She glared about her as she paced, and the mercenaries avoided her gaze. The safe house was a dump; a decaying firetrap in the middle of a row of low-rent tenements. Somehow that was typical of Hardcastle and his operations. Cheap and nasty. All in all, the whole operation had left a bad taste in Roxanne’s mouth. She was a warrior, and this kind of dirty political fighting didn’t sit well with her. She’d killed and tortured before, and delighted in the blood, but that was in the heat of battle, where courage and steel decided men’s fates, not dirty little schemes and back-room politics. If anyone had ever accused Roxanne of being honourable, she’d have laughed in their faces, but this... this whole mess just stank to high heaven.
She wondered fleetingly what Medley would have thought of all this, and then pushed the thought firmly to one side.
She stopped pacing about, and took several deep breaths. It calmed her a little, and she took her hand away from her sword. The mercenaries began to breathe a little more easily, and stopped judging the distances to possible exits. Pike and Da Silva chose that moment to reappear. Roxanne glared at them.
“Well?” she said icily.
“Sleeping like a baby,” said Pike. “But we’ve tied her hand and foot, just in case.”
Roxanne nodded. “I’ll take a quick look at her, and then I’d better report back to Hardcastle. He’ll need to know what’s happened. You two stay here.”
Pike and Da Silva nodded quickly, and watched in silence as Roxanne disappeared into the adjoining room where they’d dumped Fisher. They waited until the door had swung shut behind her, and then looked at each other.
“She’s getting out of control,” said Da Silva quietly.
“If I didn’t know better, I’d swear she was developing scruples,” said Pike. “Still, Hardcastle knew there was a risk in using Roxanne for political work. Everyone knows Roxanne’s crazy. It doesn’t matter on a battlefield, but we can’t have her running wild in Haven. She knows too much.”
“So she’s expendable?”
“Everyone’s expendable in politics. Especially her. That’s official, from Hardcastle.”
“Which of us gets to kill her?”
Pike grinned. “I wasn’t thinking of fighting a duel with her. I was thinking more along the lines of dosing her wine with a fast-acting poison, waiting until she’d collapsed, and then cutting her head off. There’s a good price for her head in the Low Kingdoms.”
“Sounds good to me,” said Da Silva.
Roxanne stood just inside the doorway of the adjoining room, listening. She’d always had good hearing. It had kept her alive on battlefields more than once. She’d known Pike and Da Silva were up to something, but the casualness with which they discussed her death made her blood boil. The orders had to have come from Hardcastle; they wouldn’t have dared make such a decision themselves. Hardcastle had sold her out to a couple of back-alley assassins. She wanted to just charge out into the next room, draw her sword, and cut them both down, but even she wasn’t crazy enough to take on twenty-two armed men in a confined space. She hadn’t made her reputation as a warrior by being stupid. She had to get out of there and think things over.
She threw the door open, stalked back into the main room, and pretended not to notice the sudden silence. “I’m going to see Hardcastle. Keep a close eye on Fisher, but don’t damage her any further. Hardcastle’s going to want that privilege for himself.”
She nodded briskly to Pike and Da Silva, and headed for the door before they could come up with some excuse to stop her. Her back crawled in anticipation of an attack, her ears straining for any hint of steel being drawn from a scabbard, but nothing happened. She stepped out into the street, and slammed the door behind her, almost disappointed. She moved quickly off down the street to lose herself in the crowds.
She still wasn’t sure what she was going to do next. She was damned if she’d go on working for Hardcastle, but she couldn’t just walk out on him either. Deserting ship in mid-contract would ruin her name. Most of the time Roxanne didn’t give a rat’s arse what anyone thought of her, but her professional name was a different matter. If word got round she couldn’t be trusted to complete her commissions, no one would hire her.
Most people were too frightened to approach her as it was.
But she couldn’t let Hardcastle get away with threatening her, either. That would do her reputation even more damage. She scowled as she strode along, and people all around her hurried to get out of her way. All this thinking made her head hurt. She needed someone she could talk to, someone she could trust. But she’d never trusted anyone... except Stefan Medley.
