Guard Against Dishonor E-Book

Simon R. Green

• Herausgeber: JABberwocky Literary Agency, Inc.
• Kategorie: Fantasy und Science-Fiction
• Serie: Hawk & Fisher
• Sprache: Englisch

Seitenzahl: 316

Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2013

Beschreibung

There's nothing safe about Haven, nor is there justice, truth, or honesty. The only thing stemming the forces of darkness from overtaking the city is the Guard, but even they are susceptible to bribes, threats, and general maliciousness. However, two members of the Guard hope to change that. Hawk and Fisher, the husband and wife team, are the only pure forces of good in Haven. They can't be bought. They can't stand for injustice. But they can kick your ass. For Hawk and Fisher, the job is about honor. But when their current case goes wrong, they face their most daunting challenge yet: working apart. Hawk has to investigate a powerful and lethal new drug while Fisher is delegated to policing a potential peace treaty talk, a suicide mission if ever there was one. Soon enough, the couple manages to find themselves in trouble, dishonored, and on the run. Even worse, a bounty has been placed on their heads, a bounty so large that even the nicest guy in Haven would kill them without blinking an eye. Is this the mission that's finally too much for Hawk and Fisher?

Leseprobe

BOOKS BY SIMON R. GREEN

Shadows Fall

Drinking Midnight Wine

THE DEATHSTALKER SERIESDeathstalkerDeathstalker RebellionDeathstalker WarDeathstalker HonorDeathstalker DestinyDeathstalker LegacyDeathstalker ReturnDeathstalker Coda

DEATHSTALKER PRELUDEMistworld*Ghostworld*Hellworld*

THE ADVENTURES OF HAWK AND FISHERHawk and FisherWinner Takes AllThe God KillerWolf in the Fold*Guard Against Dishonor*The Bones of Haven*

THE FOREST KINGDOM NOVELSBlue Moon RisingBeyond the Blue Moon*Blood and Honor*Down Among the Dead Men*

THE NIGHTSIDE SERIESSomething from the NightsideAgents of Light and DarknessNightingale’s LamentHex and the CityPaths Not TakenSharper Than a Serpent’s ToothHell to PayThe Unnatural InquirerJust Another Judgment DayThe Good, the Bad, and the UncannyA Hard Day's KnightThe Bride Wore Black Leather

THE SECRET HISTORIESThe Man with the Golden TorcDaemons are ForeverThe Spy Who Haunted MeFrom Hell with LoveFor Heaven's Eyes OnlyLive and Let DroodCasino Infernale

GHOST FINDERS NOVELSGhost of a ChanceGhost of a SmileGhost of a Dream

*available as an e-book from Jabberwocky Literary Agency

Guard Against Dishonor copyright © Simon R. Green, 1991All rights reserved.

Published as an e-book in 2013 by Jabberwocky Literary Agency, Inc. Previously published by Roc, an imprint of New American Library, a division of Penguin Group (USA) Inc, and by Ace, an imprint of the Berkley Publishing Group, a division of Penguin Group (USA) Inc, and in an omnibus trade paperback edition as Guards of Haven by Roc.

Cover art by Isaac Stewart.

ISBN: 9781936535996

TABLE OF CONTENTS

Title Page

Copyright

Also by Simon R. Green

Chapter 1: Chacal

Chapter 2: Going Down

Chapter 3: Talking Peace and War

Chapter 4: A Matter of Trust

Chapter 5: Under Seige

Chapter 6: Naming the Traitor

Chapter 7: Scapegoat

Chapter 8: Cutting Loose

Chapter 9: Under the Masks

Chapter 10: Loose Ends

CHAPTER 1

Chacal

There are bad cities, there are worse cities; and then there’s Haven.

By popular acclaim the vilest and most corrupt city in the Low Kingdoms, Haven in midwinter gleams purest white under falls of frozen snow, and its towers shine with frost and ice like pillars of crystal. But only from a distance. The snow on the ground is a dirty grey from the unceasing factory smoke, and grey-faced people trudge wearily through the snow-choked streets.

