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The two came confidently close to Hawk before they stopped in front of him.
"Mr. Hawk?" the plump werewolf inquired formally, being mock-courteous in
English whose accents the old man could not immediately place.
The old man could feel the fierceness of the glare he gave them in return, the
tension in his own beetled brow. "I've just decided I don't want to use that
name any more."
"Oh?" Chubby monster was doing the talking, while Carados smirked silently at
his side. "You are now to be known as--?" It was humoring, almost mockery.
The old man gravely took thought. "Falcon. You may call me Mr. Falcon."
"By whatever name you wish, then. Mr. Falcon, you are to come with us. A
certain great Lady wishes to consult you, on a matter of importance to her."
"Ah. All goes not so well with Nimue. Could it be that she wants me to help
her find something?"
Carados, showing anger, spoke at last. "She got you right where it counts, old
man. Whatever you got left there, she got hold of it. You know that, we know
it, so don't try to give us no problem. Just get up and march where we tell
you."
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That was almost right, Falcon reflected. If Nimue had condescended to come
after him hers elf, there would have been no question about it. He would have
had to get up and go with her at once, probably without even arguing. But she
hadn't. Perhaps, not long ago, her power over him had been fully transferable,
but he could feel that it wasn't any longer. Perhaps in general it had started
to wear a little thin.
Falcon dug in his mental heels. It was time to see how far resistance could be
carried. He couldn't, or at least he didn't think he could, go so far as
turning these two into turnips or the equivalent, thereby thwarting some of
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their mistress' no doubt rotten plans. Now she wanted the Sword, she thought
for some reason she had to have it. Well, time would tell. Maybe, just maybe,
Falcon could manage to arrange matters so she didn't get it. The thought had a
deliciously forbidden, wicked feeling; but he could think it now.
Ah God, but she had been, still was, so beautiful& that was only a memory for
Falcon now. He had been immunized. At what expense.
Looking hard at Carados, he said: "You're from Haiti. Your accent tends to
come and go, that's what threw me off. Older than you look. Aren't we all?
Friend of old Papa Doc's, I bet."
Carados glowered at this mild display of spirit. "You get up and march, I
said. Else when we get you there, we'll use you as I first intended."
Falcon stood up, moving more slowly and creakily than was really necessary. It
was a considerable relief to be off the fence. "Where's your car?" he asked,
trying to sound reluctantly submissive. He meant to try a thing or two while
they were riding.
Then he paused, looking at the fat figure in manshape. "What's your name, by
the way?"
"Call me Arnaud," replied the werewolf cautiously. More alert than Carados, he
sensed changes in the old man. Arnaud stood straight and watched the old man
carefully.
Carados said: "Move, old one. This way, across the street. Just a short walk,
no car this time."
Falcon, who had been ready to walk, let himself slump a little. "No? What
then?"
"We simply walk the tunnel," explained Arnaud. "Nimue can extend it a long way
now. We've created a temporary entrance in that alley across the street. It's
being held open for us."
"Nimue's power is high." Falcon nodded to himself. "The sacrifices." And then
he saw the car that was pulling up quietly behind the others, and was aware
before they were of what it meant, and allowed himself a twisted little grin.
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The car's doors were opening on both sides. "Police officers! Stand right
where you are!"
Falcon doubled over slowly, went down in a crouch-and-fall like a man already
shot, except that he reached out with his hands to save his face and body as
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