Jessica Winter plodded along just behind the two Guards, looking around her with interest. If the smell bothered her, it didn't show in her face. Hawk smiled slightly. Winter wasn't the sort to admit to any weakness, no matter how trivial. Barber and MacReady brought up the rear, ploughing steadily along in Winter's wake. Barber carried his sword at the ready, and studied every side tunnel and moving shadow with dark suspicion. MacReady held the other lantern, his eyes thoughtful and far away. Nothing much bothered MacReady, but then if Storm's explanation about his charmed life was right, he didn't have much to worry about. Storm… Hawk scowled. While they were all up to their knees in it and gagging on the stench, the sorcerer was probably sitting in some nice dry office with his feet up, following it all with his Sight and grinning a lot. He couldn't go with them, he'd explained in a voice positively dripping with mock disappointment, because the terrorists had raised the House's defensive wards again, and no sorcerer could even approach Champion House without setting off all kinds of alarms.
Hawk's scowl deepened. The situation got more complicated every time he looked at it. The city negotiators had been talking earnestly with the terrorists from the moment they made their first demands, but so far they hadn't got anywhere. The terrorists wouldn't budge an inch in their demands, and the city Council couldn't agree to meet them because both Parliaments were still arguing over what to do. Sorcerers were working in relays passing messages back and forth across the two countries, but so far nothing had been decided. Some factions were pressing for a full-scale assault on Champion House, arguing that a powerful enough force could smash through the House's defenses and reach the hostages before the terrorists even knew what was happening. Fortunately for the hostages, no one was listening to these people. Apart from the obvious danger to the two Kings, most of the hostages were extremely well-connected—socially, politically, or economically—and those connections were making it clear to both Parliaments that they would take it very badly if any kind of force was used before every other avenue had been investigated.
So the negotiators talked and got nowhere, the city men-at-arms trained endlessly for an attack they might never make, and the Brotherhood of Steel told anyone who'd listen that this insult to the honor guards they'd provided would be avenged in blood, whatever happened. It wasn't clear whether the Brotherhood was referring to the terrorists or the people who wouldn't let them send in a rescue force, and no one liked to ask. On top of all that, the city's sorcerers couldn't do a damned thing to help because the ' House's wards were apparently so powerful it would have taken every sorcerer in the city working together to breach them, and the terrorists had threatened to kill both Kings if the wards even looked like they were going down. Champion House was an old house, with a great deal of magic built into its walls. It had been built to withstand a siege, and that was exactly what it was doing.
The city Council listened to everyone, had a fit of the vapors, threw its collective hands in the air, and called in the SWAT team. Wild promises and open threats were made. And that was why Hawk was up to his knees in stinking water and wishing he was somewhere else. Anywhere else. A study of the House's architectural plans revealed it had been built directly over the ruins of an old slaughterhouse (the Westside hadn't always been fashionable), and supposedly there were still tunnels leading from the cellar straight into the sewers. So, theoretically it should be possible for the SWAT team to break into the cellar from the sewers without being noticed. The wards were worn thin down there, for some reason Storm didn't understand, and could be breached by a small force that had been suitably prepared.
Hawk had pressed Storm on this point, but the sorcerer had been unusually evasive. He just insisted that he could keep any alarms from going off, and that was all that mattered. And then he looked away, and said quietly that the cellar had originally belonged to another, even older building, and the slaughterhouse had been built on its ruins. He didn't know what the original building had been, but just making mental contact with the cellar had made his skin crawl. Storm didn't tell Hawk to be careful. He didn't have to. All of which hadn't exactly filled Hawk with confidence, but as Winter kept pointing out, she was the team leader, and she was determined to go in. So they went in.
