Guards of Haven: The Adventures of Hawk and Fisher (Hawk & Fisher)

by Simon R. Green

  And the Council actually paid him to do it.

  He drifted down the street, unseen and unheard, and made his way round to the rear of Domain’s house, searching for the back door. The door stuck when he tried it, but it swung open easily enough when he put his shoulder to it. He stepped into the gloom, wary but unconcerned, and pushed the door shut behind him. He wasn’t expecting any trouble. When he was working, no one could see or hear him, unless he wanted them to. A useful talent for an assassin.

  Domain would never even know what hit him.

  Hawk and Fisher were only halfway up the stairs when the front door burst open, and dead things spilled into the hall. Hawk pressed on, heading for the narrow landing with Fisher only a step or so behind him. The stairs suddenly lurched and heaved beneath them like a ship at sea, and they had to fight to keep their balance. Jagged mouths and staring eyes formed in the wall beside them. The wooden panelling steamed and bubbled. Hawk moved to the middle of the stairs, away from the manifestations, and glanced back over his shoulder. The first of the dead had reached the stairs. The hall was full of liches, soaked and dripping with rainwater that couldn’t entirely wash away the blood from their wounds, their empty eyes fixed unwaveringly on the two Guards.

  The stairs lurched again, and Hawk grabbed at the banister to steady himself. It writhed under his hand like a huge worm; all cold and slimy and raised segments. Hawk snarled and snatched his hand away, and plunged forward, heading for the landing. Fisher called out behind him, and he looked back to see her struggling to pull her foot free from a step that had turned to bottomless mud. She cut at the step with her sword, but the blade swept through the thick mud and out again without even slowing. Hawk grabbed her arm and pulled hard, and her foot came free with a slow, sucking sound. They threw themselves forward and out onto the landing, and ran towards the door MacReady had described in his briefing.

  Blood ran down the wall in thick streams, and a dirty yellow mist curled and twisted on the air, hot and acrid. Jagged holes appeared in the floor beneath their feet, falling away forever. Hawk and Fisher jumped over them without slowing. Behind them, something large and awful began to form out of the shadows. The air was suddenly full of the stench of decaying meat and freshly spilled blood, and something giggled softly in anticipation. Hawk and Fisher reached Domain’s door and Fisher kicked it open. They ran into the room, and Hawk slammed the door shut behind them.

  Everything seemed still and calm and quiet in the comfortable, cozy little room. For a moment it seemed almost a sanctuary from the madness running loose in the house, until Hawk took in the blood splashed across the wall and floor, and the dead woman standing beside the seated sorcerer, one hand resting on his shoulder. Hawk met Domain’s gaze, and knew the real madness was right there in the room with him, held at bay only by Storm’s protection. Outside in the hallway, heavy footsteps moved slowly closer, the floor trembling slightly with each impact. Fisher glanced back at the door.

  “Call it off, Domain,” she said harshly.

  “Or what? Do you really think you can do anything to threaten me?” Domain smiled, the same smile Hawk had seen on the faces of the dead men. “This is my house, and I don’t want you here. You’ve come to take Susan away from me.”

  “That’s why you have to stop whatever’s out there,” said Hawk quickly. “If it comes in here after us, Susan could get hurt. Couldn’t she?”

  Domain nodded reluctantly, and there was a sudden silence as the heavy footsteps stopped, followed by a small clap of thunder as air rushed in to fill a gap where something large had been only a moment before. The sorcerer leaned back in his chair as though it were a throne, and looked crossly at Hawk and Fisher.

  “I thought I’d made it clear I didn’t want to be disturbed. How many people do I have to kill to make you leave us alone?”

  “We don’t want you to kill anyone,” said Hawk. “That’s why we’re here.”

  Domain made a dismissive gesture, as though he’d caught them in an obvious lie. “I know why you’re here. Perhaps if I changed you into something amusing, and sent you back that way, then they’d understand not to play games with me.”

  “You can’t hurt us,” said Fisher. “We’re protected.”

