Guard Against Dishonor

  "I've sent for a doctor," said Hawk. "Take it easy. Save your strength."

  "They lied to us…"

  "Can you tell me what happened?" said Hawk. "You said something went wrong. What went wrong?"

  "It was a new drug. Supposed to be the best. Like chacal, only stronger. We were going to be like Gods. We were packing it up at the factory, ready to ship it out. Leon took some, for a lark. We tried it here, just a little. And then everything went bad."

  "Tell me about the factory," said Hawk. "Where is it?"

  The girl's hand drifted towards her wound again. Hawk stopped it, and put it back in her lap. She looked at him. "I'm cold."

  Hawk took off his cloak and wrapped it around her. She was shivering violently, and sweat ran down her face in rivulets. There was no color left in her face. Even her lips were white. Her breathing grew increasingly shallow, and when she spoke Hawk had to concentrate hard to make out the words.

  "Morgan's place. The Blue Dolphin. In the Hook."

  "All right, lass, take it easy. That's all I need. We'll get the bastards. You rest now. The doctor will be here soon."

  "Would you hold my hand? Please?"

  "Sure." Hawk took off one of his gloves and held her left hand, squeezing it comfortingly. Warm blood spilled down his wrist. "All right?"

  "Hold it up where I can see it. I can't feel it."

  Hawk started to lift her hand up before her face, but she'd stopped breathing. He was still holding her hand when Fisher finally came back with the Guard doctor.

  "I didn't even find out her name," said Hawk, pulling his cloak around his shoulders. Guard Constables and Captains summoned to the scene by the communications sorcerer spilled around Hawk and Fisher as they moved in and out of The Crossed Pikes tavern. They were carrying out the dead and lining them up in neat rows on the snow, ready for the meat wagon when it arrived. The Guard doctor hovered over them like an anxious relative, making notes on cause of death, for when the forensic sorcerer arrived. A large crowd had gathered, but were being kept back by two Constables. Hawk knelt down suddenly, and started roughly cleaning the blood from his hand with a handful of snow. Fisher put a hand on his shoulder and squeezed it comfortingly.

  "You did all you could, Hawk."

  "I know that."

  "She killed at least a dozen people in there. Probably more."

  "I know that too." He got to his feet and pulled his glove back on. "Before she died, she told me where they're making the stuff she took. It's Robbie Morgan's place, down in the Devil's Hook."

  Fisher looked at him sharply. "Standard procedure would be to contact Headquarters and tell them the factory's location. Since you haven't done that, I assume there's a good reason why not?"

  "I want these bastards, Isobel. I want them bad. It's a new drug, you see; they haven't released it yet. Can you imagine what the Northside will be like once this super-chacal hits the streets? We've got to stop it now. While we can."

  "So let the Drug Squad handle it. That's what they're paid for."

  "Oh no; I'm not risking this one going wrong. You can guarantee some Guard would tip Morgan off, in return for a sweetener. The Drug Squad would get there just a little too late and find nothing but an empty warehouse. That's happened too many times just recently. So I think we'll do this one ourselves."

  "Us? You mean, just you and me?"

  "Isobel, please; I haven't gone completely crazy. Morgan's probably got a small army of security people protecting the Blue Dolphin. But we've got a small army ourselves, right here. There's a dozen Constables, five Captains, and even a sorceress. We'll leave a few people here to mind the store, and take the rest."

  "On whose authority?"

  "Mine. If we bring this off, no one's going to ask any questions."

  "And if we don't?"

  Hawk looked at her steadily. "This is important to me, Isobel. She died right in front of me, scared and hurting, and there wasn't a damn thing I could do to help her. Just this once, we've got a chance to make a difference. A real difference. Let's do it."

  "All right. Let's do it. But how are we going to get the others to go along on an unofficial raid?"

  Hawk smiled. "Easy. We won't tell them it's unofficial."

  Fisher grinned back at him. "I like the way you think, Hawk."

  They finally ended up with an impromptu task force of ten Constables, two more Captains, and the sorceress Mistique; all blithely unaware that they were about to break every rule in the book. Which was probably for the best. That way, if anything did go wrong, Hawk and Fisher could take all the blame on themselves. Besides, no one with the brains they were born with would have volunteered if they'd known the truth. At which point Hawk decided very firmly that he wasn't going to think about the situation anymore. It was depressing him too much. All that mattered was shutting down the drug factory, and Morgan as well, if possible.

