The Bones of Haven E-Book

Simon R. Green

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

Seitenzahl: 416

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. Hawk and Fisher constantly find themselves in the middle of Haven's trouble, but this time they might be in over their heads. A massive riot breaks out in the prison where all of Haven's most notorious criminals - and wizards - and incarcerated, threatening the tentative Peace Talks the would bring peace to the kingdom. Their actions in the prison take them straight into the fold of Haven's political battle where peace talks might meet a bloody end. As the action unfolds, Hawk and Fisher find themselves deeper and deeper in the conspiracy that ties the lowest of prisoners to the highest politicians in Haven. The toughest married couple faces their greatest (and perhaps final) battle in the stunning conclusion to the Hawk and Fisher series.

Leseprobe

The Bones of Haven copyright © Simon R. Green, 1992All 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: 9781625670007

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

TABLE OF CONTENTS

Copyright

Title Page

Also by Simon R. Green

Prologue

Chapter 1: Hell Wing

Chapter 2: Something to Believe In

Chapter 3: Hostages

Chapter 4: Something in the Dark

Chapter 5: At Play in the Fields of the Lord

Chapter 6: Goodbyes

The book is dedicated to Grant Morrison, boy genius, and The Waterboys, sui generis, without whose inspiration this book could not have been written.

Haven is an old city, but still growing, with new houses built on the bones of the old. But some parts of Haven are older than others and have never been properly put to rest. Down below the surface of the city, the remains of older structures stir uneasily in their sleep and dream dark thoughts of the way things used to be. There are new buildings all over Haven, and some of them stand on unquiet graves….

CHAPTER 1

Hell Wing

Rain had come to Haven with the spring, and a sharp, gusting wind blew it in off the sea. The rain hammered down with mindless ferocity, bouncing back from the cobbles and running down the gutters in raging torrents. Water dripped from every surface, gushed out of drainpipes, and flew in graceful arcs from carved gargoyle mouths on the smarter buildings. It had been raining on and off for weeks, despite everything the city weather wizards could do, and everyone was heartily sick of it. The rain forced itself past slates and tiles and gurgled down chimneys, making fires sputter and smoke. Anyone venturing out into the streets was quickly soaked, and even inside the air seemed saturated with moisture. People gritted their teeth and learned to ignore damp clothing and the constant drumming of rain on the roof. It was the rainy season, and the city endured it as the city endured so many other afflictions—with stubborn defiance and aimless, sullen anger.

And yet things were not as gloomy in the port city of Haven as they might have been. The rain-soaked streets were decked with flags and bunting and decorations, their bright and gaudy colors blazing determinedly through the grayness of the day. Two Kings had come to Haven, and the city was putting on an attractive face and enjoying itself as best it could. It would take more than a little rain to dampen Haven’s spirits when it had an excuse to celebrate. A public holiday had been declared from most jobs, on the grounds that the eager citizens would have taken one anyway if it hadn’t been granted, and people held street parties between the downpours and boosted the takings at all the inns and taverns. Tarpaulins were erected in the streets wherever possible, to ward off the rain, and beneath them could be found street fairs and conjurers and play-actors and all manner of entertainments.

Of course, not everyone got to take the day off. The city Guard still went about its business, enforcing the law and protecting the good citizens from pickpockets and villains and outrages, and, most important of all, from each other. Haven was a harsh, cruel city swarming with predators, even during a time of supposedly universal celebration. So Hawk and Fisher, husband and wife and Captains in the city Guard, made their way through the dismal gray streets of the Northside and wished they were somewhere else. Anywhere else. They huddled inside their thick black cloaks, and pulled the hoods well forward to keep the rain out of their faces.

Hawk was tall, dark, and no longer handsome. He wore a black silk patch over his right eye, and a series of old scars ran down the right side of his face, giving him a cold, sinister look. Huddled inside his soaking wet black cloak, he looked like a rather bedraggled raven that had known better days. It had to be said that even when seen at his best, he didn’t look like much. He was lean and wiry rather than muscular, and was beginning to build a stomach. He wore his dark hair at shoulder length, swept roughly back from his forehead and tied at the nape of his neck with a silver clasp. He’d only just entered his thirties, but already there were streaks of gray in his hair. It would have been easy to dismiss him as just another bravo, perhaps already past his prime, but there was a dangerous alertness in the way he carried himself, and the cold gaze of his single eye was disturbingly direct. He carried a short-handled axe on his right hip, instead of a sword. He was very good with an axe. He’d had lots of practice.

Isobel Fisher walked at his side, unconsciously echoing his pace and stance with the naturalness of long companionship. She was tall, easily six foot 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 was in her late twenties, and handsome rather than beautiful, with a rawboned harshness to her face that contrasted strongly with her deep blue eyes and generous mouth. Some time ago, something had scoured all the human weaknesses out of her, and it showed. Even wrapped in her thick cloak against the driving rain, she moved with a determined, aggressive grace, and her right hand never strayed far from the sword on her hip.