  Domain looked at her narrowly, and then at Hawk. “So you are. A very sophisticated defense, too. I could break it, but that would take too much out of me. I have to keep something back to protect Susan. So unless you’re stupid enough to attack me, I’ll just wait, and let the things I’ve called up come and take you.” He scowled suddenly. “I should have known I couldn’t depend on the city to bargain in good faith. I’ll punish them for this. I’ll turn their precious city into a nightmare they’ll never forget.”

  In the corners of the room, the shadows grew darker. A presence was gathering in the room, something huge and awful pressing against the walls of reality. And beyond that, Hawk could hear dead feet ascending the stairs and making their way onto the landing. The dead woman standing beside Domain’s chair smiled emptily at nothing, like a hostess waiting to greet expected guests. Hawk and Fisher looked desperately at each other, but saw no answer in each other’s faces. The presence growing in the shadows was almost overpowering, and the dead were almost outside the door.

  “Don’t worry, Susan,” said Domain comfortingly to the dead woman. “It’ll all be over soon, and then we’ll be together, forever. No one’s ever going to take you away from me.”

  The door swung silently open, and Barber eased into the room, his sword at the ready. Hawk and Fisher looked quickly away, to avoid drawing Domain’s attention to him: They’d been briefed on Barber’s special talent, but it was still hard to believe Domain couldn’t see him. Barber moved slowly forward across the room, making no more noise than a breath of air. Hawk found he was holding his breath. The sorcerer smiled at his dead love, unconcerned. Barber moved in behind Domain and raised his sword. And then Domain raised his left hand. Light flared briefly around the upraised fingers, and Barber froze where he was, unable to move. Domain turned unhurriedly in his chair to look at him.

  “Did you really think you could break into my house, and I wouldn’t know? There’s a power in me, assassin, a power beyond your worst nightmares, and it’s more than enough to see through your simple glamour. I knew the city would send someone like you. They want to take my love away from me. I won’t let them. I’ll destroy this whole stinking city first!”

  He gestured sharply, and Barber flew across the room to crash into the opposite wall. He slid to the floor, only half conscious but still somehow hanging onto his sword. Footsteps clumped heavily in the hallway outside, and Domain smiled broadly as the dead spilled into the room. Fisher raised her sword and went to meet them. Hawk lifted his axe and threw it in one swift motion, with all his strength behind it. The axe flew through the air and buried itself to the haft in Susan’s skull. The impact slammed the dead woman backwards, and she staggered clumsily in a circle. Domain screamed, and jumped out of his chair to grab her by the arms. He howled wordlessly in horror and despair, and the dead woman crumpled limply to the floor, no longer sustained by the sorcerer’s will. Domain sank to his knees beside her, and started to cry. The dead men in the doorway fell to the floor and lay still, and the invading presence was suddenly gone. The room seemed somehow lighter, and the shadows were only shadows. The only sound in the small, unexceptional room were the anguished sobs of a heartbroken young man crying for his lost love.

  Fisher lowered her sword, and nodded to Hawk. “Nice thinking. Even he couldn’t believe she was still alive with an axe buried between her eyes.”

  “Right. He’s no danger anymore. Poor bastard. Though I think we’d better get Storm in here as soon as possible, just in case.” He shook his head slowly. “What a mess. So many dead, and all for love.”

  “I’m fine, thank you,” said Barber, getting slowly and painfully to his feet.

  Hawk turned and grinned at him. “Next time, try not to make so much noise.”<
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  Barber just looked at him.

  The beggars sat clustered together outside the main gate of Champion House, lined up ten or twelve deep in places. They were of all ages, from babes to ancients, and wore only the barest rags and scraps of clothing, the better to show off their various diseases and deformities. Some were clearly on the edge of starvation, little more than skin stretched over bone, while others lacked legs or hands or eyes. The rain poured down upon their bare heads, but they paid it no attention. It was the least of their troubles. Some wore the vestiges of army uniforms, complete with faded campaign ribbons. They stood out from the others, in that they seemed to have a little pride left. If they were lucky, they’d soon lose it. It just made being a beggar that much harder.

