The God Killer

  The God Killer

  Simon R. Green

  CONTENT

  PROLOGUE

  Chapter One

  Killer on The Loose

  Chapter Two

  The God Squad

  Chapter Three

  Gods And Devils and Other Beings

  Chapter Four

  Hellfire and Damnation

  Chapter Five

  Secrets Come to Light

  Chapter Six

  Needs, Desires, And Other Motives

  Chapter Seven

  Return of the Dark Man

  Aftermath

  PROLOGUE

  They come and they go.

  There are Beings on the Street of Gods. More and less than human, they inspire worship and adoration, fear and awe, and dreams of endless power. No one knows who or what the Beings are. They existed before men built the Street of Gods, and will exist long after the Street is nothing more than rubble and memories. Some say the Beings are distillations of specific realities; abstract concepts given shape and form by human fears or wishes, or simply by the times themselves. Others claim they are simply supernatural creatures, intrusions from other planes of existence. No one knows. They are real and unreal, both and neither. They are Beings of Power, and the Street of Gods is theirs and theirs alone.

  They come and they go.

  Chapter One

  Killer on The Loose

  Winter had come early to the city port of Haven, ushered in on blustering winds full of sleet and snow and bitter cold. Thick blankets of snow lay heavily across the roofs and city walls, and hoarfrost pearled the brickwork. Down in the street, the first of the day's pedestrian traffic struggled through the muddy slush, slipping and sliding and cursing each other through numb lips. The cold wind cut through the thickest furs, and frostbite gnawed savagely at exposed flesh. Winter had come to Haven, and honed its cutting edge on the slow-moving and the infirm.

  It was early in the morning, the sun little more than a bloody promise on the starless night. The street lamps glowed bravely against the dark, islands of amber light in an endless gloom. Ruddy lanterns hung from horses and carts, bobbing like live coals on the night. And trudging through the cold and dark came Hawk and Fisher, husband and wife and Captains in the city Guard. Somewhere up ahead in the narrow streets and alleyways of the Northside lay a dead man. It wasn't clear yet why he was dead. Apparently the investigating Constables were still trying to find some of the pieces.

  Murder was nothing new in the Northside. Every city has a dark and cruel side to its nature, and Haven was no different. Haven was a dark city, the rotten apple of the Low Kingdoms, but murder and corruption flourished openly in the Northside, fueled by greed and hate and bitter need. People died there every day for reasons of passion, desperation, or business. Nevertheless, this latest in a line of bloody murders had shocked even the hardened Northsiders. So the Guard sent in Hawk and Fisher. There wasn't much that could shock them.

  Hawk was tall, dark, but 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 wore a long furred jacket and trousers and a heavy black Guardsman's cloak. He didn't look like much. He was lean and wiry rather than muscular, and he was beginning to build a stomach. He wore his long dark hair swept back from his forehead and tied with a silver clasp at the nape. He had only just turned thirty, but already there were streaks of grey in his hair. It would have been easy to dismiss Hawk as just another bravo, perhaps a little past his prime and going to seed, but there was something about Hawk; something hard and unyielding and almost sinister. People walked quietly around him, and were careful to keep their voices calm and reasonable. 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 in his five years as a Guard.

  Isobel Fisher walked at Hawk's side, echoing his pace and stance with the naturalness of long companionship. She was tall, easily six feet in height, lithely muscular, and her long blond hair fell to her waist in a single thick plait, weighted at the tip with a polished steel ball. She was in her mid- to late-twenties, and handsome rather than beautiful. There was a rawboned harshness to her face which contrasted strongly with her deep blue eyes and generous mouth. Somewhere in the past, something had scoured all the human weaknesses out of her, and it showed. Like Hawk, she wore the Guard's standard uniform for winter, with a sword at her left hip. Her hand rested comfortably on the pommel.

