It was just her regulars this week. The Holbrooks, a middle-aged couple wanting to contact their dead son. David and Mercy Peyton, still hopeful their dear departed grandfather would reveal to them where he’d hidden the family fortune. And old Mrs. Tyrell, timidly grateful for any fleeting contact with her dead cat, Marmalade. The two couples were easy enough; all they needed were general platitudes on the one hand and vague hints on the other, but having to make cat noises was downright demeaning. If trade hadn’t dropped off so much recently she’d have drawn the line at pets, but times were hard, and Madam Zara had to make do with what she could get.
She let her eyes roll back in her head, and produced her best sepulchral moan. She was rather proud of her moan. It had something of the mystic and the eternal in it, and was guaranteed to make even the most skeptical client sit up and take notice. She took a firm grip on the hands of Graeme Holbrook and David Peyton on either side of her, and let a delicate shudder run down her arms into her hands.
“The spirits are with us,” she said softly. “They are near us in everything’ we do, separated from us by only the thinnest of veils. They wish always to make contact with us, and all we have to do is listen.... Hush. I feel a disturbance in the ether. A spirit draws near. Speak with my voice, dear departed one. Have you a message for someone here?”
The atmosphere grew taut and strained as Madam Zara threw in a few more moans and shivers, and then pressed her foot firmly onto the lever hidden in the floorboards. A block of wood thudded hollowly against the underside of the table, making the clients jump. She hit the lever a few more times, producing more mysterious knockings, and then concentrated on getting the right intonations for the Peyton grandfather’s voice. People didn’t appreciate what mediums had to go through for their money. She could have been a legitimate actress, if only she’d had the breaks.
“The spirit is drawing closer. I can feel a presence in the room. It’s almost here....”
The door flew open and the tall thin gentleman from upstairs charged in, glared wildly about him, and then headed for the window. The Holbrooks screamed, and Mercy Peyton fell backwards off her chair. Madam Zara looked confusedly about her, completely thrown. Another figure burst in through the open door, his clothes soaked with blood, fresh gore dripping from the axe in his hand. The Holbrooks screamed even louder and clutched each other tightly, convinced that the Grim Reaper himself had come to claim them for meddling in his affairs. The gentleman from upstairs threw open the window and slung a leg over the windowsill. The second figure charged forward, overturning the table. He grabbed at the young gentleman’s shoulder, and just missed as he dropped into the alleyway outside. The second figure cursed horribly and clambered out the window in hot pursuit. The Holbrooks were still clutching each other and whimpering, Mercy Peyton was having hysterics, loudly, and David Peyton was thoughtfully examining the block of wood on the underside of the overturned table. Madam Zara searched frantically for something to say that would retrieve the situation. And just at that moment a large orange cat jumped in through the window from the alley outside and looked around to see what all the fuss was about. Mrs. Tyrell snatched him up and hugged him to her with tears of joy in her eyes.
“Marmalade! You’ve come back to me!”
Madam Zara mentally washed her hands of the whole situation.
Out in the alley, Hawk found Fisher picking herself up out of a pile of garbage. He started forward to help, and then hesitated as the smell hit him. Fisher glared at him.
“Next time, you’re going to watch the back door.”
She headed quickly for the main street, brushing herself off as she went. Hawk hurried after her.
“Did you see Fenris?”
“Of course I saw him! Who do you think knocked me into the garbage? And whatever you’re about to say, I don’t want to hear it. How was I to know he’d come flying out of a window? Now, let’s move it. He can’t be more than a few minutes ahead of us.”
They pounded down the alley and out into Leech Street. Fenris was halfway down the street and running well. Hawk and Fisher charged after him. The crowds turned to watch. Some laughed, a few cheered, and the rest yelled insults and placed bets. A few up ahead took in Fisher’s black cloak and moved to block the street. Guards weren’t much respected in Leech Street. Hawk glared at them.
“We’re Hawk and Fisher, city Guard. Get the hell out of the way!”
The crowd parted suddenly before them, falling back on all sides to give them plenty of room. Fenris glanced back over his shoulder and redoubled his efforts. Fisher nodded approvingly at the more respectful crowd.
