Guards of Haven: The Adventures of Hawk and Fisher (Hawk & Fisher)

  The man himself was over six feet tall, and was reputed to weigh three hundred and fifty pounds. Sitting down, he looked almost as wide as he was tall, a mountain of gleaming white flesh running with perspiration. Rumor had it there was a surprising ammount of muscle under all the fat, and Burns believed it. Even sitting still, Saint Christophe exuded an air of overwhelming menace—partly from his imposing bulk, and partly from his unwavering, lizardlike gaze. His face was blank and almost childlike, his features stretched smooth like a baby’s by his fat, an impression heightened by his thin, wispy hair. He moved slightly, and the wooden bench groaned under his weight. His bodyguards were already beginning to shiver from the dropping temperature, but he didn’t seem to notice it. His gaze was fixed entirely on Hawk, ignoring Burns, for which Burns was very grateful. When Saint Christophe finally spoke, his voice was deep and cultured.

  “Well, Captain Hawk. An unexpected pleasure. It’s not often you come to see me.”

  “I have a problem,” said Hawk.

  “Yes. I know. You have a talent for annoying important people. Captain, but this time you have surpassed yourself. The Guard wants you suspended, a gang from the Devil’s Hook has declared vendetta against you, and Morgan wants your head on a platter. You’ve had a busy morning.”

  “It’s not over yet. I need to know how Morgan is going to distribute his new drug.”

  “And so you came to me for help. How touching. Why should I help you, Captain Hawk? It would make much more sense to have you killed, here and now. After all, you’ve caused me much distress in the past. You’ve shut down my operations, arrested and killed my men, and cost me a great deal of money. I really don’t know why I didn’t order your death long ago.”

  Hawk grinned. “Because you couldn’t be one hundred percent sure they’d do the job. And you know that if they didn’t kill me, I’d kill them, and then I’d come after you. And all the bodyguards in Haven couldn’t keep you alive if I wanted your head.”

  Saint Christophe nodded slowly, his face impassive. “You always were a vindictive man, Captain. But one day you’ll push me too far, and then we’ll see how good you really are with that axe. In the meantime, my offer to you still stands. Leave the Guard, and work for me. Be my man. I could make you rich and powerful beyond your wildest dreams.”

  “I’m my own man,” said Hawk. “And there isn’t enough money in Haven to make me work for you. You deal in other people’s suffering, and the blood won’t wash off your money, no matter how many times you launder it through legitimate businesses.”

  “Anyone would think you didn’t like me,” said Saint Christophe. “Why should I help you, Captain? You spurn my friendship, throw my more-than-generous offers back in my face, and insult me in front of my people. What is it to me if Morgan is pushing a new drug? If it wasn’t him, it would be somebody else. The market’s appetite is always bigger than we can satisfy.”

  “This drug is different,” said Hawk flatly. “It turns its users into maddened, unstoppable killers. A few hours after the drug hits the streets, there’ll be hundreds of homicidal maniacs running loose in the city. The death toll could easily run into thousands. You can’t sell your precious services to dead people, Christophe. You need me to stop Morgan because he threatens your markets. All of them. It’s as simple as that.”

  “Perhaps.” Saint Christophe leaned forward slightly, and his wooden bench groaned loudly. His bodyguards tensed for a moment, and then relaxed. “This is important to you, isn’t it, Captain?”

  “Of course. It’s my job.”

  “No, this is more than just your job; it’s become personal to you. One should never get personally involved in business, Captain; it distorts a man’s judgment and makes him... vulnerable. Let us make a deal, you and I. You want something from me, and I want something from you. I will agree to shut down all distribution networks in Haven for forty-eight hours. More then enough time for you to find Morgan and put a stop to his plans. In return... you will leave the Guard and work for me. A simple exchange, Captain Hawk. Take it or leave it.”

  “No deal,” said Hawk.

  “Think about it, Captain. Think of the thousands who’ll die if you don’t find Morgan in time. And you won’t, without my help. You really don’t have a choice.”

