"Still, I would have expected you to mention it," said Regis. "Since one of the
conditions for these Talks was that none of the delegates be a sorcerer."
"I told you," said Nightingale. "I'm not a sorcerer. Just a gifted amateur."
"That's not the point…"
"Can we discuss this later?" said Fisher sharply. "We need a doctor in here."
"I'm afraid that's out of the question," said Nightingale. "We're under orders
not to reveal our presence. Officially, no one is to know we're here."
"You have got to be joking," said Fisher. "If there's one thing we can be
certain about, it's that our enemies know where we are. Both the mercenaries and
those stinking creatures knew exactly how best to catch us off guard. Somebody's
talked. We're not a secret anymore. So forget the low profile nonsense, and get
some real protection in here. We were lucky this time. We won't be again. And
get me a bloody doctor, dammit! If this wound gets infected, I'll sue."
Some time later, after a number of hasty but effective healing spells, Fisher
and ap Owen made their rounds of the house, looking over their new, improved
security force and checking the faces of the dead mercenaries before they were
carried out. None of the mercenaries had been taken alive. Those who hadn't
managed to escape before Guard reinforcements arrived killed themselves rather
than be captured.
"Which suggests to me they were under a geas," said ap Owen. "It had to be some
kind of magical compulsion. Mercenaries don't believe in that kind of loyalty to
a cause. Any cause. We fight strictly for cash; nothing else. I had wondered if
I might know any of these poor bastards, but I don't recognize any faces.
Probably hired outside Haven, to prevent any rumors of the attack from getting
out. You couldn't hope to hire this many men in Haven and keep it quiet."
"Right," said Fisher. "Somebody always talks. Which brings us back to the attack
on the pocket dimension. Someone betrayed us. But who knew?"
"Not many. The delegates, you and I and the ten Guards working inside the house,
and Commander Glen, of course." He stopped suddenly, and he and Fisher looked at
each other. "Glen?" said ap Owen finally.
"Why not?" said Fisher. "He's the only one who had nothing to risk by talking."
Ap Owen shook his head firmly. "Glen's a hard bastard, but he's no traitor. Much
more likely one of my people talked to the wrong person before they came here,
and that person sold us out."
Fisher nodded unhappily. She couldn't ask any of ap Owen's people about it; none
of them had survived the mercenaries' attack.
"That's not our only problem," said ap Owen dourly. "Nightingale's knowledge of
magic has got everyone worked up. Admittedly he saved all our arses when the
creatures broke through, but now Regis and Major Comber are worried sick he
could be using his magic to influence their minds during the Talks. But they
accepted him as a delegate and if they reject him now, Outremer will undoubtably
retaliate in kind, and what progress they have achieved so far will all have
been for nothing. So, for the moment the Talks are officially in abeyance until
Rook and Gardener can be replaced. And you can bet Haven's replacement will know
some sorcery, just to be on the safe side."
Fisher growled something unpleasant, and then shrugged. "At least the Talks will
continue. That's something."
"Until the next attack."
"You think there'll be another one?"
"Bound to be. Too many interests want these Talks to fail. And we're stuck right
in the middle. And I thought being a Guard would be a nice cushy number after
being a mercenary…"
Chapter Six
Naming The Traitor
"This is where the Guard Advisory Council meets? I've seen more impressive
outhouses." Hawk shook his head disgustedly. "Maybe you were right after all,
Burns. Anyone who has to meet in a dump like this isn't going to be in any
position to help us."
Burns kept a diplomatic silence, but his shrug spoke volumes. Hawk glared at the
building before him, and wondered if there was any point in going inside. The
shop; the kind that stays open all hours and sells anything and everything. The
two-storey building was fairly well-preserved, but looked like it hadn't seen a
coat of paint in generations. Hawk peered into the shop through the single,
smeared window, and one glance at the interior was enough to convince him he'd
have to be bloody hungry before he ate anything that came from this grocer. He
could practically see plague and food poisoning hiding in the shadows and
giggling together. And he didn't want to think about what the unfamiliar cut of
meat optimistically labeled "Special Offer" might be. He turned away and looked
around the street. Passersby kept their heads down to avoid his gaze and hurried
by the two Guards, trying hard to look innocent and failing miserably. Mostly
they just succeeded in looking furtive. It was that kind of neighborhood.
"I did try to tell you, Hawk," Burns said finally. "These people are Advisors,
and that's all. They have no real power or influence, even if they like to think
they have. They come up with the odd good idea on occasion, and they're good
public relations, so the Guard tolerates them, but that's as far as it goes."
"Maybe," said Hawk. "But none of that's important.
What matters is that these people are connected to the Guard, but not a part of
it. They ought to know some of what's going on but still be distanced enough
that they can talk to us without fear of retribution. Dammit, Burns, I need
someone to talk to me. I need information. We're flailing about in the dark and
getting nowhere, and Morgan's sitting out there somewhere safe and secure,
laughing at us. We need a lead, something to point us in the right direction at
least."