“I think they’ve heard of us, Hawk.”
“Shut up and keep running.”
Fenris darted down a side alley, and Hawk and Fisher plunged in after him. Hawk was already breathing hard. Fenris led them through a twisting maze of narrow streets and back alleys, changing direction and doubling back whenever he could. Hawk and Fisher stuck doggedly with him, breath burning in their lungs and sweat running down their heaving sides. Fenris ran through a street market, overturning stalls as he went, to try and slow them down. Hawk just ploughed right through the wreckage, with Fisher close behind. Furious stallholders shook their fists and called down curses on the heads of pursued and pursuers alike.
Hawk’s scowl deepened as he ran. Fenris was leading them deep into the rotten heart of the Northside, but Hawk was damned if he could figure out exactly where the man was headed. He must have some destination in mind, some bolt-hole he could hide in, or a friend who’d protect him. Hawk smiled nastily. He didn’t care if the spy ended up in the Hall of Justice, protected by all twelve Judges and the King himself; Fenris was going to gaol, preferably in chains. It had become a matter of honour. Not to mention revenge. Hawk hated chases.
And then Fenris rounded a corner at full speed, and darted up an exterior stairway on a large squat building of stained and patterned stone. Hawk started after him, but Fisher grabbed him by the arm and brought them both to a sudden halt. Fenris disappeared through a door into the building. Hawk turned on Fisher.
“Before you say anything, Hawk. Look where we are.”
Hawk glared around him, and then grimaced, his anger draining quickly away. Fenris had brought them to Magus Court, home to all the lowlife magicians and sorcerers in Haven. The place looked deserted for the moment, but that could change in a second. On the whole, Guards tended to walk very quietly in and around Magus Court and not draw attention to themselves. Certainly, no one ever tried to make arrests there without massive support from the Guard, and, if necessary, the army. Otherwise they’d have been safer playing brass instruments in a cave full of hibernating bears.
“That’s not all,” said Fisher. “Look whose house he’s holed up in.”
Hawk looked, and groaned. “Grimm,” he said disgustedly. “All the magic-users Fenris could have known, and it had to be the sorcerer Grimm.”
He and Fisher leant against the wall at the bottom of the exterior stairway and grabbed a few minutes’ rest while they tried to work out what the hell to do next. Hawk and Fisher knew Grimm, and he knew them. They’d crossed swords before, metaphorically speaking, but Hawk and Fisher had never been able to pin anything on him. People were too scared to talk.
Grimm was a medium-level sorcerer with unpleasant personal habits who specialized in shape changing. He could do anything from a face-lift to a full body transformation, depending on the needs, and wealth, of his client. He had no scruples; he’d do anything, to anyone. Criminals found his services very useful, either for themselves, to change an appearance that had grown too well-known, or for taking revenge on their enemies. The Guard had found one up-and-coming crime boss wandering the streets in the early hours of the morning, leaving a bloody trail behind him. It took them some time to identify him. He’d been flayed, every inch of skin removed from head to toe, but he was still alive, and screaming. He took a long time to die in the main city hospital, and he only stopped scream
ing when his voice gave out.
It figured Fenris would know someone like Grimm. All the spy had to do was acquire a new face and build and he could disappear into the crowds right under Hawk’s and Fisher’s noses. On the other hand, they couldn’t just go barging in after him. Grimm was a sorcerer and took his privacy very seriously. Officially, any Guard could enter any premises in Haven, providing they could demonstrate good cause in the Courts afterwards. In practice, it all depended on whose home you were talking about. Having a Court declare you posthumously correct wasn’t much of a comfort, and sorcerers tended to throw spells first and think afterwards. Constant industrial espionage among magic-users had produced a general paranoia and split-second reflexes.
“What do you think?” said Hawk finally.
“I think we should think about this very carefully,” said Fisher. “I have no desire to spend the rest of my life as a combination of several small, unpleasant, and very smelly animals. Shapechange sorcerers are renowned for having a very warped sense of humour. I say we stay put and call for backup.”