  “Wrong. You’re the one who doesn’t have a choice.” Hawk fixed Saint Christophe with his cold glare, and the bodyguards stirred restlessly. “The Guard still has some of the super-chacal we confiscated from Morgan’s factory. Whoever made the drug disappear from Headquarters missed one batch. So either you co-operate, and tell me what I need to know, or I’ll see that when the drug finally gets loose, you’ll personally get a good strong dose. If Haven’s going to be torn apart because of you, I’ll see you go down with it.”

  “You wouldn’t do that,” said Saint Christophe.

  “Try me,” said Hawk.

  For a long moment, nobody spoke. The atmosphere in the sauna grew dangerously tense. Burns glanced from Hawk to Saint Christophe and back again, but neither of them looked to be giving way. He let his hand drift a little closer to his sword. All it would take was one sign from Saint Christophe, and the twelve bodyguards would attack. Hawk might actually be able to handle six-to-one odds with that bloody axe of his, but Burns had no false illusions about his own fighting skills. Maybe, if he was quick enough, he could jump back and slam the door in their faces, slow them down enough for him to make a run for it. That would mean abandoning Hawk ...

  “Very well.” said Saint Christophe. “I agree. I will see to it that the distribution networks are shut down for twenty-four hours.”

  “You said forty-eight,” said Hawk.

  “That was a different deal. You have twenty-four hours, Captain. I suggest you make good use of them, since regretfully I have no idea as to where Morgan might be at present. He seems to have disappeared into a hole and pulled it in after him. But Captain, when this is over, you will answer to me for your threats and defiance. Please close the door on your way out.”

  Hawk turned and left without speaking. Burns hurried after him, shut the cubicle door firmly, and then ran after his partner as he strode off down the corridor.

  “I don’t believe what I just saw,” said Bums in amazement. “You faced down Saint Christophe without even drawing your axe, and got him to agree to help the Guard. That’s like standing in the harbour and watching the tides go out backwards.”

  Hawk shrugged. “It was in his interests to help, and he knew it.”

  “Where did you find the extra batch of super-chacal? I thought it had all disappeared.”

  “It did. I was bluffing.” Burns looked at him speechlessly. Hawk grinned. “There’s more to surviving in the Northside than knowing how to use an axe.”

  Hawk was never sure how he knew when he was being followed, but over the years he’d learned to trust his instincts. He glanced at Bums, but he was apparently lost in his own thoughts and hadn’t noticed anything. Hawk slowed his pace a little, and found various convincing reasons to look innocently around him. He frowned as he spotted not one tail but several, moving casually through the crowd after him and Burns. Whoever they were, they must be pretty good to have got so close without his noticing them before. His frown deepened as he realised the tails were gradually moving so as to surround him and Burns. It was looking more and more like an ambush, and they’d chosen a good spot for it. The street was growing increasingly narrow, and was blocked off at both ends by market stalls. There were alleyways leading off to both sides, but none of them seemed to lead anywhere helpful. And the next main intersection was too far away, if it came to running. Besides, Hawk didn’t believe in running. He let his hand fall casually to the axe at his side, and looked for the place to make a stand.

  “I make it seven,” said Burns quietly. “They picked us up not long after we left the baths.”

  “I wasn’t sure you’d even noticed we were being followed.”

  “Working in the Westside, I spent a
lot of time escorting gold- and silversmiths to the banks with their week’s receipts. There’s nothing like guarding large amounts of money in public to make you aware of when you’re being followed. So what are we going to do? Make a stand?”

  “I don’t think we’ve much choice. And it’s eight, not seven. See that man in the doorway, just ahead, pretending not to watch us?”

  “Yes. Damn. And if we can see eight, you can bet there are just as many more lurking somewhere handy out of sight, just in case they’re needed. I don’t like the odds, Hawk.”

  “I’ve faced worse.”

  “I wish you’d stop saying that. It’s very irritating, and I don’t believe it for a moment. Who do you think they are? Morgan’s people?”

  “Seems likely. He must have known I’d have to go to Saint Christophe eventually, so he just staked the place out and waited for us to turn up. Damn. I hate being predictable.”

  “We could go back to Saint Christophe and ask for protection.”

  “You have got to be joking. He’d love that. Besides, I have my reputation to think of.”

  “If we don’t think of something fast, you’re going to be the most reputable corpse in the Northside!”