  Hawk had heard about Morgan. Most people in Haven had, one way or another. He'd made enough money down the years from drugs, prostitution, and murder to buy himself respectability. He was seen in all the best places, belonged to all the right clubs, and these days was officially regarded as above suspicion. In fact, he still had a dirty finger in every pie in Haven, though no one had ever been able to prove anything. But Hawk and Fisher knew, like every other Guard. They had to deal every day with the violence and suffering his businesses caused. Hawk frowned thoughtfully. It wasn't like Morgan to get so personally involved in a scheme like this, having the super-chacal packed and distributed from one of his own warehouses. And it also wasn't like him to get involved with such a dangerous drug. The more traditional drugs brought less publicity, were just as addictive, and therefore just as profitable. Hawk shrugged mentally. Every villain makes a mistake sooner or later, and Morgan had made a bad one.

  Hawk and Fisher led their people through the Northside at a quick march, heading for the Devil's Hook. They made an impressive spectacle, and the crowds drew back to let them pass. It was almost like a parade, but nobody cheered. The law wasn't popular in the Northside. Hawk looked back at his people, and smiled to himself. They might just bring this off after all. The Constables were some of the toughest Guards in Haven. They had to be, or they wouldn't have been working the Northside. And he knew both the Captains, by reputation, if not personally.

  Captain Andrew Doughty was a medium-height, stocky man in his late forties; a career Guard, with all the courage, cunning, and native caution that implied. He was blond-haired, blue-eyed, and glacially handsome, and his job was his life. He had a good enough reputation with his sword that he didn't have to keep proving it, but he liked to anyway, given the chance. He'd had a lot of partners in his time, but worked best alone. Mostly because he didn't trust anyone but himself.

  Captain Howard Burns was a tall, lean man in his late thirties, with an unruly mop of dark hair and a thick spade beard. He was an expert in personal and company security, and worked mostly in the Westside, overseeing the transfer of money or valuables from one location to another. He took his work very seriously, and had several official commendations for bravery. He had no sense of humor at all, but then, no one's perfect. Especially not in Haven.

  Hawk had worked with both of them in his time, and was glad he had someone apart from Fisher to watch his back this time. They were both good men, men he could depend on. The only real wild card in the pack was the sorceress Mistique. She was new to the Guard, and still looking for a chance to show what she could do. Mistique was a tall, slender, fluttering woman in her early thirties, dressed in sorcerer's black, carefully cut in the latest fashion to show lots of bare flesh. If the cold bothered her at all, she didn't show it. She had a long, horsey face, and a friendly, toothy grin that made her look ten years younger.

  She had a husky, upper-class accent and wouldn't answer questions about her background. She also had a thick mass of long black curly hair she had to keep sweeping back out of her eyes. All together, she wasn't exactly the most organized person Haw
k had ever met, but she was supposed to be bloody good at what she did, and he'd settle for that. Morgan's warehouse would undoubtedly be crawling with defensive magic and booby traps. The only real problem with Mistique was that she hardly ever seemed to stop talking. And she wore literally dozens of beads and bangles and bracelets that clattered loudly as she walked. Hawk made a mental note not to include her in any plans that involved sneaking up on the enemy.

  And then they came to the Devil's Hook, and Mistique's chatter stumbled to a halt. Even casual conversation died away quickly as Hawk led his people into the Hook. It was a bad place to be, and they all knew it. The Devil's Hook was the single poorest, most decayed, and most dangerous area in Haven. A square mile of slums and alleyways backing onto the main Docks, the Hook held more crime, corruption, and open misery than most people could bear to think about. The squalid tenement buildings were crammed with sweatshops that paid starvation wages for work on goods that often fetched high prices in the better parts of the city. Child labor was common, as was malnutrition and disease. No one ventured into the stinking streets alone or unarmed. The Guard patrolled the Hook very loosely rather than risk open warfare with the gangs who ran it. The gangs weren't as powerful as they once were, thanks to some sterling work by the sorcerer Gaunt, but after he left Haven the bad times soon returned as new gangs established themselves and fought for territory. Nobody was surprised. No one made any complaints. The Hook was where you ended up when you had nowhere else to go but a pauper's grave.

