Swords of Haven: The Adventures of Hawk & Fisher

by Simon R. Green

  “Right,” said Buchan. “Half our budget goes on bribe money.”

  “And most of that goes to Lacey,” said Rowan.

  “He’s always proved most useful to us,” said Tomb. “He has his own organisation of informants and eavesdroppers. They bring him all the news, rumour, and gossip, and he puts it all together. He’s predicted more trends, business deals, heresies, and conspiracies than all our other sources put together.”

  “He’s also a nasty, repellent little creep, and he makes my skin crawl,” said Rowan.

  “We know the sort,” said Hawk. “We use informants in our line of work, too.”

  “How much do you pay them?” asked Buchan.

  Hawk grinned. “Isobel lets them live. They seem happy to settle for that.”

  “Anyway,” said Tomb, “our man Lacey is waiting just down the hall. With your permission, I’ll have him join us.”

  He looked around for objections, but no one said anything. Buchan clearly didn’t give a damn, and Rowan was sulking. Tomb gestured sharply with his left hand, and the drawing room door swung open on its own.

  “Do come in, Lacey. There’s a good feHow!” said Tomb loudly.

  There was a pause, and then a wide, fleshy figure appeared in the doorway, smiling ingratiatingly. He was better than average in height, but his great bulk made him look shorter. He moved slowly but with surprising grace, and something in the way he held himself suggested he was no stranger to violence, should it prove necessary. He had a round bland face, the main features of which were his small, dark eyes and constant smile. Fisher didn’t like the smile. It looked practised. His hair was dark and greasy, plastered flat and parted neatly down the middle. Just looking at him, you knew immediately that you could trust him completely, provided you kept up the payments, but that the moment you ran out of money he’d disappear in an instant. The smile got worse the more you saw of it; the insincerity of it grated on the nerves like fingernails on a blackboard. All in all, Lacey was the kind of man you didn’t want to shake hands with, in case some of his personality rubbed off on you.

  “My dear Tomb, how nice to see you again. Looking well, as always. And your charming associates, Buchan and Rowan; two of my favourite people.” His voice sounded exactly the way you’d expect it to. Soft and breathy and thoroughly oily. The kind of sound a toad would make if it was trying to sell you a horse that nobody wanted. “Always happy to be of service to you, my friends. Now then, I see we have guests present; Captains of our illustrious city Guard, no less. Will you honour me with your names, sir and madam?”

  “Captain Hawk and Captain Fisher,” said Hawk. “We’re here on official business.”

  Something happened to Lacey’s face. He didn’t flinch and he didn’t stop smiling, but his eyes were suddenly cold and watchful. He looked very much as though he’d like to see how far it was to the door but didn’t quite dare look. Apparently even on the Street of Gods, people had heard of Hawk and Fisher.

  “The renowned Captains Hawk and Fisher; an honour indeed to make your acquaintance. What can I do for you?”

  “We need information,” said Rowan. “Not long ago, a sorcerer named Bode appeared on the Street, asking questions about the Gods. What can you tell us about him?”

  Lacey smiled like a decrepit cherub, lowered himself into the one remaining chair, and laced his fingers across his vast stomach. “Bode. Yes, I know that name.” He paused a moment, to arrange his weight more comfortably, and the chair creaked loudly. He smiled about him pleasantly, and then began to speak without pause or hesitation, as though he’d only been waiting for permission to speak a piece he’d already prepared. For all Hawk knew, that might just be the case.

  “Bode was a low-level sorcerer,” said Lacey. “Mainly interested in alchemy and the production of homunculi. An expensive interest, which he supported through his extensive knowledge of pills and potions. He was well known in his field, but was never going to be anyone important. He lacked the drive, and the determination. He knew this, but it didn’t seem to bother him. He was not, by all accounts, ambitious.

