Guards of Haven Page 5

  “I think we may have a problem here,” said Hawk, taking a firm hold on his axe.

  “You always did have a gift for understatement,” said Fisher. “What the hell’s happening to him?”

  “From the look of it, I’d say the sorcerer wasn’t averse to sampling his own wares. He’s got to the stage where he can shapechange at will.”

  “You know, this strikes me as a good time to get the hell out of here and yell for reinforcements.”

  “We can’t. He’s between us and the nearest door. We’re going to have to stop him ourselves.”

  “Oh, great. How?”

  “I’m thinking!”

  Grimm lurched forward, his jaws snapping shut like a steel trap. There was no longer anything human in his face. Hawk and Fisher quickly separated, to attack him from different sides, and each of the sorcerer’s eyes crawled to different positions on his head so that he could watch both Guards at once. Hawk darted in and cut at Grimm with his axe. The heavy steel head sheared through the sorcerer’s waist and out again, but no blood flew. The wound closed immediately, the unnatural flesh flowing seamlessly back together again. Fisher cut at Grimm from the other side, to no better effect. The sorcerer reached for Hawk with a gnarled, clawed hand. Hawk quickly retreated, but the hand just kept coming after him as the arm stretched to an impossible length.

  “The stone!” yelled Hawk, backing frantically away. “Try the suppressor stone on him!”

  “I’ve already tried that! It doesn’t seem to affect him!”

  “Well, keep trying!” Hawk threw himself to one side and the clawing hand dug deep furrows in the wall behind him. He darted behind the writing desk. Grimm demolished it with one blow of a spiked arm. Hawk looked quickly round the room, checking for possible escape routes. Fisher clutched the suppressor stone in her hand, muttering the activating phrase over and over again. The stone suddenly flared with light, bright and dazzling, burning her hand with sudden heat. Fisher threw the stone straight at the sorcerer’s misshapen face. He snatched it out of midair and looked at it curiously. The stone exploded, ripping the sorcerer’s head from his body and shattering every window in the room.

  For a long moment there was silence, broken only by soft settling sounds as debris from the explosion pattered to the floor. Hawk and Fisher got slowly to their feet, brushing dust from their clothes. Where the hideous creature had been, lay a headless human body. Hawk shook his head gingerly, trying to shift the ringing in his ears. Fisher put an arm round his shoulders, and they leaned companionably together for a moment.

  “We didn’t do too well with this one, did we, Hawk?”

  “You could say that. Fenris has escaped, with a new face and body. The one man who could have helped us find him is now dead. And on top of all that, we’ve lost our suppressor stone. Some days you just shouldn’t get out of bed.”

  “Well,” said Fisher, “at least this time they can’t blame us for being impulsive.” Hawk looked at her. Fisher gestured at Grimm’s body. “After all, he’s the one who lost his head.”

  2

  Fenris Gone to Ground

  The cleanup squad finally made its appearance, with a meat wagon not far behind. Two Guard Constables chalked a rough outline round the headless body, and made laborious notes about the state of the corpse. The forensic sorcerer waited impatiently for them to finish, already in a foul mood at being dragged from his bed so early in the morning. Hawk and Fisher leant against a wall together, drinking the late sorcerer’s wine and trying to put together some kind of report that wouldn’t get them both busted down to Constable, or beyond.

  The two Constables unhurriedly compared notes, and then got out of the way so that the forensic sorcerer could do his stuff. He glared venomously at them, then knelt down by the body and rolled up his sleeves. Hawk and Fisher looked at each other and unanimously decided this might be a good time to get some fresh air. On-the-spot autopsies tended to be thorough, but messy. Hawk drained the last of the wine from the bottle he and Fisher had been passing back and forth, and his lips thinned away from the dregs. It had been a piss-poor vintage, but the sourness suited his mood. No matter what kind of report he and Fisher eventually handed in, he had no doubt they were both in real trouble.

