Guard Against Dishonor h&f-5

by Simon R. Green

"He's also the one who let Morgan go. And it's clear there's been a lot of

  pressure coming down from Above to keep people quiet. What better way to conceal

  a potentially embarrassing investigation than to be the one who set it up?"

  "But why would someone like Glen bother about a few missing drugs?"

  "He wouldn't. More and more it seems to me the drugs are only a part of this.

  Something else is going on, something so big they can't afford for it to come to

  light."

  "They?" said Burns.

  Hawk shrugged. "Who knows how far up the corruption goes? Why stop at a Captain

  or a Commander? Morgan said there was a lot of money to be made out of this

  super-chacal. Millions of ducats. And don't forget, most of the top people in

  the Guard are political appointees, and there's a damn sight more corruption in

  politics than there ever was in the Guard."

  "Hawk," said Burns carefully, "this is starting to sound very paranoid. We're

  going to need an awful lot of hard evidence if we're to convince anyone else."

  "We can't go to anyone else. We're all alone now. We can't trust anyone—not our

  colleagues, not our superiors, not our friends. Anyone could be working for the

  other side." Hawk hesitated, and looked intently at Burns. "You know, you don't

  have to stay with me on this. When I asked you to be my partner, I didn't know

  what we were getting into. There's still time for you to get out, if you want.

  Things could get very nasty very quickly once I start pushing this."

  Burns smiled. "You're not getting rid of me that easily. Especially not now the

  case is getting so interesting. I'm not convinced about this massive conspiracy

  of yours, but there's no doubt something fascinating is going on. I'm with you

  all the way, until we break the case or it breaks us. Morgan's people killed my

  partner. I can't turn my back on that. So, what's our next step?"

  "There's only one place we can go," said Hawk slowly. "The Guard Advisory

  Council."

  Burns gaped at him for a moment. "You've got to be kidding! They're just a bunch

  of businessmen, Guard retirees and idealistic Quality who like to see themselves

  as a buffer between the Guard and the Council's politics. They mean well, but

  they're about as much use as a chocolate teapot. I mean, they're very free with

  their advice, but they don't have any real power. They're mostly just public

  relations. How can they help us?"

  "They're all people in a position to have a finger on the pulse of what's

  happening in Haven. And just maybe they're divorced enough from both Guard and

  Council not to be tainted by the present corruption. Maybe we can get some

  answers there we won't get anywhere else. It's worth a try."

  "Yes, I suppose it is." Burns hesitated a moment. "Hawk, this Captain who's

  working for Morgan. What if it turns out to be someone we know? Maybe even a

  friend?"

  "We do whatever's necessary," said Hawk flatly. "Whoever it is."

  Burns looked as though he was going to say something more, and then both he and

  Hawk jumped as someone knocked briskly on the office door. They both took their

  feet off the desk, and glanced at each other.

  "Captain Hawk?" said a voice from outside. "I have a message for you."

  "How did he know where to find me?" said Hawk quietly. "No one's supposed to

  know where we are."

  "What do we do?" said Burns.

  "Answer him, I suppose." Hawk got up and walked over to the barricaded door.

  "What do you want?"

  "Captain Hawk? I have a message for you, sir. I'm supposed to deliver it in

  person."

  Hawk hesitated, and then shrugged. He pulled away the chairs holding the door

  shut, drew his axe, and opened the door. A Guard Constable looked at him, and

  the axe, and nodded respectfully.

  "Sorry to disturb you, Captain. It's about the child you rescued from under the

  collapsed tenement. The little girl."

  "I remember her," said Hawk. "Has there been some improvement in her condition?"

  "I'm sorry, sir. She's dead. I'm told she never regained consciousness."

  "I see. Thank you." The Constable nodded and walked away. Hawk closed the door.

  "Damn. Oh damn."

  Out in the corridor, the Constable smiled to himself. The news had obviously

  shaken Hawk badly. And anything that slowed Hawk down had to be good for Morgan

  and his backers. The Constable strode off down the corridor, patting the full

  purse at his belt and whistling cheerfully.

  Chapter Five

  Under Siege

  Fisher peered out the study window, chewing thoughtfully on a chicken leg she'd

  liberated from the delegates' lunch time snack after they'd disappeared back

  into the pocket dimension. She'd spent the last half hour checking out the house

  security and searching for weak spots, but she had to admit ap Owen seemed to

  know what he was doing. Every door and window had locks or bolts or both, and

  they were all securely fastened. There were men-at-arms in servants' livery on

  every floor, making their rounds at random intervals so as not to fall into a

  predictable routine. Routines could be taken advantage of. There were caches of

  weapons stashed all over the house, carefully out of sight but still ready to

  hand in an emergency. Outside, the grounds were a security man's dream. All the

  approaches were wide open—nowhere for anyone to hide—and the thick covering of

  snow made the lawns impossible to cross without leaving obvious tracks.