  “He first appeared on the Street of Gods just over a month ago, asking questions about the powers and backgrounds of the Gods. Where they came from, what attributes they possessed, why people worshipped them—the usual tourist stuff. Unlike most tourists, however, Bode wasn’t prepared to settle for the usual answers. He kept digging for more and more details, refusing to be put off, even when it was made clear to him that some of his questions were not appreciated by the Beings involved. He just pressed even harder for answers, putting things together, despite several quite specific warnings. He was either very brave, very stupid, or lacking in any sense of self-preservation.

  “He died quite recently, at his home in the Northside. Accounts of the manner of his death seem confused, but all the accounts agree that the good Captains Hawk and Fisher were somehow involved. As investigating officers.”

  Lacey sat back in his chair, smiling serenely in a self-satisfied way. There was a long pause, as everyone digested the information he’d provided.

  “Did anyone spot anything ... unusual, about Bode?” Hawk asked carefully.

  “Well, apart from what I’ve already told you, there were a few interesting occurrences. Several times on the Street Bode was recognised by old friends, who went over to talk to him, as old friends do. It would appear that Bode was very short with them on these occasions. He wouldn’t discuss his business, or what he was doing on the Street, and on some occasions even pretended not to know them. All of which was most unlike Bode. Perhaps he thought he was acting undercover, so to speak, but he’d made no effort to disguise himself.”

  “Did anyone ever see Bode looking ... different?” asked Fisher. “Larger, more muscular?”

  Lacey looked at her sharply. “An interesting question, Captain. It is true that since Bode’s death previously reliable sources have reported seeing Bode walking the Street of Gods again, looking ... somehow different. Perhaps you can shed a little light on that, Captain?”

  “Not right now,” said Fisher. “According to some reports, Bode sometimes met his girlfriend on the Street. Can you tell us anything about her?”

  “Unfortunately I have been able to learn very little about her, Captain. She appeared on only three occasions, each time heavily muffled under a cloak and hood. On the last occasion two of my associates tried to get a close look at her. They both died, right there on the Street.”

  Hawk leaned forward on his chair. “How did they die?”

  “Natural causes, Captain. Heart attacks. Simultaneous heart attacks.”

  “Sorcery,” said Fisher. Lacey inclined his head in agreement but said nothing.

  “So,” said Rowan, “we have a sorcerer and a sorceress on the Street of Gods, asking questions about the Beings. Questions the Beings don’t want to answer. Perhaps that’s why the Beings died; because they wouldn’t answer the questions.”

  “Or because they did,” said Buchan.

  Fisher looked at him. “I’m not sure I follow that.”

  “I’m not sure I do myself,” said Buchan. “What worries me is how the Beings died. You’d need a hell of a lot of power to overcome a Being on his own territory. You’d need a sorcerer the level of the High Warlock. And if someone like that was on the Street, we’d all know about it.”

  “Let’s move away from Bode for a moment,” said Tomb. “Lacey, what is the situation on the Street at present? How are the Beings reacting to the murders?”

  “Badly, my dear friend. There’s a great deal of unease in the Street, both inside and outside the temples. In their own way, the Beings are quite frightened. They all tend to paranoia at the best of times. Right now most of them are busy looking for an enemy they can blame everything on; someone to strike back at. Old rivalries are becoming more intense. Old hatreds are being fuelled afresh. Everyone knows you’re doing your best to find the killer, but the Gods aren’t known for their patience. I fear it’s only a mat
ter of time before some God decides to take matters in its own hands and strikes the first blow. And we all know what that would lead to.”

  “You’re talking about a God War,” said Tomb.

  “Yes, I’m rather afraid I am. Unless something is done soon, something significant, things are going to get worse on the Street very quickly. As it is, we’re all waiting for the inevitable spark to set off a conflagration none of us can hope to put out.”

  There was another long pause.

  “I can’t help feeling we’re missing something,” said Buchan. “Something so close we can’t see the wood for the trees. Lacey, do you know of any connection between the three dead Beings?”

  For the first time, Lacey looked a little uneasy, though his smile never wavered. “Well, there is one ... coincidence, my friends, but it may be nothing more than that... ”

  “We’ll decide what’s important,” said Rowan sharply. “What is it?”

