“They must have had help.”
Hawk frowned. “What kind of help?”
“Good question,” said Buchan. “Let’s go and find out.”
He took the lead, and guided Hawk and Fisher unerringly through the maze of corridors that led to the ballroom. The silence was complete, broken only by their own soft footsteps. They found servants here and there, lying crumpled where they fell, struck down by the same deathly sleep. Hawk peered continuously about him, skin crawling in anticipation of the attack that never came, his tiredness burned away by rising adrenalin.
They finally came to the closed double doors that led to the ballroom. Buchan made as though to push the doors open and walk straight in, but Hawk stopped him with a cautious hand on his arm. He looked warily around him, then stepped forward, and pressed his ear against the right-hand door. He couldn’t hear anything. Either the wood was too thick, or there wasn’t anything to hear. Taking hold of both door-handles, he very carefully eased the doors open an inch or two and then stepped back. He made sure his grip on his axe was secure, looked quickly at Fisher and Buchan, then stepped forward and kicked the doors open. The three of them surged forward to fill the doorway, weapons at the ready.
The Quality lay strewn across the waxed and polished floor of the ballroom in their brightly coloured finery, like so many broken butterflies. They lay singly or in heaps, wherever they’d been standing when the magic struck them down. Most were awake but unable to move. Some were moaning quietly, as much in horror as in pain. All of them looked withered and ancient, aged long beyond their years, held somehow on the very edge of death as their life drained slowly out of them. Those nearest the blue chalk circle looked almost mummified. And there, in the middle of the ballroom, inside the blue circle, stood the thing the Hellfire Club had called up out of the Gulfs. It looked across at the doorway, and smiled charmingly.
“Well, now,” it said in a soft, pleasant voice. “Visitors. How nice.”
The figure was six feet tall, quite naked, and aesthetically muscular in a way usually achieved only by statues. Its face was classically handsome and unmarked by time, so flawlessly perfect as to be almost inhuman. A raw sensuality burned around it like an invisible flame attractive and repellent in its uncaring arrogance, like bitter honey or the smell of an open wound masked by perfume. It was the perfect embodiment of the male form, burning with ruthless vitality.
“What’s wrong with the Quality?” said Fisher softly. “What’s happened to them?”
“The creature they called up is draining the life right out of them,” said Buchan. “Their deaths will make it even more powerful. Even a low-level sorcerer would have known to set wards so this couldn’t happen, but these people were amateurs, and they didn’t know. At least they had enough sense to draw a restraining circle. That should hold it for a while.”
“How long?” said Hawk, not taking his gaze from the figure before him.
“Only as long as it takes to drain its summoners dry,” said Buchan. “After that, it’ll be powerful enough to break the circle, and there’ll be nothing we can do to stop it.”
“What about the Exorcist Stone?” said Fisher.
Buchan smiled tiredly. “The creature will be gone long before we could get the Stone here, and all the Quality will be dead.”
“Great,” said Hawk. “Just great.” He moved slowly forward, stopping right at the edge of the chalk circle. The creature watched him intently, still smiling its perfect smile. Hawk looked into its dark unblinking eyes and saw no humour there, or any other emotion he could recognise. “Who are you?” he said harshly. “What are you?”
“I’m what they wanted,” said the thing in the circle. “I’m all the darkness in their souls, all their hidden hates and wants and desires set free at last, given shape and form and substance, in me. I’m strong and beautiful and perfect because that’s what they wanted me to be. Or perhaps because that’s how they see themselves, in the privacy of their mind’s eye. It really doesn’t matter. They gave me life, whether they meant to or not, and they’ll go on giving me life until they die. Then, when I have fully come into my power, I’ll leave them here and go out into the city. A new Being, in all his glory. A new God for the Street of Gods. And men shall worship me as they always have, under one name or another, in blood and suffering and all the hidden darkness of their souls. I shall be very happy here. This city was built with me in mind.”
“I’ve met your kind before,” said Hawk. “You’re just another Dark Man with delusions of grandeur, that’s all.”