  “Calm down, Burns. You worry too much. If the fighting ground is unfavourable, then the obvious thing to do is change the fighting ground. You see that fire-escape stairway, to your right?”

  “Yeah, what about it? Hey, wait a minute, Hawk. You can’t be serious ...”

  “Shut up and run.”

  Hawk sprinted forward, with Burns only a pace or two behind. Their followers hesitated a moment, and then charged after them, forcing their way through the crowd with brutal efficiency. Hawk reached the metal stairway, and ran up it without slowing, taking the steps two at a time. Burns hurried after him, the fire escape shuddering under their combined weight. Hawk pulled himself up onto the roof and scurried across the uneven tilework to crouch beside the nearest chimney. Burns clattered unsteadily across to join him, and clutched at the chimney stack to steady himself. Hawk shot him a grin.

  “Check the other side of the roof; see if there’s any other way to get up here. I’ll prepare a few nasty surprises.”

  “You’re just loving this, aren’t you?” said Burns through clenched teeth, hugging tight to the chimney.

  “What’s the matter with you?”

  “I hate heights!”

  “Oh, stop complaining, and get over to the other side. This is the perfect spot to take them on; lots of hiding places, and they’re just as much at a disadvantage as we are. Trust me, I’ve done this before.”

  Burns scowled at him, reluctantly let go of the chimney, and moved cautiously across the tiles towards the spine of the roof. “All right, what’s the plan, then?”

  “Plan? What do we need a plan for? Just find something to hide behind, and jump out on anything that moves!”

  Burns disappeared over the roof ridge, muttering to himself. Hawk looked quickly about him, taking in the gables, cornices, and chimney stacks that jutted from the undulating sea of roofs to either side. He drew his axe and waited patiently in the shadows of the chimney, listening for the first giveaway sound. It was at times like this that he wished he carried a length of tripwire.

  He looked around him, taking in the state of the roof. A lot of snow had fallen away from the tiles, pulled loose by its own weight and the vibrations of passing traffic below, but there was enough left to make the tiles suitably treacherous. A sudden thud followed by muffled curses from the other side of the roof suggested that Burns had reached the same conclusion. Hawk grinned suddenly, as an idea hit him. He moved carefully away from the chimney, unbuttoned his fly and urinated over a stretch of apparently safe tilework. It steamed on the air, but froze almost as soon as it spread out across the tiles. Hawk finished and quickly buttoned up again, wincing at the cold. He looked round sharply as he caught the muffled sound of boots treading quietly on the metal stairway, and he scurried back to crouch down on the opposite side of the chimney stack. He breathed through his nose so that his steaming breath wouldn’t give him away, and clutched his axe firmly.

  He listened carefully as the first man stepped off the stairway onto the roof, hesitated, and then moved slowly forward. Timing his move precisely, Hawk suddenly emerged from behind the chimney, swinging his axe in both hands. Morgan’s man spun round just in time to receive the heavy axehead in his shoulder. The blade sheared clean through his collarbone, and blood flew steaming on the bitter air. The impact drove the man to his knees. Hawk pulled the axe free, put a boot against the man’s shoulder and pushed. The man-at-arms screamed once as ,he slid helplessly across the roof and over the side.

  Hawk heard footsteps behind him and turned just in time to see the second man hit the patch of frozen urine. The swordsman’s feet shot out from under him and he all but flew off the edge of the roof. The third man was standing by the fire escape with his mouth hanging open. Hawk bent down, snatched up a handful of snow, and threw it at him. As the man-at-arms raised his hand instinctively to guard his face. Hawk stepped carefully forward and swung his axe in a vicious sideways arc. The axehead punched clean through the man’s rib cage and sent him flying backwards. He disappeared over the edge of the roof and fell back down the fire escape. There was a brief flurry of yells and curses from the other men coming up the stairway, and Hawk grinned. He hurried forward, and his feet shot out from under him.

