reached the bar, grabbed a seat as it became vacant, and sat down beside Hawk.
For a moment Hawk didn't look up, staring into his beer. Then he took a long
swallow, and gestured for the bartender to bring Burns a beer.
"I'm surprised you're still on the loose," said Burns. "The smart money was
betting you'd be arrested the moment you set foot in Headquarters. You've upset
some really powerful people this time, Hawk."
"There was some talk of suspension," said Hawk. "But I talked the Commander out
of it."
Bums smiled. "Yeah, I heard. Did you really bounce him off the walls of his own
office?"
Hawk looked at him innocently. "Would I do such a thing to a superior officer?"
Burns nodded to the bartender as his drink arrived, and sipped it
appreciatively. "So what's happening with you and Fisher? All forgiven?"
"Hardly. We've been split up, and told to keep our heads down. But I've got a
case to work on, and I'm looking for a new partner."
For a moment, Burns didn't get it, and then he looked sharply at Hawk. "You mean
me? We hardly know each other."
"I've seen you fight, and I thought you might like a chance to get back at the
bastards who killed your partner. Besides, Morgan isn't going to stop with
Fisher and me. Eventually, he's going to go after everyone who helped destroy
his factory. He takes setbacks personally. If you don't go after him now, while
he's vulnerable, you can bet that sooner or later he's going to be coming after
you."
"You've got a point there," said Burns. "But you've got a real nerve, you know
that? You got me into this mess, and now I'm supposed to help save your neck."
"Are you in or not?"
"Of course I'm in. I don't really have any choice, do I? And you're right about
one thing, at least. I'd worked with Doughty on and off for nearly eight years.
He was a good partner. Never had much to say for himself, but the best damned
swordsman I ever saw. I always felt safer with him to guard my back. I didn't
see who killed him at the factory. Everything was happening too fast. But even
if I didn't see whose hand held the sword, I know who was responsible for his
death."
"Morgan."
"Right. I'm with you, Hawk. But it's not going to be easy. Morgan has
influential friends. The kind of people it's dangerous to cross."
"Everyone keeps telling me that," said Hawk calmly. "It's not going to stop me.
I can be dangerous too, when I put my mind to it. But I shouldn't worry about
his precious friends too much. If we bring Morgan down hard enough, his friends
will desert him like rats leaving a sinking ship rather than risk being brought
down with him."
Burns shook his head amusedly. "You almost make it sound easy. All right, what
do we do first?"
"Well, to begin with we could do with another drink. We've got some hard
thinking to do."
Burns chose his words carefully. "Not for me, thanks. I think better on a clear
head."
"You're probably right," said Hawk. "But it has to be said, there's something
about Haven that drives a man to drink." He looked at his empty glass, then
pushed it regretfully away. "You know, when I first joined the Guard, I really
thought I could make a difference. I was going to be a force for justice, and
put all the bad guys behind bars, where they belonged. It didn't work out that
way. Crime and corruption are a way of life for most people here. Some days I
think the only way to clean up Haven would be to burn it down and start over
again."
Burns shrugged. "I've lived here all my life, but from what I've heard, Haven
isn't really that different from any other city. We're just more honest about it
here. You mustn't let it get to you, Hawk. You can't expect to undo centuries of
corruption overnight. Real change always takes time. In the meantime, we do our
away a piece of slime like Morgan. Settle for that."
They sat for a while in silence, each thinking his own thoughts.
"Where did you come from originally?" said Burns.
"Up north. There were family problems over my marriage to Isobel, so we struck
out on our own. Traveled around a lot, and finally ended up here. It seemed a
good idea at the time."
"There are worse places than Haven."
"Name two." Hawk looked thoughtfully into his empty glass. "It was my fault, you
know. If I hadn't gone barging in, without checking the situation properly, I
might have found a way to shut down Morgan's factory without destroying
everything. And all those men and women and children would be alive now."
"Maybe," said Burns. "But I doubt it. Morgan was ready to ship those drugs out.
If we'd burst in even an hour later, we'd probably have found nothing but an
empty warehouse. But either way, it doesn't make any difference. You did what
you thought was right at the time. That's all any of us can do. Beyond a certain
point, worrying about past mistakes just becomes self-pity and self-indulgence."
Hawk looked at him, and smiled. "Maybe. Let's talk about Morgan, the bastard.
The first thing we have to do is figure out where the super-chacal disappeared
to, and then try and link it directly to Morgan in a way he can't shrug off.
Which means asking pointed questions and making a nuisance of ourselves until
people tell us what we want to know."
