Gaunt miserably. "Do you think I haven't tried? To begin with I couldn't because she was the source of my power. Without her, I was just another alchemist, with only a smattering of the High Magic. And then; I grew to need her. She's like a drug I have to have. Women don't mean anything to me anymore; they can't compare with her. I have to have her. I can't give her up. I won't. If you try to make me, I'll kill you."

His voice was uneven and feverish, and there was a fey look in his eyes. Fisher lifted her sword a little.

"Don't," said Hawk quickly. Fisher looked at him, and Hawk smiled grimly. "Unfortunately, if Gaunt dies his hold over the demon is gone, and she would be free of all restraints. For the time being at least, we have to keep him alive."

"Am I really so terrible?" asked the succubus. Her voice was slow and deep and soft as bitter honey. "I am love and joy and pleasure;"

"And you'd kill us all if it weren't for that pentacle," said Hawk. "I've met demons before. You kill to live, and live to kill. You know nothing but destruction." He met her gaze unflinchingly with his one remaining eye, and the succubus looked away first.

"You're strong," said the succubus. "Such a pity. Still, I think I'll enjoy killing you, when the time comes. After all, Gaunt can't deny me anything. Can you, darling?"

"These death threats are starting to get on my nerves," said Fisher. "The next person to threaten Hawk or me is going to regret it, because I will personally chop them into chutney. You remember, demon: a sword blade doesn't care how powerful you are."

The succubus just smiled at her.

"Please," said Gaunt. "There's no need for any of this. As you can see, there's nowhere here an assassin could be hiding. You must leave. Now."

Hawk looked around him, refusing to be hurried. The laboratory was jammed with solid wooden benches, half-buried under various alchemical equipment, and all four walls were lined with simple wooden shelves bearing stoppered glass bottles in various sizes. Fisher moved over to examine some of the bottles. One large specimen contained a severed monkey's head. Fisher leaned forward to get a closer look, and the head opened its eyes and smiled at her. She stepped back, startled. The monkey's head winked at her slyly, and then closed its eyes again.

"Hawk," said Fisher, "let's get the hell out of here."

Hawk nodded, and he and Fisher backed slowly out of the laboratory and into the library. Neither of them felt entirely safe in turning their backs on the succubus. Gaunt backed out after them. The succubus blew him a kiss, and chuckled richly. Gaunt slammed the door shut on her, and locked it. When he turned round to face Hawk and Fisher, they saw a sheen of sweat on his face. He squared his shoulders and did his best to meet their accusing eyes.

"I know I have to get rid of her," he said quietly. "Perhaps when this is over;"

"Yes," said Hawk. "Perhaps. We'll talk more about this later. In the meantime, I want you to do something for me."

"If I can," said Gaunt. "What is it?"

"I want you to set up a truthspell."

The sorcerer frowned. "Are you sure that's wise. Captain?"

"You can do it, can't you?"

"Of course I can do it," snapped Gaunt. "It's not exactly a complicated spell; in fact, it's something of an interest of mine. But the spell only lasts for a limited time, and if you're not very careful about the questions you ask, the answers you get will be worthless. There are all kinds of truth, Captain Hawk. And I should point out that some of the people here aren't going to take kindly to the idea of being questioned under a truthspell;"

"I'll deal with that," said Hawk. "All you have to do is set up the spell. I take full responsibility."

"Very well," said Gaunt. "Where do you want the spell cast?"

"In the parlor," said Hawk. "Why don't you go on in and break the news to them? They might take it better, coming from you. Fisher and I will join you in a minute."

Gaunt bowed politely and left the library. Hawk waited until the door was closed, and then sank tiredly into the nearest chair. Fisher pulled up another chair and sat down beside him.

"A succubus;" said Hawk slowly. "I'd heard about such things, but I never thought I'd actually meet one."

"Right," said Fisher. "I feel like I want to take a bath, just from being in the same room with her. All right, she was beautiful, but she made my skin creep every time she looked at me."

"Yeah," said Hawk.

They sat in silence a while, thinking.

"Hawk, do you really think Gaunt let the succubus loose in the Hook?"

"It seems likely."

"The bodies you found there; you said they'd been ripped apart. Like Bowman?"

Hawk frowned. "Not really; the Hook was much worse. But I see your point, Isobel. The succubus has to be a suspect, either as the murderer or the murder weapon. Gaunt can let her out of that pentacle any time he likes. At the time of the first murder Gaunt said he was in the kitchen, but he could easily have slipped out long enough to release the succubus. All he had to do was go via the library, and we'd never have seen him. The succubus's powers are probably limited in the house by the sorcerer's wards, but she could still have killed Blackstone and Bowman while Gaunt remained in plain view, giving him a perfect alibi."

"Except he wasn't in plain view during either of the murders," said Fisher. "Besides, could something like a succubus prowl around the house without Visage detecting it?"

"I don't know," said Hawk. "She sensed there was something nasty in the library, even though the demon was shielded by the pentacle. But then again, she's not in the same class as Gaunt;"

"A succubus," said Fisher. "Just what we needed. Another suspect with magical powers."

Hawk laughed. "It's not that bad, lass. If the succubus had intended to kill someone, I really can't see her stabbing them neatly through the heart and then scurrying back later to steal their wineglass. It doesn't make sense."

"When has this case ever made sense?"

"You might just have a point there," said Hawk. "Come on, let's get back to the parlor. Maybe the truthspell will help to sort things out."

"We're going to have some trouble there," said Fisher. "They're really not going to be happy about the truthspell."

"I don't give a rat's arse," said Hawk. "One way or the other, I'm going to get some answers out of them, and to hell with the consequences."

Fisher looked at him fondly. "What the hell; we're still young. We can get other jobs. Let's do it."

They left the library and went into the parlor. The guests were arguing furiously with Gaunt. Hawk raised his voice and called for everyone's attention. There was a sudden hush as everyone turned to stare at him. He looked about him, taking in the silent, hostile faces, and knew that Gaunt hadn't been able to persuade them. Not that he'd expected it for one minute.

"Just in case there's any doubt among you," he said steadily, "Edward Bowman is dead. From the nature of his wounds, it's clear it was a frenzied and vicious attack. This second murder means that I have no choice but to proceed with the official investigation now, rather than wait for my superiors in the morning. I have therefore instructed the sorcerer Gaunt to set up a truthspell."

Instead of the babble of outrage he'd expected, Hawk found himself facing a stubborn, unyielding silence. They'd all clearly decided they weren't going to cooperate. That's the trouble with politics, thought Hawk sourly. Everyone's got something to hide.

"I'm sorry," he said firmly, "but I have to insist."

"You can insist all you like," said Lord Hightower flatly. "I won't answer any of your damned questions."

"The law is quite clear, my Lord;"

"To hell with the law and to hell with you."

Hawk sighed quietly. "In that case, my Lord, we'll just have to do it the hard way. I will instruct the sorcerer Gaunt to prepare a truth drug. I will then knock you down, and Fisher will kneel on your chest while I feed you the drug."

Hightower's jaw dropped. "You wouldn't dare!"

"Oh, yes he would," said Fisher, moving forward to stand beside Hawk. "And so would I. One way or another, my Lord, you will answer our questions, just like everyone else. I'd advise you to settle for the truthspell. It's so much more dignified."

Hightower looked at Hawk and Fisher, and saw that they meant it. For a moment he considered defying them anyway, but the moment passed. He held his wife's hand tightly. There were ways round a truthspell. To start with, it couldn't compel him to talk.

Hawk took Hightower's silence for assent and looked round to see if there were any further objections. Lady Hightower was glaring daggers at him, and Stalker was frowning thoughtfully, but nobody had anything to say.

Gaunt stepped forward. "Everything is ready. Captain Hawk. We can begin whenever you wish."

"I'm not too clear on what a truthspell entails," said Dorimant hesitantly. "How does it work?"

"It's really very simple," said Gaunt. "Once the spell is cast, no one in this room will be able to tell a lie for a period of about twenty to twenty-five minutes. The duration of the spell is limited by the number of people involved. You can of course refuse to speak, or even evade the question, but that in itself tells us something. For as long as the spell lasts, nothing can be said but the absolute truth."

"If we're going to do some serious talking, how about a little wine to wet our whistles before we start?" said Stalker. He held up the bottle of white wine he'd been using to fill his own glass.

"Hold it," said Hawk. "I'm not too keen on wine at the moment. Gaunt, can you check it hasn't been tampered with?"

"Of course," said Gaunt. He gestured lightly with his left hand, and the wine seemed to stir briefly in the bottle. "It's perfectly sound, Captain. Not one of my better vintages, but;"

Stalker shrugged. "With your taste in wine, it's hard to tell. Now, who's for a drink?"

It seemed everybody was. Gaunt passed round the glasses, and Stalker poured the wine. People began to relax a little. Stalker left Hawk to last, and gestured with his head that he wanted to speak privately with him. They moved away a few feet.

"Just a thought," said Stalker quietly, "about the locked room. You staked a vampire earlier today, right?"

"Right," said Hawk. "What's that got to do with anything?"

"Think about it," said Stalker. "Vampires are shapeshifters, remember? They can turn themselves into bats, or even into mist."

