When Hawk and Fisher announced that they were making a quick stop at their lodgings before they went any further, Chance wasn’t at all sure what to expect. So far the legendary figures of Prince Rupert and Princess Julia had been, certainly not a disappointment, but nothing at all like the people he’d imagined finding at the end of his journey south. He wasn’t sure exactly who or what he’d expected, but nothing in the legends, official or otherwise, had prepared him for Hawk and Fisher. Or Haven, come to that. And he definitely hadn’t expected to find the two greatest heroes of the Demon War living in a one-room apartment over a somewhat shabby family café.
The area was quiet, and people nodded politely if not warmly to Hawk and Fisher as they passed. It was midday now, and pleasant aromas of newly prepared food drifted from the open door of the café. Chance’s stomach rumbled loudly, reminding him it had been more than a while since he’d last eaten. But Hawk and Fisher ignored the café’s open door, heading instead for a rickety wooden stairway on the side of the building. From the look of the battered wooden steps, the whole structure hadn’t been painted or repaired since it was first erected. Chance watched the stairway shake and shudder under Hawk and Fisher’s weight, sighed once, loudly, and went after them. It took all his strength to drag Chappie away from the café’s enticing aromas, and even more determination to get the reluctant animal to ascend the wooden steps.
“We took this place when we first arrived in Haven,” said Fisher over her shoulder. “It was supposed to be just a temporary measure while we looked around for something better, or at least less appalling, but somehow we never got around to moving. What with one thing and another, we rarely get to spend much time here anyway. It’s a good enough place, I suppose. Warm in winter and cool in summer, and nobody bothers us. We get free meals at the café below, because burglars, thieves, and protection thugs have learned to give it a wide berth rather than annoy us.”
“Is the food any good?” asked Chance politely.
“It’s free,” said Hawk shortly.
“Best kind,” said Chappie.
The quivering stairway ended at last at a heavy wooden door with three heavy steel locks, and a varied assortment of protective runes and sigils carved deep into the wood. Hawk produced a set of keys on a ring, from which dangled not only a rabbit’s foot, but also what looked suspiciously like a human finger bone. He unlocked the three locks, pushed open the door, and Fisher barged right past him, plunging into the room beyond with sword in hand. She looked quickly about her, and only then put her sword away and gestured for the others to come in.
“You can’t be too careful, not in Haven,” she said offhandedly. “We’ve made a lot of enemies here over the years. Came home one time and found an iron golem waiting for us. Luckily its weight was too much for the floorboards, and the damned thing crashed right through into the café below. Last I heard, they were still using its belly as an oven. Make yourselves comfortable while Hawk and I grab a few things.”
Chance looked interestedly about him as Hawk locked the door and slammed home two heavy bolts at top and bottom. The apartment was one long room, taking up the whole upper floor of the building. The three narrow windows were barred, and what little light crept in only served to show up how gloomy the rest of the place was, even at midday. Fisher lit a lantern, and a warm golden glow filled her end of the room. There wasn’t much furniture, and belongings lay piled in heaps on the floor next to the walls. Rugs and carpets of varying design and quality covered the floor, scuffed and worn smooth in places. Everything in the room looked like it had been bought secondhand, to no overall plan or design. Periods and styles clashed rebelliously, but still the apartment had a warm, cozy feel to it; of comfort and ease and peace of heart.
Chance wandered slowly round the room, looking at this and that, trying to get a feel for Hawk’s and Fisher’s characters from the way they lived, but really the only word that immediately came to mind was slobs. Chance couldn’t help noticing the protective wards carved into the window-sills, and even on the walls and ceilings. He recognized just enough of the simpler spells to feel very uneasy about what had presumably tried to get in sometime in the past.
“There are more defenses you can’t see,” said Hawk casually, searching through the rumpled sheets on the unmade bed at the far end of the room. “People will always find the courage to strike from a distance, and Haven is crawling with magic-users for hire.”
Chance nodded, taking in the string of garlic buds hanging on one wall, next to two crossed silver daggers and a large vial of what he assumed was holy water. “You have troubles with vampires and werewolves here?” he asked, trying hard to sound casual.
“Just now and again,” said Fisher, pulling off her boots and wiggling her toes with unrestrained satisfaction. “That stuff’s just tools of the trade in a city like Haven.”
On the wall next to the tools of the trade was a plain, unadorned crucifix, and Chance crossed himself automatically. “I see you still kept your faith, so far from home.”
“You need something to believe in in a cesspit like this,” said Hawk, staring dubiously at a pair of rolled socks.
“A lot’s changed in the Forest Church since you’ve been gone,” said Chance. “It’s a lot more organized and influential than it used to be. The long night put the fear of God into a lot of people.”
“We saw heaven once,” said Fisher, pulling on a pair of scruffy boots that looked to Chance entirely identical to the ones she’d just taken off. “Or at least, something very like it.”
“You mean you died?” asked Chance, uncertainly.
“Yes,” said Hawk. “But we got over it.”
Chance decided he wasn’t going to ask. He didn’t think he wanted to know. He looked around to see what mischief Chappie was getting into. The dog was ambling happily around, sniffing at everything and sticking his nose into every dark corner he could find. He found something on the floor, gobbled it up, and then spat it out at speed. He realized Chance was watching him, and grinned widely.
“Interesting place you’ve brought me to, Chance. I’ve known stables where all the horses suffered from bloat and wind that smelled more fragrant than this dump. And you’ve got mice here. I’ve found some droppings, if anyone’s interested. And a whole pile of clothes absolutely begging to be hauled off to the laundry. Don’t you people ever clean up in here?”
“We’re between maids at the moment,” said Hawk. “Ah, I wondered where I’d put this.”
He was holding up what appeared to be a small doll made out of twisted raffia, decorated with slender colored ribbons, each studded with tight little knots.
“What is it?” Chance asked politely.
“Well, it started out life as a dream-catcher, but I had a sorcerer acquaintance of ours boost its power. I won’t tell you exactly how, but the goat was never the same afterward. Now this little mannikin functions as a general protective ward against all kinds of offensive magic. It won’t last long once it’s been activated, but while it’s awake, nothing short of a major summoning will be able to get to us.”
“You think we’re going to need that kind of protection?” asked Chance.
“This is Haven,” said Fisher. “And we’re going to be stirring up one hell of a lot of trouble before we leave.” She looked reflectively at the mannikin in Hawk’s hand. “I remember when we got that. The case of the Collector of Souls and the Dread Mandalas.”
“Yeah,” said Hawk. “That was a bad one.”
Hawk and Fisher looked at each other for a moment, and then went back to rooting through their piles of possessions. Chance went back to looking about him. Half of one wall was taken up with a bookcase, mostly crammed with cheap Gothic romances. Chance pulled out a couple at random, and nodded to see the familiar garish covers of tousled gypsy lasses half falling out of their blouses, while in the background was the usual brooding mansion with one lighted window. There were times when Chance felt very strongly that the invention of the printing press had a lot to answer for. When he was at school in the north, reading wasn’t something just anybody did. He put the books back, and Hawk caught the movement.
“I know,” he said unapologetically. “But they’re cheap and cheerful, and when you limp home in the early hours at the end of a double shift, you need something not too demanding to unwind to. I like the spooky stuff; Isobel mostly goes for the romantic elements.”
“We do have other books,” Fisher pointed out huffily, but couldn’t seem to come up with any other titles on the spur of the moment.
Chance went back to wandering around the long room, stepping carefully over the empty wine bottles and an occasional discarded sock, to look at a jigsaw of impressive size, almost finished on a wide wooden board. It was a forest scene, with tall trees and bursting green foliage. Chance didn’t feel any need to comment. Everyone deals with homesickness in their own way.
“We would have finished that,” said Fisher, trying to force something large and woolly and recalcitrant into a backpack. “But Hawk’s only good at doing the borders. And he lost the last few pieces.”