"Just once," said Burns, "wouldn't you like to try it the easy way? Morgan is
going to have to shift the super-chacal in a hurry, so that he can't be caught
with it in his possession. Which means using established channels of
distribution. And there aren't that many people in Haven who can handle a deal
that size. All we have to do is discover which distributor has suddenly become
very busy, and we'll have our first lead."
"But that's only part of it," said Hawk. "We also need to know which Guards took
money from Morgan to look the other way while the drugs went missing."
"If you say so," said Burns. "But Hawk, we're going to do this professionally,
right? Getting personally involved in a case is always a bad idea. It stops you
thinking clearly. In Haven, you win some and you lose some. That's just the way
it is."
Hawk looked at him. "I don't believe in losing."
Chapter Three
Talking Peace and War
Fisher strode scowling through the well-ordered streets of Low Tory, and wished
Hawk was with her. She didn't like leaving him alone in his present mood. He'd
taken the deaths in the Hook personally, and right now he was mad enough and
depressed enough to do something stupid. Usually it was the other way round,
with Hawk keeping her from doing something dumb, but there were times when he
needed her to see the right path clearly. He needed her now, and she couldn't be
with him. Commander Glen had made it very clear that their splitting up was a
condition of their continuing to work. Still, they'd had time to discuss who
Hawk should choose as his new partner, and Captain Burns seemed solid enough.
She wondered what her own new partner would be like. Probably turn out to be
some ex-merce
nary with more muscle than brain, and even less ethics. There were
a lot like that in the Guard.
She looked unobtrusively about her as she strode along, trying to get the feel
of the new area. She hadn't worked Low Tory before, but by all accounts it was
an upwardly mobile, middle-class area, full of merchant families so long
established they were city aristocracy in all but blood and breeding. They were
indecently rich, had a finger in every political pie, and, as a class, showed
all the ethical restraint of a shark in a feeding frenzy. Having reached the
pinnacle of their profession, their ambition turned in the only direction left
to them, and they set their sights on the Quality. Even in Haven, the poorest
aristocrat could still look down his nose at the richest trader. So, in recent
times certain wealthy merchant families had been negotiating marriage contracts
with the more impoverished Quality Families, quite openly offering to pay off a
Family's debts in return for marriage into the Quality. The results were rarely
happy, with the nouveau Quality snubbed and openly mocked by High Society, but
the practice persisted.
As a result, Low Tory had flourished in the past few years, tearing down the
faded and crumbling houses of the lesser Quality and replacing them with grand
new mansions that rivaled and occasionally even surpassed the old Family Halls
and Granges of High Tory. The streets were wide and open and bordered with neat,
orderly rows of specially imported trees. New walls had been replaced with newer
walls carefully constructed to appear old and weathered. Everything had to look
right. Unlike most of Haven, the streets were calm and quiet and practically
deserted. Regular patrols by private guards and men-at-arms saw to that. Only
those with approved business in the area were allowed to tarry in Low Tory. To
Fisher, more used to the bustling crowds of the Northside, the streets appeared
almost eerily deserted.
The recent snow had been shoveled aside into tidy piles at the street kerbs, but
here and there small bands of workmen still struggled with the more stubborn
drifts. Servants attired in finery more costly than that worn by some
lower-class merchants hurried along, looking neither left nor right, bearing
messages and business documents and an almost palpable sense of their own
self-importance. Private guards patrolled in pairs, looking faintly embarrassed
by their overelaborate uniforms. None of them looked particularly pleased to see
Fisher. She ignored them all, and concentrated on the directions she'd been
given. They'd seemed simple enough back at Guard Headquarters, but Fisher had a
positive genius for getting lost, and today seemed no different. Still, after a
certain amount of backtracking she'd finally found the right street, so all she
had to do now was locate the right house.
It occurred to her that this street was actually surprisingly busy, by Low Tory
standards. There were half a dozen workmen lackadaisically shoveling snow, and
as many servants strolling unhurriedly up and down the street. A hot-chestnut
seller was tending his brazier, but showed remarkably little interest in
drumming up trade. Two men were bent over an open sewer grating, but seemed to
be spending as much time watching the street as anything else. Fisher had to
smile. Try as they might, some Guards just couldn't get the hang of plainclothes
work. It wasn't enough to look the part; you had to act it as well. Still, it
showed she was in the right place.
None of the plainclothes people made any move to approach her, for which Fisher
was grateful. She wasn't in the mood to explain what she was doing there without
Hawk. She finally reached her destination, and stopped at the main gate to study
the surroundings with an experienced eye. It was a plain, pleasantly
unornamented house, standing a way back from the street in its own grounds. The
high stone wall surrounding the snow-covered lawns was topped with iron spikes
and broken glass. Fairly impressive, but the tall iron gates were unlocked and
unguarded. She'd have to speak to someone about that.