People gave them plenty of room as they approached, and were careful to look away rather than risk catching the Guards’ eyes. None of them wanted to be noticed. It wasn’t healthy. Hawk and Fisher were feared and respected as two of the toughest and most honest Guards in Haven, and everyone in the Northside had something to hide. It was that kind of area. Hawk glared balefully about him as he and Fisher strode along, and stamped his boots unnecessarily hard on the water-slick cobbles. Fisher chuckled quietly.

“Cheer up, Hawk. Only another month or so of utter misery, and the rainy season will be over. Then you can start looking forward to the utter misery of the boiling hot summer. Always something to look forward to in Haven.”

Hawk sniffed. “I hate it when you’re this cheerful. It’s not natural.”

“Me, or the rain?”

“Both.” Hawk stepped carefully over a tangled mass of bunting that had fallen from a nearby building. “I can’t believe people are still going ahead with celebrations in this downpour.”

Fisher shrugged. “Any excuse for a holiday. Besides, they can hardly postpone it, can they? The Kings will only be here two more days. Then it’ll all be over, and we can get back to what passes for normal here in the Northside.”

Hawk just grunted, not trusting himself to any more than that. His job was hard enough without extra complications. Haven was without doubt the most corrupt and crime-ridden city in the Low Kingdoms, and the Northside was its dark and rotten heart. No crime was too vile or too vicious to be overlooked, and if you could make any kind of profit out of it, you could be sure someone was doing it somewhere. And double-crossing his partner at the same time, like as not. Violence was commonplace, along with rape and murder and protection rackets. Conspiracies blossomed in the shadows, talking treason in lowered voices behind locked doors and shuttered windows. Throughout Haven, the city Guard was stretched thin to breaking point and beyond, but somehow they managed to keep a lid on things, most of the time. Usually by being even harsher and more violent than the people they fought. When they weren’t taking sweeteners to look the other way, of course. All of which made it increasingly difficult for anyone to figure out why the Parliaments of both the Low Kingdoms and Outremer had insisted on their respective Kings coming to Haven to sign the new Peace Treaty between the two countries.

It was true that the Peace Talks at which the Treaty had been hammered out had taken place in Haven, but only after the Guard had protected the negotiators from treacherous assault by mercenaries and terrorists. There were a great many people in both countries who had vested interests in seeing the Peace Talks fail, and they’d shown no hesitation in turning Haven into their own private battleground. Hawk and Fisher had managed to smash the worst conspiracy and preserve the Talks, but it had been a very close thing, and everyone knew it. Everyone except the two Parliaments apparently. They’d set their minds on Haven, and weren’t going to be talked out of it. Probably because they simply couldn’t believe what their Advisors were telling them about the city.

Upon hearing of the singular honour being bestowed on their fair city, Haven’s city Councillors practically had a collective coronary, and then began issuing orders in a white-hot panic. No one had ever seen them do so much so quickly. One of the first things they did was to give the Guard strict instructions to get all the villains off the streets as quickly as possible, and throw the lot of them in gaol, for any or no reason. They’d worry about trials and sentences later, if at all. For the moment, all that mattered was rounding up as many villains as possible and keeping them safely out of the way until the Kings had left Haven. The prison Governor came closer to apoplexy than a coronary, though it was a near thing, and demanded hysterically where he was supposed to put all these extra bodies in his already overcrowded prison. That, he was curtly informed, was his problem. So the Guards had gone out into the streets all over the city, backed up by as many men-at-arms and militia as the Council could put together, and started picking up villains and hauling them away. In some cases where their lawyers objected strongly, the Guards took them in as well. Word soon got around, and those misereants who managed to avoid the sweeps decided it would be wisest to keep their heads down for a while, and quietly disappeared. The crime rate plummeted, overnight.

Which is not to say the city streets suddenly became peaceful and law-abiding. This was Haven, after all. But the usual petty crimes and everyday violence could be more or less controlled by the Guard and kept well away from the Kings and their retinues, which was all that mattered as far as the Council was concerned. No one wanted to think what the city would be like after the Kings had left and most of the villains had to be released from prison due to lack of evidence. To be honest, few people in Haven were thinking that far ahead. In the meantime, Hawk and Fisher patrolled their usual beat in the Northside, and were pleasantly surprised at the change. There were stretches when no one tried to kill anyone else for hours on end.

“What do you think about this Peace Treaty?” said Hawk idly. “Do you think it’s going to work?”

Fisher shrugged. “Maybe. As I understand it, the two sides have hammered out a deal that both of them hate but both of them can live with, and that’s the best anyone can hope for. Now that they’ve agreed on a definitive boundary line for the first time in centuries, it should put an end to the recent border clashes at least. Too many good men were dying out there in the borderlands, defending a shaky line on a faded old map to satisfy some politician’s pride.”

Hawk nodded. “I just wish they’d chosen somewhere else for their signing ceremony. Just by being here, the Kings are a magnet for trouble. Every fanatic, assassin, and terrorist for miles around will see this as their big chance, and head straight for Haven with blood in their eyes and steel in their hands.”