  He hit the roof hard, and slid kicking and cursing towards the edge of the roof. He threw aside his axe and grabbed at the iron guttering as he shot past it. He got a firm grip on the trough with both hands, and the sudden shock of stopping almost wrenched his arms from his sockets. The guttering groaned loudly, but supported his weight. Hawk hung there for a moment, breathing hard, his feet dangling above the street far below, and then he started to pull himself back up. The trough groaned again and shifted suddenly. There was a muffled pop as a rivet tore free. and Hawk froze where he was. The guttering didn’t look at all secure, especially when seen from underneath, and he didn’t think it would hold his weight much longer. On the other hand, one sudden movement might be all it would take to pull it away completely. He pulled himself up slowly and carefully, an inch at a time, ignoring the sudden groans and stirrings from the ironwork, and swung one leg up over onto the roof. A few moments later he was back on the roof, reaching for his axe and wiping sweat from his forehead. The sound of approaching feet on the fire escape caught his attention again and he grinned suddenly as a new idea came to him.

  He moved carefully over to the metal stairway and looked down. Seven men-at-arms were heading up towards him. They looked grim, and very competent. Hawk waved at them cheerfully, and then bent forward and stuck his axehead between the side of the stairway and the wall. He threw his weight against the axe, and the fire escape tore away from the wall with almost casual ease. The seven swordsmen screamed all the way down to the street below. Hawk put his axe away. Sometimes there was a lot to be said for cheap building practices.

  He clambered up to the roof ridge and looked down the other side. Bums was crouching at the edge of the roof, sword in hand, keeping watch from behind a jutting gable. There was no sign of any more men-at-arms. Hawk called out to Bums, and he jumped half out of his skin. He spun round, sword at the ready, and then glared balefully as he saw it was only Hawk.

  “Don’t do that!”

  “Sorry,” said Hawk. “I take it none of the men-at-arms got this far?”

  “Haven’t seen hide nor hair of them. I don’t think they were interested in me, only you. How many came after you?”

  “Ten,” said Hawk, casually.

  “Bloody hell. What happened to them?”

  Hawk grinned. “We had a falling out.”

  They made their way back to Headquarters, but though there were no further incidents, Hawk couldn’t shake the feeling they were still being followed. He tried all the usual tricks to make a tail reveal himself, but he didn’t see anyone,
no matter how carefully he checked. It was always possible his current situation had him jumping at shadows, but he didn’t think so. The crawling itch between his shoulder blades stayed with him all the way back to Guard Headquarters. He stopped at the main doors and peered wistfully down the street at The Cloudy Morning tavern. A drink would really hit the spot now, after the long day’s exertions, but he could just visualize the look on Burns’s face if he were to suggest it. All the partners he could have chosen, and he had to pick a saint in training. He strode scowling into Headquarters, and everyone hurried to get out of his way. Burns walked silently beside him, nodding casually to familiar faces. He’d been unusually quiet ever since Morgan’s people jumped them. Hawk shrugged mentally. Apparently Bums was still mad at him for not trying to bring in his attackers alive. As if he’d had a choice, with ten-to-one odds.

  They made their way through the building, going from department to department, ostensibly just passing the time of day with their co-workers, but always managing to slip in the occasional probing question. It was hard going. None of the Guards wanted to talk about Morgan or his drugs, and in particular no one wanted to be seen talking to Hawk. Overnight he’d become bad news, and no one wanted to get too close in case some of the guilt rubbed off on them. The sudden reticence was unnerving. Usually Headquarters was buzzing with gossip about everything under the sun, most of it unprovable and nearly all of it acrimonious, but now all Hawk had to do was stick his head round a door and silence would fall across the room. Hawk gritted his teeth and kept smiling. He didn’t want anyone to think the silence was getting to him. And slowly, very slowly, he started getting answers. They were mostly evasive, and always hushed, but they often told as much by what they didn’t say as what they did. And the picture that gradually emerged was more than a little disturbing.

  Mistress Melanie of the Wardrobe department didn’t know anything about Morgan or the missing drugs, but she did let slip that the campaign of silence was semiofficial in origin. Word had come down from Above that the Morgan case was closed. Permanently. Which suggested that someone High Up was involved, as well as someone at Headquarters. That was unusual; corruption in the higher ranks of the Guard tended to be political rather than criminal. A clerk in Intelligence quietly intimated that at least one Guard Captain was involved. And a pretty well-regarded Captain, too. He wouldn’t even hint at a name.