  They left Grimm’s quarters and clattered down the exterior stairway to the street below. The meat wagon’s horses tossed their heads and snorted loudly, their breath steaming on the chill air. Hawk looked away. Reminders of his own mortality made him uncomfortable. Strange lights flared in the windows above as the forensic sorcerer set about dismantling Grimm’s remaining wards and shields, and defusing any booby traps that hadn’t yet been triggered. Fisher hugged herself as a cold wind swept by.

  “I can’t help thinking we’re missing something, Hawk. We know why Fenris came here; to get a new face. But how did Grimm get involved with Fenris in the first place? He had a nice little racket going here. Judging by the records we found, he was already making more money than he knew what to do with. So why risk it all, by dealing with a traitor? He didn’t need the money, and there’s nothing in his file to suggest he was at all political.”

  “Maybe he just liked the excitement, the intrigue,” said Hawk. “He wouldn’t be the first fool to be seduced by dreams of making history, of playing with the real shakers and movers. Or maybe he just had some kind of grudge against the Council, and saw this as his chance for revenge. I’ve known stranger motives. Doesn’t make much difference now, anyway. The man is dead, and our case died with him. Odds are we’ll never find out what it was all about.”

  The low, steady clamour of a brass bell filled both their heads as the Guard communications sorcerer made contact. Hawk shook his head gingerly as the deep ringing sound faded away. “I think I preferred it when he used the gong. That bloody bell goes right through me.” He broke off as the bell gave way to the rasping voice of the communications sorcerer.

  Captains Hawk and Fisher are to report to Commander Dubois at Guard Headquarters immediately. This instruction has top priority. All other orders are rescinded.

  Hawk and Fisher waited a moment to see if there was any more, and then looked at each other. “Didn’t take long for the news to reach our superiors, did it?” said Hawk.

  Fisher shrugged. “Haven loves bad news. And you can bet there were people lining up for the chance to drop us in it. We’ve always been too honest to be popular.”

  “What the hell,” said Hawk. “We’ve weathered worse storms than this.”

  “Right,” said Fisher. “Just keep our heads down, and it’ll all blow over.”

  “You really believe that?”

  “No. How about you?”

  “No. Even so, Dubois had better not shout at me,” said Hawk firmly. “I’m not in the mood to be shouted at. In fact, if he raises his voice to me I think I’ll hit him somewhere low and painful.”

  “How is that going to help us?”

  “It couldn’t hurt.”

  “True.”

  Hawk and Fisher had barely walked through the front door at Guard Headquarters when a Constable appeared, seemingly from nowhere, and insisted on escorting them straight to Dubois’ office. Other Guards avoided Hawk’s and Fisher’s eyes as they made their way through the Headquarters building. Word had got around and no one wanted to risk guilt by association. Hawk smiled humourlessly, and let his hand drift down to the axe at his side. He glanced across at Fisher, and saw that her hand was already resting on the pommel of her sword.

  The Constable brought them to Dubois’ office and knocked briskly on the door. There was barely a pause before the Commander’s voice summoned them in. The Constable opened the door, and stood back for Hawk and Fisher to enter. Hawk strolled casually in, Fisher at his side. The door shut behind them. Hawk listened carefully, but didn’t hear any sound of the Constable departing. Now, that was interesting. It meant that the man was still there. Presumably on guard to keep people out ... or in. Hawk smiled inwardly as he and Fisher bowed formally to Comm
ander Dubois. If he and Fisher decided it was in their best interests to leave in a hurry, it would take a lot more than one Guard Constable to stop them.

  Dubois glared at Hawk and Fisher from behind his desk and sniffed disgustedly. “Gods, you’re a mess. I’ve seen beggars in the Devil’s Hook who looked more presentable than you two do right now. You’re a disgrace to your uniform.”

  Hawk looked down at himself, and had to admit the Commander had a point. His clothes were badly torn and soaked with blood from the various fights he’d got involved in that evening. A quick glance at Fisher revealed she hadn’t fared any better. Her furs were stained and matted from the garbage she’d fallen in outside Madam Zara’s. And what with all the exertions of the evening, the fact was they both smelled pretty bad. Hawk had a sudden intense desire to stand downwind of himself. He looked back at Dubois, and put on his best innocent face. Dubois glared at him even harder. The complete lack of hair on his head somehow made his scowl all the more impressive.