“Come on,” said Fisher. “You’ve got to admit, the Kings’ security is pretty impressive. They’ve got four heavy-duty sorcerers with them, a private army of men-at-arms, and a massive deputation of honour guards from the Brotherhood of Steel. I could conquer a minor country with a security force that size.”

Hawk sniffed, unimpressed. “No security is ever perfect; you know that. All it needs is one fanatic with a knife and a martyr’s complex in the right place at the right time, and we could have two dead Kings on our hands. And you can bet Haven would end up taking all the blame, not the security people. They should never have come here, Isobel. I’ve got a real bad feeling about this.”

“You have bad feelings about everything.”

“And I’m usually right.”

Isobel looked at him knowingly. “You’re just miffed because they wouldn’t let any Haven Guards into their security force.”

“Damn right I’m annoyed. We know the situation here; they don’t. But I can’t really blame them, much as I’d like to. Everyone knows the Guard in this city is rife with corruption, and after our last case, no one trusts anyone anymore. After all, if even we can come under suspicion…”

“We proved our innocence, and exposed the real traitor.”

“Doesn’t make a blind bit of difference.” Hawk scowled and shook his head slowly. “I still can’t believe how ready everyone was to accept we were guilty. After all we’ve done for this city…. Anyway, from now on, there’ll always be someone ready to point the finger and mutter about no smoke without fire.”

“Anyone points a finger at me,” said Fisher calmly, “I’ll cut it off, and make him eat it. Now, stop worrying about the Kings; they’re not our responsibility.”

They walked a while in silence, kicking occasionally at loose debris in the street. The rain seemed to be letting up a bit. Every now and again someone up on a roof would throw something down at them, but Hawk and Fisher just ignored it. Thanks to the overhanging upper floors of the buildings, it was rare for anything to come close enough to do any harm, and there was no point in trying to chase after whoever was responsible. By the time the Guards could get up to the roof, the culprits would be gone, and both sides knew it. They were in more danger from a suddenly emptied chamber pot from an upper window. You had to expect that kind of thing in the Northside. Even if you were the infamous Hawk and Fisher.

Hawk scowled as he strode along, brooding over recent events. It wasn’t that long ago that most of Haven had been convinced he’d gone berserk, killing anyone who got in the way of his own personal vendetta outside the law. It hadn’t been true, and eventually he’d proved it, but that wasn’t the point. He knew he had a reputation for violence; he’d gone to great pains to establish it. It kept the villains and the hardcases off his back, and made the small fry too nervous to give him any trouble. But even so, the speed with which people believed he’d gone bad had disturbed him greatly. For the first time, he’d seen himself as others saw him, and he didn’t like what he saw.

“We never used to be this hard,” he said quietly. “These days, every time I look at someone I’m thinking about the best way to take them out before they can get to me. Whether they’re behaving aggressively or not. Whenever I talk to someone, part of me is listening for a lie or an evasion. And more and more, I tend to assume a suspect is bound to be guilty, unless hard evidence proves them innocent.”

“In the Northside, they usually are guilty,” said Fisher.

“That’s not the point! I always said I’d never laid a finger on an honest man, or killed anyone who didn’t need killing. I’m not so sure of that anymore. I’m not infallible. I make mistakes. Only thing is, my mistakes could cost someone their life. When we first took on this job, I really thought we could do some good, make a difference, help protect the people who needed protection. But now, everyone I meet gets weighed as a potential enemy, and I care more about nailing villains than I do about protecting their victims. We’ve changed, Isobel. The job has changed us. Maybe… we should think about leaving Haven. I don’t like what we’ve become.”

Fisher looked at him anxiously. “We’re only as hard as we need to be to get the job done. This city is full of human wolves, ready to tear us apart at the first sign of weakness. It’s only our reputation for sudden death and destruction that keeps them at bay. Remember what it was like when we first started? We had to prove ourselves every day, fighting and killing every hardcase with a sword and a grudge, just to earn the right to walk the streets in peace. Now they’ve learned to leave us alone, we can get things done. Look, we’re a reflection of the people we’re guarding. If they start acting civilized and playing by the rule book, so will I. Until then, we just do what we have to, to get the job done.”

“But that’s the point, Isobel. Why do the job? What difference does it make? For every villain we put away, there are a dozen more we can’t touch who are just waiting to take his place. We bust our arses every day, and nothing ever changes. Except us.”

“Now, don’t start that again. We have made a difference. Sure, things are bad now, but they were much worse before we came. And they’d be worse again if we left. You can’t expect to change centuries of accumulated evil and despair in a few short years. We do the best we can, and protect the good people every chance we get. Anything above and beyond that is a bonus. You’ve got to be realistic, Hawk.”