  A thin mist hung about the street, though the weather wizards had been trying to clear it for hours. The cold seeped relentlessly into Hawk's bones as he strode along, and he stamped his boots hard into the slush to try and keep some warmth in his feet. His hands were curled into fists inside his gloves, but it didn't seem to be helping much. Hawk hated the cold, hated the way it leached all the warmth and life out of him. And in particular, he hated being out in the cold and the dark at such an ungodly hour of the morning. But this shift paid the best, and he and Fisher needed the money, so… Hawk shrugged irritably, trying to get his cloak to fall more comfortably about him. He hated wearing a cloak; it always got in the way during fights. But braving the winter cold without a cloak was about as sensible as skinny-dipping in an alligator pool; you tended to lose important parts of your anatomy. So Hawk wore his cloak, and moaned about it a lot. He shrugged his shoulders again, and tugged surreptitiously at the cloak's hem.

  "Leave that cloak alone," said Fisher, without looking at him. "It looks fine."

  Hawk sniffed. "It doesn't feel right. The day's supposed to get warmer, anyway. If the mists clear up, I think I might drop the cloak off somewhere and pick it up at the end of the shift."

  "You'll do no such thing. You know you get colds and flus easily, and I'm not nursing you through another one of those. A couple of degrees of fever and you think you're dying."

  Hawk stared straight ahead, pretending he hadn't heard that. "Where is this body we're supposed to look at, anyway?"

  "Silver Street. Just down here, on the left. It sounded fairly gruesome. Do you suppose it'll look like the others?"

  "I hope so," said Hawk. "I'd hate to think there was more than one homicidal maniac running around on our patch."

  Fisher nodded glumly. "I hate maniacs. They don't play by the rules. Trying to figure out their motives is enough to drive you crazy."

  Hawk smiled slightly, but the smile didn't last long. If this corpse was as bad as the others he'd seen, it wasn't going to be a pretty sight. A Guard Constable had found the first body down by the Devil's Hook, hanging from a lamppost on a rope made from its own intestines. The second body had been found scattered the length of Hawthorne Alley. The killer had got inventive with the third victim, on Lower Eel Street. The hands had been nailed to a wall. The head was found floating in a water butt. There was no trace of the body's genitals.

  Hawk and Fisher turned into Silver Street, and found a crowd already gathered despite the early hour. Nothing like a good murder to bring out a crowd. Hawk wondered briefly what the hell all these people were doing out on the streets at such an unearthly hour, but he knew better than to ask. They'd only lie. The Northside never slept. There was always somebody ready to make a deal, and someone else ready to cheat him.

  Hawk and Fisher pushed their way through the crowd. Some of the sightseers reacted angrily at being jostled out of the way, but quickly fell silent as they recognized the two Guards. Everyone in the Northside knew Hawk and Fisher. Hawk paused briefly at the thick line of blue chalk dust the Guard Doctor had laid down to keep the crowd back, and then he took a deep breath and walked quickly over it. The silver torc at his wrist, his badge of office, protected him from the ward's magic, but the blue line always made him nervous. He'd once made the mistake of crossing the line on a day he'd absent-mindedly left his torc at home, and the agonizing muscle cramps had lasted the best part of an hour. Which was why the crowd had pushed right up to the edge of the line but made no move to cross it. Thus ensuring that the scene of the crime remained intact and the Guard Doctor had room to work.

  A Guard Constable was standing by, at a respectful distance from the body. His dark red cloak and tunic looked almost garish against the winter snow. He nodded affably to Hawk and Fisher. The Doctor was squatting in the bloodstained snow beside the body, but rose to his feet to nod briefly to the two Captains. He was a short, delicate man with pale face and eyes and large, clever hands. His official cloak was too large for him and looked like a hand-me-down, but he had the standard look of calm assurance that all doctors seem to be issued along with their diplomas.

  "I'm glad you're here, Captain Hawk, Captain Fisher. I'm Dr. Jaeger. I haven't had much time with the body yet, but I can tell you this much: The killer didn't use a weapon. He did all this with his bare hands."