Hawk studied the sewer tunnel as he trudged along, and supposed he ought to be impressed. There were said to be miles of these tunnels, winding back and forth under the better parts of the city before carrying the wastes out to sea. Of course such tunnels are expensive, which is why you only found them beneath the better parts of the city. Everyone else had to make do with crude drains, runoffs, and sinkholes. Which is why you always knew which way the downmarket areas of the city were, especially when the wind was blowing. The thought made Hawk aware of the sewer's stench again, and he made a determined effort to think about something else. He and the rest of the team had been given the House's plans and the sewers' layout as a mental overlay before they left, and he could tell they were getting close to the right area. The tunnels leading up to the cellar weren't actually marked on either set of plans, but they had to be around here somewhere.
Hawk smiled sourly. Actually, there were lots of things about the sewers that weren't on any map. Half the sorcerers and alchemists in Haven flushed their failed experiments down into the sewers, producing an unholy mixture of chemicals and forces that gave nightmares to anyone who thought about it too much. Oversized rats were the least of the unpleasant things said to prowl the sewer darkness. There were cobwebs everywhere, strung across the walls and beaded here and there with moisture. Hanging strands of slimy gossamer twitched occasionally as wafts of warm air moved through the tunnels. In places the webs became so thick they half blocked the tunnels, and Hawk had to cut his way through with his axe. Sometimes he found the remains of dead rats and tiny homunculi cocooned in the webbing, along with other things he couldn't identify, and wasn't sure he wanted to. He tried hard not to think about Crawling Jenny, or how big a spider would have to be to produce such webs.
He'd never liked spiders.
Fisher moved in close beside him, so that they could talk quietly without being overheard. "I once talked with one of the maintenance men whose job it is to clean out these tunnels twice a year. He said there wasn't enough money in the world to get him to come down here more often than that. He'd seen things, heard things…"
"What sort of things?" said Hawk, casually.
Fisher moved in even closer, her voice little more than a murmur. "Once, they found a blind angel with tattered wings, from the Street of Gods. They offered to guide it out, but it wouldn't go. It said it was guilty. It wouldn't say what of. Another time, the slime on top of the water came alive and attacked them. Someone smashed a lantern against it, and it burst into flames. It rolled away into the darkness, riding on top of the water, screaming in a dozen voices. And once, they saw a spider as big as a dog, spinning a cocoon around something even larger."
"Anything else?" asked Hawk, his mouth dry.
Fisher shrugged. "There are always stories. Some say this is where all the aborted babies end up, neither living nor dead. They crawl around in the tunnels, in the dark, looking for a way out and never finding it."
"If you've got any more cheerful stories, do me a favor and keep them to yourself," said Hawk. "They're just stories. Look, we've been down here almost an hour now, and we haven't seen a damned thing so far. Not even a rat."
"Yeah," said Fisher darkly. "Suspicious, that."
Hawk sighed. "Whose stupid idea was this, anyway?"
"Yours, originally."
"Why do you listen to me?"
Fisher chuckled briefly, but didn't stop frowning. "If there aren't any rats, it can only be because something else has been preying on them." She stopped suddenly, and Hawk stopped to look at her. She cocked her head slightly to one side, listening. "Hawk, can you hear something?"
Hawk strained his ears against the quiet. The rest of the team had stopped too, and the last echoes from their progress throug
h the water died away into whispers. The silence gathered around them like a watchful predator, waiting for them to make a mistake. Fisher held her lantern higher, her hand brushing against the tunnel roof, but the light still couldn't penetrate far into the darkness. Winter moved forward to join them.
"Why have we stopped?"
"Isobel thought she heard something ahead," said Hawk.
"I did hear something," said Fisher firmly.
Winter nodded slowly. "I've been aware of something too, just at the edge of my hearing. Sometimes I think it's behind us, sometimes out in front."
"There's something out there," said MacReady flatly. "I can feel its presence."
They all looked at him. "Any idea what it is?" asked Hawk.
"No. But it's close now. Very close."
"Great. Thanks a lot, MacReady." Hawk reached out with his mind to Storm, using the mental link the sorcerer had established with the team before they left. Hey, Storm. You there?