“Yeah. Maybe.” Hawk stared straight ahead of him, looking through the driving rain without seeing it. “I’ve lost my way, Isobel. I don’t like what I am, what I’m doing, what I’ve become. This isn’t what I meant to do with my life, but I don’t know what else to do. We are needed here; you’re right about that. But some days I look in the mirror and I don’t recognize my face at all. I hear people talking about things I’ve done and it doesn’t sound like me. Not the me I remember being, before we came here. I’ve lost my way. And I don’t know how to find it again.”

Fisher scowled unhappily, and decided she’d better change the subject. “I know what your problem is. You’re just brooding because I’ve put you on another diet.”

Hawk smiled in spite of himself. “Right. I must be getting old, lass; I never used to put on weight like this. I can’t believe I’ve had to let my belt out another notch. When I was younger I had so much energy I used to burn off food as fast as I could eat it. These days, I only have to look at a dessert and my waistline expands. I should never have admitted turning thirty. That was when the rot set in.”

“Never mind, dear,” said Fisher. “When we get back home tonight I’ll put out your pipe and slippers, and you can have a nice doze in your chair by the fire before dinner.”

Hawk looked at her. “Don’t push your luck, Isobel.”

She laughed. “Well, it serves you right. Anyone would think you were on your last legs and doddering towards the grave, to hear you talk. There’s nothing wrong with you that a good fight in a good cause couldn’t put right. In the meantime, no desserts, cut down on the meat, and lots of nice healthy salads. And no more snacks in between meals, either.”

“Why does everything that’s good for you have to taste so damned bland?” complained Hawk. “And I don’t care if lettuce is good for me; I’m not eating it. Flaming rabbit food…”

They continued on their way through the Northside, doing their rounds and showing their faces. Hawk seemed in a somewhat better mood but was still unusually quiet. Fisher decided to let him brood, and not push it. He’d had these moods before, and always snapped out of it eventually. Together, they checked out three burglaries, and lectured one shopkeeper on the need for bolts as well as locks on his doors and window shutters. None of the burglaries were anything special, just routine break-ins. Not much point in looking for clues. Sooner or later they’d catch someone in the act, and he’d confess to a whole bunch of others crimes and that would be that. After the burglaries, they got involved in a series of assaults, sorting out tavern brawls, muggings, and finally a domestic dispute. Hawk hated being dragged into domestic quarrels. You couldn’t win. Whatever you did was bound to be wrong.

They approached the location of the domestic dispute cautiously, but at least this time there was no flying crockery to dodge. Or flying knives. The address was a poky little apartment in the middle of a row of shabby tenements. Neighbors watched silently as the two Guards entered the building. Hawk took the lead and kept a careful eye on the house’s occupants as they made way before him. Guards were the common enemy of all Northsiders; they represented and enforced all the laws and authority that kept the poor in their place. As a result, Guards were targets for anyone with a grudge or a mad on, and one of the nastier surprise attacks these days was the Haven mud pie—a mixture of lye and grease. Thrown at close range, the effect could be devastating. The lye burned through clothing as though it wasn’t there, and if it hit bare skin it could eat its way right down to the bone. The grease made the lye stick like glue. Even a small mud pie could put a Guard in hospital for weeks, if his partner didn’t get him to a doctor fast enough. And doctors tended to be few and far between in the Northside. The last man to aim a mud pie at Hawk had got both his arms broken, but there were any number of borderline crazies in the Northside, just waiting to be pushed over the edge by one frustration too many. So Hawk and Fisher stayed close together and kept a wary eye on shadowed corners and doors left just a little too far ajar.

They made their way through the hall and up the narrow stairs without incident. Mothers and small children watched in stony silence, while from above came the sound of domestic unrest. A man and a woman were shouting and screeching at the tops of their voices, but Hawk and Fisher didn’t let themselves be hurried. As long as the couple were still shouting they weren’t searching for blunt instruments or something with a sharp edge. It was when things went suddenly quiet that you had to worry. Hawk and Fisher reached the landing and strode down the hall, stepping over small children playing unconcernedly on the floor. They found the door with the right number, the sounds from within made it pretty hard to miss. Hawk hammered on the door with his fist, and an angry male voice broke off from its tirade just long enough to tell him to go to hell. Hawk tried again, and got a torrent of abuse for his trouble. He shrugged, drew his axe, and kicked the door in.

A man and a woman looked round in surprise as Hawk and Fisher stood in the doorway taking in the scene. The woman was less than average height, and more than a little undernourished, with a badly bruised face and a bloody nose. She was trying to stop the flowing blood with a grubby handkerchief, and not being very successful. The man was easily twice her size, with muscles on his muscles, and he was brandishing a fist the size of a mallet. His face was dark with rage, and he glared sullenly at Hawk and Fisher as he took in their Guards’ cloaks.

“What are you doing here? You’ve no business in this house, so get out. And if you’ve damaged my door I’ll see you pay for the repairs!”

Hawk smiled coldly. “If you’ve damaged that woman, you’ll pay for. it. Now, stand back from her and put down that fist, and we’ll all have a nice little chat.”

“This is family business,” said the man quickly, before the woman could say anything. He lowered his fist, but stood his ground defiantly.