  Hawk looked at the body, and had to fight to keep his face impassive. The arms had been torn out of their sockets. The torso had been ripped open from throat to groin and the internal organs pulled out and strewn across the bloody snow. The legs had been broken repeatedly. Jagged splinters of bone pierced the tattered skin. There was no sign of the head.

  "Hell's teeth." Hawk tried to imagine how much sheer strength was needed to destroy a body so completely, and a disturbing thought came to him. "Doctor, is there any chance this could have been a nonhuman assailant? Werewolf, vampire, ghoul?"

  Jaeger shook his head firmly. "There's no evidence of blood drainage; you can see for yourself how much there is around the body. There's no tooth or claw marks to indicate
a shapeshifter. And apart from the missing head, everything's here somewhere. No evidence of feasting. No, Captain, the odds are this is your standard homicidal maniac, with a very nasty disposition."

  "Great," said Fisher. "Just great. How long before the forensic sorcerer gets here?"

  Jaeger shrugged. "Your guess is as good as mine. He's been contacted, but you know how he hates to be dragged from his nice warm bed at this hour of the morning."

  "All right," said Hawk. "We can't wait; the trail will get cold. We'd better use your magic to get things started. Doctor. How much can you do?"

  "Not a lot," Jaeger admitted. "When he finally gets here, the forensic sorcerer might be able to recreate the entire killing and show us exactly what happened. The best I can give you is a glimpse of the killer's face."

  "That's more than we've got from the last three killings," said Hawk.

  "We were lucky with this one," said Jaeger. "Death couldn't have taken place more than half an hour ago. The chances of scrying the face are very good."

  "Wait a minute," said Fisher. "I thought you needed the head for that, so you could see the killer's face in the victim's eyes?"

  Jaeger smiled condescendingly. "Medical sorcery has progressed far beyond those old superstitions, Captain Fisher." He knelt down beside the body again, grimacing as the bloody slush stained his clothes, and bent over the torso. The fingers of his left hand moved slowly in a complex pattern, and he muttered something short and guttural under his breath. Blood gushed suddenly from the neck of the torso, spilling out in a steady stream to form a wide pool. Jaeger gestured abruptly, and the blood stopped flowing. Ripples spread slowly across the pool, as though disturbed by something under the surface. Hawk and Fisher watched, fascinated, as a face slowly formed in the blood. The features were harsh, brooding, and quite distinct. Hawk and Fisher bent forward and studied the face thoroughly, committing it to memory. The image suddenly disappeared, and the blood was only blood again. Hawk and Fisher straightened up, and Jaeger got to his feet again. Hawk nodded appreciatively to him.

  "Anything else you can do for us?"

  "Not really. From the pattern of the bloodstains, I don't think the victim had time to struggle much. Which suggests that most if not all the mutilations took place after death."

  "Cause of death?" said Fisher.

  Jaeger shrugged. "Take your pick. Any one of those injuries would have been enough to kill him."

  Hawk gestured for the Guard Constable to come over and join them. He was a dark, heavy-set man in his mid-forties, with a twenty-year star on his uniform. He had the calm, resigned look of the seasoned Guard who'd seen it all before and hadn't been impressed then, either. He glanced briefly at the body as he came to stand beside it, but nothing snowed in his face.

  "Constable Roberts at your service. Captain Hawk, Captain Fisher."

  "Who found the body?" said Hawk.

  "Couple of kids coming back from a party. Merchant families. Took a shortcut through the Northside on a dare, and found a bit more than they bargained for. They're in the house opposite with my partner, having a cup of tea. It's good for shock, tea."

  "They see anything, apart from the body?"

  "Apparently not. Captain."

  "We'd better have a word with them, anyway. See if you can move that crowd along. The forensic sorcerer should be here soon, and he hates working in front of an audience."

  The Constable nodded, and Hawk and Fisher headed for the house he'd indicated, stepping around the bloodstains where they could.

  "You know," said Fisher quietly, "it's times like this I seriously think about getting out of this job. You think you've seen every nasty sight and spectacle the Northside can throw at you, and then something like this happens. How can one human being do that to another?"

