6
Naming the Traitor
“This is where the Guard Advisory Council meets? I’ve seen more impressive outhouses.” Hawk shook his head disgustedly. “Maybe you were right after all, Burns. Anyone who has to meet in a dump like this isn’t going to be in any position to help us.”
Burns kept a diplomatic silence, but his shrug spoke volumes. Hawk glared at the building before him, and wondered if there was any point in going inside. The Guard Advisory Council held its meetings in a rented room over a corner grocer’s shop; the kind that stays open all hours and sells anything and everything. The two-storey building was fairly well-preserved, but looked like it hadn’t seen a coat of paint in generations. Hawk peered into the shop through the single, smeared window, and one glance at the interior was enough to convince him he’d have to be bloody hungry before he ate anything that came from this grocer. He could practically see plague and food poisoning hiding in the shadows and giggling together. And he didn’t want to think about what the unfamiliar cut of meat optimistically labelled “Special Offer” might be. He turned away and looked around the street. Passersby kept their heads down to avoid his gaze and hurried by the two Guards, trying hard to look innocent and failing miserably. Mostly they just succeeded in looking furtive. It was that kind of neighbourhood.
“I did try to tell you, Hawk,” Burns said finally. “These people are Advisors, and that’s all. They have no real power or influence, even if they like to think they have. They come up with the odd good idea on occasion, and they’re good public relations, so the Guard tolerates them, but that’s as far as it goes.”
“Maybe,” said Hawk. “But none of that’s important. What matters is that these people are connected to the Guard, but not a part of it. They ought to know some of what’s going on but still be distanced enough that they can talk to us without fear of retribution. Dammit, Bums, I need someone to talk to me. I need information. We’re flailing about in the dark and getting nowhere, and Morgan’s sitting out there somewhere safe and secure, laughing at us. We need a lead, something to point us in the right direction at least.”
“And you think we’re going to get that from the Guard Advisory Council?”
“It’s worth a try, dammit! We’ve got to do something!” He strode angrily forward, ignored the shop doorway and stomped up the iron fire escape that clung uncertainly to the side of the building. Burns followed him silently. His partner was getting desperate, and it was beginning to show. Hawk stopped before the plain wooden door at the top of the fire escape, and banged loudly on it with his fist. Someone inside pulled back a sliding panel and studied Hawk for a long moment. Then the panel slid shut and there was the sound of bolts being drawn back. The door swung open, and Hawk and Burns stepped inside. The door closed quickly behind them.
The rented room turned out to be surprisingly cosy. Oil lamps shed a golden glow over the wood-panelled walls and chunky furniture, and large, comfortable-looking chairs had been set out before a crackling fire. Two men stood together by the chairs, facing Hawk and Bums with determined casualness. They looked embarrassed, and perhaps just a little frightened. Hawk studied them both, letting the silent moment stretch uncomfortably. Bums stirred at his side, but made no move to intervene. The man to their left coughed nervously.
“Good evening, Captains. It’s good of you to visit us. It’s not often the Guard takes an interest in our work. I’m Nicholas Linden, the lawyer. Perhaps you’ve heard of me.... And this is my associate, Michael Shire, once a Captain in the Guard, now retired.”
Hawk nodded politely. Bums had already filled him in on who he’d be meeting, and he had no trouble recognising these two from Burns’s descriptions. Nicholas Linden was tall and fashionably slender, with watchful eyes and a practiced smile. He’d started out as a meat-wagon chaser specialising in insurance cases, and had graduated through a series of well-publicized cases and well-bribed juries to a fairly successful practice in Low Tory. At which point he suddenly developed a civic conscience, and started agitating to put an end to the kind of sharp practices that had got him where he was. His fellow lawyers had persuaded him to join the Guard Advisory Council, in the hope of distracting him from things best left alone. To no one’s surprise, it worked.
Michael Shire had been a Captain in the Guard for twenty years, before taking early retirement to go into business for himself as a private security consultant. He’d done well for himself over the past few years, and was now responsible for most of the hired muscle in the Westside. He was a large, squarish man in his late forties, wearing fashionably garish clothes that didn’t suit him. He had a calm, self-satisfied face, with cold, expressionless eyes.
And these were two of the people who’d set themselves up as the Guard’s conscience.
“Will any of the others be joining us?” Hawk said finally, his voice flat and cold.
