“You’ll have to deal with the unions now,” said Fisher. “And after the way you’ve treated them, they’re going to drive a real hard bargain before they let you woo them back again. Better tighten your belts, boys. Profits are going to be way down this year.”
* * *
Things got bloody after that. Hawk and Fisher had their list of evil men and women, and more than enough reason to go after all of them. They went where no Guards had ever dared go before, and brought death and terror to the city’s predators in one fast rampage through the darkest parts of Haven’s underworld. Villains who had long thought themselves above or beyond the law now discovered they were not beyond the reach of Hawk and Fisher, and the long-postponed rage in their hearts. Chance and Chappie knew they were just along for the ride, and mostly settled for watching Hawk’s and Fisher’s backs as they brought their own savage brand of justice and retribution to those who had so long evaded it.
Not all that long afterward, they were studying a first-class restaurant in the very civilized hub of the city, around which the other Quarters revolved. Here were the very best establishments, for shopping and cuisine and the latest fashions. Only the very richest shopped here, of course, and there were private guards everywhere to keep out the merely curious. The crime rate was astonishingly low for Haven, because anyone who even considered making trouble there very rarely survived to stand trial. This was the playground of the moneyed and the powerful and the fashionable, and they liked their peace and quiet and privacy. They strolled unhurriedly down the pleasant tree-lined streets, arrayed in all their finery like so many preening peacocks. The foursome observed their target restaurant from across the street, in the concealing shadows of an alley mouth. As long as they stayed close to a tradesmen’s route, they were, for all practical purposes, invisible, as the higher orders would never stoop to recognize a servant’s presence.
The restaurant was currently packed, and there were large armed men guarding the door to ensure that no one else so much as paused to read the handwritten menus in the windows. Surprisingly, no one objected to this. They knew who was dining within, though they pretended not to. Chappie sniffed at the air appreciatively, licking his chops.
“By God, someone in there knows what he’s doing. I can smell every kind of meat there ever was, and a whole bunch of sauces so good, they make my teeth ache. Tell me we’re going in there, Chance. I promise I won’t bite anyone. Unless it’s a particularly slow-moving waiter.”
“We’re going in, but not just yet,” said Hawk. “And when we do, feel free to bite anyone you like. Basically, just go for anything dangling.”
“You’re my kind of guy, Hawk,” said Chappie happily.
“Is everyone in there a villain?” Chance asked. “What are they all doing together in one place?”
“This,” said Fisher, “is where the heads of Haven’s more organized crime get together, once a week, to sort out internal problems and discuss territory violations. All very calm and businesslike, enforced by a small army of bodyguards. You’re looking at some of the wickedest men and women in Haven, and the most powerful. At their word or whim, people suffer and die every day. The Guard have strict orders not to go anywhere near this place when these people are in session. They have enormous political influence. Hell, some of them are politicians.”
“Which is as good a reason as any for killing as many of the blood-sucking bastards as possible before we leave Haven,” said Hawk. “But we can’t afford to drag this out. We go in, cause as much murder and mayhem as we can, and then vanish back into the alleys again. There’s a lot of private muscle here, all of it well armed, and even we can’t fight an army. And, since word of what we’re up to has no doubt reached Glen and Dubois by now, you can bet there are a hell of a lot of Guards out in the city looking for us, with orders to bring us in no matter what it takes. Isobel, you still got those concussion grenades?”
“Oh, yeah,” said Fisher. She reached into a pouch at her belt and brought out a handful of small silver orbs. She hefted them lightly in her hand and grinned at Chance. “They don’t look like much, but these really are something special. We don’t often get permission to use them, because they’re so expensive and difficult to manufacture. Basically, they’re fragments of time and space seized from the heart of a raging hurricane, trapped in a magical shell like insects in amber. A moment out of time, contained indefinitely. All I have to do is prime and throw one of these little beauties, and that restaurant is history.”
“Better make it two,” said Hawk. “Just to be on the safe side.”
“You’re spoiling me. Have you got the incendiaries ready?”
“Of course. And the chaos bombs.”
Fisher scowled unhappily. “I’m still not sure about those things. There’s a good reason why they’re still on the forbidden list. No one really understands chaos magic yet, and the one time someone tried to explain it to me, I had a headache that lasted all day. Those things are just as likely to take us out as the bloody enemy. Promise me you’ll only use them as a last resort, Hawk, or I’m not going in there with you.”
“Fuss, fuss, fuss,” Hawk said calmly. “Whatever happened to your sense of adventure?”
“What happened to your sense of survival?”
“Can we please leave the marital discord for later?” said Chance. “You did say we were running short on time.”
“Spoilsport,” said Chappie. “It was just getting interesting. Doggy romance is much more practical. You just—”
“I know what you do,” snapped Chance. “And it never fails to disgust me. The High Warlock might have increased your intelligence, but he did damn all for your instincts.”
The dog sniggered. Fisher chose one of her silver orbs, and wound up for a throw. “Party time….”
