Wolf in the Fold h&f-4 Read online

  someone in the Northside who'd talk.

  They left the Inn of the Black Freighter till last. It was a semirespectable

  tavern and restaurant right on the outer edge of the Northside; the kind of

  place where you paid through the nose for out-of-season delicacies, and the

  waiter sneered at you if your accent slipped. It was also a clearing house for

  information, gossip, and rumor, all for sale on a sliding scale that started at

  expensive and rose quickly to extortionate. Hawk and Fisher looked in from time

  to time to pick up the latest information, and never paid a penny. Instead, they

  let their informants live and promised not to set fire to the building on the

  way out.

  They stood outside the Black Freighter a moment, listening to the sounds of

  conversation and laughter carry softly on the night air. It seemed there was a

  good crowd in tonight. They pushed open the door and strolled in, smiling

  graciously about them. The headwaiter started towards them, his hand positioned

  just right for a surreptitious bribe for a good table, and then he stopped dead,

  his face falling as he saw who it was. A sudden silence fell across the tavern,

  and a sea of sullen faces glared at Hawk and Fisher from the dimly lit tables.

  As in most restaurants, the lighting was kept to a minimum. Officially, this was

  to provide an intimate, romantic atmosphere. Hawk thought it was because if the

  customers could see what they were eating, they wouldn't pay for it. But then he

  was no romantic, as Fisher would be the first to agree.

  The quiet was complete, save for the crackling of the fire at the end of the

  room, and the atmosphere was so tense you could have struck a match off it. Hawk

  and Fisher headed for the bar, which boasted richly polished chrome and veneer

  and all the latest fashionable spirits and liqueurs, lined up in neat, orderly

  rows. A large mirror covered most of the wall behind the bar, surrounded by

  rococo scrollwork of gold and silver.

  Hawk and Fisher leaned on the bar and smiled companionably at the bartender,

  Howard, who looked as though he would have very much liked to turn and run, but

  didn't dare. He swallowed once, gave the bartop a quick polish it didn't need,

  and smiled fixedly at the two Guards. He might have been handsome in his heyday,

  but twenty years of more than good living had buried those good looks under too

  much weight, and his smile was weak now, from having been too many things to too

  many people. He had a wife and a mistress who fought loudly in public, and many

  other signs of success, but though he now owned the Inn where he'd once been

  nothing more than a lowly waiter, he still liked to spend most of his time

  behind the bar, keeping an eye on things. None of his staff was going to sneak

  up on him, the way he had on the previous owner. Hawk shifted his weight

  slightly, and the bartender jumped in spite of himself. Hawk smiled.

  "Good crowd in tonight, Howard. How's business?"

  "Fine! Just fine," said Howard quickly. "Couldn't be better. Can I get you a

  drink? Or a table? Or… Oh hell, Hawk, you're not going to bust up the place

  again, are you? I only just finished redecorating from the last time you were

  here, and those mirrors are expensive. And you know the insurance people won't

  pay out if you're involved. They class you and Fisher along with storm damage,

  rogue magic, and Acts of Gods."

  "No need to be so worried, Howard," said Fisher. "Anyone would think you had

  something to hide."

  "Look, I just run the place. No one tells me anything. You know that."

  "We're looking for someone," said Hawk. "Fenris. It's a spy's code name. You

  ever heard it before?"

  "No," said the bartender quickly. "Never. If I had, I'd tell you, word of honor.

  I don't have any truck with spies. I'm a patriotic man, always have been, loyal

  as the day is long…"

  "Pack it in," said Fisher. "We believe you, though thousands wouldn't. Who's in

  tonight that might know something?"

  Howard hesitated, and Hawk frowned at him. The bartender swallowed hard.

  "There's Fast Tommy, the Little Lord, and Razor Eddie. It's just possible they

  might have heard a thing or two…"

  Hawk nodded, and turned away from the bar to stare out over the restaurant.

  People had started eating again, but the place was still silent as the tomb,

  save for the odd clatter of cutlery on plates. It didn't take him long to spot

  the three faces Howard had named. They were all quite well known, in their way.

  Hawk and Fisher had met them before; in their line of business, it was

  inevitable.

  "Thank you, Howard," said Hawk. "You've been a great help. Now, tell that

  bouncer of yours, who thinks he's hidden behind the pillar to our left, that if

  he doesn't put down that throwing knife and step into plain sight, Isobel and I

  are going to cut him off at the knees."

  Howard made a quick gesture, and the bouncer stepped reluctantly into view, his

  hands conspicuously empty. "Sorry," said the bartender. "He's new."

  "He'd better learn fast," said Fisher. "Or he's never going to be old."

  They turned their backs on Howard and the bouncer, and threaded their way

  through the packed tables. Glaring faces and hostile eyes followed the two

  Captains as they headed for Fast Tommy's table. As usual, Tommy was dressed in

  the height of last month's fashion, had enough heavy rings on his fingers to

  double as knuckle-dusters, and was accompanied by a gorgeous young blonde half

  falling out of her dress. Tommy glared at Hawk and Fisher as they pulled up

  chairs opposite him, but made no objections. He undoubtedly had a bodyguard or

  two somewhere nearby but had enough sense not to call them. Hawk and Fisher

  might have taken that as an affront, and then he'd have had to find some new

  bodyguards. No one messed with Hawk and Fisher. It was quicker and a lot safer

  just to tell them what they wanted to know, and hope they'd go away and bother

  someone else.