“I did not lose them!” Hawk said hotly. “I don’t think they were in the box in the first place. And I can do more than borders. I just don’t have the time, mostly.”
“You’re still upset because we didn’t get the mountain scene you wanted.”
“I didn’t want it,” said Hawk, in that extremely patient tone that drives women mad. “I just said it had more colors, and would have been more challenging.”
Hawk and Fisher came together in the middle of the room, and looked quietly about them. They were both carrying bulging backpacks, crammed full of essentials. The mannikin peered out of the top of Hawk’s pack like a watchful sentinel. Chappie came and sat beside Chance, chewing happily on something he’d found. Chance knew better than to inquire what.
“We really should get going,” said Hawk.
“Yes,” agreed Fisher. But neither of them moved.
“Not a lot to show for ten years,” said Hawk. “But then, I think I always knew we were just passing through.”
“You know we can’t take much,” said Fisher. “It would only slow us down.”
“Yes, I know. But I shall miss this place. Hard to think we’ll never see it again, once we close the door behind us.”
“Do us good,” Fisher said briskly. “We were getting into a rut here anyway.”
“Part of me doesn’t want to leave,” said Hawk. “We were comfortable here. Safe. Safe from having to be heroes and legends.”
“We don’t have to go …” Fisher said slowly.
“Yes, we do,” said Hawk. “Vacation’s over.”
They left the apartment securely locked behind them, because to do otherwise would only call attention to their leaving, and tied their packs to the horses Hawk had requisitioned from a nearby stable. Hawk sent Chance and Chappie back to their hostelry to pick up his horse and belongings, while he and Fisher went to make their goodbyes at Guard Headquarters. They studied the streets along their way with more than usual interest, the knowledge that they’d never be seeing them again allowing Hawk and Fisher to see them with fresh eyes. After so many years in Haven, they’d become inured to far too many sights and sounds, and all the many familiar evils.
It was time for one last crusade in Haven, one last chance for justice, retribution, and the casting down of the guilty. And to hell with what the law had to say about it.
Guard Headquarters was busy as always, with any number of colorful people bustling in and out. No one paid Hawk and Fisher any unusual attention as they tied up their horses outside, tipped a Constable to keep a watch on them (because otherwise they’d have come out to find nothing left but their horseshoes), and then moved purposefully through Headquarters toward the main Stores. The Storemaster objected loudly to their unannounced visit, and demanded to see the necessary paperwork. Hawk gave him a hard look, Fisher let her hand rest on her sword’s hilt, and the Storemaster decided he was needed urgently elsewhere. He left at not quite a run, and all the clerks at their desks became very interested in their work as Hawk and Fisher strolled casually through the Stores, helping themselves to whatever they liked the look of.
There was a lot to choose from. Guard scientists were always coming up with new ideas, to help the poor souls on the beat survive another day on the mean streets of Haven. Hawk and Fisher loaded up with concussion grenades, incendiary devices, and as many throwing knives as they could carry. Hawk was particularly taken with the chaos bombs. They were new, very much untried and untested in the field, and as expensive as prototypes always are, but they were rumored to be quite amazingly destructive, and that was enough for Hawk. He stuffed all six of them into his belt pouch, and looked hopefully around for more goodies. Fisher had to smile. Hawk always loved the latest toys. Even so, they quickly decided to pass on the other latest development, drug bombs filled with black poppy dust. The one and only time the things had been used in the field, the bomb saturated the whole room with poppy dust, and criminals and Guards alike had just sat around holding hands and giggling a lot until the effects wore off.
“How about the new handcuffs?” asked Hawk. “They’re supposed to be guaranteed escape-proof.”
“I don’t think so,” said Fisher. “First, I wasn’t planning on arresting anybody, and second, the last time those things were used, they ended up having to cut the poor bugger out of them. I think we’ve got enough toys, Hawk. Let’s go and hit the Files room before word gets out.”
Hawk nodded reluctantly, and they strode briskly out of the Stores and down the main corridor. People took one look at their determined faces, and hurried to get out of their way. The Files room was currently enjoying one of its more accessible periods, thanks to a poltergeist that had moved in recently. The unseen ghost had a thing about order, and everything being in its place. It wasn’t an especially logical or useful order, but the general feeling was that some was better than none, and everything possible was being done to make the poltergeist feel at home. However, the bureaucrat in charge, one Otto Griffith, a long bony specimen with a face like a slapped behind, still saw the Files as being his personal territory, and defended them with all the spleen at his command.
“You don’t have a chit, do you?” he demanded immediately as Hawk and Fisher walked in. “You never bother with the correct procedures and paperwork. Well, this time I’ve got the Commander on my side. He said I don’t have to let you have anything, unless you can show me the correct necessary acquisition forms. In triplicate.”
“We don’t have time for this,” said Hawk. “And I really don’t give a chit.”
He nodded to Fisher, and they each took hold of the piled-up In and Out trays, and tossed their contents high into the air. Papers flew like escaping birds, flying in all directions, and only reluctantly fluttering back to the floor across the widest possible area. Otto Griffith’s face went several interesting colors in turn, and he looked like he was about to burst into tears.
“You’re barbarians! Uncivilized Northern barbarians!” He scrambled out from behind his desk and began snatching up the scattered papers, clutching them to his chest like injured loved ones. Hawk and Fisher left him to it, and headed purposefully toward the rows of great oaken filing cabinets. Digging out information on their chosen targets went remarkably quickly, and soon they had all the necessary information on where their targets could currently be found, and details of their defenses. They waved Otto a cheery good-bye as they left the Files room, and he responded with a detailed and quite appalling curse that someone of his background and standing shouldn’t have known.
Outside the Files room Hawk and Fisher came to a sudden halt. Their way was blocked by a dozen armed Guards, their weapons already in their hands. There was a long tense moment as both sides considered each other carefully, weighing the situation, and then one of the Guard Constables explained, very politely and only a little uneasily, that the Day Commander would very much like a word with Captains Hawk and Fisher. In his office, right now. If it wasn’t too much trouble.
“And if it is?” said Fisher.
“He wants to see you anyway,” said the Guard Constable. There was a sheen of sweat on his upper lip, but the sword in his hand was steady. “We’re to escort you there, and see you don’t get lost along the way.”
“How considerate of the Commander,” murmured Hawk.
He and Fisher glanced at each other. They could probably take a dozen Guards, but they didn’t want to. The Constables were just doing their job. So Hawk and Fisher nodded calmly, took their hands away from their weapons, and said they’d be delighted to accompany the Guards to the Day Commander’s office. The dozen Constables immediately looked extremely relieved, and escorted their charges down the main corridor. None of them put away their swords, though.
The first real surprise came when Hawk and Fisher were very politely ushered into the Commander’s office, and found not only the Day Commander but also the Night Commander as well waiting to see them. Given how much the two men detested each other, and how jealously each man defended his own territory, it was almost unthinkable to find them both in the same office at the same time. They were standing behind the desk, apparently because there was only the one chair, and neither was willing to let the other sit in his presence. Neither of them looked at all pleased to see Hawk and Fisher. They both nodded pretty much in unison to the accompanying Constables, who backed out of the room with almost indecent haste, and shut the door behind them.
Commander Dubois currently ran the night shift. Short and stocky and as bald as an egg, he’d been a Commander for over twenty years, and it hadn’t improved his disposition one bit. He’d been quite a thief-taker in his time, but these days he needed a stick just to get around. Some years back half a dozen thugs had taken it in turns to stamp on his legs till they broke. He was a harsh, intolerant man whose only saving grace was that he hated crime and criminals with a fine passion, and so was very good at his job. He glared at Hawk and Fisher from behind the desk, and Hawk and Fisher nodded respectfully in return.
Looming over Commander Dubois was the tall blocky figure of the Day Commander. Glen had just hit fifty, and resented it fiercely. He had a permanent scowl, a down-turned mouth, and a military-style haircut that looked like it had been shaped around a pudding bowl. He’d been an Army officer before he came to the Guard, and never let anyone forget it. Hawk and Fisher gave him a sloppy salute, because they knew how much that irritated him.
