4
A Matter of Trust
Hawk led Captain Burns into the rotten heart of the Northside. The streets grew steadily narrower, choked with filthy snow and slush, and bustling crowds that made way for the two Guards without ever looking at them directly. Even so, they made slow progress, and Hawk had to fight to control his impatience. The pressure seemed to be bearing down on him from every side now, but he knew his only hope of dealing with it was to stay calm and controlled. His enemies would be delighted to see him striking out blindly in all directions and missing the real targets. Besides, he didn’t want to spook Burns. And yet behind his grim, impassive face, Hawk’s thoughts danced restlessly from one problem to another, searching for answers that eluded him. The super-chacal was out there somewhere, poised to sweep across the city in a tidal wave of blood and death. Morgan was out there too, hidden somewhere safe and plotting the deaths of everyone who knew the truth about his new drug. Not to mention Hammer, the gang leader from the Devil’s Hook, and his threatened vendetta.
And also back at the Hook, the little girl Hawk had rescued from underneath the wreckage was lying in a hospital bed, still in a coma. The doctors didn’t know whether she’d ever regain consciousness.
On top of all that, the Guard wanted his scalp for screwing up, and they’d taken Isobel away from him. Some days you just couldn’t get a break. Hawk realised Burns was speaking to him, and looked round sharply.
“I’m sorry. What?”
“I said,” Burns repeated patiently, “is it always this bad here? I’d heard stories, of course, but this place is disgusting.”
Hawk looked around at the squalid buildings and the ragged people, and the overriding sense of violence and despair that rose from them like an almost palpable mist. After five years working the Northside he’d grown inured to most of the misery and suffering, for the sake of his sanity, but it still disturbed him enough to appreciate how bad it must seem to an outsider. Haven was a dark city wherever you looked, but the Northside was dark enough to stamp out the light in anyone’s soul eventually. Hawk realised Burns was still looking at him for an answer, and he shrugged harshly.
“It’s quiet today, if anything. The snow and the cold are keeping most people off the streets, even the beggars, and those who are out and about aren’t hanging around long enough to start any trouble. But you can bet that somewhere, someone is starting a fight, or stabbing someone in the back for no good reason. There’s all sorts of crime here, everything you’d expect in an area as poor as this, but the violence never ends. To a Northsider, everyone is an enemy, out to steal what little he has, and most of the time he’s right. There’s little love or comfort here, Burns, and even less hope. And the only thing the Northsiders hate more than each other is an outsider. Like us.”
“How do you cope with working here?” said Bums. “I’d go crazy in a week.”
Hawk shrugged. “I’ve seen worse. All you can do is try and make a difference for the best, where you can. What brought you here from the Westside?”
“Doughty and I were filling in for some Guards who were down with the flu. When I heard they were sending us here, I seriously thought about calling in sick myself, but of course it was too late by then. Doughty didn’t mind. There wasn’t much that bothered him.”
“I’m sorry about your partner,” said Hawk.
“Yeah. He had a wife, you know. Separated three years back, but... Someone will have told her by now. I should have done it myself, but she never liked me anyway.”
They walked in silence for a while, not looking at each other.
“So, what’s the plan?” said Burns finally. “Are we headed anywhere in particular?”
“I thought we’d start off with Short Tom,” said Hawk. “Has a nice little distribution setup, down on Carlisle Street. He’ll move anything for anyone, as long as the money’s right. Not one of the biggest, but certainly one of the longest established. I doubt he’s handling the super-chacal himself, but he’ll probably have a damned good idea who might be.”
“Will he talk to us? Do you have a good relationship with him?”
Hawk looked at Burns. “This is the Northside, no one here talks to the Guard willingly. We’re the enemy, the ones who enforce the laws that keep them in their place. The poverty here’s so bad, most people will do anything to escape it. They don’t care who they rob or who they hurt. All they care about is making that one big score that will finally get them out of the Northside. You can’t reason with people like that. Short Tom will talk to me because he knows what will happen to him if he doesn’t.”
Burns stared straight ahead of him, his face expressionless. “I don’t approve of strong-arm tactics. I put on this uniform to help people, not oppress them.”
“You’ve spent too long in the Westside, Bums. They still like to pretend they’re living in a civilised city over there. Here in the Northside, they’d quite happily cut you down for the loose change in your pockets, or a chance at your boots. The only thing that keeps them off my back is the certain knowledge that I’ll kill them if they even think of raising a hand against me. I have to be obviously more dangerous than they are at all times, or I’d be a dead man. Look... I used to think the same as you, once. There are good people here, same as there are good people everywhere, and I do my best to help and protect them. Even if it means bending or ignoring the rules to do so. But when you get right down to it, my job is to enforce the law. Whatever it takes.”
“Being a Guard doesn’t give us the right to beat up someone just because we think they might have information that might help us. There are procedures, proper ways of doing things.”
Hawk sighed. “I know. I’ve read the Manual too. But the procedures take time, and for all I know, the super-chacal’s already seeping out onto the streets. I could threaten to arrest Short Tom, maybe even drag him down to Headquarters and throw him in a cell to think things over. But I couldn’t hold him for long, and he knows it. I don’t have the time to be a nice guy about this, and to be blunt, I don’t have the inclination. My way works, and I’ll settle for that. I’ve never laid a finger on an innocent man, or killed a man who didn’t deserve it.”
