Beyond The Blue Moon

by Simon R. Green

  Hawk nodded reluctantly, and they strode briskly out of the Stores and down the main corridor. People took one look at their determined faces, and hurried to get out of their way. The Files room was currently enjoying one of its more accessible periods, thanks to a poltergeist that had moved in recently. The unseen ghost had a thing about order, and everything being in its place. It wasn't an especially logical or useful order, but the general feeling was that some was better than none, and everything possible was being done to make the poltergeist feel at home. However, the bureaucrat in charge, one Otto Griffith, a long bony specimen with a face like a slapped behind, still saw the Files as being his personal territory, and defended them with all the spleen at his command.

  "You don't have a chit, do you?" he demanded immediately as Hawk and Fisher walked in. "You never bother with the correct procedures and paperwork. Well, this time I've got the Commander on my side. He said I don't have to let you have anything, unless you can show me the correct necessary acquisition forms. In triplicate."

  "We don't have time for this," said Hawk. "And I really don't give a chit."

  He nodded to Fisher, and they each took hold of the piled-up In and Out trays, and tossed their contents high into the air. Papers flew like escaping birds, flying in all directions, and only reluctantly fluttering back to the floor across the widest possible area. Otto Griffith's face went several interesting colors in turn, and he looked like he was about to burst into tears.

  "You're barbarians! Uncivilized Northern barbarians!" He scrambled out from behind his desk and began snatching up the scattered papers, clutching them to his chest like injured loved ones. Hawk and Fisher left him to it, and headed purposefully toward the rows of great oaken filing cabinets. Digging out information on their chosen targets went remarkably quickly, and soon they had all the necessary information on where their targets could currently be found, and details of their defenses. They waved Otto a cheery good-bye as they left the Files room, and he responded with a detailed and quite appalling curse that someone of his background and standing shouldn't have known.

  Outside the Files room Hawk and Fisher came to a sudden halt. Their way was blocked by a dozen armed Guards, their weapons already in their hands. There was a long tense moment as both sides considered each other carefully, weighing the situation, and then one of the Guard Constables explained, very politely and only a little uneasily, that the Day Commander would very much like a word with Captains Hawk and Fisher. In his office, right now. If it wasn't too much trouble.

  "And if it is?" said Fisher.

  "He wants to see you anyway," said the Guard Constable. There was a sheen of sweat on his upper lip, but the sword in his hand was steady. "We're to escort you there, and see you don't get lost along the way."

  "How considerate of the Commander," murmured Hawk.

  He and Fisher glanced at each other. They could probably take a dozen Guards, but they didn't want to. The Constables were just doing their job. So Hawk and Fisher nodded calmly, took their hands away from their weapons, and said they'd be delighted to accompany the Guards to the Day Commander's office. The dozen Constables immediately looked extremely relieved, and escorted their charges down the main corridor. None of them put away their swords, though.

  The first real surprise came when Hawk and Fisher were very politely ushered into the Commander's office, and found not only the Day Commander but also the Night Commander as well waiting to see them. Given how much the two men detested each other, and how jealously each man defended his own territory, it was almost unthinkable to find them both in the same office at the same time. They were standing behind the desk, apparently because there was only the one chair, and neither was willing to let the other sit in his presence. Neither of them looked at all pleased to see Hawk and Fisher. They both nodded pretty much in unison to the accompanying Constables, who backed out of the room with almost indecent haste, and shut the door behind them.

  Commander Dubois currently ran the night shift. Short and stocky and as bald as an egg, he'd been a Commander for over twenty years, and it hadn't improved his disposition one bit. He'd been quite a thief-taker in his time, but these days he needed a stick just to get around. Some years back half a dozen thugs had taken it in turns to stamp on his legs till they broke. He was a harsh, intolerant man whose only saving grace was that he hated crime and criminals with a fine passion, and so was very good at his job. He glared at Hawk and Fisher from behind the desk, and Hawk and Fisher nodded respectfully in return.