The thought surprised her, as did the warmth of feeling that went through her at the thought of seeing him again. Stefan had been a good sort, for a politician. He understood things like honesty and honour. She’d go and see him. He was probably still mad at her, but they’d work something out. She headed back to the tavern where she’d left him. Someone there would be able to tell her where he’d gone.
The tavern was full of customers. Smoke hung heavily on the air, and the crowd round the bar were singing a Reform anthem, cheerfully if not too accurately. Roxanne made her way to the bar, elbowing people out of her way. She yelled for the bartender, but he was busy taking orders and pretended he hadn’t heard her. Roxanne leaned across the bar, grabbed him by the shirtfront, and pulled his face close to hers. The bartender started to object, realised who she was, and went very pale.
“Stefan Medley,” said Roxanne quietly, dangerously. “The man I came here with. Where did he go after he left here?”
“He didn’t go anywhere,” said the bartender. “He’s still in his room.”
Roxanne frowned, dropped the bartender and turned away. What the hell was Stefan doing, hanging around here? He must know the Reformers would already be hot on his trail, and it wouldn’t take them long to find out about this place. Medley had always been very careful about their assignations here, but Roxanne had deliberately left clues all over the place. That had been part of her job, then. She shook her head. The sooner she talked to Stefan and got the hell out of here, the better. She hurried up the stairs behind the bar, taking the steps two at a time. Everything would be all right once she’d talked to Stefan. He’d know what to do. He always did.
The door to their room was locked. Roxanne looked quickly around, knocked twice and waited impatiently. There was no sound from inside the room. She knocked again, and called his name quietly. There was no answer. Roxanne frowned. He must be there; the door was still locked. Was he sulking? That wasn’t like Stefan. Maybe he was asleep. She knocked again, and called his name as loudly as she dared, but there was no reply. Roxanne began to get a bad feeling about the room. Something was wrong. Maybe the Reformers had already caught up with him....
She drew her sword, and kicked at the door savagely with the heel of her boot. The door shuddered, but held. Roxanne cursed it briefly and tried again. The crude lock broke, and the door swung inwards. The room beyond was dark and quiet. Roxanne moved quickly into the room and darted to one side so that she wouldn’t be caught silhouetted against the light from the open door. She stood poised in the gloom, sword at the ready, but it only took her a few moments to realise there were no ambushers in the room. She put away her sword and lit one of the lamps.
Light filled the room, and for a moment all Roxanne could see was the blood. It covered the bedclothes, and had spilled down the sides to form pools on the floor. Some of it had already dried. Roxanne moved forward quietly and felt for a pulse on Medley’s neck. It was still there, slow and feeble, but his skin was deathly cold. At first she thought the Reformers had got to him, and then she looked at his arms and saw the ugly black wounds at his wrists. Her breath caught in her throat as she realised what he’d done, and why. She turned and ran from the room.
She hurried back down the stairs and into the bar, fought her way through the crowd, and grabbed the bartender again. “I need a healer! Now!”
“There
’s a Northern witch on the first floor. Calls herself Vienna. She knows a few things. She’s all there is, unless you want me to send out for someone....”
“No! You don’t talk to anyone about this. You do, and I’ll gut you. Which room is she in?”
“Room Nine. Just round the corner from the stairs. You can’t miss it.”
Roxanne dropped the bartender, and ran back up the stairs. It didn’t take her long to find Room Nine, but it seemed like ages. She hammered on the door with her fist until it opened a crack, and a suspicious eye looked out at her.
“Who is it? What do you want?”
“I need a healer.”
“I don’t do abortions.”
Roxanne kicked the door in, grabbed a handful of the woman’s gown, and slammed her up against the wall. She struggled feebly, her feet kicking helplessly several inches above the floor. She started to call out for help, and Roxanne thrust her face up close to the witch’s. The witch went very quiet and stopped struggling.
