Swords of Haven: The Adventures of Hawk & Fisher

by Green, Simon R.

  Elaine looked into the mirror and caught him watching her. She smiled, but he looked quickly away. She put down her brush, and turned around to face him. She was wearing the white silk nightdress he’d bought her for her last birthday. She looked very lovely, and very defenceless.

  Don’t ask me, Elaine. Please. I can’t tell you. I can’t tell anyone....

  “What is it, Rod?” she said quietly. “Something’s been bothering you for months now. Why won’t you tell me about it?”

  “Nothing to tell,” said Roderik gruffly.

  “Bull,” said his wife. “I haven’t known you all these years without being able to tell when something’s gnawing at you. Is it Paul? I thought you were finally getting over his death. You should never have gone off on those stupid campaigns, the werewolf hunts. I should never have let you go.”

  “They helped....”

  “Did they? Every time some fool jumped at his own shadow and shouted ‘werewolf!’ you went racing off to track it down. And how many did you find, out of all those dozens of hunts? One. Just one. That was why the King made you resign, wasn’t it? Not just because you’d reached the retirement age, but because you were never there when he needed you!”

  “Don’t,” whispered Roderik, squeezing his eyes shut. Elaine rose quickly out of her chair and hurried over to kneel beside him. She put a hand on his arm, and he reached blindly across to squeeze it tightly.

  “It’s all right, my dear,” said Elaine softly. “I’m not angry with you, I’m just worried. Worried about you. You’ve been so ... different lately.”

  “Different?” Roderik opened his eyes and looked at her uncertainly. “How do you mean, different?”

  “Oh, I don’t know; moody, irritable, easily upset. I’m not blind, you know. And there’ve been other things....”

  “Elaine ...”

  “Once a month, you go off on your own. You don’t come back for days on end, and when you do, you won’t tell me where you’ve been or what you’ve been doing.”

  “I have my reasons,” said Roderik gruffly.

  “Yes,” said Elaine, “I think you do. You mustn’t feel badly about it, Rod. When a man gets to your age I know that sometimes they, well, start to feel insecure about .... themselves. I just want you to know that I don’t mind, as long as you come home to me.”

  “You don’t mind?” said Roderik slowly. “Elaine, what are you talking about?”

  “I don’t mind that you have another woman,” said Elaine steadily. “You shouldn’t look so astonished, my dear. It wasn’t that difficult to work out. You have a mistress. It really doesn’t matter.”

  Roderik stood up, took his wife by the shoulders and made her stand up, facing him. He tried to say something, and couldn’t. He took her in his arms and held her tightly. “Elaine, my dear, my love. I promise you I don’t have another woman. You’re the only woman I ever wanted, the only woman I’ve ever loved. I promise you; there’s never been anyone in my life but you, and there never will be.”

  “Then where have you been going all these months?”

  Roderik sighed, and held her away from him so that he could look at her. “I can’t tell you, Elaine. Just believe me when I say I don’t go because I want to, I go because I have to. It’s important.”

  “You mean it’s ... political?”

  “In a way. I can’t talk about it, Elaine. I can’t.”

  “Very well, my dear.” Elaine leaned forward and kissed him on the cheek. “Tell me about it when you can. Now let’s go to bed. It’s been a long day.”

  “I think I’ll sit up for a while. I’m not sleepy. You go to bed. I won’t be long.”

  Elaine nodded, and turned away to pull back the sheet. She didn’t see the tears that glistened in Roderik’s eyes for a moment. When she looked at him again, having first settled herself comfortably in bed, he was sitting on the chair, staring at nothing.

  “Rod ...”

  “Yes?”

  “Who do you think killed William?”

  “I don’t know. I can’t even see how he was killed, never mind who or why.”

  “Are we in any danger?”

  “I shouldn’t think so. Gaunt is on guard now; nothing will get by him. And there’s always the two Guards downstairs. They’re proficient enough at the simple things, I suppose. There’s nothing for you to worry about, my dear. Go to sleep.”