Still, seeing Dubois and Glen together made it clear to Hawk that somehow news of their intentions had already gone around. Nothing else would get these two men together in one room. Hawk supposed he shouldn’t have been surprised. No one can hope to keep a secret long in a city like Haven, where information is often a life and death matter, not to mention money in the pocket. Now it just remained to see how much the two Commanders knew, or thought they knew, about Hawk and Fisher’s plans for a final vengeance. And then Dubois spoke, and all Hawk’s planned evasions went out the window.
“So, you’re leaving Haven,” said the Night Commander heavily. “It hadn’t occurred to you to come and tell us this? That there might be urgent arrangements we’d have to make, like finding replacements to cover your beat? Much as I am loath to admit it, you are two of the most successful Guards in this city, and your leaving will make one hell of a difference.”
Hawk regrouped quickly. “We thought we’d let our departure come as a nice surprise,” he said smoothly. “Just think of the good it’ll do your ulcers, not having us around to apologize for.”
“You can’t go,” said Commander Glen flatly. “You’re needed here.”
“No, we’re not,” said Fisher, just as flatly. “It’s people like you who’ve kept us from making any real changes in this damned city. You’ve always been more concerned with the letter of the law than with the spirit of justice.”
“It’s not your business to decide what is and isn’t just!” snapped Glen. “The whole point of the law is that no one person gets to decide what’s right and wrong. That’s why we have a Council instead of a King.”
“The law is supposed to give people a chance for justice,” said Hawk. “But when the law is corrupt, drafted by the rich and influential to protect the interests of the rich and influential, when it can’t or won’t protect the people from those who would prey on them, that’s when you need people like us. We’re not infallible, but we’re better than the alternative.”
“We know,” said Dubois, surprising both Hawk and Fisher. “That’s why you can’t leave. We need people who can be … flexible, in the cause of justice. Guards the people can respect. You’ve both done a good job, in your way. Which is why we’ll have a hell of a time replacing you.”
“We never quit,” said Glen, standing almost rigidly at attention. “We never turned away from the job, no matter how hard it got. They crippled Dubois, and he still wouldn’t give in to the bastards who think they run this city.”
“But what have you really achieved here?” asked Fisher, almost tiredly. “You’ve given your lives trying to get this city to act civilized, and it’s as big a cesspit now as it’s always been.”
“If it’s a case of more money—” said Dubois.
“It’s not,” said Hawk shortly.
“Then how about a promotion,” said Glen, taking Hawk and Fisher by surprise again. “We never meant for you two to be Captains all your lives. Dubois and I always thought that one day you two would be ready to take over our jobs, and then we could retire at last. I might have given my life to the job, but I don’t want to die behind this desk. If you leave, where the hell are we going to find two more honest Guards in Haven?”
“It has to be you,” said Dubois. “There’s no one else we can trust.”
Hawk shook his head slowly. “We’re needed more, elsewhere. Somewhere we can make a real difference. We can’t stay.”
“All right,” said Glen. “What could we offer you to make you stay?”
“Not a damned thing,” said Fisher. “We don’t intend to die here, either. And like Hawk said, we’re needed more somewhere else. So we’re leaving.”
“And just what were you planning on doing before you left?” asked Dubois. “We’ve heard about your little visits to Files and Stores. Poor Otto was almost in hysterics. We’ve had to send for his mother. According to him, you’ve seized confidential information on practically every main villain in Haven. And you’ve loaded up with enough weapons to start your own war. If you’re intending to take the law into your own hands, and pay off some old grudges before you go, you must know we’ll have to stop you, by whatever means necessary.”
Hawk smiled. “You can try.”
“Right,” said Fisher.
The tension in the small room mounted as Hawk and Fisher and the two Commanders glared at each other, equally determined and unflinching, and there was no telling who might have said or done what, when the door suddenly burst open, and the sorceress Mistique came rushing in, more than a little out of breath. Hawk and Fisher both stared immediately at the long thick mane of black hair they now knew to be only a wig, and then they quickly looked away again, not wanting to be caught staring. The sorceress nodded briskly to the two Commanders, either not noticing or politely ignoring the atmosphere in the room.
“All right, I’m here! What is so damned important that the communications sorcerer has to nearly blow my head off with his urgent message? For a moment I thought one of the family gods had finally found out where I lived. So, what is it? Are they rioting in the docks again? I don’t know where they get the energy …”
“These two Guards are under the misapprehension that they’re leaving the city,” said Commander Glen tightly. “You are hereby authorized to use all necessary measures to prevent this, until we can beat some sense into their stubborn thick heads.”
“You have got to be joking,” Mistique said immediately. “I’m not doing one damned thing that might get those two mad at me, and neither will any other sorcerer you’ve got working for you with two brain cells left to rub together.”
“We’re leaving Headquarters now,” said Hawk. “If anyone gets in our way, we’ll mail them back to you. In a whole lot of small packages.”
“Never mind the golden handshake or presentation clock,” said Fisher. “I always get emotional at those to-dos anyway.”
They walked out of the office without waiting for any reply. The Constables who’d escorted them in had long since made themselves scarce. The more sensible ones were hiding until it was clearly all over, and safe for them to come out again. Hawk and Fisher strolled unhurriedly out of Guard Headquarters, and no one tried to stop them.
“So,” said Fisher. “After all we’ve done for them, after all the times we saved this poxy city, we’re on our own now. No help, no backup; just you and me against everyone else.”
“Best way,” said Hawk. “No complications or obligations, no clash of interests or conflicting loyalties. Just us, against everyone else.”
“Us against the world,” said Fisher. “Just like old times, really.”
They joined up with Chance and the dog Chappie at the deserted harborside by the docks, as arranged. It was very calm now, and very quiet; all the Guards and all the strikers were currently licking their wounds at home and plotting new strategies. The only things moving now were the zombies, working endlessly, efficiently, unloading the ships and carting off the goods with calm, eerie precision. Up above, carrion birds filled the sky, soaring silently, drawn to the dead but unable to reach them due to the harbor’s protective wards. Hawk and Fisher and Chance had had to tie their horses up well away from the docks before they could enter; just the smell of the working dead had been enough to make their mounts put back their ears and roll their eyes. Chappie’s eyes had narrowed into slits, and he stuck close to Chance as he padded along the harborside, muttering dangerously under his breath.
“Tell me again this is a good idea,” said Chance, ignoring the dog with the ease of long practice. “Just the four of us, against people as well-connected as the DeWitts seem to be? They’re bound to have their own army of private guards.”
“Most of those are dead and injured, after what happened here earlier,” said Hawk calmly. “The DeWitts have undoubtedly sent their agents out to the local hiring halls to arrange for reinforcements, but they won’t have had time to put together a real force yet. And they sure as hell won’t be expecting more trouble this soon. They think they’re safe from people like us.”
“And if you’re wrong?” said Chance.
“Then we walk right through them,” said Fisher. “David and Marcus have a lot to answer for, and nothing and no one is going to stand in our way.”
Chance felt a sudden chill across the back of his neck. The cold determination in Hawk’s and Fisher’s faces and voices reminded him yet again that he was in the company of legends. At that moment, Chance thought he believed every word he’d ever heard about them.
The cobbled yard before the DeWitts’ business building held only a dozen private guards, uncomfortable in their new garishly colored uniforms. They did their best to look menacing, but barely half of them were holding their weapons like they knew how to use them. Hawk and Fisher drew their weapons and broke into a loping run, howling their old Forest war cries as they closed rapidly on their foes. Chance drew his father’s great axe and hurried after them, Chappie already bounding happily ahead. The private guards broke and ran. Hawk and Fisher chased them into the building, kicking in the door as the last few guards tried desperately to slam it in their faces. The guards huddled together to make a last stand, basically because there was nowhere left to run, but when Chappie came charging in, the guards threw down their weapons and put their hands in the air. One of them actually burst into tears.