Hawk nodded slowly. "Right; a locked door wouldn't stop a vampire, not once it had been invited into the house. It could turn to mist and seep through the cracks round the door! No, wait a minute; it doesn't work."

"Why not?"

"The undead don't usually need to stab their victims with a knife. And besides, vampires don't eat or drink; they can't. But everyone here was invited to dinner, and I've seen everybody with a glass in their hand at one stage or another. No, it's a nice idea, but there are too many ways a vampire would have given himself away by now. Thanks anyway, sir Stalker."

"You're welcome. It was just a thought." Stalker moved back to rejoin the others.

"If everyone would care to take a seat," said Gaunt, "we can begin."

Hawk and Fisher and the guests pulled up chairs in a rough semicircle facing the sorcerer. He waited patiently till they were settled, and then made a sweeping motion with his left hand. Time seemed to slow and stop. Gaunt spoke a single word of Power and there was a sudden jolt as the whole room shook. There was a vague tension in the air, and then everything snapped back to normal. Hawk frowned. He didn't feel any different.

"Who's going to ask the questions?" said Gaunt.

"I will," said Hawk. "I suppose we'd better start with a test. My partner is;" He tried to say the word short, and found he couldn't. His mouth simply wouldn't form the word. "Tall," he said finally. "Your spell seems to be working quite efficiently, sir sorcerer."

Gaunt nodded calmly. Fisher gave Hawk a hard look, and he smiled awkwardly. He looked quickly round the assembled guests, and braced himself. All right; in at the deep end.

"Sir Gaunt, let's start with you."

"Very well."

"You are a sorcerer."

"Yes."

"Did you kill Blackstone and Bowman?"

"No."

"Did you bring about their deaths indirectly, by use of your magic?"

"No."

"You have an acquaintance, who helped you in the Hook. Is that person in any way associated with the murders?"

"That is; highly unlikely."

He didn't say it was impossible, thought Hawk. Let's push this a little further.

"You were once sorcerer to the King," he said carefully.

"Yes."

"You quarreled with him."

"Yes."

"Was it about your acquaintance?"

"In a way."

"What happened? Why did you leave the Court and come here, to Haven?"

Gaunt hesitated, and then sighed jerkily. "The King wanted her for himself, and I wouldn't give her up. I couldn't. So I came here, to; work things out on my own."

"Wait a minute," said Lord Hightower. "Who are you two talking about? What's this woman got to do with anything?"

"Apparently nothing," said Hawk. "Please relax, my Lord; we'll get to you in good time. That's all for the moment, sir sorcerer. Now then, sir Dorimant;"

"I didn't kill them," said Dorimant quickly.

"I have to ask the question," said Hawk politely. "Otherwise your answer won't mean anything. Did you kill Blackstone and Bowman?"

"No. No, I didn't."

Hawk looked at him narrowly. Dorimant was sitting awkwardly in his chair. His smile was weak and his eyes were evasive. He's hiding something, thought Hawk. I wonder what?

"You said earlier that Visage was with you at the time of the first murder," he said slowly. "Was that true?"

"Yes," said Dorimant, though he didn't look too happy about admitting it.

"Why was she with you?" said Hawk.

Dorimant looked at Visage, who bit her lip and then nodded unhappily. Dorimant looked back at Hawk. "She was the first one to find William's body," he said reluctantly. "She'd gone to his room to talk to him, and found him lying dead on the floor. She came to me for help."

Everyone sat up straight in their chairs. Hawk felt a sudden rush of excitement as he finally put two and two together. He looked at Visage.

"The room wasn't locked when you found him? You just walked right in?"

"Yes," said Visage. "It wasn't locked."

"Of course," said Hawk happily. "That's it! That's what I've been missing all along!"

Fisher looked at him dubiously. "What are you going on about, Hawk?"

Hawk grinned. "I've finally worked out how the murder took place in a room locked from the inside. Simple: the door was never locked to begin with!"

"Of course the door was locked," said Fisher. "You had to break it down with your axe! I was there, remember?"

"How did you know the door was locked?" said Hawk. "Did you try to open it?"

"Well, no;"

"Exactly. Neither did I. Katherine came down and told us the door was locked. We went back with her, but she was careful to get to the door first. She rattled the door handle convincingly, told us again that it wouldn't open, and ordered me to break the door down. Afterwards, the lock was such a mess we couldn't tell it hadn't been locked. And that's why we found the key on the floor, and not in the lock."

Everyone looked at Katherine, who stared at the floor with her head bowed.

"Is this true?" asked Gaunt.

Katherine nodded tiredly. "Yes. I lied about the door being locked. But I didn't kill William."

"If you didn't, then who did?" said Stalker.

"No one," said Katherine, looking up for the first time. "He committed suicide."

"What?" said Fisher. "You have got to be joking!"

Everyone started talking at once. Hawk yelled for quiet, and went on yelling till he got it. The voices died away to a rebellious silence as Hawk glared impartially about him.

"Let's take this from the beginning," he said grimly. "Visage, you found Blackstone's body. Tell us what happened."

Visage glanced briefly at Dorimant for support, and then began her story in a low whisper.

"I wanted to talk to William. There was something about Gaunt's house that made me feel uneasy, and I wanted to be sure he was wearing his amulet of protection."

"The one you designed for him," said Hawk.

"Yes. Stalker gave me the idea. He'd seen something like it in his travels."

Hawk looked at Stalker, who nodded. "That's right. Captain. They're very common in the East, and with all the recent threats I thought the amulet might be a good idea. I explained the theory to Visage, and she made the amulet for William."

"All right," said Hawk. "Go on, Visage."

"I went to William's room and knocked on the door. There was no answer, but the door was ajar, so I pushed it open. William was lying on the floor. I ran over to him and checked his breathing, but he was already dead."

"Did you touch the knife?" asked Fisher.

"There wasn't any knife," said Visage flatly. "When I found William, there wasn't a mark on him. I saw the wineglass by his hand, and I assumed one of his enemies had poisoned him. I didn't know what to do. I know I should have gone to you, Captain Hawk, but I was afraid to. I was the one who'd found him, and I thought I'd be blamed; I panicked, that's all. I ran back to Graham's room and told him what I'd found. He was kind to me. He said that we'd go and tell you together, and say that we'd both found the body. We were just getting ready to go downstairs when we heard you breaking down William's door. And then; well, we heard about the knife and the locked door, and we didn't know what to think. Graham never doubted me, but ; In the end, we decided to say nothing. I was afraid you wouldn't believe me, and I didn't want Graham to get into trouble by supporting me."

Hawk waited a moment, but Visage said nothing more. He looked at Dorimant. "Is this true? You conspired to conceal evidence in a murder case? Even though the victim was your friend?"

"I had to," said Dorimant. "You and your partner have a reputation for violence. I had to protect Visage. William would have understood."

"Let me just check that I've got this straight," said Fisher. "Visage found Blackstone's body before Katherine did. Only then, the door wasn't locked and there was no knife wound. Katherine finds the body later, brings us up to see it, but fools us into thinking the door is locked when it isn't, and never was. And when we find the body, there's a knife in Blackstone's chest." Fisher looked at Katherine. "I think you've got some explaining to do."

Katherine Blackstone looked at the glass of wine in her hand. She hadn't drunk any. "Captain Hawk was right about the locked door," she said finally, "But I had to do it. When we first left the parlor and went upstairs to change for dinner, I went to visit Edward Bowman in his room. We were lovers. When I returned to my own room, I pushed the door open to find my husband lying dead on the floor, a half-empty wineglass lying by his hand. Like Visage, I thought immediately of poison, but I knew it wasn't murder. It was suicide. A few days ago I finally confessed to William about my love for Edward. I was going to divorce my husband, in order to marry Edward. William threatened to kill himself if I left him." She looked pleadingly at Hawk and Fisher. "Don't you understand? I couldn't let his death be suicide! The scandal would have destroyed his reputation, and everything he'd achieved. People believed in William; he was Reform. The truth about me and William and Edward would have been bound to come out, and William's enemies would have used the scandal to undo everything he'd achieved. My life would have been ruined, and Edward's political career would have been at an end. I had to protect my husband's reputation, for all our sakes. So I took William's knife from his boot and thrust it into his chest, to make it look like a murder. As a martyr, William could still serve the party he founded. Particularly, if no murderer was ever found. And how could the killer be found, when there never was any murder?"

There was a long pause. Hightower stirred restlessly.

"That is possibly the most ludicrous story I have ever heard," he said finally.

"But true," said Gaunt. "Every word of it. The truthspell is still in force."

"So William killed himself," said Dorimant.

"I don't think so," said Hawk. "I can see how it would have looked that way to you, Katherine, but I still believe your husband was murdered. You see, the wineglass has mysteriously disappeared from Blackstone's room."

"The wine wasn't poisoned," said Gaunt. "I checked. I even tasted it myself."

"It still has to be significant," said Hawk stubbornly, "or it wouldn't have been taken. But we can come back to that later. Katherine, is there anything else about your husband's death that you haven't told us? Anything else that you've concealed from us?"

"No. There's nothing else. I didn't kill my husband, and I didn't kill Edward."

Hawk thought a moment, and then turned to look at Visage. "Did you kill Blackstone and Bowman?"

