“I shouldn’t think so,” said Gaunt. “Roderik’s all right, when you get to know him. These old military types can be a bit of a bore when it comes to refighting all their old battles, but their word is their bond. If he’s said he’ll support you, he will. Count on it.”
“It’s not his support I need so much as his money,” said Blackstone dryly. “Politicians can’t live on applause alone, you know. The kind of campaigns I run are expensive. They need a constant flow of gold to keep them going, and even my resources aren’t unlimited. Right now, Hightower’s gold would come in very handy.”
“Mercenary,” said Katherine affectionately.
At the other end of the huge parlour, Graham Dorimant and the witch called Visage were helping themselves to the fruit cordial in the silver punch bowl. As a refreshing fruit drink the cordial was something of a letdown, there being too much emphasis on the various powerful wines involved and not nearly enough on the fruit, but Dorimant was well known for drinking anything, provided he was thirsty enough. And the current heat wave had left him feeling very thirsty.
Graham Dorimant was medium height, late thirties, and somewhat overweight. He smiled frequently, and his dark eyes held an impartial warmth. He’d been Blackstone’s political adviser for almost three years, and he was very good at his job. He had an encyclopedic knowledge of Haven’s electoral system, and he knew where the bodies were buried. Sometimes literally. He was on first-name terms with most of the Council, and quite a few of their staffs. He knew who could be persuaded, who could be browbeaten, and who could be bought. He knew when to talk and when to push, but most important of all, he had no political interests himself. Ideologies left him cold. He didn’t give a damn one way or the other. He aided Blackstone simply because he admired the man. Dorimant himself was lazy, amoral, and uninterested in anything outside Haven, but he nevertheless found much to admire in a man who was none of these things and yet attacked life with a zest Dorimant could only envy. Though he rarely admitted it to himself, Dorimant had found more fun and excitement in his time with Blackstone than at any other time in his life.
He drank thirstily at his fruit cordial, and smiled winningly at the witch Visage. Dorimant fancied himself a ladies’ man and aspired to an elegance he was too lazy to fully bring off. He wore nothing but the finest and most fashionable clothes, but lacked the self-conscious élan of the true dandy. Basically, he had too much of a sense of humor to be able to take fashion seriously. His only real vanity was his hair. Although he’d just entered his late thirties, his hair was still jet black. There just wasn’t as much of it as there used to be.
The witch Visage smiled back at Dorimant and sipped daintily at her drink. She was in her early twenties, with a great mass of wavy red hair that tumbled freely about her shoulders. Her skin was very pale, and her broad open face was dominated by her striking green eyes. There was a subtle wildness about her, like an animal from the Forest that had only recently been tamed. Men sensed the wildness and were attracted to it, but even the most insensitive knew instinctively that her constant slight smile hid very sharp teeth. Visage was tall for a woman, almost five foot nine, but painfully thin. She made Dorimant feel that he wanted to take her out to a restaurant and see that she had at least one good meal before he had his wicked way with her. Such a paternal, protective feeling was new to Dorimant, and he pushed it firmly to one side.
“Well, my dear,” he said briskly, “how is our revered master? Your magics still keeping him safe and sound?”
“Of course,” said Visage shyly, her voice as ever low and demure. “As long as I am with him, no magic can harm him. And you, sir, does your advice protect his interests as well as I protect his health?”
“I try,” smiled Dorimant. “Of course, a man as honest as William is bound to make enemies. He’s too open and honest for his own good. If he would only agree to turn a blind eye now and again....”
“He would not be the man he is, and neither of us would be interested in serving him. Am I not right?”
“As always, my dear,” said Dorimant. “Would you care for some more cordial?”
“Thank you, I think I will. It is very close in here. Are you not having any more?”
“Perhaps later. I fear all this fruit is terribly fattening, and I must watch my waistline.”
“That shouldn’t be too difficult,” said Visage sweetly. “There’s enough of it.”
Dorimant looked at her reproachfully.