“It’s not fair!” he said loudly. “No one told me I’d have to fight Hawk and Fisher and a bloody wolf!”
“Right,” said the guard next to him. “They’re not paying us enough for this. Hell, there isn’t that much money in Haven.”
“I am not a wolf!” snapped Chappie, showing all his teeth. The guards gave frightened little cries and huddled closer together. Chappie turned to glare at Chance as he finally caught up with them. “Tell them I am not a wolf, Chance!”
“They’d be better off if you were,” said Chance, just a little breathlessly. The late Champion’s great double-headed axe had not been designed for running with. “I wasn’t expecting prisoners, Hawk. What do you want to do with them?”
“We could feed them to Chappie,” said Hawk, and grinned unpleasantly as the guards did everything but try to climb into each other’s pockets. “Hell, I haven’t got time for this. Shoo, the lot of you. And don’t let me see you again, or I’ll have Fisher fillet you.”
The private guards shuffled hesitantly past him, smiled weakly at Fisher, and then bolted the moment they reached the door. Chance looked around the deserted entrance hall. If reinforcements from inside the building had been coming, they would have been here by now, which suggested there were no more guards.
“Which way now, Hawk?”
“Beats me,” said Hawk. “We only ever saw the DeWitts on that bloody balcony. But the word is they’re still in here somewhere. So I guess we just kick in doors and generally terrorize people until we find them.”
“Amateurs,” growled Chappie. “Take hours to search a building this size. Get out of the way and let me do it. Won’t take me long to sniff them down.” He raised his long head and sniffed ostentatiously at the air, then stopped short and frowned. “That’s odd. There’s something new in the building. Coming this way. It smells like … smoke, with sulphur in it.”
And that was when the thick gray mists came rolling down the entrance hall, and enveloped all four of them in a multitude of thick, grasping strands, tenuous as cobwebs but strong as steel. Hawk and Fisher lashed out, but the gray strands evaded their weapons with serpentine ease, and lashed their arms to their sides in a moment. Chance did no better, and the gray strands all but cocooned Chappie rather than take any risks where he was concerned. Hawk and Fisher fought the enveloping strands until they contracted sharply, squeezing all the breath out of their lungs, and after that they just stood there, rocking unsteadily on their feet as they fought for air. Chance didn’t waste his strength. He murmured to Chappie to be still, and then stood quietly, waiting for some opportunity to present itself.
The billowing mists parted to reveal a slender dark figure, and Hawk made a disgusted sound. “Mistique! Never trust a sorceress.”
“How the hell did you get here ahead of us?” asked Fisher, scowling darkly. “And how did you know we’d strike here first?”
“Well, honestly, darling, I am a sorceress,” said Mistique calmly. “I’m supposed to know things like that. Don’t bother struggling; the mists are as strong as I think they are, and I think they’re unbreakable. I really do apologize for this; it’s not as if I want to be here, but the Commanders threatened to fire me, and right now I need this job, so I can look after poor Mumsy and Daddy. So I’m afraid none of you are going anywhere. You’re going to stay safely wrapped up in my clever little mists until you come to your senses. Or until the Commanders find some way to pressure you into doing what they want. They’re really very good at doing things like that.”
All the time the sorceress was talking, Hawk strained surreptitiously against the mists, but there wasn’t an inch of give in them. The High Warlock’s axe would probably cut right through the mystic strands, if he could just bring the weapon to bear, but his arm was trapped at his side. Hawk stopped struggling and thought about that for a moment. His arm was trapped, but his axe … Hawk grinned suddenly, and opened the fingers of his hand. The weight of the axe pulled it free from his grip, and it fell toward the floor, tearing through the gray mists it encountered along the way. Mistique shrieked, threw up her hands, and collapsed in a decorous heap on the floor. Immediately the enveloping mists began to unravel and dissipate, and within seconds the captives were free again, as they swept their arms vigorously about them. Chappie couldn’t resist biting at some of them, and grimaced at the taste. Chance looked dubiously at the unconscious sorceress.
“Does she often faint like that?”
“The mists are magical extensions of her own mind,” said Hawk. “When my axe cut through them, she felt it personally, and the magical feedback knocked her out. Just as well. She didn’t really want to fight us.”
They strode past the unconscious sorceress, Chance dragging Chappie along when he wanted to stop and urinate on her, and headed down the hall, following Chappie’s keen nose as he sniffed out the DeWitts’ trail. Fisher leaned in close to Hawk.
“That was a bit easy, wasn’t it?” she asked quietly. “Not to mention convenient?”
“She was faking it,” Hawk murmured just as quietly. “Now she can report back to the Commanders that she did her best, but we were just too much for her.”
“Why bother with the act?” said Fisher.
“Because you can bet there are any number of unseen eyes watching us,” said Hawk. He grinned suddenly. “The next guy who tries my trick on Mistique and expects it to work is in for a very unpleasant surprise.”
They followed Chappie’s nose along a convoluted trail, passing back and forth through the great building. Clerks at their desks watched with wide eyes as they passed, but made no attempt to raise the alarm. They stuck to their desks and kept their heads well down. Most of the rooms were empty. Chappie followed the trail out onto the balcony and back again, his nose very close to the floor now. He never once hesitated or looked confused, even when the trail finally ended at a broom closet. He snuffled noisily at the door, then stepped back to look meaningfully at Chance. Chance tried the door. It was locked, but one blow of his father’s axe took care of that. Chance pulled the door open, and there were Marcus and David DeWitt, huddled together like frightened children.
“Surprise!” said Chappie, and the two brothers cried out in shock and fear.
“Come out of there,” growled Hawk. “Don’t make me come in there and get you.”
And then Marcus DeWitt thrust forward one pudgy hand, holding out the zombie control stone. It flared up brightly as Marcus spoke the activating word, and Chance suddenly fell back a step, clutching at his head. Chappie collapsed on the floor, whining and whimpering. Hawk and Fisher swayed on their feet as something rushed through their thoughts like an icy river, numbing their minds, but then it was gone, and they were themselves again. Hawk glared at Marcus.
“What the hell was that?”
“The control stone,” Marcus said breathlessly. “At this range, it can control any mind or body.”
“Like hell,” said Fisher. “After all the Wild Magic we were exposed to, a simple geas like that is just water off a duck’s back to us. Now hand that thing over before I make up my mind which of your orifices I’m going to stuff it into.”
David DeWitt laughed suddenly, a soft relieved sound. “You may not be affected, but your companions are. They belong to us now.”
Hawk and Fisher looked around sharply. Chance was standing stiffly, his face and eyes dangerously blank. Chappie was back on his feet, and growling menacingly.
“Kill them!” said Marcus DeWitt viciously. “Kill them both! Now!”
Chance stalked forward, raising his axe. Chappie snarled once, and lurched toward Hawk and Fisher. They backed slowly away, not wanting to get too far from the DeWitts in case they tried to make a run for it.
“I thought that stone only worked on zombies!” hissed Fisher.
“Gaunt must have done a better job than he knew,” said Hawk.
“So what do we do now? I don’t want to have to hurt Chance or the dog.”
“I’ll hold them off, you get that stone away from Marcus. But make it quick—Chance and Chappie don’t look like they’re bluffing.”
Fisher nodded, and the two of them lunged forward with the precision of long experience. Hawk’s axe swept up to parry Chance’s descending blade, and the two heavy axe-heads slammed together in a bright flurry of sparks. Chance’s eyes were vague as he fought the DeWitts’ will, but he swung his axe with practiced skill and commitment. The two axe-blades rang loudly in the still air of the narrow corridor as the two men struck fiercely against each other, neither of them yielding so much as an inch.
