Wolf in the Fold h&f-4

by Simon R. Green

  flared with light, bright and dazzling, burning her hand with sudden heat.

  Fisher threw the stone straight at the sorcerer's misshapen face. He snatched it

  out of midair and looked at it curiously. The stone exploded, ripping the

  sorcerer's head from his body and shattering every window in the room.

  For a long moment there was silence, broken only by soft settling sounds as

  debris from the explosion pattered to the floor. Hawk and Fisher got slowly to

  their feet, brushing dust from their clothes. Where the hideous creature had

  been, lay a headless human body. Hawk shook his head gingerly, trying to shift

  the ringing in his ears. Fisher put an arm round his shoulders, and they leaned

  companionably together for a moment.

  "We didn't do too well with this one, did we, Hawk?"

  "You could say that. Fenris has escaped, with a new face and body. The one man

  who could have helped us find him is now dead. And on top of all that, we've

  lost our suppressor stone. Some days you just shouldn't get out of bed."

  "Well," said Fisher, "at least this time they can't blame us for being

  impulsive." Hawk looked at her. Fisher gestured at Grimm's body. "After all,

  he's the one who lost his head."

  Chapter Two

  Fenris Gone to Ground

  The cleanup squad finally made its appearance, with a meat wagon not far behind.

  Two Guard Constables chalked a rough outline round the headless body, and made

  laborious notes about the state of the corpse. The forensic sorcerer waited

  impatiently for them to finish, already in a foul mood at being dragged from his

  bed so early in the morning. Hawk and Fisher leant against a wall together,

  drinking the late sorcerer's wine and trying to put together some kind of report

  that wouldn't get them both busted down to Constable, or beyond.

  The two Constables unhurriedly compared notes, and then got out of the way so

  that the forensic sorcerer could do his stuff. He glared venomously at them,

  then knelt down by the body and rolled up his sleeves. Hawk and Fisher looked at

  each other and unanimously decided this might be a good time to get some fresh

  air. On-the-spot autopsies tended to be thorough, but messy. Hawk drained the

  last of the wine from the bottle he and Fisher had been passing back and forth,

  and his lips thinned away from the dregs. It had been a piss-poor vintage, but

  the sourness suited his mood. No matter what kind of report he and Fisher

  eventually handed in, he had no doubt they were both in real trouble.

  They left Grimm's quarters and clattered down the exterior stairway to the

  street below. The meat wagon's horses tossed their heads and snorted loudly,

  their breath steaming on the chill air. Hawk looked away. Reminders of his own

  mortality made him uncomfortable. Strange lights flared in the windows above as

  the forensic sorcerer set about dismantling Grimm's remaining wards and shields,

  and defusing any booby traps that hadn't yet been triggered. Fisher hugged

  herself as a cold wind swept by.

  "I can't help thinking we're missing something, Hawk. We know why Fenris came

  here; to get a new face. But how did Grimm get involved with Fenris in the first

  place? He had a nice little racket going here. Judging by the records we found,

  he was already making more money than he knew what to do with. So why risk it

  all, by dealing with a traitor? He didn't need the money, and there's nothing in

  his file to suggest he was at all political."

  "Maybe he just liked the excitement, the intrigue," said Hawk. "He wouldn't be

  the first fool to be seduced by dreams of making history, of playing with the

  real shakers and movers. Or maybe he just had some kind of grudge against the

  Council, and saw this as his chance for revenge. I've known stranger motives.

  Doesn't make much difference now, anyway. The man is dead, and our case died

  with him. Odds are we'll never find out what it was all about."

  The low, steady clamor of a brass bell filled both their heads as the Guard

  communications sorcerer made contact. Hawk shook his head gingerly as the deep

  ringing sound faded away. "I think I preferred it when he used the gong. That

  bloody bell goes right through me." He broke off as the bell gave way to the

  rasping voice of the communications sorcerer.

  Captains Hawk and Fisher are to report to Commander Dubois at Guard Headquarters

  immediately. This instruction has top priority. All other orders are rescinded.

  Hawk and Fisher waited a moment to see if there was any more, and then looked at

  each other. "Didn't take long for the news to reach our superiors, did it?" said

  Hawk.

  Fisher shrugged. "Haven loves bad news. And you can bet there were people lining

  up for the chance to drop us in it. We've always been too honest to be popular."

  "What the hell," said Hawk. "We've weathered worse storms than this."

  "Right," said Fisher. "Just keep our heads down, and it'll all blow over."

  "You really believe that?"

  "No. How about you?"

  "No. Even so, Dubois had better not shout at me," said Hawk firmly. "I'm not in

  the mood to be shouted at. In fact, if he raises his voice to me I think I'll

  hit him somewhere low and painful."

  "How is that going to help us?"

  "It couldn't hurt."

  "True."

  Hawk and Fisher had barely walked through the front door at Guard Headquarters

  when a Constable appeared, seemingly from nowhere, and insisted on escorting

  them straight to Dubois' office. Other Guards avoided Hawk's and Fisher's eyes

  as they made their way through the Headquarters building. Word had got around

  and no one wanted to risk guilt by association. Hawk smiled humorlessly, and let

  his hand drift down to the axe at his side. He glanced across at Fisher, and saw

  that her hand was already resting on the pommel of her sword.