  Looming over Commander Dubois was the tall blocky figure of the Day Commander. Glen had just hit fifty, and resented it fiercely. He had a permanent scowl, a down-turned mouth, and a military-style haircut that looked like it had been shaped around a pudding bowl. He'd been an Army officer before he came to the Guard, and never let anyone forget it. Hawk and Fisher gave him a sloppy salute, because they knew how much that irritated him.

  Still, seeing Dubois and Glen together made it clear to Hawk that somehow news of their intentions had already gone around. Nothing else would get these two men together in one room. Hawk supposed he shouldn't have been surprised. No one can hope to keep a secret long in a city like Haven, where information is often a life and death matter, not to mention money in the pocket. Now it just remained to see how much the two Commanders knew, or thought they knew, about Hawk and Fisher's plans for a final vengeance. And then Dubois spoke, and all Hawk's planned evasions went out the window.

  "So, you're leaving Haven," said the Night Commander heavily. "It hadn't occurred to you to come and tell us this? That there might be urgent arrangements we'd have to make, like finding replacements to cover your beat? Much as I am loath to admit it, you are two of the most successful Guards in this city, and your leaving will make one hell of a difference."

  Hawk regrouped quickly. "We thought we'd let our departure come as a nice surprise," he said smoothly. "Just think of the good it'll do your ulcers, not having us around to apologize for."

  "You can't go," said Commander Glen flatly. "You're needed here."

  "No, we're not," said Fisher, just as flatly. "It's people like you who've kept us from making any real changes in this damned city. You've always been more concerned with the letter of the law than with the spirit of justice."

  "It's not your business to decide what is and isn't just!" snapped Glen. "The whole point of the law is that no one person gets to decide what's right and wrong. That's why we have a Council instead of a King."

  "The law is supposed to give people a chance for justice," said Hawk. "But when the law is corrupt, drafted by the rich and influential to protect the interests of the rich and influential, when it can't or won't protect the people from those who would prey on them, that's when you need people like us. We're not infallible, but we're better than the alternative."

  "We know," said Dubois, surprising both Hawk and Fisher. "That's why you can't leave. We need people who can be… flexible, in the cause of justice. Guards the people can respect. You've both done a good job, in your way. Which is why we'll have a hell of a time replacing you."

  "We never quit," said Glen, standing almost rigidly at attention. "We never turned away from the job, no matter how hard it got. They crippled Dubois, and he still wouldn't give in to the bastards who think they run this city."

  "But what have you really achieved here?" asked Fisher, almost tiredly. "You've given your lives trying to get this city to act civilized, and it's as big a cesspit now as it's always been."

  "If it's a case of more money—" said Dubois.

  "It's not," said Hawk shortly.

  "Then how about a promotion," said Glen, taking Hawk and Fisher by surprise again. "We never meant for you two to be Captains all your lives. Dubois and I always thought that one day you two would be ready to take over our jobs, and then we could retire at last. I might have given my life to the job, but I don't want to die behind this desk. If you leave, where the hell are we going to find two more honest Guards in Ha
ven?"

  "It has to be you," said Dubois. "There's no one else we can trust."

  Hawk shook his head slowly. "We're needed more, elsewhere. Somewhere we can make a real difference. We can't stay."

  "All right," said Glen. "What could we offer you to make you stay?"

  "Not a damned thing," said Fisher. "We don't intend to die here, either. And like Hawk said, we're needed more somewhere else. So we're leaving."

  "And just what were you planning on doing before you left?" asked Dubois. "We've heard about your little visits to Files and Stores. Poor Otto was almost in hysterics. We've had to send for his mother. According to him, you've seized confidential information on practically every main villain in Haven. And you've loaded up with enough weapons to start your own war. If you're intending to take the law into your own hands, and pay off some old grudges before you go, you must know we'll have to stop you, by whatever means necessary."

  Hawk smiled. "You can try."

  "Right," said Fisher.