For the moment, Captain Hawk. The closer you get to the House's wards, the harder it is for me to make contact.
Can you tell what's ahead of us in the dark?
I'm sorry, Captain. My Sight is useless under these conditions. But you should all be wary. There's a lot of magic in Champion House, old magic, bad magic, and its proximity to the sewers is bound to have had unfortunate effects on whatever lives there.
A lot of help you are, sorcerer. Hawk broke the contact, and hefted his axe. "Well, we can't go back, and according to the plans, there's no other way that'll get us where we're going. So we go on. And if there is anything up ahead, we'd better hope it's got enough sense to stay out of our way."
"Everyone draw their weapons," said Winter crisply. "And Hawk, since you're so keen to make all the decisions, you can lead the way."
"You're so good to me," said Hawk. "Let's go, people."
He led the way forward into the dark, feeling Winter's angry look burning into his back. He didn't mean to keep undermining her position as leader, but he wasn't used to taking orders. And he couldn't wait around and keep quiet while she made up her mind. It wasn't in his nature. Fisher waded along beside him, holding her lantern in one hand and her sword in the other. The rest of the team ploughed along behind them, spread out enough not to make a single target, but not so far apart they could be picked off one at a time without the others noticing. The silence pressed in close around them, weighing down so heavily it was almost like a physical presence. Hawk had an almost overpowering urge to shout and yell, to fill the tunnel with sound, if only to emphasize his presence. But he didn't. He had an unsettling feeling his voice would sound small and lost in this vast network of tunnels, no matter how loudly he shouted. And apart from that, there was also the rumor he'd heard that any loud sound in the tunnels never really died away. It just echoed on and on, passing from tunnel to tunnel, growing gradually quieter and more plaintive but never fully fading away. Hawk didn't like the idea of any part of him being trapped down here in the dark forever, not even just his voice.
After a while, it seemed to him he could hear something moving in the tunnel up ahead, a sound so faint and quick he could only tell it was there by the deeper silence that came when it stopped. His instincts were clawing at his gut, urging him to get the hell out of there while he still could, and he clutched the haft of his axe so tightly his fingers ached. He made himself loosen his grip a little, but the faint sounds in the dark wore at his nerves like sandpaper. He took to checking each new side tunnel thoroughly before he'd let the others pass it, torn between his need for action and the urgency of their mission, and the necessity of not allowing himself to be hurried. Hurried people make mistakes. He couldn't help the hostages if he got himself killed by acting carelessly.
The sounds grew suddenly louder and more distinct and he stopped, glaring ahead into the gloom. The others stopped with him, and Fisher moved in close beside him, her sword at the ready. Something was coming towards them out of the darkness, not even bothering to hide its presence anymore, something so large and heavy its progress pushed the air before it like a breeze. Hawk could feel the air pressing against his face.
A dozen red gleams appeared high up in the gloom before him, shining like fires in the night. Hawk lifted his axe as a horrid suspicion stirred within him. The glaring eyes, the soft sounds, and everywhere he looked, the endless webbing… Oh hell, no. Anything but that. The blazing eyes drew closer, hovering up by the tunnel roof, and then the huge spider burst out of the darkness and lurched to a stop at the edge of the lantern light, its eight spindly legs quivering like guitar strings. It swayed silently before them, the top of its furry body pressing against the roof, its legs splayed out into the water and pressing against the tunnel walls. The vast oval body all but filled the tunnel, its thick black fur matted with water and slime. Its red eyes glared fiercely in the lantern light, watchful and unblinking. Thick gobbets of saliva ran from its twitching mandibles. Hawk stood very still. There was no telling what sudden sound or movement might prompt it to attack.
What the hell, he thought firmly. You can handle this. You've faced a lot worse in your time.