  “Yes, Rod. Blow out the lamp when you come to bed.”

  “Elaine ...”

  “Yes?”

  “I love you. Whatever happens, never doubt that I love you.”

  The witch Visage lay in her bed and stared at the ceiling. She didn’t really like the bed. It was very comfortable, but it was too big. She felt lost in it. She stirred restlessly under the single thin sheet covering her. She felt hot and clammy, but she didn’t like to throw back the sheet, not in a stranger’s house. She’d feel naked and defenceless. Not that she was in any danger. She’d locked the door and set the wards. No one and nothing could get to her now. She was safe.

  But only for the moment. She’d worked for William Blackstone all her adult life, and she didn’t know what would become of her now that he was dead. William had always been much more than an employer to her; he had been her god. He was wise and just, and he fought the forces of evil in Haven. He always knew what to do, and he was always right, and if he hardly ever noticed the quiet young witch at his side, well, that was only to be expected. He always had so many important things on his mind.

  Graham Dorimant had noticed her. He was always kind to her, and said nice things, and noticed when she wore a new dress. Perhaps he would look after her and take care of her. It was a nice thought.

  Visage thought of the two Guards who’d questioned her, and frowned. They’d been polite enough, she supposed, but they hadn’t really liked her. She could tell. She could always tell. And Hawk, the one with the scars and the single cold eye ... He frightened her. She didn’t like to be frightened. Visage pouted unhappily in the darkness. She’d told the Guards about Katherine and Edward, but they hadn’t believed her. Not really. But all they had to do was start digging, and they’d find out the truth. And then everyone would see what had really been going on.

  If the truth was ever allowed to come out. Visage scowled. There were a great many people who wouldn’t want the truth to get out. After all, it might taint William’s memory. Well, she didn’t want that, but she couldn’t let Katherine and Edward get away with it. She couldn’t let that happen. She wouldn’t let that happen. They had murdered her William, and they would pay for it, one way or another. Her hand went to the bone amulet that hung on a silver chain around her neck. She might be only a witch, but she had power of her own, and she would use it if she had to. If there was no other way to get justice for William.

  Visage sighed tiredly. Poor William. She would miss him very much. She’d followed him for so many years ... and now she would have to find someone else to follow. Someone else to tell her what to do. She’d talk to Graham about it in the morning. He liked her. She could tell.

  The sorcerer Gaunt lay on his bed, in his laboratory. The air was deliciously cool and fresh, the summer heat kept at bay by his spells. The room was brightly lit by half a dozen oil lamps. For many reasons, some of them practical, Gaunt felt uneasy about sleeping in the dark. He lay on his back and looked slowly round the familiar, crowded room, taking in the plain wooden benches and their alchemical equipment, the shelves of ingredients, all neatly stacked in their proper order.... Gaunt felt at home in the laboratory, in a way he never did anywhere else in the house. He didn’t really like the house much, if truth be told, but he needed it. He needed the security and the privacy it gave him, even if he did tend to rattle around in it like a single seed in a pod. There were times when he was tempted to give in to Stalker and sell him the damn house, but he never did. He couldn’t.

  He put forth his mind and tested the wards in and around the house, like a spider testing the many strands of
its web. Everything was peaceful, everything as it should be. All was quiet. Gaunt frowned slightly. It worried him that he still had no idea how William had died. It worried him even more that the killer had to be one of his guests. There was no way an assassin could have got past his defences without him knowing. And yet he’d known these people for years, known and trusted them.... It just didn’t seem possible.

  Gaunt sighed tiredly. Everyone had their secrets, their own hidden darkness. He of all people should know that.

  “Darling ...”

  The voice was soft, husky, alluring. Gaunt swallowed dryly. Just the sound of her voice sent little thrills of pleasure through him, but he wouldn’t look at her. He wouldn’t.

  “Why don’t you call to me, darling? All you have to do is call, and I’ll come to you. You’d like that, wouldn’t you?”

  He didn’t answer. He was a sorcerer, and he was in control.