Chappie came lurching forward, stiff-leggedly, snarling like a long roll of thunder. Fisher moved quickly to put the two fighting men between her and the dog, and then darted forward to grab at the control stone in Marcus’ hand. Her fingers closed around his, but he wouldn’t give it up, prying desperately at her fingers with his other hand. Chappie swung around the fighting men and stumbled toward Fisher. David DeWitt tried to hit her. She lashed out with the back of her hand holding her sword, and he cried out as he fell back into the closet, blood gushing down his face from a broken nose. Chappie was very close now, almost within lunging range. So Fisher threw all her strength against Marcus’ grip, and bent back his wrist until it broke. He shrieked briefly, and then again as she jerked the control stone out of his hand. Chance stopped fighting immediately, and stepped back, lowering his axe. Hawk watched him carefully.
“Damn,” said Chance thickly, shaking his head. “Damn, that was unpleasant.”
“Got that right,” growled Chappie, shaking his head, too. “Like having someone else behind my eyes, making me do things. I’m going to bite someone’s arse for this.”
“Get in line,” said Hawk, finally lowering his axe. He looked at the DeWitt brothers, both of them sniveling together in their hiding place. They shrank back under his gaze. Fisher studied the control stone thoughtfully. Seen up close, it seemed too small and ordinary to have been the cause of so much woe. Hawk reached into the closet, grabbed Marcus by the shirt-front, and dragged him to his feet. He glared right into Marcus’ tear-filled eyes, their faces so close, they were almost touching. When Hawk finally spoke, his voice was little more than a whisper.
“How many good men and women died on the harborside today because of you? How many were crippled, or beaten so hard, they’re pissing blood? How many families will starve because you took away all the jobs, replacing men with your stinking zombies? You’re worse than an assassin, DeWitt. You don’t just kill men; you kill lives and families and hope. Why should they die? Why shouldn’t you die, instead?”
He raised his axe for a killing blow, and Marcus screamed as he saw no mercy in Hawk’s cold eye, no mercy at all.
Fisher moved quickly in beside Hawk, and though she didn’t touch him, her voice was right there in his ear. “Don’t do it, Hawk. He deserves to die, they both do. But I’ve been thinking. If the DeWitts die now, the docks will be paralyzed for months while their heirs fight it out over the will. You know how this city loves a good lawsuit. No work for the dockers, no food for the city. If the DeWitts die now, at our hands, innocents will suffer.”
“If the DeWitts live, innocents will suffer,” said Hawk, not lowering his axe.
“There is another way,” Fisher said carefully. “Not as satisfying for us, but then, that’s not supposed to be why we’re doing this.”
Hawk finally lowered his axe and looked at Fisher. “All right. I’m listening.”
Chance studied them both as Fisher murmured in Hawk’s ear. For the first time he had seen true rage in Hawk’s scarred face, and the sheer violence of it had shocked him. He had no doubt at all that Hawk would have killed his helpless victim in cold blood if Fisher hadn’t intervened. This wasn’t the Prince Rupert of legend. This was someone else, someone far more terrifying, and Chance wasn’t at all sure how he felt about this new Hawk. This wasn’t the man he’d come south to find, to save the Forest Kingdom. And then he was surprised to see a slow smile spread across Hawk’s face as Fisher stopped murmuring and stepped back.
Hawk took the control stone from Fisher and strode over to a nearby window. He gestured for the others to join him, and they did, including the DeWitts after an admonishing glare from Fisher and a scowl from Chappie. They all looked out the window and down below, the harborside and the docks spread out before them under the midday sun. It was getting uncomfortably warm now, but the zombies toiled unceasingly in silence, feeling none of the heat. Hawk held the glowing control stone aloft in his hand, spoke the activating word he’d heard Marcus use, and concentrated, sending out his will to the dead men working below. And as one they stopped what they were doing, abandoned their tasks, and turned away to walk slowly but purposefully into the sea. One by one, they vanished beneath the dark waters, disappearing in their hundreds like so many slow-moving lemmings, until there were no more zombies left anywhere in the docks.
“They’ll keep walking across the bottom of the sea forever,” said Hawk. “Or at least until something eats them, or they fall apart. And just to make sure you two bastards don’t get your hands on any more …”
He opened his hand and let the control stone drop onto the floor. And as the DeWitts watched disbelievingly, Hawk smashed the stone with one blow from his axe. The glowing crystal shattered into thousands of delicate slivers with a soft tinkling sound, and that was that. Marcus and David DeWitt moaned quietly. The only sorcerer who could have made them another was dead and gone. They had invested all that wealth and made all those plans for nothing.
“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 Hawk, 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.
“Greetings, Captains. Isn’t it a simply lovely day?”
“So it is,” said Fisher. “Chance, this is Gently Northampton; he knows the sewers under Haven better than anyone.”
“Sewers are my life,” said Gently. He blew his nose on a filthy handkerchief that Hawk wouldn’t have touched with two pairs of gloves on, and then smiled again. “You can’t beat the sewers for a bit of peace and quiet. No one bothers you. I haven’t paid taxes for years. Though you’d be surprised what you can find down here some days. We’ve had to block off the tunnels under Magus Court. I don’t know what those magicians have been up to, but there’s something big and white in the passages now, and it’s giggling. We’ve had to call in the SWAT team. Mind you, the sewers under the East Side are lovely this time of year. There’s flowers there as beautiful as anything in the gentry’s gardens. And, of course, they eat the rats, which helps keep the numbers down.”
“Fascinating as always, Gently,” said Fisher. “Did you get our message about what we need?”
“Certainly,” said Gently. “Anything for you, Captains. One bagful, as requested.”
He ducked back in his hole and then handed up a large cloth sack that writhed and bulged ominously. Fisher took the sack, tested its weight with one hand, and grinned unpleasantly. “Thank you, Gently. That will do nicely.”
“Time to go see St. Christophe,” said Hawk as Gently’s head disappeared back into the sewers. He levered the iron grille back into place and stamped it down.
“Then can we please go back to the Forest?” said Chance, just a little plaintively. “I didn’t feel this threatened during the Demon War.”
“Some people just don’t know how to have a good time,” said Hawk, and Fisher nodded solemnly. The sack bulged and kicked.
St. Christophe’s mansion was reputed to be the single largest personally owned residence in the city, and Chance could quite believe it. Four stories high and what looked like several acres wide, it dominated the quiet residential area. The thick stone exterior walls were topped with iron spikes and broken glass, and the only entrance into the grounds was a great stone archway that featured not only a lowered steel portcullis but also half a dozen heavily armed private guards. They took one look at who was approaching them and immediately sounded a general alarm. Hawk strolled unconcernedly up to the steel bars of the portcullis and smiled charmingly.
“You know who we are. Just once, what say we do this the easy way? We’re here to see St. Christophe. You let us in, or else.”
“Or else what?” asked the leader of the private guards.
“Or else we’ll improvise,” said Fisher. “Suddenly and violently and all over the place.”
The guard leader thought about it. Technically speaking, he was perfectly safe behind the thick steel weight of the portcullis … but this was Hawk and Fisher. Plus someone with a big axe, and a wolf. He looked unhappily at Chappie for some time, and then decided this was all too much for him. He sent one of his men up to the big house for instructions, and then everyone stood around and smiled patiently for a while. Fisher hefted her sack now and again to keep it quiet. Finally a butler turned up, in full frock coat and powdered wig, and ordered the portcullis raised. He would escort the Captains and company up to the mansion to meet St. Christophe.
The private guards looked at each other, took it in turns to shrug unhappily, and then did as they were told. The wheels of the portcullis turned, the heavy steel bars rose, and Hawk and Fisher sauntered through the archway like they owned the place. The butler bowed briefly, and then led the way up a raked gravel path that meandered through the extensive lawns and gardens. Behind them came the sound of the portcullis crashing back into place. None of them looked back. The butler’s pace was nicely judged to suggest his master’s impatience, while at the same time slow enough for the company to be impressed by the specially imported trees and flowers and the exquisite landscaping. And then Chappie spoiled it all by chasing a peacock and coming back with a mouthful of feathers.