Fisher moved forward to speak to the woman, and the man fell back a step in spite of himself. She ignored him, and spoke softly to the woman. “Does this kind of thing happen often?”

“Often enough,” said the woman indistinctly, behind her handkerchief.

Fisher frowned. “Just say the word, and we’ll drag him off to gaol. You don’t have to put up with this. Are you married to him?”

The woman shrugged. “More or less. He’s not so bad, most of the time, but he can’t keep a job because of his temper. He just lost another one today.”

“So he comes home and takes it out on you.” Fisher nodded understandingly.

“That’s enough!” snapped the man suddenly, stung at being talked about as though he wasn’t there. “She’s got nothing more to say to you, Guard, if she knows what’s good for her. And you two can get out now, or I’ll throw you out.”

Hawk stirred, and looked at him with interest. “You and what army?”

“I really think you should swear out a complaint against him,” said Fisher. “Next time he might not just break your nose. A few mights in gaol might calm him down a bit, and if nothing else, it should make him think twice about hitting you again.”

The woman nodded slowly. “You’re right. I’ll swear out a complaint.”

“You lousy bitch!” The man lurched forward, raising his huge hands menacingly. Fisher turned and smacked him solidly between the eyes with her fist. The man fell back a step and then sat down abruptly, blinking dazedly. Fisher looked at Hawk.

“We’d better get him downstairs. You take one arm and I’ll take the other.”

“Right,” said Hawk. “There’s some railings outside we can chain him to until we can find a Constable to take him back to Headquarters for charging.”

They got him to his feet easily enough and were heading for the door when Hawk, hearing a muffled cry behind them, looked back just in time to see the woman heading straight for him with a knife in her hand. Hawk dropped the man and stepped quickly to one side, but the woman kept coming at him, her eyes wild and desperate. Fisher stuck out a leg and tripped her. The woman fell heavily and lost her grip on the knife. Hawk stepped forward and kicked it out of reach. The woman burst into tears. Hawk looked at Fisher.

“What the hell was that all about?”

“She loves him,” said Fisher, shaking her head sadly. “She might not like the treatment, but she loves him just the same. And when she saw us hauling him off to gaol, she forgot how angry she was and decided we were the villains of the piece, for threatening her man…. Now we have to take them both in. Can’t let anyone get away with attacking a Guard, or we’ll never have any peace.”

Hawk nodded reluctantly, and they set about manhandling the man and the woman down the stairs and out into the street.

They found a Constable, eventually, and let him take over, then set off on their beat again. The rain continued to show signs of letting up without ever actually doing anything about it. The day wore slowly on, fairly quiet by Northside standards. Hawk and Fisher broke up half a dozen fights, ran off a somewhat insecure flasher, and helped talk a leaper out of jumping from a second-story building. The city didn’t really care if a leaper killed himself or not, but there was always the chance he might land on someone important, so official policy in such cases was to clear the street below and then just let the would-be suicide get on with it. As in many other things, Hawk and Fisher ignored official policy and took the time to talk quietly and encouragingly to the man, until he agreed to go down the normal way, via the stairs. The odds were that by tomorrow he’d be back up on the roof again, but at least they’d bought him some time to think it over. Working in the Northside, you learned to be content with little victories.

“You know,” said Hawk as he and Fisher walked away, “sometimes, when I’m up on a roof with a leaper, I have an almost overwhelming urge to sneak up behind him and shout Boo! in his ear. Just to see what would happen.”

“You’re weird, Hawk,” said Fisher, and he nodded solemnly. At which point a rush of gentle flute music poured through their minds, followed by the dry, acid voice of the Guard communications sorcerer.

All Guards in the Northern sector, report immediately to Damnation Row, where there is a major riot in progress. This order supersedes all other instructions. Do not discuss the situation with anyone else until you have reported to the prison Governor. That is all.

Hawk scowled grimly as he and Fisher turned around and headed back down the street shoulders hunched against the renewed heavy rain. Damnation Row was Haven’s oldest and largest prison, as well as the most secure. A great squat monstrosity of basalt stone, surrounded on all sides by high walls and potent sorceries, it was infamous throughout the Low Kingdoms as the one prison no one ever escaped from. Riots were almost unknown, never mind a major riot. No wonder they’d been instructed not to talk about it. The prison’s reputation was part of its protection. Besides, if word did get out, the streets would be thronged with people heading for the prison to try and help the inmates break out. Most people in Haven knew someone in Damnation Row.

The prison itself stood jammed up against the city wall on the far boundary of the Northside, and Hawk and Fisher could see its outline through the driving rain long before they got to its gatehouse. The exterior walls were huge, dark, and largely featureless, and seemed especially grim and forbidding through the downpour. Hawk hauled on the steel bell pull at the main gate, and waited impatiently with Fisher for someone to answer. He’d never been inside Damnation Row before and was curious to see if it was as bad as everyone said. Conditions inside were supposed to be deliberately appalling. Haven had nothing but contempt for anyone dumb enough or unsuccessful enough to get caught, and the idea was that a stay in Damnation Row would scare the offender so much he’d do anything rather than be sent back—including going straight. The prison’s excellent security record also made it a useful dumping ground for dangerous lunatics, untrustworthy magic-users, and political and religious embarrassments. The city firmly believed in taking revenge on its enemies. All of them.

