Guard Against Dishonor h&f-5 Page 6

  against the stone, and pulled it tight, until flesh bulged thickly up on either

  side of it. Hawk hefted the knife, and then brushed the little girl's hair

  gently with his free hand.

  "Don't wake up, lass. I'll be as quick as I can."

  He placed the edge of the knife against her leg, as close to the stones as he

  could get it, and began sawing.

  There was a lot more blood than he'd expected, and he had to tighten the belt

  twice more before he could stem most of the flow. When he was finished, he tore

  off one of his sleeves and wrapped it tightly round the stump. His arms and face

  were splashed with blood, and he was breathing in great gulps, as though he'd

  just run a race. He turned over on his back again, grabbed his lantern, and

  began inching his way back down the tunnel, dragging the unconscious girl along

  behind him. He didn't know how long he'd spent in the narrow tunnel, but it felt

  like forever.

  The tunnel roof soon rose enough to let him get to his hands and knees again,

  and he crawled along through the darkness, hugging the child to his chest. He

  suddenly found himself at the base of the main shaft, and stopped for a moment

  to get his breath. He ached in every muscle, and he'd torn his hands and knees

  to ribbons. But he couldn't let himself rest. The little girl needed expert

  medical help, and she was running out of time. He held the girl tightly to his

  chest with one arm and slowly began to climb back up the shaft, with only his

  legs and his back to support his weight and that of the child.

  It didn't take long before the pain in his tired muscles became excruciating,

  but he wouldn't stop. The girl was depending on him. Foot by foot he fought his

  way up the shaft, grunting and snarling with the effort, his gaze fixed on the

  gradually widening circle of light above him. He finally drew near the surface,

  and eager hands reached down to take the child and help Hawk the rest of the

  way. He clambered laboriously out and lay stretched out on the rubble, squinting

  at the bright daylight and drawing in deep lungfuls of the comparatively clean

  air. Fisher swore softly at the state of his hands and knees, helped him sit up,

  and wrapped his cloak around him. Someone brought him a cup of lukewarm soup,

  and he sipped at it gratefully.

  "The child," he said thickly. "What have they done with her?"

  "A doctor's looking at her now," said Fisher. "And as soon as you've finished

  that soup we're going to get one to take a look at you, as well. God, you're a

  mess, Hawk. Was it bad down there?"

  "Bad enough."

  Eventually he got to his feet again, and Fisher found him a doctor who could

  work the right healing spells. The wounds closed up easily enough, but there was

  nothing the doctor could do for physical and emotional exhaustion. Hawk and

  Fisher looked around them. The dead and injured had been laid out in neat rows

  on the snow, the dying and the recovering lying side by side. A large pile of

  unidentified body parts had been tactfully hidden under a blood-spattered

  tarpaulin. Hawk shook his head numbly.

  "All this, to catch one drug baron and his people. Tomorrow there'll be a dozen

  just like him fighting to take his place, and it will all have to be done

  again."

  "Stop that," said Fisher sharply. "None of this is your fault. It's Morgan's

  fault, for having set up a pocket dimension here in the first place. And if we

  hadn't acted to stop the super-chacal being distributed, there's no telling how

  many thousands might have died across the city."

  Hawk didn't answer. He looked slowly about him, taking in the situation.

  Engineers and sorcerers had got together to stabilize the surrounding buildings,

  and people were being allowed back into them again. That should please the slum

  landlords. Even they couldn't charge rent on a pile of rubble. Firemen were

  moving among the wreckage, shoring up the few broken walls and inner structures

  that hadn't collapsed completely. A few people were still sifting through the

  rubble, but the general air of urgency was gone. Much of the real work had been

  done now, and most people had accepted that there probably weren't going to be

  any more survivors. The volunteers had gone home, exhausted, and Hawk felt he

  might as well do the same. There was nothing left for him to do, he was out on

  his feet, and it had to be well past the end of his double shift. He was just

  turning to Fisher to tell her it was time to go, when there was the sound of

  gentle flute music, and the dry, acid voice of the communications sorcerer

  filled his head.

  Captains Hawk and Fisher, return to Guard Headquarters immediately. This order

  supersedes all other directives.

  Hawk looked at Fisher. "Typical. Bloody typical. What the hell do they want

  now?"

  "Beats me," said Fisher. "Maybe they want to congratulate us for finally nabbing

  Morgan. There are a lot of people at Headquarters who'll fight for the chance to

  ask him some very pointed questions."

  Hawk sniffed. "With our luck, they'll probably screw it up in the Courts, and

  he'll plea-bargain his way out with a fine and a suspended sentence."

  "Relax," said Fisher. "We got him dead to rights this time. What can possibly go

  wrong?"

  "What do you mean, you let him go?" screamed Hawk. He lunged across the desk at

  Commander Glen, and Fisher had to use all her strength to hold him back. The

  Commander pushed his chair back well out of reach, and glared at them both.

  "Control yourself, Captain! That's an order!"

