what kind of wards, though. Given the circumstances, I think we ought to tread
carefully, just in case."
Hawk nodded, and gestured to two of the Constables. They moved forward and
cautiously tried the warehouse door. It was locked, which surprised no one. One
Constable kicked the door. His clothes burst into flames that leapt up around
him in seconds. He screamed shrilly and staggered back, beating at his blazing
clothes with his hands. The other Constable quickly pulled him down and rolled
him back and forth in the snow to smother the flames. Hawk scowled. He hadn't
expected to hit a magic defense this quickly. He made sure the injured Constable
would be all right, and then turned to the sorceress.
"Get us in there, Mistique. I don't care how you do it, but do it fast. They
know we're here now."
The sorceress nodded eagerly, her earrings jangling accompaniment. She stared
thoughtfully at the door, and wisps of fog began to appear around her, circling
and twisting on the still air. The misty grey strands grew thicker, undulating
disturbingly as they drifted away from the sorceress towards the warehouse door.
The mists looked almost alive, and purposeful. They curled around the door,
seeping past the edges and sinking into the wood itself. Mistique made a sudden,
sharp gesture and the door exploded. Fragments and splinters of rotting wood
rained down on the Guards as they shielded themselves with their cloaks. Where
the door had been, there was now nothing but an impenetrable darkness.
Mistique turned to look at Hawk. Strands of fog still swirled around her, like
ethereal serpents with no beginning or end. "Fast enough for you, darling?"
"Very impressive," said Hawk courteously, trying hard not to sound too
impressed. "Can you tell us anything about what's beyond the doorway?"
"That's the bad news, I'm afraid," said Mistique. "The darkness is a dimensional
gateway, leading to a small pocket dimension, the inside of which is a damn
sight bigger than that lock-up. I've knocked out the protective wards so we can
get in there, but I've absolutely no idea of what might be waiting for us. Sorry
to be such a drag, but whoever designed this beastly setup was jolly good at his
job."
"All right," said Hawk. "We'll just have to take it as it comes. Brace
yourselves, people; we're going in. I want Morgan alive, and preferably intact
so we can ask him questions. Anyone else is fair game. I'd prefer prisoners to
corpses, but don't put yourselves at risk. We don't know what kind of odds we'll
be facing. Try not to wreck the place too much; you never know what might turn
out to be useful evidence. Right. Let's do it."
He hefted his axe and walked forward, Fisher and Mistique on either side of him.
From behind came a brief whisper of steel on leather as the Guards drew their
weapons and started after him. Hawk gritted his teeth and plunged into the
darkness. There was a sharp moment of intense heat, and then he burst through
into Morgan's factory. His first sight of the place was almost enough to stop
him in his tracks, but he forced himself to keep going to make room for the
others coming behind. Morgan's warehouse was an insane mixture of planes and
angles and inverted stairways that could not have existed in anything but a
pocket universe.
There was no up or down, in any way that made any sense. People walked on one
side of a surface or another, or on both, and gravity seemed merely a matter of
opinion. Simple wooden stairways connected the various level planes, twisting
and turning around each other like mating snakes, and walls became floors became
ceilings, depending on which way you approached them. Hawk shook off his
disorientation and concentrated on the force of armed men rushing towards him
from a dozen different directions. He didn't have to count them to know his own
small group was vastly outnumbered.
"Mistique!" he yelled quickly. "Take out the stairways. Bring this place down
around their ears!"
"I'm afraid we have a slight problem, dear," said the sorcerer, staring off into
the distance. "Morgan has his own sorceress here, and I'm rather tied up at the
moment keeping him from killing us all."
"Can you take him?"
"Probably, if you stop interrupting. And if you can keep those nasty-looking
men-at-arms away from me."
Hawk yelled instructions to his people, and the Constables moved forward to form
a barrier between Mistique and the approaching men-at-arms, while Captain
Doughty and Captain Burns stayed at her side as bodyguards. Fisher looked at
Hawk.
"And what are we going to do?"
"Find Morgan," said Hawk grimly. "I'm not taking any chances on his getting
away. Mistique, when you're ready, don't wait for orders from me. Just trash the
place."
Mistique nodded, absorbed in her sorcerous battle. Thick strands of fog twisted
around her like dogs straining at the leash. Hawk started down the nearest
stairway, with Fisher close behind him. They hadn't gone far when Hawk heard the
first clash of steel as his people met the men-at-arms. He didn't look back.
In what might have been the center of the mad tangle of planes and stairways was
a more-or-less open area with a lot of excited movement. It seemed as good a
place as any to start looking. The stairs turned and twisted under Hawk, and he
quickly learned to keep his gaze on his feet and ignore what was going on around
him. A man-at-arms in full chain mail came running up the stairs, waving his
sword with more confidence than style. Hawk cut him down with a single blow, and
hurled his body over the side of the stairway. The dead man fell in half a dozen
different directions before disappearing from sight in the maze of stairways.