  Lacey braced himself visibly. “Each of the dead Beings received a visit from the Deity Division, on official business, not long before their death.”

  Hawk looked sharply at Tomb. “Is that right?”

  “Well, yes. But we visit Beings all the time. It’s part of our job. We’ve visited so many Beings recently, I hadn’t even noticed the dead Beings were included.”

  “But it is a connection,” said Fisher.

  And then the voice of the Guard’s communications sorcerer boomed suddenly in Hawk and Fisher’s minds:

  Riot on the Street of Gods! Riot on the Street of Gods! All available personnel report to the Street of Gods immediately. This command overrides all other orders and priorities until further notice.

  Hawk and Fisher scrambled to their feet, their hands clawing instinctively for their weapons. The God Squad were on their feet too, looking equally shocked. They’d picked up the message, too. Lacey rose uncertainly to his feet.

  “My friends, what is it? What has happened?”

  “It seems your information came a little too late this time,” said Rowan. “Someone’s just fired the first shot in a God War.”

  She ran out of the door, with Tomb close behind her. Lacey made as though to approach Buchan, and then hesitated.

  “Pardon my intrusion, my friends, but about my fee ...”

  “Worry about that later,” said Hawk. “Buchan ...”

  “But ...”

  “I said later!” Hawk glared at Lacey, and the informer backed quickly away. Hawk turned back to Buchan, who was still standing in a daze. “I think we ought to get moving, sir Buchan. The riot won’t wait for us to get there.”

  “Of course. I’m sorry. I just never really thought it would happen, that’s all. There hasn’t been a serious riot on the Street in almost seventy years.”

  “Seventy-one,” said Lacey. No one paid any attention.

  “You’re the expert,” Hawk said to Buchan. “What’s the best thing to do?”

  “Pray,” said Buchan. “But make sure you pick the right God.”

  Hawk could hear the riot long before he could see it. Screams of rage and horror and anguish blended into a rising cacophony of sound that permeated the night air. The Street of Gods felt strangely out of synch, as though the various realities that made it up were no longer in alignment. Churches appeared and disappeared, and doors changed shape. Unnatural lights blazed in the starless sky, spread across the night like colours on a madman’s palette. A surging vibration trembled in the ground underfoot, like the slow, regular heartbeat of something indescribably huge, buried down below.

  Hawk and Fisher ran down the Street, weapons at the ready. They’d been running for some time, but the riot didn’t seem to be getting any nearer. The Street was like that, sometimes, but at that moment it wasn’t doing a thing for Hawk’s nerves. He breathed deeply, trying to get more air into his lungs, and hoped his second wind would kick in soon. Fisher seemed to be struggling a little too, and she could usually run him into the ground. Buchan, on the other hand, was loping effortlessly along beside them, as though he covered this kind of distance every day before breakfast and thought nothing of it. With his physique, maybe he did. Hawk tried to stick with that train of thought, but his mind insisted on bringing him back to what passed for reality on the Street of Gods. The Guard communications sorcerer hadn’t been very specific about how bad the riot was, but he wouldn’t have sent out a general alarm like that unless his superiors had been sure something extremely nasty was happening up ahead.

  He wondered briefly where Tomb and Rowan were. They’d disappeared even before Hawk had left God Squad headquarters, but there was no sign of them on the Street. Maybe they knew a shortcut. Maybe they’d already got to the riot, and had things safely under control. Yeah, thought Hawk sourly, and while I’m wishing, I’d like a fortune in jewels as well, please. The constant roar of noise was growing louder, uglier and more violent by the minute. Hawk rounded a corner that hadn’t been there the last time he’d been this way, and then skidded to a halt, Fisher and Buchan piling up beside him. They’d found the riot.