Hawk and Fisher stood together before Gaunt’s front door, waiting for someone to answer the bell. The sorcerer’s house was a fair-sized two-story building, standing in its own grounds, situated near the Eastern boundary of the city. A high wall surrounded the grounds, the old stonework mostly buried under a thick blanket of ivy. The grounds had been turned into a single massive garden, where strange herbs and unusual flowers grew in ornate patterns that were subtly disturbing to the eye. The night air was thick with the rich scent of a hundred mingled perfumes. Light from the full moon shimmered brightly on the single graveled path. The house itself had no particular character. It stood simply and squarely where it had stood for hundreds of years, and though the stonework was discolored by wind and rain and the passing of years, its very simplicity suggested a strength that would maintain the house for years to come.
The front door was large and solid, and Hawk eyed the bell pull dubiously, wondering if he should try it again in case it hadn’t worked the first time. He tugged impatiently at his high collar and shifted his weight from foot to foot. Both he and Fisher were wearing the formal Guards’ uniform of navy blue and gold, topped with their best black cloaks. The heavy clothes were stiff, uncomfortable, and very hot. Hawk and Fisher had protested loudly before they set out, but to no avail. Guards had to look their best when mixing with High Society. To do otherwise would reflect badly on the Guards. Hawk and Fisher had given in. Eventually.
“Leave your collar alone,” said Fisher. “You’re not doing it any good.”
“I hate formal clothes,” growled Hawk. “Why did we have to draw this damned duty? I thought that after staking a vampire we’d have been entitled to a little time off at least, but no; just time for a quick healing spell, and off we go again.”
Fisher chuckled dryly. “Nothing succeeds like success. We solved the vampire case where everyone else had failed, so naturally we get handed the next most difficult case, bodyguarding Blackstone.”
Hawk shook his head dolefully. “The only really honest Councillor in the city. No wonder so many people want him dead.”
“You ever meet him?” asked Fisher.
“Shook his hand once, at an election rally.”
“Did you vote for him?”
“Well, the other guy was handing out money.”
Fisher laughed. “An honest Guard; you stayed bought.”
Hawk smiled. “Like hell. I took their money, voted for Blackstone anyway, and defied them to do anything about it. It didn’t exactly make their day.” He grinned broadly, remembering.
“I admire Blackstone’s courage,” said Fisher, “if not his good sense. Standing up against all the vested interests in this city takes real guts. We could do a lot more in our job if half our superiors weren’t openly corrupt.”
Hawk grunted, and pulled at his collar again. “What do you know about this sorcerer, Gaunt?”
“Not much. Fairly powerful, as sorcerers go, but he’s not flashy about it. Likes to throw parties, but otherwise keeps himself to himself. Not married, and doesn’t chase women. Or men, for that matter. No one knows where he came from originally, but rumor has it he was once sorcerer to the King. Then he left the Court under something of a cloud, and came and settled here in Haven. Made a name for himself in the Hook. You remember that?”
“Yeah,” said Hawk. “I was part of the team that had to go in there and clean up the mess. We were still carrying out the bodies a week later.”
“That’s right,” said Fisher. “I was still working on the
Shattered Bullion case.” She looked at Hawk thoughtfully. “You never told me about this before. Was it bad? I heard stories....”
“It was bad,” said Hawk. “There were no survivors among the gangs—no wounded, no dying; only the dead. We still don’t know what killed them, but it wasn’t very neat. Most of the bodies had been ripped apart. There’s no doubt the gangs were evil. They did some terrible things. But what happened to them was worse.”
“And this is the man whose party we’re attending as bodyguards,” said Fisher, grimacing. “Great. Just great.”
She broke off as the front door swung suddenly open. A bright, cheerful light filled the hall beyond and spilled out into the night. Hawk and Fisher blinked uncertainly as their eyes adjusted to the glare, and then they bowed politely to the man standing before them. Gaunt took in their Guards’ cloaks, and inclined his head slightly in return.
“William’s bodyguards. Do come in; I’ve been expecting you.”