“I’m afraid not, Captain,” said Linden, perhaps just a little too quickly. “You must understand, we all lead very busy lives outside the Advisory Council, and it isn’t always possible for all of us to attend meetings called at such short notice. However, your message did say your business was both urgent and important, so Michael and I agreed to ... represent the others. Do please sit down, Captains. And help yourselves to some wine, if you will.”
Hawk shook his head shortly, and sat down. Burns also declined the wine, and he and the Advisors joined Hawk in the chairs before the fire. Linden and Shire looked at Hawk and Bums expectantly. Hawk set out the situation as clearly and concisely as he could, taking it from the raid on Morgan’s factory to his growing belief that Morgan must be bribing someone fairly high up in the Guard. There was a pause, and then Shire snorted loudly.
“Don’t see what all the fuss is about,” he said gruffly, meeting Hawk’s gaze unflinchingly. “There’s always been a certain amount of ... private enterprise in the Guard. It’s only natural for Guards to augment their income on occasion, given the low wages. Everyone takes a special payment now and again; it’s a sort of unofficial tax. If people want real protection, they’ve got to be prepared to pay for it. After all, a contented Guard is much more likely to look out for you, isn’t he? I think you’re taking this too seriously, Captain Hawk.”
“I’m not talking about half-arsed protection rackets,” said Hawk. “I’m talking about a high-ranking Guard who’s been bought and paid for by one of the city’s biggest drug barons.”
“So what?” said Shire flatly. “This is Haven, remember? There are people here it doesn’t pay to cross, and Morgan is very definitely one of them. It’s not in the Guard’s interest to start a war it couldn’t win.”
“This time it’s different,” snapped Hawk. “Morgan’s new drug is too dangerous to be ignored. And whoever’s helping him in the Guard is putting the whole damned city at risk, just to earn himself a nice little bonus. This isn’t just corruption anymore: it’s treason. I want this bastard, and you’re going to help me identify him. You’re both in a position to hear things, know things; people will talk to you who wouldn’t talk to me. I want to know what they’ve been saying. I want the name.”
Shire and Linden glanced at each other, and then Linden leaned forward. He fixed Hawk with an earnest gaze, and chose his words carefully. “You must understand, Captain, that my associate and I are taking a not inconsiderable risk in seeing you at all. You’ve made yourself dangerous to know. You’ve been making enemies, the wrong sort of enemies. The word is that Morgan has important friends, very well-connected people, who aren’t taking kindly to your enquiries. Anyone who openly helped you would be putting his own neck in the noose.”
“Refusing to talk to me can be pretty risky too,” said Hawk calmly. “I’m not playing by the rules anymore. I don’t have the time.”
Shire sniffed. “Threats won’t get you anywhere. To put it bluntly, Morgan is connected to people who are scarier than you’ll ever be.”
“Then why are you talking to us at all?” asked Burns.
“Because I was a Captain in the Guard for twenty years ...” said Shire slowly, “... and there are some things I won’t stand for. I might have taken the odd gratuity in my time, and looked the other way when I was told, but I was always my own man. No one tells me to roll over on my back and play dead, like a good dog. Not then or now. Linden came to see me earlier today. He was scared. He overheard something he shouldn’t have, from one of Morgan’s people, and he knew he wouldn’t be safe as long as he was the only one who knew it. So he told me, and now he’s going to tell you. There’s no doubt that Morgan, or the people he’s associated with, have infiltrated the Guard at practically every level. From the bottom right to the top. But for once, we have a name. Morgan’s bought himself a Guard Captain, someone so loyal and honourable as to be above suspicion.”
“Tell me the name,” said Hawk.
Linden swallowed hard, and looked briefly at Shire for support. “You’re not going to like this, Hawk. I don’t have any proof or evidence; this is just what I heard. I could be wrong.”
“Just tell me the bloody name!”
“Fisher,” said Linden. “Captain Isobel Fisher.”
Hawk launched himself out of his chair, both hands reaching for Linden. Burns grabbed at him, but Hawk shook him off. He took two handfuls of Linden’s shirt and lifted him up into the air. The lawyer’s face lost all its color, and his mouth worked soundlessly. Shire and Burns pulled at Hawk’s arms, but he ignored them, thrusting his face close to Linden’s.
“You’re lying, you bastard. They put you up to this, didn’t they? Didn’t they! Tell me the name, you bastard. Tell me the real name!”
Linden struggled to get his breath, his eyes wide and staring. “Please ... please don’t hurt me. I’m sorry....”