“I shall show you blood and horror,” said the creature pleasantly. “I will break your body and your spirit, and you will praise me before I let you die. You don’t understand what I am. What I really am. I’m everything that ever scared you, every dark impulse you tried to hide, your worst nightmare given flesh and blood and bone.”
“You’re also stuck in that circle,” said Fisher, moving forward to stand beside Hawk. “And if you had any power to use against us, you’d have used it by now. You’re not leaving this circle. You’re not going anywhere. We’ll see to that.”
“So brave,” said the creature. “And so foolish. You are nothing compared to me.”
Fisher grinned. “Fancies himself, doesn’t he? Let’s see how he likes half a yard of cold steel rammed through his appendix.”
“No!” said Buchan, moving quickly forward to join the two Guards at the edge of the circle. “Don’t try it, Captain. You can’t reach the thing from outside the circle, and once you cross the chalk line your suppressor stone wouldn’t be able to protect you anymore. The creature would drain you dry just like the Quality.”
“No problem,” said Fisher. She sheathed her sword, took a throwing knife from her left boot, aimed and let fly with a single rapid movement. The creature’s hand moved, too quickly for the eye to follow, and snatched the knife in midair. It dropped the knife to the floor and smiled at Fisher. She blinked, and turned to Buchan. “We might just have a problem here after all. How long do you think we’ve got before it has enough power to leave the circle?”
“Not long. Half the Quality are at death’s door already. Whatever we’re going to do, we’ve got to do it soon.”
“Wait a minute,” said Hawk. “The Exorcist Stone would get rid of it, right? How about the suppressor stone? That’s supposed to work on the same principle, isn’t it?”
Buchan frowned. “Well, yes, but it’s nowhere near as powerful. You’d have to get the suppressor stone within an inch or so of the creature, and even then there’s no guarantee it would work. And if it didn’t ... the creature would either drain you like the Quality, or tear you apart just for the fun of it.”
“If we wait till it gets out of the circle we’re dead anyway,” said Hawk. “Look, if you’ve got a better idea, let’s hear it. I’m not actually wild about going into that bloody circle unless I have to.”
“There is ... another alternative,” said Buchan. He turned his back on the creature and looked out over the ballroom. “It’s gathering its power from the life force of the Quality. If they were all to die—before the creature could come into its full power—it would remain helpless within the circle.”
“We can’t just kill them!” said Hawk.
“You think I like suggesting it?” snapped Buchan. “I grew up with these people They’re my friends!”
“It’s out of the question,” said Hawk flatly.
“No it isn’t,” said a quiet voice from among the Quality. “Kill us. Kill us all. Please. Do you think we want to live like this?”
They found Lord Louis Hightower sitting propped up against the wall. His flesh was pale and blotched and heavily wrinkled, sunk right back to the bone, and Buchan only recognised him by his clothes. His mouth was just a colourless gash, and his breathing barely stirred his chest, but still he fought to force out his words as Buchan knelt beside him.
“If we die, the shock will kill that thing. It’s linked to us.”
<
br /> “Louis ...”
“Do it, Charles! Please. I can’t face living like this.”
“No!” said Hawk. “If we can kill the thing while it’s still in the circle, there’s a damn good chance you’ll get your life back. The link between you works both ways. Or it should.” He knelt down beside the mummified figure. “Let us at least try to save you. I’ve lost two Hightowers already. I don’t want to lose a third.”
Hightower looked at him, and his mouth moved in something that might have been a smile. “All right, Captain. Go ahead. But, this time, get it right.”
Hawk nodded stiffly, then straightened up and headed back to the edge of the circle. Fisher and Buchan went with him.
“I take it you do have some kind of plan,” said Buchan.
“I wouldn’t bank on it,” said Fisher. “Hawk’s always been a great one for improvising.”
“Well, basically, I thought I’d cut the creature’s heart out and jam the suppressor stone into the hole,” said Hawk. “That should ruin its day.”
“Sounds good to me,” said Fisher. “You hit him from the left, I’ll hit him from the right.”