  Hundreds, maybe thousands of gaudily robed priests and acolytes were milling back and forth on the Street, furiously attacking each other with swords and fists and broken bottles. Everywhere there were bloody hands and faces, and unmoving bodies were being trampled blindly underfoot by the savage mob. Old hatreds were running loose and free, as age-old vendettas finally came to a head. Blinding lights flared from churches and temples, and overhead the sky churned sickly with uncontrolled magic. A handful of Guards had got there before Hawk and Fisher, and were fighting back to back on the edges of the crowd, too busy trying to stay alive to do anything about the riot. The Street belonged to the fanatics now, and they didn’t care who they killed. A dozen green-robed priests swarmed over a Guard Constable and knocked him to the ground. He disappeared behind a host of swinging boots.

  Hawk and Fisher waded in to help. Whatever else was happening, Guards looked after their own. They had to. No one else would. Hawk’s axe swept back and forth in short, vicious arcs, and blood flew on the air. The priests scattered, and Fisher cut down those who didn’t move fast enough. No one attacked a Guard and got away with it. It might give people ideas. The remaining priests disappeared into the crowd, and Buchan stood guard as Hawk and Fisher got the battered Constable to his feet and led him to the safety of a recessed doorway. There was blood on his face and his legs were shaky, but he seemed more or less intact. He nodded his thanks, and tried to get his thoughts together.

  “Have you been here long?” asked Hawk.

  “Can’t be more than ten, twenty minutes,” said the Constable breathlessly. “But it seems like forever. Just my luck to be working a beat so close to the Street of Gods when the riot call came....”

  “Do you know what caused all this?” said Fisher.

  “Seems another God has been murdered,” said the Constable. He paused to wipe blood out of his eyes. Buchan passed him an immaculately clean handkerchief, and the Constable pressed it gingerly to his forehead. “The Lord of the New Flesh is dead. Someone ripped both its hearts right out of its breast. The High Priest found the body less than an hour ago. Didn’t take long for word to get around. We don’t know who actually started the riot. Could have been anybody.”

  “Details can wait,” said Fisher. “How many more Guards are there already here?”

  “There were seventeen. We all got here about the same time, but the crowd separated us. We’d better get some reinforcements here soon. The Beings are mad as hell and scared spitless. It’s only a matter of time before one of them decides to take a hand personally. And you can bet your arse if one God comes out onto the Street, they all bloody will. Where the hell’s the God Squad? They’re supposed to prevent things like this from happening!”

  “They’re here somewhere,” said Hawk, carefully not looking at Buchan. “We’ll just have to try and keep the lid on things until they get their act together. Has anybody sent for the SWAT team?”


  The Guard smiled sourly. “First thing we did when we got here was to scream for the SWAT team. But according to the communications sorcerer, they’re busy dealing with an emergency on the other side of the city. Typical. They’re never bloody around when they’re needed. We need them here! We can’t cope with this!”

  “Take it easy,” said Fisher. “We’re just Guards, not heroes. No one expects us to cope with everything. We just do the best we can.” She broke off to wave urgently at a contingent of Guards running down the Street toward them. “Look; you join up with this bunch, and fill them in on the situation. We’ll do what we can here. Now move it!”

  The Constable nodded briefly, and moved off to intercept the newcomers. Hawk and Fisher looked at the growing riot, and then at Buchan.

  “If it was up to me,” said Hawk, “I’d just let them get on with it. With a bit of luck all the fanatics would kill each other off and the Street of Gods would be a far more peaceful place. But, unfortunately, the Constable was right. If we don’t break this up, the Gods will get involved. And if that happens, I for one am not hanging around to see who wins. I am going to beg, borrow, or steal a pair of fast horses, and you can wave Fisher and me goodbye as we head for the nearest horizon.”

  Buchan looked at Fisher. “He really would, wouldn’t he?”

  “No,” said Fisher. “He’s not that sensible. He always did think about his duty too damned much. And since I won’t leave without him, it looks like we’re here for the duration.” She looked out over the frenzied mob and shook her head disgustedly. “I’ve seen smaller armies. You’re the expert, Buchan. How do we handle this?”

  “Clear the Street,” said Buchan firmly. “Don’t worry about the Gods; Tomb and Rowan will take care of them if necessary. The rioters are our responsibility.”