  The tension in the small room mounted as Hawk and Fisher and the two Commanders glared at each other, equally determined and unflinching, and there was no telling who might have said or done what, when the door suddenly burst open, and the sorceress Mistique came rushing in, more than a little out of breath. Hawk and Fisher both stared immediately at the long thick mane of black hair they now knew to be only a wig, and then they quickly looked away again, not wanting to be caught staring. The sorceress nodded briskly to the two Commanders, either not noticing or politely ignoring the atmosphere in the room.

  "All right, I'm here! What is so damned important that the communications sorcerer has to nearly blow my head off with his urgent message? For a moment I thought one of the family gods had finally found out where I lived. So, what is it? Are they rioting in the docks again? I don't know where they get the energy…"

  "These two Guards are under the misapprehension that they're leaving the city," said Commander Glen tightly. "You are hereby authorized to use all necessary measures to prevent this, until we can beat some sense into their stubborn thick heads."

  "You have got to be joking," Mistique said immediately. "I'm not doing one damned thing that might get those two mad at me, and neither will any other sorcerer you've got working for you with two brain cells left to rub together."

  "We're leaving Headquarters now," said Hawk. "If anyone gets in our way, we'll mail them back to you. In a whole lot of small packages."

  "Never mind the golden handshake or presentation clock," said Fisher. "I always get emotional at those to-dos anyway."

  They walked out of the office without waiting for any reply. The Constables who'd escorted them in had long since made themselves scarce. The more sensible ones were hiding until it was clearly all over, and safe for them to come out again. Hawk and Fisher strolled unhurriedly out of Guard Headquarters, and no one tried to stop them.

  "So," said Fisher. "After all we've done for them, after all the times we saved this poxy city, we're on our own now. No help, no backup; just you and me against everyone else."

  "Best way," said Hawk. "No complications or obligations, no clash of interests or conflicting loyalties. Just us, against everyone else."

  "Us against the world," said Fisher. "Just like old times, really."

  They joined up with Chance and the dog Chappie at the deserted harborside by the docks, as arranged. It was very calm now, and very quiet; all the Guards and all the strikers were currently licking their wounds at home and plotting new strategies. The only things moving now were the zombies, working endlessly, efficiently, unloading the ships and carting off the goods with calm, eerie precision. Up above, carrion birds filled the sky, soaring silently, drawn to the dead but unable to reach them due to the harbor's protective wards. Hawk and Fisher and Chance had had to tie their horses up well away from the docks before they could enter; just the smell of the working dead had been enough to make their mounts put back their ears and roll their eyes. Chappie's eyes had narrowed into slits, and he stuck close to Chance as he padded along the harborside, muttering dangerously under his breath.

  "Tell me again this is a good idea," said Chance, ignoring the dog with the ease of long practice. "Just the four of us, against people as well-connected as the DeWitts seem to be? They're bound to have their own army of private guards."

  "Most of those are dead and injured, after what happened here earlier," said Hawk calmly. "The DeWitts have undoubtedly sent their agents out to the local hiring halls to arrange for reinforcements, but they won't have had time to put together a real force yet. And they sure as hell won't be expecting more trouble this soon. They think they're safe from people like us."

  "And if you're wrong?" said Chance.

  "Then we walk right through them," said Fisher. "David and Marcus have a lot to answer for, and nothing and no one is going to stand in our way."

  Chance felt a sudden chill across the back of his neck. The cold determination in Hawk's and Fisher's faces and voices reminded him yet again that he was in the company of legends. At that moment, Chance thought he believed every word he'd ever heard about them.

  The cobbled yard before the DeWitts' business building held only a dozen private guards, uncomfortable in their new garishly colored uniforms. They did their best to look menacing, but barely half of them were holding their weapons like they knew how to use them. Hawk and Fisher drew their weapons and broke into a loping run, howling their old Forest war cries as they closed rapidly on their foes. Chance drew his father's great axe and hurried after them, Chappie already bounding happily ahead. The private guards broke and ran. Hawk and Fisher chased them into the building, kicking in the door as the last few guards tried desperately to slam it in their faces. The guards huddled together to make a last stand, basically because there was nowhere left to run, but when Chappie came charging in, the guards threw down their weapons and put their hands in the air. One of them actually burst into tears.