“How can you be sure? How can you be sure you haven’t killed an innocent man by accident? The dead can’t defend themselves from other people’s accusations. We’re Captains in the Guard, Hawk—not judge, jury, and executioner.”
“I go by what works,” said Hawk flatly. “When the people in the Northside start playing by the rules, so will I. Look, there are just four Captains and a dozen Constables to cover the whole Northside. We can’t be everywhere at once, so we have to let our reputations go ahead of us. It’s a big area, Burns, and rotten to the core. All we can ever hope to do is keep the lid on. Now, I don’t care if you approve of how I do my job or not; just watch my back and don’t interfere. The only thing that matters now is stopping Morgan and his stinking drug.”
Burns nodded slowly. “Of course, finding the super-chacal would go a long way towards reinstating you in the Guard, wouldn’t it?”
Hawk looked at him coldly. “If you think that’s the only reason I’m doing this, then you don’t know me at all.”
“Sorry. You’re right, of course. Hawk, can I ask you something ... personal?”
“I don’t know. Maybe. What?”
“What happened to your eye?”
“Oh, that. I pawned it.”
Short Tom’s place was a two-storey glorified lean-to, adjoining a battered old warehouse on Carlisle Street. The street itself was blocked from one end to the other by an open-air market and the tightly packed crowd it had drawn. The tattered, gaudy stalls crowded up against each other, and the vendors behind them filled the air with their aggressive patter. Most of them were bundled up to their ears in thick winter furs, but it didn’t seem to be slowing them down any. Some of them were all but jumping up and down on the spot in their attempt to explain just how magnificent and amazingly affordable their goods were. Hawk glanced at a few stalls, but wasn’t impressed. Still, with Haven’s Docks closed by the winter storms, goods of all kinds were getting scarce, and even rubbish like this was starting to look good. The smell was pretty bad, particularly around the food stalls, and Burns pulled one face after another as he and Hawk made their way slowly through the crowd. Even their Guards’ uniforms couldn’t make them any room in such a crush.
Short Tom’s lean-to loomed up before them, looking more and more unsafe the closer they got. It looked like it had been thrown together on the cheap by a builder in a hurry, trying to stay one step ahead of his reputation. The walls weren’t straight, the wood was stained and warped, and the door and window frames were lopsided. It was a mess, even by Northside standards. Still, it was no doubt cheap to rent, and for a man in Short Tom’s line of business, that was all that really mattered.
Two large bravos in heavy sheepskin coats stood before the main door, arms folded, glaring impartially about them. Hawk walked up to the one on the left, and punched him out. The second bravo yelped in disbelief and started to unfold his arms. Hawk kicked him in the knee, waited for him to bend forward, and then knocked him out with the butt of his axe. No one in the milling crowd paid any attention. It was none of their business. Burns looked at Hawk.
“Was that really necessary?”
“Yes,” said Hawk. “They wouldn’t have let us in without a fight, and if I’d given them a chance to draw their swords, someone would have got seriously hurt. Most probably them, but you never know. Now follow me, watch my back, and let me do all the talking. And try to at least look mean.”
He stepped over the unconscious bravos, pushed open the door and stepped through, followed closely by Burns. Inside, all was surprisingly neat and tidy, with clerks sitting behind two rows of desks, shuffling pieces of paper and making careful entries in two sets of ledgers. One of the clerks shouted for them to shut the bloody door and keep the bloody cold out, and Burns quickly did so. Hawk glanced at him, and shook his head. Far too long in the Westside. He looked back at the clerks, who had finally realised who the newcomers were. One clerk opened his mouth to shout a warning.
“Don’t,” said Hawk.
The clerk looked at the axe in Hawk’s hand, thought about it, and shut his mouth.
“Good boy,” said Hawk. He looked about him, and the clerks shrank down behind their desks. Hawk smiled coldly. “My partner and I are going upstairs to have a nice little chat with Short Tom. Just carry on as normal. And by the way. if anyone was to come up after us and interrupt our little chat, I will be most upset. Is that clear?”
The clerks nodded quickly, and did their best to look as though the idea had never entered their heads. Hawk and Burns strolled casually between the desks and up the stairway at the back of the room. Burns watched the clerks’ faces out of the comer of his eye. They’d all recognised Hawk by now, and there was real terror in their faces, and not a little awe. Burns frowned thoughtfully. He’d heard stories about Hawk—everyone had—but he’d never really believed them. Until now.
They found Short Tom in his office, right at the top of the stairs. It was a nice little place, neat and tidy and almost cosy, with thick rugs on the floor, comfortable furniture, and attractive watercolor landscapes on the walls. Short Tom looked up as they entered, and his face fell. Not surprisingly, given his name, he was a dwarf, with stubby arms and legs and a large head. He wore the very latest fashion, and it was a credit to his tailor that he didn’t look any more ridiculous than anybody else. He was sitting at a normal-sized desk, on a custom-made chair, and he pushed it back slightly as he reached for a desk drawer.
“I wouldn’t,” said Hawk. “I really wouldn’t.”
Short Tom nodded glumly, and took his hand away from the drawer. “Captain Hawk. How nice to see you again. Absolutely marvelous. What do you want?”
“Just a little chat,” said Hawk. “I’ve got a problem I thought you might be able to help me with.”
“I’m clean,” said Short Tom immediately. “One hundred per cent. I’m entirely legitimate these days.”
“Of course you are.” said Hawk. “In which case, you won’t mind my bringing in the tax inspectors to go through all your invoices, will you?”