"No," said the witch quietly. "William was already dead when I found him. And I don't know anything about what happened to Edward. Although;"

"Yes?" said Hawk.

Visage frowned. "There was a funny smell on the landing;"

Hawk waited, but she said nothing more. He turned to face Lord Hightower. "My Lord;"

"I object to this whole proceeding."

"Just answer the questions, my Lord. Did you kill Blackstone and Bowman?"

"No," said Lord Roderik. "I did not."

Hawk looked at him thoughtfully. He couldn't think of any more specific questions to ask the Lord Hightower, and he had a strong feeling that what answers he did get would be as unhelpful as Hightower could make them. Hawk sighed silently. He could tell Lord Hightower was edgy about something;it was plain in his face and his manner; but there was nothing he could do about it for the moment. If he did put the pressure on, and found nothing to justify his actions; Hawk turned to the Lady Hightower.

"My Lady, did you kill Blackstone and Bowman?"

"No."

Hawk looked at her for a moment, but her level eyes and the tight line of her mouth made it clear that he wasn't going to get anywhere with her either. Hawk scowled. The truthspell had seemed like such a good idea at the time; He turned to Stalker.

"Sir Stalker, did you kill Blackstone and Bowman?"

"No."

Hawk sat back in his chair and frowned thoughtfully. He'd asked everybody outright, and each had denied being the murderer. That was impossible. One of them had to be the killer, so one of them must be lying. But since the truthspell was still in force, they couldn't be lying; He thought hard. He was missing something again; he could feel it.

"Sir Stalker;"

"Yes, Captain Hawk."

"Whoever the killer is, he must have extensive knowledge of this house, to be able to move about it as freely as he has. Gaunt told me earlier that you had been very insistent in your attempts to buy this house. Perhaps you could tell me why this house is so important to you."

Stalker hesitated. "I can assure you my reasons have nothing to do with killing Blackstone and Bowman."

"Please answer the question, sir Stalker."

"This used to be my home," said Stalker quietly. "I was born here."

Everyone gaped at him. Dorimant got his breath back first.

"You mean you're actually a DeFerrier? I thought they were all dead!"

"They are," said Stalker. "I'm the last, now. And I prefer to use the name I made for myself. I ran away from home when I was fourteen. My family had become; corrupt, and I couldn't stand it any longer. But this house is still my home, and I want it."

Hawk thought furiously. He and Fisher had only lived in Haven a few years, but he'd heard of the DeFerriers. Everybody had. They were an arrogant and evil family, sexually perverse and heavily involved with black magics of the foulest kind. It took a long time to prove anything against them; they were after all an old, established family, with friends in high places. But then children began to disappear. The Guard finally forced their way into the DeFerrier house, and what they found there shocked even the hardest Guards; Three DeFerriers were hanged for murder, and two more were torn to pieces in the streets while trying to escape. The others had all died in prison, one way or another. And this was the family that had produced the legendary Adam Stalker, hero and avenger of evil;

"Is that all?" asked Stalker. "I really don't have anything else I wish to say."

"Yes," said Hawk, snapping alert again. "I think I'm finished now. I don't have any more questions."

"You may not have," said Lord Hightower, "but I do." He looked about him. "There are two people here who haven't been questioned under the truthspell. Don't any of you find it suspicious that these murders only began after Hawk and Fisher entered this house?"

"Oh, come on," said Fisher.

"Wait just a minute," said Dorimant. "We all know William had enemies. What better way to get to him than by the very Guards who were supposed to be defending him? Who'd ever suspect them?"

"That's ridiculous!" said Hawk.

"Is it?" said Visage. "We've all had to answer under the truthspell. Why shouldn't you?"

"Very well," said Fisher. "I didn't kill Blackstone and Bowman. Hawk, did you kill them?"

"No," said Hawk. "I didn't."

There was a long silence.

"Well, that was a waste of a good truthspell," said Stalker.

"Right," said Dorimant. "We're no nearer finding the murderer than when we started."

"It wasn't a complete waste," said Hawk. "At least now we know how Blackstone died."

"And we know the murderer isn't one of us," said Visage.

"There's no one else in this house," said Gaunt. "There can't be. One of us has to be the killer."

"You heard the answers," said Hawk. "Everyone here denied being the murderer."

Gaunt frowned unhappily. "Maybe you didn't word the questions correctly."

"Grabbing at straws," growled Lord Hightower.

"If the murderer isn't one of us, then he must be hiding somewhere in the house," said Dorimant. "It's the only explanation!"

"There's no one else here!" snapped Fisher. "Hawk and I have been through every room, and there isn't a hiding place we haven't checked. There's no one here but us."

"Exactly," said Gaunt. "My wards are up and secure. No one could have got in without my knowing about it, and they certainly couldn't have moved about the house without setting off a dozen security spells. There can't be anyone else here!"

"All right then, maybe the truthspell was defective!" said Hawk. "That's the only other answer I can see!"

"I am not in the habit of casting defective spells," said Gaunt coldly. "My truthspell was effective, while it lasted."

Fisher looked at him quickly. "While it lasted? You mean it's over? I thought we had twenty-five minutes."

Gaunt shrugged. "The more people involved, the greater the strain on the spell. It's over now."

"Can you cast another?" asked Dorimant.

"Certainly," said Gaunt. "But not for another twenty-four hours."

"Great," said Hawk. "Just great."

"All right," said Stalker. "What do we do now?"

"There is one place we didn't check as thoroughly as the others," said Fisher suddenly. "The kitchen."

Hawk shrugged. "You saw for yourself; there wasn't anywhere to hide."

"I think we ought to check it anyway. Just to be sure."

Hawk looked at Gaunt, who shrugged. Hawk sighed and got to his feet. "All right, Fisher, let's take another look." She nodded, and got to her feet. Hawk glared round at the guests. "Everyone else, stay here; that's an order. I don't want anyone leaving this room till we get back. Come on Fisher."

They left the parlor and went out into the hall, closing the door behind them. Gaunt and his guests sat in silence, lost in their own thoughts. After a while, Visage stirred uncomfortably in her chair, then rose suddenly to her feet.

"I really think we should stay here," said Gaunt. "It would be safer."

"I have to go to the bathroom," said Visage quietly, her cheeks crimson. "And no, I can't wait."

"I don't think you should go off on your own," said Dorimant.

"Quite right," said Lord Hightower. He turned to his wife. "Why don't you and I go up with her? Just to keep her company, so to speak?"

"Of course," said Lady Elaine. "You don't mind, do you, dear?"

Visage smiled, and shook her head. "I think I'd feel a lot safer, knowing I wasn't on my own."

"Don't be too long," said Gaunt. "We don't want to upset Captain Hawk, do we?"

Lord Hightower snorted loudly, but said nothing. He and his wife got to their feet and followed Visage out of the parlor. Dorimant stirred uncertainly in his chair. He would have liked to go with her too, to be sure she was safe, but the poor girl wouldn't want a crowd following her to the toilet. Besides, the Hightowers would look after her. Dorimant sank back in his chair and tried to think about something else. He felt a little better, now that Hawk and Fisher knew about the evidence he'd been concealing. Even if it didn't seem to have helped much. He glanced surreptitiously at Katherine. How could she have done it? To kneel beside her dead husband, and drive his own dagger into his chest; Dorimant shuddered.

"The wineglass worries me," he said finally. "If the wine wasn't poisoned;"

"It wasn't," said Gaunt flatly. "I tasted some myself."

"The wine;" said Katherine suddenly. Everyone looked at her. Katherine looked into the empty fireplace, frowning. "William didn't drink much, even at private parties. It was a rule of his. He'd already told me he'd had enough for one evening; but he had a fresh glass of wine in his hand when he went upstairs to change. So who gave him that glass; ?"

"I don't remember," said Dorimant. "I wasn't really watching." He looked at the others, and they all shook their heads.

"I'm sure I saw who it was," said Katherine, frowning. "But I can't remember; I can't;"

"Take it easy," said Stalker. "It'll come to you, if you don't try and force it."

"It's probably not that important anyway," said Dorimant.

Hawk and Fisher checked the kitchen thoroughly from top to bottom, and found nothing and no one. There were no hidden passages, no hiding places, and nothing that looked even remotely suspicious. Not that they'd expected to find anything. Hawk and Fisher had just needed an excuse to go off on their own so that they could talk in private. They leaned back against the sink and looked gloomily about them.

"Hightower was right," said Fisher. "Much as I hate to admit it. The truthspell didn't get us anywhere. The new angle on Blackstone's death is all very interesting, but we're still no nearer finding his killer."

"Maybe," said Hawk, "and maybe not. I wouldn't know a clue if I fell over it, but I know a guilty face when I see one. Hightower's hiding something. He was jumpy as hell when he first discovered we were all stuck here for the night, and he was almost in a panic at the thought of a truthspell. There was something he didn't want to talk about;"

"You didn't ask him many questions," said Fisher.

"He wouldn't have answered them if I had."

"We could have leaned on him."

Hawk smiled. "Do you honestly think we could make Lord Roderik Hightower say one damned thing he didn't want to?"