Seen up close, Haven is an ugly city, in more ways than one. Even in the early morning, when the killing cold grips the streets like a clenched fist, there is still no peace for the city. There are still deals to be made, conspiracies to be entered into, and blood to be spilled. Death is a way of life in Haven, and sudden violence the pulse of its narrow streets.

And only the city Guard, stretched to breaking point at the best of times, stands between the city and open, bloody chaos.

Hawk and Fisher, husband and wife and Captains in the city Guard, strode briskly down the crowded street towards Guard Headquarters, their prisoner scurrying along between them. Winter had finally come to Haven, despite everything the city weather wizards could do, and the bitter air was several degrees below freezing. The street was ankle-deep in snow and slush, and thick icicles hung from every building. Roofs groaned under the weight of a week’s accumulated snow, and the iron-grey sky promised more blizzards to come. But still people packed the street from end to end; men, women, and children jostling each other impatiently as they hurried to and from work. No one jostled Hawk and Fisher, of course. It wouldn’t have been wise.

It was eight o’clock in the morning, but so dark that street lamps still burned at every corner, their amber glare doing little to dispel the gloom. Hawk hated the winter, and not just because the recent flu epidemic had hit the Guard badly and he and Fisher were working a double shift for the third day running. Winter meant hard times in Haven, and hardest of all for the poor and destitute. In every street, in every part of the city, there were bodies lying stiff and cold, caught out in the freezing night because they had nowhere else to go. They ended up in sheltered doorways, or huddled together under tarpaulins in back alleyways, sharing their meager warmth as best they could. Every day the garbage squad made their rounds and hauled the bodies away, but there were always more. Hawk found a young girl once, curled in a tight little ball over a street grating. She couldn’t have been more than five or six years old, and her staring eyes had frozen solid in her head. Hawk hated the winter, and sometimes he hated Haven too.

Captain Hawk was tall, dark-haired, and no longer handsome. A series of old scars ran down the right side of his face, and a black silk patch covered his right eye. He told lots of stories about how he got the scars, most of them contradictory. His thick furs and official black cloak made him look impressively bulky, but underneath his winter uniform he was lean and wiry rather than muscular, and building a stomach. He wore his shoulder-length hair loose, mostly to keep his ears warm, and kept it out of his vision with a plain leather headband. He’d only just turned thirty, but already there were streaks of grey in his hair. At first glance he seemed like just another bravo, a sword-for-hire already past his prime, but few people ever stopped at a first glance. There was something about Hawk, something cold and unyielding that gave even the most belligerent hardcase pause to think twice. On his right hip, Hawk carried a short-handled axe instead of a sword. He was very good with an axe. He’d had lots of practice.

Captain Isobel Fisher walked confidently at his side, echoing her partner’s stance and pace with the naturalness of long companionship. She was tall, easily six feet in height, and her long blond hair fell to her waist in a single thick plait, weighted at the tip with a polished steel ball. She wore a battered and almost shapeless fur hat, pulled down low to protect her ears from the bitter cold. There was a rawboned harshness to her face, barely softened by her deep blue eyes and generous mouth. She was handsome rather than pretty, her gaze was cool and direct, and she didn’t smile much. Sometime, somewhere in the past, something had scoured all the human weaknesses out of her, and it showed. She wore the same furs and cloak as Hawk, though with rather more grace and style. She wore a sword on her hip, and her skill with it was legendary, in a city not easily impressed by legends.

Hawk and Fisher, feared and respected by one and all as the toughest and most honest Guards in Haven. They had a lot of enemies, both inside and outside the Guard.

Their prisoner was a short, scrawny, harmless-looking man, wrapped in a long fur coat, topped off with a pair of fluffy earmuffs. His thinning black hair was plastered to his head with rather more grease than necessary, and he had a permanent scowl. Benny the Weasel was not a happy man.

“You’re making a terrible mistake,” he repeated for the tenth time, in what he imagined was an ingratiating tone. “Let’s be reasonable about this.”

“Sorry,” said Hawk, without looking round. “I’m only reasonable at weekends. And Fisher doesn’t believe in being reasonable. Says it’s bad for her image.”

“Right,” said Fisher, glaring horribly at a nun who hadn’t got out of her way fast enough.

