Guard Against Dishonor h&f-5 Read online

  Guard Against Dishonor

  ( Hawk & Fisher - 5 )

  Simon R. Green

  The fifth book in the "Hawk & Fisher" series presents a classic "cop plot" to the readers. Hawk and Fisher capture a ruthless drug lord with powerful friends and all Hell break loose. Soon the cops are considered villains, the drug lord is free and an even more sinister plot threatens to destroy the city of Haven

  Guard Against Dishonor by Simon R. Green

  Chapter One

  Chacal

  There are bad cities, there are worse cities; and then there's Haven.

  By popular acclaim the vilest and most corrupt city in the Low Kingdoms, Haven

  in midwinter gleams purest white under falls of frozen snow, and its towers

  shine with frost and ice like pillars of crystal. But only from a distance. The

  snow on the ground is a dirty grey from the unceasing factory smoke, and

  grey-faced people trudge wearily through the snow-choked streets.

  Seen up close, Haven is an ugly city, in more ways than one. Even in the early

  morning, when the killing cold grips the streets like a clenched fist, there is

  still no peace for the city. There are still deals to be made, conspiracies to

  be entered into, and blood to be spilled. Death is a way of life in Haven, and

  sudden violence the pulse of its narrow streets.

  And only the city Guard, stretched to breaking point at the best of times,

  stands between the city and open, bloody chaos.

  Hawk and Fisher, husband and wife and Captains in the city Guard, strode briskly

  down the crowded street towards Guard Headquarters, their prisoner scurrying

  along between them. Winter had finally come to Haven, despite everything the

  city weather wizards could do, and the bitter air was several degrees below

  freezing. The street was ankle-deep in snow and slush, and thick icicles hung

  from every building. Roofs groaned under the weight of a week's accumulated

  snow, and the iron-grey sky promised more blizzards to come. But still people

  packed the street from end to end; men, women, and children jostling each other

  impatiently as they hurried to and from work. No one jostled Hawk and Fisher, of

  course. It wouldn't have been wise.

  It was eight o'clock in the morning, but so dark that street lamps still burned

  at every corner, their amber glare doing little to dispel the gloom. Hawk hated

  the winter, and not just because the recent flu epidemic had hit the Guard badly

  and he and Fisher were working a double shift for the third day running. Winter

  meant hard times in Haven, and hardest of all for the poor and destitute. In

  every street, in every part of the city, there were bodies lying stiff and cold,

  caught out in the freezing night because they had nowhere else to go. They ended

  up in sheltered doorways, or huddled together under tarpaulins in back

  alleyways, sharing their meager warmth as best they could. Every day the garbage

  squad made their rounds and hauled the bodies away, but there were always more.

  Hawk found a young girl once, curled in a tight little ball over a street

  grating. She couldn't have been more than five or six years old, and her staring

  eyes had frozen solid in her head. Hawk hated the winter, and sometimes he hated

  Haven too.

  Captain Hawk was tall, dark-haired, and no longer handsome. A series of old

  scars ran down the right side of his face, and a black silk patch covered his

  right eye. He told lots of stories about how he got the scars, most of them

  contradictory. His thick furs and official black cloak made him look

  impressively bulky, but underneath his winter uniform he was lean and wiry

  rather than muscular, and building a stomach. He wore his shoulder-length hair

  loose, mostly to keep his ears warm, and kept it out of his vision with a plain

  leather headband. He'd only just turned thirty, but already there were streaks

  of grey in his hair. At first glance he seemed like just another bravo, a

  sword-for-hire already past his prime, but few people ever stopped at a first

  glance. There was something about Hawk, something cold and unyielding that gave

  even the most belligerent hardcase pause to think twice. On his right hip, Hawk

  carried a short-handled axe instead of a sword. He was very good with an axe.

  He'd had lots of practice.

  Captain Isobel Fisher walked confidently at his side, echoing her partner's

  stance and pace with the naturalness of long companionship. She was tall, easily

  six feet in height, and her long blond hair fell to her waist in a single thick

  plait, weighted at the tip with a polished steel ball. She wore a battered and

  almost shapeless fur hat, pulled down low to protect her ears from the bitter

  cold. There was a rawboned harshness to her face, barely softened by her deep

  blue eyes and generous mouth. She was handsome rather than pretty, her gaze was

  cool and direct, and she didn't smile much. Sometime, somewhere in the past,

  something had scoured all the human weaknesses out of her, and it showed. She

  wore the same furs and cloak as Hawk, though with rather more grace and style.

  She wore a sword on her hip, and her skill with it was legendary, in a city not

  easily impressed by legends.

  Hawk and Fisher, feared and respected by one and all as the toughest and most

  honest Guards in Haven. They had a lot of enemies, both inside and outside the

  Guard.

