stirred in his corner, and then shrugged uncomfortably as Regis turned his glare
on him.
"With respect, my lord, no security system is perfect. Fisher and ap Owen did
their best, in extremely difficult circumstances."
He shut up as Nightingale turned to glare at him too. Nightingale's voice was
low and deadly. "When I want your advice, Major de Tournay, I will ask for it.
Until then you will oblige me by keeping your mouth shut. Is that clear?"
De Tournay and Comber looked at each other, nodded formally to their respective
lords, and returned their attention to the whisky decanters. Regis sniffed, and
looked back at Fisher and ap Owen.
"Now then, Captains, it cannot have escaped your attention that our security
here has been hopelessly breached. Whether this was the result of internal
treachery or simple incompetence on your part has yet to be determined. You can
both be very sure there will be a full enquiry into your behavior today…"
"I don't think we can wait for that," said Nightingale flatly. "Someone has
revealed to our enemies not only the location of this house, but also the
coordinates of the pocket dimension. Quite a few people knew about the
house—that was inevitable—but only a handful knew about the pocket dimension.
Don't you find it interesting that our security problems only began after
Captain Fisher joined us?"
"Oh, come on," said ap Owen immediately. "You're not seriously accusing Fisher?
She's a legend in Haven! And she fought like hell against the mercenaries and
the creatures in the dimension. In fact, if not for her, I wouldn't have lived
long enough to reach the dimension, and you wouldn't have lived long enough to
close the dimensional doorway. We owe her our lives!"
"Look at the facts," said Nightingale calmly. "The mercenaries didn't attack the
house till she got here, and the creatures didn't attack us until she'd joined
us in the pocket dimension…"
"He has a point," said Regis slowly. "And it does seem odd that Captain Fisher
should have been in the middle of so much fighting, and come out of it with only
minor, superficial wounds."
"She's a good fighter!" said ap Owen. "Everyone knows that."
"No one's that good," said Nightingale.
"And I must admit the new security forces have brought rather disquieting news
concerning Fisher's partner, Captain Hawk," said Regis.
"Hawk?" said Fisher sharply. "What about Hawk?"
Regis fixed her with a steady gaze. "It appears that Captain Hawk is completely
out of control. He's assaulted a superior officer and gone on a rampage through
the city, attacking people in some kind of personal vendetta, and killing anyone
who gets in his way. We don't know exactly how many people he's killed, but we
have a confirmed account of more than thirty dead, and almost as many injured.
At least a dozen were just innocent passersby."
"I don't believe it," said Fisher.
"In view of what you've just told me," said Lord Nightingale, ignoring Fisher,
"I don't think I care to trust my well-being to any security force commanded by
Captain Fisher. I'm afraid I must insist she be replaced, if the Talks are to
continue."
"I have to agree," said Regis. "Well, Fisher, have you anything to say for
yourself?"
"I didn't want to come here in the first place," said Fisher. "If you don't want
me, I'll leave."
"It's not that simple," said Nightingale coldly. "We can't allow you to just
walk out of here. You know too much. And besides, I don't believe in letting
traitors walk free. Regis, I want this woman arrested, and held incommunicado
till these Talks are over."
Regis nodded. "Fisher, hand over your sword. You're under arrest. The charge is
treason."
Nightingale smiled at Fisher coldly. "I'll see you hanged for your part in this,
bitch."
Fisher drew her sword and dropped into her fighting stance. "You and what army,
Nightingale?"
"Fisher, that's enough!" snapped Regis. "Give your sword to ap Owen. That's an
order!"
Fisher laughed at him. "Stuff your order. I may be slow, but I'm not crazy.
You're just desperate for a scapegoat, and I look like the best bet. Well,
sorry, people, but I'm afraid I must decline the honor."
Regis looked at ap Owen. "Arrest her! Do whatever you have to, but stop her. She
mustn't leave here alive!"
Ap Owen hesitated, and Fisher threw a chair at him. She was across the room and
out the door before the two Majors could get to their feet and ap Owen could
disentangle himself from the chair. Regis and Nightingale remained where they
were, shouting orders. Fisher slammed the door shut behind her, grinned briefly
as she heard someone crash into it, and then sprinted down the corridor to the
front door. She yanked it open and charged out into the grounds. The new
security people looked up in surprise, and moved towards her, anticipating some
kind of emergency in the house. Fisher grabbed the first officer she saw, and
pointed him at the front door.
"Block off that door and don't let anyone out, no matter what! Take as many men
as you need. Everything depends on you! Move it!"
