Beyond The Blue Moon

by Simon R. Green

  "Stop this, Gaunt!" said Fisher. "Or I swear I'll kill you!"

  "No, you won't," said Gaunt, not opening his eyes. "Deep down, you know what I'm doing is right. There has to be change in Haven. The guilty must be punished. Or everything we've done here has been for nothing."

  "Hawk's going to destroy your demon."

  "It has already given me enough magic to see this through. And you won't kill me, Isobel. I was your friend."

  Fisher looked across at Hawk, who was still struggling with the demon. It was trying to plunge the end of its severed umbilical cord into Hawk's neck, but he'd given up his hold on the demon's body to grab the unbilical's snapping end with both hands. There was an unnatural power in its jerking movements, and it took all his strength to keep the sucking end away from his throat. He could see his axe, but it was well out of reach, and if he took one hand away to grab for the knife in his boot, the demon would win. It was sniggering now, and its breath was unbelievably foul. Hawk braced himself, and used the last of his strength to turn the umbilical away from him, and plunge the sucking end into the demon's own distended belly. The cancerous face looked briefly startled, and then it shrieked with pain and thwarted rage. It released its hold on Hawk's chest, and he threw it away from him. It tumbled in midair, then sucked its whole body inside itself and vanished in a puff of paradox. Hawk, breathing heavily, looked at where it had been and blinked a few times.

  "Well," he said finally. "There's something you don't see every day."

  There was the sound of dead bodies falling suddenly to the floor, and Hawk spun around to see the DeWitts' private guards lying slumped and lifeless on the bare wood floor. The nearest was an arm's reach away. From outside, the sound of fighting had also come to a halt. Hawk looked at Fisher. She was standing over Gaunt's dead body, and blood was dripping from the edge of her sword. She met Hawk's gaze unflinchingly.

  "I had to do it while he was vulnerable. He would never have given up control of his zombies. They were his last chance for power. His last chance to be somebody."

  "Isobel…"

  "He would have let us both die!"

  "Yes," said Hawk. "I think he would have." He sighed once, and went over to pick up his axe. He hefted it once, and then put it away. He looked expressionlessly at the sorcerer's dead body. "He was… misguided. He meant well. He was my friend."

  "That's why I killed him," said Fisher. "So you wouldn't have to."

  Afterward it was mostly about clearing up. The striking dockers went home, taking their dead and wounded with them. The Guards called in surgeons to tend their wounded and began the slow process of clearing the various debris off the harborside. The zombies, calm again without Gaunt's influence, went back to work. The dockers' demonstration was over for the moment, but both sides knew it would have to be fought again, and again, until someone surrendered or there was no one left to fight. A few hardcore zealots on both sides wanted to resume the fighting right there and then, but calmer heads dragged them away in different directions. There had been enough death for one day.

  Hawk and Fisher walked slowly along the harborside, stepping around the pooled blood, already dark and drying. All of the dead had been removed; both sides had a dark suspicion that DeWitt might see the bodies as raw material for their zombie workforce. Guards stood in small clumps, drinking and smoking, smiling and laughing and celebrating their survival. Hawk remembered some of them showing unforgivable brutality to the fleeing dockers, and his hand moved to the axe at his side. Fisher took him firmly by the arm and guided him away.

  "Gaunt was a good man once," said Hawk. "He really did clean up the Hook for a while. But this… is what Haven does to good men."

  "You always were too sentimental," said Fisher. "Gaunt was a power junkie who sold his soul for magic long before we ever met him. The road to hell has always been paved with the souls of those with good intentions."

  They walked on a while in silence, leaving the docks behind them as they made their way back into the Devil's Hook. The grim gray tenements were strangely quiet, subdued for the moment by the news of what had happened in the docks. The few people on the streets gave Hawk's and Fisher's Guard uniforms hard looks.

  "So," Fisher said finally. "We saved the city again. Hark how the grateful populace applauds us."

  "We saved Haven for the DeWitts and their kind," said Hawk. "The dockers didn't deserve what happened here today."

  Fisher shrugged. "It's politics. I've never understood politics."