  Fast Tommy was a gambling man. He got his name as a lightning calculator, though

  some uncharitable souls suggested it had more to do with his love life. He was a

  short, squarish, dark-haired man in his early forties, with a gambler's easy

  smile and unreadable eyes. He nodded politely to Hawk and Fisher.

  "My dear Captains, so good to see you again. May I purchase you wine, or cigars?

  Perhaps a little hot chocolate; very warming in the inclement weather…"

  "Tell us about the spy, Tommy," said Hawk.

  "I'm afraid the name Fenris is unknown to me, Captain, but I can of course

  inquire of my associates…"

  "You're holding out on us, Tommy," said Fisher reproachfully. "You know how it

  upsets us when you do that."

  "Upon my sweet mother's grave…"

  "Your mother is alive and well and still paying interest on the last loan you

  made her," said Hawk.

  Fisher looked thoughtfully at the gambler's blond companion. "Little old for

  you, isn't she, Tommy? She must be all of seventeen. Maybe we should check our

  records, make sure she isn't some underage runaway."

  The young blonde smiled sweetly at Fisher, and lifted her wineglass so she could

  show off the heavy gold bracelet at her w
rist.

  "She's sixteen," said Tommy quickly. "I've seen the birth certificate." He

  swallowed hard, and smiled determinedly at the two Guards. "Believe me, my dear

  friends, I know nothing of this Fenris person…"

  "But you can find out," said Hawk. "Leave word at Guard Headquarters, when you

  know something."

  "Of course, Captain, of course…"

  Fisher leaned forward. "If we find out later that you've been holding something

  back from us…"

  "Do I look suicidal?" said Fast Tommy.

  Hawk and Fisher got to their feet, and made their way through the tangle of

  tables to join the Little Lord in her private booth at the back. No one knew the

  Little Lord's real name, but then, nobody cared that much. Aliases were as

  common as fleas in the Northside, and a damn sight easier to live with. The Lord

  was a tall, handsome woman in her mid-thirties who always dressed as a man. She

  had close-cropped dark hair, a thin slash of a mouth, and dark piercing eyes.

  She dressed smartly but formally, in that old male style that never really goes

  out of fashion, and affected an upper class accent that was only occasionally

  successful. She always had money, though no one knew where it came from. Truth

  be told, most people weren't sure they wanted to know. She peered

  short-sightedly at Hawk and Fisher as they sat down opposite her, and screwed a

  monocle into her left eye.

  "As I live and breathe, Captain Hawk and Captain Fisher. Damned fine to see you

  again. Care to join me in a glass of bubbly?"

  Hawk eyed the half bottle of pink champagne in the nearby ice bucket, and

  shuddered briefly. "Not right now, thank you. What can you tell us about the spy

  Fenris?"

  "Not a damned thing, old boy. Don't really move in those circles, you know."

  "You're looking very smart," said Fisher. "Those diamond cuff links are new,

  aren't they?"

  "Present from me dear auntie. The old girl and I were up at Lord Bruford's the

  other day, meeting that new Councilor chappie. Adamant, I think his name was…"

  "Never mind the social calendar," said Fisher. "A set of matched diamonds

  disappeared mysteriously during a Society bash last week. You wouldn't know

  anything about that, I suppose?"

  "Not a thing, m'dear. Shocked to hear it, of course."

  "Of course," said Hawk. "Are you sure you haven't heard something about Fenris,

  my Lord? After all, someone such as yourself, moving in your circles, would be

  bound to hear something; perhaps spoken in confidence in an unguarded moment?"

  The Little Lord raised an elegant eyebrow, and her monocle fell out. She caught

  it deftly before it hit the tabletop, and screwed it back in place. "My dear

  chap, surely you're not asking me to peach on a friend? Just ain't done, you

  know."

  "Those diamond cuff links are looking more and more familiar," said Fisher.

  "Perhaps the three of us should take a little walk down to Headquarters, so we

  can compare them with the artist's rendering of the missing items…"

  "I assure you, Captain, I haven't heard a thing about your beastly spy! But of

  course I'd be only too happy to keep my eyes and ears alert for any morsel of

  gossip that might float my way."

  "That's the spirit," said Hawk. "Noblesse oblige, right? And by the way, I've

  met Councilor Adamant, and I know for a fact he's never bloody heard of you."

  He and Fisher left the spluttering Lord in her booth, and made their way through

  the last of the tables to their final port of call, a single table at the rear

  of the tavern, half hidden in shadows. Razor Eddie wasn't fond of even dim

  light. Hawk and Fisher borrowed chairs from nearby tables, and sat down facing

  him. Razor Eddie was a slight, hunched figure wrapped in a tattered grey cloak

  apparently held together only by accumulated filth and grease. Even across a

  table the smell was appalling. He was said to be so dirty, plague rats wouldn't

  go near him in case they caught something. He was painfully thin, with a

  hollowed face and fever-bright eyes. At first glance he looked like just another

  down and out, but you only had to be in the man's presence a few moments to know

  there was something special about him. Special… and not a little disturbing.