  The beggars huddled together, as much for company as comfort, their eyes fixed on the main gate, waiting patiently for someone to go in or out. The honour guards supplied by the Brotherhood of Steel for the two Kings’ protection stared out over the beggars, ignoring them completely. They posed no threat to the House’s security, as long as they continued to keep a respectable distance, and were therefore of no interest. The beggars sat together in the rain, heads bowed, and among them sat Wulf Saxon.

  He watched the main gate carefully, from beneath lowered brows. He’d been there almost two hours, shivering in the damp and the cold, and had put together a pretty good picture of the House’s outer security system. The honour guards were everywhere, watching all the entrances and checking everyone’s credentials carefully before allowing them to enter. They took their time and didn’t allow anyone to hurt them, no matter how important-seeming or obviously aristocratic the applicant might be. The Brotherhood of Steel trained its people well. Saxon frowned, thinking his way unhurriedly through the problem. There had to be magical protections around the House as well, which suggested that the successful applicants had been issued charms of some kind which allowed them to enter the grounds without setting off the alarms. He’d have to acquire one. After he found a way in.

  He hugged his knees to his chest, and ignored the rain trickling down his face with proper beggarlike indifference. He’d suffered worse discomfort in his early career as a confidence trickster, before he discovered politics. Though there were those who’d claimed he’d just graduated from the smaller arena to the large. He smiled to himself, and his fingers drifted casually over his left trouser leg, pressing against the long leather canister strapped to his shin. The baggy trousers hid it from view, but he liked to remind himself of its presence now and again. It helped fuel his anger. The contents of the canister would be his revenge against the two Kings. The first of many blows against the heartless and corrupt authorities who’d made Haven the hellhole it was and kept it that way because it suited their interests to do so. He was going to hurt them, hurt them all in the ways that would hurt them the most, until finally his vengeance forced them to make reforms, for fear of what he’d do next.

  He made himself concentrate on the problem at hand, and reluctantly decided against a frontal assault. No matter how good his disguise, or how persuasive his arguments, there were just too many guards at the main gate and too many ways for things to go wrong. Not to mention too many witnesses. Fouling up in public would destroy his reputation before he even had a chance to re-establish it. And there was still the problem of the House’s protective wards. He wasn’t going to get anywhere without the right charms. Saxon shrugged. Fate would provide, or she wouldn’t. He tended to prefer simple plans, whenever possible, mainly because they allowed more room for improvisation if circumstances suddenly changed. Though he could be as obscure and devious as the next man, when he felt like it. The more intricate schemes appealed to his creative nature, if not his better judgment.

  He rose to his feet and stumbled off through the crowd of beggars, his head carefully bowed, his whole attitude one of utter dejection. No one looked at him. Beggars tended to be invisible, except when they got under people’s feet. Saxon made his way into a nearby dark alley, listened for a long moment to be sure he was alone, and then straightened up with a low sigh of relief. All that bowing his head and hunching over was doing his back no good at all. He stepped briskly over to the nearest drainpipe, took a firm grip, and climbed up onto the roof. The pipe creaked threateningly under his weight, but he knew it would hold. He’d checked it out earlier, just to be on the safe side. He pulled himself up over the guttering and onto the sloping roof in one easy motion, so quietly he didn’t even disturb a dozing pigeon in the eaves. He padded softly over the rain-slick slates to the far edge of the roof, and jumped easily onto the adjoining roof. The gap was only a few feet, and he didn’t look down. The length of the drop would only have worried him; he was better off not knowing. He crossed two more roofs in the same fashion, and crouched down on the edge of the final roof, a ragged gargoyle in the driving rain. A narrow alley was all that separated him from Champion House.

  The wall surrounding the grounds stared aggressively back at him: ten feet of featureless stone topped with iron spikes and a generous scattering of broken glass. A single narrow gate looked out onto the alley, a tradesman’s entrance manned by two large, professional-looking men-at-arms. They both wore chain mail, and had long, businesslike swords on their hips. Saxon had spotted the gate on his first reconnoitre, and had marked it down in his memory as a definite possibility. Tradesmen had been in and out of Champion House all morning, bringing extra supplies for the new guests and their entourages. At the moment, a large confectioner’s cart was parked at the end of the alley, and a stream of white-coated staff were carrying covered trays past the men-at-arms. Saxon grinned. Perfect. The confectioner hadn’t even questioned the unexpected order when Saxon delivered it to him, clad in his most impressive-looking footman’s outfit. Of course, it had helped that the order had been written on engraved notepaper bearing the Champion House crest. Saxon believed in getting all the details right.

