A band of musicians was playing loudly in the gallery, but no one was dancing. That wasn't what they'd come for. Hawk tore his gaze away from the Quality and looked around the great ballroom. He'd known smaller parade grounds, and the ceiling was uncomfortably high overhead, much of it lost in shadow. Three huge chandeliers of polished brass and cut glass lit the scene below with hundreds of candles. Hawk looked at them uneasily. They had to weigh half a ton each, and the thick ropes used for lifting and positioning them looked almost fragile by comparison. Hawk decided he'd keep an eye on them. He didn't trust chandeliers. They always looked unsafe to him.
He noticed that the footman was still with them, waiting to be dismissed. Hawk nodded briskly, at which the footman bowed and left. Buchan watched this thoughtfully. Hawk and Fisher had surprised him with how comfortable they were with servants. As a rule, it was a knack most people didn't have unless they were born into it. Most people found servants intimidating. Hawk and Fisher didn't. Of course, there was a simple explanation; Hawk and Fisher weren't impressed by servants because they weren't impressed by anything.
Buchan looked out over the ballroom. It was a long time since he'd been welcome here. Almost despite himself, his mind drifted back to his last visit to Hightower Hall. Lord Roderik Hightower had been away on one of his werewolf hunts, and Louis was still in the army then. But Lady Hightower was there, to speak on behalf of the Family. The Hightowers and the Buchans had been friends for generations, but that hadn't prevented the Lady Hightower from informing him in cool, passionless tones that unless he agreed to end his relationship with the Sisters of Joy, he should consider himself banned from High Society from that moment on. Buchan had said nothing. There was nothing he could say.
You're a fool, Lady Hightower had said. You have good friends, position and wealth, a promising future in politics, and all the advantages your Family have given you. And you've thrown it all away for the sake of those women. You disgust me. Get out.
He had stood there and taken it all in silence, and when she was finished he nodded once, politely, and left. He'd stayed away from High Tory ever since. Now he was back, among familiar sights and sounds once again. He hadn't realized how much he'd missed it all. He emerged from his reverie, suddenly aware that Hawk was speaking to him.
"We'd better split up," said Hawk. "We can cover more ground that way, and hopefully we'll be less conspicuous on our own."
"Suits me," said Fisher. "What exactly are we looking for?"
"Beats me," said Hawk. "Some connection between the Hellfire Club and the God murders. It could be anything. A person, a place, a belief… anything."
Fisher frowned thoughtfully. "These people, Buchan… they worship the Darkness, right?"
"Essentially, yes," said Buchan.
"They try to make deals with it. Offer it things, in return for power."
"Yes, Captain."
"Would they go as far as sacrificing people to the Dark?"
Buchan hesitated. "I don't know. Some might, if they thought they could get away with it."
"And it's only a step from killing people to killing Beings," said Hawk. "If they have already made a deal with the Darkness, and it's given them enough power to kill Beings…"
"Then we could be in a lot of trouble here," said Fisher.
"Nothing changes," said Hawk. "All right, let's make a start. Each of you choose a direction, and start walking. Be discreet, but don't be afraid to ask pointed questions. I'm not leaving here without some answers. Oh, and Isobel; let's try and avoid Lord Hightower. Right?"
She nodded, and Hawk slipped into the milling crowd, letting the ebb and flow of people take him where it would. Everywhere he looked there were flushed faces and over-bright eyes and strained, brittle laughter. The sense of anticipation was almost overwhelming. And yet without Hawk's foreknowledge of what the Hellfire Club was about, it would have been easy to see this as just another party. Most of the Quality here were young, half of them barely out of their teens. Partying desperately, squeezing what joy they could out of their lives before the inevitable time when they would have to take on their duties as part of the Families. There were only a few options open to the Quality: For the men it was either politics or the army, for women it was marriage and children. Perhaps that was why they'd formed the Hellfire Club, in search of pleasure and power with no price to pay. Or at least, no price they believed in.
Hawk knew better. No one encounters the Darkness and comes away unscathed. The scars on his face throbbed briefly with remembered pain.
He moved deeper into the crowd. Hundreds of people filled the huge ballroom from wall to wall, but Hawk wasn't impressed. He'd seen grander gatherings in his time. And the more he looked, the more he became aware of the nervous undercurrent in the party's mood. The laughter was too sudden and too loud, and the general brittle good cheer wasn't fooling anyone but themselves. Many of the Quality were drinking like fish, but no one seemed to be drunk. Hawk frowned slightly. It was as though the Quality were trying to nerve themselves up to something. Something frightening… and dangerous.
Buchan wandered aimlessly through the crowd, looking for familiar faces. Most of them here were too young to remember him, and his shame, but clearly there were some who did. They looked the other way, or turned their backs on him. None of them wanted to talk to him. It wouldn't be safe. Some of his shame might rub off on them. Buchan grabbed a glass of wine from a passing servant's tray and drank deeply. Not a bad vintage. A damn sight better than the cheap muck he usually drank.
He hadn't been aware of how lonely he'd been until he came back here, and realized how much he'd had to give up. All the food and wine and comforts. The security of belonging. Hawk and Fisher might be contemptuous of High Society, but they couldn't know what it meant, to be a part of it. The Quality were Family and friends and lovers, and more than that. They shared your life from the cradle on. On good days and bad days and empty days, they were always there. They seduced and protected you, loved you and hated you, and kept you safe from the outside world; made you feel part of a greater whole. It was comforting and reassuring to have the same faces always around you, people who understood you sometimes better than you knew yourself. He hadn't realized how much he missed it all, and how much there was to miss.
The God Squad was his family now, but they were no substitute for what he'd given up. Tomb was a friendly enough sort, but he had no interest in anything save his magics and his books, and he was too sober by far. The sorcerer meant well, but the God Squad was his life, and nothing else really mattered to him. And Rowan was a pain in the posterior. Spent all her time poring over ancient books and papers, and filling the house with chemical stinks. He'd tried to talk to her about her theories and beliefs, but most of the time she just answered his questions with grunts and monosyllables. On the few occasions when she condescended to explain something to him, he was damned if he could follow it, for all his expensive education. All he could grasp was that Rowan didn't believe in anything much but desperately wanted to believe in something. So desperately that there was no room in her life for anything but the search.