Guards of Haven: The Adventures of Hawk and Fisher (Hawk & Fisher) Page 2

  “All right; pay attention!” Dubois looked sternly about him. “First the good news: The Council’s approved the money for overtime payments, starting immediately. Now the bad news: You’re going to earn it. Early this morning there was a riot in the Devil’s Hook. Fifty-seven dead, twenty-three injured. Two of the dead were Guards. Constables Campbell and Grzeshkowiak. Funeral’s on Thursday. Those wishing to attend, line up your replacements by Tuesday latest. It’s your responsibility to make sure you’re covered.

  “More bad news. The Dock-Workers Guild is threatening to resume their strike unless the Dock owners agree to spend more money on safe working conditions. Which means we can expect more riots. I’ve doubled the number of Constables in and around the Docks, but keep your eyes open. Riots have a way of spreading. And as if we didn’t have enough to worry about, last night someone broke into the main catacombs on Morrison Street and removed seventy-two bodies. Could be ghouls, black magicians, or some nut cult from the Street of Gods. Either way, it’s trouble. A lot of important people were buried in the catacombs, and their families are frothing at the mouth. I want those bodies back, preferably reasonably intact. Keep your ears to the ground. If you hear anything, I want to know about it.

  Now for the general reports. Captains Gibson and Doughty: Word is there’s a haunted house on Blakeney Street. Check it out. If it is haunted, don’t try to be heroes. Just clear the area and send for an exorcist. Captains Briars and Lee: We’ve had several reports of some kind of beast prowling the streets in East Gate. Only sightings so far, no attacks, but pick up silver daggers from the Armoury before you leave, just in case. Captains Fawkes and apOwen: You still haven’t found that rapist yet. We’ve had four victims already and that’s four too many. I don’t care how you do it, but nail the bastard. And if someone’s been shielding him, nail them too. This has top priority until I tell you otherwise.

  “Captains Hawk and Fisher: Nice to have you back with us after your little holiday with the God Squad. May I remind you that in this department we prefer to bring in our perpetrators alive, whenever possible. We all know your fondness for cold steel as an answer to most problems, but try not to be so impulsive this time out. Just for me.

  “Finally, we have three new rewards.” He smiled humourlessly as the Captains quickly produced notepads and pencils. Rewards were one of the few legitimate perks of the job, but Dubois was of the old school and didn’t approve. Rewards smelt too much like bribes to him, and distracted his men from the cases that really needed solving. He read out the reward particulars, deliberately speaking quickly to make it harder to write down the details. It didn’t bother Fisher. She was a fast writer. A low rumble at her side broke her concentration, and she elbowed Hawk viciously. He snapped awake and put on his best, interested expression.

  “One last item,” said Dubois. “All suppressor stones are recalled, as of now. We’ve been having a lot of problems with them just recently. I know they’ve proved very useful so far in protecting us from magical attacks, but we’ve had a lot of reports of stones malfunctioning or otherwise proving unreliable. There’s even been two cases where the damn things exploded. One Guard lost his hand. The stone blew it right off his arm. So, all stones are to be returned to the Armoury, as soon as possible, for checking. No exceptions. Don’t make me come looking for you.”

  He broke off as a Constable hurried in with a sheet of paper. He passed it to Dubois, who read it quickly and then questioned the Constable in a low voice. The Captains stirred uneasily. Finally Dubois dismissed the Constable and turned back to them.

  “It appears we have a spy on the loose in Haven. Nothing unusual there, but this particular spy has got his hands on some extremely sensitive material. The Council is in a panic. They want him caught, and they want him yesterday. So get out there and lean on your informants. Someone must know something. The city Gates have all been sealed, so he’s not going anywhere.

  “Unfortunately, the Council hasn’t given us much information to go on. We know the spy’s code name: Fenris. We, also have a vague description: tall and thin with blond hair. Apart from that, you’re on your own. Finding this Fenris now has top priority over all other cases until we’ve got him, or until the Council tells us otherwise. All right, end of briefing. Get out of here. And someone wake up Hawk.”

  There was general laughter as the Captains dispersed, and Fisher dragged Hawk towards the door, Hawk protesting innocently that he’d heard every word. He broke off as they left the squadroom, and Fisher headed for the Armoury.

  “Isobel, where are you going?”

  “The Armoury. To hand in the suppressor stone.”

  “Forget it,” said Hawk. “I’m not giving that up. It’s the only protection we’ve got against hostile magic.”

  Fisher looked at him. “You heard Dubois; the damned things are dangerous. I’m not having my hand blown off, just so you can feel a bit more secure.”

  “All right then, I’ll carry it.”

  “No you won’t. I don’t trust you with gadgets.”

  “Well, one of us has to have it. Or the next rogue magician we run into is going to hand us our heads. Probably literally.”

  Fisher sighed, and nodded reluctantly. “All right, but we only use the thing in emergencies. Agreed?”

  “Agreed.”

  They strode unhurriedly through the narrow Headquarters corridors and out onto the crowded street. Just a few weeks ago there’d been snow and slush everywhere, but the city’s weather wizards had finally got their act together and deflected the worst of the weather away from Haven, sending it out over the ocean. This wasn’t making them too popular with passing merchant ships, but no one in Haven cared what they thought.

  Not that the weather wizards had done anything more than buy Haven a few extra weeks, a month at most. Once the real winter storms started there was nothing anyone could do but nail up the shutters, stoke up the fire, and pray for spring. But for the moment the sky was clear, and the chilly air was no worse than an average autumn day. Hawk turned up his nose at the bracing air and pulled his cloak tightly around him. He didn’t like cloaks as a rule, they got in the way during fights, but he liked the cold even less. The weather in the Low Kingdoms was generally colder and harsher than in his homeland in the North, and it was during fall and winter that he missed the Forest Kingdom most of all. He smiled sourly as he looked out over the slumped buildings and grubby streets. He was a long way from home.

  “You’re thinking about the Forest again, aren’t you?” said Fisher.

  “Yeah.”

  “Don’t. We can’t go back.”

  “We might. Some day.”

  Fisher looked at him. “Sure,” she said finally. “Some day.”

  They strode down the packed street, the crowd giving way before them. There were a lot of people about for the time of night, but with winter so close, everyone was desperate to get as much done as they could before the storms descended and the streets became impassable. Hawk and Fisher smiled and nodded to familiar faces, and slowly made their way into the Northside, their beat and one of the worst areas in Haven. You could buy or sell anything there; every dirty little trade, every shape and form of evil and corruption grew and flourished in the dark and grimy streets of the Northside. Hawk and Fisher, who had worked the area for over five years, had grown blasé and hardened despite themselves. Yet every day the Northside came up with new things to shock them. They tried hard not to let it get to them.

  They made a tour of all the usual dives, looking for word on the spy Fenris, but to a man everyone they talked to swore blind they’d never even heard of the fellow. Hawk and Fisher took turns smashing up furniture and glaring up close at those they questioned, but not even their reputations could scare up any information. Which meant that either the spy had gone to ground so thoroughly that no one knew where he was, or his masters were paying out a small fortune in bribes to keep people’s mouths shut. Probably the former. There was always someone in the Northside wh
o’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 rumour, 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 honour. 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 wrist.

  “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, t
hough 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 Councillor 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.”