The butler went berserk. Did they have any idea how rare peacocks were in this part of the world? How expensive they were to acquire and maintain? He wanted the wolf killed, stuffed, and mounted, not necessarily in that order. Chappie invited the butler to step right up and try his luck. A certain amount of unpleasantness followed, until Chance was finally able to coax Chappie back off the butler’s chest, and allow the man to get up again. The butler led the party the rest of the way in dignified silence, pretending nothing at all had happened.
At the front door he passed them over to the head butler, resplendent in a uniform finer than most admirals, and he led the party down a great hall lined with ancestral portraits and two silent lines of armed men, and finally into a dining room, where St. Christophe sat at a feast. He was seated at the end of a long table of heavy mahogany, which was all but bowing under the weight of so much food. There was enough provender at that table to feed a dozen families, but St. Christophe was the only one eating. He dominated the room with his malign presence, his huge bulk contained in an exquisitely tailored suit of dazzling white, the only color a single bloodred rose on his lapel.
St. Christophe was over six feet tall, and weighed four hundred and fifty pounds if he was an ounce, but rumor had it that there was a lot of muscle under all that fat. Rather more disturbing rumors had it that he got that big by eating his enemies. His great round face was blank, almost childish, his features stretched smooth by his fat until he had the enigmatic brooding look of an oversized baby.
His gaze was flat and unwavering, and full of calm menace. He wore no weapons. It had been a long time since St. Christophe had fought for anything but his own pleasure. He left the necessary brutalities of his business to the twelve female bodyguards who went everywhere with him, each of them naked but for their swordbelts. They were reputed to be the twelve deadliest fighters in Haven, every one of them undefeated. So Hawk and Fisher made a point of ignoring them, and concentrated instead on the sumptuous furnishings and fittings of the dining hall. Hawk was particularly taken with the massive steel and glass and diamond chandelier hanging overhead. There were no visible supports, which suggested it was held aloft by some hidden magic. An expensive whim for something so monstrously tacky. St. Christophe casually threw a scrap of meat to one of his bodyguards. She caught it neatly on the point of her sword, conveyed it to her mouth, and chewed it calmly, all without once taking her eyes off the new visitors.
“Show-off,” said Fisher.
Chappie sneaked up behind one of the bodyguards and stuck his cold nose up her bottom. She squeaked loudly, and then tried very hard to look as though she hadn’t. The dog sniggered loudly. Chance didn’t know where to look. Spending most of his life in an all-boys private school had done nothing to help him deal with so much female nudity. He found it all very distracting, but he was still smart enough to realize that that was the point.
“So, Captains,” said St. Christophe, in a slow voice as implacable as an avalanche. “What could be so important that you must disturb me at my repast?”
“Oh, nothing much,” said Hawk easily. “We’re just here to kill you, burn down your house, and cripple your extensive criminal operations. We’re leaving Haven, you see, so we won’t get another chance. You should be flattered, Christophe; we saved the best for last.”
St. Christophe chuckled fatly. “Insubordinate as ever, Captain Hawk. Must I remind you that I am a perfectly respectable businessman, with no criminal record of any kind? The law has no interest in me.”
“We’re not the law anymore,” said Fisher. “We answer to a higher cause. How many lives have you ruined over the years, Christophe? Do you even know?”
“Of course not,” said the big man, patting delicately at his rosebud lips with a monogrammed silk napkin. “I have people who keep track of such things for me. I really have no interest in continuing this conversation, Captains. Because of my admiration for your many exploits, I offer you this one chance. Leave my home, and this city, and never look back. While you still can.”
“Good thinking, having nude women as your bodyguards,” said Fisher calmly. “Men are so easily distracted by things like that. I, on the other hand, am not. So I considered the problem dispassionately, and decided to bring your bodyguards a little present. Or two.”
She undid her sack, upended it with a flourish, and out of the sack dropped twenty of the foulest, fiercest, hugest, and most vicious sewer rats to be found in all of Haven. They all hit the floor running, mouths snapping, and went straight for the nearest undefended food; in this case, the dozen sets of bare female feet. The bodyguards shrieked, and scattered in disarray and confusion as the rats bit at their feet and tried to run up their legs. One rat made the mistake of going for Fisher, and she casually booted it the length of the room.
St. Christophe surged to his feet, a squat giant in blinding white. He pushed back his chair, and snatched a sword from a bodyguard as she ran past him with a rat rooting in her hair. Hawk and Fisher drew their weapons and advanced on him. Chance slammed the only door shut and wedged it with a sturdy chair. Chappie meanwhile was having a fine time, chasing the darting rats and female bodyguards with equal glee.
Hawk and Fisher closed in on St. Christophe, who wielded his sword with surprising strength and speed, parrying their every blow. He moved impossibly quickly for one of his great bulk, and there was real power in his attacks. Try as they might, Hawk and Fisher couldn’t pierce his defense, even when they came at him from two different sides at once. St. Christophe backed slowly away as Hawk and Fisher pursued him, not even breathing hard. Servants and guards were already hammering on the other side of the door Chance was guarding. Hawk and Fisher fought well and hard, but it had been a long day, and they were tiring fast. Steel clashed on steel, and St. Christophe smiled mockingly at his old adversaries. His fat face was slick with sweat. Both sides stopped for a moment, to regain their breath and call up new resources.
“You can’t win,” said St. Christophe. “The best you can do is arrest me, and my lawyers will have me out in under an hour. There won’t be any trial. I am protected on levels you can’t even imagine. You’re just the city’s attack dogs, and I have the means to muzzle you. Leave my home, or die here.”
“Somehow I just knew you’d say something like that,” said Hawk. “You think we can’t touch you, and you’re wrong.”
He threw his axe at the point where the massive chandelier hung from the ceiling, and the rune-etched blade sheared through the simple magic supporting all that weight. St. Christophe looked up, and just had time to realize where Hawk and Fisher had maneuvered him into standing, and then the whole immense weight of crafted steel and glass and diamonds came crashing down, and smashed him to the floor. The reverberating sound seemed to go on for ages, and everyone turned to look. St. Christophe lay pinned beneath the chandelier, only his head and one hand showing. He tried to force himself up, throwing all the strength of his great bulk against the weight holding him down, and for a moment the chandelier actually moved; but it was only shifting its mass, and St. Christophe groaned loudly as his strength gave out, and the chandelier pressed him even more firmly to the floor.
Those female bodyguards not immediately concerned with fighting off sewer rats stood watching numbly, bemused by a sight they’d never thought to see. The pounding on the closed door grew louder. Chance wedged another chair against it, and then backed away, sword in hand. Chappie came to join him.
St. Christophe breathed heavily, and glared up at Hawk and Fisher. “My people will break through soon. They’ll free me. And then you’ll die slowly and horribly for this indignity. Because I’m St. Christophe, and you’re nobody!”
“Shows what you know,” said Hawk. He reached out and retrieved his axe from among the glass and diamonds of the chandelier, and hefted it thoughtfully. And then he raised it with both hands and brought it swinging down with all his strength. The heavy steel blade sheared clean through St. Christophe’s thick neck, and buried itself in the floor beneath. The head rolled away across the floor, still wearing its last expression of outrage and surprise. Hawk watched the head roll until it finally came to a halt, and then nodded, satisfied.
“I have to say,” Chance said slowly, “that wasn’t exactly honorable, was it?”
“Bloody well is in Haven,” said Fisher.
Sometime later Hawk and Fisher and Chance sat on their horses in a high place, and looked out over the city. There was chaos in the streets, with lots of shouting and screaming, and here and there a thick plume of black smoke from an out-of-control fire. Most of the Guards were out on the streets, struggling to maintain order while not looking terribly hard for the people responsible for it all. Chappie sat beside the horses, chewing happily on the last of something with a lot of feathers.
“Time to leave,” said Hawk.