  "All you need to understand is that the situation in the docks is still unresolved. This will happen again. More dead Guards. More dead dockers. Only next time… I'm not sure which side I'll be fighting on." He looked straight ahead of him, not even glancing at Fisher. "This isn't what I came to Haven for. It's certainly not why I stayed."

  "We stayed because we thought we were needed," said Fisher. "Because we thought we could make a difference."

  "How do you feel about working and living in Haven now? How would you feel if I suggested we leave?"

  "I go wherever you go, my love," Fisher said carefully. "You know that. But can we really leave, with so much still undecided? Turn our backs on all the evil running loose in the city? Last time I looked, we were still the only honest cops in Haven."

  "I'm worried," said Hawk. "About the lack of purpose and direction in my life. I'm thirty-five now. Not old. Definitely not old. But I'm not young anymore, either. When I was younger, I always thought I'd have my life sorted out by now. That I'd have made all the big decisions in my life. I can't help feeling that I'm just… drifting. That I've lost my way."

  "I've never been ambitious," Fisher told him. "We survived the long night of the Blue Moon, and the Demon War. Anything else was bound to feel anticlimactic after that. Hell, I fully expected to die back then; every day since has been a bonus. We're doing a good job here, mostly—saving people, helping people. Settle for that."

  "We used to be heroes," said Hawk. "Everything we did mattered."

  "Do you really want to leave Haven?"

  Hawk sighed tiredly. "Where could we go that would be any different?"

  And that was when the messenger from a far and distant land burst suddenly into their path, swept off his hat, and bowed deeply to them both. Hawk and Fisher came to a halt and looked, startled, at the messenger as he sank to one knee before them and addressed them in tones of ringing sincerity.

  "Prince Rupert, Princess Julia—at last I have found you! You must return at once to the Forest Kingdom. King Harald has been assassinated. Only you can uncover the truth, bring the killer to justice, and bring peace and hope to the Forest Land again!"

  Hawk looked at Fisher. "Well, that's torn it."

  CHAPTER TWO

  No One's Who They Used to Be

  Hawk looked down at the messenger, kneeling patiently before him, and then glared quickly about him. No one seemed to be paying any special attention, but this was Haven after all, and the North Side, too, where absolutely nothing went unnoticed or unremarked by someone, if only because you never knew what might turn out to be valuable information later on. Hawk found his hand had dropped to the axe at his hip, and he moved it determinedly away. No amount of violence was going to get him out of this dilemma. It was the name that had thrown him, the damned name. No one had called him Rupert in a very long time. He'd been a different person then, leading a different life in a very different world, one he thought he'd escaped forever. He should have known better. The past never really lets go of you, and family ties are the strongest of all.

  "Who the hell are you?" asked Fisher, scowling down at the kneeling man. Her voice sounded calm enough, but then, it took a lot to shake Fisher, and always had. Even when she'd been Princess Julia of Hillsdown.

  "I am Allen Chance, Your Highness," said the messenger. "I believe you knew my late father, the Champion of the Forest Land."

  "Never mind who he is!" snapped Hawk. "Details can wait till we get him off the street. You, Chance—get
up. I never did like people kneeling to me. And no more of that Your Highness stuff, either. Isobel and I are Captains of the city Guard, and we have a reputation to live down to."

  The messenger rose gracefully to his feet and smiled charmingly. "As you wish, Sir Rupert."

  "Oh hell, we have got to get him off the street," said Fisher. "God knows I don't want to hear whatever it is he's come all this way to tell us, but we're going to have to talk to him. And the last thing we need is an audience. Did you come alone, Chance?"

  "No, he bloody didn't," said a deep growling voice behind them. Hawk and Fisher looked around, and there facing them was the biggest dog they'd ever seen. His great blocky head was on a level with their waists, and his long powerful body swelled with muscles under gleaming dark brown fur. Half of one ear was missing, and his mouth was stretched in a wide, not at all friendly grin. He had large, sharp teeth. Lots of them.

  "Stone me, it's a talking wolf," said Fisher.