“He’s telling the truth,” said Shire urgently, almost shouting in Hawk’s ear to get his attention. “Let him go, Hawk. He’s just telling you what he heard.”
“That’s right.” said Burns. “Let him go, Hawk. Come on, let him go.”
Hawk dropped the lawyer back onto his chair, and turned away, breathing heavily. Linden clawed at his collar, trying to get some air into his lungs. Burns and Shire backed away from Hawk, watching him carefully.
“Take it easy, Hawk,” said Burns soothingly. “It’s just hearsay, that’s all. They said themselves they had no proof or evidence.”
“It’s a lie,” said Hawk.
“Of course it is.”
“Don’t use that tone of voice with me, Burns! I’m not a child. I’m not a fool, either. This is just something Morgan’s come up with to try and slow me down, distract me from going after him. Well, it’s not going to work. I know Isobel. It’s impossible that she could be involved in anything like that. She wouldn’t ...”
“Of course not,” said Burns. “Let’s go, Hawk. We’ve got what we came for.”
Hawk nodded, and headed for the door without even looking at Shire and Linden. Burns made a quick, placating gesture to them, and hurried out after his partner.
Down in the street, Hawk strode blindly through the snow and slush, staring straight ahead. People took one look at his face and hurried to get out of his way. Burns walked along beside him, studying his partner anxiously.
“We have to talk about this, Hawk,” he said finally. “Of course the idea of Fisher being a rogue is ridiculous, but we can’t just ignore it, either. Whoever the corrupt Captain is, it has to be someone who’d normally be above suspicion. Someone so honest and trustworthy no one would ever connect them with Morgan. Everyone we’ve talked to agrees on that, and it has to be said there aren’t many Captains in the Guard who fill that description.”
“It isn’t Isobel,” said Hawk.
“Then why name her in front of someone like Linden? Even if Morgan’s people knew they were being overheard, how would they know you’d end up talking to Linden? You only decided to visit the Advisors a short time ago.”
“He would have passed the word on, and it would have got round to me eventually. It’s just a distraction, that’s all.”
“Sure,” said Burns. “Look, whoever the rogue is, it has to be someone close to us. Close to you. Someone who knows you well enough to know the people you’d go to for answers. How else did Morgan’s people know where to ambush us after we left Saint Christophe?”
“We’re probably being watched,” said Hawk.
“Not all the time; we’d notice.”
“Well, maybe he’s got a sorcerer watching us magically! He had a sorcerer at the factory; how do we know he hasn’t got another magic-user working for him?”
“I think we’d better leave this till later,” said Burns suddenly, his voice low. “We’re being followed again. Look around you.”
Hawk’s preoccupation fell away in a moment, and he looked casually about him, his hand moving naturally to the axe at his side. “Hell’s teeth, how did I miss them? They’re not exactly professional quality, are they? That’s what happens when you let yourself get distracted. There’s a lot of them; I make it twenty-seven, most of them wearing gang colors. How about you?”
“I only see twenty-two, but I’ll take your word for it. They must have known we were going to be here, Hawk; it’s another bloody ambush. Better thought-out than the last one, too; they’re all around us this time.”
Hawk sniffed. “It doesn’t matter. I’m just in the mood to cut up a few bad guys.”
Burns looked at him sharply. “Wait a minute, Hawk; this is no time to start feeling heroic. We’re outnumbered more than ten to one here.”
“So what do you suggest? Put up our hands and surrender nicely, and hope we’ll get taken as prisoners of war? This may be a war, Burns, but no one’s taking any prisoners.”
“We could always make a run for it.”
“We could, but how far do you think we’d get? The streets are narrow and crowded, and we’re both dog-tired while our pursuers look decidedly fresh. There aren’t even any fire escapes in easy reach this time. They’ve planned this well, Burns, and we walked right into it.”
The street grew increasingly quiet as they strode along, and passersby began moving into the shelter of doorways so as to be safely out of the way when the killing began. Everyone knew what was happening. The ambushers weren’t even trying to hide themselves anymore.
Hawk stopped walking and looked openly around. Burns stopped beside him, and looked quickly about for any escape route he might have missed. The ambushers were everywhere, moving confidently forward. Now that they were all out in the open, Burns counted twenty-nine of them. They were dressed in ragged furs and leathers, and carrying clubs and swords and axes. Some had broken bottles and lengths of metal piping. They all looked lean and hungry and very dangerous. Burns looked to Hawk for support, and a sudden chill ran through him. Hawk was smiling, a cold and nasty death’s-head grin. Burns felt an instinctive need to back away. He’d seen his partner go through many moods that day, but this was something new and awful, and for the first time Burns understood why Hawk was so widely feared in the Northside. At this moment, he looked vicious and deadly and totally unstoppable.