Fisher smiled reluctantly. "I see your point. Besides, there's no actual evidence that whatever's worrying him has anything to do with the murders. Old soldiers and politicians always have something to hide. After all, you asked him if he killed Blackstone and Bowman, and he said no. Didn't even hesitate."

Hawk scowled, thinking. "How do we know Gaunt actually cast a truthspell? Maybe; No. No, it worked all right; I tested it myself."

"Maybe he only cast it on you," said Fisher.

"Maybe. And maybe we're both getting paranoid."

"There is that."

"Let's get back to the parlor," said Hawk. "I don't like leaving them alone too long. I'll hit them with some more questions; try and break someone's story. High tower's hiding something. I'd stake my career on it."

"We are," said Fisher dryly. "We are."

Visage waited alone on the landing, not far from the bathroom door. The Lady Elaine was taking her turn in the bathroom, while Lord Roderik had gone back to his room to change into more suitable clothes. The landing was still lit by only the one lamp, and the shadows seemed very dark. Visage glanced nervously about her. She wished the Lord and Lady would hurry up.

She shivered suddenly, and wrapped her arms around her. The house was still full of the sweltering summer heat, but Visage kept finding cold spots. She bit her lip and frowned unhappily. She didn't like Gaunt's house. She hadn't liked it from the moment she first crossed the threshold, but now she knew why. The DeFerriers might be dead and gone, but their house still held dark memories locked into its stone and timber. It was hard to think of a man like Stalker being a DeFerrier, but she didn't doubt it for a minute. Despite all the songs and legends, and even though he was always studiously polite to her, she'd never warmed to him. Visage had never known what William saw in him. She'd never liked Stalker. He had cold eyes.

She looked along the landing to what had been William's door. Poor William. He'd had such hopes, such dreams; And poor Edward had died right there on the landing, at the top of the stairs. She looked at the ragged bloodstains on the carpet, and then looked away. She felt sorry for Edward, now he was gone. She shouldn't have said those awful things about him. They were all true, but she shouldn't have said them.

She heard footsteps behind her and turned, smiling, expecting to see Lord Roderik. Her smile faltered.

"I'm sorry," said the low, growling voice, "but you could tell them what I am. I can't allow that. I'm so sorry, Visage."

Visage started to back away, and stammered out the first few words of a defensive spell, but there wasn't enough time. Something awful surged out of the shadows towards her, and blood flew on the still, hot air.

Hawk and Fisher pounded up the stairs to the landing, cold steel in their hands. The screams they'd heard had already stopped, and hawk had a sick feeling that he was going to be too late again.

Not another one. Please, not another one.

He stopped suddenly at the top of the steps, and Fisher bumped into him from behind. "The witch Visage lay face down in the middle of the landing. Hawk moved cautiously forward, Fisher at his side. They looked quickly about them, but there was no sign of the attacker. Hawk knelt down beside Visage while Fisher stood guard. There was blood all around the witch's body. Hawk took a handful of her hair and gently lifted her head. Visage's eyes were wide and staring. Her throat had been torn out. Hawk lowered her face back onto the bloody carpet.

"And that's three," he said tiredly. "We've lost another one."

"You should be getting used to that by now," said Lord Hightower.

Hawk and Fisher straightened up quickly to find Hightower watching them from the door to his room. Hawk opened his mouth to say something, and then stopped as he heard a faint creaking sound behind him. He and Fisher spun round, weapons at the ready, to find Lady Elaine watching from the bathroom door. Her face was pale and shocked. She moved slowly forward to stand with her husband, her eyes never leaving Visage's body.

"What the hell were you all doing up here?" yelled Hawk, lowering his axe. "I told you to stay in the bloody parlor!"

"The witch had to go to the bathroom," said Hightower stiffly. "We came with her to protect her."

"Didn't do a very good job," said Fisher. "Did you?"

"Where were you when Visage died?" said Hawk.

"I was in the bathroom," said Lady Elaine.

"I was in my room, changing," said Lord Roderik.

Hawk stared at them incredulously. "You left her out here on her own?"

"It was only for a moment," said Hightower.

There were footsteps behind them, and then Dorimant came forward to kneel beside Visage's body. He reached out a hand to touch her face, and his fingers came back flecked with blood.

"She was so frightened," he said softly. "I told her there was nothing to worry about. I told her I'd look after her, and she trusted me."

Hawk looked past Dorimant. Gaunt and Stalker were standing together at the top of the stairs. Hawk glared about him.

"Where the hell were you all? What took you so long to get here?"

Nobody said anything. They looked away rather than meet his gaze, but Hawk had already seen the answer in their faces. No one had wanted to be first on the scene, for fear of being accused.

You and your partner have a reputation for violence;

"Did any of you see anything?" asked Hawk. "Did anyone hear anything?"

"Only her screams," said Stalker. "I knew we shouldn't have let her go, but we all thought she'd be safe with the Hightowers."

"You left her alone," said Dorimant. He raised his head slowly and looked at Lord Hightower. "She was afraid, and you went off and left her alone in the dark. You bastard."

He threw himself at Hightower, and they fell heavily to the floor. Dorimant flailed away wildly with his fists, and then got his hands round Hightower's throat. Lord Roderik choked and gagged, tearing at Dorimant's hands. Hawk started forward, and then Hightower braced himself and flung Dorimant away. He flew backwards, and slammed up against the opposite wall. Hawk and Fisher got to him before he could go after Hightower again.

"That's enough!" said Hawk sharply. "I know how you feel, but that's enough."

Dorimant started to cry. His whole body shook from the force of the racking sobs. Fisher patted him on the shoulder, but he didn't even feel it. Hawk shook his head slowly.

What a mess;

Hightower got to his feet, with his wife's help, and fingered his throat gingerly. "Well?" he said loudly. "Aren't you going to arrest him? He assaulted me. I have witnesses."

"Shut your face," said Hawk. "He only beat me to it by a couple of seconds." He turned his back on Hightower, and then looked about him. "Wait a minute; where's Katherine?"

Everyone looked around, but she was nowhere to be seen.

Gaunt frowned. "She was with us in the parlor when we heard the screams. I thought she was right behind us."

Hawk's breath caught in his throat. He turned and ran back down the stairs, Fisher close behind him. He charged down the hall, kicked open the parlor door, and then skidded to a halt just inside the door. Katherine Blackstone was sitting in her chair by the empty fireplace, just as he'd last seen her. Only now there was a knife sunk deep into her chest, the hilt protruding between her breasts. The front of her dress was soaked with blood. Her head was sunk forward, and her staring eyes saw nothing, nothing at all.

Chapter Six

KILLER'S RAGE

Hawk glared furiously about him, but there was no trace of any attacker. Fisher moved forward and bent over Katherine. She checked briefly for a pulse, and then looked back at Hawk and shook her head. Hawk cursed softly. There was a clatter of feet outside in the hall, and Hawk turned quickly to face the door.

"That's close enough!" he said tightly. "Stand where you are."

Gaunt and his guests stumbled to a halt as they took in the gleaming steel axe held at the ready in Hawk's hand.

"What is it?" said Gaunt. "What's happened?"

"Katherine Blackstone is dead," said Hawk. "Murdered. I want all of you to come into the parlor slowly and in single file, keeping your hands where I can see them."

"Who the hell do you think you're talking to;" began the Lady Elaine.

"Shut up and move," said Hawk.

Lady Elaine took in his cold, determined face and did as she was told. The others followed her into the parlor, giving Hawk and his axe as wide a berth as possible. Hawk backed slowly away as they filed into the parlor. There was a horrified murmur as they saw Katherine's body.

"She can't have been killed," said Hightower faintly. "It's just not possible."

"Is that right?" said Fisher. "I suppose she committed suicide too?"

"But how could the killer have got down from the landing without anyone seeing him?" said Gaunt. "No one passed us on the stairs, and there's no other way down. Katherine was perfectly all right when we went running out of the parlor to investigate Visage's screams."

"Nevertheless," said Hawk, "she's still dead."

"Maybe she did commit suicide," said Stalker suddenly. "Her husband and her lover had both been killed;"

"No," said Dorimant flatly. "Katherine wasn't like that. She was a fighter; always had been. Once she got over the shock of Edward's death, all she could think of was revenge. She'd already started working on how William could have been killed;" He broke off, and looked a little confused. He put a hand to his forehead and swayed slightly on his feet. "Do you think I could sit down, Captain Hawk? I feel a little; upset."

"All right," said Hawk. "Everybody find a chair and sit down, but keep your hands in plain sight. Sir Stalker, lay your sword down on the floor by your feet, and don't touch it again until I tell you to."

Stalker studied him carefully a moment, and then nodded and followed Hawk's instructions. Fisher watched unblinkingly until Stalker was sitting in his chair with his sword at his feet, and only then lowered her sword. Stalker didn't even look in her direction. Soon everyone except Hawk and Fisher had found themselves a chair. The two Guards stood on either side of Katherine Blackstone.

"All right," said Hawk. "Let me see if I've got this straight. Lord and Lady Hightower were up on the landing with Visage. Stalker, Gaunt, Dorimant, and Katherine were all down here in the parlor. The Lady Elaine went into the bathroom. Lord Hightower went into his bedroom, and Visage was left alone on the landing. Shortly afterwards, she was attacked and killed. Fisher and I heard her screams just as we were leaving the kitchen. We ran up the stairs to find Visage already dead, and her attacker gone. Lord and Lady Hightower came out onto the landing to see what had happened, and those in the parlor came running out into the hall. While they were leaving the parlor, or shortly afterward, Katherine was stabbed to death."