  Razor Eddie got his name in a street fight over territory between two

  neighboring gangs. He was fourteen at the time, a slick and vicious killer, and

  already more than a little crazy. He spent the next few years working for anyone

  who'd have him, just for the action. And then, at the age of seventeen, he

  visited the Street of Gods and got religion in a big way. He turned his back on

  his violent past and walked the streets of the Northside, preaching love and

  understanding. A few people laughed at him, and threw things. Later, they were

  found dead, under mysterious circumstances. They weren't the last. After a while

  people learned to leave Razor Eddie strictly alone. He walked through the most

  dangerous areas in Haven, spreading his message, and came out unscathed. Once, a

  gang of ten bravos went into the Devil's Hook after him. No one ever saw them

  again. Razor Eddie had no fixed abode or territory; he slept in doorways and

  wandered where he would. Neither heat nor cold affected him, and he always

  seemed to have a little money, even in the hardest of times.

  He knew a lot of things, about a lot of people—if you could persuade him to

  talk. Most couldn't, but he'd taken a shine to Hawk and Fisher. Probably because

  unlike most other people, they weren't frightened of him. Hawk leant back in his

  chair and smiled easily at the hunched figure opposite him.

  "Hello, Eddie. How's life treating you?"

  "Mustn't grumble, Captain," said Razor Eddie. His voice was low and calm and

  very reasonable, but his eyes shone with a wild light. "There's always someone

  worse off than yourself. I've been waiting for you. You'll find the spy Fenris

  in the house with three gables on Leech Street. He uses it as a drop for passing

  information. You'll know Fenris by his bright green cravat. It's a signal for

  his contact."

  "You're not normally this forthcoming, Eddie," said Fisher, frowning. "What's so

  special about this Fenris?"

  "Unless someone stops him, two great houses will go down in flames. Blood will

  run in gutters and the screams will never end. There are wolves running loose

  among the flock, and they will bring us all down."

  Hawk and Fisher looked at each other briefly, and when they looked back, Razor

  Eddie's chair was empty. They looked quickly about them, but there was no sign

  of him anywhere in the tavern.

  "I hate it when he does that," said Fisher. "Well, what do you think? Is it

  worth a trip to Leech Street?"

  Hawk scowled. "Anyone else, I'd take it with a pinch of salt. But Eddie's

  different. He knows things. And if he thinks we're all in danger because of this

  Fenris…"

  "Yeah," said Fisher. "Worrying, that."

  "It's the best lead we've got."

  "It's the only lead we've got."

  "Exactly."

  Fisher shook her head. "Let's go check it out."

  They grinned at each other, got up, and made their way back through the crowded

  tables. The re
staurant was still utterly silent, their every move followed by

  hostile eyes. They got to the door, and Hawk paused and looked back. He smiled,

  and bowed courteously to the sea of unfriendly faces. Fisher blew the room a

  kiss, and then the two Guards disappeared into the night.

  Leech Street was bold and brassy and more than a little shop-soiled. Brightly

  painted whores gathered together on street corners like so many raucous birds of

  paradise, or leaned out of first-floor windows in revealing underwear, watching

  the world go by with knowing mascarad eyes. Street traders hawked jewelry so

  freshly stolen the true owners hadn't even realized it was gone yet, and

  hole-in-the-wall taverns provided cheap shots of spirits so rough they all but

  seethed in the bottle. The air was full of chatter and laughter and the harsh

  banter of the strip-show barkers. Here and there, gaudily dressed pimps leant

  casually in open doorways, ostentatiously cleaning their fingernails with the

  point of a knife, alert for the first sign of trouble. Prospective clients,

  trying to appear anonymous, thronged one end of the street to the other, eyeing

  the various merchandise and working up their courage to the sticking point.

  Hawk, watching the bustling scene from the concealing shadows of an alley mouth,

  yawned widely. He and Fisher had been in position for almost an hour waiting for

  Fenris to show up, and what little tawdry glamour the street possessed had long

  since worn thin. When you got past the noise and the bright colors, Leech Street

  seemed more sad and sleazy than anything else, with everyone trying desperately

  to pretend they were something other than what they really were. Hawk derived

  some amusement from the attempts of most of the would-be customers to give the

  impression they just happened to be passing through, but the street itself held

  no attractions for him. He'd seen the official figures on violence and robbery

  in this area, not to mention venereal disease. In some establishments, the crabs

  were reputed to be so big they jumped out on dithering passersby and dragged

  them bodily inside.

  Bored, Hawk leant gingerly back against the grimy alley wall and kicked at an

  empty bottle on the ground. It rolled slowly away, hesitated, and then rolled

  back again. After a fruitless hour standing watch, this was almost exciting.

  Hawk sighed deeply. He hated doing stakeouts. He didn't have the patience for