  All in all, the perfect spot for a new drug factory.

  The Blue Dolphin was a squalid little lock-up warehouse, on one end of a rotting tenement. Chemicals from nearby factories had stained and pitted the stonework, and all the windows were boarded up. It was cheaper than shutters. The street was deserted, but Hawk could feel the pressure of watching eyes. He brought his people to a halt outside the warehouse, and quickly set up a defensive perimeter. The last thing they needed was a gang attack while they were occupied with the drug factory. Fisher moved in close beside him.

  "Are you sure this is the right place, Hawk? If Morgan's got a packing and distribution setup here, he's going to need a lot more room than this pokey little warehouse."

  "This is the place," said Hawk, hoping he sounded more convinced than he felt. When all was said and done, all he had to go on was the dying words of a girl already out of her mind on chacal. He pushed the thought to one side. He'd believed her then; he had to believe her now. Or she had died for nothing.

  "There are mystic wards all over the place," said Mistique. Hawk jumped slightly. He hadn't heard her come up behind him. The sorceress smiled briefly, and then turned her attention back to the warehouse. "I can't quite make out what kind of wards, though. Given the circumstances, I think we ought to tread carefully, just in case."

  Hawk nodded, and gestured to two of the Constables. They moved forward and cautiously tried the warehouse door. It was locked, which surprised no one. One Constable kicked the door. His clothes burst into flames that leapt up around him in seconds. He screamed shrilly and staggered back, beating at his blazing clothes with his hands. The other Constable quickly pulled him down and rolled him back and forth in the snow to smother the flames. Hawk scowled. He hadn't expected to hit a magic defense this quickly. He made sure the injured Constable would be all right, and then turned to the sorceress.

  "Get us in there, Mistique. I don't care how you do it, but do it fast. They know we're here now."

  The sorceress nodded eagerly, her earrings jangling accompaniment. She stared thoughtfully at the door, and wisps of fog began to appear around her, circling and twisting on the still air. The misty grey strands grew thicker, undulating disturbingly as they drifted away from the sorceress towards the warehouse door. The mists looked almost alive, and purposeful. They curled around the door, seeping past the edges and sinking into the wood itself. Mistique made a sudden, sharp gesture and the door exploded. Fragments and splinters of rotting wood rained down on the Guards as they shielded themselves with their cloaks. Where the door had been, there was now nothing but an impenetrable darkness.

  Mistique turned to look at Hawk. Strands of fog still swirled around her, like ethereal serpents with no beginning or end. "Fast enough for you, darling?"

  "Very impressive," said Hawk courteously, trying hard not to sound too impressed. "Can you tell us anything about what's beyond the doorway?"

  "That's the bad news, I'm afraid," said Mistique. "The darkness is a dimensional gateway, leading to a small pocket dimension, the inside of which is a damn sight bigger than that lock-up. I've knocked out the protective wards so we can get in there, but I've absolutely no idea of what might be waiting for us. Sorry to be such a drag, but whoever designed this beastly setup was jolly good at his job."

  "All right," said Hawk. "We'll just have to take it as it comes. Brace yourselves, people; we're going in. I want Morgan alive, and preferably intact so we can ask him questions. Anyone else is fair game. I'd prefer prisoners to corpses, but don't put yourselves at risk. We don't know what kind of odds we'll be facing. Try not to wreck the place too much; you never know what might turn out to be useful evidence. Right. Let's do it."

  He hefted his axe and walked forward, Fisher and Mistique on either side of him. From behind came a brief whisper of steel on leather as the Guards drew their weapons and started after him. Hawk gritted his teeth and plunged into the darkness. There was a sharp moment of intense heat, and then he burst through into Morgan's factory. His first sight of the place was almost enough to stop him in his tracks, but he forced himself to keep going to make room for the others coming behind. Morgan's warehouse was an insane mixture of planes and angles and inverted stairways that could not have existed in anything but a pocket universe.