  Their prisoner was a short, scrawny, harmless-looking man, wrapped in a long fur

  coat, topped off with a pair of fluffy earmuffs. His thinning black hair was

  plastered to his head with rather more grease than necessary, and he had a

  permanent scowl. Benny the Weasel was not a happy man.

  "You're making a terrible mistake," he repeated for the tenth time, in what he

  imagined was an ingratiating tone. "Let's be reasonable about this."

  "Sorry," said Hawk, without looking round. "I'm only reasonable at weekends. And

  Fisher doesn't believe in being reasonable. Says it's bad for her image."

  "Right," said Fisher, glaring horribly at a nun who hadn't got out of her way

  fast enough.

  "This is all a misunderstanding," said Benny doggedly. "I am a legitimate

  businessman."

  Hawk snorted derisively. "Benny, you are a small-time villain who makes most of

  his money running a nasty little protection racket, advising local shopkeepers

  of all the awful things that might happen to them or their premises if they

  don't keep up the payments. Only this time you were dumb enough to do it in

  person, in front of Fisher and me. What's the matter, both your leg-breakers

  down with the flu?"

  Benny sniffed. "You can't get good help these days. Look, I am an important

  figure in the community. I know my rights. I pay my taxes. Technically, you work

  for me."

  "Then you should be pleased to be getting such value for your money," said

  Fisher. "We witnessed a crime and arrested the criminal on the spot. What more

  do you want?"

  "You won't get away with this!" said Benny desperately. "I have friend
s. I have

  influence. You won't be able to make this charge stick. I'll be out on the

  streets again before you can blink!"

  Hawk looked at him. "You know, Benny, you're starting to get on my nerves. Now,

  be a good fellow and shut your face or I'll have Fisher take you into the

  nearest dark alley and reason with you for a while."

  Benny glanced at Fisher, and then looked quickly away when he discovered she was

  smiling at him. He'd heard about Fisher's idea of reasoning with people. If she

  did it where they lived, it tended to play hell with the furniture. Benny had

  second thoughts, and they walked the rest of the way in silence.

  Guard Headquarters loomed up before them, a massive squat stone building with

  heavy oaken doors and arrow-slit windows. It had the look of a place constantly

  under siege, which wasn't far off the mark. Riots, hexes, and fire-bombings were

  a part of everyday life for the Headquarters, but no one had ever closed it down

  for more than a few hours. It had its own sorcerers, and everyone in the

  building went armed at all times, from the clerks to the Commanders. It took a

  lot to disrupt the Headquarters' even running, though last year's rash of

  possessions had come close.

  The main doors were always open, but everyone knew that could change in a second

  if danger threatened. A long-established spell on the doors saw to that, and

  tough luck if anyone got in the way. A steady stream of people bustled in and

  out of the building as Hawk and Fisher approached with their prisoner. There was

  the usual mixture of Constables and the people helping them with their

  enquiries, along with anxious relatives searching for the recently arrested, and

  backstreet lawyers touting for business. And of course there were always those

  who'd come to the Guard for help, all with the same thinly disguised look of

  fear and desperation. Most people only went to the Guard when they'd tried

  everything else. The law was harsh and brutal, and weighted heavily in favor of

  the rich and powerful. There were Guards who were sympathetic, and would do what

  they could for those in real need, but for the most part the poor had no reason

  to trust the Guard. Like everything else in Haven, justice was for sale.

  Everyone had their price.

  Everyone except Hawk and Fisher.

  Benny thought fleetingly of making a run for it, then noticed that Fisher's hand

  was resting casually on the pommel of her sword, and quickly thought better of

  it. He sighed heavily, and accompanied Hawk and Fisher through the main doors

  and into the crowded lobby of Guard Headquarters. The wide, low-ceilinged room

  was packed from wall to wall, and the noise was deafening. Mothers and

  grandmothers sat in little groups against the walls, chatting and gossiping and

  keeping a watchful eye on their children as they scampered back and forth,

  getting in everyone's way. None of them had any real business at Headquarters,

  but the Guard let them stay. It was the only place in that area where small

  children could play safely. Besides which, the Guard Constables had found they

  could pick up a lot of useful information by casually listening in on the

  women's gossip.

  Over by the booking desk in the center of the lobby, a seething mob of people

  screamed and shouted and pleaded, together with much shedding of tears and

  beating of breasts, but the three desk Sergeants took it in their stride. They'd

  heard it all before. They nodded more or less sympathetically to worried

  relatives, glared at the lawyers, and got on with booking the various criminals

  as the Constables brought them forward, as though the utter bedlam around them

  was of absolutely no interest.

  Hawk and Fisher made their way through the shifting mass of bodies by sheer

  determination and liberal use of their elbows. Hawk hammered on the desk with

  his fist until he got a Sergeant's attention, and then handed Benny over into

  his keeping. The Sergeant fixed him with a malicious grin.