“A friend of mine is hurt,” said Roxanne. “Dying. Save his life or I’ll kill you slowly. Now move it!”
She put Vienna down and hauled her up the stairs to the next floor and Medley’s room. Vienna took one look at the blood and started to leave, then stopped as she met Roxanne’s gaze. The witch was a tiny frail little thing, in a shabby green dress, and at any other time Roxanne might have felt guilty about bullying her, but this was different. All she could think of was Stefan, dying alone in a dirty tavern room, because of her. She gestured curtly at Medley, and Vienna turned back and examined his wrists.
“Nasty,” said the witch quietly. “But you’re in luck, warrior. He didn’t make a very good job of it. He cut across the veins instead of lengthwise. The blood’s been able to clot and close off the wounds. He’s lost a lot of blood, though....”
“Can you save him?” said Roxanne.
“I think so. A simple healing spell on the wrists, and another to speed up production of new blood ...” She started reciting a series of technicalities that Roxanne didn’t understand, but she just let the witch babble on, unable to concentrate on anything but the great wave of relief surging through her. He wasn’t going to die. He wasn’t going to die because of her. She nodded harshly to Vienna, and the witch began her magic. The rites were simple and rather unpleasant, but very effective. The torn flesh at the wrists closed together and fused, and faint tinges of colour began to seep back into Medley’s face. His breathing became steadier and deeper.
“That’s all I can do,” said Vienna finally. “Let him rest for a couple of days, and he’ll be as good as new. Keeping him alive is your problem. Those cuts on his wrists were deep. He meant business.”
“Yes,” said Roxanne. “I know.” She untied the purse from her belt and tossed it to Vienna, without checking to see how much was in it. “Not a word to anyone,” said Roxanne, still looking at Medley. The witch nodded, and left quickly before Roxanne could change her mind.
Roxanne sat on the edge of the bed beside Medley, ignoring the blood that soaked into her trousers. He looked drawn and tired, as though he’d been through a long fever. She let her hand rest on his forehead for a moment. The flesh felt cool and dry.
“What am I going to say to you, Stefan?” she said quietly. “I never thought you’d do anything like this. You were just a job to me, but... I liked you, Stefan. Why did you have to do this?”
“Why not?” said Medley hoarsely. He licked his lips and swallowed dryly. Roxanne poured him a glass of water from the pitcher on the table, and held the glass to his mouth while he drank. He managed a few swallows, and she put the glass down. Medley lifted his arms and looked at the healed wounds on his wrists. He smiled sourly, and let his arms fall back onto the bed. “You shouldn’t have bothered, Roxanne. I’ll only have to do it again.”
“Don’t you dare,” said Roxanne. “I can’t go through all this again. My nerves won’t stand it. Why did you do it, Stefan?”
“It’s not enough just to live,” said Medley. “You have to have something to live for. Something, or someone. For a while I had politics, and when I grew tired of that, I found Adamant. He needed me, made me feel important and valued; made me his friend. But even at its best I was just living someone else’s life, following someone else’s lead.
“And then I met you, and you gave my life meaning. I was so happy with you. You were all the things that had been missing from my life. You made me feel that I mattered, that I was someone in my own right, not just someone else’s shadow. And then you told me it was all a lie, and walked out of my life forever. I can’t go back to being what I was, Roxanne. I’d rather die than do that. I love you, and if what we had was just a lie, then I prefer that lie to reality. Even if I have to die to keep it.”
“No one ever felt that way for me before,” said Roxanne slowly. “I’m going to have to think about that. But I promise you this, Stefan; I’ll stay with you for as long as you need me. I’m not sure why, but you’re important to me, too.”
Medley looked at her for a long moment. “If this is ... just another game you’re playing, a way to get more information out of me, I don’t mind. Just tell me what you want to know, and I’ll tell you. But don’t pretend you care for me if you don’t. Please. I can’t go through that again.”
“Forget all that,” said Roxanne. “Hardcastle can go stuff himself. Things will be different from now on.”