Short Tom sighed heavily. “What can I do for you, Captain?”
“Morgan’s got a small mountain of drugs on his hands that he has to move in a hurry.”
“He hasn’t contacted me. I swear he hasn’t.”
“I know he hasn’t. You’re not big enough for this. But you can give me some names. With a deal this urgent, there’s bound to have been talk already.”
“I’ve heard about your run-in with Morgan,” said Short Tom carefully, “and I can’t afford to get involved. I’m just a small-time operator, dealing in whatever odds and ends the big boys can’t be bothered with. As long as I know my place, no one bothers me. If I start talking out of turn, Morgan will send some of his heavies round to shut me up permanently. You’ll have to find your help somewhere else.”
“Thousands of people could die if we don’t stop this drug hitting the street.”
“That’s not my problem.”
Hawk raised his axe above his head and brought it sweeping down in one swift, savage movement. The axehead buried itself in Short Tom’s desk, splitting the polished desktop apart. Hawk yanked the axe free and struck the desk again, putting all his strength into it. The desk caved in, sheared almost in two. Splinters flew on the air, and papers fluttered to the floor like wounded birds. Short Tom sat very still, looking down at the wreckage of his desk. He raised his eyes and looked at Hawk, standing before him with his axe at the ready.
“On the other hand,” said Short Tom very politely, “I’ve always believed in co-operating with the forces of law and order whenever possible.”
He came up with four names and addresses, all of which Hawk recognised. He nodded his thanks, and left. Bums hurried after him, having almost missed his cue. His last glimpse was of Short Tom staring glumly at what was left of his desk. Burns followed Hawk down the stairs and back through the rows of clerks, all of whom were careful to keep their eyes glued to their work as the Guards passed. Hawk and Bums stepped out into the street again, and Burns winced as the bitter cold hit him hard after the comfortable warmth of the offices. He stubbed his toe on something, and looked down to find the two bravos who’d guarded the front door still lying where they’d fallen. Only now they were stark-naked, having been stripped of everything they owned. Their flesh was a rather pleasant pale blue, set against the dirty grey of the snow. Hawk chuckled.
“That’s the Northside for you.”
“We can’t just leave them like this,” protested Burns. “They’ll freeze to death.”
“Yeah, I know. Give me a hand and we’ll dump them back in the offices. Short Tom will take care of them. But let this be a lesson to you, Bums. Never give a Northsider an opening, or he’ll steal you blind. And the odds are there’s not one person in this crowd who would have lifted a finger to help these two bravos. They’d have just left them there to freeze. In the Northside, people learn from an early age not to care for anyone but themselves.”
“Is that where you learned it?” said Burns.
Hawk looked at him, and Bums had to fight down an urge to look away from the glare of the single cold eye. When Hawk finally spoke, his voice was calm and unhurried.
“I think we’re going to get on a lot better if you stop acting like a character from a religious pamphlet. I don’t know how you’ve managed to survive this long in Haven; I can only assume they’ve had a hot flush of civilisation in the Westside since I was last there.
“Look, Burns, let’s get this clear once and for all. I’m only as hard as I need to be to get the job done. I take no pleasure in violence, but I don’t shrink from it either, if I decide it’s necessary. I didn’t see you holding back when we were fighting for our lives in Morgan’s factory.”
“That was different!”
“No, it wasn’t. We’re fighting a war here in the Northside, against some of the most evil and corrupt sons of bitches this city has produced, and we’re losing. For every villain we put away, there are ten more queuing up to take his place. The only satisfaction we get out of this job is knowing that things would be even worse without us. Now, am I going to have any more problems with you?”
“No,” said Burns. “You’ve made yourself very clear.”
“Good. Now help me get these two bravos inside before they freeze their nuts off.”
It didn’t take long to discover that none of the distributors knew anything about Morgan’s super-chacal. The word from every one of them was that Morgan had gone to ground after his release from custody, and no one had heard anything about him since. Hawk gave them all his best, menacing glare, but they stuck to their story, so in the end Hawk decided he believed them. Hawk and Burns stood together in the street outside the last distributor’s warehouse, and looked at each other thoughtfully.
“Maybe Morgan’s set up his own distribution network,” said Burns.
“No,” said Hawk. “If he had, I’d have heard about it.”
“You didn’t know about the super-chacal.”
“That was different.”
“How?”
“The drug could be produced and guarded by relatively few people, hidden away in the pocket dimension. A new distribution system would need a lot of people, and someone would have been bound to talk. No, Morgan has to be using an established distributor. Maybe someone who doesn’t normally move drugs, but has the right kind of contacts.”
“Maybe.” Burns pulled his cloak tightly about him, and stamped his feet in the snow. “So, what’s our next step?”
“We go and talk with the one man who might know what Morgan is up to; the man who knows everything that’s going on in the Northside, because nothing happens here without his approval. The big man himself: Saint Christophe.”
Burns looked at him sharply. “Wait a minute, Hawk, even I’ve heard of Saint Christophe. He takes a cut from every crime committed in Haven. Word is he has a dozen judges in his pocket, and as many Councillors. Not to mention a personal army of four hundred men, and a private mansion better protected than Guard Headquarters. We don’t stand a chance of getting in to see him, and even if we did somehow manage it, he’d probably just have us killed on sight. Slowly and very horribly.”
“Calm down,” said Hawk, amused. “We’re not going anywhere near his house.”
“Thank all the Gods for that.”