  All in all, everything was calm and peaceful, and showed every sign of staying

  that way. Which was probably why Fisher was so bored. Ap Owen's people seemed to

  regard her as an outsider, and her appointment as some kind of negative

  appraisal of their own abilities. As a result, none of them were talking to her.

  Ap Owen himself seemed friendly enough, but it was clear he was the worrying

  type, constantly on the move, checking that everything was running smoothly.

  Fisher wandered aimlessly around for a while, committing the layout of the house

  to memory and trying to get the feel of the place.

  It was an old house, creaking and groaning under the weight of the winter cold,

  with a somewhat erratic design. There were rooms within rooms and corridors that

  led nowhere, and shadows in unexpected places. But everything that could be done

  to make the house secure had been done, and Fisher couldn't fault ap Owen's

  work. She should have felt entirely safe and protected, and it came as something

  of a surprise to her to find that she didn't. Deep down inside, where her

  instincts lived, she couldn't shake off the feeling she—and everyone else in the

  house—was in danger. No doubt part of that uneasiness came from knowing there

  was a pocket dimension nearby. After what had happened in the Hook she was more

  than a little leery of such magic, for all of ap Owen's reassurances. But more

  than that, she had a strong feeling of being watched, of being under siege. She

  had only to look out of a window to feel the pressure of unseen watching eyes,

  as though somewhere outside a cold professional gaze was studying her

  dispassionately, and considering options.

  And so she'd ended up back in the study, staring out the wide window at the

  bare, innocent lawns an
d wondering if she was finally getting paranoid. Ap Owen

  acted as if he was expecting an attack at any moment, and she was beginning to

  understand why. There was a definite feeling of anticipation in the air, of

  something irrevocable edging closer; as though her instincts were trying to warn

  her of something her mind hadn't noticed yet. She threw aside her chicken leg,

  turned her back on the window defiantly, and looked around for something to

  distract her. Unfortunately, the study was briskly austere, with the bare

  minimum of chairs and a plain writing table. Bookshelves lined two of the walls,

  but their leather-bound volumes had a no-nonsense, businesslike look to them.

  There was one portrait, on the wall behind the desk, its subject a

  straight-backed, grim-faced man who apparently hadn't approved of such

  frivolities as having your portrait painted. The study had clearly been intended

  as a room for working, not relaxing.

  Fisher leafed through some of the papers on the desk, but ap Owen's handwriting

  was so bad they might have been written in code for all she could tell. She

  looked thoughtfully at the wine decanters left over from the delegates' break,

  and then looked away. She'd been drinking too much of late. So had Hawk. Haven

  did that to you.

  There was a definite crawling on the back of Fisher's neck, and she strode back

  to the window and glared out at the featureless scene again. The snow-covered

  lawns stretched away before her, vast and unmarked. There were no trees or

  hedges, nothing to hide behind. Everything was quiet. Fisher yawned suddenly,

  and didn't bother to cover her mouth. She'd been hoping to snatch a couple of

  hours' sleep here, but it seemed her nerves were determined to keep her restless

  and alert. She almost wished that someone would attack, just to get it over

  with.

  She started to turn away from the window, and then stopped, startled, and looked

  quickly back again. The wide open lawns were empty and undisturbed; no one was

  there. But for a moment she could have sworn… It came again, a sudden movement

  tugging at the edge of her vision. She looked quickly back and forth, and

  pounded her fist on the windowsill in frustration. There couldn't be anyone out

  there. Even if they were invisible, they'd still leave tracks in the snow.

  Things moved at the corner of her eyes, teasing her with glimpses of shapes and

  movement that refused to come clear. She backed slowly away from the window and

  drew her sword. Something was happening out there. There was a sound behind her

  and she spun round, dropping into a fighter's crouch. Ap Owen raised an eyebrow,

  and she flushed angrily as she straightened up.

  "Dammit, don't do that! Come and take a look, ap Owen. Something's going on

  outside."

  "I know. Half my people are giving themselves eyestrain trying to get a clear

  look at it."

  "Do you know what it is?"

  "I have a very nasty suspicion," said ap Owen, moving over to join her before

  the window. "I think there's someone out there, hiding behind an illusion spell.

  It must be pretty powerful to hide his trail as well, but as he gets closer to

  the house the protective wards are interfering with the spell, giving us

  glimpses of what it's hiding."

  "You think it's just one man?"

  "Not really, no. Just wishful thinking. I've put my people on full alert, just

  in case."

  "Does whoever's out there know we've spotted something?"

  "Beats me. But they haven't tried anything yet, which suggests they still trust

  in the illusion to hide their true strength."

  Fisher scowled out the window, and hefted her sword restlessly. "All right, what

  do we do?"

  "Wait for them to come to us. Let's see if they can even get in here before we

  start panicking. After all, it would need a bloody army to take this house by

  force."