The concussion grenade exploded right in the front doorway, in the midst of the bodyguards. They just had time to see a quick silver glow and reach for their weapons, and then suddenly a hurricane was raging right there amongst them. The front of the restaurant disappeared in a moment, disintegrated by the raging winds, and the bodyguards were torn apart, blood and mangled flesh flying high up into the air along with broken bricks and scraps of wood. The winds died quickly away with no real storm to maintain them, and a ghastly rain fell upon the pretty streets. The rich and fashionable cried out in shock and horror as wreckage and offal fell from the sky. Hawk and Fisher were already charging across the street, weapons in hands, Chance and Chappie right behind them.
They burst into the restaurant through the shattered front, to find thirty-nine crime bosses and their entourages already on their feet, pushing their chairs back from the tables and demanding to know what was going on. Hawk and Fisher hit them hard, throwing bombs and incendiaries around with wild enthusiasm. Fires broke out all over the restaurant, fanned and encouraged by the savage winds now surging inside the delicately appointed room. People went flying in all directions, some of them on fire. Several more took one look at Chappie, shouted the familiar Wolf!, and ran. Then Hawk and Fisher hit the first bodyguards, and it was all flying swords and clashing blades. One by one the bodyguards fell, no match for the fire and fury that drove Hawk and Fisher. Chance did his best to guard their backs, swinging his late father’s huge axe with deadly skill. Chappie ran happily back and forth, doing terrible things to the slower moving, and defying anyone to stop him.
The crime bosses quickly realized that their only hope for safety lay in numbers, and they backed away together to form a half circle bristling with weapons at the back of the room, from where they watched numbly as the last of their bodyguards were cut down. Fires raged uncontrolled all over the room, the last of the winds whipping up the flames around the dead and the dying till what remained of the restaurant looked very much like hell. And the scariest things in that hell stepped over the last few fallen bodyguards and advanced on the crime lords: Hawk and Fisher, blood dripping from their weapons and bloodlust in their eyes. All those years of
being ordered to turn their heads away from evil, while the guilty went unpunished, were finally over.
Chance hung back. This was their fight, their personal vendetta. He called Chappie to him, and the dog trotted over, grinning with red mouth and teeth.
Hawk and Fisher stopped just out of reach of the crime lords’ weapons, and the two sides studied each other silently, the only sounds the low moaning of the dying, and the crackling of burning furniture. The fires were spreading. Soon the whole restaurant would be a blazing inferno from which no one could hope to escape.
“Why now?” asked Marie ab Hugh, owner of a very profitable gambling house where the odds were squeezed till they screamed, and the only breaks a sucker got were in the arms and legs of his children when he couldn’t pay. She knew Hawk and Fisher, and her eyes were hot with vindictive fury. “Why come after us now? You must know you can’t take us all, and you can be sure the survivors will retaliate in ways you can’t even imagine. You’ll die, your families and friends will die, everyone who ever had a civil word for you will die, and you’ll all die screaming in agony. Your names will become a curse on the lips of the city.”
“We thought you’d say something like that,” said Fisher calmly. “And you’re right; two against thirty-nine is bad odds, though we’ve faced worse in our time. But we’re in something of a hurry, and more interested in justice than in savoring our revenge. So, for all those who suffered at your hands, or your orders, for all those who bled or grieved or died because of you, we’ve brought you a little present. Go ahead, Hawk. Bring a little chaos into their lives.”
Hawk already had the chaos bomb in his hand. A small golden orb, dully gleaming, and quite possibly the most dangerous weapon he’d ever contemplated using. He’d heard all the horror stories, the terrible things that had happened to the first few Guards entrusted with the prototypes. What was left of them had to be buried in unhallowed ground, and some said you could still hear muffled voices screaming from under the earth mounds.
This new version was supposed to be much safer, but only because no one had gotten around to testing it yet. Truth be told, Hawk didn’t really give a damn. He had vowed to punish as many of the guilty as he could before he left Haven, and this was his best chance. He spoke the priming word and threw the chaos bomb at the crime bosses huddled together before him. Several flinched away, clearly expecting another incendiary, or more hurricane winds, but one of the braver souls stepped forward and slapped at the bomb with his hand, trying to send it right back at its thrower. Of course, he was the first to die.
The bomb activated the moment his hand touched it. The golden orb shattered, and something trapped within woke up and came out. No one there could tell what it was, whether it was a living thing or a force of nature or some magical construct. It was just too different, too unnatural, to be easily defined by human senses. It spread out across the smoky air, an awful presence unconfined by reason or logic, and everything it touched screamed. The man who’d activated the chaos bomb with his touch suddenly became a man-shaped mass of butterflies, which flew away in separate directions. It was almost pretty. The two men on either side of him melted and flowed away in thick liquid streams, calling for help in increasingly gurgly voices. The crime bosses started to scatter and run, but it was too late. Several slammed together in the growing panic, and merged into one great fleshy form, with too many arms and eyes, and mouths that howled in unknown languages. The changes spread quickly through those who were left, transforming the crime lords in awful ways, until even Hawk and Fisher had to look away.
