against the stone, and pulled it tight, until flesh bulged thickly up on either
side of it. Hawk hefted the knife, and then brushed the little girl's hair
gently with his free hand.
"Don't wake up, lass. I'll be as quick as I can."
He placed the edge of the knife against her leg, as close to the stones as he
could get it, and began sawing.
There was a lot more blood than he'd expected, and he had to tighten the belt
twice more before he could stem most of the flow. When he was finished, he tore
off one of his sleeves and wrapped it tightly round the stump. His arms and face
were splashed with blood, and he was breathing in great gulps, as though he'd
just run a race. He turned over on his back again, grabbed his lantern, and
began inching his way back down the tunnel, dragging the unconscious girl along
behind him. He didn't know how long he'd spent in the narrow tunnel, but it felt
like forever.
The tunnel roof soon rose enough to let him get to his hands and knees again,
and he crawled along through the darkness, hugging the child to his chest. He
suddenly found himself at the base of the main shaft, and stopped for a moment
to get his breath. He ached in every muscle, and he'd torn his hands and knees
to ribbons. But he couldn't let himself rest. The little girl needed expert
medical help, and she was running out of time. He held the girl tightly to his
chest with one arm and slowly began to climb back up the shaft, with only his
legs and his back to support his weight and that of the child.
It didn't take long before the pain in his tired muscles became excruciating,
but he wouldn't stop. The girl was depending on him. Foot by foot he fought his
way up the shaft, grunting and snarling with the effort, his gaze fixed on the
gradually widening circle of light above him. He finally drew near the surface,
and eager hands reached down to take the child and help Hawk the rest of the
way. He clambered laboriously out and lay stretched out on the rubble, squinting
at the bright daylight and drawing in deep lungfuls of the comparatively clean
air. Fisher swore softly at the state of his hands and knees, helped him sit up,
and wrapped his cloak around him. Someone brought him a cup of lukewarm soup,
and he sipped at it gratefully.
"The child," he said thickly. "What have they done with her?"
"A doctor's looking at her now," said Fisher. "And as soon as you've finished
that soup we're going to get one to take a look at you, as well. God, you're a
mess, Hawk. Was it bad down there?"
"Bad enough."
Eventually he got to his feet again, and Fisher found him a doctor who could
work the right healing spells. The wounds closed up easily enough, but there was
nothing the doctor could do for physical and emotional exhaustion. Hawk and
Fisher looked around them. The dead and injured had been laid out in neat rows
on the snow, the dying and the recovering lying side by side. A large pile of
unidentified body parts had been tactfully hidden under a blood-spattered
tarpaulin. Hawk shook his head numbly.
"All this, to catch one drug baron and his people. Tomorrow there'll be a dozen
just like him fighting to take his place, and it will all have to be done
again."
"Stop that," said Fisher sharply. "None of this is your fault. It's Morgan's
fault, for having set up a pocket dimension here in the first place. And if we
hadn't acted to stop the super-chacal being distributed, there's no telling how
many thousands might have died across the city."
Hawk didn't answer. He looked slowly about him, taking in the situation.
Engineers and sorcerers had got together to stabilize the surrounding buildings,
and people were being allowed back into them again. That should please the slum
landlords. Even they couldn't charge rent on a pile of rubble. Firemen were
moving among the wreckage, shoring up the few broken walls and inner structures
that hadn't collapsed completely. A few people were still sifting through the
rubble, but the general air of urgency was gone. Much of the real work had been
done now, and most people had accepted that there probably weren't going to be
any more survivors. The volunteers had gone home, exhausted, and Hawk felt he
might as well do the same. There was nothing left for him to do, he was out on
his feet, and it had to be well past the end of his double shift. He was just
turning to Fisher to tell her it was time to go, when there was the sound of
gentle flute music, and the dry, acid voice of the communications sorcerer
filled his head.
Captains Hawk and Fisher, return to Guard Headquarters immediately. This order
supersedes all other directives.
Hawk looked at Fisher. "Typical. Bloody typical. What the hell do they want
now?"
"Beats me," said Fisher. "Maybe they want to congratulate us for finally nabbing
Morgan. There are a lot of people at Headquarters who'll fight for the chance to
ask him some very pointed questions."
Hawk sniffed. "With our luck, they'll probably screw it up in the Courts, and
he'll plea-bargain his way out with a fine and a suspended sentence."
"Relax," said Fisher. "We got him dead to rights this time. What can possibly go
wrong?"
"What do you mean, you let him go?" screamed Hawk. He lunged across the desk at
Commander Glen, and Fisher had to use all her strength to hold him back. The
Commander pushed his chair back well out of reach, and glared at them both.
"Control yourself, Captain! That's an order!"
"Stuff your order! Do you know how many people died so we could get that
bastard?"
