A few minutes later, Greg trotted over to the stables. David and Nathan were just climbing into the saddles. It was a strange moment, to stroll out the gate between David’s gelding and Bairn. He’d never moved through the city as a wolf before. The wet cobblestones felt slippery and uncomfortable underneath his paws and the buildings loomed over his head much higher than those of First Camp. The sounds of the night echoed strangely between them, and the avalanche of smells assaulting his nose was enough to make him dizzy.

How was he going to stick to the right one in this plethora of stenches, odours, aromas and fragrances? Maybe this was a stupid idea.

Just as they were about to jog off, the front door opened, and Imani stepped outside. She had Hewa in one arm, and held the door with the other for Morgulon to walk out. Lane followed behind in her riding skirts.

Two noses are better than one.

Greg rolled his eyes, but couldn’t quite hide his relief.

“Really?” Nathan asked, as Morgulon crouched down so Lane could climb onto her back. “Two werewolves?”

“Think it’ll really make a difference if we run into anyone?” David asked back. “Let’s go. The faster we get this over with, the better.”

“Let’s just hope the mob doesn’t like the rain,” Nathan commented.

The night guard at the end of the street blew an alarm on his whistle before David could stop him. It took quite some fast talking to convince him that this wasn’t some kind of sneak attack. The guard blew the “all clear” still wide eyed and stinking of terror.

“I cannot wait for the guards at the palace to watch us walking up,” Nathan muttered. Thankfully, after they were out of earshot.

“We’ve got to cross a couple of bridges first,” David replied. “The guards can send a telegram ahead.”

“We could’ve done that from your place, too, right?” Lane asked.

“Do you want to run back?” David grumbled. “I didn’t think of it until just now.”

“I’m quite comfortable here, thanks.”

Word did appear to travel ahead of them. Or perhaps it was simply the repetition of the panicked whistle signals quickly followed by a revocation that had primed the men guarding the bridge that something was coming their way. Or perhaps their officers simply recognized David riding a few yards ahead of them. There was a lot of shouting and men jumping into formation. Morgulon’s hackles raised, but Lane calmed her down before Greg could even say anything.

Were these some of the guards he had visited as a human on the last night of full moon? Greg thought they might be. And indeed, as he took the rapport, David waved him forwards. And then Morgulon, too, to introduce Lane as his deputy.

Greg had to admit, David’s poker face was getting pretty good. He managed to make it look and sound like there was nothing unusual at all about the countess taking the position, or her steed. The soldiers didn’t all quite manage to hide their surprise, and in some cases, dismay. One of them did run off with David’s order to send a telegram before they had even made for the bridge, so at least tonight, it was all good.

The guards at the palace were still nervous enough that Greg and Morgulon could smell their fear as they walked up to the gates.

They’re aiming bows at us, Morgulon noted, sounding slightly amused. No silver though. Just normal arrows.

Let’s try to look harmless?

Why?

Lane can’t just transform to heal up again.

Fine. I won’t bark at them.

Greg’s head swung around before he realised that Morgulon was joking.

David smelled just as scared as he stood up in the saddle, but his voice didn’t show a hint of that as he barked at the men: “Stand down, soldiers. The next idiot pointing his bow at my fiancée will spend the next month scrubbing the cells of the unsettled werewolves!”

“Classic,” Nathan muttered as up on the walls, bows clattered. He didn’t smell of fear at all. Some excitement, that was all. Lane on the other hand had been worried.

David didn’t exhale deeply until the doors to the palace closed behind them and they stood in the dimly lit entrance hall. And then he stopped breathing all together as Duke George Louis came striding into the entrance hall, followed by the steward of the castle, Lord Mire. Both of them were in their nightgowns.

“Lord Feleke, what is going on here?” the duke asked. “It’s the middle of the night!”

“My apologies, Your Highness, Lord Mire. I didn’t expect the guards to rouse you. I just needed Morgulon’s take on something.”

“In the middle of the night?”

“I do have some discretion, Your Highness,” David grumbled. “She’d have caused a mass panic during the day.”

“No doubt about that,” George Louis admitted.

“What about the other werewolf?” Lord Mire asked.

“My brother, Greg, Your Lordship” David replied promptly. “Again, I apologise for the inconvenience. I would have shared everything relevant at our meeting tomorrow, Your Highness. Since you’re awake anyways, perhaps I can offer you some refreshments at the office?”

