it correctly, and you'll live to stand trial. You bought off a lot of people in
the Guard while setting up this deal, but I'm interested in one name in
particular. You bought yourself a Guard Captain. You know who I mean; the
well-respected Captain, the one who no one would suspect. The one who made your
drugs vanish from Guard Headquarters. I want to know who that Captain is. I want
to know very badly. So you tell me the name, Morgan, or I swear I'll cut you
into pieces right here and now."
"Hawk, you can't do this," said Burns. "It's inhuman."
"Shut up, Burns."
"He has to stand trial, Hawk. He'll tell us everything we need to know, under a
truthspell."
"I need to know now! Talk to me, Morgan!"
"Stop it, Hawk! I won't stand for this!"
Hawk half turned to shout at Burns, and Morgan brought his knee up sharply into
Hawk's groin. Air whistled in his throat as he fell backwards, momentarily
paralysed by the pain. Morgan made a dash for the far door, but Mistique put
herself between him and the door. Mists boiled up off her outstretched hands.
Morgan produced another knife from somewhere and lunged at her. Burns ran him
through from behind with his sword. Morgan sank slowly to his knees, still
holding onto his knife. He coughed painfully, and blood ran thickly from his
mouth. He fell forward and lay still, and Burns pulled his sword free. He knelt
down beside the body, tried for a pulse at the neck, and shook his head. He got
to his feet again, and a hand grabbed his shoulder from behind. He looked round,
startled, and Hawk punched him in the mouth. Burns stumbled backwards, blood
spilling down his chin. Hawk went after him, but Mistique grabbed him from
behind and held him firmly.
"Stop it, Hawk! That's enough!"
Hawk struggled fiercely, but he was still weakened by Morgan's attack and he
couldn't break her grip. His gaze was fixed on Burns. "You stupid bastard! I
told you we needed him alive! How is he going to answer questions now?"
"I'm sorry," said Burns indistinctly, wiping blood from his mouth with the back
of his hand. "I didn't think… I just saw him lunging at Mistique, and I really
thought he was going to kill her…"
"I could have handled him," said Mistique.
"Yes, I'm sure you could have," said Burns, looking at the blood smeared across
his hand. "I didn't think… I'm sorry."
"Damn you," said Hawk. "What are we going to do now? He was the only one who
knew all the names." He shook his head sickly, then took a deep breath and let
it out slowly. "It's all right, Mistique, you can let me go now. I'm all right."
She let him go, and stood back. Hawk moved over to Morgan's body and knelt down
beside it, wincing as pain shot through him. He'd managed to take some of
Morgan's kneeing on his thigh, but the pain was still bad enough to make him
move like an old man. He tried for a pulse, but couldn't find one. He searched
the body slowly and methodically, but didn't come up with anything useful, apart
from a small bunch of keys. He got to his feet again, with a little help from
Mistique.
"At least we've got the drugs back," he said brusquely. "And this time I'll make
sure they don't go missing, even if I have to feed every damn package to the
incinerator myself."
"We ought to search the place before we go," said Burns. "There's always the
chance he kept records of who was working for him, and who he was paying off."
Hawk nodded curtly. "He probably had more sense than to leave something like
that just lying about, but it's worth a look. Don't move anything, though. We'll
leave the real search to the experts. Place is probably rigged with booby
traps." A sudden thought struck him and he looked quickly at Mistique. "Or is
this place going to collapse around our ears like the other one?"
The sorceress shook her head. "Solid as rock. Whoever set up this place knew
what he was doing."
They headed for the far door, Mistique staying close by Hawk in case he needed
to lean on her again. Burns kept a tactful distance. The sorceress cleared her
throat uncertainly.
"Hawk… would you really have used your axe on Morgan?"
He smiled slightly. "I was bluffing. Mostly. I'm not really as bad as my
reputation makes out."
"You convinced me," said Mistique. "I've never seen anyone look so mad."
"I wanted the name."
"Hawk," said Mistique gently. "We already know the name."
"So, did you find anything?" asked Commander Glen, leaning forward over his desk
and staring intently at Hawk and Burns.
Hawk shook his head. "Nothing useful. And Morgan didn't strike me as dumb enough
to commit anything incriminating to paper anyway."
Glen sniffed, and leaned back in his chair. "You're probably right. At least you
had enough restraint not to wreck the place, for a change—even if you didn't
leave anyone alive to answer questions."
"What about the man-at-arms Mistique put to sleep?" said Burns. "And the woman
Hawk knocked out?"
"Hired muscle," said Glen dismissively. "They weren't far enough in to know
anything useful. And speaking of Mistique, where is she? I want to hear her
report, too."
Hawk and Burns stared over Glen's head at the wall behind him. "She said she'd
look in later," said Hawk. "She's… rather busy at the moment." He lowered his
gaze abruptly, and fixed Glen with his single, cold eye.