  “And you’ve lost your cloak again, Hawk! What happened this time? Someone sneak up behind you and steal it while you weren’t looking? Where the hell is your cloak?”

  Hawk had to stop and think, so Fisher quickly answered for him. “It’s pinned to a wall in a spiritualist’s house.”

  Dubois winced. “I’m not even going to ask you what you were doing at a spiritualist’s. I don’t think my nerves could stand it. Do you realize, Hawk, you go through more new cloaks in a year than most Guards use up in a lifetime’s service to the city? Do you know how much those cloaks cost?”

  “Yes,” said Hawk. “Because you always deduct the cost from my wages.”

  “Damn right!” said Dubois. “You’re not screwing up my budget for the year. Perhaps you would also like to explain why you failed to turn in your suppressor stone to the Armoury, as ordered.”

  “Would that help to get us off the hook?” said Hawk.

  “Not in the least.”

  “Then I don’t think I’ll bother.”

  Fisher butted in quickly as Dubois’ face darkened. “Be fair; it saved both our arses tonight. If the stone hadn’t blown up in Grimm’s face when it did, we might both have been killed.”

  “I could live with that,” said Dubois.

  He picked up a sheet of paper from his desk and frowned at it. Hawk studied the Commander’s bowed head thoughtfully. Something was going on. Dubois should be tearing strips off them for letting Fenris get away, not carping about their appearance, or niggling over lost cloaks and the illegal use of a suppressor stone. Dubois had never made any secret of the fact that he didn’t approve of Hawk and Fisher’s methods, and was usually only too happy to find something about their work he could criticize. The Fenris debacle should have been just what he needed to bust them down to Constable, or worse. Instead, he hadn’t even mentioned the spy. If he hadn’t known better, Hawk would have sworn Dubois was trying to avoid telling them something unpleasant.

  Hawk’s mind raced furiously. Maybe the Council had found out about Fenris getting away, and had decided to blame everything on the two Guards. It wouldn’t be too hard for the Council to make out a case of treason against them. They could claim the Guards had deliberately let the spy escape, and then killed Grimm to cover their tracks. Hawk forced himself to calm down. It needn’t be that bad. It could be that Dubois just had some really nasty job lined up for them, as penance for failing to bring in Fenris. Now, that was much more likely. Hawk began to relax a little. Whatever it was, he and Fisher could handle it. After five years working the Northside they could handle anything.

  Dubois carefully put down the piece of paper, tapped it with his fingers a few times, and then looked up at Hawk and Fisher. “For once in your lives, you’ve struck it lucky. We know where Fenris is. The Council circle of sorcerers knew that Grimm was somehow involved with the traitors, and kept an unobtrusive watch on him. So when Fenris did a runner with his new face, they were able to follow him magically, all the way to his new hiding place.”

  “Wait a minute,” said Fisher. “If we know where he is, why can’t we just walk right in and grab him?”

  “Unfortunately, it’s not that simple.”

  “Somehow I didn’t think it would be,” said Hawk.

  Dubois sniffed. “Fenris has gone to ground at Tower MacNeil, just outside the city wall. That much the sorcerers are certain of. But it seems our man has some sorcerous protection of his own, presumably supplied by his superiors. Our people couldn’t get close enough to see what his new face looks like.”

  “No problem,” said Hawk. “We burst in there, arrest everyone, and sort out which is Fenris later.”

  “I thought you’d come up with something like that,” said Dubois. “Don’t even think about it. The MacNeils are one of the oldest and most respected Families in Haven. We don’t dare touch them. If it should turn out one of the MacNeils was the traitor, it would be a major scandal. We have very explicit orders to avoid any such thing. And that, Gods help us, is where you come in.”

  “All right,” said Fisher. “I’ll bite. Why us?”