"We must have missed something," said Fisher. "Put like that, the two murders couldn't have happened. It just wasn't possible."

"It has to be possible!" Hawk hefted his axe angrily. "I don't believe this. Four people have been murdered, in a house full of witnesses, and nobody sees anything!"

He glared round at Gaunt and his guests, and then turned disgustedly away to look at Katherine. He frowned slightly. He'd thought at first that she might have been stabbed somewhere else and then brought back and dumped in her chair, but while the front of her dress was soaked with blood, there were no bloodstains to be seen anywhere else. So, the killer must have struck no more than a few seconds after the others had left the parlor; Hawk scowled. It was possible. Everyone had been so intent on what was happening on the landing that they wouldn't have noticed someone sneaking into the parlor. But how the hell had the killer got down from the landing to the hall? Hawk shook his head and leaned over Katherine to get a closer look at the dagger that had killed her. The hilt jutted obscenely from between her breasts. Hawk noted that the blow had been struck with professional skill; just under the sternum and straight into the heart. The hilt itself was a standard metal grip wrapped in leather, with nothing to distinguish it from a thousand others just like it. Hawk straightened up and turned reluctantly back to the sorcerer and his guests.

"Some of you must have seen something, even if you don't recognize it. Have any of you seen or heard anything out of the ordinary, no matter how silly or trivial it may sound?"

There was a long silence as they all looked at each other, and then Stalker stirred thoughtfully.

"It could be nothing," he said slowly, "but up on the landing I could have sworn I smelt something."

"You smelt something?" said Hawk. "What did it smell like?"

"I don't know. It was a musky, animal smell."

Fisher nodded slowly. "Visage said she smelt something earlier on, just after Bowman's death. She wasn't sure what it was."

"I'm not sure either," said Stalker. "But it was definitely some kind of animal;"

"Like a wolf?" said Hawk suddenly.

Stalker looked at him, and nodded grimly. "Yes; like a wolf."

"This is ridiculous," said Gaunt. "There are no wolves in Haven. And anyway, how could a wolf have got into my house, past all my wards and defenses?"

"Quite simply," said Hawk. "You invited him in."

"Oh, my God," said Lady Elaine. "A werewolf;"

"Yes," said Hawk. "A shapeshifter. It all makes sense now, if you think about it. What kind of murderer kills sometimes with a knife and sometimes like a wild animal? A man who is sometimes a wolf. A werewolf."

"And there's a full moon tonight," said Fisher.

"You've had some experience in tracking down werewolves, haven't you?" said Dorimant.

"Experience," said Hightower bitterly. "Oh, yes, Hawk knows all about werewolves, don't you, Captain? How many this time, Captain? How many more of us are going to die because of your incompetence?" His wife put a gentle hand on his arm, and he subsided reluctantly, still glaring at Hawk.

"I don't understand," said Gaunt. "Are you seriously suggesting that one of us is a werewolf?"

"Yes," said Hawk flatly. "It's the only answer that fits."

They all looked at each other, as though expecting to see telltale fur and fangs and claws.

Dorimant looked at Gaunt. "Can't your magic tell you which one of us is the werewolf?"

Gaunt stirred uncomfortably. "Not really. There are such spells, but they're rather out of my field."

"There are other means of detecting a werewolf," said Hawk.

"Oh, of course," said Gaunt quickly. "Wolfsbane, for example. A lycanthrope should react very strongly to wolfsbane."

"I was thinking more of silver," said Hawk. "Do you have any silver weapons in the house, sir sorcerer?"

"There's a silver dagger somewhere in my laboratory," said Gaunt. "At least, there used to be. I haven't used it in a long time."

"All right," said Hawk patiently. "Go and look for it. No, wait a minute. I don't want anyone going off on their own. Fisher and I will come with you."

"No," said Lord Hightower flatly. "I don't trust you, Hawk. You were involved with a werewolf before. How do we know you didn't get bitten and become infected with the werewolf curse?"

"That's crazy!" said Fisher angrily. "Hawk's no werewolf!"

"Take it easy," said Hawk quickly. "Lord Hightower is right. Until we can prove otherwise, no one is above suspicion. Absolutely no one."

Hightower stiffened slightly. "Are you suggesting;"

"Why not?" said Hawk. "Anyone can become a werewolf."

"How dare you," said Hightower softly, furiously. "You of all people should remember what good cause I have to hate shapeshifters."

For a moment, nobody said anything.

"Why don't you come with me, Rod," said Gaunt quietly. "I'm sure I'll feel a lot safer with an old soldier like you along to watch my back."

"Of course," said Hightower gruffly. "You come along too, Elaine. You'll be safer with us."

Lady Elaine nodded, and she and her husband followed Gaunt out of the parlor and into the hall. The door closed quietly behind them.

"A werewolf," said Dorimant slowly. "I never really believed in such creatures."

"I wasn't sure I believed in vampires," said Fisher. "Until I met one."

"Werewolves are magical creatures," said Stalker. "And there's only one of us left with magical abilities. Interesting, that, isn't it?"

Hawk looked at him. "Are you suggesting that Gaunt; ?"

"Why not?" said Stalker. "I never did trust sorcerers. You heard how those people died in the Hook, didn't you?"

Hawk and Fisher looked at each other thoughtfully. Fisher raised an eyebrow, and Hawk shrugged slightly. He knew she was thinking of the succubus. Hawk tried to consider the point dispassionately. He'd assumed the succubus had been responsible for the deaths in the Hook, but they could just as easily have been the result of a werewolf on a killing spree. And Gaunt was an alchemist; he'd know about poisons. They only had his word that Blackstone's wine hadn't been poisoned. In fact, if the sorcerer was a werewolf he could probably have tasted poisoned wine and not taken any harm from it. And perhaps most important of all, Gaunt had been one of the last people in the parlor with Katherine;

Hawk scowled. It all made a kind of sense. He glanced at the closed parlor door and wondered if he should go after them. No, better not. Not yet, anyway. Hightower could look after himself, and it wasn't as if there was any real proof against Gaunt; Hawk sat back in is chair and silently cursed his indecision. He was a Guard, and he couldn't make a move without some kind of proof.

Lord and Lady Hightower waited impatiently in the library while Gaunt searched his laboratory for the silver dagger. Gaunt had politely but firmly refused to let them enter the laboratory with him. Lady Elaine understood. All men liked to have one room they could think of as their own; a private den they could retreat to when the world got a little too hard to cope with. Lady Elaine watched her husband pacing up and down, and wished she could say something to calm him. She'd never seen him so worried before. It was the werewolf, of course. Ever since Paul's death, Roderik had been obsessed with finding the creatures, and making them pay in blood. Despite his endless hunts he'd never found but one, and that one escaped, after killing three of his men. Now he finally had a chance to come face to face with a werewolf, and the odds were it was going to be one of his friends. No wonder he was torn;

Elaine sighed quietly. She was starting to feel some of the pressure herself. The unending heat was getting to her, and she jumped at every sudden noise. She was tired and her muscles ached, but she couldn't relax, even for a minute. It wasn't just the deaths. They were upsetting, of course, but it was the horrid feeling of helplessness that was most disturbing. No matter what anyone said or did, no matter what theories they came up with, people kept dying. No wonder her head ached unmercifully and Roderik's temper kept shortening by the minute. Elaine sighed again, a little louder this time, and sat down in one of the chairs. She tried to look calm and relaxed, in the hope that Roderik would follow her example, but he didn't.

Elaine hoped they'd got it right this time, and that the killer really was a werewolf. Roderik needed so badly to kill a werewolf. Perhaps when he saw the creature lying dead and broken at his feet he'd be able to forget about Paul's death and start thinking about his own life again. Perhaps;

Roderik suddenly stopped pacing, and stood very still. His shoulders were hunched and his head was bowed, and Elaine could see a faint sheen of sweat on his face. His hands were clenched into fists.

"Why doesn't he hurry up?" muttered Roderik. "What's taking him so long?"

"It's only been a few minutes, my dear," said Elaine. "Give the man time."

"It's hot," said Roderik. He didn't look at her, and didn't even seem to have heard her. "So damned hot. And close. I can't stand it. The rooms are all too small;"

"Rod?"

"I've got to get out of here. I've got to get out of this place."

Elaine rose to her feet and moved quickly over to take his arm. Roderik looked at her frowningly, as though he knew her face but couldn't quite place it. And then recognition moved slowly in his eyes, and he reached across to gently pat her hand on his arm.

"I'm sorry, my dear. It's the heat, and the waiting. I hate being cooped up in here, in this house."

"It's only until the morning, dear. Then the spell will be gone and we can leave."

"I don't think I can wait that long," said Roderik. He looked at her for a long moment, his eyes tender but strangely distant. "Elaine, my dear, whatever happens, I love you. Never doubt it."

"And I love you, Rod. But don't talk anymore. It's just the heat upsetting you."

"No," said Roderik. "It's not just the heat."