  "Well, well, what have we here? It's not often you grace us with your loathsome

  company, Benny. What did you do to upset Hawk and Fisher?"

  "Nothing! I was just minding my own business…"

  "Your business is illegal, Benny, and if you were stupid enough to do it in

  front of those two, you deserve everything that happens to you." He struck the

  large brass bell beside him, the sharp sound cutting cleanly through the

  surrounding babble, and a Constable came over to the desk and led Benny away.

  Hawk and Fisher watched them go, Benny the Weasel still loudly protesting his

  innocence.

  "We won't be able to hold him, you know," said the desk Sergeant.

  Fisher looked at him sharply. "Why the hell not? We'll both give evidence

  against him."

  "It'll never come to trial," said the Sergeant. "Benny has friends, hard though

  that is to believe. The word will come down, and we'll have to let him go."

  Fisher scowled. "Sometimes I wonder why we bother making arrests at all. These

  days, it seems practically every villain and thug we meet has connections with

  someone higher up. Or the judge gets bribed. Or the jury gets intimidated."

  "That's Haven for you," said the Sergeant. "Hey, don't look at me. I just work

  here."

  Fisher growled something indistinct, and allowed Hawk to pull her away from the

  desk. They elbowed their way back through the crowd, glaring down any

  objections, and found a place by the huge open fireplace to warm their hands and

  take a seat for a moment. They nodded amiably to the half-dozen Constables

  already there. None of them actually had any business that required their

  presence at Headquarters, but none of them were that keen to give up the nice

  warm lobby for the freezing cold outside. Hawk turned around and lifted his

  cloak to warm his backside at the fire. He smiled happily and looked out over

  the lobby.

  A small group of whores, looking bright and gaudy and not a little chilly in

  their working finery, were waiting patiently to be booked, fined, and released

  so that they could get back to work as quickly as possible. Some politician or

  newspaper editor must have had a sudden attack of principles, or been leaned on

  by some pressure group, and declared loudly that Something Should Be Done about

  the rising tide of vice in Our Fair City. So the Guard made a big show of

  arresting whoever happened to be around at the time, the pimps paid the fines

  out of their petty cash, and business went on as usual. Hawk shrugged. It was

  none of his business. He nodded to a few familiar faces, and then tensed as one

  of the girls was viciously backhanded by her pimp. Hawk strode quickly over to

  them and dropped a heavy hand on the pimp's shoulder. The pimp spun round,

  knocking the hand away, and then froze as he realized who it was. He was young

  and muscular, with a ratty-looking moustache, dressed to the nines and proud of

  it. He studied Hawk warily.

  "What do you want, Captain? I'm clean."

  "You wouldn't be clean if you washed every day with sulphuric acid. You are a

  pimp, Sebastian, the lowest of the low, and I know you of old. I thought I

  warned you about maltreating your girls."

  "Me? Hurt
my girls?" said Sebastian, looking around him as though to invite the

  world to witness his harassment. "I love my girls like sisters! Who sees they

  always have nice clothes to wear, and looks after all their needs? They're like

  family to me, all my girls. They just need a little firm guidance from time to

  time, that's all."

  "Your associate and business partner, that nasty little thug Bates, is currently

  awaiting trial for 'firmly guiding' one of your girls by slashing her face with

  a razor," said Hawk. "I know you, Sebastian; I know you and all your nasty

  little ways. And if I discover you've been firmly guiding any of your girls

  again, I shall be annoyed with you. You do remember what happened when I got

  annoyed with Bates, don't you?"

  The pimp nodded reluctantly. "He's making good progress. He should be out of

  hospital soon."

  "Really? I must be losing my touch. Keep your hands off the girls, Sebastian. Or

  I'll tie your fingers in knots."

  Sebastian smiled and nodded as though it hurt him, and disappeared into the

  crowd. Hawk watched him go, nodded politely to the whores, who ignored him, and

  made his way back to the fire. Fisher was down on her knees, playing with a few

  children too young to be afraid of a Guard's uniform. Hawk watched for a while,

  smiling gently. Isobel was good with kids. They'd talked about having children

  of their own more than once, but somehow it never seemed to be the right time.

  The crowd suddenly erupted in shouts and screams, and backed quickly away as a

  prisoner who'd broken away from his escort lashed about him with a knife he'd

  somehow kept hidden. He grabbed for one of the children by Fisher, obviously

  intending to use the child as a hostage. Fisher glanced round and back-elbowed

  him viciously in the groin. She rose unhurriedly to her feet as the prisoner

  hunched forward over his pain, then rabbit-punched him. He collapsed and lay

  still. Fisher kicked the knife away from his hand and went back to playing with

  the children. Two Constables dragged the unconscious prisoner away.

  Hawk decided regretfully that they'd killed about as much time as they could get

  away with, and they ought really to get back to the job. They were barely

  halfway through their second shift. He tried concentrating on all the overtime