“This is all a misunderstanding,” said Benny doggedly. “I am a legitimate businessman.”

Hawk snorted derisively. “Benny, you are a small-time villain who makes most of his money running a nasty little protection racket, advising local shopkeepers of all the awful things that might happen to them or their premises if they don’t keep up the payments. Only this time you were dumb enough to do it in person, in front of Fisher and me. What’s the matter, both your leg-breakers down with the flu?”

Benny sniffed. “You can’t get good help these days. Look, I am an important figure in the community. I know my rights. I pay my taxes. Technically, you work for me.”

“Then you should be pleased to be getting such value for your money,” said Fisher. “We witnessed a crime and arrested the criminal on the spot. What more do you want?”

“You won’t get away with this!” said Benny desperately. “I have friends. I have influence. You won’t be able to make this charge stick. I’ll be out on the streets again before you can blink!”

Hawk looked at him. “You know, Benny, you’re starting to get on my nerves. Now, be a good fellow and shut your face or I’ll have Fisher take you into the nearest dark alley and reason with you for a while.”

Benny glanced at Fisher, and then looked quickly away when he discovered she was smiling at him. He’d heard about Fisher’s idea of reasoning with people. If she did it where they lived, it tended to play hell with the furniture. Benny had second thoughts, and they walked the rest of the way in silence.

Guard Headquarters loomed up before them, a massive squat stone building with heavy oaken doors and arrow-slit windows. It had the look of a place constantly under siege, which wasn’t far off the mark. Riots, hexes, and fire-bombings were a part of everyday life for the Headquarters, but no one had ever closed it down for more than a few hours. It had its own sorcerers, and everyone in the building went armed at all times, from the clerks to the Commanders. It took a lot to disrupt the Headquarters’ even running, though last year’s rash of possessions had come close.

The main doors were always open, but everyone knew that could change in a second if danger threatened. A long-established spell on the doors saw to that, and tough luck if anyone got in the way. A steady stream of people bustled in and out of the building as Hawk and Fisher approached with their prisoner. There was the usual mixture of Constables and the people helping them with their enquiries, along with anxious relatives searching for the recently arrested, and backstreet lawyers touting for business. And of course there were always those who’d come to the Guard for help, all with the same thinly disguised look of fear and desperation. Most people only went to the Guard when they’d tried everything else. The law was harsh and brutal, and weighted heavily in favour of the rich and powerful. There were Guards who were sympathetic, and would do what they could for those in real need, but for the most part the poor had no reason to trust the Guard. Like everything else in Haven, justice was for sale. Everyone had their price.

Everyone except Hawk and Fisher.

Benny thought fleetingly of making a run for it, then noticed that Fisher’s hand was resting casually on the pommel of her sword, and quickly thought better of it. He sighed heavily, and accompanied Hawk and Fisher through the main doors and into the crowded lobby of Guard Headquarters. The wide, low-ceilinged room was packed from wall to wall, and the noise was deafening. Mothers and grandmothers sat in little groups against the walls, chatting and gossiping and keeping a watchful eye on their children as they scampered back and forth, getting in everyone’s way. None of them had any real business at Headquarters, but the Guard let them stay. It was the only place in that area where small children could play safely. Besides which, the Guard Constables had found they could pick up a lot of useful information by casually listening in on the women’s gossip.

Over by the booking desk in the centre of the lobby, a seething mob of people screamed and shouted and pleaded, together with much shedding of tears and beating of breasts, but the three desk Sergeants took it in their stride. They’d heard it all before. They nodded more or less sympathetically to worried relatives, glared at the lawyers, and got on with booking the various criminals as the Constables brought them forward, as though the utter bedlam around them was of absolutely no interest.

Hawk and Fisher made their way through the shifting mass of bodies by sheer determination and liberal use of their elbows. Hawk hammered on the desk with his fist until he got a Sergeant’s attention, and then handed Benny over into his keeping. The Sergeant fixed him with a malicious grin.

“Well, well, what have we here? It’s not often you grace us with your loathsome company, Benny. What did you do to upset Hawk and Fisher?”