  “Well, thanks to you and your partner’s incompetence, what description we did have of Fenris is now obsolete. But at least you two have met the man in person. There’s always the chance you’ll recognize some mannerism or habit that’ll give him away. So you are going in there after him, suitably disguised. Your job is to identify Fenris, and get him out of the Tower without anyone else catching on. It’s not much of a plan, so the fact that we’re going ahead with it will give you some idea of how desperate we are. Any questions so far?”

  “Yeah,” said Hawk. “What kind of place is Tower MacNeil?”

  “Home to the MacNeils for fourteen generations. Protected by old sorcery and one of Haven’s finest security firms. The head of the Family, Duncan MacNeil, died last month. Which means, luckily for us, that things are in something of a turmoil at the moment. Duncan’s son Jamie is to be the new head of the Family, the MacNeil, as he’s called. And, as is customary, all living members of the Family will be gathering at Tower MacNeil to pay their respects to the new head, and jockey for positions of influence and power. Nothing like a Family funeral to bring out the vultures. Fenris will presumably be trying to pass himself off as one of the more remote cousins. This is how we’re going to get you in.”

  Hawk and Fisher looked at each other.

  “Wait a minute,” said Hawk. “You mean we’re going to be masquerading as Quality?”

  “Got it in one,” said Dubois. “What’s the matter? Don’t you think you can do it?”

  “That’s not the point,” said Fisher. “The last I heard, passing yourself off as Quality was still punishable by death. Is that being waived in our case?”

  “No,” said Dubois. “Whatever the outcome, officially you were never there. If you do get caught, we’ll disclaim all knowledge of you. This is a very delicate situation.”

  Hawk thought for a moment. “Is this a volunteer situation?”

  “Yes,” said Dubois. “I volunteered you. Given the alternatives, I wouldn’t argue if I were you.”

  Fisher looked at him steadily. “We don’t like being pressured, Dubois. We don’t like it at all.”

  Dubois fought down an urge to shrink back in his chair as a sudden chill ran through him. Without moving a muscle, Hawk and Fisher had suddenly become dangerous. An air of menace and imminent violence filled the tiny office, as though a slumbering wolf had suddenly awakened and shown its teeth. Dubois paled slightly, but didn’t flinch.

  “Renegade Guards tend to have very short life spans,” he said evenly. “If anything was to happen to me, you wouldn’t even make it to the city gates.”

  Hawk smiled. “You might be right, Dubois. But I wouldn’t count on it if I were you. We’ve faced worse odds in the past. We’ll do your dirty work for you, this time. I think we owe it to the Council, for letting Fenris get away from us. But if you ever try to pressure us like this again, Dubois, I’ll kill you.
Believe it.”

  Dubois met Hawk’s cold stare for a moment, and then looked away. When he looked back, Hawk and Fisher were just Guards again. The air of violence was gone, as though it had never been. For the first time, Dubois understood how they’d gained their reputation. He got to his feet and cleared his throat carefully. He didn’t want to sound nervous or uncertain. “Let’s go. We’ve got just under two hours to turn the pair of you into regular young flowers of the aristocracy and deliver you to Tower MacNeil.”

  “No problem,” said Hawk. “We can be as aristocratic as the next man, if pushed.”

  “Right,” said Fisher, with an impeccable upper-class accent. “All we have to do is act arrogant and obnoxious at all times, and remember not to blow our noses on our sleeves without crooking our little fingers. What could go wrong?”

  Dubois swallowed hard, but said nothing. There were times when mere words seemed inadequate.

  He hustled them out of his office and through the bustling corridors to an anonymous file room safely out of everyone’s way. He ushered them in, and then locked the door behind them. A Guard medical sorcerer rose quickly to his feet, nodded stiffly to the two Guards and looked enquiringly at Dubois. The Commander nodded, and the sorcerer shrugged. He was a dark and intense-looking man in his early forties, with a professional smile and large, powerful hands. He was overdressed in a dark, formal way, as though he were about to attend a funeral. Hawk looked at him suspiciously. He didn’t trust Haven doctors. They seemed to believe in suppositories for everything, from warts to deafness. He started to turn to Dubois, but Fisher beat him to it.

  “What’s the doctor doing here? We’re not sick.”