“Right,” agreed Fisher. “I think we’ve done as much damage as we can for one day.”
“Won’t you be at all sad to leave this place?” asked Chance. “I mean, it’s been your home for ten years now.”
Hawk and Fisher looked at each other. “No,” they said together, and laughed.
They had one last stop to make before they could leave; the retreat of an ex-con man Hawk and Fisher had known for some time. Zeb Tombs lived in a quiet little house in a quiet little cul de sac in a very respectable area that knew nothing of his checkered past. Hawk knocked on Tombs’ door.
“He’s not in!” said a voice from behind the door. “He’s gone away, and he was never here anyway. Tombs? Never heard of the man. Stay away! This is a plague house!” There was the sound of really repulsive coughing. “And it’s haunted!”
“Open the door, Zeb,” Hawk said calmly. “You wouldn’t want Fisher to have to kick it in, would you?”
There was the sound of opening locks and sliding bolts, and then the door swung open. A distinguished-looking gentleman in his early fifties, resplendent in a fine embroidered smoking jacket, looked quickly up and down the deserted street and then glared at Hawk and Fisher. “You leave my door alone! I just had it painted. What did I do to deserve you back in my life? I haven’t shot an albatross in ages. Oh, hell, come in, come in, before the neighbors notice. If they haven’t already. Some days you can’t walk down this street for twitching curtains. And wipe your feet!”
Hawk led the way in, followed by Fisher, who nodded cheerfully to Tombs as she barged past him. Chance and Chappie brought up the rear. Tombs gave the dog a hard look, but said nothing. He waved his guests into the parlor, a comfortable room furnished with all the ill-gotten gains of a long career of separating the more gullible well-off from as much cash as Tombs could carry away in one journey. He’d done very well for himself in Haven, until he made the mistake of trying to sell shares in a silver mine to Commander Dubois, who didn’t know much about mining, but was pretty sure you didn’t find much of it going on in land he knew to have been underwater for a hundred years. He set Hawk and Fisher on Tombs’ trail, and that was that.
“What do you want with me now?” asked Tombs. “I’ve been good. It’s been ages since I’ve done anything … creative.”
“We’re leaving Haven,” Hawk said briskly.
“Allow me to be the first to wave good-bye.”
“But we need disguises first.”
“Good idea,” said Tombs. “If I were you, I’d want to look like someone else, too. And anything I can do to help you on your way will be a real pleasure.” He glanced dubiously at Chappie, and then at Chance. “Your wolf is house-broken, isn’t he?”
“If one more person calls me a wolf, I am going to do something really distressing to them!” said Chappie, showing all his teeth.
Tombs backed quickly away and put a heavy chair between him and the dog. “Hey, if it was up to me, you could be anything you want. But trust me, the teeth and claws and fur are a bit of a giveaway.”
“Never mind Chappie,” said Fisher. “He’s just being himself. Concentrate on coming up with disguises for Hawk and me. What have you got?”
“Well,” said Tombs reluctantly, “it’s not as easy as it might have been, since certain people made me dispose of all my old gear, but I do just happen to have a transformation spell I was saving for a rainy day.”
“They don’t work on us,” Hawk said immediately. “We were exposed to a hell of a lot of Wild Magic in the long night, and these days any change spells just slide right off us.”
Tombs blinked a few times. “You’re full of surprises, aren’t you, Captain? But I’ve nothing else to offer you except the standard makeup and hair dyes.”
Hawk and Fisher looked at each other, and then they looked at Chance, who studied them both thoughtfully. “You really don’t look much like your official portraits, and it has been a long time. … I think the scars and the eye patch are really all you need, Your Highness.”
“Highness?” said Tombs quickly.
“Shut up, Tombs.”
“Yes, Your Highness, shutting up right now.”
“What about me?” said Fisher.
“Dye your hair black and no one will know you,” said Chance, just a little hesitantly. “Nearly everyone you knew back then is dead. The few still alive probably only ever saw you briefly, and from a distance. The dye should be enough.”
“Is she a highness too?”
“Shut up, Tombs. Or I’ll let the wolf have you.”
Dying Fisher’s long mane of hair jet black was a messy but fairly quick process, and there was no denying that afterward she looked different. She studied herself in Tombs’ bathroom mirror, scowling fiercely with her new dark eyebrows, and then looked back at Hawk lounging in the doorway.
“Tell me the truth, or you’re dead meat.”
“You look very striking,” Hawk assured her, careful to keep all traces of a smile off his face. “And most importantly, nothing at all like Julia. Settle for that. Now I really think we should be going. The Guard will probably do everything they can to avoid finding us, but you can bet all the villains we didn’t have time to get round to will be lining up for one last chance at us before we leave.”
Fisher nodded, and followed Hawk back into the parlor. Chance kept a straight face while Tombs openly boggled. Chappie hid behind Chance’s legs and had a prolonged coughing fit.
“So, what now?” asked Chance brightly.
“We ride for the city limits at full speed, and we don’t stop for anything,” said Fisher. “How far do we have to travel to reach the Rift? More than a day?”
“I have a special charm from the Magus,” said Chance. “Once we’re outside the city, I can summon the Rift opening right to us. Then all we have to do is ride through, and we’ll be back in the Forest again.”
“As simple as that,” said Hawk. “Assuming we get out of the city alive. We’ve made a lot of enemies here over the years.”
“For all the right reasons,” said Fisher.
“Are you people ever going to leave?” asked Tombs. “All this talk of enemies is making me very nervous. I can think of any number of people who’d cheerfully firebomb this whole street just to get at you. I’ve sometimes felt that way myself.”
“Relax,” said Hawk. “We’re on our way.”
“Don’t I get any payment for my hard-earned expertise?”
“What do you think?” said Fisher.
“Grrr,” added Chappie.
Hawk, Fisher, and Chance rode their horses full tilt through the crowded streets, Chappie loping along beside them, while arrows and knives and blunt objects of all kinds rained down from above, and spells and curses crackled helplessly on the air, repelled by the protective mannikin peering out of the top of Hawk’s backpack. People threw themselves out of the horses’ way, shouting threats or encouragement, or just the latest official betting odds on their getting out of the city alive. The few Guards they encountered looked the other way, determined not to get involved. Hawk and his companions ran the gauntlet, come and gone so quickly, no one could touch them. But the mannikin was burning out fast, and the horses couldn’t maintain such a pace for long. And more and more horsemen were taking up the chase behind them.
Hawk led the way, trusting to his extensive knowledge of the city streets to get him out of Haven by the fastest possible route. The streets flashed by, buildings and crowds nothing more than a blur. He could see the edge of the city from where he was, but he couldn’t get at it. There was no direct route, only a maze of narrowing streets and alleyways.
And then he rounded a corner at top speed, and saw that the end of the street ahead was blocked by a massive barricade. Armed men stood waiting before it. They’d clearly dragged all the furniture out of the surrounding tenements and piled it up into one great impassable wall. Hawk kept going. He couldn’t even slow down, with the pursuing riders so close behind. The barricade drew closer. No way around, too high to jump. The jagged ends of broken chair legs thrust out of the barricade like so many vicious spikes.
And Hawk remembered another barricade, in the long night of the Demon War, in the last great battle outside the Forest Castle. The Blue Moon burned sickly overhead, blue and diseased, and the only barricade between Prince Rupert and the legion of demons was the increasingly high pile of his own fallen dead comrades.
Fisher pulled alongside him, reining her horse in close as they raced forward. “You see that barricade?”
“Of course I see it!”
“Any ideas?”
“Not yet.”
“We’ll have to jump it,” Fisher told him.
“We can’t! It’s too high!”
“We don’t have any choice!”
And then someone stuck a blazing torch into the mostly wooden barricade, and the whole thing went up in soaring flames. Fisher scowled.
“All right, we won’t jump it. We need an idea, Hawk. And you’d better come up with it bloody soon, because that barricade is getting really close now.”