She pushed the gates open and walked into the grounds. A few yards away stood a
life-sized figure of a warrior, carved from pale marble in the classically
idealized style popular in the last century. It carried a sword and shield, and
was minutely detailed, even down to bulging veins on the muscular arms. Fisher
looked away. She didn't care for such statues. They'd always given her the
creeps as a child.
As she passed the marble warrior, there was a low, grating sound as the statue
slowly turned its head and looked at her. Fisher jumped back, her hand dropping
to her sword. She stayed where she was, her heart beating painfully fast, but
the statue made no further move. Fisher edged closer, a foot at a time, and
reached out to poke it with a hesitant fingertip. It felt hard and unyielding,
the way marble should. Fisher took a deep breath and backed away, still keeping
a careful eye on the statue. The thing must be part of the house's security
system. They might have warned her… She turned her back on the marble figure and
continued on her way. Behind her she again heard a low grating sound as the
statue turned its head to follow her progress. Fisher wouldn't let herself look
back, but walked a little faster, despite herself. Up ahead, scattered across
the grounds, were three more statues, staring off in different directions.
Snow crunched loudly under Fisher's boots as she approached the house. Now that
she'd had a chance to get used to the idea, she approved of the statues. Simple
but effective security, and completely unobtrusive until activated by an
intruder. She couldn't help wondering what other surprises Captain ap Owen might
have set up in the grounds. The thought had only just crossed her mind when a
huge dog suddenly appeared out of nowhere right in front of her. She stumbled to
a halt, and the great hound thrust its head forward, sniffed at her
suspiciously, and then vanished into thin air. Fisher opened her mouth to say
something, and a second, different dog appeared out of nowhere just to her left.
It was even bigger than the first, its head on a level with her belt. It sniffed
at her, wagged its tail, then snapped out of existence. Fisher realized her
mouth was still hanging open, and shut it. Guard dogs. Of course. Entirely
logical. She walked on, and tried to get her breathing to go back to normal.
She finally came to a halt before the massive front door, beat on it smartly
with her fist, and made a quick use of the iron boot-scraper. And if anything
else appears, I'm going to hit it first, and ask questions afterwards. The door
opened almost immediately, confirming that they'd been watching her.
The man in footman's uniform looked convincing enough, and even had the barely
civil bow and haughty expression down right, but there was no getting away from
the fact that he was simply far too muscular for a gentleman's servant. He stood
back politely as she entered the brightly lit hall, then shut the door firmly
behind her. The sound of a key turning in the lock was quickly followed by the
sound of four separate bolts sliding home. Fisher smiled, and relaxed a little.
Maybe they did know what they were doing here, after all. She handed the footman
her cloak, waited patiently while he figured out where to hang it up, and then
allowed him to lead her down the hall and into the study, where Captain David ap
Owen was waiting for her.
The study was too large to be really cosy, but had all the comforts money could
buy. Captain ap Owen sat behind a large, ornate desk, talking quietly to someone
who looked as though he might be a real footman. Ap Owen glanced at Fisher as
she came in, but finished giving his instructions before waving both footmen
away. He got up from behind the desk and came forward to greet Fisher with an
outstretched hand. His handshake was firm, but hurried, and he sat down on the
edge of the desk to take a good look at her. Fisher stared back just as openly.
Captain ap Owen was in his mid-thirties, and a little less than average height,
which meant he had to tilt his head back to meet her gaze. It didn't seem to
bother him as much as it did some people. His build was stocky rather than
muscular, and his uniform had a sloppy, lived-in look. Fisher approved of that.
In her experience, Guards who worried too much about their appearance tended not
to worry enough about getting the job done right. Ap Owen had flaming red hair
and bright green eyes, along with a broad rash of freckles across his nose and
cheekbones which made him look deceptively youthful and open. His apparently
relaxed stance was undermined by an unwavering slight frown and occasional
sudden, jerky movements. Even sitting still, he gave the impression of a man
constantly on edge, just waiting for an attack so he could leap into action.
"Take a seat, Captain Fisher," he said finally. "Glad to have you with us. I've
heard a lot about you."
"It's all true," said Fisher easily. She dragged a chair over to the desk,
ignoring what that did to the carpet, and slumped gracelessly into it. The chair
was a rickety antique, but more comfortable than it appeared. She looked sharply
at ap Owen. "I take it you've heard the latest news about me?"
"Of course," said ap Owen. "If it hadn't been for your recent… troubles, I'd
never have got you on my team. Make no mistake, Captain, everyone here,