“This is crazy,” said Buchan. “Absolutely bloody crazy. Let’s do it, before we get an attack of common sense and change our minds.”
The three of them spread out round the circle, weapons at the ready. The creature smiled at them warmly and spread its arms as though welcoming them. Hawk hesitated a moment at the chalk line, then braced himself and stepped quickly across it. The years hit him like a club, almost forcing him to his knees. He could feel his joints stiffening and his muscles shrivelling as life itself was sucked out of him to feed the creature before him. His axe grew heavier with every movement, and it took all his strength to keep his back straight and his head erect. He heard shocked gasps of pain and horror as Fisher and Buchan entered the circle, but he didn’t look round. He didn’t want to see what was happening to them. He didn’t want to think about what was happening to him. He hefted his axe, and threw himself at the smiling creature.
It dodged the axe easily, and sent Hawk flying across the circle with a casual backhand blow. He hit the ground hard, driving the breath from his lungs, and for a moment he couldn’t find the strength to get to his knees. He gritted his teeth and staggered to his feet again, swaying from the effort. Fisher and Buchan were cutting at the creature with their swords, but the thing simply raised its arms to ward off the blows, and the blades sprang away as though they’d met solid metal instead of flesh. The creature’s arms weren’t even bruised.
Fisher was an old woman, with white hair and a heavily lined face. Buchan was bent and twisted with age, barely able to hold onto his sword. Hawk fought down a rising tide of panic. Their weapons were no use against the creature, but they had nothing else. Except the suppressor stones. Get the stone close to him. That was what Buchan had said. Get it as close as possible, or it won’t work. Hawk scowled. He knew what he’d like to do with the stone.... The scowl slowly became a smile. When in doubt, be direct. He waited a moment as Buchan and Fisher gathered up their remaining strength and threw themselves at the creature, and then he put away his axe and lurched forward. The creature saw him coming, but since Hawk was empty-handed, ignored him to concentrate on fending off its armed attackers, Hawk moved in behind the creature, took a deep breath, and jumped the thing from behind, locking an arm round the creature’s throat. It tried to grab him to throw him off, but couldn’t quite reach. Hawk hung on grimly, forcing the head back.
“Isobel!” he yelled harshly. “Get the stone and ram it down his throat!”
Fisher dropped her sword and clawed the suppressor stone from her pocket. Buchan leapt forward and grabbed both the creature’s arms. Fisher seized the creature’s chin, yanked it down, and pressed the stone into its mouth. Then she forced the mouth closed with both hands and held on with all her strength. The creature bucked and heaved and threw Hawk off. Buchan let go its arms, stepped back a pace, and punched the creature in the throat. It gagged, swallowed despite itself, and then screamed horribly. There was a small, very localized explosion, and then Hawk, Fisher, and Buchan were alone in the circle.
Hawk blinked dazedly a moment, then looked at Fisher, and smiled widely with relief. She was herself again, the added years gone along with the creature that had tried to force them on her. They hugged each other tightly for a long moment, and then let go and looked around them. There was a rising hum of voices as the Quality discovered that they also had been renewed. Buchan was already moving among them, grinning and laughing and being slapped on the back. Fisher noticed that her sword, her knife, and the suppressor stone were lying on the floor inside the circle, and she bent down to retrieve them.
“One of your better ideas, Hawk,” she said finally, as she sheathed her sword. “Where did the creature go, do you suppose?”
Hawk shrugged. “Back where it came from. And good riddance.”
The noise in the ballroom had risen from a babble to a roar, as the Quality tried to figure out what had happened, and exactly who was to blame. Lord Hightower shook Buchan firmly by the hand, and then strode over to join the two Guards. He nodded to them both, and they bowed politely.
“I just wanted to extend my personal thanks and congratulations. I’ll see there’s a commendation in this for both of you. Going into that circle after the creature was the bravest thing I’ve ever seen.”
“Thank you, my Lord,” said Hawk. “It’s all part of the job.”