“Nothing! I was just minding my own business…”

“Your business is illegal, Benny, and if you were stupid enough to do it in front of those two, you deserve everything that happens to you.” He struck the large brass bell beside him, the sharp sound cutting cleanly through the surrounding babble, and a Constable came over to the desk and led Benny away. Hawk and Fisher watched them go, Benny the Weasel still loudly protesting his innocence.

“We won’t be able to hold him, you know,” said the desk Sergeant.

Fisher looked at him sharply. “Why the hell not? We’ll both give evidence against him.”

“It’ll never come to trial,” said the Sergeant. “Benny has friends, hard though that is to believe. The word will come down, and we’ll have to let him go.”

Fisher scowled. “Sometimes I wonder why we bother making arrests at all. These days, it seems practically every villain and thug we meet has connections with someone higher up. Or the judge gets bribed. Or the jury gets intimidated.”

“That’s Haven for you,” said the Sergeant. “Hey, don’t look at me. I just work here.”

Fisher growled something indistinct, and allowed Hawk to pull her away from the desk. They elbowed their way back through the crowd, glaring down any objections, and found a place by the huge open fireplace to warm their hands and take a seat for a moment. They nodded amiably to the half-dozen Constables already there. None of them actually had any business that required their presence at Headquarters, but none of them were that keen to give up the nice warm lobby for the freezing cold outside. Hawk turned around and lifted his cloak to warm his backside at the fire. He smiled happily and looked out over the lobby.

A small group of whores, looking bright and gaudy and not a little chilly in their working finery, were waiting patiently to be booked, fined, and released so that they could get back to work as quickly as possible. Some politician or newspaper editor must have had a sudden attack of principles, or been leaned on by some pressure group, and declared loudly that Something Should Be Done about the rising tide of vice in Our Fair City. So the Guard made a big show of arresting whoever happened to be around at the time, the pimps paid the fines out of their petty cash, and business went on as usual. Hawk shrugged. It was none of his business. He nodded to a few familiar faces, and then tensed as one of the girls was viciously backhanded by her pimp. Hawk strode quickly over to them and dropped a heavy hand on the pimp’s shoulder. The pimp spun round, knocking the hand away, and then froze as he realised who it was. He was young and muscular, with a ratty-looking moustache, dressed to the nines and proud of it. He studied Hawk warily.

“What do you want, Captain? I’m clean.”

“You wouldn’t be clean if you washed every day with sulphuric acid. You are a pimp, Sebastian, the lowest of the low, and I know you of old. I thought I warned you about maltreating your girls.”

“Me? Hurt my girls?” said Sebastian, looking around him as though to invite the world to witness his harassment. “I love my girls like sisters! Who sees they always have nice clothes to wear, and looks after all their needs? They’re like family to me, all my girls. They just need a little firm guidance from time to time, that’s all.”

“Your associate and business partner, that nasty little thug Bates, is currently awaiting trial for ‘firmly guiding’ one of your girls by slashing her face with a razor,” said Hawk. “I know you, Sebastian; I know you and all your nasty little ways. And if I discover you’ve been firmly guiding any of your girls again, I shall be annoyed with you. You do remember what happened when I got annoyed with Bates, don’t you?”

The pimp nodded reluctantly. “He’s making good progress. He should be out of hospital soon.”

“Really? I must be losing my touch. Keep your hands off the girls, Sebastian. Or I’ll tie your fingers in knots.”

Sebastian smiled and nodded as though it hurt him, and disappeared into the crowd. Hawk watched him go, nodded politely to the whores, who ignored him, and made his way back to the fire. Fisher was down on her knees, playing with a few children too young to be afraid of a Guard’s uniform. Hawk watched for a while, smiling gently. Isobel was good with kids. They’d talked about having children of their own more than once, but somehow it never seemed to be the right time.

The crowd suddenly erupted in shouts and screams, and backed quickly away as a prisoner who’d broken away from his escort lashed about him with a knife he’d somehow kept hidden. He grabbed for one of the children by Fisher, obviously intending to use the child as a hostage. Fisher glanced round and back-elbowed him viciously in the groin. She rose unhurriedly to her feet as the prisoner hunched forward over his pain, then rabbit-punched him. He collapsed and lay still. Fisher kicked the knife away from his hand and went back to playing with the children. Two Constables dragged the unconscious prisoner away.

