Guard Against Dishonor

by Simon R. Green

  Hawk heard footsteps behind him and turned just in time to see the second man hit the patch of frozen urine. The swordsman's feet shot out from under him and he all but flew off the edge of the roof. The third man was standing by the fire escape with his mouth hanging open. Hawk bent down, snatched up a handful of snow, and threw it at him. As the man-at-arms raised his hand instinctively to guard his face, Hawk stepped carefully forward and swung his axe in a vicious sideways arc. The axehead punched clean through the man's rib cage and sent him flying backwards. He disappeared over the edge of the roof and fell back down the fire escape. There was a brief flurry of yells and curses from the other men coming up the stairway, and Hawk grinned. He hurried forward, and his feet shot out from under him.

  He hit the roof hard, and slid kicking and cursing towards the edge of the roof. He threw aside his axe and grabbed at the iron guttering as he shot past it. He got a firm grip on the trough with both hands, and the sudden shock of stopping almost wrenched his arms from his sockets. The guttering groaned loudly, but supported his weight. Hawk hung there for a moment, breathing hard, his feet dangling above the street far below, and then he started to pull himself back up. The trough groaned again and shifted suddenly. There was a muffled pop as a rivet tore free, and Hawk froze where he was. The guttering didn't look at all secure, especially when seen from underneath, and he didn't think it would hold his weight much longer. On the other hand, one sudden movement might be all it would take to pull it away completely. He pulled himself up slowly and carefully, an inch at a time, ignoring the sudden groans and stirrings from the ironwork, and swung one leg up over onto the roof. A few moments later he was back on the roof, reaching for his axe and wiping sweat from his forehead. The sound of approaching feet on the fire escape caught his attention again and he grinned suddenly as a new idea came to him.

  He moved carefully over to the metal stairway and looked down. Seven men-at-arms were heading up towards him. They looked grim, and very competent. Hawk waved at them cheerfully, and then bent forward and stuck his axehead between the side of the stairway and the wall. He threw his weight against the axe, and the fire escape tore away from the wall with almost casual ease. The seven swordsmen screamed all the way down to the street below. Hawk put his axe away. Sometimes there was a lot to be said for cheap building practices.

  He clambered up to the roof ridge and looked down the other side. Burns was crouching at the edge of the roof, sword in hand, keeping watch from behind a jutting gable. There was no sign of any more men-at-arms. Hawk called out to Burns, and he jumped half out of his skin. He spun round, sword at the ready, and then glared balefully as he saw it was only Hawk.

  "Don't do that!"

  "Sorry," said Hawk. "I take it none of the men-at-arms got this far?"

  "Haven't seen hide nor hair of them. I don't think they were interested in me, only you. How many came after you?"

  "Ten," said Hawk, casually.

  "Bloody hell. What happened to them?"

  Hawk grinned. "We had a falling out."

  They made their way back to Headquarters, but though there were no further incidents, Hawk couldn't shake the feeling they were still being followed. He tried all the usual tricks to make a tail reveal himself, but he didn't see anyone, no matter how carefully he checked. It was always possible his current situation had him jumping at shadows, but he didn't think so. The crawling itch between his shoulder blades stayed with him all the way back to Guard Headquarters. He stopped at the main doors and peered wistfully down the street at The Cloudy Morning tavern. A drink would really hit the spot now, after the long day's exertions, but he could just visualize the look on Burns's face if he were to suggest it. All the partners he could have chosen, and he had to pick a saint in training. He strode scowling into Headquarters, and everyone hurried to get out of his way. Burns walked silently beside him, nodding casually to familiar faces. He'd been unusually quiet ever since Morgan's people jumped them. Hawk shrugged mentally. Apparently Burns was still mad at him for not trying to bring in his attackers alive. As if he'd had a choice, with ten-to-one odds.