"And you think we're going to get that from the Guard Advisory Council?"
"It's worth a try, dammit! We've got to do something!"
He strode angrily forward, ignored the shop doorway and stomped up the iron fire
escape that clung uncertainly to the side of the building. Burns followed him
silently. His partner was getting desperate, and it was beginning to show. Hawk
stopped before the plain wooden door at the top of the fire escape, and banged
loudly on it with his fist. Someone inside pulled back a sliding panel and
studied Hawk for a long moment. Then the panel slid shut and there was the sound
of bolts being drawn back. The door swung open, and Hawk and Burns stepped
inside. The door closed quickly behind them.
The rented room turned out to be surprisingly cosy. Oil lamps shed a golden glow
over the wood-paneled walls and chunky furniture, and large, comfortable-looking
chairs had been set out before a crackling fire. Two men stood together by the
chairs, facing Hawk and Burns with determined casualness. They looked
embarrassed, and perhaps just a little frightened. Hawk studied them both,
letting the silent moment stretch uncomfortably. Burns stirred at his side, but
made no move to intervene. The man to their left coughed nervously.
"Good evening, Captains. It's good of you to visit us. It's not often the Guard
takes an interest in our work. I'm Nicholas Linden, the lawyer. Perhaps you've
heard of me… And this is my associate, Michael Shire, once a Captain in the
Guard, now retired."
Hawk nodded politely. Burns had already filled him in on who he'd be meeting,
and he had no trouble recognizing these two from Burns's descriptions. Nicholas
Linden was tall and fashionably slender, with watchful eyes and a practiced
smile. He'd started out as a meat-wagon chaser specializing in insurance cases,
and had graduated through a series of well-publicized cases and well-bribed
juries to a fairly successful practice in Low Tory. At which point he suddenly
developed a civic conscience, and started agitating to put an end to the kind of
sharp practices that had got him where he was. His fellow lawyers had persuaded
him to join the Guard Advisory Council, in the hope of distracting him from
things best left alone. To no one's surprise, it worked.
Michael Shire had been a Captain in the Guard for twenty years, before taking
early retirement to go into business for himself as a private security
consultant. He'd done well for himself over the past few years, and was now
responsible for most of the hired muscle in the Westside. He was a large,
squarish man in his late forties, wearing fashionably garish clothes that didn't
suit him. He had a calm, self-satisfied face, with cold, expressionless eyes.
And these were two of the people who'd set themselves up as the Guard's
conscience.
"Will any of the others be joining us?" Hawk said finally, his voice flat and
cold.
"I'm afraid not, Captain," said Linden, perhaps just a little too quickly. "You
must understand, we all lead very busy lives outside the Advisory Council, and
it isn't always possible for all of us to attend meetings called at such short
notice. However, your message did say your business was both urgent and
important, so Michael and I agreed to… represent the others. Do please sit down,
Captains. And help yourselves to some wine, if you will."
Hawk shook his head shortly, and sat down. Burns also declined the wine, and he
and the Advisors joined Hawk in the chairs before the fire. Linden and Shire
looked at Hawk and Burns expectantly. Hawk set out the situation as clearly and
concisely as he could, taking it from the raid on Morgan's factory to his
growing belief that Morgan must be bribing someone fairly high up in the Guard.
There was a pause, and then Shire snorted loudly.
"Don't see what all the fuss is about," he said gruffly, meeting Hawk's gaze
unflinchingly. "There's always been a certain amount of… private enterprise in
the Guard. It's only natural for Guards to augment their income on occasion,
given the low wages. Everyone takes a special payment now and again; it's a sort
of unofficial tax. If people want real protection, they've got to be prepared to
pay for it. After all, a contented Guard is much more likely to look out for
you, isn't he? I think you're taking this too seriously, Captain Hawk."
"I'm not talking about half-arsed protection rackets," said Hawk. "I'm talking
about a high-ranking Guard who's been bought and paid for by one of the city's
biggest drug barons."
"So what?" said Shire flatly. "This is Haven, remember? There are people here it
doesn't pay to cross, and Morgan is very definitely one of them. It's not in the
Guard's interest to start a war it couldn't win."
"This time it's different," snapped Hawk. "Morgan's new drug is too dangerous to
be ignored. And whoever's helping him in the Guard is putting the whole damned
city at risk, just to earn himself a nice little bonus. This isn't just
corruption anymore; it's treason. I want this bastard, and you're going to help
me identify him. You're both in a position to hear things, know things; people
will talk to you who wouldn't talk to me. I want to know what they've been
saying. I want the name."