Hawk decided regretfully that they’d killed about as much time as they could get away with, and they ought really to get back to the job. They were barely halfway through their second shift. He tried concentrating on all the overtime they were racking up, but it didn’t help. His feet were numb, his forehead still ached from the cold, and his back was killing him. Hawk hated the winter. He collected Fisher, waved goodbye to the kids and their unresponsive mothers, and strode resignedly out into the waiting cold. And the first thing he saw was Benny the Weasel shivering in a borrowed cloak as he tried unsuccessfully to hail a sedan chair. Hawk and Fisher looked at each other, and strolled casually over to join him. Benny saw them coming, and clearly thought about making a run for it, before better sense took over. He drew himself up to his full five foot six and tried to brazen it out.

“Benny,” said Hawk reproachfully, “what do you think you’re doing out here?”

“They let me go,” said Benny quickly, his eyes darting from Hawk to Fisher and back again. “All the charges have been dropped. That’s official. Told you I had friends.”

Hawk and Fisher stepped forward, took an elbow each, and carried Benny kicking and protesting into the nearest back alley. As soon as they put him down, he tried to bolt, but Hawk snagged him easily and slammed him against the wall, just hard enough to rattle his eyes and put a temporary stop to any complaints. Hawk brought his face close to Benny’s, and fixed him with his single cold eye.

“No one walks when we bring the charges, Benny. Not ever. I don’t care what kind of friends you’ve got, you are guilty as hell and you’re going to stand trial.”

“They won’t accept your evidence,” said Benny desperately. “The judge will let me off. You’ll see.”

Hawk sighed. “You’re not getting the message, Benny. If we let you walk, all the other scum will start thinking they can get away with things. And we can’t have that, can we? So you are going to walk back into Headquarters, make a full confession, and plead guilty. Because if you don’t, Fisher and I will take turns thinking up horrible things to do to you.”

“They won’t convict me on just a confession.”

“Then you’d better be sure to provide plenty of corroborative evidence. Hadn’t you?”

Benny looked at Hawk’s implacable face and then glanced at Fisher. She had a nasty-looking skinning knife in her hand, and was calmly paring her nails with it. Benny studied the knife with fascinated eyes and swallowed hard. Right then, all the awful stories he’d heard about Hawk and Fisher seemed a lot more believable than they had before. Hawk coughed politely to get his attention, and Benny almost screamed.

“Benny…”

“I think I’d like to confess, please, Captain Hawk.”

“You do realise you don’t have to?”

“I want to.”

“Legally, you’re not bound to do so…”

“Please, let me confess! I want to! Honestly!”

“Good man,” said Hawk, standing back from him. “It’s always refreshing to meet a citizen who believes in honesty and justice. Now, get in there and start talking while we’re still in a good mood.”

Benny ran out of the alleyway and back into Guard Headquarters. Fisher smiled and put away her knife. The two Guards left the alley and made their way unhurriedly down the street, heading back to their beat in the Northside.

The Northside was the rotten heart of Haven, where all that was bad in the city came to the surface, like scum on poisoned wine. Crime and corruption and casual evil permeated the Northside, where every taste and trade was catered to. Various gangs of drug dealers fought running battles over lucrative territories, ruthlessly cutting down any innocent bystanders who got in the way. Spies plotted treason behind shuttered windows, and many doors opened only to the correct whispered password. Sweatshops and crowded slum tenements huddled together under broken street lamps, and the smoke from local factories hung permanently on the air, clawing at the throats of those who breathed it. Some said the Northside was as much a state of mind as an area, but states of mind don’t usually smell that bad.