  "I am not a wolf!" The dog sounded very certain, and not a little annoyed at the very suggestion. "Wolves are stupid, irresponsible, and they run in packs because they're afraid of their own shadows. I am a dog, and proud of it. Chance is my companion, and I'll thank you to adopt a much more respectful tone when addressing him. And if you even look like threatening him, I'll bite your arms off up to the elbows, just for starters."

  Hawk was pretty sure the dog meant it. He tried a calming smile on the animal, who didn't look at all impressed. Hawk wondered if he should try and pat the dog's head, but one look at the great teeth was enough to make him abandon that idea. He wasn't too sure just what kind of dog it was. The coat varied in color from all shades of brown, to black at the head and white at the large paws. The face suggested half a dozen breeds, all of them unhappy at the mix. If every dog in the world had gotten together for one great canine orgy, a dog like this would probably be the result.

  "This is my companion," said Allen Chance, moving forward to stand beside the dog. "His name's Chappie. He was watching my back, or more accurately yours, just in case. We weren't actually all that sure how you were going to take being discovered after all these years."

  "But he can talk!" said Fisher.

  "And very nicely, too," said Chappie. "I pride myself on my diction. And just so everybody's very clear about this: I am not Chance's dog. He is my companion. I do not wear a collar, fetch sticks, or come when called if I don't bloody feel like it."

  "How did you learn to talk?" said Hawk.

  The dog shrugged. "I used to live with the High Warlock, in his Dark Tower. You hang around with a crazy magician long enough, you learn to talk. It's no big deal." The dog padded slowly forward, and Hawk and Fisher had to fight down a strong urge to back away. Chappie sat down and scratched briefly at his ragged half ear with a back foot. "We have met before, but you wouldn't remember me. I was just a pup then. Just another of the High Warlock's animal experiments. There were lots of us once. Now hold still so I can sniff your crotch, piss up your leg, and otherwise act objectionable. It's all part of my doggy charm."

  "I think we'll pass on that, thanks," said Hawk. He looked at Chance. "That dog has too much personality for his own good."

  "I know," said Chance. "Trust me, I know."

  "We have got to get this pair off the street and out of the public eye," said Fisher. "They are just too weird, even for Haven."

  "Right," said Hawk. "Our lodgings are too far. Where can we take them that's nearby and private? Somewhere we can be reasonably sure of not being overheard."

  "The Dead Dog Tavern," Fisher said immediately. "It was pretty decent drinking before that last hygiene scare."

  "You want to take us where?" said Chappie ominously. "If this is the kind of establishment that has dog on the menu, I will personally demolish it, set fire to the ruins, and piss on the ashes."

  "It's just a name," said Hawk. "Now shut up and stop attracting attention, and I'll get you a biscuit or something."

  "Well, whoopie," growled the dog, but made no other objection as Hawk and Fisher took Chance by the arms and hurried him off down a side alley. No one around seemed particularly surprised. They were used to seeing Hawk and Fisher hustle people away, whether they wanted to go or not. The dog took one last look around, muttering under his breath, and then followed the others into the alley.

  The Dead Dog was a nearby watering hole, seedier than most, which took some doing in the North Side. You could only get in by intimidating the doorman, and the establishment prided itself on its bad reputation. You got no frills, fancies, or comforts at the Dead Dog; just good booze at reasonable prices, guaranteed privacy, and bar snacks if you were feeling adventurous. Two large and burly bouncers with muscles on their muscles kept the peace. There were isolated tables with clusters of chairs, and plenty of shadows for people to disappear into. It was never really full and never really empty, and the constant murmur of conversations rose and fell like the tides of the sea. Someone was planning a revolution, someone was planning a bank job, and someone was getting the shaft, though he didn't know it yet. Just another day in the North Side.

  No one looked around when Hawk and Fisher barged in with Chance between them, though Chappie drew a few uncertain glances. The bouncers drew back just a little to give the two Guard Captains plenty of room. Then they looked at Chappie and drew back even more. Hawk and Fisher chose a table in a particularly dark and distant corner, and sat down with Chance between them. Chappie turned around a few times and then lay down at Chance's feet.

