Guard
Against Dishonor
Simon R. Green
CONTENT
Chapter One Chacal
Chapter Two Going Down
Chapter Three Talking Peace and War
Chapter Four A Matter of Trust
Chapter Five Under Siege
Chapter Six Naming The Traitor
Chapter Seven Scapegoat
Chapter Eight Cutting Loose
Chapter Nine Under The Masks
Chapter Ten Loose Ends
Chapter One
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 favor 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 center 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 realized 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."
Guard Against Dishonor Page 1