The duke nodded curtly, so David led the way. It was awkward, navigating the stairways and platforms on four feet. Morgulon, of course, was unbothered. Her ears were flicking with interest, but nobody was talking. David was stomping ahead, Lane at his side. George Louis had buried his hands in the pockets of his nightgown and was staring daggers at her back. Nathan was bringing up the rear, as carefree as could be.

The silence ended as soon as the door to the office closed behind them.

“What in the frozen hells is going on here, David?” George Louis growled.

“Greg and Morgulon are here to pick up a trail,” David replied. “Give them some room, would you?”

“What trail?” the duke grumbled, but he stepped back, leaning next to David against the empty wall behind Grooch’s table. Greg ignored them as he tried to sort through the many smells in the room. David was easy, and so was his own smell. He sniffed around Grooch’s chair, and then Mr. Howell’s to eliminate those, too. That left two more fresh traces. One stayed in the main room, mostly around the visitor’s chair—a hint of black powder, leather, and blood.

Clermont.

The other one was so fresh Greg could tell where exactly the intruder had stopped to search the shelves. And just as he had worried earlier, it was a layered smell. The spy had been to the office regularly, quite possibly every few nights ever since David had taken the job.

The genuine version of this novel can be found on another site. Support the author by reading it there.

That one? Morgulon asked as Greg sniffed around a spot. That’s easy. Nice and fresh.

It was raining outside for hours.

We’ll find this man, no worries.

Greg wished he shared her optimism.

“You’re good to go already?” Lane asked when Morgulon sat down next to the door.

Morgulon sniffed and pawed at the door.

“Right. David?”

“Let me know what you find,” George Louis said, yawning. “I’m going back to bed, do feel free to wake me up.”

“Like your men won’t report to you as soon as they get back,” David grumbled. “I’ll tell you tomorrow.”

Greg went out the door first, a little confused. What men?

You should listen more to what’s going on around you. Morgulon sounded amused. The duke promised to send some of his own bodyguards with us. Apparently, there is no way this late at night to get soldiers without a lot of attention.

That didn’t surprise Greg.

They met the bodyguards at the back entrance of the castle, where Greg and the intruder had left the palace a few hours ago. Six men on horseback, all of them armed to the teeth. Very inconspicuous.

No doubt it wouldn’t take long for word to get out about this. They better be quick, before the spy was warned something was up.

As Morgulon had said, even with the rain, it wasn’t hard to find the right smell again. She trotted ahead, then sped up to a jog. The clopping of the hooves on the cobblestones echoed in the night. The people still out and about in the Artisans’ Quarters turned to stare at them, and there were shouts of alarm. The bodyguards moved up to flank Greg and Morgulon, which helped some. Made it look less like the armed people were after the werewolves and more like an escort.

They hurried to the small casino where Greg’s search had ended, then had to go around half the block to find the back door and pick the smell up again. At that point the rain started up again.

“Great,” Nathan complained.

Morgulon already lengthened her strides. Greg hurried after her.

“Slow down, you two,” David warned. “We need to be sure we kick the right door down.”

Greg nodded, while Morgulon just snorted without slowing at all. She knew where she was going. Out of the amusement district, upriver towards a residential quarter. Not the most upscale one, but not a bad area, either. Then it was just a matter of finding the right house.

Apparently, their spy had simply walked home.

There were no guards waiting for them, no ambush, no Valoisian soldiers. Only a small terrace of a house, with a neat little front yard, looking just like its neighbours.

“So, do we kick the door down?” Nathan asked, sounding as dubious as Greg suddenly felt. It didn’t look like the place a traitor would live at.

But that was stupid. An effective traitor had to be well hidden.

“Let’s knock first,” David said. “The less attention we draw, the better. Hopefully, he’ll come quietly.”

He motioned to the guards to take position right and left of the entrance, then knocked against the wood. Painted a pale blue, Greg noticed. The tulips underneath the windows were just starting to bloom. It just looked so—peaceful.

There was no answer.

David tried again, hammering his fist against the door loud enough that Greg worried about the neighbours waking up.

Still, no answer.

“Working great so far, brother,” Nathan commented.

David ignored him. He was eyeing the guards instead. “You’re Duke Stuard’s, right?” he asked, turning to the men. “You wouldn’t happen to know how to pick a lock, would you? One of you at least?”

The men chuckled, and one of them raised his hand.

“Well, if you’d do the honours,” David said sourly. “And perhaps volunteer something like that next time.”