Hawk yanked on the bell pull again, hammered on the door with his fist, and kicked it a few times for good measure. All he got out of it was a stubbed toe and an unsympathetic glance from Fisher. Finally a sliding panel in the door jerked open and a grim-faced prison guard studied their Guards’ uniforms for a long moment before slamming the panel shut and opening the judas gate in the main door to let them in. Hawk and Fisher identified themselves, and weren’t even given time to dump their dripping wet cloaks before being hustled through the outer precincts of the prison to the Governor’s office. Everywhere they looked there was bedlam, with prison guards running this way and that, shouting orders no one listened to and getting in each other’s way. Off in the distance they could hear a dull roar of raised voices and the hammering of hard objects on iron bars.

The Governor’s office was comfortably furnished, but clearly a place of work rather than relaxation. The walls were bare save for a number of past and present Wanted posters, and two framed testimonials. The plain, almost austere desk was buried under paperwork, split more or less equally into two piles marked “Pending” and “Urgent.” The Governor, Phillipe Dexter, stood up from behind his desk to shake hands briefly with Hawk and Fisher, gestured for them to take a seat, and then returned to his own chair quickly, as though only sheer willpower had kept him on his feet that long. He was an average-looking man in his late forties, dressed fashionably but conservatively, and had a bland, politician’s face. At the moment he looked tired and drawn, and his hand had trembled slightly with fatigue when Hawk shook it. The two Guards took off their cloaks and draped them over the coat rack before sitting down. The Governor watched the cloaks dripping heavily on his carpet, and closed his eyes for a moment, as though that was definitely the last straw.

“How long has this riot been going on?” asked Hawk, to get the ball rolling.

“Almost four hours now.” The Governor scowled unhappily, but his voice was calm and measured. “We thought we could contain it at first, but we just didn’t have the manpower. This prison has always suffered from overcrowding, with two or even three inmates locked up in a cell originally meant for one. Mainly because Haven has almost doubled in size since this prison was built. But we coped, because we had to. There was nowhere else to put the prisoners; all the other gaols in Haven are just holding pens and debtors’ prisons, and they face the same problem as us. But, thanks to the Council’s ill-advised purge of the streets, we’ve had prisoners arriving here in the hundreds over the last week or so, and my staff just couldn’t cope with the resulting crush. We had four, sometimes five, to a cell in some places, and not even enough warning to allow for extra food and blankets. Something had to give.

“The prisoners decided this morning that they couldn’t be treated any worse than they already were, and attacked the prison staff during breakfast and slopping-out. The violence soon spread, and we didn’t have enough manpower to put it down. Essentially, we’ve lost half the prison. Barricades and booby traps have been set up by the inmates in all the approaches to two of the main Wings, and they’ve been throwing everything they can get their hands on at us to make us keep our distance. They’ve started several fires, but so far the prison’s security spells have been able to stamp them out before they could get out of control. So far, no one’s actually escaped. Our perimeter is still secure.

“We’ve tried to negotiate with the inmates, but none of them have shown any interest in talking. Pretty soon the Council is going to order me to take the occupied Wings back by force, before the Kings get to hear about the riot and start getting worried. But that, believe it or not, isn’t the main problem. Adjoining the two occupied Wings is Hell Wing, where we keep our supernatural prisoners. Creatures of power and magic, locked away here while awaiting trial. Hell Wing is in its own pocket dimension, surrounded by powerful wards, so it should still be secure. But there are reported to be several magic-users among the rioters, and if they find a way into Hell Wing and set those creatures loose, a whole army of Guards wouldn’t be enough to control them.”

Hawk and Fisher looked at each other, and then back at the Governor. “If it’s as serious as all that,” said Hawk, “why are you wasting time talking to us? You need somebody with real power, like the God Squad, or the SWAT team.”

The Governor nodded quickly. “The God Squad have been alerted, but at present they’re busy coping with an emergency on the Street of Gods. I’ve sent for the Special Wizardry and Tactics team; they’re on their way. When they get here, I want you two to work with them. You’ve both worked with the God Squad in the past, you have experience coping with supernatural creatures, and you have a reputation for salvaging impossible situations. And right now, I’m so desperate I’ll grab at any straw.”

There was a brief knocking at the door, and it swung open before the Governor could even ask who it was. A woman and three men filed into the office and slammed the door shut behind them. The woman fixed the Governor with a harsh gaze.

“You sent for the SWAT team. We’re here. Don’t worry, we’ve been briefed.” She looked at Hawk and Fisher. “What are they doing here?”