  "It's not fair!" he said loudly. "No one told me I'd have to fight Hawk and Fisher and a bloody wolf!"

  "Right," said the guard next to him. "They're not paying us enough for this. Hell, there isn't that much money in Haven."

  "I am not a wolf!" snapped Chappie, showing all his teeth. The guards gave frightened little cries and huddled closer together. Chappie turned to glare at Chance as he finally caught up with them. "Tell them I am not a wolf, Chance!"

  "They'd be better off if you were," said Chance, just a little breathlessly. The late Champion's great double-headed axe had not been designed for running with. "I wasn't expecting prisoners, Hawk. What do you want to do with them?"

  "We could feed them to Chappie," said Hawk, and grinned unpleasantly as the guards did everything but try to climb into each other's pockets. "Hell, I haven't got time for this. Shoo, the lot of you. And don't let me see you again, or I'll have Fisher fillet you."

  The private guards shuffled hesitantly past him, smiled weakly at Fisher, and then bolted the moment they reached the door. Chance looked around the deserted entrance hall. If reinforcements from inside the building had been coming, they would have been here by now, which suggested there were no more guards.

  "Which way now, Hawk?"

  "Beats me," said Hawk. "We only ever saw the DeWitts on that bloody balcony. But the word is they're still in here somewhere. So I guess we just kick in doors and generally terrorize people until we find them."

  "Amateurs," growled Chappie. "Take hours to search a building this size. Get out of the way and let me do it. Won't take me long to sniff them down." He raised his long head and sniffed ostentatiously at the air, then stopped short and frowned. "That's odd. There's something new in the building. Coming this way. It smells like… smoke, with sulphur in it."

  And that was when the thick gray mists came rolling down the entrance hall, and enveloped all four of them in a multitude of thick, grasping strands, tenuous as cobwebs but strong as steel. Hawk and Fisher lashed out, but the gray strands evaded t
heir weapons with serpentine ease, and lashed their arms to their sides in a moment. Chance did no better, and the gray strands all but cocooned Chappie rather than take any risks where he was concerned. Hawk and Fisher fought the enveloping strands until they contracted sharply, squeezing all the breath out of their lungs, and after that they just stood there, rocking unsteadily on their feet as they fought for air. Chance didn't waste his strength. He murmured to Chappie to be still, and then stood quietly, waiting for some opportunity to present itself.

  The billowing mists parted to reveal a slender dark figure, and Hawk made a disgusted sound. "Mistique! Never trust a sorceress."

  "How the hell did you get here ahead of us?" asked Fisher, scowling darkly. "And how did you know we'd strike here first?"

  "Well, honestly, darling, I am a sorceress," said Mistique calmly. "I'm supposed to know things like that. Don't bother struggling; the mists are as strong as I think they are, and I think they're unbreakable. I really do apologize for this; it's not as if I want to be here, but the Commanders threatened to fire me, and right now I need this job, so I can look after poor Mumsy and Daddy. So I'm afraid none of you are going anywhere. You're going to stay safely wrapped up in my clever little mists until you come to your senses. Or until the Commanders find some way to pressure you into doing what they want. They're really very good at doing things like that."

  All the time the sorceress was talking, Hawk strained surreptitiously against the mists, but there wasn't an inch of give in them. The High Warlock's axe would probably cut right through the mystic strands, if he could just bring the weapon to bear, but his arm was trapped at his side. Hawk stopped struggling and thought about that for a moment. His arm was trapped, but his axe… Hawk grinned suddenly, and opened the fingers of his hand. The weight of the axe pulled it free from his grip, and it fell toward the floor, tearing through the gray mists it encountered along the way. Mistique shrieked, threw up her hands, and collapsed in a decorous heap on the floor. Immediately the enveloping mists began to unravel and dissipate, and within seconds the captives were free again, as they swept their arms vigorously about them. Chappie couldn't resist biting at some of them, and grimaced at the taste. Chance looked dubiously at the unconscious sorceress.