  Hawk felt like shrugging, but didn't. It had been a serious question. "Drugs. Passion. Possession. Maybe just plain crazy. There are all sorts in the Northside, on their way up or on their way down. If a man's got any darkness in his soul, the Northside will bring it out. Don't take it so personally, Isobel. We've seen worse. Just concentrate on finding the clues that will help us nail the bastard."

  The young couple who'd found the body were still in the house where they'd been left, too shocked and disorientated even to think about making a fuss about leaving. They were clearly merchant-class by their dress, lower-middle by the look of them, and looked distinctly out of place in the dim smoky kitchen, being fussed over by a motherly washerwoman. Another Guard Constable was sitting comfortably by the fire, keeping an eye on them. He wore a ten-year star, but looked like he'd spent most of those years indoors. He nodded pleasantly to Hawk and Fisher, but made no move to get up. The merchant boy looked to be in his late teens, the girl a year or two younger. Hawk drew up a chair opposite them, and concentrated his questions on the boy. The girl was half asleep in her chair, worn out by shock and emotional exhaustion.

  "I'm Captain Hawk, of the city Guard. This is my partner, Captain Fisher. What's your name, lad?"

  "Fairfax, sir. Calvin Fairfax."

  "All right, Calvin, tell us about finding the body."

  Fairfax swallowed once, and nodded stiffly. "We were walking down Wool Street, Belinda and I, when we heard something. Footsteps, like someone running away. Then Belinda saw spots of blood on the ground, leading into the next street. She didn't want to get involved, but I thought we should at least take a look, in case someone was injured and needed help. We walked a little way down the street… and that's when we saw the body."

  "Did you see anyone else in Silver Street?" said Fisher.

  "No. There was no one else there. Belinda screamed, but no one came to help. A few people looked out their windows at us, but they didn't want to get involved. Finally the Guard Constables heard her, and came to see what was happening."

  Fisher nodded understandingly. "What time was this?"

  "About three o'clock. I heard the tower bell sound the hour not long before. The Constables took over once they saw the body. We've been waiting here ever since. Can we go now, please? We're very late. Our parents will be worried."

  "In a while," said Hawk. "The forensic sorcerer will want to see you, when he finally gets here, but after that you're free to go. You'll have to make a statement for the Coroner's Court, but you can do that any time. And in future, stay out of the Northside. This isn't a safe place to be walking about, especially early in the morning."

  "Don't worry," said Fairfax earnestly, "I never want to see this place again for the rest of my life. We wouldn't have come this way anyway if Luther hadn't dared us to walk past the Bode house."

  Hawk's ears pricked up. The Bode house. The name rang a faint but very definite bell. "What's so special about the Bode house?"

  Fairfax shrugged. "It's supposed to be haunted. People have seen things, heard things. We thought it would be a lark." His mouth twisted sourly. "We thought it would be fun…"

  Hawk talked reassuringly with him for a while, and then he and Fisher left the house and walked back down Silver Street. The cold morning air seemed even harsher after the comfortable warmth of the kitchen.

  "Bode house…" Hawk frowned thoughtfully. "I know that name from somewhere."

  "You should do," said Fisher. "It's been mentioned in our briefings for the past three nights. There are some indications the place may be haunted. Neighbors have complained of strange lights and sounds, and no one's seen the occupant for days. Since Bode is an alchemist and a sorcerer, no one's taking it too seriously yet, but there's no doubt it's got the neighbors rattled."

  "Beats me how you can take in all that stuff," said Hawk. "It's all I can do to keep my eyes open at the beginning of the shift. I don't really wake up till I've been on the streets an hour."

  "Don't think I haven't noticed," said Fisher.

  "Where is this Bode house?"

  "Just down the street and round the corner."

  Hawk stopped and looked at her. "Coincidence?"

  "Could be."

  "I don't believe in coincidence. I think we'd better take a look, just to be sure."