He stepped back a pace and waited patiently as they made their way past him into the hall. He shut the door carefully and turned back to extend a slender, well-manicured hand. Hawk shook it firmly, and then gritted his teeth as Gaunt all but crushed his fingers in a powerful grip. He hated people who did that. Somehow he kept his polite smile in place, and then surreptitiously flexed his fingers as Gaunt turned to Fisher. The sorcerer took Fisher’s hand and raised it to his lips. Hawk frowned slightly. He wasn’t too keen on people who did that, either. Fisher smiled politely at the sorcerer. He wasn’t quite what she’d expected. After Hawk’s tale of what he’d found in the Hook, she’d been expecting someone more... impressive. With his mild grey eyes and pleasant smile, Gaunt just didn’t look the part.
The sorcerer looked at the two Guards thoughtfully. “Captain Hawk and Captain Fisher,” he said, after a moment. “I’ve heard of you.”
“Nothing good, I hope,” said Fisher, and Gaunt chuckled.
“You did an excellent job of taking care of the Chandler Lane vampire. Most. impressive.”
Hawk raised an eyebrow. “News travels fast in Haven.”
Gaunt smiled. “I have my sources.”
“Yeah,” said Hawk. “I’ll just bet you do.”
“If you follow me,” said the sorcerer politely. “Councillor Blackstone is already here, with some of my other guests.”
He led the way down the hall to a heavy oaken door on the right. He pushed it open, and then stood back to usher the two Guards into the parlour. The guests looked briefly at Hawk and Fisher, took in the black cloaks, and went back to their conversations. Hawk looked casually about him, getting the feel of the place. Two huge windows were blocked off by closed wooden shutters, despite the heat. There was only the one door, leading into the hall. Hawk relaxed a little. If push came to shove, it shouldn’t be too difficult to defend the parlour against an attack. Assuming anyone was suicidal enough to take on the sorcerer Gaunt in his own home.
Gaunt went over to Blackstone and spoke quietly to him. Blackstone glanced at Hawk and Fisher, excused himself to the witch Visage, and walked back with Gaunt to meet them. He shook them both by the hand; the usual quick, firm handshake of the seasoned politician.
“Glad you’re both here,” he said briskly. “I’m sure I’ll feel a lot safer with you two at my side. It’s only for the next few days, until my bill has become law. After that, the danger will be over.”
“Really?” said Fisher. “The way I hear it, you’ve got more enemies in Haven than the Chancellor on tax day.”
Blackstone laughed. “Well, the immediate danger, anyway. If I’d wanted a safe occupation, I wouldn’t have entered politics.”
“Well then, Councillor,” said Hawk briskly, “what would you like us to do?”
“For tonight, just mingle with the guests and enjoy yourselves,” said Blackstone pleasantly. “I’m in no danger here, not in Gaunt’s house. Even my enemies know better than to risk his anger.”
“You are always safe here, William,” said Gaunt quietly. “This house is protected against any and all intrusions.”
“And now, if you’ll excuse us,” said Blackstone, flashing a quick smile at Hawk and Fisher, “Gaunt and I have some business to discuss. Do help yourself to a drink and something to eat.”
The politician and the sorcerer moved away, talking animatedly. Hawk and Fisher looked at each other.
“Free booze,” said Fisher. “This may not be such a bad assignment after all.”
“Yeah,” said Hawk.
They made their way over to the punch bowl and helped themselves to the fruit cordial. Hawk wrinkled his nose at the taste, but drank it anyway. The room was hot, he was thirsty, and besides, it was free. Various canapés had been laid out beside the punch bowl, arranged in interesting patterns in the mistaken belief that this would make the food appear more appetizing. Hawk didn’t even recognize half of it, but he tried one anyway, just to show himself willing.
“Not bad,” he said indistinctly.
“I’m glad you think so,” said Katherine Blackstone. “Gaunt prides himself on his culinary skills.”
Hawk chewed and swallowed quickly to empty his mouth as the councillor’s wife looked him and Fisher over. She seemed friendly enough, in a condescending way. Katherine’s gaze lingered on Hawk more than Fisher, and he wondered if he’d imagined the sudden glitter in her eyes. The way she was acting, he half expected her to lean forward and pin a rosette on him.
“So you’re the best the Guard could supply,” said Katherine finally. “I do hope you’re as fearsome as your reputation suggests.”