That was true, but not particularly comforting. Truth be told, he'd never liked spiders, and in particular he'd never liked the sudden darting way in which they moved. If he found one in the jakes, he usually called for Isobel to come and get rid of it. Of course, she was so softhearted she couldn't bear to kill a helpless little insect, so she just dumped it outside, whereupon it immediately found its way back inside again to have another go at terrorizing him. He realized his thoughts were rambling, and brought them firmly back under control. He could handle this. He looked surreptitiously back at the others, and was a little relieved to see that they looked just as shaken as he was.
"Well?" he said steadily. "Anyone got any ideas?"
"Let's cut its legs off, for a start," said Barber. "That should ruin its day."
"Sounds good to me," said Fisher. "I'll go for the head. Hack its brain into mincemeat, and it's got to lie down and die. Hasn't it?"
"Strictly speaking," said Hawk, "it doesn't appear to have a head. The eyes are set in the top part of its body."
"All right. I'll go for the top part of its body, then. God, you can be picky sometimes, Hawk."
"That's enough!" hissed Winter sharply. "Keep your voices down, all of you. I don't want it panicked into attacking before we're ready to handle it. Or hasn't it occurred to you that the bloody thing is hardly going to just stand there and watch while you step forward and take a hack at it? If it can move as fast as its smaller cousins, we could be in big trouble."
"It might also be poisonous," said MacReady.
They all looked at him. "Something that big doesn't need to be poisonous," said Fisher, uncertainly.
"Are you willing to bet your life on that?" asked MacReady.
"We're wasting time," said Winter. "While we're standing around here arguing, the terrorists could be killing hostages. We've got to get past this thing, no matter how dangerous it is. We need someone to hold the creature's attention while Barber and Fisher attack its weak spots. Hawk, I think it's time we found out just how good you are with that axe."
Hawk nodded stiffly. "No problem. Just give me some room."
He moved slowly forward, the scummy waters swirling about his knees. The tunnel floor was uneven, and he couldn't see where to put his feet. Not exactly ideal fighting conditions. The spider's huge body quivered suddenly, its legs trembling, and Hawk froze where he was. The serrated mandibles flexed silently, and Hawk took a firmer grip on his axe. He stepped forward, and the spider launched itself at him, moving impossibly fast for its bulk. He braced himself, and buried his axe in the spider's body, just above the mandibles. Thick black blood spattered over his hands, and he was carried back three or four feet by the force of the spider's charge before he could brace himself again. He could hear the SWAT team scattering behind him, but couldn't spare the time to look back. The spider shook itself violent
ly, and Hawk was lifted off his feet. He clung desperately to his axe with one hand, and grabbed the mandibles with the other, keeping them at arm's length from his body. At his side, Barber cut viciously at the creature's nearest leg, but the spider lifted it out of the way with cat-quick reflexes. Barber stumbled, caught off balance by the force of his own blow, and the leg lashed out and caught him full in the chest, sending him flying backwards into the water. He disappeared beneath the surface, and reappeared coughing and spluttering but still hanging onto his sword.
Fisher cut at the spider's eyes with the tip of her sword, and it flinched back, dragging Hawk with it as he tried to tear his axe free. The spider's body had seemed as soft as a sponge when he hit it, but now the sides of the wound had closed on the axehead like a living vise. He braced one foot against the tunnel wall and pulled hard with both hands, putting his back into it. The axe jerked free with a loud, sucking sound and he fell back into the water, just managing to keep his feet under him. The spider reared up over him, and he swung his axe double-handed into the creature's belly. The heavy weapon sank into the black fur, the force of the blow burying the axe deep into the spider's guts. Thick blood drenched Hawk's arms and chest as he wrenched the axe free and struck at the belly again.
Barber coughed up the last of the water he'd swallowed and staggered back into the fight. Winter was trying to cut through the spider's front legs, but it always managed to pull them out of reach at the last moment, and she had to throw herself this way and that to avoid the legs as they came swinging viciously back. Barber chose his moment carefully, and cut at one leg just as it lashed out after Winter. His blade sank deep into the spindly leg and jarred on bone. He pulled the sword free and cut again, and the leg folded awkwardly in two, well below the joint.