  "Stuff your order! Do you know how many people died so we could get that

  bastard?"

  He finally realized he couldn't break free from Fisher without hurting her, and

  stopped struggling. He took a deep breath and nodded curtly to Fisher. She let

  go of him and stepped back a pace, still watching him warily. Hawk fixed

  Commander Glen with a cold, implacable glare. "Talk to me, Glen. Convince me

  there's some reason behind this madness. Or I swear I'll do something one of us

  will regret."

  Commander Glen sniffed, and met Hawk's gaze unflinchingly. Glen was a tallish,

  blocky man in his late forties, with a permanent scowl and a military-style

  haircut that looked as though it had been shaped with a pudding bowl. He had

  large, bony hands and a mouth like a knife-cut. He'd spent twenty years in the

  Guard, and amassed a reputation for thief-taking unequaled in the Guard. He'd

  been day Commander for seven years, and ran his people like his own private

  army, demanding and getting complete obedience. Ordinarily, he didn't have to

  deal much with Hawk and Fisher, which suited all of them.

  Glen pushed his chair forward, and leaned his elbows on the desk. "You want me

  to explain myself, Captain Hawk? Very well. Thanks to your going after Morgan

  without waiting for orders or a backup, we now find ourselves faced with major

  loss of life and destruction of property within the Devil's Hook. We still don't

  know exactly how many died because of your actions, but the current total is

  four hundred and six. The Hook's still in shock at the moment, but when they

  finally realize what's happened, and that the Guard was re
sponsible, we're going

  to be facing riots it'll take half the Guard to put down! On top of that,

  there's the cost of rebuilding and repairs, which is going to run into thousands

  of ducats. The landlord of the tenement is suing the Guard for that money, and

  he'll probably win. And finally, you assaulted a gang leader in front of his own

  people. Does the word vendetta mean anything to you, Captain Hawk?"

  "I don't give a damn about any of that," said Hawk, his voice carefully

  controlled. "What I did was justified by the circumstances. Morgan was preparing

  to distribute a drug that would have killed thousands of people and torn Haven

  apart. Now, explain to me, please, why this man was allowed to go free."

  "There was no evidence against him," said Glen flatly.

  "No evidence? What about the super-chacal?" said Fisher. "There were crates of

  the damn stuff; I helped number and label them."

  "I never saw any drugs," said Glen. "Neither has anyone else. And none of the

  prisoners had any drugs in their possession when they were searched here. None

  of them had even heard of this super-chacal you keep mentioning. And thanks to

  your efforts, we don't even have any proof the pocket dimension ever existed.

  That leaves only your word and that of your men. And that's not good enough,

  against someone like Morgan. He's a man of standing in the business community,

  and a pillar of society. He also has a great many friends in high places. People

  with influence. He hadn't been in Headquarters ten minutes before pressure began

  coming down from Above. Without real evidence, we didn't have a case. So I let

  him go, along with all of his people. I might add that Morgan is strongly

  considering suing us for false arrest, and you in particular for assault. I

  can't believe you were stupid enough to hit him in front of witnesses."

  For a while, none of them said anything. It was very quiet in Glen's office, the

  only sound the murmur of people going back and forth about their business in the

  corridors outside.

  "There were crates of the drug," said Hawk finally. "If they've disappeared, it

  can only mean they vanished on their way here, or they were removed by people

  working inside Headquarters. Either way, we're talking about corrupt Guards. I

  demand an official investigation."

  "You can demand anything you want; you won't get it."

  "I want to talk to my men, the Constables who were with me on the raid."

  "I'm afraid that's not possible. They've already been detailed to other duties.

  Haven't you got the picture yet, Captain? As far as our superiors are concerned,

  this whole incident is a major embarrassment, and they want it forgotten as soon

  as possible. You've got some very important people mad at you. At both of you.

  They're looking for scapegoats, and you're tailor-made to fill the bill."

  "Let me see if I've got this straight," said Hawk, his voice dangerously calm.

  "Morgan has walked. So have all his people. And several tons of the most

  dangerous drug Haven has ever seen have gone missing. Have I missed anything?"

  "Yes," said Glen. "I've been instructed to suspend both of you, indefinitely,

  while a number of official charges against you are investigated. Charges such as

  reckless endangering of life and property, disobeying orders, assaulting

  citizens without provocation, brutality, and possible collusion in a vendetta

  against a faultless pillar of society. That last was Morgan, in case you were

  wondering."

  Hawk grabbed Glen's desk with both hands and threw it to one side. Papers flew

  on the air like startled birds as he grabbed two handfuls of Glen's uniform,

  picked him up, and slammed him against the nearest wall. He thrust his face

  close to the Commander's, until they were staring into each other's eyes.

  "No one's suspending me, you son of a bitch! Those drugs are still out there,

  waiting to be distributed! They have to be found and seized, and I can't do that

  with both hands tied behind my back! Do you understand me?"

  Glen looked over Hawk's shoulder at Fisher, standing by the overturned desk.