“We try,” said Hawk.
Katherine looked thoughtfully at his face. “The scars are certainly impressive, darling. What happened to your eye?”
“I lost it in a card game.”
Katherine gave him a startled look, and then dissolved into giggles. It made her look much younger. “My dear, I think you won that one on points. Do help yourself to the spiced lamb; it’s really quite delicious. I believe there’s even some asparagus, though where Gaunt managed to get it at this time of the year is beyond me. Knowing a sorcerer does have its advantages, I suppose.”
There was a pause, while they all busied themselves with the food. Fisher smiled suddenly as she bit into a piece of cold garlic sausage.
“We could have used some of this earlier today.”
“What?” said Katherine. “Oh, the garlic. Gaunt was just telling us about the vampire before you arrived. Horrible creatures. Did you really kill it by driving a wooden stake through its heart?”
“Eventually,” said Hawk.
“Such a pity about Trask,” said Katherine. “I mean, he wasn’t much of a Councillor, but he did a good enough job, and at least you knew where you were with him. And his was a marginal seat, you know. Now there’ll have to be another election, and I hate to think who we might get in his place. Better the devil you know, and all that.”
Hawk and Fisher nodded politely and said nothing. They hadn’t told anyone about Trask being the vampire’s Judas Goat. They just passed him off as another victim, along with his daughter. It was true enough, in a way. And besides, his widow was going to have a hard enough time as it was. Katherine Blackstone chattered on for a while, talking lightly about this and that, and then fluttered away to talk to Graham Dorimant. Hawk looked at Fisher.
“Well?” he said dryly. “What did you make of that?”
“Beats me,” said Fisher. “Katherine Blackstone, coming on like an empty-headed socialite? That’s not the woman I’ve heard so much about.”
“Maybe it’s a test of some kind. Checking us out to see if we’re smart enough to see through the act.”
Fisher scowled dubiously. “Could be, I suppose.”
“Actually, it’s a little more complicated than that,” said the witch Visage.
Hawk and Fisher turned quickly to find her standing beside them. Hawk’s hand dropped to his axe. He hadn’t heard her approaching.... Visage saw the movement, an
d smiled slightly.
“I’m not your enemy, Captain Hawk. In fact, I’m glad you’re here. I’ve had a premonition about William.”
Hawk and Fisher looked quickly at each other, and then back at the slender redhead before them.
“A premonition,” said Hawk slowly. “You think he’s in danger?”
“Yes. I’m Visage. I’m a witch. It’s my job to protect William from magical threats. He should be safe enough here in Gaunt’s house. I’ve never seen so many defensive spells. The place is crawling with them. And yet... there’s a feeling in the air. It worries me. I’ve given William some extra protection, but still...”
“Have you sensed anything in particular?” asked Fisher quietly.
Visage shook her head, frowning. “Nothing definite. Somebody here, or close by, is planning a death; and the victim is either William or someone connected with him. That’s all I can get.”
“Have you told Blackstone?” asked Hawk.
“Of course. He isn’t taking the threat seriously enough.”
“Somebody here or close by,” said Fisher. “Maybe we should check the grounds.”
“I suggested that to Gaunt,” said Visage. “He said no one could get into the grounds or the house without his knowing.” She looked at Hawk steadily. “Unless you do something to stop it, someone is going to die in this house. Tonight.”
She turned suddenly and walked away. Hawk and Fisher watched her go.
“Great start to the party,” said Hawk.
“Isn’t it,” said Fisher.
“Did you notice,” said Hawk thoughtfully, “that she never did get around to explaining why Katherine Blackstone was acting out of character?”
“Yeah,” said Fisher. “Interesting, that.”
They looked at each other a moment, shrugged, and helped themselves to more of the fruit cordial.
“Who the hell would be desperate enough to attack Blackstone in Gaunt’s house?” said Hawk. “All right, Gaunt isn’t the most powerful sorcerer I’ve ever met, but I’d put him right up there in the top ten. I certainly wouldn’t cross him without a damn good reason.”
Swords of Haven: The Adventures of Hawk & Fisher Page 4