He finally realized he couldn't break free from Fisher without hurting her, and
stopped struggling. He took a deep breath and nodded curtly to Fisher. She let
go of him and stepped back a pace, still watching him warily. Hawk fixed
Commander Glen with a cold, implacable glare. "Talk to me, Glen. Convince me
there's some reason behind this madness. Or I swear I'll do something one of us
will regret."
Commander Glen sniffed, and met Hawk's gaze unflinchingly. Glen was a tallish,
blocky man in his late forties, with a permanent scowl and a military-style
haircut that looked as though it had been shaped with a pudding bowl. He had
large, bony hands and a mouth like a knife-cut. He'd spent twenty years in the
Guard, and amassed a reputation for thief-taking unequaled in the Guard. He'd
been day Commander for seven years, and ran his people like his own private
army, demanding and getting complete obedience. Ordinarily, he didn't have to
deal much with Hawk and Fisher, which suited all of them.
Glen pushed his chair forward, and leaned his elbows on the desk. "You want me
to explain myself, Captain Hawk? Very well. Thanks to your going after Morgan
without waiting for orders or a backup, we now find ourselves faced with major
loss of life and destruction of property within the Devil's Hook. We still don't
know exactly how many died because of your actions, but the current total is
four hundred and six. The Hook's still in shock at the moment, but when they
finally realize what's happened, and that the Guard was re
sponsible, we're going
to be facing riots it'll take half the Guard to put down! On top of that,
there's the cost of rebuilding and repairs, which is going to run into thousands
of ducats. The landlord of the tenement is suing the Guard for that money, and
he'll probably win. And finally, you assaulted a gang leader in front of his own
people. Does the word vendetta mean anything to you, Captain Hawk?"
"I don't give a damn about any of that," said Hawk, his voice carefully
controlled. "What I did was justified by the circumstances. Morgan was preparing
to distribute a drug that would have killed thousands of people and torn Haven
apart. Now, explain to me, please, why this man was allowed to go free."
"There was no evidence against him," said Glen flatly.
"No evidence? What about the super-chacal?" said Fisher. "There were crates of
the damn stuff; I helped number and label them."
"I never saw any drugs," said Glen. "Neither has anyone else. And none of the
prisoners had any drugs in their possession when they were searched here. None
of them had even heard of this super-chacal you keep mentioning. And thanks to
your efforts, we don't even have any proof the pocket dimension ever existed.
That leaves only your word and that of your men. And that's not good enough,
against someone like Morgan. He's a man of standing in the business community,
and a pillar of society. He also has a great many friends in high places. People
with influence. He hadn't been in Headquarters ten minutes before pressure began
coming down from Above. Without real evidence, we didn't have a case. So I let
him go, along with all of his people. I might add that Morgan is strongly
considering suing us for false arrest, and you in particular for assault. I
can't believe you were stupid enough to hit him in front of witnesses."
For a while, none of them said anything. It was very quiet in Glen's office, the
only sound the murmur of people going back and forth about their business in the
corridors outside.
"There were crates of the drug," said Hawk finally. "If they've disappeared, it
can only mean they vanished on their way here, or they were removed by people
working inside Headquarters. Either way, we're talking about corrupt Guards. I
demand an official investigation."
"You can demand anything you want; you won't get it."
"I want to talk to my men, the Constables who were with me on the raid."
"I'm afraid that's not possible. They've already been detailed to other duties.
Haven't you got the picture yet, Captain? As far as our superiors are concerned,
this whole incident is a major embarrassment, and they want it forgotten as soon
as possible. You've got some very important people mad at you. At both of you.
They're looking for scapegoats, and you're tailor-made to fill the bill."
"Let me see if I've got this straight," said Hawk, his voice dangerously calm.
"Morgan has walked. So have all his people. And several tons of the most
dangerous drug Haven has ever seen have gone missing. Have I missed anything?"
"Yes," said Glen. "I've been instructed to suspend both of you, indefinitely,
while a number of official charges against you are investigated. Charges such as
reckless endangering of life and property, disobeying orders, assaulting
citizens without provocation, brutality, and possible collusion in a vendetta
against a faultless pillar of society. That last was Morgan, in case you were
wondering."
Hawk grabbed Glen's desk with both hands and threw it to one side. Papers flew
on the air like startled birds as he grabbed two handfuls of Glen's uniform,
picked him up, and slammed him against the nearest wall. He thrust his face
close to the Commander's, until they were staring into each other's eyes.
"No one's suspending me, you son of a bitch! Those drugs are still out there,
waiting to be distributed! They have to be found and seized, and I can't do that
with both hands tied behind my back! Do you understand me?"
Glen looked over Hawk's shoulder at Fisher, standing by the overturned desk.
"Call your partner off. Fisher."