  They made their way through the building, going from department to department, ostensibly just passing the time of day with their co-workers, but always managing to slip in the occasional probing question. It was hard going. None of the Guards wanted to talk about Morgan or his drugs, and in particular no one wanted to be seen talking to Hawk. Overnight he'd become bad news, and no one wanted to get too close in case some of the guilt rubbed off on them. The sudden reticence was unnerving. Usually Headquarters was buzzing with gossip about everything under the sun, most of it unprovable and nearly all of it acrimonious, but now all Hawk had to do was stick his head round a door and silence would fall across the room. Hawk gritted his teeth and kept smiling. He didn't want anyone to think the silence was getting to him. And slowly, very slowly, he started getting answers. They were mostly evasive, and always hushed, but they often told as much by what they didn't say as what they did. And the picture that gradually emerged was more than a little disturbing.

  Mistress Melanie of the Wardrobe department didn't know anything about Morgan or the missing drugs, but she did let slip that the campaign of silence was semiofficial in origin. Word had come down from Above that the Morgan case was closed. Permanently. Which suggested that someone High Up was involved, as well as someone at Headquarters. That was unusual; corruption in the higher ranks of the Guard tended to be political rather than criminal. A clerk in Intelligence quietly intimated that at least one Guard Captain was involved. And a pretty well-regarded Captain, too. He wouldn't even hint at a name.

  Hawk and Burns hung around the Constables' cloakroom for a while, but it soon became clear that the Constables were uneasy in their company and had nothing to say. The Forensic Laboratory was up to its eyes in work, as usual, and the technicians were all too busy to talk. Vice, Forgery, and Confidence Tricks were all evasive and occasionally openly obstructive. Hawk had his enemies in the Guard, and some saw this as their chance to attack while he was vulnerable. Hawk just kept on smiling, and made a note of certain names for later.

  Of all the departments, the Murder Squad turned out to be the most forthcoming—probably because no one was going to tell any of its members who they could and couldn't talk to. They were the toughest of the tough, took no nonsense from anyone, and didn't care who knew it. Unfortunately, what they knew wasn't really worth the telling. The crates of super-chacal had been taken down to the storage cellars, and signed in, all according to procedure. But when the time came to check the contents, there was no sign of the crates anywhere. Everyone in Stores swore blind that no one could have got to the drugs without breaking Stores' security, and all the wards and protections were still in place, undisturbed. Which meant it had to be an inside job. Someone in Stores had been got at. But when the Stores personnel were tested under truthspell, they all came out clean as a whistle. So whoever took the drugs had to be someone fairly high up in the Guard, with access to the right keys and passwords. Hawk mentioned the possibility of a Captain on the take. There was a lot of shrugging and sideways glances, but no one would admit to knowing anything definite. Hawk thanked them for their time, and left.

  That just left the Drug Squad, but as Hawk expected, no one there would talk to him. They were already under suspicion themselves, and weren't about to make things worse by helping a pariah like Hawk. He nodded politely to the silent room, and then he and Burns left to do some hard thinking. They found an empty office, barricaded the door to keep out unwelcome visitors, and sat down with their feet propped up on either side of the desk.

  "The more I learn, the less this case makes sense," said Hawk disgustedly. "There's no way anyone could have got those crates out of Stores without somebody noticing, passwords or no passwords. I mean, you'd have needed at least half a dozen people just to shift that many crates. Someone in Stores has got to be lying."

  "But they all passed the truthspell."

 
; "That doesn't necessarily mean anything. It's possible to beat the truthspell, if you know what you're doing."

  "It could have been sorcery of some kind," said Burns. "Morgan had one sorcerer working for him in that factory; who's to say he doesn't have another one working for him?"

  "Could be," said Hawk. "Hell, I don't know. I don't know anything anymore. Did you see their faces in the Drug Squad? I know those people. I've worked with practically everyone in that room at one time or another, and they looked at me like I was a stranger. It was the same with all the others; they don't trust me anymore, and the fact of the matter is, I don't trust them either. I don't know who to trust anymore. You heard what Intelligence said; it isn't just a Captain who's on the take, it's a well-respected Captain. There aren't too many of those."

  "Maybe we should go talk to Commander Glen."

  "No. I don't think so."

  Burns looked at him. "Are you saying you don't trust Glen either? He's the one who gave you this brief, told you to find out what's going on!"