The last man standing was a grossly fat protection racketeer, his back pressed against the far wall as he watched the chaos do its awful work on his business associates. It is said that inside every fat man there is a thin man screaming to get out. Hawk and Fisher watched despite themselves as the fat man suddenly split apart from throat to crotch, blood flying thickly on the air as a thin bony hand emerged from inside the great crimson rent. The fat man’s screams were choked with blood as first the hand, and then an arm, and finally a shoulder emerged from his dripping guts, the thin man tearing the gross bulk apart in his eagerness to be free. Bones broke and fat tore, until finally a terrible thin man stood in a pile of discarded guts and skin, and laughed and laughed and laughed.
Chance had to fight to keep from vomiting. Chappie pressed close against his legs, tail clamped between his back legs, whining unhappily. Fire roared around them, consuming what was left of the restaurant. Fisher looked at Hawk.
“Did even they deserve that?”
“I don’t know,” said Hawk. “If you like, we can ask some of their victims before we leave.”
Fisher looked uneasily about her. She could feel the unnatural presence still coiling and writhing on the air, unsatisfied and beyond any control they might have had over it.
“Hawk, that shit doesn’t look like it’s interested in dispersing. If anything, I’d say it’s spreading, and heading in our direction. Time we were leaving, I think. In a hurry.”
“You’re probably right,” said Hawk. “Any idea what the range on that thing is?”
“Don’t ask me,” said Fisher, backing quickly toward the shattered front of the restaurant. “You’re the one who reads up on these things.”
“Shut up and run,” said Hawk, and they did. Chance and Chappie were right there behind them.
Outside the restaurant a crowd had gathered to watch. Hawk and Fisher yelled at them to get back, and the fashionable people took one look at the bloodstained weapons in their hands, then the expression on their faces, and did as they were told. Hawk didn’t stop running until he was safely back in the alley mouth on the other side of the street. He looked back, Fisher at his side, both of them panting for breath. Chance and Chappie tucked themselves in behind the two Guards, and peered cautiously past them.
“Tell me,” said the dog conversationally. “Have you people ever heard of the word overkill? I’ve seen forest fires that do less damage than you two.”
“Right,” said Chance. “I’m impressed. Really. Can we go now? If whatever you let loose in that place isn’t limited to the restaurant, I for one am heading for the nearest horizon and not looking back till I’m in a different country.”
“Race you,” challenged Chappie, sniffing at the air unhappily.
Hawk was about to say something cutting when the whole restaurant vanished suddenly and silently, leaving only a great hole in the ground where the foundations had been. The watching crowd made various noises of awe, and called loudly on several gods. A few clapped. Hawk blinked a few times.
“It would appear the chaos force has gone back to wherever the Guard sorcerers got it from,” he said finally. “And taken the restaurant with it.”
“Good riddance,” said Fisher. “Now let’s get the hell out of here. One of the people we were looking for wasn’t there. And we can’t leave Haven without saying good-bye to him first.”
“Oh, hell,” said Chance. “Haven’t you killed enough people for one day? How much will it take to satisfy your need for revenge?”
“You’d be surprised,” said Hawk, and something in his voice made Chance decide not to say anything else. Hawk looked broodingly at the great hole in the ground. “One man wasn’t there, the greatest villain of them all. He never gets his hands dirty himself, but he takes a cut from everyone else’s business in return for financing their various schemes. A great fat leech, feeding on the blood of the city.”
“St. Christophe,” said Fisher. “He has a personal army of over four hundred men, and a mansion better protected than Guard Headquarters. We were hoping he’d be here with the other scumbags, but apparently he’s too important these days to appear in person. So we’ll have to go after him the hard way.”
“Hold everything,” said Chance, trying hard to sound firm and decisive. “There is no way the four of us are going to fight our way through an army of four hundred men, dammit. I don’t care what the legends said you did. And Haw
k, if you even look like you’re thinking of unleashing another of those chaos bombs, I am going to knock you unconscious for your and everybody else’s good.”
Hawk smiled slightly. “Well, you could try. But you’re right. No more chaos bombs. Not until I have a much better idea what their limits are. And we’d never fight our way through four hundred men to reach St. Christophe. So we’ll just walk up to his front door and demand to see him. He’ll let us in because his pride won’t let him do anything else. And then we’ll have him.”
“And just how do we get out afterward, past the four hundred armed men?” said Chance.
“Oh, we’ll think of something,” said Hawk airily. “In fact, I think we ought to take a little present with us, a little something for St. Christophe’s personal bodyguards.”
“Of course,” agreed Fisher. “I have just the thing in mind. We’ll pick it up along the way.”
Chance looked at Chappie. “We are dead. Very, very dead.”
Chance didn’t know where he’d been expecting to stop off to pick up St. Christophe’s little present, but a sewer opening sure wasn’t it. Hawk levered open the heavy iron grille with the edge of his axe, and shouted down the hole. There was a long pause as several appalling odors wafted up into the street, and then a voice singing something vaguely melancholy could be heard drawing gradually nearer, along with the sounds of boots sucking deep into something Chance preferred not to think about. Finally a gray and grimy head appeared through the sewer hole, and the smell in the street was suddenly worse. Much worse. Chappie retreated, coughing and spluttering, and Chance felt very much like doing the same. But Hawk and Fisher held their ground, so he had to, too. Hawk nodded amiably to the grimy head, which smiled pleasantly in return.