Hawk and Fisher strolled through the narrow streets, nodding to familiar faces in the bustling crowd. Speed was a way of life in the Northside; there were deals to be made, slights to be avenged, and you never knew who might be coming up behind you. Hawk and Fisher rarely let themselves be hurried. You could miss things that way, and Hawk and Fisher always liked to know what was going on around them. They’d had the Northside as their beat for five years now, on and off, but despite their best efforts, little had changed in that time. For every villain they put away, the Northside produced two more to take his place, and the soul-grinding poverty that was at the root of most crimes never changed from one year to the next. In their most honest moments. Hawk and Fisher knew that all they’d really done was to drive the worst crimes underground, or into other areas. Things tended to be peaceful as long as they were around, but they couldn’t be everywhere at once. Occasionally one or the other would talk about quitting, but they never did. They wouldn’t give up. It wasn’t in their natures. They took each day as it came, and helped those they could. Even little victories were better than none.

The stone-and-timber buildings huddled together as though for warmth, their upper stories leaning out over the streets till their eaves almost touched. Piles of garbage thrust up through the snow and slush, and Hawk and Fisher had to be careful where they put their feet. The garbage collectors came once a month, and then only with an armed guard. The beggars who normally lived off the garbage had been driven from the streets by the cold, but there were still many who braved the bitter weather for their own reasons. Business went on in the Northside, no matter what the weather. Business, and other things.

In the light of a flickering brazier, an angel from the Street of Gods was throwing dice with half a dozen gargoyles.

A fast-talking salesman was hawking bracelets plated with something that looked like gold. A large Saint Bernard with a patchy dye job was trying to bum a light for its cigar. Two overlarge rats with human hands were stealing the boots off a dead man. And two nuns were beating up a mugger. Just another day in the Northside.

A sudden burst of pleasant flute music filled Hawk’s and Fisher’s heads as the Guard communications sorcerer made contact. They stopped to listen and find out what the bad news was. It had to be bad news. It always was. Anything else could have waited till they got back to Headquarters. The flute music broke off abruptly, and was replaced by the dry, acid voice of the communications sorcerer.

Attention all Guards in the North sector. There’s a riot in The Crossed Pikes tavern at Salt Lane. There are a large number of dead and injured, including at least two Constables. Approach the situation with extreme caution. There is evidence of chacal use by the rioters.

Hawk and Fisher ran down the street, fighting the snow and slush that dragged at their boots. Salt Lane was four streets away, and a lot could happen in the time it would take them to get there. From the sound of it, too much had happened already. Hawk scowled as he ran. Riots were bad enough without drugs complicating the issue.

Chacal was something new on the streets. Relatively cheap, and easy enough to produce by anyone with a working knowledge of alchemy and access to a bathtub, the drug brought out the animal side of man’s nature. It heightened all the senses while turning off the higher functions of the mind, leaving the user little more than a wild animal, free to wallow in the moment and indulge any whim or gratify any desire, free from reason or remorse or any stab of conscience. The drug boosted the users’ strength and speed and ferocity, making them almost unstoppable. It also burned out their nervous systems in time, leaving them paralysed or mad or dead from a dozen different causes. But life wasn’t worth much in the Northside anyway, and there were all too many who were willing to swap a hopeless future for the savage joys of the present.

Hawk and Fisher charged round the last corner into Salt Lane and then skidded to a halt. A large crowd had already gathered, packing the narrow street from side to side. The two Guards bulled their way through without bothering to be diplomatic about it, and quickly found themselves at the front of the crowd, facing The Crossed Pikes tavern from a safe distance. The tavern looked peaceful enough, apart from its shattered windows, but a Guard Constable was sitting on a nearby doorstep, pressing a bloody handkerchief to a nasty looking scalp wound. Blood covered half his face. He looked up dazedly as Hawk and Fisher approached him, and tried to get to his feet. Hawk waved for him to stay seated.

“What happened here?”

The Constable blinked and licked his dry lips. “My partner and I were the first here after the alarm went out. There was fighting and screaming inside the tavern, but we couldn’t see anything. The crowd told us there were two Constables already in there, so my partner went in to check things out while I watched the crowd. I waited and waited, but he never came back. After a while it all went quiet, so I decided I’d just take a quick look through the door. I’d barely got my foot over the doorstep when something hit me. I couldn’t see for blood in my eyes, so I got out of there quick. I’ll try again in a minute, when I’ve got my breath back. My partner’s still in there.”