Another minute and they’d be on top of it. Hawk’s horse was already beginning to slow, despite his urging, as the flames leapt high into the sky. Quick glances around showed that the only side streets were blocked with armed men. Someone had put a lot of thought into this. There was no way out. So if you can’t go through, or around …
“Follow me!” yelled Hawk, and steered his horse sharply to the left. Right in front of them was a bulky steel fire escape, leading up to the second story and the roof. The horse took one look and tried to balk, but Hawk drove him on with spurs and oaths and a merciless grip on the reins. The horse plunged forward, its steel-clad hooves striking sparks as it clattered up the fire escape. The whole structure shook under the sudden weight, but held. Fisher and Chance urged their mounts after Hawk’s, and Chappie brought up the rear. Two armed men darted out of the shadows at the base of the fire escape.
“They’re getting away!” yelled one. “At least kill the bloody wolf!”
Chappie gave them his best snarl and a really hard look, and both men stopped sharply in their tracks. “You kill the bloody wolf!” said the second man. Chappie grinned as he followed the horses up the steps and onto the sloping tiled roof.
The whole stairway tried to tear itself away from the supporting wall, but somehow it held long enough for all of them to reach the roof. Hawk’s horse was growing increasingly upset, but he drove the animal on, whooping wildly with the thrill of it all. Slates and tiles shattered under the horses’ hooves as they plowed on, leaping recklessly from one roof to another. The shock and startled cries from down below seemed very far away. This high up, Hawk could see the city boundary clearly, agonizingly close. He spotted another fire escape plunging steeply down to the ground, and headed his horse toward it. He could hear Fisher and Chance following close behind. Fisher was laughing. Chance sounded as though he was praying.
They thundered down the fire escape and slammed back into the street again, the blazing barricade safely behind them. There was hardly anyone left now between the riders and the edge of the city. No one had really thought they’d get this far. One last heavy-duty curse crackled on the air around them, and all of Hawk’s hair stood on end. He could feel the magic struggling to find a hold on him, slow and vile and malevolent, but the charm in his backpack still protected him. And then the mannikin screamed shrilly, waving its raffia arms, and burst into flames. The curse had been deflected, but their protection was gone.
Hawk and Fisher and Chance left the city port of Haven at a gallop, and never once looked back. Chappie was still right there with them, tongue lolling out the side of his mouth as he panted for breath. He was built more for stamina than speed. Before them lay the ragged coastline and the sea, and a whole lot of open ground. If horsemen came out of the city after them, there was nowhere they could hide, or defend, and their horses were too exhausted to run much further away. Hawk looked across at Chance.
“We need the Rift. Now!”
“We’re too close to the city! I need a few more minutes!”
Fisher pulled in close beside Hawk on his other side. “So. We’re really going back. Back to the Castle, and the Court, and all its intrigues and formalities. At least Haven was open and honest in its evils.”
“The Forest Castle was my home,” said Hawk.
“We’re not going back to stay, are we? Tell me we’re just going back to solve Harald’s murder.”
“If my duty calls….” said Hawk.
“What about your duty to me?”
Before Hawk could answer, Chance seized their attention by drawing from his pack a Hand of Glory. A severed and preserved human hand, cut from a hanged man right after his execution, the fingers turned into candles. Old magic. Bad magic. The kind that damns your soul. A Hand of Glory could open any lock, find hidden treasures, reveal concealed doors. Hawk and Fisher watched intently as the five candle fingers lit themselves, burning with a warm yellow flame. From behind them came the sound of hot pursuit, but none of them looked back. Just being this close to a Hand of Glory was like having someone drag their fingernails across your soul. And then Chance said a Word of Power, activating the Hand, and everything changed.
Day became night. The sights and sounds around them seemed suddenly far away. Sunlight vanished and darkness slammed down. They were riding through the gloom now, and the stars were out. The horses fought their reins, tossing their heads and rolling their eyes. Night became day, became sunlight, blindingly bright. Day became night again, and the moon above was tinged with blue, like the first signs of decay. Night became day, and the world split open before them, space itself cracking apart to reveal an endless tunnel lit with its own eerie silver light. Hawk had seen this before, when the High Warlock used his teleport spell. He forced his almost hysterical horse on, into the tunnel, and the others were right behind. They all felt as much as heard the tunnel entrance slam shut behind them.
They slowed their horses to a walk in the tunnel. Time and space meant different things here, and with the tunnel closed, they were safe from pursuit. Being in the silver tunnel was like being back in the place where you were before you were conceived and earthed in flesh, so it should have come as no surprise when the dead came to talk with Hawk and Fisher. Ghosts from the past they had turned their backs on.
To Prince Rupert came his dead father, King John. He seemed old and tired and defeated, and when he looked at his son, his gaze was full of sadness. His voice was a whisper, and his words cut like a knife. My sons have always been a disappointment to me. And then he was gone, replaced by the awful pale face of the Demon Prince, who smiled his terrible smile and said, I have always been well served by traitors. The Champion came and walked beside Rupert, still bloody with his death wounds, and wouldn’t look around as he said, Courage can only take you so far. And finally there was Harald, dead Harald, who looked at him accusingly. You always said I’d make a better King than you.
To Princess Julia, dead King John said kindly, Never trust anyone. Especially those you love. Her dead friend Bodeen, his chest still pierced with the death wound she gave him, gave her a friendly nod and said, Everyone’s a traitor to someone. And then there came the dragon, dead and gone and consumed by fire, who studied her with the empty eye sockets of his charred skull as he said, Magic is going out of the world. But that doesn’t mean it’s lost. And finally to her came Harald, who was once her lover, if not her love, and he held her hand in his cold dead fingers and said, I did love you, Julia. In my way.
The ghosts spoke in calm, distant voices, suffused with the knowledge that only comes to the dead, and Rupert’s and Julia’s hearts hammered painfully in their still-living breasts as they remembered things and feelings they thought long lost. Somehow they knew they were being told things they needed to know, but the presence of so much death diminished them, with their memories of loss and failure and things left unsaid but never really forgotten. The living were not meant to hear the dead, because the human heart cannot bear too much truth.
And then the silver tunnel opened up with a roar and threw them back into the real world, and the Forest slammed into being before and around them. Bright green with the lush foliage of summer, the great trees stood tall and proud. The air was full of the song of birds and the drone of insects, and the rich scents of grass and earth and mulch. It smelled like home. Hawk reined his horse to a halt as the silver tunnel disappeared behind him, and the others stopped with him. He sat there for a moment, breathing heavily with the strain of long-suppressed emotions, and then glared at Chance.
“Why didn’t you warn us?”
Chance looked back at him uncertainly. “I’m sorry. I was given to understand you’d traveled through the silver tunnel before.”
“Not that,” said Fisher heavily. “You should have told us. You should have told us about the dead.”
“What dead?” asked Chappie, looking quickly about him.
“They came and talked to me,” said Hawk. “Ghosts of the past, long since buried.”
“The dead,” said Fisher. “Trying desperately to warn me about … something.”
Chance shook his head slowly. “No one has ever reported such side effects before. The Rift is just … a means of transport. Hundreds of thousands of people have gone back and forth through the Rift, and no one ever reported hearing voices. Perhaps it’s your exposure to the Wild Magic again.”
“And perhaps it’s just us,” said Hawk. “Still haunted by our past, and the things we had to do in it.”
“Who spoke to you?” Chance asked curiously. “What did they say?”
Hawk and Fisher looked at each other. “Maybe we’ll tell you. Someday,” said Fisher.
“That’s far enough!” said a new voice, arrogant with the privilege of command. “You will have to declare everything you’ve brought with you from the south before you can be allowed to proceed any further.”
They all looked around, and there were half a dozen tents and twenty or so heavily armed men. Hawk and Fisher looked at Chance.
“Customs and Immigration,” he said apologetically.
“Welcome home,” said Hawk. “Nothing ever changes.”