Swords of Haven: The Adventures of Hawk & Fisher (75 page)

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Authors: Simon R. Green

BOOK: Swords of Haven: The Adventures of Hawk & Fisher
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“We can talk about this later,” said Buchan. “In the meantime, I think you’d better let me have the grimoire for safekeeping. My colleagues in the God Squad will want to examine it.”
Brunel’s hand dropped halfway to a square bulge underneath his waistcoat. “I’m not handing over anything. The grimoire’s mine. If I let you have it I’ll never see it again. I know your sort. You’d keep it for yourself. But you’re not having it. There’s power in this book, and it belongs to your betters. All right, things got a bit out of hand this time, but ...”
“This time?” said Buchan. “You’re hot thinking of trying this kind of stunt again?”
“Why not? Next time, we’ll get it right. You can’t stop us. We’re Quality, and you’re not—not anymore. What we do is our, business and nothing to do with you. You’re not one of us anymore, Buchan, and your precious heroics here tonight don’t change a thing. You’re still nothing more than a dirty little Sister-lover, and we don’t want you here.”
Fisher stepped briskly forward, punched Brunel out, and took the grimoire from his unconscious body. She looked round at the watching crowd.
“Any objections?”
No one said anything, and most of the Quality looked away to avoid catching her eye. Fisher turned her back on them and handed the grimoire to Buchan.
“You have to know how to talk to these people. Shall we go?”
Buchan and Hightower exchanged a brief smile, and then bowed formally to each other. Buchan left the ballroom through the open double doors, followed by Hawk and Fisher. Hawk turned back to shut the doors, and came face to face with the silent, staring Quality. He’d helped save their lives, but all he could see in their faces was resentment, and perhaps even hate. They’d been saved by a social inferior who didn’t even have the decency to be apologetic about it. Hawk grinned at them, winked, and closed the doors on their disapproving scowls.
 