  “Always the same. You want me, but you won’t admit it. You desire me, but you fight against it. I can’t think why. If you didn’t want me, why did you summon me?”

  “Because I was weak!” snapped Gaunt. “Because I was a fool.”

  “Because you were human,” purred the voice. “Is that such a terrible thing to be? You are powerful, my sweet, very powerful, but you still have human needs and weaknesses. It’s no shame to give in to them.”

  “Shame?” said Gaunt. “What would you know about shame?”

  “Nothing. Nothing at all.” The voice laughed softly, and Gaunt shivered at the sound of it. “Look at me, darling. Look at me.”

  Gaunt looked at the pentacle marked out on the floor on the far side of the laboratory. The blue chalk lines glowed faintly with their own eerie light. Inside the pentacle sat the succubus. She looked at Gaunt with jet black eyes, and smiled mockingly. She was naked, and heart- stoppingly beautiful. The succubus was five feet tall, with a disturbingly voluptuous figure and a rawboned sensual face. The lamplight glowed golden on her perfect skin. Two small horns rose up from her forehead, almost hidden among the great mane of jet black hair. She stretched languidly, still smiling, and Gaunt groaned softly as the old familiar longing began again, just as he’d known it would.

  “Yes,” said the succubus. “I am beautiful, aren’t I? And I’m yours, any time you want me. All you have to do is call me, darling, and I’ll come to you. All you have to do is call to me....”

  “Come to me,” said Gaunt. “Come to me, damn you!”

  The succubus laughed happily and rose to her feet in a single lithe movement. She stepped out of the pentacle, the blue chalk lines flaring up briefly as she crossed them, and strode unhurriedly over to the sorcerer’s bed. She pulled back the single sheet and sank down beside him.

  “Damn me, my darling? No. You’re the one who’s damned, sorcerer. And isn’t it lovely?”

  Gaunt took her in his arms, and the old sweet madness took him once again.

  Katherine Blackstone sat in the chair by the bed and looked listlessly round the spare room that Gaunt had opened up for her. The air was close and dusty, and the bed hadn’t been aired, but she didn’t care. At least it was a fair distance away from the room where her husband had died; the room where the body still lay....

  The body. Not her husband, or her late husband, just the body. William was gone, and what was left behind didn’t even have to be addressed by name.

  Katherine looked at the bed beside her, and looked away. Sleep might help, but she couldn’t seem to summon the energy to get up, get undressed, and go to bed. And anyway, if she waited long enough she was sure Edward would come to her. She’d thought he’d be here by now, but he was probably just being sensible. It wouldn’t do for them to be caught together tonight, of all nights. He’d be here soon. Maybe then she’d know what to do, what to say, for the best. For the moment, all she wanted to do was sit where she was and do nothing. She’d been married less than seven years, and here she was a widow. Widow ... There was a harsh finality to the word; that’s all there is, there isn’t going to be any more. It’s over. Katherine’s thoughts drifted back and forth, moving round the subject of her husband’s death but unable to settle on it. It was impossible to think of the great William Blackstone being dead. He’d been such an important man; meant so much to so many people. Katherine wanted to cry. She might feel better if she could only cry. But all she had inside of her was tiredness.

  How could he have done it? How could he have left her in this mess? How could William have killed himself?

  The Guards thought it was murder. So did everyone else. Only she knew it was really suicide. The Guards were already looking for signs of guilt, for something they could use as a motive. She’d known they were bound to bring up Edward Bowman, so she’d met that attack as she always had, by throwing it back in their faces as a lie and defying them to prove otherwise. It has been suggested to us ... Oh, yes, she’d just bet it had. That little bitch Visage wouldn’t have waited long to start spreading the poison.

  She and Edward would have to be very careful in the future. For a while, at least.

  Hawk and Fisher sat stretched out in their comfortable chairs, facing the hall. They’d put out all the lamps save two, and the parlour was gloomy enough to be restful on the eyes while still leaving enough light to see by. The house was quiet, the air hot and stuffy. Hawk yawned widely.