Burns made some kind of noise in his throat, and Hawk looked at him briefly. “These aren’t Morgan’s people,” he said, his voice eerily calm and even. “These are street-gang toughs from the Devil’s Hook. I beat up their leader, a piece of slime called Hammer, earlier on this morning. He must have declared vendetta on me. Knew I should have killed him.”
He fell silent as one of the ambushers stepped forward, but his death’s-head grin never wavered. He recognised the man as the gang leader, and drew his axe with a flourish. Hammer stopped where he was and called out to Hawk, his voice carefully loud and mocking.
“I’ve been looking for you, Hawk. No one messes with me and gets away with it, not even the high and mighty Captain Hawk. Don’t look so tough now, do you? Now you’re on your own and I’ve got my people here to back me up. You’re going to die slow, Hawk. We’re all going to take turns cutting on you; going to take our time and get real inventive. You’re going to scream and cry and beg for death before we’re through.”
Hawk laughed at him, and there was enough naked violence in the sound to silence the gang leader almost in mid-word. The watching ambushers stirred uneasily. Hawk swept his axe back and forth before him. “Who’s first?” he said mockingly. No one moved. Hawk glanced at Burns. “Get out of here while you can,” he said quietly, his voice calm and conversational. “They don’t care about you; they just want me. If you make a run for it, they’ll probably let you go.”
“Forget it,” said Bums. “They’ll kill me anyway, just for being a Guard, and being with you. Believe me, if I could see a way out of this mess, I’d take it. I’m not crazy. Do me a favour, Hawk: Next time you feel like punching out a gang leader, don’t do it in front of witnesses. All right, you’re supposed to be the expert on winning against impossible odds: What are we going to do? There’s nowhere to run, and if we try and make a stand they’ll roll right over us.”
Hawk nodded, still grinning at the ambushers and hefting his axe. Burns looked away. The grin was starting to unnerve him. One of the toughs stepped forward. Hawk looked at him, and the tough stopped where he was.
“I think our best bet is to try and lose them in the side streets and alleyways,” said Hawk calmly. “They’re narrow and crowded, and the gang will only be able to come at us a few at a time. We should be able to take them easily, as long as we keep our heads.”
“What if they’ve staked out the alleyways with more of their people?” said Burns tightly.
“Then we fight our way through and keep running. Maybe we can outrun them.”
“What happens if we get trapped in a dead end?”
“Then we see how many of the bastards we can take with us. Think positive, Burns. We’re not dead yet, and I’ve faced worse odds in my time.”
“When?” demanded Burns. Hawk just grinned at him.
Hammer suddenly barked an order, and the toughs moved forward from every direction. Hawk lifted his axe threateningly and then sprinted towards the nearest side street. Burns charged after him, his stomach churning sickly. Three gang members made to block their way. Hawk cut down the first two with vicious sweeps of his axe, and hit the third man with a lowered shoulder. The massive tough was thrown aside like a child, and Bums hacked halfway through his waist without even slowing. He pounded after Hawk down the narrow street, with the gang howling behind them.
More gang members appeared out of darkened alley mouths, but somehow Hawk and Burns managed to cut a way through them and keep on running, leaving bodies lying in pools of vivid scarlet on the grimy snow. Hawk glared about him, trying to figure out exactly where he was. This wasn’t an area he knew particularly well and he couldn’t afford to stop and look for landmarks hidden or disguised by the recent snow. His breath burned in his chest, and he could feel the beginnings of a stitch in his side. Normally he prided himself on his stamina, but it had been a long day and it wasn’t getting any shorter. From the sound of it, Bums was finding the going equally hard.
And then they rounded a sharp corner and skidded to a halt as they saw more gang members waiting for them. There were ten of them blocking the narrow alley, all armed with some kind of weapon and smiling confidently. Hawk glanced back over his shoulder. The pursuers were coming up fast, and there was no way out. Hawk felt more anger than anything. Being killed in a gang ambush was such a stupid way to go. And now he’d never get the chance to clear Fisher’s name. He’d make them pay for that. He threw himself at the smiling faces before him, and laughed aloud as he saw their expressions change to shock and terror as his axe tore through them like firewood. He sensed Burns fighting desperately at his side, but Hawk had no room in him for anything but rage.