Hawk clapped him on the shoulder reassuringly. “You take a rest. Fisher and I’ll have a look. If any more Guards come, keep them out here till we’ve had a chance to evaluate the situation. Are you sure it’s chacal-users in there?”

The Constable shrugged. “That’s what the crowd said. But there’s no way to be sure. As far as I can tell, anyone who was in the tavern when the trouble started is still in there.”

Hawk squeezed the Constable’s shoulder comfortingly, and then he and Fisher moved off a way to discuss the matter.

“What do you think?” said Hawk.

“I think we should be very careful how we handle this. I don’t like the sound of it at all. Three Guards missing, another injured and so spooked he can’t bear to go near the place, and an unknown number of rioters who might just be out of their minds on chacal. The odds stink. How come we never get the easy assignments?”

“There aren’t any easy assignments in Haven. We’ve got to go in, Isobel. There could be innocent people trapped in there, unable to get out.”

“It’s not very likely, Hawk.”

“No, it’s not. But we have to check.”

Fisher nodded unhappily. “All right; let’s do it, before we get a rush of brains to the head and realise what a dumb idea this is. What’s the plan?”

“Well, there’s no point in trying to sneak in. If there are chacal-users in there, they’ll be able to see, hear, and smell us coming long before we even get a glimpse of them. I say we burst in through the door, weapons at the ready, and hit anything that moves.”

“Planning never was your strong suit, was it, Hawk?”

“Have you got a better idea?”

“Unfortunately, no.”

Hawk grinned. “Then let’s do it. Don’t look so worried, lass. We’ve faced worse odds before.”

He drew his axe and Fisher drew her sword, and they moved cautiously over to the tavern’s main entrance. The door was standing ajar, with only darkness showing beyond. Bright splashes of blood marked the polished wood, below a series of gouges that looked unnervingly like claw marks. Hawk listened carefully, but everything seemed still and quiet. He put his boot against the door and pushed it wide open. The two Captains braced themselves, but nothing happened. Hawk hefted his axe thoughtfully, and glanced at Fisher. She nodded, and they darted through the doorway together. Once inside they moved quickly apart to stand on either side of the door, so they wouldn’t be silhouetted against the light, and waited silently for their eyes to adjust to the gloom.

Hawk held his axe out before him, and strained his ears against the silence. A fire was burning fitfully at the far end of the tavern, and some light fell past the shuttered windows. The tavern slowly took form out of the gloom, and Hawk was able to make out chairs and tables overturned and scattered across the floor, as though a sudden storm had swept through the long room, carrying all before it. Dark shapes lay still and silent among the broken furniture, and Hawk didn’t need to see them clearly to know they were bodies. He counted fourteen that he was sure of. There was no sign of their killers.

Hawk moved slowly forward, axe at the ready. Broken glass crunched under his boots. Fisher appeared silently out of the gloom to move at his side. He stopped by a wall lamp, and working slowly and carefully, he took out his box of matches and lit it, while Fisher stood guard. It wasn’t easy lighting the lamp with one hand, but he wouldn’t put his axe down. The sudden light pushed back the darkness, and for the first time Hawk and Fisher were able to see the full extent of the devastation. There was blood everywhere, splashed across the walls and furniture and pooled on the floor. Most of the bodies had been mutilated or disfigured. Some had been torn apart. Loops of purple intestine hung limply from a lamp bracket, and a severed hand beckoned from a barbecue grill by the fire. Most of the bodies had been gutted, ripped open from throat to groin. Whoever or whatever had done it hadn’t bothered to use a blade. Fisher swore softly, and her knuckles showed white on her sword hilt. Hawk put the lamp back in its niche, and the two of them moved slowly forward. The tavern was still and silent, full of the stench of blood and death.

They went from body to body, methodically checking for signs of life, but there were none. They found the three Guards who’d gone in to face what they thought was a simple riot. The only way to identify them was by their Constable’s scarlet cloak and tunic. Their heads were missing. There was no sign anywhere of their attackers. Hawk wondered briefly if they might have made their escape during the confusion, but he didn’t think so. Every instinct he had was screaming at him that the killers were still there, watching, and waiting for their chance. He could almost feel the weight of their gaze on his back.