“I’ve got a better idea.”
Burns looked at him suspiciously. “If it involves bursting in on him where he works and smashing up his desk, you are on your own. Saint Christophe is the only person in the Northside with an even worse reputation than you.”
“Have you finished?” said Hawk.
“Depends,” said Burns darkly. “Tell me your idea.”
“Every day, at the same time, Saint Christophe has a bath and sauna at a private little place not far from here. It’s pretty well guarded, but there’s a way to get in that not many people know about. I did the owner a favour once.”
“And at what time of day does Saint Christophe visit this bathhouse?” said Burns.
“About now.”
Burns nodded glumly. “I thought so. You’ve had this in mind all along, haven’t you?”
Hawk grinned. “Stick with me, Burns. I know what I’m doing.”
Burns just looked at him.
The private baths turned out to be a discreet little place tucked away on a side street in a surprisingly quiet and upmarket area right on the edge of the Northside. It stayed quiet and upmarket because the Northside’s more successful villains used the area for their own rest and relaxation, and everyone else had the sense to stay out of their way. Everyone except Hawk.
He walked breezily down an alleyway and slipped into the baths through a door marked “Staff Only.” Burns hurried in after him and shut the door quickly behind them, his heart beating uncomfortably fast. Hawk looked around once to get his bearings, then set off confidently through a maze of corridors that Burns wouldn’t have tackled without a map and a compass. Every now and again they encountered a member of the staff, but Hawk just nodded to each attendant briskly, as though he had every right to be there, and the attendant just nodded back and continued on his way. Burns grew increasingly nervous, and felt a growing need to find a privy.
“Are you sure you know where you’re going?” he whispered harshly.
“You must learn to trust me, Burns,” said Hawk airily. “The owner himself showed me this route. We’ll find Saint Christophe in cubicle seventeen, just down this corridor here. Assuming he hasn’t changed his routine.”
“And if he has?”
“Then we’ll just walk up and down the corridor, slamming doors open, till we find him.”
Burns realised with a sinking heart that Hawk wasn’t joking. He thought about the number of major villains who were probably relaxing all unknowing behind the other doors, and swallowed hard. He started to plot an emergency escape route back through the corridors, realised he was hopelessly lost, and felt even worse.
Cubicle seventeen looked like all the others, a plain wooden door with a gold filigree number. Hawk put his ear against the door and listened for a moment, then stood back and loosened the axe at his side. Then he kicked the door open, strolled casually into the steam-filled sauna and leaned against the door, holding it open. Bums stood in the doorway, keeping one eye on the corridor, in case some of the staff happened along. The steam quickly cleared as the temperature dropped, revealing Saint Christophe sitting at the back of the room, surrounded by twelve muscular female bodyguards wearing nothing but sword belts.
The bodyguards surged to their feet, grabbing, for their swords as they recognised the Guards’ uniforms. Hawk just leaned against the door, and nodded casually to Saint Christophe. Burns wanted desperately to draw his sword, but had enough sense to know it wouldn’t help him much if he did. His only hope was to brazen it out and hope Hawk knew what he was doing. He squared his shoulders and lifted his chin, and gave the bodyguards his best intimidating glare. If it bothered them at all, they did a great job of hiding it. And then Saint Christophe stirred on his wooden bench, and everybody’s attention went to him. He gestured briefly to his bodyguards, and they all immediately put away their swords and sat down again, ignoring the two Guards. Burns blinked. He couldn’t have been more surprised if they’d all started speaking in tongues.
Saint Christophe was a big man, in more ways than one. Though no longer personally involved in any particular racket, every other villain in the city payed him homage, not to mention tribute. He funded a great many operations, and planned many more, but never took a single risk himself. He ran his organization with brutal efficiency and was reputed to be one of the richest men in Haven, if not the Low Kingdoms. He had a partner, once. No one knew what happened to him. It wasn’t considered prudent to ask.
The man himself was over six feet tall, and was reputed to weigh three hundred and fifty pounds. Sitting down, he looked almost as wide as he was tall, a mountain of gleaming white flesh running with perspiration. Rumor had it there was a surprising ammount of muscle under all the fat, and Burns believed it. Even sitting still, Saint Christophe exuded an air of overwhelming menace—partly from his imposing bulk, and partly from his unwavering, lizardlike gaze. His face was blank and almost childlike, his features stretched smooth like a baby’s by his fat, an impression heightened by his thin, wispy hair. He moved slightly, and the wooden bench groaned under his weight. His bodyguards were already beginning to shiver from the dropping temperature, but he didn’t seem to notice it. His gaze was fixed entirely on Hawk, ignoring Burns, for which Burns was very grateful. When Saint Christophe finally spoke, his voice was deep and cultured.
“Well, Captain Hawk. An unexpected pleasure. It’s not often you come to see me.”
“I have a problem,” said Hawk.
“Yes. I know. You have a talent for annoying important people. Captain, but this time you have surpassed yourself. The Guard wants you suspended, a gang from the Devil’s Hook has declared vendetta against you, and Morgan wants your head on a platter. You’ve had a busy morning.”
“It’s not over yet. I need to know how Morgan is going to distribute his new drug.”
“And so you came to me for help. How touching. Why should I help you, Captain Hawk? It would make much more sense to have you killed, here and now. After all, you’ve caused me much distress in the past. You’ve shut down my operations, arrested and killed my men, and cost me a great deal of money. I really don’t know why I didn’t order your death long ago.”