More men-at-arms came charging towards Hawk, six men in the lead, with a lot
more on the way. Bad odds, on a rickety wooden staircase. He looked quickly
about him, and grinned as he spotted a large flat plane not too far away. It
stood at right angles to him, but then, so did the two men on it, frantically
packing paper parcels into two large crates on a wide table. He looked back at
Fisher, and pointed at the plane. She raised an eyebrow, and then nodded
sharply. They clambered up onto the narrow wooden banister, which creaked
dangerously under their weight, and leapt out into space towards the
right-angled plane. Gravity changed suddenly as they left the stairs, and
slammed them down hard on the bare wooden plane.
Hawk and Fisher hit the floor rolling, and were quickly up on their feet again.
The two men packing were already gone. Hawk hefted one of the small paper
parcels, and then looked at the size of the packing case. That crate could hold
an awful lot of drugs… if it was drugs. A horrible thought struck him, and he
opened the packet and sniffed cautiously at the grey powder inside. He relaxed
slightly and blew his nose hard. It was chacal. The sharp acidic smell was quite
distinctive. Fisher yelled a warning, and he threw the packet aside and looked
up. A man-at-arms leaned out from an upside-down stairway overhead and cut at
Hawk with his sword. Hawk parried with his axe,
but couldn't reach high enough
to attack the man. He backed away, and the swordsman moved along the stairway
after him. There was a strange, dreamlike quality to the fight, with both men
upside-down to the other, but Hawk knew better than to let the strangeness
distract him. If he couldn't figure out a way to get at his opponent, he was a
dead man. An axe wasn't made for defense. He bumped into the table, and an idea
struck him. He grabbed the open packet and threw the chacal powder into the
other man's face. The man-at-arms screamed, and dropped his sword to claw at his
eyes with both hands.
"Hawk!"
He spun round to find Fisher standing at the edge of the plane, fighting off
three of the five men-at-arms who'd jumped down off the banister after the
Guards. Two already lay dead at her feet. Hawk sprinted over to join her, ducked
under the first man's sword, and swung his axe in a vicious sideways arc. The
heavy steel axehead punched through the man's chain mail and buried itself in
his rib cage. Bones broke and splintered, and the impact drove the man-at-arms
to his knees, coughing blood. Hawk yanked the axe free and booted the man off
the edge of the plane. The dying man fell upwards out of sight.
Fisher had already cut down another of her opponents, and now stood toe to toe
with the last remaining adversary. Steel rang on steel and sparks flew as the
blades met, hammering together and dancing apart in a lightning duel of strength
and skill. Hawk started forward to help her, and then stopped as he saw more
men-at-arms running down a winding stairway to join the fight. Fisher saw them
too, and quickly kneed her opponent in the groin.
"Get the hell out of here, Hawk. Find Morgan. I'll hold them off." She cut her
opponent's throat, and sidestepped neatly to avoid the jetting blood. "Move it,
Hawk!"
Hawk nodded abruptly, and turned and ran down the other stairway, heading once
again for what had looked like the center of operations. From behind him came
the clash of sword on sword as Fisher met the first of the new onslaught, but he
didn't look back. He didn't dare. He pressed on through the maze, passing from
stairway to plane to stairway and cutting down anyone who tried to get in his
way. All around him Morgan's people were running back and forth, looking for
orders or weapons or just heading for the exit. Morgan wouldn't have gone,
though. This was his place, his territory, and he'd trust in his men and his
sorcerer to protect him. A sudden piercing scream caught Hawk's attention, and
he looked up and round in time to see a man dressed in sorcerer's black stagger
drunkenly across a plane at right angles to Hawk's stairway. Streamers of thick
milky fog burst out of his mouth and eyes and ears. His head swelled impossibly
and then exploded in a spreading cloud of crimson mist. The body crumpled to the
floor as the last echo of the sorcerer's dying cry faded slowly away.
Hawk grinned. So much for Morgan's sorcerer. He was close to the center now; he
could feel it. There were drugs and people and men-at-arms everywhere, and
there, straight ahead, he saw a familiar face in an earth-brown cloak and hood.
Morgan. Hawk ran forward, cutting his way through two swordsmen foolish enough
to try and stop him. Their blood splashed across his face and hands, but he
didn't pause to wipe it off. He couldn't let Morgan escape. He couldn't.
Hold my hand. Hold it up where I can see it…
Morgan looked once at the bloodstained Guard rushing towards him, and then
continued stuffing papers into a leather pouch. Three men-at-arms moved forward
to stand between Hawk and Morgan. Hawk hit them at a dead run, swinging his axe
double-handed. He never felt the wounds he took, and when it was all over, he
stepped across their dead bodies to advance slowly on the drug baron.