  He was just grateful he’d had the foresight to store all his con man’s props in his secret lock-up all those years ago. Actually, it hadn’t really been foresight. He just hadn’t wanted to take a chance on any of them turning up unexpectedly to embarrass him after he’d become an eminently respectable Councillor....

  And he never could bear to throw anything away.

  He slid silently over the edge of the roof, and padded quickly down the fire escape, the few unavoidable sounds drowned out by the pounding rain. He stood very still in the shadows, under the fire escape, and waited patiently for just the right moment. A white-coated confectioner’s assistant came out of the side gate with his hands in his pockets, and headed unhurriedly for the cart at the end of the alley. He passed by the fire escape, whistling tunelessly, and two strong hands shot out of nowhere and dragged him into the shadows.

  Saxon emerged from the shadows a few moments later wearing a white coat, and headed for the confectioner’s cart. The coat fit like a tent, but you couldn’t have everything. More’s the pity. At the cart, a harried-looking supervisor handed him down a covered tray, and Saxon balanced it on his shoulder as he’d seen the others do. He kept his face carefully averted, but the supervisor was too busy to notice anyway.

  “Get a move on,” he growled to Saxon, without looking up from the list he was checking. “We’re way behind schedule, and if the boss chews on my arse because we got back late, you can bet I’m going to chew on yours. And don’t think I didn’t spot you sloping off to lounge about behind the fire escape. You pull that again, and I’ll have your guts for garters. Well, don’t just stand there; get the hell out of here! If those pastries are ruined, it’s coming out of your wages, not mine!”

  Saxon grunted something vaguely placating, and headed for the side gate. The men-at-arms didn’t even look at him, just at the white coat. Saxon timed his pace carefully, not too slow and not too hurried, and tucked his chin down against his chest, as though trying to keep the rain out of his face. As he neared the gate, one of the men-at-arms stirred suddenly, and Saxo
n’s heart jumped.

  “Stay on the path,” said the man-at-arms in a bored monotone, as though he’d said it before many times, and knew he’d have to say it a great many more times before the day was over. “As long as you stay on the path the alarms won’t go off. If you do set off an alarm, stay where you are till someone comes to get you.”

  Saxon grunted again, and passed between the two men-at-arms. He braced himself for a last-minute shout or blow, but nothing happened. He strode quickly along the gravel path, speeding up his pace as much as he dared. The path led him through the wide-open grounds to a door at the rear of the House. He followed slow-moving white coats into the kitchens, put down his tray with the others, and leaned against a wall to get his breath back and wipe the rain from his face, surreptitiously taking in the scene as he did so. The kitchen was bigger than some houses he’d known, with ovens and grills on all sides, and a single massive table in the middle of everything, holding enough food to feed a medium-sized army. The air was full of steam and the smells of cooking, and a small battalion of servants bustled noisily back and forth, shouted at impartially by the three senior cooks. A single guard was leaning easily against the far door, gnawing on a pork rib and chatting amiably with a grinning servant girl. Saxon smiled. Just what the doctor ordered. He headed straight for the guard, oozing confidence and purpose, as though he had every right to be there, and people hurried to get out of his way. He came to a halt before the guard and coughed meaningfully. The guard looked at him.

  “Yeah? You want something?”

  “Through here,” said Saxon crisply. “You’d better take a look at this.”

  He pushed open the door behind the guard, stepped through, and held the door open for the guard to follow him. The guard shrugged, and smiled at the servant girl. “Don’t you move, little darling. I’ll be back before you know it. And don’t talk to any strange men. That’s my job.” He stepped out into the corridor, and Saxon pulled the door shut behind him. The guard glared at him. “This had better be important.”