The tavern’s bar had been wrecked. There wasn’t an intact bottle or glass left on the shelves, and the floor was covered with a thick carpet of broken glass. Hawk drew Fisher’s attention to the bartop. The thick slab of polished mahogany was crisscrossed with long, curving scars that made Hawk think again about claws. He looked at Fisher, who nodded slowly.

“Are you thinking what I’m thinking, Hawk?”

“Could be. We’ve been working on the assumption this was the work of chacal-users, but more and more this is starting to look like something else entirely. I don’t see how anything human could have caused injuries like those, or claw marks like these. I think we’ve got a werewolf here, Isobel.”

Fisher reached down and pulled a silver dagger from inside her boot, and held it loosely in her left hand. Just in case. She moved behind the bar, and then signalled quickly for Hawk to come and join her. He did so, and the two of them stood looking down at the bartender, lying wedged half under the bar. His throat had been torn out, and there were bite marks on his arms where he’d lifted them to defend himself.

“Werewolf,” said Fisher.

“Maybe,” said Hawk. “I don’t know. The bite marks look wrong. A wolf’s muzzle would leave a larger, narrower bite….”

Something growled nearby. Hawk and Fisher moved quickly out from behind the bar to give themselves room to fight. They glared about them, but nothing moved in the shadowy, blood-spattered room. The growl came again, louder this time, and then a heavy weight hit Hawk from above and behind, throwing him to the floor. Glass crunched loudly beneath him as he rolled back and forth, trying desperately to tear himself free from the creature that clung to his back, pinning his arms to his sides with its legs and reaching for his throat with clawed hands. He tucked his head in, chin pressed to his chest, and then nearly panicked as he felt teeth gnawing at the back of his head. He got his feet underneath him, glanced quickly about to get his bearings, and then slammed himself back against the heavy wooden bar behind him. The creature’s grip loosened as the breath was knocked out of it, and Hawk pulled free. He threw himself to one side, and Fisher stepped forward in a full extended lunge, pinning the creature to the bar with her sword.

For a moment, no one moved. Hawk and Fisher stared incredulously at the blood-soaked man transfixed by Fisher’s sword. His clothing hung in rags, and he held his hands like claws. Blood soaked his hands and forearms like crimson gloves, and there was more blood spattered thickly over his livid white flesh. His eyes were wide and staring. He snarled silently at the two Guards, showing his bloody teeth, but he was still just a man. And then he lunged forward, forcing himself along the impaling blade, his bloody hands reaching for Fisher’s throat. She held her ground, watching in fascination as the jagged-nailed hands grew steadily nearer. Part of her wondered crazily what had happened to wreck his nails like that.

Hawk lurched to his feet, lifting his axe. The killer lunged forward again, blood spilling down his gut from where Fisher’s sword pierced him, snarling and growling like a wild animal. And then Fisher lifted her hand with the silver dagger in it, and cut his throat. Blood sprayed across her arm, and she watched warily as the light went out of his eyes and he slumped forward, dead at last. She pulled out her sword and he fell limply to the floor and lay still. Hawk came over to stand beside her.

“He must have been up in the rafters,” he said finally. “All this time, just watching us, and waiting.”

Fisher looked up at the ceiling. “There’s no one else up there. But I can’t believe one man did all this, drug or no drug.”

Hawk looked down at the dead user. “Maybe we shouldn’t have killed him after all. There are a lot of questions we could have asked him.”

“He didn’t exactly give us a choice,” said Fisher dryly. “Besides, he wouldn’t have been allowed to talk. We’d have had to keep him in gaol till he came down, and by then word would have reached his suppliers. They’d either have sprung him or killed him to keep his mouth shut.”

Hawk scowled. “It has to be said Headquarters’ security isn’t worth spit these days. Particularly when it comes to drug arrests. You know, it wasn’t this bad when we first joined the Guard.”

“Yes it was,” said Fisher. “We just weren’t experienced enough to recognise the signs. There’s a lot of money in drugs, and where there’s a lot of money there’s a line of Guards with their hands out.”