“I love you,” said Medley. “How do you feel about me?”
“Damned if I know,” said Roxanne.
Hawk was tired, and his arm and back muscles ached from too much use and too little rest. During the past hour he’d been through half the dives in the Steppes, looking for a lead on Fisher. No one knew anything, no matter how forcefully he put the question. Eventually he came to the reluctant belief that they were telling the truth. And that only left one place to look. Brimstone Hall. Hardcastle’s home.
He stood outside the great iron gates, and stared past the two nervous men-at-arms on duty. The old Hall looked quiet and almost deserted, with lights showing at only a few windows. Somewhere in there he’d find what he was looking for; someone or something that would put him on the right trail.
The two men-at-arms looked at each other uncertainly, but said nothing. They recognised Hawk, and knew what he was capable of. They hadn’t missed the fresh blood dripping from the axe in his right hand. Hawk ignored them, concentrating on the Hall. Hardcastle and his people would be out on the streets now, so the chances were good he’d only have to face a skeleton staff. Maybe he’d get really lucky and find Isobel locked away in some cellar here. He remembered the way she’d looked as she’d been dragged away, bloody and unconscious, and the slow cold rage began to build in him again. He shifted his gaze to the two men-at-arms, and they stirred uneasily.
“Open the gates,” said Hawk.
“Hardcastle isn’t here,” said one of the men. “Everyone’s out.”
“Somebody will talk to me.”
“Not to you, Captain Hawk. We have our orders. You’re not to be allowed entrance under any circumstances. As far as you’re concerned, everyone’s out and always will be.”
“Open the gates,” said Hawk.
“Get lost,” said the other. “You’ve no business here.”
Hawk hit him low, well below the belt. He doubled up and fell writhing to the ground. The other man-at-arms backed quickly away. Hawk pushed the gates open, stepped over the man on the ground, and entered the grounds of Brimstone Hall. The man-at-arms left standing took one look at Hawk’s face and turned and ran for the Hall. Hawk went after him at a steady walk. No point in hurrying. No one was going anywhere.
He heard the approach of soft, padding feet, and looked round to see three huge dogs charging silently towards him. Hawk studied them carefully. Hardcastle’s dogs were supposed to be man-killers and man-eaters, but they looked ordinary enough to Hawk. He took a bag of powder from his belt, opened it, held his breath, and threw the powder
into the air right in front of the dogs. The dogs skidded to a halt, sniffed suspiciously at the air, and then sat down suddenly with big sloppy grins on their faces. Hawk waited a moment to be sure the dust had done its job, then walked cautiously past them. Two of the dogs ignored him completely, and the third rolled over on its back so that Hawk could rub its belly. Hawk smiled slightly, careful not to breathe till he was well past the dogs. He’d known the second bag of dust he’d found in Dannielle’s room would come in handy.
He headed for the Hall. Everything seemed quiet. He’d almost reached the main door when it suddenly swung open before him, and five men-at-arms in full chain mail spilled out to block his path. Hawk smiled at them, and held his bloody axe so they could see it clearly.
“Where is she?” he said softly. “Where’s Hardcastle keeping my wife?”
“I don’t know what the hell you’re talking about,” said the foremost man-at-arms. “I’m Brond. I speak for Hardcastle in his absence, and he doesn’t want to speak to you. You’d better leave now. You’re already in a lot of trouble.”
“Last chance,” said Hawk. “Where’s my wife?”
“Wouldn’t you like to know,” said Brond. He half-turned away and addressed the other men. “Throw him out. Don’t be gentle about it. Show the man what happens when he messes with his betters.”
Hawk slammed his axe into Brond’s side. The heavy steel head punched clean through Brond’s chain mail, and buried itself in his rib cage. Brond stood and stared at it for a moment, unable to believe what had happened, then fell to his knees, blood starting from his mouth. Hawk jerked his axe free, and the four remaining men-at-arms jumped him. The first to reach Hawk went down screaming in a flurry of blood and guts as Hawk’s axe opened him up across the belly.