  The Constable brought them to Dubois' office and knocked briskly on the door.

  There was barely a pause before the Commander's voice summoned them in. The

  Constable opened the door, and stood back for Hawk and Fisher to enter. Hawk

  strolled casually in, Fisher at his side. The door shut behind them. Hawk

  listened carefully, but didn't hear any sound of the Constable departing. Now,

  that was interesting. It meant that the man was still there. Presumably on guard

  to keep people out… or in. Hawk smiled inwardly as he and Fisher bowed formally

  to Commander Dubois. If he and Fisher decided it was in their best interests to

  leave in a hurry, it would take a lot more than one Guard Constable to stop

  them.

  Dubois glared at Hawk and Fisher from behind his desk and sniffed disgustedly.

  "Gods, you're a mess. I've seen beggars in the Devil's Hook who looked more

  presentable than you two do right now. You're a disgrace to your uniform."

  Hawk looked down at himself, and had to admit the Commander had a point. His

  clothes were badly torn and soaked with blood from the various fights he'd got

  involved in that evening. A quick glance at Fisher revealed she hadn't fared any

  better. Her furs were stained and matted from the garbage she'd fallen in

  outside Madam Zara's. And what with all the exertions of the evening, the fact

  was they both smelled pretty bad. Hawk had
a sudden intense desire to stand

  downwind of himself. He looked back at Dubois, and put on his best innocent

  face. Dubois glared at him even harder. The complete lack of hair on his head

  somehow made his scowl all the more impressive.

  "And you've lost your cloak again, Hawk! What happened this time? Someone sneak

  up behind you and steal it while you weren't looking? Where the hell is your

  cloak?"

  Hawk had to stop and think, so Fisher quickly answered for him. "It's pinned to

  a wall in a spiritualist's house."

  Dubois winced. "I'm not even going to ask you what you were doing at a

  spiritualist's. I don't think my nerves could stand it. Do you realize, Hawk,

  you go through more new cloaks in a year than most Guards use up in a lifetime's

  service to the city? Do you know how much those cloaks cost?"

  "Yes," said Hawk. "Because you always deduct the cost from my wages."

  "Damn right!" said Dubois. "You're not screwing up my budget for the year.

  Perhaps you would also like to explain why you failed to turn in your suppressor

  stone to the Armory, as ordered."

  "Would that help to get us off the hook?" said Hawk.

  "Not in the least."

  "Then I don't think I'll bother."

  Fisher butted in quickly as Dubois' face darkened. "Be fair; it saved both our

  arses tonight. If the stone hadn't blown up in Grimm's face when it did, we

  might both have been killed."

  "I could live with that," said Dubois.

  He picked up a sheet of paper from his desk and frowned at it. Hawk studied the

  Commander's bowed head thoughtfully. Something was going on. Dubois should be

  tearing strips off them for letting Fenris get away, not carping about their

  appearance, or niggling over lost cloaks and the illegal use of a suppressor

  stone. Dubois had never made any secret of the fact that he didn't approve of

  Hawk and Fisher's methods, and was usually only too happy to find something

  about their work he could criticize. The Fenris debacle should have been just

  what he needed to bust them down to Constable, or worse. Instead, he hadn't even

  mentioned the spy. If he hadn't known better, Hawk would have sworn Dubois was

  trying to avoid telling them something unpleasant.

  Hawk's mind raced furiously. Maybe the Council had found out about Fenris

  getting away, and had decided to blame everything on the two Guards. It wouldn't

  be too hard for the Council to make out a case of treason against them. They

  could claim the Guards had deliberately let the spy escape, and then killed

  Grimm to cover their tracks. Hawk forced himself to calm down. It needn't be

  that bad. It could be that Dubois just had some really nasty job lined up for

  them, as penance for failing to bring in Fenris. Now, that was much more likely.

  Hawk began to relax a little. Whatever it was, he and Fisher could handle it.

  After five years working the Northside they could handle anything.

  Dubois carefully put down the piece of paper, tapped it with his fingers a few

  times, and then looked up at Hawk and Fisher. "For once in your lives, you've

  struck it lucky. We know where Fenris is. The Council circle of sorcerers knew

  that Grimm was somehow involved with the traitors, and kept an unobtrusive watch

  on him. So when Fenris did a runner with his new face, they were able to follow

  him magically, all the way to his new hiding place."

  "Wait a minute," said Fisher. "If we know where he is, why can't we just walk

  right in and grab him?"

  "Unfortunately, it's not that simple."

  "Somehow I didn't think it would be," said Hawk.

  Dubois sniffed. "Fenris has gone to ground at Tower MacNeil, just outside the

  city wall. That much the sorcerers are certain of. But it seems our man has some

  sorcerous protection of his own, presumably supplied by his superiors. Our

  people couldn't get close enough to see what his new face looks like."

  "No problem," said Hawk. "We burst in there, arrest everyone, and sort out which

  is Fenris later."

