She let him go and he staggered back a pace, clutching at his shoulder. He tried to scowl at her, but couldn't meet her eyes. He turned and disappeared into the crowd, and was swallowed up in a moment. This is a waste of time, thought Fisher. We're not going to find our God killer here. She looked around her for Hawk and Buchan.
Buchan wandered through a crowd of averted faces, feeling not unlike the ghost at the feast. Word of his arrival had circulated quickly through the gathering. Backs turned at his approach, and murmurs rose and fell as he passed. The Quality, young or old, liked to think of itself as being above petty moralities and restrictions, but when you got right down to it, their affairs and debaucheries still followed very strict guidelines. For all the freedom that wealth and position brings, there remained things that were simply not done. And when it came to matters of Family and inheritance, the Quality were very conservative. Wives and children were important; they continued and preserved the precious bloodlines, without which there would be no hundred Families, no Quality. So for an only son, the last of his line, to turn his back on marriage and make regular visits to the Sisters of Joy was simply unacceptable.
There was a stir in the crowd to his left, and Buchan looked round in mild surprise to find someone approaching him. His first thought was that he was about to be asked to leave, but as the crowd fell away he saw that it was the party's host, Lord Louis Hightower. Buchan winced mentally though his face remained impassive.
The Lord Hightower was of average height and stockily built, much like his late father. As a second son, he had been spending a quiet and not unsuccessful life in the army when his father and mother died in the same night, victims of a werewolf's curse. His elder brother had been murdered some months previously. So he resigned his commission and came home, and now he was the Lord Hightower, one of the leading lights in the Quality and chief organizer of the Hellfire Club. He and Buchan were the same age, and had been friends, once. Buchan waited for Hightower to come to him, and then bowed politely. He was ready for almost anything except the sad, exasperated sigh with which Hightower greeted him.
"What the devil are you doing here, Charles? I wouldn't have thought this Hellfire nonsense was in your line."
"It isn't," said Buchan. "But it may have a connection with a case I'm working on for the Squad. And what do you mean by calling it nonsense? I thought you were one of the people running the Club."
Hightower shrugged. "It's amusing. And interesting, sometimes. But I don't get carried away with it, like some people I could mention. I might have known it would take something like this to bring you back here." Hightower looked at him steadily. "It's been a long time, Charles. Too long."
Buchan smiled. "Not everyone would agree with you, Louis. I don't go where I'm not welcome. I have that much pride left."
"You're always welcome in my home, Charles. You know that."
"Yes. But my presence in your house would do you no good at all. People would talk."
"Let them. You think I care more about my reputation than my friends?"
"You have a position to maintain now," said Buchan firmly. "You're not just a second son any longer. You're the Hightower, the head of the Family. You have responsibilities to them now, as well as yourself. And to whatever poor woman you eventually decide to marry. You shouldn't even be talking to me, really."
"As head of the Family, I do have some authority. People may mutter, but they won't say anything. Not in public. It's good to see you again, Charles. I saw your mother last week. She's looking well. Are they still not talking to you?"
"As far as I know. I haven't been back there in a while, either. As far as they're concerned, I don't exist. And perhaps that's for the best."
"Are you still… ?"
"Visiting the Sisters? Yes."
"They'll destroy you, Charles. They destroy all their victims, in the end." Hightower took in Buchan's face, and raised a hand defensively. "All right, I know. You don't want to talk about it. And I can't ask you about the case you're working on, because you never talk about that, either. Is there anything you do feel free to discuss?"
"I was sorry to hear about your parents, Louis. It must have been a shock."
"Yes, it was. The funny thing is, I'd been expecting my father's death for some time. He'd been looking old and tired ever since Paul was murdered. You never knew my brother, did you? He was a good sort, and always too brave for his own good. Father thought the world of him. He took Paul's death hard.
"He hated being retired, too. Didn't know what to do with himself after he left the army. Dabbled in politics for a while, but… I was out of town when he and mother died, on maneuvers. I miss them, you know. Every day there's something that makes me think I'd better ask Dad about that, or I wonder what Mother would say… and then I remember, and the day seems a little colder. I miss them, Charles. I really miss them."
"You ought to get married," said Buchan firmly. "It's not sensible, you and the servants rattling around in this huge old place by yourself. Get yourself a wife and fill the place with children. Do you a world of good."
Hightower laughed. "Just like the rest of my Family. Can't wait to see me safely married and settled down. I always said I'd only marry for love, Charles; never just for duty. You can understand that, can't you?"
"Yes," said Buchan. "I understand."
They stood together a moment, wanting to say more, but not sure how. They'd pretty much exhausted the few things they still had in common, and what remained of their lives now was separated by a gulf neither of them could cross.
"So," said Hightower finally. "Is there anything you can tell me about the God Squad business that brings you here?"
"You've heard about the God murders, I take it? Well, my associates turned up a lead that suggested there may be a connection between the Hellfire Club and the killings."
"I don't see how," said Hightower. "It's all a lark, nothing more. Just another excuse for a party. The rituals are fun, but no one seriously expects anything to come of them. Well, most of us don't, anyway. There are always a few idiots. But most of the Club are only here to annoy their Families. A sign of rebellion, without having to risk anything that matters."
"What got you involved?" said Buchan. "I wouldn't have thought this was your kind of thing."
"It isn't. But there are a great many young ladies who are interested, so…"
Buchan laughed. "I might have known. Is it true most of your rituals take place in the nude?"
"Quite a few of them, yes." Hightower grinned. "And that's not all we do in the rituals that our Families wouldn't approve of."
They laughed together, and then the double doors burst open and a sudden silence fell across the room as everyone turned to look.
The Dark Man stood in the doorway. Blood splashed his shapeless furs and dripped thickly from both ends of the long wooden staff in his hands. He was grinning broadly, and his eyes were fixed and wild. He looked slowly round the crowded ballroom, and the Quality fell back before his unwavering gaze. Death and violence hung around him like a shroud. In the silence that greeted his arrival they could hear voices moaning and crying out in pain from the corridor outside. Hawk and Fisher pushed their way through the crowd toward him, blades at the ready.
A man-at-arms appeared behind the Dark Man. Bruised and bleeding heavily, he nevertheless flung himself at the Dark Man and tried to get a choke hold on him. They staggered back and forth for a moment, and then the Dark Man twisted suddenly and threw the man-at-arms over his shoulder. He hit the floor hard and lay still, groaning quietly. The Dark Man raised his staff and brought it sweeping down with vicious force, striking his victim again and again and again. Blood flew and bones shattered. The limp body jumped and jerked under the rain of blows, even after the man was clearly dead.