Shire and Linden glanced at each other, and then Linden leaned forward. He fixed
Hawk with an earnest gaze, and chose his words carefully. "You must understand,
Captain, that my associate and I are taking a not inconsiderable risk in seeing
you at all. You've made yourself dangerous to know. You've been making enemies,
the wrong sort of enemies. The word is that Morgan has important friends, very
well-connected people, who aren't taking kindly to your enquiries. Anyone who
openly helped you would be putting his own neck in the noose."
"Refusing to talk to me can be pretty risky too," said Hawk calmly. "I'm not
playing by the rules anymore. I don't have the time."
Shire sniffed. "Threats won't get you anywhere. To put it bluntly, Morgan is
connected to people who are scarier than you'll ever be."
"Then why are you talking to us at all?" asked Burns.
"Because I was a Captain in the Guard for twenty years…" said Shire slowly, "…
and there are some things I won't stand for. I might have taken the odd gratuity
in my time, and looked the other way when I was told, but I was always my own
man. No one tells me to roll over on my back and play dead, like a good dog. Not
then or now. Linden came to see me earlier today. He was scared. He overheard
something he shouldn't have, from one of Morgan's people, and he knew he
wouldn't be safe as long as he was the only one who knew it. So he told me, and
now he's going to tell you. There's no doubt that Morgan, or the people he's
associated with, have infiltrated the Guard at practically every level. From the
bottom right to the top. But for once, we have a name. Morgan's bought himself a
Guard Captain, someone so loyal and honorable as to be above suspicion."
"Tell me the name," said Hawk.
Linden swallowed hard, and looked briefly at Shire for support. "You're not
going to like this, Hawk. I don't have any proof or evidence; this is just what
I heard. I could be wrong."
"Just tell me the bloody name!"
"Fisher," said Linden. "Captain Isobel Fisher."
Hawk launched himself out of his chair, both hands reaching for Linden. Burns
grabbed at him, but Hawk shook him off. He took two handfuls of Linden's shirt
and lifted him up into the air. The lawyer's face lost all its color, and his
mouth worked soundlessly. Shire and Burns pulled at Hawk's arms, but he ignored
them, thrusting his face close to Linden's.
"You're lying, you bastard. They put you up to this, didn't they? Didn't they!
Tell me the name, you bastard. Tell me the real name!"
Linden struggled to get his breath, his eyes wide and staring. "Please… please
don't hurt me. I'm sorry…"
"He's telling the truth," said Shire urgently, almost shouting in Hawk's ear to
get his attention. "Let him go, Hawk. He's just telling you what he heard."
"That's right," said Burns. "Let him go, Hawk. Come on, let him go."
Hawk dropped the lawyer back onto his chair, and turned away, breathing heavily.
Linden clawed at his collar, trying to get some air into his lungs. Bums and
Shire backed away from Hawk, watching him carefully.
"Take it easy, Hawk," said Burns soothingly. "It's just
hearsay, that's all.
They said themselves they had no proof or evidence."
"It's a lie," said Hawk.
"Of course it is."
"Don't use that tone of voice with me, Burns! I'm not a child. I'm not a fool,
either. This is just something Morgan's come up with to try and slow me down,
distract me from going after him. Well, it's not going to work. I know Isobel.
It's impossible that she could be involved in anything like that. She wouldn't…"
"Of course not," said Burns. "Let's go, Hawk. We've got what we came for."
Hawk nodded, and headed for the door without even looking at Shire and Linden.
Burns made a quick, placating gesture to them, and hurried out after his
partner.
Down in the street, Hawk strode blindly through the snow and slush, staring
straight ahead. People took one look at his face and hurried to get out of his
way. Burns walked along beside him, studying his partner anxiously.
"We have to talk about this, Hawk," he said finally. "Of course the idea of
Fisher being a rogue is ridiculous, but we can't just ignore it, either. Whoever
the corrupt Captain is, it has to be someone who'd normally be above suspicion.
Someone so honest and trustworthy no one would ever connect them with Morgan.
Everyone we've talked to agrees on that, and it has to be said there aren't many
Captains in the Guard who fill that description."
"It isn't Isobel," said Hawk.
"Then why name her in front of someone like Linden? Even if Morgan's people knew
they were being overheard, how would they know you'd end up talking to Linden?
You only decided to visit the Advisors a short time ago."
"He would have passed the word on, and it would have got round to me eventually.
It's just a distraction, that's all."
"Sure," said Burns. "Look, whoever the rogue is, it has to be someone close to
us. Close to you. Someone who knows you well enough to know the people you'd go
to for answers. How else did Morgan's people know where to ambush us after we
left Saint Christophe?"
"We're probably being watched," said Hawk.
"Not all the time; we'd notice."
"Well, maybe he's got a sorcerer watching us magically! He had a sorcerer at the
factory; how do we know he hasn't got another magic-user working for him?"
"I think we'd better leave this till later," said Burns suddenly, his voice low.