His face twisted suddenly and his eyes squeezed shut. He bent sharply forward, and wrapped his arms around himself. Elaine grabbed him by the shoulders to stop him falling.

"Rod? What is it? Do you have a pain?"

He pushed her away from him, and she staggered back a step. Hightower swayed from side to side, bent almost double. "Get out of here! Get away from me! Please!"

"Rod! What's the matter?"

"It hurts; it hurts, Elaine! The moonlight's in my mind! Run, Elaine, run!"

"No! I can't leave you like this, Rod;"

And then he turned his shaggy head and looked at her. Elaine's eyes widened and her throat went dry. He growled, deep in his throat. The air was heavy with the smell of musk and hair. Elaine turned to run. The werewolf caught her long before she got to the door.

In the parlor, Stalker poured himself another glass of wine, and looked thoughtfully at the clock on the mantelpiece.

"They're taking their time, aren't they? How long does it take to find one dagger and some herbs in a jar?"

Hawk nodded slowly. "Not this long. We'll give them a few more minutes, but if they're not back then, I think we'd better go and take a look for ourselves."

Stalker nodded and sipped at his wine. Fisher continued to pace up and down before the closed parlor door. Hawk smiled slightly. Fisher never had cared much for waiting. Dorimant was sitting slumped in a chair, as far away from Katherine as he could get. His hands were clasped tightly together in his lap, and every now and again he would look quickly at the tablecloth covering Katherine's body, and then look away. Hawk frowned. Dorimant wasn't holding together too well, but you couldn't really blame him. The tension and the uncertainty were getting to everyone, and the night seemed to be never-ending. It was only to be expected that someone would start to crack. Hawk looked at the clock on the mantelpiece and chewed worriedly at his lower lip. Gaunt was taking too long.

"All right," he said sharply. "That's it. Let's go and find out what the hell's happening. Everyone stick together. No one is to go off on their own, no matter what."

Stalker reached for his sword before getting to his feet. Hawk started to say something, and then decided against it. If the others had been attacked, he was going to need Stalker's expertise with a sword to back him up. Hawk headed for the door, and Fisher opened it for him. He smiled slightly as he saw she'd already drawn her sword. He drew his axe and stepped cautiously out into the hall. The library door stood slightly ajar, and the hall was empty. Hawk crossed over to the library, the others close behind him. He pushed the library door open. Lady Elaine Hightower lay in a crumpled heap on the floor. Her throat had bee torn out. There was no sign of Gaunt or Roderik.

Hawk moved cautiously forward into the library, glaring about him. Fisher moved silently at his side, the lamplight shining golden on her sword blade. Stalker and Dorimant moved quickly in behind them. Hawk moved over to the laboratory door, and felt his hackles rise as he realized the door was standing slightly ajar. Gaunt would never have left that door open, for any reason; A wolfs howl sounded suddenly from inside the laboratory, followed by the sound of breaking glass and rending wood. Hawk ran forward, kicked the door open, and burst into the laboratory.

The werewolf threw himself at the succubus's throat, and they fell sprawling to the floor, snarling and clawing. They slammed up against a wooden bench and overturned it. Alchemical equipment fell to the floor and shattered. Hawk looked quickly at the pentacle on the far side of the room. Its blue chalk lines were smudged and broken. Gaunt lay unmoving on the floor, not far away. Hawk hurried over to crouch beside him, keeping a careful eye on the werewolf and the succubus as they raged back and forth across the laboratory. Fisher and Stalker stood together in the doorway, swords in hand, guarding the only exit. Dorimant watched wide-eyed from behind them.

The succubus tore at the werewolf with her clawed hands. Long rents appeared in the werewolfs sides, only to close again in a matter of seconds. The succubus's eyes blazed with a sudden golden light and flames roared up around the werewolf. But the sorcerous fire couldn't consume him. He threw himself at her again, and his fangs and claws left bloody furrows on her perfect skin. The succubus's head snapped forward, and she sank her teeth into the werewolf's throat. He howled with rage and pain, and flung her away. They quickly regained their balance and circled each other warily.

Fisher lifted her sword and started forward from the doorway, but Hawk waved her back. Cold steel was no de fence against a werewolf, let alone an enraged succubus. Gaunt stirred slowly beside him, and Hawk took the sorcerer by the shoulder and turned him over. He had a few nasty cuts and bruises but otherwise looked unharmed. Hawk shook him roughly, and the sorcerer groaned and tried to sit up.

The succubus screamed, and Hawk turned just in time to see the werewolf rip out her throat with one savage twist of his jaws. Horribly, the succubus didn't die. She stood where she was, backed up against the laboratory wall, and blood ran down her chest in a steady stream. The werewolf hit her again, and blood flew on the air, but still she didn't die. And then Gaunt said a single Word of Power, and she slumped forward and fell lifeless to the floor. The werewolf sniffed warily at the unmoving body, and then turned to snarl at Fisher and Stalker, still blocking the only door.

"I had to do it," said Gaunt. "She was bound to me. She couldn't die until I let her go. I couldn't bear to lose her, but I couldn't let her suffer;" Tears ran down his face, but he didn't seem to notice them.

Hawk grabbed him by the arm and dragged him to his feet. "The silver dagger," he hissed. "Did you find the silver dagger?"

Gaunt shook his head dazedly. "No; not yet."

"You have to find it!" said Hawk. "We'll try and keep the beast occupied."

"Yes," said Gaunt. "The dagger. I'll kill the creature." His eyes suddenly focused, and he was back in control of himself again. He looked hard at the werewolf, crouched beside the dead succubus. "Who is that? Who wore the mark of the beast?"

"Hightower," said Hawk. "Lord Roderik Hightower. I recognize what's left of his clothes."

Gaunt nodded slowly and moved away to start searching through the drawers of a nearby table. The werewolf turned his shaggy head to watch Gaunt, but made no move to attack him. The werewolf's fur was matted with drying blood, and his claws and teeth had a crimson sheen.

"How?" said Dorimant shakily. "How can Roderik be the werewolf? He hates the creatures; one of them killed his son;"

"Exactly," said Hawk. "He hated them so much he spent all his time leading expeditions to track them down and kill them. In the end, it became an obsession with him. That's why the army made him resign. As I understand it, he only found one werewolf, but it seems one was enough. The creature must have bitten him."

"And whoever feels a werewolf's bite, shall become a wolf when the moon is bright," said Fisher. "The poor bastard."

"Ironic," said Stalker. He hefted his sword, and the werewolf snarled soundlessly at him.

"But why did Roderik want to kill all those people?" said Dorimant. "They were his friends."

"Werewolves kill because they have to," said Hawk. "When the moon is full, the killing rage fills their mind until there's nothing left but wolf. God knows how Hightower managed to hide it this long. Maybe he just went off and locked himself up somewhere safe until the full moon was past and his madness was over."

"And then we trapped him here," said Fisher. "With a fresh supply of victims, and no way out;"

"It's not your fault," said Stalker. "You couldn't have known. In the meantime, it's up to us to stop him, before he kills again."

"Stop him?" said Hawk. "There's only one thing that will stop a werewolf, and Gaunt isn't even sure he's got one. The best we can hope to do is slow the beast down."

"Let me talk to him," said Stalker. "I've known Roderik on and off for more than twenty years. Maybe he'll listen to me."

He lowered his sword and stepped forward. The werewolf crouched before him, watching him unblinkingly. The beast stood on two legs like a man, wrapped in the tatters of a man's clothing, but his stance wasn't in any way human. His body was long and wiry and covered with thick bristly hair. The hands were elongated paws, with long curved claws. The narrow tapering muzzle was full of teeth, and blood dripped from the grinning jaws. The werewolf's eyes were a startling blue, but there was nothing human in their unwavering gaze. He growled once, hungrily, and Stalker stopped where he was.

"Why didn't you come to me?" said Stalker quietly. "I would have helped you, Rod. I'd have found someone who could take the curse away from you."

The werewolf rose slowly out of his crouch and padded forward. His hands flexed eagerly.

"He can't hear you," said Hawk. "There's nothing left now but the beast."

The werewolf sprang forward, and Stalker met him with his sword. The long steel blade cut into the werewolf's chest and out again, and didn't even slow him down. He knocked Stalker to the ground and dashed the sword from his hand. Stalker grabbed the werewolf by the throat with both hands, and fought to keep the grinning jaws away from his throat. The werewolf's quick panting breath slapped against his face, thick with the stench of fresh blood and rotting meat. Fisher stepped forward and thrust her sword through the werewolf's ribs. The beast howled with pain and fury. Fisher pulled back her sword for another thrust, and then cursed as the wound healed itself in seconds. Hawk moved in and swung his axe double-handed. The heavy blade sank deep into the werewolf's shoulder, smashing the collarbone. The werewolf tried to pull away, but Stalker held on grimly, digging his fingers into the beast's throat. Fisher cut at the werewolf again and again. The beast sank his claws into Stalker's chest. Hawk pulled out his axe for another blow, and the werewolf broke Stalker's hold and jumped back out of range. A jagged wound showed clearly in the beast's shoulder, but it didn't bleed. There was a series of faint popping sounds as the broken bones reknit themselves, and then the wound closed and was gone.

