Hawk turned and left without speaking. Burns hurried after him, shut the cubicle
door firmly, and then ran after his partner as he strode off down the corridor.
"I don't believe what I just saw," said Burns in amazement. "You faced down
Saint Christophe without even drawing your axe, and got him to agree to help the
Guard. That's like standing in the harbor and watching the tides go out
backwards."
Hawk shrugged. "It was in his interests to help, and he knew it."
"Where did you find the extra batch of super-chacal? I thought it had all
disappeared."
"It did. I was bluffing." Burns looked at him speechlessly. Hawk grinned.
"There's more to surviving in the Northside than knowing how to use an axe."
Hawk was never sure how he knew when he was being followed, but over the years
he'd learned to trust his instincts. He glanced at Burns, but he was apparently
lost in his own thoughts and hadn't noticed anything. Hawk slowed his pace a
little, and found various convincing reasons to look innocently around him. He
frowned as he spotted not one tail but several, moving casually through the
crowd after him and Burns. Whoever they were, they must be pretty good to have
got so close without his noticing them before. His frown deepened as he realized
the tails were gradually moving so as to surround him and Burns. It was looking
more and more like an ambush, and they'd chosen a good spot for it. The street
was growing increasingly narrow, and was blocked off at both ends by market
stalls. There were alleyways leading off to both sides, but none of them seemed
to lead anywhere helpful. And the next main intersection was too far away, if it
came to running. Besides, Hawk didn't believe in running. He let his hand fall
casually to the axe at his side, and looked for the place to make a stand.
"I make it seven," said Burns quietly. "They picked us up not long after we left
the baths."
"I wasn't sure you'd even noticed we were being followed."
"Working in the Westside, I spent a lot of time escorting gold- and silversmiths
to the banks with their week's receipts. There's nothing like guarding large
amounts of money in public to make you aware of when you're being followed. So
what are we going to do? Make a stand?"
"I don't think we've much choice. And it's eight, not seven. See that man in the
doorway, just ahead, pretending not to watch us?"
"Yes. Damn. And if we can see eight, you can bet there are just as many more
lurking somewhere handy out of sight, just in case they're needed. I don't like
the odds, Hawk."
"I've faced worse."
"I wish you'd stop saying that. It's very irritating, and I don't believe it for
a moment. Who do you think they are? Morgan's people?"
"Seems likely. He must have known I'd have to go to Saint Christophe eventually,
so he just staked the place out and waited for us to turn up. Damn. I hate being
predictable."
"We could go back to Saint Christophe and ask for protection."
"You have got to be joking. He'd love that. Besides, I have my reputation to
think of."
"If we don't think of something fast, you're going to be the most reputable
corpse in the Northside!"
"Calm down, Burns. You worry too much. If the fighting ground is unfavorable,
then the obvious thing to do is change the fighting ground. You see that
fire-escape stairway, to your right?"
"Yeah, what about it? Hey, wait a minute, Hawk. You can't be serious…"
"Shut up and run."
Hawk sprinted forward, with Burns only a pace or two behind. Their followers
hesitated a moment, and then charged after them, forcing their way through the
crowd with brutal efficiency. Hawk reached the metal stairway, and ran up it
without slowing, taking the steps two at a time. Burns hurried after him, the
fire escape shuddering under their combined weight. Hawk pulled himself up onto
the roof and scurried across the uneven tilework to crouch beside the nearest
chimney. Burns clattered unsteadily across to join him, and clutched at the
chimney stack to steady himself. Hawk shot him a grin.
"Check the other side of the roof; see if there's any other way to get up here.
I'll prepare a few nasty surprises."
"You're just loving this, aren't you?" said Burns through clenched teeth,
hugging tight to the chimney.
"What's the matter with you?"
"I hate heights!"
"Oh, stop complaining, and get over to the other side. This is the perfect spot
to take them on; lots of hiding places, and they're just as much at a
disadvantage as we are. Trust me, I've done this before."
Burns scowled at him, reluctantly let go of the chimney, and moved cautiously
across the tiles towards the spine of the roof. "All right, what's the plan,
then?"
"Plan? What do we need a plan for? Just find something to hide behind, and jump
out on anything that moves!"
Burns disappeared over the roof ridge, muttering to himself. Hawk looked quickly
about him, taking in the gables, cornices, and chimney stacks that jutted from
the undulating sea of roofs to either side. He drew his axe and waited patiently
in the shadows of the chimney, listening for the first giveaway sound. It was at
times like this that he wished he carried a length of tripwire.