The first few died easily before his fury, but there were too many of them for him to break through, and soon the rest of the gang arrived. Hawk and Burns fought back to back, surrounded by screaming mouths and flailing weapons, hemmed in by the jostling press of bodies. The sheer number of attackers gave Hawk and Burns a fighting chance; the gang were so eager to get at their victims that they kept getting in each other’s way and deflecting many of the blows meant for the two Guards. Hawk fought on fiercely, sending blood spraying through the freezing air, but knew it was only a matter of time before someone got in a lucky blow. Then his guard would drop, and he’d go down under a dozen swords. And if he was lucky, he’d die before Hammer could pull his people off. He was just sorry he’d dragged Bums into this. Hawk fought on, as much out of stubbornness as anything. If he had to die, he was going to make them work for it. A sword licked in past his defences, and punched through his side and out again. Blood ran thickly down his hip and leg, and the strength seemed to flow out of him along with the blood. He swung his axe clumsily, and the swords were everywhere.
A thick mist sprang up suddenly in the alleyway, diffusing the amber lamplight in strange ways, and misty grey ropes curled and tightened around the gang members’ throats. They dropped their weapons to tear at the strangling mists with desperate hands, and fell gagging to the ground. Curling mists lashed viciously among the gang, sending them flying this way and that, and they fled screaming back down the alley and out into the surrounding streets. The mists flowed after them like a relentless river. Dead bodies littered the alley. Hammer stared uncomprehendingly about him, abandoned by his men, and then backed away as Hawk loomed up before him, grim and bloody, his gaze colder than the winter could ever be. He turned to run, and Hawk cut him down with one blow of his axe. Hammer fell dying to the ground, and there was enough anger still in Hawk for him to regret it was over so quickly.
He turned to see how Burns had fared, and fell back against a wall as the wound in his side caught up with him. The stabbing pain filled his mind, and then a strong arm curled around his shoulders, supporting him, and a cool hand pressed against his bloody side. There was a brief. crawling sensation as the wound knitted itself together, and then the sorceress Mistique stepped back and grinned at him.
“I thought I’d leave the gang leader for you to take care of personally. But I can’t believe you just walked right into that ambush. If I hadn’t been following you too, they’d have had to bury what was left of you in a closed coffin.”
“I had a lot on my mind.” said Hawk, feeling gingerly at his side. “And it must be said, this has not been one of my better days. Thanks for the rescue.”
“You’re welcome. But next time don’t go dashing off like that. I nearly didn’t catch up in time.”
Hawk nodded, and looked across at Burns. The man’s clothing was soaked in blood, but he nodded quickly to Hawk and Mistique to show he was all right. Hawk looked down at the gang leader, lying dead and broken on the dirty snow, and swore softly.
“I should have taken him alive. He might have been able to answer some questions.”
Burns frowned. “What could he have known? He isn’t connected with Morgan; he was just after you because you made him lose face in front of his people.”
“Someone had to have told him where to find us! He couldn’t have followed us all the way from the Hook.”
“He didn’t,” said Mistique flatly. “I’ve been following you for some time, and they were already here waiting for you when you went in to talk to the Advisors.”
Hawk looked at her narrowly. “I didn’t see you following us.”
Mistique smiled. “Well, after all, darling, I am a sorceress.”
Hawk nodded slowly. “All right; want to tell me why you were following us? And why you dropped out of sight right after we left the Hook?”
The sorceress scowled, and leaned back against the alley wall with her arms folded. “I know something that certain important people don’t want known. Something ... dangerous. So I decided to disappear for a while, and do some hard thinking. I needed someone to talk to, someone I could trust. You were the obvious choice, Hawk, but I had to be sure you were what you were supposed to be. So I’ve been following you.” She looked at him for a long moment. “Even now I’m not sure I’m doing the right thing. You’re not going to like this, Hawk.”
“Tell me,” said Hawk. “Tell me what you know.”
“I was talking to one of the prisoners we took in Morgan’s factory, before we brought them back to Headquarters,” said Mistique steadily. “He was mad as hell because the Guard Captain that Morgan had been paying off hadn’t warned them about the raid. I asked him for the Captain’s name, but he didn’t know it. He knew what the Captain looked like, though. He recognised her when he saw her during the raid.
“It was Fisher, Hawk. Captain Isobel Fisher.”