  The messenger peered about him into the gloom as those people sitting nearest Hawk and Fisher got up and moved away to other tables. The crowded room was a hot and sweaty place, with many kinds of mostly legal smoke drifting on the still air. A row of shrunken heads with sewn-together eyelids hung over the bar by their hair. Rumor had it they were all that remained of those who hadn't paid their bar bills. Chance looked back at Hawk and exhibited polite distress.

  "You used to drink here regularly, Your Highness? What happened, did you lose a bet or something? This looks like the kind of place where plagues start. There aren't any rats here, are there? I can't stand rats."

  "I like them," said Chappie. "Crunchy."

  "No rats," said Fisher. "If any hang out here, they get sick and die." She looked around her. "Mind you, this place has definitely gone downhill since we were last here."

  "How can you tell?" asked Chance.

  "Right," growled Chappie. "I've been down sewers that had more ambiance, not to mention better company."

  Other people sitting nearby got up to move to other tables. Hawk didn't blame them. Part of him wished he could, too. But if Harald was dead… Hawk had always understood duty. Especially where his family was concerned. He leaned forward and fixed Chance with his best glare.

  "All right, this is as private as we're going to get. Talk to me, Champion's son. But don't take anything for granted. We may be who you think we are, but that doesn't necessarily mean we care to be reminded of it."

  "Damn right," said Fisher. "We had good reasons for leaving the Forest Land, and I doubt very much that it's changed. Even if Harald is dead."

  "You are sure about that?" asked Hawk. "I'm damned if I'm going to be dragged all the way back home on a rumor."

  "The King is dead," said Chance. "I've seen the body."

  "Damn," said Hawk softly. "I never cared much for him, but he was still my brother."

  "He was murdered four months ago," said Chance. "No one knows how or why or who. That's why I was sent to find you."

  "We were close once," said Fisher. "He wasn't all bad."

  She broke off as the innkeeper strode over with a bottle of the very best wine and three glasses. He slammed them down on the table one after the other, just to show he wasn't intimidated, then he glared down at Chappie, who glared right back at him.

  "No dogs!" said the innkeeper. "I'm allergic."

  "Really?" said Chappie. "What a coincidence. I'm allergic to fat, stupid innkeepers
with piggy little eyes. Now piss off, or I'll bite off your balls and gargle with them. Better still, piss off and come back with something tasty and meat-based. I'm definitely feeling peckish."

  The innkeeper blinked a few times, gave Hawk his best martyred look, and then disappeared quickly back behind his bar. Chappie looked smug as he laid his head on his paws. Chance looked down at him accusingly.

  "You can't be hungry already. It's only a few hours since dinner."

  "I have a large and fast-moving metabolism, and a very low boredom threshold," said Chappie, not looking up. "Blame the High Warlock; he designed me."

  "Well, try and wait till we get back to our lodgings," said Chance. "I don't want you eating the kind of muck they undoubtedly serve here. I've got something special waiting for you back at the lodgings."

  "Oh, I've had that," said the dog, licking his chops reflectively. "Ate the lot. All gone."

  "That was for this evening!"

  "Who's to say this evening would ever come? Live for the moment, that's my motto. We could all die at any minute. Especially now that we're in Haven. I never wanted to come here in the first place. Poxy bloody hole. When are we going hunting rabbits again, Chance? You promised we could go hunting rabbits again."

  "All right," said Hawk. "I give up. You have my complete attention, sir dog. Let's start with your history. What did you mean when you said we'd met before?"

  The big dog sighed patiently. "Try and keep up with the rest of us, Your Ex-highness. Remember your first visit to the Dark Tower, when you came to enlist the High Warlock's aid against the encroaching darkness of the long night? Well, if you cast your mind back, you might just remember that the Tower was packed to the rafters with animals. The High Warlock always had a whole bunch of animal experiments going on, mostly for the company, I think. He had a great deal of curiosity about the natural world, a whole lot of magic, plus a complete lack of scruples when it came to asking, What if? I was born there, the only survivor from my litter, and I was managing my first few words almost before I could walk. Mostly complaints about the quality of the food.