They’d been married seven years. It was an arranged marriage. Hardcastle arranged it.
He glared at Wulf for a long moment, and when he finally spoke his voice was deceptively calm and even. “You told me your magics could break through any barrier Adamant could buy. So why is he still alive?”
Wulf shrugged easily. “He must have found himself a new sorcerer. I’m surprised anyone would work with him after what I did to his last magic-user, but then, that’s Haven for you. There’s always someone, if the money’s right. It won’t make any difference in the long run. It may take a little time to find just the right opening, but I doubt this magic-user will be any more difficult to dispose of than the last one.”
“More delays,” said Hardcastle. “I don’t like delays, sorcerer. I don’t like excuses, either. I want James Adamant dead and out of the way before the people vote. I don’t care what it costs, or what you have to do; I want him dead. Understand, sorcerer?”
“Of course, Cameron. I assure you, there’s no need to worry. I’ll take care of everything. I trust the rest of your campaign is running smoothly?”
“So far,” said Hardcastle grudgingly. “The posterers have been out since dawn, and my mercenaries have been dealing with Adamant’s men quite successfully, in spite of the interfering Guard. If Adamant is foolish enough to try and hold any street gatherings, my men will see they don’t last long. Commoners don’t have the guts to stand and fight. Spill some blood on the cobbles, and they’ll scatter fast enough.”
“Quite right, Cameron. There’s nothing at all to worry about. We’ve thought of everything, planned for every eventuality. Nothing can go wrong.”
“Don’t take me for a fool, sorcerer. Something can always go wrong. Adamant’s no fool, either; he wouldn’t still be investing so much time and money in his campaign if he didn’t think he had a bloody good chance of beating me. He knows something, Wulf. Something we don’t. I can feel it in my bones.”
“Whatever you say, Cameron. I’ll make further enquiries. In the meantime, I have someone waiting to meet you.”
“I hadn’t forgotten,” said Hardcastle. “Your chief of mercenaries. The one you’ve been so mysterious about. Very well; who is it?”
Wulf braced himself. “Roxanne.”
Hardcastle sat up straight in his chair. “Roxanne? You brought that woman into my house? Get her out of here now!”
“It’s perfectly all right, Cameron,” said Wulf quickly. “I brought two of my best men to keep an eye on her. I think you’ll find her reputation is a little exaggerated. She’s the best sword-for-hire I’ve ever come across. Unbeatable with a blade in her hand, and a master strategist. She works well on her own, or in charge of troops. She’s done an excellent job for us so far, with remarkably few fatalities. She’s a genuine phenomenon.”
“She’s also crazy!”
“There is that, yes. But it doesn’t get in the way of her work.”
Hardcastle slowly settled back into his chair, but his scowl remained. “All right, I’ll see her. Where is she?”
“In the library.”
Hardcastle sniffed. “At least there’s not much there she can damage. Jillian, go and get her.”
His wife nodded silently, got to her feet and left the study, being careful to ease the door shut behind her so that it wouldn’t slam.
Hardcastle turned away from the bow window, and stared at the portrait of his father, hanging on the wall opposite. A dark and gloomy picture of a dark and gloomy man. Gideon Hardcastle hadn’t been much of a father, and Cameron had shed no tears at his funeral, but he had been a Councillor in Haven for thirty-four years. Cameron Hardcastle was determined to do better. Being a Councillor was just the beginning. He had plans. He was going to make the name Hardcastle respected and feared throughout the Low Kingdoms.
Whatever it took.
Roxanne prowled restlessly back and forth in Hardcastle’s library, her boots sinking soundlessly into the thick pile carpet. The two mercenaries set to guard her watched nervously from the other side of the room. Roxanne smiled at them now and again, just to keep them on their toes. She was tall, six foot three even without her boots, with a lithe, muscular body. She wore a shirt and trousers of bright lime-yellow, topped with a battered leather jacket. She looked like a vicious canary. She wore a long sword on her left hip, in a well-worn scabbard.
At first sight she was not unattractive. She was young, in her early twenties, with a sharp-boned face, blazing dark eyes, and a mass of curly black hair held in place with a leather headband. But there was something about Roxanne, something in her unwavering gaze and disturbing smile that made even the most experienced mercenary uneasy. Besides, everyone knew her reputation.
Roxanne first made a name for herself when she was fifteen, fighting as a sword-for-hire in the Silk Trail vendettas. The rest of her company were wiped out in an ambush, and she had to fight her way back alone through the enemy lines. She killed seventeen men and women that night, and had the ears to prove it. The people who saw her stride back into camp that night, laughing and singing, covered in other people’s blood and wearing a necklace of human ears, swore they’d never seen anything more frightening in their lives.