“By the time anyone gets here, Fenris will have his new face and we’ll have lost him.”
Fisher scowled. “Given the alternatives, I say let him go. It’s not as if he was a murderer or something. Hell, Haven’s full of spies. What’s one more or less going to make any difference?”
“No,” said Hawk firmly. “We can’t let him go. It would be bad for our reputation. People would think we’d got soft, and take advantage.”
Fisher shook her head. “There has to be an easier way to make a living. All right, let’s go in after him. No point in sneaking around. Grimm’s bound to have the place covered with security spells to warn of intruders. So, crash straight in and trust to the suppressor stone to protect us. Right?”
“Sounds good to me,” said Hawk. “Let’s do it.”
He handed Fisher the suppressor stone, and she muttered the activating phrase. The stone glowed fiercely in her hand like a miniature star. They started up the exterior stairway, Hawk in the lead, axe at the ready. The stairs creaked loudly. Great, thought Hawk, Just great. They hurried up the steps to the door at the top of the stairway. Hawk listened carefully, his ear pressed against the wood, but he couldn’t hear anything. He tried the door handle and it turned stiffly in his grasp. He eased the door open an inch, and then stepped back. He glanced at Fisher for reassurance, and found she was doing the same to him. He smiled briefly. They both counted to three under their breath, kicked the door in and burst into the room beyond, weapons at the ready.
The sorcerer Grimm was escorting a robed and hooded figure to a door at the far end of the room. He spun round and glared at the intruders, and then pushed the hooded figure towards the far door. The Guards started forward, but the figure was out the door and gone before they got anywhere near him. Which left them facing the sorcerer. Grimm was a huge, broad-chested man dressed in sorcerer’s black, with a thick beard and an impressive mane of jet-black hair. He was smiling unpleasantly, like a vulture about to feed on a dead man’s eyes.
“You’re under arrest, in the name of the Guard!” said Hawk resolutely, and then flung himself to one side as Grimm snatched a ball of fire out of thin air and threw it at him. The fireball hit a chair and incinerated it. Fisher threw a knife while the sorcerer was distracted, and it sank deep into Grimm’s arm. He cursed briefly, pulled the knife out, and threw it aside. Hawk and Fisher charged across the room towards him. The sorcerer drew himself up and spoke a Word of Power. The suppressor stone flared up, cancelling out his magic. Hawk and Fisher hit the sorcerer together, throwing him to the floor. There was a short, confused struggle, and then Fisher clubbed him unconscious with the hilt of her sword. Grimm went limp, and Hawk and Fisher rolled off him. They sat together, backs against the wall, and waited for their breathing to get back to normal.
“Well, at least we’ve got something to show for the chase,” said Hawk.
“Yeah,” said Fisher. “Pity about Fenris, though. We were that close to getting him....”
“Forget it,” said Hawk. “He’s long gone by now, with a new face and build, the crafty bastard. We’ll have to start over from scratch.”
“Right. Our superiors are not going to be pleased with us.”
They sat in silence for a while.
“There isn’t a reward on Grimm, by any chance, is there?” said Hawk hopefully.
“No chance. There’s never been any real evidence against him. Still, he’s dropped himself right in it this time. Aiding and abetting a fugitive, resisting arrest, assaulting the Guard ...”
“Right,” said Hawk. “Once he wakes up, he’s going to have some very leading questions to answer.”
“Assuming he hasn’t got concussion, and lost his memory.”
Hawk groaned. “Don’t. It would be just our luck if we had accidentally scrambled his brains. Come on, let’s have a look round the place while we’re here. Maybe we’ll get lucky and find a clue or something.”
They moved cautiously round Grimm’s quarters, being very careful not to touch anything without checking it out first. Magic-users were often fond of setting booby traps for the unwary. Hawk’s usual method of searching the premises was to trash the place until it looked like a hurricane had hit it, but this room already looked as if someone had beaten him to it. Grimm was one of those people who lived in a permanent mess and liked it that way. His quarters took up the whole of the first floor—a single long room littered with junk and debris of every description.