We're not going to stop him, thought Hawk slowly. There's not a damn thing we can do to stop him;

The werewolf lowered his shaggy head and sprang forward. Hawk and Fisher braced themselves, weapons at the ready. Stalker looked to where he'd dropped his sword, but it was too far away. The werewolf went for his throat. Stalker ducked under the werewolf's leap and gutted the beast with a dagger he snatched from his boot at the last moment. The werewolf crashed heavily to the floor, screaming in an almost human voice. He lay helpless for a moment as the wound healed, and Stalker dropped his dagger, leant over the beast, and taking a firm hold at neck and tail, lifted the werewolf over his head. The beast kicked and struggled but couldn't break free. Stalker held it there, his muscles creaking and groaning under the strain. Sweat ran down his face with the effort, but he wouldn't let the beast go. As long as the werewolf couldn't reach anyone, he was harmless. Pain ran jaggedly through Stalker's arms and chest from the weight of the beast, but he wouldn't give in. He wouldn't give in. Hawk and Fisher watched in awe. This was the Stalker they'd heard about, the legendary hero who'd never known defeat.

And then Gaunt stepped forward, a silver dagger gleaming in his hand. Stalker slammed the werewolf to the floor with the last of his strength. The impact stunned the werewolf for a moment, and Gaunt plunged the silver dagger into the beast's chest, just under the breastbone. Gaunt and Stalker stepped quickly back as the werewolf writhed and twisted on the laboratory floor. He scrabbled forward a few feet, and then suddenly coughed blood. It was a quiet, almost apologetic sound. The werewolf lay still and closed his eyes. The wolf shape stirred and shifted. The fur and fangs and claws slowly disappeared, and bones creaked softly as their shape changed. When it was over, Lord Roderik Hightower lay still on the floor, curled around the silver dagger embedded in his heart. Gaunt knelt down beside him.

"Why didn't you tell us, Rod?" he said quietly. "We were your friends; we'd have found some way to help you."

Hightower opened his eyes and looked at the sorcerer. He smiled slightly, and there was blood on his lips. "I liked being a wolf. I felt young again. Is Elaine dead?"

"Yes," said Gaunt. "You killed her."

"My poor Elaine. I never could tell her;"

"You should have told us, Rod."

Hightower raised an eyebrow tiredly. "You should have told us about your succubus, but you didn't. We all have our secrets, Gaunt. Some of them are just easier to live with than others."

Gaunt nodded slowly. "Why did you kill William, Rod?"

Hightower laughed soundlessly. "I didn't," he said quietly. And then he died.

Gaunt slowly straightened up and looked at the others. "I don't understand," he said slowly. "Why should he lie about it? He knew he was dying."

"He didn't lie," said Hawk. Everyone looked at him sharply, and he smiled grimly. "All along I've been saying this case didn't make sense, and I was right. The evidence didn't tie together because there wasn't just one murderer. There were two."

Chapter Seven

A HIDDEN EVIL

The parlor seemed somehow larger, now there were so few people left to sit in it. The chair with Katherine's body had been pushed to the rear of the room. The still, sheeted figure sat slumped in its chair like a sleeping ghost. The two Guards and their suspects sat in a rough semicircle around the empty fireplace. They sat in silence, looking at each other with tired, suspicious eyes. Hawk and Fisher sat side by side. Hawk was scowling thoughtfully, while Fisher glared at everyone impartially, her sword resting across her knees. Dorimant sat on the edge of his chair, mopping at his face with a handkerchief. The heat was worse if anything, and the parlor was almost unbearably close and stuffy. Gaunt sat stiffly in his chair, staring at nothing. He hadn't said a word since they left the laboratory. Stalker handed him a glass of wine, and the sorcerer looked at it dully. Stalker had to coax him into taking the first sip, but after that Gaunt carried on drinking mechanically, until the glass was empty. Stalker noted Hawk's disapproving frown an leant forward conspiratorially.

"Don't worry," he said quietly. "The wine contains a strong sedative. Let him sleep off the shock; it's the best thing for him."

Hawk nodded slowly. "You must be very skilled at sleight of hand, sir Stalker; I didn't see you drop anything into his wine."

Stalker grinned. "I didn't. It's a variation on my transformation trick with the alcohol, only this time I used the spell to change some of the wine into a sedative. Simple, but effective."

Hawk nodded thoughtfully, and Stalker sank back in his chair. He glanced at the clock on the mantelpiece, and then looked sharply at Hawk.

"Your time's nearly up. Captain. In just under half an hour it will be dawn, and the isolation spell will collapse. If Hightower was telling the truth, you don't have much time left to find your second killer."

"I don't need any more time," said Hawk calmly. "I know who the second murderer is."

Everyone looked at him sharply, including Fisher. "Are you sure, Hawk?" she said carefully. "We can't afford to be wrong."

"I'm sure," said Hawk. "Everything's finally fallen into place. I'd pretty much worked out the who and why a while back, but I still couldn't work out how it had been done; and without that, I couldn't make an accusation."

"But now you've got it?" said Fisher.

"Yeah," said Hawk. He looked unhurriedly around him, letting the tension build. Stalker was watching him interestedly, his hand resting on the sword at his side. Dorimant was perched right on the edge of his chair, leaning eagerly forward. Gaunt watched quietly, sitting slumped in his chair, his eyes already drooping from the sedative Stalker had given him. Fisher was glaring at him impatiently, and Hawk decided he'd better make a start.

"Let me recap a little to begin with," said Hawk slowly. "This has been a complicated case, made even more so because right from the word go there were two killers, working separately, with completely unconnected motives. That's why the truthspell didn't work. I asked everyone if they killed Blackstone and Bowman. And of course each killer could truthfully say no; they'd only killed one man, not both.

"The first killer was of course Lord Roderik Hightower. Under the influence of the full moon, his killer's rage drove him to become a wolf and kill Edward Bowman. The choice of victim was pure chance. If Hightower hadn't found Bowman on the landing, he would undoubtedly have found someone else to attack. He killed his second victim, the witch Visage, while his wife was out of sight in the bathroom and Visage was left alone on the landing. I think he probably killed her deliberately. She'd smelt something strange on the landing after Bowman's murder, and given time she might have been able to identify what it was. So Hightower killed her, while he had the chance. By the time he killed his wife, the Lady Elaine, the werewolf in him was too strong to be denied. The killing rage must have been overpowering. It's a wonder he was able to fight it off and stay human as long as he did.

"But while all this was going on, another killer was moving among us, the man who killed William Blackstone and his wife, (Catherine. Again, the case was made more complicated by outside factors. To begin with, we were distracted by the door having been apparently locked from the inside. Once Katherine admitted her part in the deception, and in the stabbing of the dead body to mislead us as to the cause of death, the situation grew a little clearer. The wineglass in Blackstone's room intrigued me. The wine had to have been poisoned, but Gaunt swore that it was harmless. He even tasted some of it himself, to prove it. But then someone secretly removed the wineglass from Blackstone's room, proving that the wine had in some way contributed to Blackstone's death. If it hadn't, why go to all the trouble and risk of removing it?"

"So William definitely was poisoned?" said Dorimant.

"In a way," said Hawk. "The poison killed him, but he really died by magic."

"That's impossible!" snapped Gaunt. He struggled to sit up straighter, and glared at Hawk. "William was still wearing the amulet Visage made for him. It was a good amulet; I tested it myself. As long as he was wearing it, magic wouldn't work in his vicinity."

"Exactly," said Hawk. "And that's why he died."

Gaunt looked at him confusedly, and some of the fire went out of his eyes as the sedative took hold of him again. Hawk looked quickly around at the other listeners. Dorimant was leaning so far forward it was a wonder he hadn't fallen off his chair. Stalker was frowning thoughtfully. And Fisher was looking as though she'd brain him if he didn't get on with his story.

"It was a very clever scheme," said Hawk. "Since there was no trace of poison, if it hadn't been for Katherine's interference, we'd probably have put Blackstone's death down to natural causes. So, how did he die? It all comes down to the amulet and the glass of wine. The killer took a glass of poison and worked a transformation spell on it, so that it became a glass of perfectly normal wine. He then gave the glass to Blackstone. However, once Blackstone raised the glass to his lips, the amulet canceled out the transformation magic, and the wine reverted to its original and deadly state. Blackstone must have died shortly after entering his bedroom. He fell to the floor, dropping the wineglass. It rolled away from the body, passed beyond the amulet's influence, and the poison became wine again. Which is why Gaunt was able to taste it quite safely. Later on, the killer went back to the room and removed the wineglass. He knew a thorough examination would reveal the wine's true nature. If everything had gone according to plan, and Blackstone's death had been accepted as a heart attack, he would probably have switched the original glass for another, containing normal wine, but as things were he was no doubt pressed for time."

"Ingenious," said Gaunt, blinking owlishly.

"Yes, but is it practical?" said Dorimant. "Would it have worked?"

"Oh, yes," said Gaunt. "It would have worked. And that's why Katherine had to die! Just before Visage's death, Katherine was trying to remember who had given William that last glass of wine. She was sure she'd seen who it was, but she couldn't quite remember. She had to die, because the killer was afraid she might identify him."