Seen up close, Morgan didn't look like much. Average height and build, with a
bland face, perhaps a little too full to be handsome. A mild gaze and a
civilized smile. He didn't look like the kind of man who'd made his fortune
through the death and suffering of others. But then, they never did. Hawk moved
slowly forward. Blood ran thickly down from a wound in his left thigh, and
squelched inside his boot. There was more blood, soaking his arms and sides,
some of it his. Even so, Morgan had enough sense not to try and run. He knew he
wouldn't make it. They stood facing each other, while from all around came
shouts and screams and the sounds of fighting.
"Who are you?" said Morgan finally. "Why are you doing this?"
"I'm every bad dream you ever had," said Hawk. "I'm a Guard who can't be
bought."
Morgan shook his head slowly, as a father chides a son who has made an
understandable mistake. "Everyone has his price, Captain. If not you, then
certainly someone among your superiors. I'll never come to trial. I know too
much, about too many people. And I really do have friends in high places. Quite
often, I helped put them there. So I'm afraid all this blood and destruction has
been for nothing. You won't be able to make a case against me."
Hawk grinned. "You're the second person who's told me that today. He was wrong,
too. You're going to hang, Morgan. I'll come and watch."
There was a muffled sound from behind a drapery to their right. Morgan glanced
at it, and then looked quickly away. For the first time, he seemed a little
uneasy. Hawk moved slowly over to the curtain, unconsciously favoring his
wounded leg.
"What's behind here, Morgan?"
"Experimental animals. We had to test the drug, to establish the correct dosage.
Nothing that would interest you."
Hawk swept the cloth to one side, and froze for a moment. Inside a crude,
steel-barred cage lay a pile of dead young men and women, tangled together. Some
were barely teenagers. The bodies were torn and mutilated, and it was clear most
of them had died tearing at each other and themselves. One man's hand was buried
to the wrist in another's ripped-open stomach. A young girl had torn out her own
eyes. There was blood everywhere, but not enough to hide the characteristic
colorless white skin of chacal use. Hawk turned back to Morgan, who hadn't moved
an inch.
"Where did you get them?" said Hawk.
Morgan shrugged. "Runaways, debtors' prisons, even a few volunteers. There are
always some ready to risk their lives for a new thrill."
"You know what this new drug does," said Hawk. "So why are you getting involved
with it? There isn't enough bribe money in the world to make the Guard overlook
the slaughter this shit will cause. Even the other drug barons would turn
against you over something like this."
"I won't be here when it breaks," said Morgan. "There's a lot of money in this.
Millions of ducats. More than enough to leave Haven and set up a new and very
comfortable life somewhere else. You could have a life like that, Captain.
There's enough money for everyone. Just name your price, and I guarantee you I
can meet it."
"Really?" said Hawk. He stepped forward suddenly, grabbed a handful of Morgan's
robe and dragged him over to the steel cage. "You want to know my price,
Morgan?
Bring them back to life. Bring those poor bastards back! Go on; give just one of
them his life back and I'll let you go, here and now."
"You're being ridiculous, Captain," said Morgan evenly. "And very foolish."
"You're under arrest," said Hawk. "Tell your people to lay down their weapons
and surrender."
"Or?"
Hawk grinned. "Believe me, Morgan, you don't want to know."
"I'll have to speak to my sorcerer first."
"Don't bother; he's dead."
Morgan looked at him blankly, and then open terror rushed across his face.
"We've got to get out of here! If he's dead, this whole place could collapse at
any moment. It's only his magic that kept it stable!"
Hawk swore briefly. He knew real fear when he saw it. "Tell your men to
surrender. Do it!"
Morgan started shouting orders, and all over the maze of planes and stairways
the fighting came to a halt. Hawk yelled orders to his men, and the Guards began
herding Morgan's people towards the dimensional portal. Hawk dragged Morgan
along himself, never once releasing his grip on the drug baron's robe. The
stairway began to sway and tremble under his feet. A nearby plane cracked across
from end to end. Streams of dust fell from somewhere high above. There were
creaks and groanings all around, and the wooden handrail turned to rot and mush
under Hawk's hand. Morgan began pleading with him to go faster. Mistique
appeared out of nowhere in a clattering of beads and bracelets and ran beside
them as they hurried towards the portal.
"So, you did get the little rat after all. Well done, darling."
"I wish you wouldn't call me that in front of the men," said Hawk. "Can you use
your magic to hold this place together long enough for us all to get out?"
"I'm doing my best, darling, but it's not really my field. We should all make
it. If we're lucky."
They reached the portal to find it bottlenecked by the last of Morgan's people.
The drug baron screamed at them to get out of the way, but Hawk held him back.
Guards encouraged the slow movers on their way with harsh language and the
occasional kick up the backside. The remaining stairways broke apart and
collapsed in a roar of cracking timber. The planes spun and twisted in midair,
fraying at the edges. Loose magic snapped on the air like disturbed static. The
last of Morgan's people went through, and Hawk and Morgan and Mistique followed