Hawk grinned. “Because you couldn’t be one hundred percent sure they’d do the job. And you know that if they didn’t kill me, I’d kill them, and then I’d come after you. And all the bodyguards in Haven couldn’t keep you alive if I wanted your head.”
Saint Christophe nodded slowly, his face impassive. “You always were a vindictive man, Captain. But one day you’ll push me too far, and then we’ll see how good you really are with that axe. In the meantime, my offer to you still stands. Leave the Guard, and work for me. Be my man. I could make you rich and powerful beyond your wildest dreams.”
“I’m my own man,” said Hawk. “And there isn’t enough money in Haven to make me work for you. You deal in other people’s suffering, and the blood won’t wash off your money, no matter how many times you launder it through legitimate businesses.”
“Anyone would think you didn’t like me,” said Saint Christophe. “Why should I help you, Captain? You spurn my friendship, throw my more-than-generous offers back in my face, and insult me in front of my people. What is it to me if Morgan is pushing a new drug? If it wasn’t him, it would be somebody else. The market’s appetite is always bigger than we can satisfy.”
“This drug is different,” said Hawk flatly. “It turns its users into maddened, unstoppable killers. A few hours after the drug hits the streets, there’ll be hundreds of homicidal maniacs running loose in the city. The death toll could easily run into thousands. You can’t sell your precious services to dead people, Christophe. You need me to stop Morgan because he threatens your markets. All of them. It’s as simple as that.”
“Perhaps.” Saint Christophe leaned forward slightly, and his wooden bench groaned loudly. His bodyguards tensed for a moment, and then relaxed. “This is important to you, isn’t it, Captain?”
“Of course. It’s my job.”
“No, this is more than just your job; it’s become personal to you. One should never get personally involved in business, Captain; it distorts a man’s judgment and makes him... vulnerable. Let us make a deal, you and I. You want something from me, and I want something from you. I will agree to shut down all distribution networks in Haven for forty-eight hours. More then enough time for you to find Morgan and put a stop to his plans. In return... you will leave the Guard and work for me. A simple exchange, Captain Hawk. Take it or leave it.”
“No deal,” said Hawk.
“Think about it, Captain. Think of the thousands who’ll die if you don’t find Morgan in time. And you won’t, without my help. You really don’t have a choice.”
“Wrong. You’re the one who doesn’t have a choice.” Hawk fixed Saint Christophe with his cold glare, and the bodyguards stirred restlessly. “The Guard still has some of the super-chacal we confiscated from Morgan’s factory. Whoever made the drug disappear from Headquarters missed one batch. So either you co-operate, and tell me what I need to know, or I’ll see that when the drug finally gets loose, you’ll personally get a good strong dose. If Haven’s going to be torn apart because of you, I’ll see you go down with it.”
“You wouldn’t do that,” said Saint Christophe.
“Try me,” said Hawk.
For a long moment, nobody spoke. The atmosphere in the sauna grew dangerously tense. Burns glanced from Hawk to Saint Christophe and back again, but neither of them looked to be giving way. He let his hand drift a little closer to his sword. All it would take was one sign from Saint Christophe, and the twelve bodyguards would attack. Hawk might actually be able to handle six-to-one odds with that bloody axe of his, but Burns had no false illusions about his own fighting skills. Maybe, if he was quick enough, he could jump back and slam the door in their faces, slow them down enough for him to make a run for it. That would mean abandoning Hawk ...
“Very well.” said Saint Christophe. “I agree. I will see to it that the distribution networks are shut down for twenty-four hours.”
“You said forty-eight,” said Hawk.
“That was a different deal. You have twenty-four hours, Captain. I suggest you make good use of them, since regretfully I have no idea as to where Morgan might be at present. He seems to have disappeared into a hole and pulled it in after him. But Captain, when this is over, you will answer to me for your threats and defiance. Please close the door on your way out.”
Hawk turned and left without speaking. Burns hurried after him, shut the cubicle door firmly, and then ran after his partner as he strode off down the corridor.
“I don’t believe what I just saw,” said Bums in amazement. “You faced down Saint Christophe without even drawing your axe, and got him to agree to help the Guard. That’s like standing in the harbour and watching the tides go out backwards.”
Hawk shrugged. “It was in his interests to help, and he knew it.”
“Where did you find the extra batch of super-chacal? I thought it had all disappeared.”
“It did. I was bluffing.” Burns looked at him speechlessly. Hawk grinned. “There’s more to surviving in the Northside than knowing how to use an axe.”
Hawk was never sure how he knew when he was being followed, but over the years he’d learned to trust his instincts. He glanced at Bums, but he was apparently lost in his own thoughts and hadn’t noticed anything. Hawk slowed his pace a little, and found various convincing reasons to look innocently around him. He frowned as he spotted not one tail but several, moving casually through the crowd after him and Burns. Whoever they were, they must be pretty good to have got so close without his noticing them before. His frown deepened as he realised the tails were gradually moving so as to surround him and Burns. It was looking more and more like an ambush, and they’d chosen a good spot for it. The street was growing increasingly narrow, and was blocked off at both ends by market stalls. There were alleyways leading off to both sides, but none of them seemed to lead anywhere helpful. And the next main intersection was too far away, if it came to running. Besides, Hawk didn’t believe in running. He let his hand fall casually to the axe at his side, and looked for the place to make a stand.
“I make it seven,” said Burns quietly. “They picked us up not long after we left the baths.”