There were racks of chemicals, glass vials and tubing, pewter mugs and mixing bowls, all scattered over two huge tables. Together with papers and books and what appeared to be the remains of at least three different meals. Hawk tossed aside a discarded shirt and grimaced as he discovered a dead cat, dissected into its component parts and neatly pinned to a display board. Beneath the cat were detailed instructions on how to put the animal back together again. Either Grimm had a really nasty sense of humour, or ... Hawk decided very firmly that he wasn’t going to think about that.
The bed looked as though Grimm had left it exactly as he’d crawled out of it. Fisher peered underneath, just in case, but there was nothing there except dust and a chamber pot. A combination desk and writing table looked more interesting. She eased the drawers open one by one with the tip of her sword, and smiled as she came across a thick sheaf of papers. She ran the suppressor stone over the desk, and then carefully removed the papers, watching all the time in case there was a mechanical booby trap as well. She leafed quickly through the papers, scowling as she tried to make out Grimm’s scratchy handwriting.
Hawk looked into a recessed alcove, and his breath caught in his throat. A dozen different faces lined the wall; skins so skillfully taken and mounted they seemed almost alive. Hawk fought down his disgust and looked them over carefully. They were all unique, no two even remotely alike. Presumably they were models for the faces Grimm could give his customers. He’d better get a Guard sketch artist in to make copies. Fenris might be wearing one of these faces. He moved closer and studied them thoughtfully. Whatever else you could say about Grimm, he knew his stuff. The faces were incredibly lifelike. He reached out a hand to touch one, and then snatched his hand back as the face opened its eyes and looked at him. A grimace of pain moved slowly across the flat features, and the mouth stretched in a soundless scream. The other faces stirred, eyes opening across the wall to fix Hawk with the same unblinking look of agonized despair. Hawk’s stomach lurched as he realized they were all still alive, pinned up and endlessly suffering.
Whatever happened, Hawk swore he’d see Grimm brought to justice for this, at least.
“Isobel, get over here, fast.”
Fisher ran quickly to join him, sword in hand, and stared numbly at the writhing faces on the wall. “My God, Hawk. What kind of bastard ... We’ve got to do something. We can’t leave them like this.”
“No, we can’t. Try the suppressor stone. Maybe it’ll cancel out the m
agic that’s keeping them alive.”
Fisher nodded, and ran the stone slowly over the staring faces. One by one the eyes closed and did not open again. The life went out of the faces, and soon they were nothing more than empty masks, pinned to a wall. At rest, at last. Fisher touched a few of them tentatively, but they didn’t respond. The skin was soft, but already cooling. Just to be sure, Hawk had her run the suppressor stone over the dissected cat as well.
They took turns examining the papers Fisher had found in Grimm’s desk. They seemed to be records of services Grimm had provided in the past, but no names were ever mentioned, only initials. It was mostly cosmetic sorcery, though some of the more bizarre requests made Hawk blink. There was no accounting for taste. But interesting though the documents were, there was nothing in them to tie Grimm in with the spy Fenris. Or at least, nothing Hawk could recognize. He threw the papers back onto the desk, and looked frustratedly around him.
“We’re not going to find anything here. He’s too careful, too meticulous. Probably keeps the important information locked up in his head.”
So let the Guard sorcerers get it out of him,” said Fisher. “Let them earn their money for a change.”
There was a low groan from behind them, and they looked quickly round. At the other end of the room the sorcerer Grimm was rising unsteadily to his feet. He shook his head once to clear it, and then his gaze fell on Hawk and Fisher and his face darkened. He smiled slowly, removed his robe and threw it to one side. Ropes of muscle bulged suddenly across his bare chest and shoulders, pushing out the taut skin. Hawk and Fisher watched transfixed as the sorcerer changed. His body stretched and swelled, impossible muscles crawling over an inhumanly magnified frame. His face trembled, the features shifting grotesquely as his inner rage expressed itself in distorted flesh and bone. His eyes became featureless black pools, and sharp jagged teeth distorted the shape of his mouth. Grimm padded slowly forward, his crooked hands growing razored claws.