Hawk and Fisher and Buchan returned to God Squad headquarters to find Rowan and Tomb sitting slumped and shattered in their usual chairs in the drawing room. Apparently clearing up the mess left on the Street of Gods had been a major undertaking, and was still continuing even now, but they’d done all they could. The Beings remained in their churches and temples, and their followers had retired to lick their wounds and plot more trouble for the future. Everything was quiet for the moment, but it was a false peace, and everyone knew it. They were just waiting for the next dead Being, and then there would be God War on the Street of Gods. And not even the Exorcist Stone would be enough to stop that. Tomb had sent an urgent message to the Council’s circle of sorcerers, bringing them up to date on the situation and asking for help and support, but as usual the circle was split by factions and intrigues, and probably wouldn’t even respond till it was too late.
“I don’t know why I feel so bitter about it,” said Tomb tiredly. “This is Haven, after all.”
Rowan’s mouth twitched in something that might have been meant as a smile. She didn’t just look tired, she looked exhausted. Her face was pale and slack, with dark bruises of fatigue under her eyes.
“Are you feeling all right, lady Rowan?” Hawk asked politely.
“I’m fine,” said Rowan. “I just need a rest, that’s all.”
Her voice was flat and strained, and they could all see the effort it took her just to speak. Tomb cleared his throat uncertainly.
“Rowan, I really think we’d all be a lot happier if you’d let us call in a doctor, just to have a look at you....” “How many more times do I have to tell you?” snapped Rowan. Her anger produced two fiery red spots on her cheeks, but her face remained dull and impassive, as though the facial muscles were simply too tired to respond. “I don’t need a doctor, I don’t need fussing over, and most of all I don’t need you crawling around me all the time. Why won’t you all just leave me in peace?”
There was an awkward pause, and then Buchan rose unhurriedly from his chair. “Come on, Tomb. Let’s raid the kitchen and see what we can find there. I don’t know about you, but I’m starving. It’s typical we had to have our busiest day in months on the one day in the week our servants have off.”
Tomb nodded without looking at him, and the two men left the drawing room, Buchan pulling the door firmly shut behind them. Hawk and Fisher looked at each other.
“I hate to press you on this, lady Rowan,” said Hawk firmly, “but if there is something seriously wrong with you, we need to know about it. Things are going from bad to worse out there on the Street, and we have to know if we can depend on you in a crisis.”
Rowan shifted tiredly in her chair. “Yes. I suppose you do. And it would feel so good to talk about it to someone. But you have to swear not to tell Buchan and Tomb. Especially Tomb.” She looked at Hawk and Fisher in turn, fixing them with her piercing eyes in her weary face, and waiting until they’d both nodded in agreement. “I have cancer. It’s well-established and very advanced, and there’s nothing that can be done about it. I thought for a long time I could cure it myself, with my knowledge of potions. By the time I discovered I couldn’t, it was too late. It’s spread too far for alchemy to do any good now. I’ve talked to experts. There are spells that might work, but I don’t have that kind of money. I’ve got a month or so left; maybe a little more.
“You mustn’t tell Tomb. It would upset him. He hasn’t the power to cure me himself, and the dear fool would bankrupt himself trying to raise the money to buy a cure. It’s better that he doesn’t know.”
“But surely ... one of the Gods could do something,” said Fisher uncertainly. “I mean, they do miracles. Don’t they?”
“I used to think that,” said Rowan. “But if I’ve learned anything here, it’s that there are no Gods on the Street of Gods. I looked really hard, trying to find just one, but all I found were supernatural Beings with no love for the God Squad.”
She broke off as the door opened, and Tomb and Buchan came in bearing trays of cold food. For various reasons no one had much to say while they ate, so the meal passed for the most part in silence. Rowan just picked at her food, pushing it back and forth on her plate, and finally she put it to one side and quietly announced she was going back to bed and didn’t want to be disturbed. Everyone nodded, and Tomb wished her good night. She left the room without answering, shutting the door firmly behind her. The others finished their food, and sat for a while in silence, thinking their separate thoughts.
“You mustn’t mind Rowan,” said Tomb finally, to Hawk and Fisher. “It’s just her way. She’ll be a lot better once she’s had a little rest.”
“Sure,” said Hawk. “We understand.”
“Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have to be going out again.” Tomb pushed his empty plate to one side and stood up.
“Already?” said Fisher. “We only just finished putting down that riot and clearing up after the Hellfire Club. What else is there that needs doing?”
Tomb smiled. “Nothing for you to worry about, Captain. This is just some old personal business that I have to attend to. I won’t be long. I’ll see you again, later.”
He nodded generally to them all, and left. The door was still closing when Buchan got to his feet.
“Afraid I must be off as well. Tomb isn’t the only one who’s had to neglect his personal life of late. I’ll be back in an hour or two. If you have to go out as well, don’t worry about Rowan. There are wards around the house to keep her safe and alert Tomb if she needs anything. Now I really must be going.”
And as quickly as that, he was gone. Hawk and Fisher looked at each other. “I’ll follow Tomb,” said Hawk. “You follow Buchan. Right?”
“Right,” said Fisher. “There are too many secrets around here for my liking. You know, those have to be two of the flimsiest excuses I’ve ever heard.”
“I get the feeling they’re both under pressure,” said Hawk. “And I don’t just mean the trouble on the Street. They probably intended to go out a lot earlier, but got sidetracked by the riot and the Hellfire Club. Right. They’ve had enough time to get a good start by now. Let’s go.”
They got to their feet and hurried out into the corridor. Hawk spotted one of Tomb’s long hooded robes hanging on a wall hook, and slipped it on instead of his own distinctive Guard’s cloak. With the hood pulled well forward, he looked like just another priest. He glanced at Fisher.
“Maybe you should try a disguise, too.”
Fisher shook her head. “Six-foot muscular blond women tend to stand out in a crowd, no matter what they’re wearing. I’ll just have to be careful, that’s all. It’s dark out, so as long as I keep well back and stick to the shadows, I should be all right. I’ll meet you two hours from now at the Dead Dog tavern. Our usual booth. Sound good to you?”
“Great,” said Hawk. “Maybe now we’ll get a break on this case, and find a motive that makes sense. The way things are going, I’d settle for a motive that doesn’t make sense. Now let’s move it, before we lose them.”
 