“I wasn’t sure you’d even noticed we were being followed.”
“Working in the Westside, I spent a lot of time escorting gold- and silversmiths to the banks with their week’s receipts. There’s nothing like guarding large amounts of money in public to make you aware of when you’re being followed. So what are we going to do? Make a stand?”
“I don’t think we’ve much choice. And it’s eight, not seven. See that man in the doorway, just ahead, pretending not to watch us?”
“Yes. Damn. And if we can see eight, you can bet there are just as many more lurking somewhere handy out of sight, just in case they’re needed. I don’t like the odds, Hawk.”
“I’ve faced worse.”
“I wish you’d stop saying that. It’s very irritating, and I don’t believe it for a moment. Who do you think they are? Morgan’s people?”
“Seems likely. He must have known I’d have to go to Saint Christophe eventually, so he just staked the place out and waited for us to turn up. Damn. I hate being predictable.”
“We could go back to Saint Christophe and ask for protection.”
“You have got to be joking. He’d love that. Besides, I have my reputation to think of.”
“If we don’t think of something fast, you’re going to be the most reputable corpse in the Northside!”
“Calm down, Burns. You worry too much. If the fighting ground is unfavourable, then the obvious thing to do is change the fighting ground. You see that fire-escape stairway, to your right?”
“Yeah, what about it? Hey, wait a minute, Hawk. You can’t be serious ...”
“Shut up and run.”
Hawk sprinted forward, with Burns only a pace or two behind. Their followers hesitated a moment, and then charged after them, forcing their way through the crowd with brutal efficiency. Hawk reached the metal stairway, and ran up it without slowing, taking the steps two at a time. Burns hurried after him, the fire escape shuddering under their combined weight. Hawk pulled himself up onto the roof and scurried across the uneven tilework to crouch beside the nearest chimney. Burns clattered unsteadily across to join him, and clutched at the chimney stack to steady himself. Hawk shot him a grin.
“Check the other side of the roof; see if there’s any other way to get up here. I’ll prepare a few nasty surprises.”
“You’re just loving this, aren’t you?” said Burns through clenched teeth, hugging tight to the chimney.
“What’s the matter with you?”
“I hate heights!”
“Oh, stop complaining, and get over to the other side. This is the perfect spot to take them on; lots of hiding places, and they’re just as much at a disadvantage as we are. Trust me, I’ve done this before.”
Burns scowled at him, reluctantly let go of the chimney, and moved cautiously across the tiles towards the spine of the roof. “All right, what’s the plan, then?”
“Plan? What do we need a plan for? Just find something to hide behind, and jump out on anything that moves!”
Burns disappeared over the roof ridge, muttering to himself. Hawk looked quickly about him, taking in the gables, cornices, and chimney stacks that jutted from the undulating sea of roofs to either side. He drew his axe and waited patiently in the shadows of the chimney, listening for the first giveaway sound. It was at times like this that he wished he carried a length of tripwire.
He looked around him, taking in the state of the roof. A lot of snow had fallen away from the tiles, pulled loose by its own weight and the vibrations of passing traffic below, but there was enough left to make the tiles suitably treacherous. A sudden thud followed by muffled curses from the other side of the roof suggested that Burns had reached the same conclusion. Hawk grinned suddenly, as an idea hit him. He moved carefully away from the chimney, unbuttoned his fly and urinated over a stretch of apparently safe tilework. It steamed on the air, but froze almost as soon as it spread out across the tiles. Hawk finished and quickly buttoned up again, wincing at the cold. He looked round sharply as he caught the muffled sound of boots treading quietly on the metal stairway, and he scurried back to crouch down on the opposite side of the chimney stack. He breathed through his nose so that his steaming breath wouldn’t give him away, and clutched his axe firmly.
He listened carefully as the first man stepped off the stairway onto the roof, hesitated, and then moved slowly forward. Timing his move precisely, Hawk suddenly emerged from behind the chimney, swinging his axe in both hands. Morgan’s man spun round just in time to receive the heavy axehead in his shoulder. The blade sheared clean through his collarbone, and blood flew steaming on the bitter air. The impact drove the man to his knees. Hawk pulled the axe free, put a boot against the man’s shoulder and pushed. The man-at-arms screamed once as ,he slid helplessly across the roof and over the side.
Hawk heard footsteps behind him and turned just in time to see the second man hit the patch of frozen urine. The swordsman’s feet shot out from under him and he all but flew off the edge of the roof. The third man was standing by the fire escape with his mouth hanging open. Hawk bent down, snatched up a handful of snow, and threw it at him. As the man-at-arms raised his hand instinctively to guard his face. Hawk stepped carefully forward and swung his axe in a vicious sideways arc. The axehead punched clean through the man’s rib cage and sent him flying backwards. He disappeared over the edge of the roof and fell back down the fire escape. There was a brief flurry of yells and curses from the other men coming up the stairway, and Hawk grinned. He hurried forward, and his feet shot out from under him.