He looked around him, taking in the state of the roof. A lot of snow had fallen
away from the tiles, pulled loose by its own weight and the vibrations of
passing traffic below, but there was enough left to make the tiles suitably
treacherous. A sudden thud followed by muffled curses from the other side of the
roof suggested that Burns had reached the same conclusion. Hawk grinned
suddenly, as an idea hit him. He moved carefully away from the chimney,
unbuttoned his fly and urinated over a stretch of apparently safe tilework. It
steamed on the air, but froze almost as soon as it spread out across the tiles.
Hawk finished and quickly buttoned up again, wincing at the cold. He looked
round sharply as he caught the muffled sound of boots treading quietly on the
metal stairway, and he scurried back to crouch down on the opposite side of the
chimney stack. He breathed through his nose so that his steaming breath wouldn't
give him away, and clutched his axe firmly.
He listened carefully as the first man stepped off the stairway onto the roof,
hesitated, and then moved slowly forward. Timing his move precisely, Hawk
suddenly emerged from behind the chimney, swinging his axe in both hands.
Morgan's man spun round just in time to receive the heavy axehead in his
shoulder. The blade sheared clean through his collarbone, and blood flew
steaming on the bitter air. The impact drove the man to his knees. Hawk pulled
the axe free, put a boot against the man's shoulder and pushed. The man-at-arms
screamed once as he slid helplessly across the roof and over the side.
Hawk heard footsteps behind him and turned just in time to see the second man
hit the patch of frozen urine. The swordsman's feet shot out from under him and
he all but flew off the edge of the roof. The third man was standing by the fire
escape with his mouth hanging open. Hawk bent d
own, snatched up a handful of
snow, and threw it at him. As the man-at-arms raised his hand instinctively to
guard his face, Hawk stepped carefully forward and swung his axe in a vicious
sideways arc. The axehead punched clean through the man's rib cage and sent him
flying backwards. He disappeared over the edge of the roof and fell back down
the fire escape. There was a brief flurry of yells and curses from the other men
coming up the stairway, and Hawk grinned. He hurried forward, and his feet shot
out from under him.
He hit the roof hard, and slid kicking and cursing towards the edge of the roof.
He threw aside his axe and grabbed at the iron guttering as he shot past it. He
got a firm grip on the trough with both hands, and the sudden shock of stopping
almost wrenched his arms from his sockets. The guttering groaned loudly, but
supported his weight. Hawk hung there for a moment, breathing hard, his feet
dangling above the street far below, and then he started to pull himself back
up. The trough groaned again and shifted suddenly. There was a muffled pop as a
rivet tore free, and Hawk froze where he was. The guttering didn't look at all
secure, especially when seen from underneath, and he didn't think it would hold
his weight much longer. On the other hand, one sudden movement might be all it
would take to pull it away completely. He pulled himself up slowly and
carefully, an inch at a time, ignoring the sudden groans and stirrings from the
ironwork, and swung one leg up over onto the roof. A few moments later he was
back on the roof, reaching for his axe and wiping sweat from his forehead. The
sound of approaching feet on the fire escape caught his attention again and he
grinned suddenly as a new idea came to him.
He moved carefully over to the metal stairway and looked down. Seven men-at-arms
were heading up towards him. They looked grim, and very competent. Hawk waved at
them cheerfully, and then bent forward and stuck his axehead between the side of
the stairway and the wall. He threw his weight against the axe, and the fire
escape tore away from the wall with almost casual ease. The seven swordsmen
screamed all the way down to the street below. Hawk put his axe away. Sometimes
there was a lot to be said for cheap building practices.
He clambered up to the roof ridge and looked down the other side. Burns was
crouching at the edge of the roof, sword in hand, keeping watch from behind a
jutting gable. There was no sign of any more men-at-arms. Hawk called out to
Burns, and he jumped half out of his skin. He spun round, sword at the ready,
and then glared balefully as he saw it was only Hawk.
"Don't do that!"
"Sorry," said Hawk. "I take it none of the men-at-arms got this far?"
"Haven't seen hide nor hair of them. I don't think they were interested in me,
only you. How many came after you?"
"Ten," said Hawk, casually.
"Bloody hell. What happened to them?"
Hawk grinned. "We had a falling out."
They made their way back to Headquarters, but though there were no further
incidents, Hawk couldn't shake the feeling they were still being followed. He
tried all the usual tricks to make a tail reveal himself, but he didn't see
anyone, no matter how carefully he checked. It was always possible his current
situation had him jumping at shadows, but he didn't think so. The crawling itch
between his shoulder blades stayed with him all the way back to Guard
Headquarters. He stopped at the main doors and peered wistfully down the street
at The Cloudy Morning tavern. A drink would really hit the spot now, after the
long day's exertions, but he could just visualize the look on Burns's face if he
were to suggest it. All the partners he could have chosen, and he had to pick a
saint in training. He strode scowling into Headquarters, and everyone hurried to
get out of his way. Burns walked silently beside him, nodding casually to
familiar faces. He'd been unusually quiet ever since Morgan's people jumped
them. Hawk shrugged mentally. Apparently Burns was still mad at him for not
trying to bring in his attackers alive. As if he'd had a choice, with ten-to-one
odds.