  There was no up or down, in any way that made any sense. People walked on one side of a surface or another, or on both, and gravity seemed merely a matter of opinion. Simple wooden stairways connected the various level planes, twisting and turning around each other like mating snakes, and walls became floors became ceilings, depending on which way you approached them. Hawk shook off his disorientation and concentrated on the force of armed men rushing towards him from a dozen different directions. He didn't have to count them to know his own small group was vastly outnumbered.

  "Mistique!" he yelled quickly. "Take out the stairways. Bring this place down around their ears!"

  "I'm afraid we have a slight problem, dear," said the sorcerer, staring off into the distance. "Morgan has his own sorceress here, and I'm rather tied up at the moment keeping him from killing us all."

  "Can you take him?"

  "Probably, if you stop interrupting. And if you can keep those nasty-looking men-at-arms away from me."

  Hawk yelled instructions to his people, and the Constables moved forward to form a barrier between Mistique and the approaching men-at-arms, while Captain Doughty and Captain Burns stayed at her side as bodyguards. Fisher looked at Hawk.

  "And what are we going to do?"

  "Find Morgan," said Hawk grimly. "I'm not taking any chances on his getting away. Mistique, when you're ready, don't wait for orders from me. Just trash the place."

  Mistique nodded, absorbed in her sorcerous battle. Thick strands of fog twisted around her like dogs straining at the leash. Hawk started down the nearest stairway, with Fisher close behind him. They hadn't gone far when Hawk heard the first clash of steel as his people met the men-at-arms. He didn't look back.

  In what might have been the center of the mad tangle of planes and stairways was a more-or-less open area with a lot of excited movement. It seemed as good a place as any to start looking. The stairs turned and twisted under Hawk, and he quickly learned to keep his gaze on his feet and ignore what was going on around him. A man-at-arms in full chain mail came running up the stairs, waving his sword with more confidence than style. Hawk cut him down with a single blow, and hurled his body over the side of the stairway. The dead man fell in hal
f a dozen different directions before disappearing from sight in the maze of stairways.

  More men-at-arms came charging towards Hawk, six men in the lead, with a lot more on the way. Bad odds, on a rickety wooden staircase. He looked quickly about him, and grinned as he spotted a large flat plane not too far away. It stood at right angles to him, but then, so did the two men on it, frantically packing paper parcels into two large crates on a wide table. He looked back at Fisher, and pointed at the plane. She raised an eyebrow, and then nodded sharply. They clambered up onto the narrow wooden banister, which creaked dangerously under their weight, and leapt out into space towards the right-angled plane. Gravity changed suddenly as they left the stairs, and slammed them down hard on the bare wooden plane.

  Hawk and Fisher hit the floor rolling, and were quickly up on their feet again. The two men packing were already gone. Hawk hefted one of the small paper parcels, and then looked at the size of the packing case. That crate could hold an awful lot of drugs… if it was drugs. A horrible thought struck him, and he opened the packet and sniffed cautiously at the grey powder inside. He relaxed slightly and blew his nose hard. It was chacal. The sharp acidic smell was quite distinctive. Fisher yelled a warning, and he threw the packet aside and looked up. A man-at-arms leaned out from an upside-down stairway overhead and cut at Hawk with his sword. Hawk parried with his axe, but couldn't reach high enough to attack the man. He backed away, and the swordsman moved along the stairway after him. There was a strange, dreamlike quality to the fight, with both men upside-down to the other, but Hawk knew better than to let the strangeness distract him. If he couldn't figure out a way to get at his opponent, he was a dead man. An axe wasn't made for defense. He bumped into the table, and an idea struck him. He grabbed the open packet and threw the chacal powder into the other man's face. The man-at-arms screamed, and dropped his sword to claw at his eyes with both hands.

  "Hawk!"

  He spun round to find Fisher standing at the edge of the plane, fighting off three of the five men-at-arms who'd jumped down off the banister after the Guards. Two already lay dead at her feet. Hawk sprinted over to join her, ducked under the first man's sword, and swung his axe in a vicious sideways arc. The heavy steel axehead punched through the man's chain mail and buried itself in his rib cage. Bones broke and splintered, and the impact drove the man-at-arms to his knees, coughing blood. Hawk yanked the axe free and booted the man off the edge of the plane. The dying man fell upwards out of sight.