  “Don’t,” said Fisher. “You’ll set me off.”

  “Sorry,” said Hawk. “I can’t sleep. Too much on my mind.”

  “All right, then; you stand watch and I’ll get some sleep.”

  “Suits me,” said Hawk. “I shouldn’t think we’ll have any more trouble tonight.”

  “You could be right,” said Fisher, settling herself comfortably in her chair and wishing vaguely that she had a pillow. “Whoever killed Blackstone, it didn’t have the look of a spur-of-the-moment decision. A lot of careful planning had to have gone into it. What we have to worry about now is whether the killer had a specific grudge against Blackstone, or if he’s just the first in a series of victims.”

  “You know,” said Hawk, “we can’t even be sure that Blackstone was the intended victim. Maybe he just saw someone in the wrong place at the wrong, time, and had to die because he was a witness. The killer might still be waiting for his chance at the real victim.”

  “Don’t,” said Fisher piteously. “Isn’t the case complicated enough as it is?”

  “Sorry,” said Hawk. “Just thinking ...”

  “Have you had any more ideas on who the killer might be?”

  “Nothing new. Bowman and Katherine Blackstone have to be the most obvious choices; they had the most to gain. But I keep coming back to how the murder was committed. There’s something about that locked room that worries me. I can’t quite figure out what it is, but something keeps nagging at me.... Ah, well, no doubt it’ll come to me eventually.”

  “My head’s starting to ache again,” said Fisher. “I’m no good at problems. Never have been. You know, Hawk, what gets me is the casual way it was done. I mean, one minute we’re all standing around in here, knocking back the fruit cordial and chatting away nineteen to the dozen, and the next minute everyone goes off to change and Blackstone is killed. If the killer was one of the people in this room, he must have cast-iron nerves.”

  “Right,” said Hawk.

  They sat together a while, listening to the quiet. The house creaked and groaned around them, settling itself as old houses will. The air was still and hot and heavy. Hawk dropped one hand onto the shaft of his axe, where it stood leaning against the side of his chair. There were too many things about this case he didn’t like, too many things that didn’t add up. And he had a strong feeling that the night still had a few more surprises up its sleeve.

  Time passed, and silence spread through the old house. Everyone was either asleep or sitting quietly in their rooms, waiting for the morning. The hall and the landing were empty, and the shadows lay undisturbed. A door eased silently open, and Edward Bowma
n looked out onto the landing. A single oil lamp glowed dully halfway down the right-hand wall, shedding a soft orange light over the landing. There was no one else about, and Bowman relaxed a little. Not that it mattered if anyone did see him. He could always claim he was going to the bathroom, but why complicate matters? Besides, he didn’t want to do anything that might draw the attention of the Guards. He stepped out onto the landing and closed his bedroom door quietly behind him. He waited a moment, listening, and then padded down the landing to Katherine’s room. He tried the door handle, but the door was locked. He looked quickly up and down the landing, and tapped quietly on the door. The sound seemed very loud on the silence. There was a long pause, and then he heard a key turning in the lock. The door eased open, and Bowman darted into the room. The door shut quietly behind him.

  Katherine clung desperately to Bowman, holding him so tightly he could hardly breathe. She burrowed her face into his neck, as though trying to hide from the events of the day. He murmured soothingly to her, and after a while she quietened and relaxed her grip a little. He smiled slightly.

  “Glad to see me, Kath?”

  She lifted her face to his and kissed him hungrily. “I was so afraid you wouldn’t come to me tonight. I need you, Edward. I need you now more than ever.”

  “It’s all right, Kath. I’m here now.”

  “But if we’re caught together ...”

  “We won’t be,” said Edward quickly. “Not as long as we’re careful.”

  Katherine finally let go of him, and sat down on the edge of the bed. “Careful. I hate that word. We’re always having to be careful, having to think twice about everything we do, everything we say. How much longer, Edward? How much longer before we can be together openly? I want you, my love; I want you with me always, in my arms, in my bed!”