He hit the roof hard, and slid kicking and cursing towards the edge of the roof. He threw aside his axe and grabbed at the iron guttering as he shot past it. He got a firm grip on the trough with both hands, and the sudden shock of stopping almost wrenched his arms from his sockets. The guttering groaned loudly, but supported his weight. Hawk hung there for a moment, breathing hard, his feet dangling above the street far below, and then he started to pull himself back up. The trough groaned again and shifted suddenly. There was a muffled pop as a rivet tore free. and Hawk froze where he was. The guttering didn’t look at all secure, especially when seen from underneath, and he didn’t think it would hold his weight much longer. On the other hand, one sudden movement might be all it would take to pull it away completely. He pulled himself up slowly and carefully, an inch at a time, ignoring the sudden groans and stirrings from the ironwork, and swung one leg up over onto the roof. A few moments later he was back on the roof, reaching for his axe and wiping sweat from his forehead. The sound of approaching feet on the fire escape caught his attention again and he grinned suddenly as a new idea came to him.
He moved carefully over to the metal stairway and looked down. Seven men-at-arms were heading up towards him. They looked grim, and very competent. Hawk waved at them cheerfully, and then bent forward and stuck his axehead between the side of the stairway and the wall. He threw his weight against the axe, and the fire escape tore away from the wall with almost casual ease. The seven swordsmen screamed all the way down to the street below. Hawk put his axe away. Sometimes there was a lot to be said for cheap building practices.
He clambered up to the roof ridge and looked down the other side. Bums was crouching at the edge of the roof, sword in hand, keeping watch from behind a jutting gable. There was no sign of any more men-at-arms. Hawk called out to Bums, and he jumped half out of his skin. He spun round, sword at the ready, and then glared balefully as he saw it was only Hawk.
“Don’t do that!”
“Sorry,” said Hawk. “I take it none of the men-at-arms got this far?”
“Haven’t seen hide nor hair of them. I don’t think they were interested in me, only you. How many came after you?”
“Ten,” said Hawk, casually.
“Bloody hell. What happened to them?”
Hawk grinned. “We had a falling out.”
They made their way back to Headquarters, but though there were no further incidents, Hawk couldn’t shake the feeling they were still being followed. He tried all the usual tricks to make a tail reveal himself, but he didn’t see anyone, no matter how carefully he checked. It was always possible his current situation had him jumping at shadows, but he didn’t think so. The crawling itch between his shoulder blades stayed with him all the way back to Guard Headquarters. He stopped at the main doors and peered wistfully down the street at The Cloudy Morning tavern. A drink would really hit the spot now, after the long day’s exertions, but he could just visualize the look on Burns’s face if he were to suggest it. All the partners he could have chosen, and he had to pick a saint in training. He strode scowling into Headquarters, and everyone hurried to get out of his way. Burns walked silently beside him, nodding casually to familiar faces. He’d been unusually quiet ever since Morgan’s people jumped them. Hawk shrugged mentally. Apparently Bums was still mad at him for not trying to bring in his attackers alive. As if he’d had a choice, with ten-to-one odds.
They made their way through the building, going from department to department, ostensibly just passing the time of day with their co-workers, but always managing to slip in the occasional probing question. It was hard going. None of the Guards wanted to talk about Morgan or his drugs, and in particular no one wanted to be seen talking to Hawk. Overnight he’d become bad news, and no one wanted to get too close in case some of the guilt rubbed off on them. The sudden reticence was unnerving. Usually Headquarters was buzzing with gossip about everything under the sun, most of it unprovable and nearly all of it acrimonious, but now all Hawk had to do was stick his head round a door and silence would fall across the room. Hawk gritted his teeth and kept smiling. He didn’t want anyone to think the silence was getting to him. And slowly, very slowly, he started getting answers. They were mostly evasive, and always hushed, but they often told as much by what they didn’t say as what they did. And the picture that gradually emerged was more than a little disturbing.
Mistress Melanie of the Wardrobe department didn’t know anything about Morgan or the missing drugs, but she did let slip that the campaign of silence was semiofficial in origin. Word had come down from Above that the Morgan case was closed. Permanently. Which suggested that someone High Up was involved, as well as someone at Headquarters. That was unusual; corruption in the higher ranks of the Guard tended to be political rather than criminal. A clerk in Intelligence quietly intimated that at least one Guard Captain was involved. And a pretty well-regarded Captain, too. He wouldn’t even hint at a name.
Hawk and Burns hung around the Constables’ cloakroom for a while, but it soon became clear that the Constables were uneasy in their company and had nothing to say. The Forensic Laboratory was up to its eyes in work, as usual, and the technicians were all too busy to talk. Vice, Forgery, and Confidence Tricks were all evasive and occasionally openly obstructive. Hawk had his enemies in the Guard, and some saw this as their chance to attack while he was vulnerable. Hawk just kept on smiling, and made a note of certain names for later.
Of all the departments, the Murder Squad turned out to be the most forthcoming—probably because no one was going to tell any of its members who they could and couldn’t talk to. They were the toughest of the tough, took no nonsense from anyone, and didn’t care who knew it. Unfortunately, what they knew wasn’t really worth the telling. The crates of super-chacal had been taken down to the storage cellars, and signed in, all according to procedure. But when the time came to check the contents, there was no sign of the crates anywhere. Everyone in Stores swore blind that no one could have got to the drugs without breaking Stores’ security, and all the wards and protections were still in place, undisturbed. Which meant it had to be an inside job. Someone in Stores had been got at. But when the Stores personnel were tested under truthspell, they all came out clean as a whistle. So whoever took the drugs had to be someone fairly high up in the Guard, with access to the right keys and passwords. Hawk mentioned the possibility of a Captain on the take. There was a lot of shrugging and sideways glances, but no one would admit to knowing anything definite. Hawk thanked them for their time, and left.