She shrugged, and folded her arms. "This time, I think I agree with him. If I
were you, I'd agree with him too. Hawk can get very upset when he thinks people
are conspiring against him."
The door burst open behind them and two Constables rushed in with drawn swords,
alarmed at the sounds of violence from the Commander's office. Fisher drew her
sword and quickly moved to stand between them and Hawk and Glen. Hawk slowly put
Glen down, but kept a tight hold on him.
"Tell them to leave, Glen. This is private."
"Not anymore," said Glen. "Not after your foul-up this morning. You can't fight
your way out of this one, Hawk. Not even you and Fisher can take on the entire
Guard."
Hawk grinned suddenly. "Don't bet your life on it, Glen. We've faced worse odds
in our time. Now, tell those over-eager friends of yours to leave, and we'll…
discuss the situation."
He let go of Glen, and stepped back a pace, his right hand resting casually on
the axe at his side. The Commander nodded, and gestured for the two Constables
to leave. They looked at each other, shrugged, put away their swords and left,
not quite slamming the door behind them. Glen looked at Hawk.
"You've upset them."
"Oh dear," said Hawk. "What a pity. I'm not going on suspension, Glen. I've got
too much to do."
"Right," said Fisher.
"Help me pick up my desk," said Glen, "and we'll talk about it."
Hawk did so, while Fisher leaned against the wall, still holding her sword. Glen
picked up his chair, and sat down behind his desk again. He glanced briefly at
the papers scattered over the floor, then fixed his attention on Hawk and
Fisher.
"All right, no suspension. But I'll have to find somewhere to put you so you're
out of sight until things calm down again."
"Sounds sensible," said Fisher. "What did you have in mind?"
"I can't have you working together; word would be bound to get out. But as it
happens, I've got two jobs to fill that should suit the pair of you nicely. As
you know, even though officially you shouldn't, Peace Talks are taking place in
Haven at the moment, to try and put an end to the border clashes between the Low
Kingdoms and our traditional enemy Outremer, before they get out of hand. The
Talks themselves seem to be going well enough, but there are a number of
political and business interests on both sides who would like very much to see
them fail. Captain David ap Owen is currently in charge of security, but he's
been under a lot of pressure and could use some assistance. Think you could
handle that, Captain Fisher?"
"Sounds fair enough to me," said Fisher, glancing at Hawk. "What level of
security are we talking about?"
"Absolute minimum. Officially, the Talks aren't happening here at all. We can't
use troops to guard the delegates; that would be too conspicuous, so there'll
just be yourself, Captain ap Owen, and a dozen Constables in plainclothes. We
can't use any magical protection, either. Same reason; it would just attract
attention. So if anything hap
pens, you're on your own. By the time you could get
word to us it would all be over, one way or the other. You'll have to cope with
what you've got."
"Do the delegates know that?" said Hawk.
"They suggested it. They're expendable, and they know it. Well, Captain Fisher,
is the assignment to your liking?"
"Sounds like fun," said Fisher.
Glen looked at her for a moment, and then turned to Hawk. "I need someone to
find the drugs that went missing. Surprisingly enough, I had worked out for
myself how dangerous this super-chacal could be. I want to know how the stuff
disappeared, and where it is now. And if you should find a way to incriminate
Morgan in the process, I wouldn't be at all displeased. Find yourself another
partner, someone you can trust, but keep your head down, and stay out of the
public eye. If anything goes wrong, I'll swear blind you were acting on your
own, and it's all nothing to do with me. I can't afford to have Morgan's friends
as enemies. You'll report directly to me, and no one else. Is that acceptable,
Captain Hawk?"
"Sounds good to me," said Hawk. "Why didn't you tell us this earlier?"
"You didn't exactly give me a chance. You were more interested in feeling
aggrieved and wrecking my office."
Fisher smiled. "Next time, talk faster."
"Besides," said Hawk comfortingly, "it wasn't much of an office anyway."
Glen looked at him.
Hawk was working on his second beer when Captain Burns found him. The Cloudy
Morning was a semiofficial off-duty tavern for the Guard, a traditional place
for winding down at the end of a long shift. It was fairly basic as taverns go,
with no frills and few comforts, but the beer was good and reasonably cheap, and
the Guards needed a place where they could talk freely without having to worry
about who might be listening. The place was run by an ex-Guard, and the general
public were politely encouraged to drink elsewhere, unless they were Guard
groupies. There were such, though not many Guards encouraged them. They tended
to get obsessive.
The place was crowded, as usual at the end of a shift, and Captain Burns had to
squeeze his way through the press of bodies to reach the bar. Several Guards
called out to him, and clapped him on the shoulder as he passed, but he just
smiled and kept going. Hawk's message had sounded fairly urgent. He finally