They made their way through the building, going from department to department,
ostensibly just passing the time of day with their co-workers, but always
managing to slip in the occasional probing question. It was hard going. None of
the Guards wanted to talk about Morgan or his drugs, and in particular no one
wanted to be seen talking to Hawk. Overnight he'd become bad news, and no one
wanted to get too close in case some of the guilt rubbed off on them. The sudden
reticence was unnerving. Usually Headquarters was buzzing with gossip about
everything under the sun, most of it unprovable and nearly all of it
acrimonious, but now all Hawk had to do was stick his head round a door and
silence would fall across the room. Hawk gritted his teeth and kept smiling. He
didn't want anyone to think the silence was getting to him. And slowly, very
slowly, he started getting answers. They were mostly evasive, and always hushed,
but they often told as much by what they didn't say as what they did. And the
picture that gradually emerged was more than a little disturbing.
Mistress Melanie of the Wardrobe department didn't know anything about Morgan or
the missing drugs, but she did let slip that the campaign of silence was
semiofficial in origin. Word had come down from Above that the Morgan case was
closed. Permanently. Which suggested that someone High Up was involved, as well
as someone at Headquarters. That was unusual; corruption in the higher ranks of
the Guard tended to be political rather than criminal. A clerk in Intelligence
quietly intimated that at least one Guard Captain was involved. And a pretty
well-regarded Captain, too. He wouldn't even hint at a name.
Hawk and Burns hung around the Constables' cloakroom for a while, but it soon
became clear that the Constables were uneasy in their company and had nothing to
say. The Forensic Laboratory was up to its eyes in work, as usual, and the
technicians were all too busy to talk. Vice, Forgery, and Confidence Tricks were
all evasive and occasionally openly obstructive. Hawk had his enemies in the
Guard, and some saw this as their chance to attack while he was vulnerable. Hawk
just kept on smiling, and made a note of certain names for later.
Of all the departments, the Murder Squad turned out to be the most
forthcoming—probably because no one was going to tell any of its members who
they could and couldn't talk to. They were the toughest of the tough, took no
nonsense from anyone, and didn't care who knew it. Unfortunately, what they knew
wasn't really worth the telling. The crates of super-chacal had been taken down
to the storage cellars, and signed in, all according to procedure. But when the
time came to check the contents, there was no sign of the crates anywhere.
Everyone in Stores swore blind that no one could have got to the drugs without
breaking Stores' security, and all the wards and protections were still in
place, undisturbed. Which meant it had to be an inside job. Someone in Stores
had been got at. But w
hen the Stores personnel were tested under truthspell,
they all came out clean as a whistle. So whoever took the drugs had to be
someone fairly high up in the Guard, with access to the right keys and
passwords. Hawk mentioned the possibility of a Captain on the take. There was a
lot of shrugging and sideways glances, but no one would admit to knowing
anything definite. Hawk thanked them for their time, and left.
That just left the Drug Squad, but as Hawk expected, no one there would talk to
him. They were already under suspicion themselves, and weren't about to make
things worse by helping a pariah like Hawk. He nodded politely to the silent
room, and then he and Burns left to do some hard thinking. They found an empty
office, barricaded the door to keep out unwelcome visitors, and sat down with
their feet propped up on either side of the desk.
"The more I learn, the less this case makes sense," said Hawk disgustedly.
"There's no way anyone could have got those crates out of Stores without
somebody noticing, passwords or no passwords. I mean, you'd have needed at least
half a dozen people just to shift that many crates. Someone in Stores has got to
be lying."
"But they all passed the truthspell."
"That doesn't necessarily mean anything. It's possible to beat the truthspell,
if you know what you're doing."
"It could have been sorcery of some kind," said Burns. "Morgan had one sorcerer
working for him in that factory; who's to say he doesn't have another one
working for him?"
"Could be," said Hawk. "Hell, I don't know. I don't know anything anymore. Did
you see their faces in the Drug Squad? I know those people. I've worked with
practically everyone in that room at one time or another, and they looked at me
like I was a stranger. It was the same with all the others; they don't trust me
anymore, and the fact of the matter is, I don't trust them either. I don't know
who to trust anymore. You heard what Intelligence said; it isn't just a Captain
who's on the take, it's a well-respected Captain. There aren't too many of
those."
"Maybe we should go talk to Commander Glen."
"No. I don't think so."
Burns looked at him. "Are you saying you don't trust Glen either? He's the one
who gave you this brief, told you to find out what's going on!"
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