  "He's also the one who let Morgan go. And it's clear there's been a lot of pressure coming down from Above to keep people quiet. What better way to conceal a potentially embarrassing investigation than to be the one who set it up?"

  "But why would someone like Glen bother about a few missing drugs?"

  "He wouldn't. More and more it seems to me the drugs are only a part of this. Something else is going on, something so big they can't afford for it to come to light."

  "They?" said Burns.

  Hawk shrugged. "Who knows how far up the corruption goes? Why stop at a Captain or a Commander? Morgan said there was a lot of money to be made out of this super-chacal. Millions of ducats. And don't forget, most of the top people in the Guard are political appointees, and there's a damn sight more corruption in politics than there ever was in the Guard."

  "Hawk," said Burns carefully, "this is starting to sound very paranoid. We're going to need an awful lot of hard evidence if we're to convince anyone else."

  "We can't go to anyone else. We're all alone now. We can't trust anyone—not our colleagues, not our superiors, not our friends. Anyone could be working for the other side." Hawk hesitated, and looked intently at Burns. "You know, you don't have to stay with me on this. When I asked you to be my partner, I didn't know what we were getting into. There's still time for you to get out, if you want. Things could get very nasty very quickly once I start pushing this."

  Burns smiled. "You're not getting rid of me that easily. Especially not now the case is getting so interesting. I'm not convinced about this massive conspiracy of yours, but there's no doubt something fascinating is going on. I'm with you all the way, until we break the case or it breaks us. Morgan's people killed my partner. I can't turn my back on that. So, what's our next step?"

  "There's only one place we can go," said Hawk slowly. "The Guard Advisory Council."

  Burns gaped at him for a moment. "You've got to be kidding! They're just a bunch of businessmen, Guard retirees and idealistic Quality who like to see themselves as a buffer between the Guard and the Council's politics. They mean well, but they're about as much use as a chocolate teapot. I mean, they're very free with their advice, but they don't have any real power. They're mostly just public relations. How can they help us?"

  "They're all people in a position to have a finger on the pulse of what's happening in Haven. And just maybe they're divorced enough from both Guard and Council not to be tainted by the present corruption. Maybe we can get some answers there we won't get anywhere else. It's worth a try."

  "Yes, I suppose it is." Burns hesitated a moment. "Hawk, this Captain who's working for Morgan. What if it turns out to be someone we know? Maybe even a friend?"

  "We do whatever's necessary," said Hawk flatly. "Whoever it is."

  Burns looked as though he was going to say something more, and then both he and Hawk jumped as someone knocked briskly on the office door. They both took their feet off the desk, and glanced at each other.

  "Captain Hawk?" said a voice from outside. "I have a message for you."

  "How did he know where to find me?" said Hawk quietly. "No one's supposed to know where we are."

  "What do we do?" said Burns.

  "Answer him, I suppose." Hawk got up and walked over to the barricaded door. "What do you want?"

  "Captain Hawk? I have a message for you, sir. I'm supposed to deliver it in person."

  Hawk hesitated, and then shrugged. He pulled away the chairs holding the door shut, drew his axe, and opened the door. A Guard Constable looked at him, and the axe, and nodded respectfully.

  "Sorry to disturb you, Captain. It's about the child you rescued from under the collapsed tenement. The little girl."

  "I remember her," said Hawk. "Has there been some improvement in her condition?"

  "I'm sorry, sir. She's dead. I'm told she never regained consciousness."

  "I see. Thank you." The Constable nodded and walked away. Hawk closed the door. "Damn. Oh damn."

  Out in the corridor, the Constable smiled to himself. The news had obviously shaken Hawk badly. And anything that slowed Hawk down had to be good for Morgan and his backers. The Constable strode off down the corridor, patting the full purse at his belt and whistling cheerfully.