"Right," said Hawk. "So, we've established how William Blackstone died. Now we come to the suspects. Gaunt, Dorimant, Stalker. Three suspects; but only one of you had the means and the opportunity and the motive.

"Gaunt could have worked the transformation spell on the wine. He knew about the amulet, and he is both a sorcerer and an alchemist. But he also had a succubus, with all the power and abilities that granted him. If he'd wanted Blackstone dead, there were any number of ways he could have managed it, without any danger of it being traced back to him. He certainly wouldn't have committed a murder in his own house; an investigation might have discovered his succubus, and he couldn't risk that.

"Dorimant; I did wonder about you for a while. You were obviously very attached to the witch Visage, and jealousy can be a powerful motive. If you thought Blackstone was all that stood between you and her; but you know nothing about magic. You didn't even know how a truthspell worked."

Hawk turned slowly to Stalker. "It had to be you. Stalker. You worked your transformation trick on the wine once too often. Taking the alcohol out of wine was one thing. I might have overlooked that, but changing the wine to a sedative for Gaunt was a mistake. Once I'd seen that, a lot of things suddenly fell into place. I wondered why Blackstone had taken that last glass of wine, when he'd already said he wasn't going to drink any more because he had no head for wine. He took that final glass because you told him you'd worked your trick on it to take out the alcohol. Also, when Visage was killed on the landing, you were one of the last people to leave the parlor, which meant you had plenty of time to kill Katherine, while everyone else's attention was distracted.

"It was the lack of motive that threw me for a long time, until I discovered you were a DeFerrier. Blackstone's next main cause would have been a drive against child prostitution, and those who supported it. Fisher and I were working on just such a case before we were called away to go after the Chandler Lane vampire. The word was that we were called off because we were getting too close to one of the main patrons, an influential and very respectable man with a taste for abusing children. The DeFerriers had a thing about children, didn't they? We'll never know exactly how many children were tortured and killed in their black magic rituals. You were the patron, Stalker. You were the one who had us called off. And that's why you had to kill Blackstone. During his investigation, he'd discovered your obsession with child prostitutes, and he was going to turn you over to the Guard, as soon as he had some concrete evidence to use against you. And he'd have found it, eventually. Oh, you argued with him, promised him anything and everything, but Blackstone was an honest man. You couldn't buy him, and you couldn't intimidate him, so you killed him. You couldn't have let him tell the world what you really are. It would have destroyed your reputation and your legend, and that's all you've got left to live on.

"You must have put a lot of planning into Blackstones death, Stalker. After all, you were the one who first told Visage how to make the protective amulet. Ironic, isn't it? By wearing that amulet, he was unknowingly collaborating in his own murder. If it hadn't been for Katherine, you might well have got away with it, and your dirty little secret would have been safe. Adam Stalker, I hereby place you under arrest for the murder of William and Katherine Blackstone."

For a long moment nobody said anything, and then Stalker chuckled quietly. "I said you were good, didn't I? You worked it all out, from beginning to end. If it hadn't been for that bitch Katherine; I forgot how tough she was. She always could think on her feet, and she was one hell of an actress. If it hadn't been for her muddying the waters, you wouldn't have suspected a thing. But it doesn't matter. I'm not going to stand trial."

Hawk threw himself sideways out of his chair as Stalker suddenly lunged forward, sword in hand. Hawk hit the floor rolling as the sword slammed into the back of the chair where he'd been sitting. He was quickly back on his feet again, axe in hand. Fisher was also on her feet, sword at the ready. Gaunt and Dorimant watched, shocked, as Stalker drew his sword, kicked aside his chair, and backed quickly away.

"You've got good reflexes, Hawk," said Stalker. "But you still don't stand a chance against me. The only one who could have stopped me is Gaunt, and my sedative's taken care of him. In a few minutes the isolation spell will collapse, and I'll be on my way. The Guard will find nothing but a house full of bodies, and I'll be long gone. This will be just another unsolved mystery. Haven's full of them."

"You're not going anywhere," said Fisher, lifting her sword slightly.

"You think you're going to stop me, girl?"

"Why not? I've dealt with worse than you in my time."

Stalker smiled contemptuously and stepped forward, his long sword shining brightly as it cut through the air towards her. Fisher braced herself and parried the blow, grunting at the effort it cost her. The sword was heavy, and Stalker was every bit as strong as they said he was. She cut at his unprotected leg, and he parried the blow easily. Hawk moved in to join her, swinging his axe. Stalker picked up a chair with his free hand and threw it at Hawk. One of the chair legs struck him a glancing blow to the head and he fell to the floor, stunned. Fisher threw herself at Stalker, and he stepped forward to meet her. He quickly took the advantage, and Fisher was forced to retreat round the room, blocking his sword with hers as she searched and waited for an opening in his defense that never came. She was good with a blade, but he was better.

Sparks sputtered and died on the still air, and the parlor was full of the ring of steel on steel. Hawk got to his feet and shook his head to clear it. Stalker scowled briefly. He couldn't fight them both, and he knew it. He turned suddenly and cut viciously at Dorimant, who shrank back in his chair, unharmed. Fisher threw herself forward to block the blow, and Stalker spun round at the last moment and kicked her solidly under the left knee. Fisher collapsed as her leg betrayed her, groaning with agony. Stalker drew back his sword to finish her, and then Hawk was upon him, swinging his axe double-handed, and Stalker had to retreat.

Stalker and Hawk stood toe to toe, their blades a flashing blue in the lamplight. Sword and axe rose and fell, cut and parry and riposte, with no quarter asked or given. The pace was too fast for the fight to last long. Stalker tried every dirty trick and foul move he knew, but none of them worked against Hawk. In the end he felt himself beginning to slow, and grew desperate. He used the same trick once too often, and Hawk stepped inside his guard and knocked the sword from his hand. Stalker staggered back, nursing his numbed hand. He leaned against the wall, breathing hard.

"I said you were good, Hawk. Ten years ago you wouldn't have touched me; but that was ten years ago." He waited a moment while his breathing slowed and steadied. "It's not really my fault, you know. You can't imagine what it was like, growing up in this house, seeing the things my family did; What chance did I have? They were vile, all of them, and they tried to corrupt me, too. I couldn't stop them; I was only a child. So I ran away. And I became a hero, to help others, because there was no one to help me when I needed it. But still I was tainted, full of the corruption they'd taught me. I fought it; I fought it for years. But it was too strong, and I was too weak; I even tried to buy this house, so I could burn it to the ground and break its hold on me. But Gaunt wouldn't sell. It wasn't my fault. None of it was my fault! I didn't choose to be; what I am."

"I saw what you did to that girl in the brothel over the Nag's Head," said Hawk. "I would have killed myself before I did such a thing."

Stalker nodded slowly. "I was never that brave. Till now. I told you I wouldn't stand trial."

He drew a dagger from his boot, turned it quickly in his hand, and thrust it deep into his heart. He fell to his knees, looked triumphantly at Hawk, and then fell forward and lay still. Hawk moved cautiously forward and stirred the body with his boot. There was no response. He knelt down and tried for a pulse. There wasn't one. Adam Stalker was dead.

"It's over," said Dorimant. "It's finally over."

"Yes," said Hawk, getting tiredly to his feet. "I think it is." He looked at Fisher. "Are you all right, lass?"

"I'll live," said Fisher dryly, flexing her aching leg.

"He was one of the best," said Dorimant, staring sadly at Stalker's body. "I never liked him, but I always admired him. He was one of the greatest heroes ever to come out of the Low Kingdoms. He really did do most of the things the legends say he did."

"Yes," said Hawk. "I know. And that's why we're going to say Hightower was responsible for all the deaths. No one really blames a werewolf. Haven needs legends like Stalker more than it needs the truth."

Dorimant nodded slowly. "I suppose you're right. A man's past should be buried with the man."

There was a sudden lurch as the house seemed to drop an inch. A subtle tension on the air was suddenly gone.

"The isolation spell," said Fisher. "It's finished. Let's get the hell out of this place."

They all looked at Gaunt, sleeping peacefully in his chair.

"You go on," said Dorimant. "I'll stick around till he wakes up. Someone's got to brief him on the story we're going to tell. Besides;" Dorimant looked levelly at Hawk and Fisher. "I promised Visage I'd look after her. I don't want to leave her here, in the company of strangers."

"All right," said Hawk. "We won't be long. What will you do now, Dorimant, now that Blackstone is dead; ?"

"I'll think of something," said Dorimant. "If nothing else, I'll be able to dine out on this story for months."

They laughed, and then Hawk and Fisher made their goodbyes and left. They walked unhurriedly down the hall to the closed front door. Hawk hesitated a moment, and then pulled the door open. A cool breeze swept in, dispelling the heat of the long night. The sun had come up, and there were rain clouds in the early morning skies, and a hint of moisture on the air. Hawk and Fisher stood together a while, quietly enjoying the cool of the breeze.

"It was partly the heat," said Fisher finally. "It brings out the worst in people."

"Yeah," said Hawk. "But only if the evil is there to be brought out. Come on, lass, let's go."

They shut the door behind them, and walked out of the grounds and down the steep hill that led back into the shadowed heart of the city. Even in the early morning light. Haven is a dark city.