  "Call your partner off. Fisher."

  She shrugged, and folded her arms. "This time, I think I agree with him. If I

  were you, I'd agree with him too. Hawk can get very upset when he thinks people

  are conspiring against him."

  The door burst open behind them and two Constables rushed in with drawn swords,

  alarmed at the sounds of violence from the Commander's office. Fisher drew her

  sword and quickly moved to stand between them and Hawk and Glen. Hawk slowly put

  Glen down, but kept a tight hold on him.

  "Tell them to leave, Glen. This is private."

  "Not anymore," said Glen. "Not after your foul-up this morning. You can't fight

  your way out of this one, Hawk. Not even you and Fisher can take on the entire

  Guard."

  Hawk grinned suddenly. "Don't bet your life on it, Glen. We've faced worse odds

  in our time. Now, tell those over-eager friends of yours to leave, and we'll…

  discuss the situation."

  He let go of Glen, and stepped back a pace, his right hand resting casually on

  the axe at his side. The Commander nodded, and gestured for the two Constables

  to leave. They looked at each other, shrugged, put away their swords and left,

  not quite slamming the door behind them. Glen looked at Hawk.

  "You've upset them."

  "Oh dear," said Hawk. "What a pity. I'm not going on suspension, Glen. I've got

  too much to do."

  "Right," said Fisher.

  "Help me pick up my desk," said Glen, "and we'll talk about it."

  Hawk did so, while Fisher leaned against the wall, still holding her sword. Glen

  picked up his chair, and sat down behind his desk again. He glanced briefly at

  the papers scattered over the floor, then fixed his attention on Hawk and

  Fisher.

  "All right, no suspension. But I'll have to find somewhere to put you so you're

  out of sight until things calm down again."

  "Sounds sensible," said Fisher. "What did you have in mind?"

  "I can't have you working together; word would be bound to get out. But as it

  happens, I've got two jobs to fill that should suit the pair of you nicely. As

  you know, even though officially you shouldn't, Peace Talks are taking place in

  Haven at the moment, to try and put an end to the border clashes between the Low

  Kingdoms and our traditional enemy Outremer, before they get out of hand. The

  Talks themselves seem to be going well enough, but there are a number of

  political and business interests on both sides who would like very much to see

  them fail. Captain David ap Owen is currently in charge of security, but he's

  been under a lot of pressure and could use some assistance. Think you could

  handle that, Captain Fisher?"

  "Sounds fair enough to me," said Fisher, glancing at Hawk. "What level of

  security are we talking about?"

  "Absolute minimum. Officially, the Talks aren't happening here at all. We can't

  use troops to guard the delegates; that would be too conspicuous, so there'll

  just be yourself, Captain ap Owen, and a dozen Constables in plainclothes. We

  can't use any magical protection, either. Same reason; it would just attract

  attention. So if anything hap
pens, you're on your own. By the time you could get

  word to us it would all be over, one way or the other. You'll have to cope with

  what you've got."

  "Do the delegates know that?" said Hawk.

  "They suggested it. They're expendable, and they know it. Well, Captain Fisher,

  is the assignment to your liking?"

  "Sounds like fun," said Fisher.

  Glen looked at her for a moment, and then turned to Hawk. "I need someone to

  find the drugs that went missing. Surprisingly enough, I had worked out for

  myself how dangerous this super-chacal could be. I want to know how the stuff

  disappeared, and where it is now. And if you should find a way to incriminate

  Morgan in the process, I wouldn't be at all displeased. Find yourself another

  partner, someone you can trust, but keep your head down, and stay out of the

  public eye. If anything goes wrong, I'll swear blind you were acting on your

  own, and it's all nothing to do with me. I can't afford to have Morgan's friends

  as enemies. You'll report directly to me, and no one else. Is that acceptable,

  Captain Hawk?"

  "Sounds good to me," said Hawk. "Why didn't you tell us this earlier?"

  "You didn't exactly give me a chance. You were more interested in feeling

  aggrieved and wrecking my office."

  Fisher smiled. "Next time, talk faster."

  "Besides," said Hawk comfortingly, "it wasn't much of an office anyway."

  Glen looked at him.

  Hawk was working on his second beer when Captain Burns found him. The Cloudy

  Morning was a semiofficial off-duty tavern for the Guard, a traditional place

  for winding down at the end of a long shift. It was fairly basic as taverns go,

  with no frills and few comforts, but the beer was good and reasonably cheap, and

  the Guards needed a place where they could talk freely without having to worry

  about who might be listening. The place was run by an ex-Guard, and the general

  public were politely encouraged to drink elsewhere, unless they were Guard

  groupies. There were such, though not many Guards encouraged them. They tended

  to get obsessive.

  The place was crowded, as usual at the end of a shift, and Captain Burns had to

  squeeze his way through the press of bodies to reach the bar. Several Guards

  called out to him, and clapped him on the shoulder as he passed, but he just

  smiled and kept going. Hawk's message had sounded fairly urgent. He finally