Hawk had no trouble locating Tomb. The sorcerer was striding down the Street of Gods at a pace that kept threatening to break into a run. People saw the scowl on his face and got out of his way fast. Hawk strode along after him, not even trying to be inconspicuous. Even at this late hour of the evening there were crowds of priests and acolytes and worshippers bustling back and forth, getting on with the business of life that the riot had only briefly interrupted. Hawk was just another robed figure among many. Not that Tomb would have noticed anyway. He shouldered his way through the crowd with utter indifference to the snarls and curses this earned him, apparently entirely preoccupied with wherever he was going. Hawk had been banking on that. If Tomb even suspected he was being followed, he would undoubtedly have any number of spells to deal with the situation, few if any of them pleasant.
Tomb strode on, ignoring the manifestations that haunted the sidewalks and alleyways. Hawk did his best to do the same, but was momentarily thrown when an acolyte in a cheap crimson robe stepped directly in front of him to beg for a blessing. Hawk put a hand on the acolyte’s shaven head, muttered something about peace and joy and brotherhood, and hurried after Tomb, hoping fervently that he hadn’t inadvertently invoked a nearby Being by accident. You had to be careful what you said on the Street of Gods. You could never be sure who was listening.
He followed Tomb down into the low-rent section of the Street of Gods, where the twisting back streets and alleyways turned in upon themselves, offering sanctuary to Beings and beliefs who had fallen on hard times. A last harbour for forgotten Gods and fading philosophies. Hawk hung well back as Tomb approached a nondescript, weather beaten door set into a dirty white wall. The sorcerer produced a heavy iron key from a hidden pocket and unlocked the large iron padlock. The door creaked open under his hand, and he disappeared inside, pulling the door shut behind him.
Hawk quickly took up a position in a shadowed doorway overlooking the street, in case this was only a way stop and the sorcerer might reappear unexpectedly. Long moments passed. No one moved in the narrow back street. Hawk bit his lip, scowling thoughtfully. What the hell was Tomb doing here? It couldn’t be anything illegal; the sorcerer had made no attempt to disguise his appearance. But what was so important to Tomb that it could drag him down here at this time of the night, when he was clearly already exhausted from coping with the riot? Hawk left his hiding place and padded silently over to the shabby door. He listened carefully, but everything seemed quiet within. He tried the door handle and raised an eyebrow as it turned easily under his hand, and the door swung open. Hawk froze as the door hinges creaked softly, but no one came to investigate. He slipped inside and eased the door shut behind him.
The narrow hallway was lit by a single lamp on the wall. Hawk tested the glass with his fingertips. It was barely warm. Tomb must have lit the, lamp when he came in, which suggested there was no one here but the sorcerer. The walls were bare wood. They might have been waxed or polished a long time ago, but now there was only a thick coating of dust on the dull surfaces. Whatever this place was, no one had lived in it for a long time. There were no doors leading off the hallway. Hawk followed it to its end, where it turned a sharp corner and became a long narrow stairway leading down into darkness. Hawk scowled at the bottomless gloom, and then reached for the stub of candle and box of matches he kept in his cloak pocket for emergencies. His fingers scrabbled futilely against rough cloth for a long moment before he remembered he was wearing one of Tomb’s robes instead of his Guard’s cloak. He cursed under his breath, and padded back down the hall to fetch the lamp.
The stairway didn’t look nearly so menacing in the lamplight, but even so he still hesitated at the top of the stairs. When all was said and done, following a sorcerer into an unknown situation was never a Good Idea. There could well be a magical bodyguard or booby trap waiting for him at the foot of the stairs. The suppressor stone might protect him ... but it was still in Fisher’s pocket. Hawk shook his head quickly, and drew his axe. He’d faced sorcerers before with nothing but cold steel in his hand, and he was damned if he’d let his nerves get the better of him now.
He descended slowly into the dark, lamp in one hand, axe in the other, ears straining for any sound down below. The walls were bare stone, rough and crumbling and splotched here and there with clumps of lichen. What the hell was Tomb doing in a dump like this? It couldn’t be anything commonplace or innocent, or he’d have said where he was going. Since he hadn’t, that meant Tomb either wouldn’t or couldn’t explain. Hawk didn’t like secrets. Particularly when they left him in the dark in the middle of a murder enquiry. The stairs ended at a simple wooden door, standing slightly ajar. Light shone round its edges. Hawk stayed put on the bottom step and chewed his bottom lip thoughtfully. He seemed to have spent an awful lot of time hovering outside ominous-looking doors recently, and none of them had led him anywhere pleasant. He hefted his axe, took a deep breath and let it go, and kicked the door open.

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