The officer threw her a quick salute, and charged towards the door, yelling for
his men to follow him. Fisher ran for the front gate, breathlessly informing
every man-at-arms she passed of the terrible emergency up at the house. The
emergency became more and more terrible, and the details more and more
fantastic, as she passed through the main body of men, determined to stir up the
maximum confusion. She finally reached the gate, and paused a moment to look
back. The men-at-arms were milling aimlessly back and forth, trampling the snow
into slush, shouting incoherently to each other, and searching desperately for
some sign of the enemy. Fisher grinned, and set off down the street at a fast
but eminently respectable pace, so as not to attract too much attention.
First thing was to get rid of the Guard's uniform; it was too distinctive. Maybe
change it for a long robe with a hood, something large and bulky enough to
substantially alter her appearance. When word finally got out from the house,
there were going to be an awful lot of people looking for Captain Fisher. There
was no point in trying to protest her innocence. It was clear Nightingale had
picked on her as the scapegoat, and the others would go along with him in order
to keep the Talks going. As she'd been told from the beginning, the Peace Talks
were far more important than any Guard Captain. She was expendable.
But she wasn't about to let anyone or anything get between her and her search
for Hawk. From the sound if it, things had got really out of hand since she left
him with Burns. She frowned. Strange there hadn't been any mention of Burns. She
shook her head fiercely. That could wait. All that mattered was finding Hawk. If
he really was out of control, she was the only one with any chance of stopping
him. Whatever had happened between Hawk and Morgan, he'd listen to her.
And then they'd work together to find out who the real traitor was. Before, it
had just been business. Now, it was
personal.
In the study, Lord Regis and Lord Nightingale were taking turns shouting at
Captain ap Owen. Outside in the grounds, Major Comber and Major de Tournay were
trying desperately to restore some kind of order to the chaos Fisher had made
out of the men-at-arms. Half of them were still running around like mad things,
looking for something to hit and mistaking each other for the enemy as often as
not. Ap Owen listened to the craziness outside, and somehow kept the smile from
his lips. Eventually the lords ran out of accusations and curses, and stopped a
moment to get their breath back. Ap Owen cleared his throat.
"What exactly do you want me to do, my lords? What are your orders?"
"Find Fisher!" snapped Nightingale, his cheeks mottled with rage. "I don't care
how you do it, but find her!"
"Take twenty men and go out into the city," said Regis. "Spread the word among
the Guard and on the streets. I'm authorizing you to offer a reward of five
thousand ducats for Fisher's capture, dead or alive."
Ap Owen looked at him sharply. "But surely, my lord, we need her alive for
questioning?"
"We need her stopped before she can do any more damage," said Nightingale. "As
long as she's free, she's a threat. You know her reputation, Captain; if you try
and take her alive she'll just kill your men and disappear again.
We can't risk that. If you find her, kill her. No quarter, no mercy."
Ap Owen looked at Regis, who nodded steadfastly. "Do whatever you have to,
Captain, but don't bring her back alive."
Chapter Eight
Cutting Loose
Burns and Mistique followed Hawk silently as he led the way through a maze of
narrow back streets and shadowed alleyways. He'd hardly said a word since
Mistique reluctantly named Fisher as the traitor, and his cold, grim visage
hadn't encouraged conversation. Burns and Mistique glanced at each other, but a
few raised eyebrows and quick shrugs were enough to make it clear neither of
them knew what was going through Hawk's mind. Given what he was capable of, his
continued silence was worrying. Passersby hurried to get out of his way, but
Hawk seemed totally oblivious of everything except his own thoughts. He walked
unhurriedly through the shabby streets, staring straight ahead, his bloodied axe
still in his hand.
They finally emerged into a quiet side street, and Hawk led his companions into
a squalid little tavern called The Dragon's Blood. The air was thick with smoke,
and the sawdust on the floor looked like it hadn't been changed in years.
Mistique wrinkled her nose. Burns pushed the door closed with his fingertips,
and then wiped his hand fastidiously on his cloak. The place was as dark as a
coal cellar, with only occasional pools of dirty yellow light at the occupied
tables, and two storm lanterns hanging over the bar. The window shutters had
been nailed shut to ensure privacy. Shadowed drinkers watched silently as Hawk
led his companions to a booth at the back of the room. Conversation slowly
resumed as the three Guards seated themselves, but only as a bare murmur. The
bartender emerged from behind his bar to serve them personally, and Hawk ordered
three beers. They sat in silence until he came back with the drinks. Hawk paid
him the exact amount and then dismissed him with a curt wave of his hand. The
bartender shrugged, and went back to the bar to continue polishing his glasses
with a dirty rag. Mistique looked dubiously at the drink in front of her, and
decided that she wasn't thirsty. Hawk took two deep swallows from his beer, and
then put the glass down and stared into it.
"The beer's safe enough here," he said quietly, "but don't touch the spirits.
Half of it's made from wood alcohol."
Burns sipped at his beer to show willing, and his lips thinned away from his
teeth at the bitterness. "Nice place you've chosen, Hawk. Great atmosphere. I'll
bet plague rats stay away from here in case they catch something. Do you drink
here often?"