  There was a sudden, vertiginous snap and the world jerked sideways and back

  again, as the house's wards finally broke down the illusion spell and showed

  what lay behind it. The wide lawns were covered with armed men, and more were

  pouring through the open gates. Dressed in nondescript furs and leathers, they

  advanced on the house in a calm, professional way. Fisher swore respectfully.

  There had to be at least two hundred men out there.

  The four marble statues had come alive, and were cutting a bloody path through

  the invaders. They were coldly efficient and totally unstoppable, but were hard

  put to make any impression on so many invaders. Half a dozen guard dogs blinked

  in and out of existence as they threw themselves at the intruders, leaping and

  snapping and now and again tearing at a man on the ground, but again there were

  simply too few of them to make any real difference. No one had expected or

  planned for an invasion on such a scale as this.

  "I don't want to disillusion you, ap Owen," said Fisher grimly, "but it looks to

  me like they've got a bloody army. We are in serious trouble."

  "You could well be right. From the look of them, they're mercenaries." He yelled

  something out the study door, and four footmen burst in, each carrying a longbow

  and a quiver of arrows. Ap Owen grinned at Fisher. "They don't have much use for

  bows in the Guard, but I've always believed in them. You can do a lot of damage

  with a few bowmen who know what they're doing."

  "No argument from me," said Fisher. "I've seen what longbows can do."

  The footmen set up before the window, pulling off their long frock coats to give

  them more freedom of movement. Fisher and ap Owen struggled with the bolts that

  held the window shut, until Fisher lost her temper and smashed the glass with

  the hilt of her sword. Ap Owen threw the window open and stepped back to let the

  archers take up their position. Bitter cold streamed in from outside, and the

  archers narrowed their eyes against the glare of the snow. The attacking force

  realized the grounds were no longer hidden behind the illusion spell, and ran

  towards the house, howling a dissonant mixture of war cries and chants. Sunlight

  flashed on swords and axes and morningstars. Fisher couldn't even guess how many

  attackers there were anymore. The archers drew back and released their

  bowstrings in a single fluid movement, and four of the attackers were thrown

  backwards with arrows jutting from their bodies. Their blood was vividly red on

  the snow. The archers let fly again and again, punching holes in the attacking

  force, but they just kept coming, ignoring their dead and wounded.

  "They're professionals, all right," said ap Owen calmly. "Mercenaries. Could be

  working for any number of people. Whoever it is must want us shut down really

  badly. An army that size doesn't come cheap. I didn't think there were that many

  mercenaries for hire left in Haven."

  "How long before reinforcements can get here?" said Fisher tightly.

  "There aren't going to be any," said ap Owen. "We're on our own. Low profile,

  remember? Officially, no one knows we're here."

  "And we're expendable," said Fisher.

  "Right. We either win this one ourselves, or we don't win it at all. What's the

  matter, don't you like a challenge?"

  Fisher growled so
mething under her breath. The first handful of mercenaries to

  reach the window ducked under the flight of arrows and clambered up onto the

  windowsill. The archers threw aside their bows and grabbed for their swords.

  Fisher thought briefly of the door behind her. She didn't believe in suicide

  missions. On the other hand, she didn't believe in running, either. She moved

  quickly forward to join ap Owen and the archers, and together they threw the

  first mercenaries back in a flurry of blood and gore. More of the attackers

  crowded in to take their place. The war cries and chants were almost deafening

  at close range. Fisher glanced at ap Owen, saw him palm a pill from a small

  bottle, and swallow it. He caught her gaze and smiled.

  "Just a little something, to give me an edge. Want one?"

  "No thanks. I was born with an edge."

  "Suit yourself. Here they come again." He breathed deeply as the drug hit him,

  and smiled widely at the mercenaries. "Come and get it, you lousy bastards! Come

  one, come all!"

  The main bulk of the attack force hit the window like a breaking wave, and

  forced the archers back by sheer force of numbers. Fisher was swept aside,

  fighting desperately against a forest of waving blades. In moments the room was

  full of mercenaries, most of whom ran past the small knot of beleaguered

  defenders and on into the house. Fisher and ap Owen ended up fighting back to

  back, carving bloody gaps in the shifting press of bodies. The archers fell one

  by one, and Fisher and ap Owen were slowly driven back across the room, away

  from the window, as more mercenaries poured in. There seemed no end to them.

  Ap Owen laughed happily and mocked his opponents as he fought, and none of the

  mercenaries could get anywhere near him in his euphoric state. Fisher fought

  doggedly on. Mercenaries fell dead and dying around her, their blood staining

  the expensive carpet. Her footing became uncertain as bodies cluttered the

  floor, and it was getting harder to find room to swing her sword. She yelled at

  ap Owen to get his attention.

  "We've got to get out of here, while we still can!"

  "Right!" yelled ap Owen, grinning widely as he slit a mercenary's throat.

  "Follow me!"

  They made a break for the door, ploughing through the startled mercenaries, and

  cutting down anyone who got in their way. They burst out into the hall, and