"Commander, there's something I need to discuss with you."
"Yes," said Glen. "We have to talk about Captain Fisher. I've been hearing
stories about her for some time now. As long as they were just stories I could
afford to ignore them. You and Fisher were a good team; you got results. But I
can't ignore this, Hawk. She's betrayed the security of the Peace Talks, and
gone on the run. We have no idea where she is, or what she might be planning.
And now there's mounting evidence that she's been working for Morgan all along."
"I don't believe that," said Hawk. "I don't believe any of it."
Glen looked at him steadily. "She's gone rogue. Hawk. I have issued a warrant
for her arrest. There's a reward of five thousand ducats for anyone who brings
her in, dead or alive."
For a moment Hawk just looked back at him, his scarred face cold and impassive,
saying nothing. "I'll find her," he said finally. "I'll find her, and bring her
in. Call off your dogs, Commander."
"I can't do that, Hawk. It's out of my hands now. And I can't let you go,
either. You did a good job in recovering the super-chacal, but you upset a great
many prominent people in the process. If you'd brought Morgan in alive, no one
would have said anything, but as it is…"
"That was my fault, Commander," said Burns, but Hawk and Glen didn't even look
at him.
"Now that Fisher's gone rogue," said Glen, "you've become suspect too, Hawk,
through your relationship with her. Too many things have gone wrong around you
just lately. No one trusts you anymore. I have a warrant for your arrest too,
Hawk. I'm sorry."
"You've got to let me find Fisher," said Hawk. "Please. Let me bring her in, and
we'll prove o
ur innocence."
"I'm sorry," said Glen. "I have my orders. Give me your axe, please."
Hawk drew his axe, and the room suddenly became very tense. He hefted the weapon
in his hand a moment, and then put it down on Glen's desk. The Commander relaxed
a little, and Hawk hit him with a vicious left uppercut. Glen flew backwards out
of his chair, slammed into the wall behind his desk, and slid unconscious to the
floor. Burns opened his mouth to yell something, his hand already reaching for
his sword. Hawk spun round, grabbed up his axe, and hit Bums across the head
with the flat of the blade while Burns was still drawing his sword. He fell to
the floor and lay there motionless, groaning quietly.
Hawk would have liked to tie them both up, but a quick glance around showed him
nothing he could use as a rope, and he didn't have the time, anyway. He hauled
them both into Glen's private washroom, and locked the door on them. He took a
last quick look round, and then left Glen's office and made his way casually
through Headquarters to the main entrance. He smiled and nodded to people he
passed, and they smiled and muttered automatically in return. Hawk kept his face
calm, but his thoughts were in a turmoil. He had to find Isobel before anyone
else did. He couldn't trust anyone else with the job.
Isobel… I'm coming for you.
Chapter Nine
Under The Masks
Fisher moved quietly through the back streets, trudging doggedly through the
snow and slush, with her head bowed. The tattered grey cloak didn't do much to
keep out the cold, but with the hood pulled well forward there was no way anyone
was going to recognize her. After all, who would expect the bold and dashing
Captain Fisher to be skulking through the worst part of town in rags she
wouldn't normally have used to polish her boots? She seethed inwardly at the
indignity, but kept her outer demeanor carefully calm and unobtrusive. Her
disguise would only hold up as long as no one challenged it, and there were a
hell of a lot of people who'd be only too happy to turn her in for whatever
reward was currently on her head.
Fisher had no doubt there was a reward. The Powers That Be needed a scapegoat,
and she was tailor-made for the role. She could plead her innocence till she was
blue in the face, but no one would give a damn. She had to be found guilty so
that the Outremer delegates would be reassured and the Peace Talks could go on.
They'd told her right from the beginning that she was expendable. Fisher grinned
fiercely. That was their opinion. If they wanted her to be a rogue, she'd be
one. And anyone who got in her way was going to regret it.
She slowed her pace slightly as two ragged figures appeared out of a dark alley
mouth and moved casually towards her. She caught brief glimpses of the knives
half hidden under their cloaks, and turned to face them. She'd obviously
overdone the unthreatening aspect of her disguise and made herself look an easy
target. Fisher scowled. She couldn't afford to fight them; at best it would draw
attention to her, particularly when she won, and at worst it might actually give
away who she was. But she couldn't hope for any help, either. Not in the
Northside. She swore under her breath, and let her hand move to her sword under
cover of the cloak. There was never a bloody Constable around when you needed
one.