"Only when I have some hard thinking to do. No one bothers me here." He drank
from his glass again, and Burns and Mistique waited patiently for him to
continue. Hawk wiped the froth from his mouth with the back of his hand, and
leaned back in his chair, staring out into the gloom around them. "It all comes
down to Morgan," he said finally. "He has all the answers. If we're ever going
to get to the truth of what's really going on here, we have to find Morgan."
"Half the Guards in Haven are trying to do just that," said Burns. "But Morgan's
always been able to disappear when he needed to. He could be anywhere in Haven.
Our people are out leaning on every loose mouth in the city, but no one knows
anything. Morgan's gone to ground so thoroughly this time that even his own
people don't seem to know how to contact him. You must really have thrown a
scare into him."
"He can't afford to be totally isolated," said Mistique. "He still has to move
his super-chacal before word gets out how dangerous it is. And to do that, he
must be doing business, however indirectly, with some distributor."
"Exactly," said Hawk. "Morgan may have crawled into his hole and pulled it in
after him, but his lieutenants are still out there, doing business on his
behalf. All we have to do is tail them, and eventually one of them will lead us
to Morgan."
tail we put on them."
"They won't spot a sorcerer," said Hawk. "How about it, Mistique? Can you follow
these people with your magic?"
"There is a way…" said Mistique slowly. "But I don't know these lieutenants like
you do. You'll have to open your minds so that I can learn what you know. Are
you and Burns willing to do that?"
"No," said Burns flatly. "Sorry, Hawk, but there are some things I won't do, for
you or anyone else. My thoughts are private, and my memories are my own."
"There's no need to be so defensive," said Mistique. "It's a common reaction to
my ability. Though why anyone should assume their secret thoughts are so
fascinating I couldn't resist peeking, is beyond me."
"Take what you need from me," said Hawk. "But don't go wandering. There are
things in my mind you don't want to know."
"I can believe that," said Mistique. She closed her eyes, and a cold breeze
swept through Hawk's mind, ruffling his thoughts, and picking things up and
putting them down again. Images flickered in Hawk's mind like flaring candles,
come and gone so quickly he barely recognized them, and then Mistique opened her
eyes, and his mind was quiet again. Mistique nodded, satisfied. "Got it. Names
and faces for all twenty of his lieutenants. Now I need both of you to sit still
and be quiet. This is going to be very difficult, and I can't afford any
distractions."
She closed her eyes again and let her mind drift up and out, becoming one with
the mists. Wherever mists and fogs rose throughout the city she had eyes and
ears. She became the mists, flowing over houses and streets, through keyholes
and under doors, and nothing was hidden from her. The mists carried her up into
the sky, and
she soared high above the city, seeing it spread out below her like
a vast dark stone labyrinth of sudden turnings and endless possibilities. Lights
burned in its darkness like furnaces in hell. She swooped down over the city,
spreading her consciousness among the many streets and alleyways as mists curled
everywhere in Haven. Buildings raced past her at bewildering speed, people
appearing and disappearing in an instant, but all of them observed and studied
and dismissed. Words from a thousand conversations battered her hearing like
pounding waves on the rocks outside the harbor. Mistique let it all flow past
and over her, sifting through the endless noise and chaos until finally she
found what she was looking for.
His name was Griff—a shabby, skinny man with long, greasy dark hair, darting
eyes, and a quick, unpleasant smile. He wore a long frock coat mended at the
collar and elbows, and carried a quarterstaff. He didn't look like much, but
bigger men than he bobbed their heads and smiled nervously in his presence. He
was Morgan's eyes and voice and executioner, and everyone knew it. Mistique
curled lazily on the air as Griff strode down a gloomy side street,
unobtrusively checking now and again that he wasn't being followed. Mistique
floated after him, everywhere and nowhere, ahead and behind him.
Griff took a sudden turn into an alleyway and stopped dead, just inside the
alley mouth. He looked casually about him to be sure he was unobserved, and then
moved slowly forward, counting the steps under his breath. He then stopped,
reached out and pressed five bricks in the left-hand wall in a careful sequence.
A door slowly appeared in the wall, a great slab of solid steel, featureless
save for a single moulded handle, forming itself moment by moment out of the
dirty brickwork. Griff waited impatiently, his gaze darting back and forth, and
then he pulled the door open, grunting with the effort. A bright crimson light
flared out into the alley, and Griff stepped forward into it. The door slammed
shut behind him, cutting off the bloody light, and melted back into the
brickwork. In the renewed gloom of the alleyway, the roiling mists curled and
twisted triumphantly.
In the tavern, Hawk and Burns watched silently as Mistique closed her eyes and
fell immediately into a trance state. All trace of personality dropped out of