  "I thought you'd come up with something like that," said Dubois. "Don't even

  think about it. The MacNeils are one of the oldest and most respected Families

  in Haven. We don't dare touch them. If it should turn out one of the MacNeils

  was the traitor, it would be a major scandal. We have very explicit orders to

  avoid any such thing. And that, Gods help us, is where you come in."

  "All right," said Fisher. "I'll bite. Why us?"

  "Well, thanks to you and your partner's incompetence, what description we did

  have of Fenris is now obsolete. But at least you two have met the man in person.

  There's always the chance you'll recognize some mannerism or habit that'll give

  him away. So you are going in there after him, suitably disguised. Your job is

  to identify Fenris, and get him out of the Tower without anyone else catching

  on. It's not much of a plan, so the fact that we're going ahead with it will

  give you some idea of how desperate we are. Any questions so far?"

  "Yeah," said Hawk. "What kind of place is Tower MacNeil?"

  "Home to the MacNeils for fourteen generations. Protected by old sorcery and one

  of Haven's finest security firms. The head of the Family, Duncan MacNeil, died

  last month. Which means, luckily for us, that things are in something of a

  turmoil at the moment. Duncan's son Jamie is to be the new head of the Family,

  the MacNeil, as he's called. And, as is customary, all living members of the

  Family will be gathering at Tower MacNeil to pay their respects to the new head,

  and jockey for positions of influence and power. Nothing like a Family funeral

  to bring out the vultures. Fenris will presumably be trying to pass himself off

  as one of the more remote cousins. This is how we're going to get you in."

  Hawk and Fisher looked at each other.

  "Wait a minute," said Hawk. "You mean we're going to be masquerading as

  Quality?"

  "Got it in one," said Dubois. "What's the matter? Don't you think you can do

  it?"

  "That's not the point," said Fisher. "The last I heard, passing yourself off as

  Quality was still punishable by death. Is that being waived in our case?"

  "No," said Dubois. "Whatever the outcome, officially you were never there. If

  you do get caught, we'll disclaim all knowledge of you. This is a very delicate

  situation."

  Hawk thought for a moment. "Is this a volunteer situation?"

  "Yes," said Dubois. "I volunteered you. Given the alternatives, I wouldn't argue

  if I were you."

  Fisher looked at him steadily. "We don't like being pressured, Dubois. We don't

  like it at all."

  Dubois fought down an urge to shrink back in his chair as a sudden chill ran

  through him. Without moving a muscle, Hawk and Fisher had suddenly become

  dangerous. An air of menace and imminent violence filled the tiny office, as

  though a slumbering wolf had suddenly awakened and shown its teeth. Dubois paled

  slightly, but didn't flinch.

  "Renegade Guards tend to have very short life spans," he said evenly. "If

  anything was to happen to me, you wouldn't even make it to the city gates."

  Hawk smiled. "You might be right, Dubois. But I wouldn't count on it if I were

  you. We've faced worse odds in the past
. We'll do your dirty work for you, this

  time. I think we owe it to the Council, for letting Fenris get away from us. But

  if you ever try to pressure us like this again, Dubois, I'll kill you. Believe

  it."

  Dubois met Hawk's cold stare for a moment, and then looked away. When he looked

  back, Hawk and Fisher were just Guards again. The air of violence was gone, as

  though it had never been. For the first time, Dubois understood how they'd

  gained their reputation. He got to his feet and cleared his throat carefully. He

  didn't want to sound nervous or uncertain. "Let's go. We've got just under two

  hours to turn the pair of you into regular young flowers of the aristocracy and

  deliver you to Tower MacNeil."

  "No problem," said Hawk. "We can be as aristocratic as the next man, if pushed."

  "Right," said Fisher, with an impeccable upper-class accent. "All we have to do

  is act arrogant and obnoxious at all times, and remember not to blow our noses

  on our sleeves without crooking our little fingers. What could go wrong?"

  Dubois swallowed hard, but said nothing. There were times when mere words seemed

  inadequate.

  He hustled them out of his office and through the bustling corridors to an

  anonymous file room safely out of everyone's way. He ushered them in, and then

  locked the door behind them. A Guard medical sorcerer rose quickly to his feet,

  nodded stiffly to the two Guards and looked enquiringly at Dubois. The Commander

  nodded, and the sorcerer shrugged. He was a dark and intense-looking man in his

  early forties, with a professional smile and large, powerful hands. He was

  overdressed in a dark, formal way, as though he were about to attend a funeral.

  Hawk looked at him suspiciously. He didn't trust Haven doctors. They seemed to

  believe in suppositories for everything, from warts to deafness. He started to

  turn to Dubois, but Fisher beat him to it.

  "What's the doctor doing here? We're not sick."

  "This is Wulfgang. You can trust him completely."

  "Why?" said Hawk. "You got something on him too?"

  "Wulfgang specializes in shapechange magic, in a minor way," said Dubois. "Since

  you both have something of a reputation in Haven, we can't have you walking into

  Tower MacNeil with your own faces, can we? Wulfgang will give you new faces,

  which won't be recognized."