The two bravos moved to block her path, and she came to a halt. She pushed back
her cloak to reveal the sword at her side, and lifted her head to give them her
best glare. She'd put a lot of work and practice into that glare, and it had
always served her well in the past. It suggested she was one hundred percent
crazy, barely under control, and violent with it. The two bravos took in the
glare and the sword, looked at each other, and then made their knives disappear,
and moved casually off in another direction, as though they'd intended to go
that way all along. Fisher let her cloak fall back to cover the sword, pulled
her hood even lower over her face, and continued on her way, trying not to look
too much in a hurry.
She had to think of somewhere to go, somewhere she could hole up for a while
till she could figure some way to get out of the city. She couldn't go home; it
was the first place they'd think of, and was probably crawling with Guards by
now, ransacking every room in search of evidence that wasn't there. A slow,
sullen anger burned in her, at the thought of strangers trampling through her
house, but she knew there was no point in brooding over it. Or the treasured
possessions she'd have to leave behind when she finally found a way out of the
city.
She had to find somewhere she could stop and think, somewhere safe. And there
were all sorts of things she'd have to get her hands on, things she'd need just
to survive out in the wilds of the Low Kingdoms, in the dead of winter. Starting
with a decent fur cloak. The cold cut right through the thin grey one she had
now. And she'd need a horse and provisions… and a dozen other things, none of
which she had the money to buy. Her money was back at the house. What there was
of it.
Her pace slowed as her thoughts churned furiously. She wasn't used to having to
her briefly, like a razor drawn against unsuspecting skin. She wanted to go to
him so badly, but she didn't dare. Everything she'd heard since she hit the
streets suggested that Hawk had gone berserk, fighting and killing anyone who
got between him and Morgan. Something bad must have happened, something so awful
he no longer cared what happened to him as long as he got to Morgan. Her first
impulse had been to find him and fight at his side, but she couldn't do that. By
now there had to be a small army of Guards on her tail, and she'd be leading
them straight to Hawk. And if he really had gone berserk, he'd die rather than
be stopped.
She couldn't let that happen.
There must be somewhere she could go, somewhere they wouldn't think of looking.
She trudged on, head down, not looking where she was going, as her mind
floundered from one possibility to another before finally, reluctantly, settling
on one. The Tolling Bell was a rancid little tavern, tucked away at the back of
nowhere. The kind of place where they sold illegally strong drinks and the
bartender had little conversation and even less of a memory for faces. Fisher
had used the place before, when she needed to get away by herself for a while.
When she'd had a row with Hawk, or just needed to be alone with her thoughts.
She'd always taken pains to disguise her identity, so no one could find her till
she was ready to be found. The Tolling Bell… Yes… she could be there in half an
hour.
Her head snapped up, suddenly alert as she heard tramping feet heading towards
her. Six Guard Constables were moving purposefully in her direction. She quickly
dropped her head again, and hunched over under her cloak to make herself look
smaller. Her hand moved unobtrusively to the sword at her side. Six-to-one odds,
and no one to watch her back. Bad odds, but she'd faced worse
in her time. She
glanced cautiously around for possible escape routes, and only then realized the
Guards weren't actually looking at her. Hope flared in her again, and she shrank
back against the wall as the Guards tramped past, doing her best to look
insignificant and harmless. The Constables hardly glanced at her as they passed,
and continued on their way. Fisher waited where she was, listening to the sound
of the footsteps dying gradually away, and then moved slowly on, careful not to
look behind her. Her back crawled in anticipation of a sudden sword thrust, but
it never came. She finally allowed herself to glance back over her shoulder, and
found the Constables were almost out of sight at the end of the street. Her
breath began to come a little more easily, and she increased her pace. She'd be
safe at The Tolling Bell. For a while. She could sit down, and rest, and think.
And just maybe she'd be able to see a way out of this mess.
Hawk strode angrily down the main street, pulling his ratty brown cloak tightly
about him. The cold cut through the ragged cloth as though it weren't there, but
at least the hood concealed his face, as long as he remembered to keep his head
bowed. Someone had to have found Glen and Burns by now, which meant word would
soon be circulating on the streets that Hawk was fair game for anyone who felt
like going after him. And with the kind of reward the Guard would be offering,
there'd be no shortage of volunteers. Most of the usual bounty hunters would
have more sense than to go after Captain Hawk, but there were always some stupid
enough to take any risk, for a chance at the big money. And if enough of them
got together, they might just manage it.
Hawk scowled, and peered unobtrusively about him. They were after Fisher too. He
had to find her, before anyone else did. Find her, and find out what had
happened. Why she'd betrayed Haven, and the Guard. And him. There had to be a
reason, a good reason. He believed that implicitly, because to think anything
else would drive him insane. He trusted Isobel, but all the evidence pointed to
her guilt. As a Guard, he'd learned to rely on the evidence before anything
else, and never to trust his instincts or his feelings until he had hard
evidence to back them up. But this was different. This was Isobel. He had to
find her and hear her explanation. And then he'd know what to do next.