“Ah, but the His Majesty wanted to see if you’d ask,”

David muttered something in reply to that that to Greg’s wolf ears sounded suspiciously like, “His Majesty can kiss my tired arse.”

Judging from the way Morgulon was silently laughing, that had been exactly what he had said.

The guard grinned and stepped forwards, producing a little bundle of crooked metal sticks. He fiddled around with the lock for less than a minute, then the door creaked. “There you go, your Lordship. Quick and easy.”

David didn’t even smile. “You there. Keep an eye on the street. Everyone else, with me. Quietly.” He glanced through the door, and added: “Greg, you’re first. Nathan, bring up the rear. Morgulon, Lane, stick close with me.”

Greg threw his head around in surprise. He had thought David would take point himself. When he saw the narrow, unlit hallway behind the door, it made sense though. Whoever went first would be a walking target if there was somebody armed at the end of the hall. And he was the person most likely to survive, say, a load of lead to the face.

And with that cheerful image, he padded into the darkness, listening hard. All he heard were the boots of the men following behind him. He pushed his head into the first room—some kind of reception, smelling faintly of cold cigar smoke. The spy’s scent was layered in there, and so were a host of other people’s smells. None of them fresh.

David still sent someone in there to search the room as Greg moved down the hall. The next door led to the dining room, then came the stairs, half hidden behind them the kitchen. The dining room was empty, too. Greg hesitated at the bottom of the stairs, waiting for David’s orders.

“Kitchen first. Lane, keep an eye on the stairs, please.”

He’s dead. Morgulon had stopped with Lane at the bottom of the stairs, sniffing. She whined softly, and before anyone could stop her, she darted up the stairs in two jumps.

Lane cursed and hurried after her. Then cursed louder.

“What do you have?” David called after her.

“Dead body,” Lane called back. “Hung from the rafters.”

“Mithras’s flaming torch,” David growled. “Greg, check the kitchen. You there, go with him. See if there’s a cellar. Everyone else, upstairs.”

The kitchen was clean, but in a surprising disarray. A rack of spices and jars of preserve had been emptied and spread over the table, the breadbasket was overturned, and the hatch to the cellar was open. So was the backdoor. Someone had been here very recently. Not a smell Greg recognized, though.

He pushed his head down the trapdoor, sniffing around. Some dried mushrooms hung stringed from the ceiling, and there were gaps in the orderly rows of jaws full of preserve.

“Someone’s been looking for something in a hurry,” the guard following him commented, turning a jar of marmalade in his hands. “But what did they hope to find in the kitchen?”

He put the jar down, and lit a light to see into the cellar. “Huh, gaps on the racks down there, too. But why would someone grab food?”

He closed the backdoor, throwing the bar onto the latches. “Let’s see what’s upstairs.”

Upstairs, the first room off the landing was a small study, already crowded by the werewolf and people inside. Greg stayed out on the landing: the body that was hanging underneath the ceiling was hard to miss. Someone had used a hook already up there—probably from a lamp—to hang a noose. Morgulon stood pressed up to the desk underneath the window, and there was a chair lying on the floor underneath the body.

David was just propping it back up to take the whole gory arrangement down.

“Someone bashed his head in,” he commented, sawing at the rope with his knife. “I doubt he managed to kick over the chair after that.”

He lowered the body down, and Morgulon came over to sniff it all. He never touched that rope, she noted. Not that anyone besides Greg could understand her. David could just hear her whine.

“You disagree?”

Morgulon shook her head.

“Good.”

“Someone’s searched the kitchen, Your Lordship. Emptied the spice rack all over the table, and I think there’re some jars of preserves from the cellar missing, too. Backdoor was standing open.”

“Was there any clue as to what they took?”

“Based on what was still there? Applesauce or pickled cucumbers, Sir. Maybe they were just hungry.”

“Right. Seems unlikely. Search the rest of the house. Hopefully, we’ll at least find a clue who he reported too.” He turned to glance out the window. “If you do find anything, report it to Lady deLande tomorrow.”

“Not to you, Your Lordship?”

“Starting tomorrow, I’ll be at Fort Brunich training with the werewolf volunteers.” David looked to the window again. “And it’s high time to leave for us. Given the protests we had, I want to have the werewolves off the streets before the good people of Deva start waking up.”

Greg hadn’t even noticed the time passing. But David was right. They needed to hurry. Even if it meant going home empty handed.

He should have punched the spy as soon as he saw him.