“They’ll be working with you on this,” said the Governor firmly, trying to regain control of the situation. “The God Squad’s been delayed. These two officers are…”

“I know who they are.” The woman nodded briskly to Hawk and Fisher. “I’m Jessica Winter, team leader and tactician. My associates are Stuart Barber, weaponmaster; John MacReady, negotiator; and Storm, sorcerer. That takes care of introductions; anything more can wait till later; we’re on a tight schedule and time’s running out. Let’s go. Sit tight, Governor; you’ll have your prison back in a few hours. Oh, and if any more Guards arrive, keep them out of our way.”

She smiled briefly, and hustled her people out of the office before the Governor could work up a reply. Hawk and Fisher nodded to him and hurried out after the SWAT team. Jessica Winter led the way down the corridor with casual confidence, and Hawk took the opportunity to surreptitiously study his new partners. He knew them all by reputation but had never worked with any of them before.

Winter was a short, stocky woman with a determined, friendly manner that reminded Hawk irresistibly of an amiable bulldog. She was in her early thirties and looked it, and clearly didn’t give a damn. She’d been through two husbands that Hawk knew of, and was currently pursuing her third. She moved and spoke with a brisk, no-nonsense efficiency, and by all accounts could be charming or overwhelming as the mood took her. She was dressed in a simple shirt and trousers, topped with a chain-mail vest that had been polished within an inch of its life, and wore a sword on her hip in a plain, regulation issue scabbard. She’d been with the SWAT team for seven years, two of them as leader and tactician. She had a good if somewhat spotty record, and preferred to dismiss her failures as learning experiences. Given that her team usually wasn’t called in until things had got totally out of hand, Winter had built up a good reputation for finding solutions to problems at the last possible moment. She also had a reputation for convoluted and devious strategies, which Hawk felt might come in very handy just at the moment. He had a strong feeling there was a lot more to this situation than met the eye.

He glanced across at Stuart Barber, the weaponmaster, and felt a little reassured. Even walking down an empty corridor in the midst of friends and allies, Barber exuded an air of danger and menace. He was a tall, powerfully-built man in his mid-twenties, with arms so tightly muscled the veins bulged fiercely even when his arms were apparently relaxed. He had a broad, brutal-looking sword on his hip, in a battered leather scabbard, and wore a long chain-mail vest that had been repaired many times, not always neatly. He had a long, angular head, with pale, pinched features accentuated by dark hair cropped short in a military cut. He had a constant slight scowl that made him look more thoughtful than bad-tempered.

John MacReady, the negotiator, looked like everyone’s favourite uncle. It was his job to talk people out of things before Winter let Barber loose on them. MacReady was average height and well-padded, in a friendly, non-threatening way. He smiled a lot, and had the charming gift of convincing people he was giving them his entire attention while they were talking. He was in his mid-forties, going bald, and trying to hide it with a somewhat desperate hairstyle. He had an easy, companiable way about him that made him hard to distrust, but Hawk decided to try anyway. He didn’t put much faith in people who smiled too much. It wasn’t natural.

The sorcerer called Storm was a large, awkward-looking man in his late twenties. He was easily six foot six inches, and his broad frame made him look even taller. His robe of sorcerer’s black looked as if it hadn’t been cleaned in months, and the state of his long black hair and beard suggested they’d never even been threatened with a comb. He scowled fiercely at nothing and everything, and just grunted whenever Winter addressed him. His hands curled and uncurled into fists at his side, and he strode along with his beard jutting out before him, as though just waiting for some fool to pick a quarrel with him. All in all, he looked rather like some mystical hermit who’d spent years in a cave meditating on the nature of man and the universe, and came up with some very unsatisfactory answers. The sorcerer looked round suddenly, and caught Hawk’s eye.

“What are you staring at?”

“I was just wondering about your name,” said Hawk easily.

“My name? What about it?”

“Well, Storm’s not exactly a usual name for a sorcerer. A weather wizard, maybe, but…”

“It suits me,” said the sorcerer flatly. “Want to make something of it?”

Hawk thought about it for a moment, and then shook his head. “Not right now. I was just curious.”

Storm sniffed dismissively, and looked away. Jessica Winter fell back a few steps to walk alongside Hawk. She smiled at him briefly. “Don’t mind Storm,” she said briskly, not bothering to lower her voice. “He’s a gloomy bugger, but he knows his job.”

“Just what kind of a setup are we walking into?” asked Fisher, moving up on Hawk’s other side. “As I understand it, you’ve had a full briefing. We just got the edited highlights.”

Winter nodded quickly. “Not surprisingly, the situation isn’t as simple and straightforward as it appears. The riot broke out far too suddenly and too efficiently for it to have been entirely spontaneous. Somebody had to be behind it, pulling the strings and pointing people in the right direction. But the Governor’s attempts to negotiate got nowhere, because the rioters couldn’t agree on a leader to represent them. Which suggests that whoever is behind the riot is keeping his head down. Which in turn suggests that person had his own reasons for starting it.”

“Like breaking someone out, under cover of the chaos?” said Fisher.