“I didn’t get a chance to talk to you the last time you were here. I wanted to assure you and your partner that I don’t hold you in any way responsible for the deaths of my father or my brother Paul. I checked you out very thoroughly. It wasn’t your fault. You mustn’t blame yourselves.”
“Thank you,” said Hawk. “I’m glad you feel that way. I never really had the chance to know your father, but I liked your brother. He was a good man to work with.”
“Speaking of blame,” said Buchan, as he joined them, “How the hell did you manage to raise that creature in the first place?”
Hightower frowned unhappily. “Lord Brunel came into possession of an old grimoire, and persuaded us that some of its rituals might be adapted to suit our purposes. Yes, I know. We should have known better. But we thought we’d be safe, as long as we stayed outside the circle....”
“Oh, that’s typical, that is! Put all the blame on me!” Brunel’s voice blared out from nearby, and the small group turned to see him stalking toward them. “You’re not laying the blame for all this at my door. We discussed whether or not to use the ritual, and everyone agreed. Including you, Hightower. It wasn’t my fault everything went wrong.”
“We can talk about this later,” said Buchan. “In the meantime, I think you’d better let me have the grimoire for safekeeping. My colleagues in the God Squad will want to examine it.”
Brunel’s hand dropped halfway to a square bulge underneath his waistcoat. “I’m not handing over anything. The grimoire’s mine. If I let you have it I’ll never see it again. I know your sort. You’d keep it for yourself. But you’re not having it. There’s power in this book, and it belongs to your betters. All right, things got a bit out of hand this time, but ...”
“This time?” said Buchan. “You’re hot thinking of trying this kind of stunt again?”
“Why not? Next time, we’ll get it right. You can’t stop us. We’re Quality, and you’re not—not anymore. What we do is our, business and nothing to do with you. You’re not one of us anymore, Buchan, and your precious heroics here tonight don’t change a thing. You’re still nothing more than a dirty little Sister-lover, and we don’t want you here.”
Fisher stepped briskly forward, punched Brunel out, and took the grimoire from his unconscious body. She looked round at the watching crowd.
“Any objections?”
No one said anything, and most of the Quality looked away to avoid catching her eye. Fisher turned her back on them and handed the grimoire
to Buchan.
“You have to know how to talk to these people. Shall we go?”
Buchan and Hightower exchanged a brief smile, and then bowed formally to each other. Buchan left the ballroom through the open double doors, followed by Hawk and Fisher. Hawk turned back to shut the doors, and came face to face with the silent, staring Quality. He’d helped save their lives, but all he could see in their faces was resentment, and perhaps even hate. They’d been saved by a social inferior who didn’t even have the decency to be apologetic about it. Hawk grinned at them, winked, and closed the doors on their disapproving scowls.
Hawk and Fisher and Buchan returned to God Squad headquarters to find Rowan and Tomb sitting slumped and shattered in their usual chairs in the drawing room. Apparently clearing up the mess left on the Street of Gods had been a major undertaking, and was still continuing even now, but they’d done all they could. The Beings remained in their churches and temples, and their followers had retired to lick their wounds and plot more trouble for the future. Everything was quiet for the moment, but it was a false peace, and everyone knew it. They were just waiting for the next dead Being, and then there would be God War on the Street of Gods. And not even the Exorcist Stone would be enough to stop that. Tomb had sent an urgent message to the Council’s circle of sorcerers, bringing them up to date on the situation and asking for help and support, but as usual the circle was split by factions and intrigues, and probably wouldn’t even respond till it was too late.
“I don’t know why I feel so bitter about it,” said Tomb tiredly. “This is Haven, after all.”
Rowan’s mouth twitched in something that might have been meant as a smile. She didn’t just look tired, she looked exhausted. Her face was pale and slack, with dark bruises of fatigue under her eyes.
“Are you feeling all right, lady Rowan?” Hawk asked politely.
“I’m fine,” said Rowan. “I just need a rest, that’s all.”
Swords of Haven: The Adventures of Hawk & Fisher Page 55