That just left the Drug Squad, but as Hawk expected, no one there would talk to him. They were already under suspicion themselves, and weren’t about to make things worse by helping a pariah like Hawk. He nodded politely to the silent room, and then he and Burns left to do some hard thinking. They found an empty office, barricaded the door to keep out unwelcome visitors, and sat down with their feet propped up on either side of the desk.
“The more I learn, the less this case makes sense,” said Hawk disgustedly. “There’s no way anyone could have got those crates out of Stores without somebody noticing, passwords or no passwords. I mean, you’d have needed at least half a dozen people just to shift that many crates. Someone in Stores has got to be lying.”
“But they all passed the truthspell.”
“That doesn’t necessarily mean anything. It’s possible to beat the truthspell, if you know what you’re doing.”
“It could have been sorcery of some kind,” said Burns. “Morgan had one sorcerer working for him in that factory; who’s to say he doesn’t have another one working for him?”
“Could be,” said Hawk. “Hell, I don’t know. I don’t know anything anymore. Did you see their faces in the Drug Squad? I know those people. I’ve worked with practically everyone in that room at one time or another, and they looked at me like I was a stranger. It was the same with all the others; they don’t trust me anymore, and the fact of the matter is, I don’t trust them either. I don’t know who to trust anymore. You heard what Intelligence said; it isn’t just a Captain who’s on the take, it’s a well-respected Captain. There aren’t too many of those.”
“Maybe we should go talk to Commander Glen.”
“No. I don’t think so.”
Burns looked at him. “Are you saying you don’t trust Glen either? He’s the one who gave you this brief, told you to find out what’s going on!”
“He’s also the one who let Morgan go. And it’s clear there’s been a lot of pressure coming down from Above to keep people quiet. What better way to conceal a potentially embarrassing investigation than to be the one who set it up?”
“But why would someone like Glen bother about a few missing drugs?”
“He wouldn’t. More and more it seems to me the drugs are only a part of this. Something else is going on, something so big they can’t afford for it to come to light.”
“They?” said Burns.
Hawk shrugged. “Who knows how far up the corruption goes? Why stop at a Captain or a Commander? Morgan said there was a lot of money to be made out of this super-chacal. Millions of ducats. And don’t forget, most of the top people in the Guard are political appointees, and there’s a damn sight more corruption in politics than there ever was in the Guard.”
“Hawk,” said Burns carefully, “this is starting to sound very paranoid. We’re going to need an awful lot of hard evidence if we’re to convince anyone else.”
“We can’t go to anyone else. We’re all alone now. We can’t trust anyone—not our colleagues, not our superiors, not our friends. Anyone could be working for the other side.” Hawk hesitated, and looked intently at Burns. “You know, you don’t have to stay with me on this. When I asked you to be my partner, I didn’t know what we were getting into. There’s still time for you to get out, if you want. Things could get very nasty very quickly once I start pushing this.”
Burns smiled. “You’re not getting rid of me that easily. Especially not now the case is getting so interesting. I’m not convinced about this massive conspiracy of yours, but there’s no doubt something fascinating is going on. I’m with you all the way, until we break the case or it breaks us. Morgan’s people killed my partner. I can’t turn my back on that. So, what’s our next step?”
“There’s only one place we can go,” said Hawk slowly. “The Guard Advisory Council.”
Burns gaped at him for a moment. “You’ve got to be kidding! They’re just a bunch of businessmen, Guard retirees and idealistic Quality who like to see themselves as a buffer between the Guard and the Council’s politics. They mean well, but they’re about as much use as a chocolate teapot. I mean, they’re very free with their advice, but they don’t have any real power. They’re mostly just public relations. How can they help us?”
“They’re all people in a position to have a finger on the pulse of what’s happening in Haven. And just maybe they’re divorced enough from both Guard and Council not to be tainted by the present corruption. Maybe we can get some answers there we won’t get anywhere else. It’s worth a try.”
“Yes, I suppose it is.” Burns hesitated a moment. “Hawk, this Captain who’s working for Morgan. What if it turns out to be someone we know? Maybe even a friend?”
“We do whatever’s necessary,” said Hawk flatly. “Whoever it is.”
Burns looked as though he was going to say something more, and then both he and Hawk jumped as someone knocked briskly on the office door. They both took their feet off the desk, and glanced at each other.
“Captain Hawk?” said a voice from outside. “I have a message for you.”
“How did he know where to find me?” said Hawk quietly. “No one’s supposed to know where we are.”
“What do we do?” said Burns.
“Answer him, I suppose.” Hawk got up and walked over to the barricaded door. “What do you want?”
“Captain Hawk? I have a message for you, sir. I’m supposed to deliver it in person.”
Hawk hesitated, and then shrugged. He pulled away the chairs holding the door shut, drew his axe, and opened the door. A Guard Constable looked at him, and the axe, and nodded respectfully.
“Sorry to disturb you, Captain. It’s about the child you rescued from under the collapsed tenement. The little girl.”
“I remember her,” said Hawk. “Has there been some improvement in her condition?”
“I’m sorry, sir. She’s dead. I’m told she never regained consciousness.”
“I see. Thank you.” The Constable nodded and walked away. Hawk closed the door. “Damn. Oh damn.”
Out in the corridor, the Constable smiled to himself. The news had obviously shaken Hawk badly. And anything that slowed Hawk down had to be good for Morgan and his backers. The Constable strode off down the corridor, patting the full purse at his belt and whistling cheerfully.