“Got it in one,” said Winter. “But so far no one’s got out over the walls or through the gates; the prison guards have seen to that. The Governor’s insistence on regular panic drills seems to have paid off. The real problem lies with Hell Wing, which is where we come in. If someone’s managed to get in there and bust any of those creatures loose, we could be in real trouble. You could break out any number of people in the chaos that would cause. And if that someone’s let them all loose… we might as well evacuate the entire city.”

“That bad?” said Hawk.

“Worse.”

Hawk thought about it. “Might this be a good time to suggest a strategic retreat, so we can wait for the God Squad to back us up?”

Storm sniffed loudly. “The word retreat isn’t in our vocabulary.”

“It’s in mine,” said Hawk.

“Just how well-confined are these supernatural prisoners?” asked Fisher hurriedly.

“Very,” said Winter. “Hell Wing is a separate pocket dimension linked to Damnation Row by a single doorway, protected by armed guards and a number of powerful magical wards. Each inmate is confined separately behind bars of cold iron, backed up by an individually tailored geas, a magical compulsion that prevents them from escaping. There’s never been an escape from Hell Wing. The system’s supposed to be foolproof.”

“Unless it’s been sabotaged from inside,” said Hawk.

“Exactly.”

Fisher frowned. “All of this suggests the riot was planned well in advance. But the prison didn’t become dangerously overcrowded until just recently.”

“It was a fairly predictable situation,” said Winter. “Once it was known the Kings were coming here. Especially if our mysterious planners knew of that in advance.”

From up ahead came the sound of ragged cheering, interspersed with occasional screams and catcalls.

“We’ll have to take it carefully from here on in,” said MacReady quietly. “We’re getting close to the occupied Wings. We have to pass right by them to get to Hell Wing. The Governor’s going to try and distract them with new attempts at negotiating, but there’s no telling how long that will last. It’s bedlam in there.”

A scream rose suddenly in the distance, drowned out quickly by stamping feet and baying voices. Fisher shivered despite herself.

“What the hell are they doing?”

“They’ll have got to the sex offenders by now,” said MacReady. “There’s a social status among criminals, even in Damnation Row, and sex offenders and child molesters are right at the bottom of the list. The other prisoners loathe and despise them. They call them beasts, and assault them every chance they get. Mostly they’re held in solitary confinement, for their own protection. But right now the prisoners are holding mock trials and killing the rapists and child abusers, one by one.

“Of course, when they’ve finished with that, there are various political and religious factions, all eager to settle old grudges. When the dust’s settled from that, and the prisoners have demolished as much of the prison building as they can, they’ll turn on the seventeen prison staff they were able to get their hands on, and try and use them as a lever for an escape. When that doesn’t work, they’ll kill them too.”

“We can’t let that happen,” said Fisher. “We have to put a stop to this.”

“We will,” said Winter. “Once we’ve made sure Hell Wing is secure. I know, Fisher, you want to rush in there and rescue them, but we can’t. Part of this job, perhaps the hardest part, is learning to turn your back on one evil so you can concentrate on a greater one.”

It was ominously quiet in the distance. Hawk scowled. “Should have put a geas on the lot of them. Then there wouldn’t have been all this trouble in the first place.”

“It’s been suggested many times,” said Winter, “but it would cost like hell, and the Council won’t go for it. Cells and bars come a lot cheaper than magic.”

“Hold it,” said Storm suddenly, his voice so sharp and commanding that everyone stopped dead where they were. The sorcerer stared silently at the empty corridor ahead of them, his scowl gradually deepening. “We’re almost there,” he said finally, his voice now low and thoughtful. “The next bend leads into Sorcerers’ Row, where the magic-users are confined. They’re held in separate cells, backed up by an individual geas. After that, there’s nothing between us and Hell Wing.”

“Why have we stopped?” said Winter quietly. “What’s wrong, Storm?”

“I don’t know. My inner Sight’s not much use here. Too many security spells. But I ought to be picking up some trace of the magic-users on Sorcerers’ Row, and I’m not getting anything. Just traces of stray magic, scattered all over the place, as though something very powerful happened here not long ago. I don’t like the feel of it, Jessica.”

“Draw your weapons,” said Winter, glancing back at the others, and there was a quick rasp of steel on leather as the team’s swords left their scabbards. Hawk hefted his axe thoughtfully, and then frowned as he realised MacReady was unarmed.

“Where’s your sword?” he said quietly.

“I don’t need one,” said the negotiator calmly. “I lead a charmed life.”

Hawk decided he wasn’t going to ask, if only because MacReady was obviously waiting for him to do so. He nodded calmly to the negotiator, and moved forward to join Winter and Storm.

“I don’t like standing around here, Winter. It makes us too good a target. If there’s a problem with Sorcerers’ Row, let’s check it out.”

Winter looked at him coolly. “I lead the team, Captain Hawk, and that means I make the decisions. We’re going to take this slow and easy, one step at a time. I don’t believe in rushing into things.”

Hawk shrugged. “You’re in charge, Winter. What’s the plan?”