  Chapter Five

  Under Siege

  Fisher peered out the study window, chewing thoughtfully on a chicken leg she'd liberated from the delegates' lunch time snack after they'd disappeared back into the pocket dimension. She'd spent the last half hour checking out the house security and searching for weak spots, but she had to admit ap Owen seemed to know what he was doing. Every door and window had locks or bolts or both, and they were all securely fastened. There were men-at-arms in servants' livery on every floor, making their rounds at random intervals so as not to fall into a predictable routine. Routines could be taken advantage of. There were caches of weapons stashed all over the house, carefully out of sight but still ready to hand in an emergency. Outside, the grounds were a security man's dream. All the approaches were wide open—nowhere for anyone to hide—and the thick covering of snow made the lawns impossible to cross without leaving obvious tracks.

  All in all, everything was calm and peaceful, and showed every sign of staying that way. Which was probably why Fisher was so bored. Ap Owen's people seemed to regard her as an outsider, and her appointment as some kind of negative appraisal of their own abilities. As a result, none of them were talking to her. Ap Owen himself seemed friendly enough, but it was clear he was the worrying type, constantly on the move, checking that everything was running smoothly. Fisher wandered aimlessly around for a while, committing the layout of the house to memory and trying to get the feel of the place.

  It was an old house, creaking and groaning under the weight of the winter cold, with a somewhat erratic design. There were rooms within rooms and corridors that led nowhere, and shadows in unexpected places. But everything that could be done to make the house secure had been done, and Fisher couldn't fault ap Owen's work. She should have felt entirely safe and protected, and it came as something of a surprise to her to find that she didn't. Deep down inside, where her instincts lived, she couldn't shake off the feeling she—and everyone else in the house—was in danger. No doubt part of that uneasiness came from knowing there was a pocket dimension nearby. After what had happened in the Hook she was more than a little leery of such magic, for all of ap Owen's reassurances. But more than that, she had a strong feeling of being watched, of being under siege. She had only to look out of a window to feel the pressure of unseen watching eyes, as though somewhere outside a cold professional gaze was studying her dispassionately, and considering options.

  And so she'd ended up back in the study, staring out the wide window at the bare, innocent lawns and wondering if she was finally getting paranoid. Ap Owen acted as if he was expecting an attack at any moment, and she was beginning to understand why. There was a definite feeling of anticipation in the air, of somet
hing irrevocable edging closer; as though her instincts were trying to warn her of something her mind hadn't noticed yet. She threw aside her chicken leg, turned her back on the window defiantly, and looked around for something to distract her. Unfortunately, the study was briskly austere, with the bare minimum of chairs and a plain writing table. Bookshelves lined two of the walls, but their leather-bound volumes had a no-nonsense, businesslike look to them. There was one portrait, on the wall behind the desk, its subject a straight-backed, grim-faced man who apparently hadn't approved of such frivolities as having your portrait painted. The study had clearly been intended as a room for working, not relaxing.

  Fisher leafed through some of the papers on the desk, but ap Owen's handwriting was so bad they might have been written in code for all she could tell. She looked thoughtfully at the wine decanters left over from the delegates' break, and then looked away. She'd been drinking too much of late. So had Hawk. Haven did that to you.

  There was a definite crawling on the back of Fisher's neck, and she strode back to the window and glared out at the featureless scene again. The snow-covered lawns stretched away before her, vast and unmarked. There were no trees or hedges, nothing to hide behind. Everything was quiet. Fisher yawned suddenly, and didn't bother to cover her mouth. She'd been hoping to snatch a couple of hours' sleep here, but it seemed her nerves were determined to keep her restless and alert. She almost wished that someone would attack, just to get it over with.

  She started to turn away from the window, and then stopped, startled, and looked quickly back again. The wide open lawns were empty and undisturbed; no one was there. But for a moment she could have sworn… It came again, a sudden movement tugging at the edge of her vision. She looked quickly back and forth, and pounded her fist on the windowsill in frustration. There couldn't be anyone out there. Even if they were invisible, they'd still leave tracks in the snow. Things moved at the corner of her eyes, teasing her with glimpses of shapes and movement that refused to come clear. She backed slowly away from the window and drew her sword. Something was happening out there. There was a sound behind her and she spun round, dropping into a fighter's crouch. Ap Owen raised an eyebrow, and she flushed angrily as she straightened up.