She went through a dozen mercenary companies in less than three years, and despite her swordsmanship they were always glad to see her go. She was brave and loyal, as long as she was paid regularly, and always the first to lead an attack, but there was no getting away from the fact that Roxanne was stark staring crazy. When there wasn’t an enemy to fight she’d pick quarrels among her own people, just to get a little action. She was even worse when she got drunk. People who knew her learned to recognise the signs early, and head for the nearest exit. Roxanne had a nasty temper and a somewhat strange sense of humour. Her idea of a good night out tended to involve knife fights, terrorising the locals, and burning down inns that expected her to pay her bar bills.
Not that she limited her arson to inns. Quite often she’d set fire to a tent or two in her own camp, for reasons that made sense only to her. Roxanne liked a good fire. She also liked betting everything she had on one roll of the dice, and then refusing to pay up if she lost. She worshipped a god no one had ever heard of, had an entirely unhealthy regard for the truth, and picked fights with nuns. She said they offended her sense of the rightness of things. If Roxanne had a sense of rightness of things, it was news to everyone who’d ever met her.
Everyone agreed that Roxanne would go far, and the sooner the better.
She ended up in Haven after a disagreement with a Captain of the Guard over the prices in a Jaspertown company store. When someone explained to her that she’d just killed the local Mayor’s son, she decided it might be time to start looking for new employment. So she threw the Captain’s head through the Mayor’s front window, set fire to a post office as a distraction, and headed for Haven as fast as her stolen horse could carry her.
Roxanne roamed about Hardcastle’s library, picking things up and putting them down again. She’d never seen so many resolutely ugly pieces of ornamental china in her life. And there wasn’t a damn thing worth stealing. She broke a few ornaments on general principles, and because they made such a pleasant sound as they smashed against the wall. The two mercenaries stirred uneasily, but said nothing. Ostensibly they were there to keep her out of trouble and make sure she didn’t set fire to anything, but Roxanne knew they wouldn’t do anything unless they absolutely had to. They were scared of her. Most people were, particularly when she smiled. Roxanne smiled widely at the two mercenaries. They both paled visibly, and she turned away, satisfied. She started to pace up and down again, tapping her fingertips on her sword belt. She never could stay still for long. She had too much energy in her.
She looked round quickly as the library door swung open, and then took her hand away from her sword as a pale, colorless woman came in. At first Roxanne thought she must be a servant, but a quick glance at the quality of her clothes suggested she had to be very up
per-class, even if she didn’t act like it. She ignored the two mercenaries and addressed herself to Roxanne, without raising her eyes from the floor.
“My husband will see you now,” she said quietly, her voice entirely free of inflection. “Please follow me and I’ll take you to him.”
The two mercenaries looked at each other, and one of them cleared his throat diffidently. “Pardon me, ma’am, but we’re supposed to stay with her.”
Jillian Hardcastle glanced at him briefly, and then looked back at the floor. “My husband wants to see Roxanne. He didn’t mention you.”
The mercenary frowned uncertainly. “I don’t really think we should ...”
“You stay put,” said Roxanne flatly. “Don’t touch the booze and don’t break anything. Got it?”
“Got it,” said the mercenary. “We’ll stay right here.” The other mercenary nodded quickly.
Roxanne followed Jillian Hardcastle out of the library and into the hall. It was a large hall, wide and echoing, and Roxanne did her best to look unimpressed. She quickly realised she needn’t bother, as Jillian kept her gaze firmly on the ground at all times. Roxanne stared at her thoughtfully. This beaten-down little mouse was Hardcastle’s wife? Perhaps the rumours about him were true after all.
Jillian opened the study door, and gestured politely for Roxanne to go in first. She did so, swaggering in with her thumbs tucked into her sword belt. Hardcastle and Wulf got to their feet. Hardcastle studied her narrowly. Roxanne smiled at them both, and didn’t miss the little moue of unease that crossed their faces. She knew the effect her smile had on people. That was why she used it. She glanced quickly round the study. Not bad. Quite luxurious in its way. She did her best to look as though she’d seen better, in her time.
“Welcome to my house, Roxanne,” said Hardcastle heavily. “Wulf tells me you’ve done good work for me. As a reward, I have a special assignment for you. You’ll be working mostly alone, but there’s an extra five hundred ducats in it for you.”
“Sounds good,” said Roxanne. “What’s the catch?”
Hardcastle frowned. Out of the corner of her eye, Roxanne saw Jillian wince momentarily, and then her face was blank and empty again. Roxanne dropped insolently into the most comfortable-looking chair and draped one leg over the padded arm. Hardcastle looked at her for a moment, and then drew up a chair opposite her. Wulf and Jillian remained standing. Hardcastle met Roxanne’s gaze for a moment, and then looked away, despite himself.
“James Adamant is standing against me in the election,” he said finally. “I want him stopped. Hurt him, kill him, I don’t care. Spend as much as you need, use whatever tactics you like. If there’s any repercussions I’ll get you out of Haven in plenty of time.”
“The catch,” said Roxanne.
“Adamant has two Captains of the city Guard as bodyguards,” said Hardcastle steadily. “They’re called Hawk and Fisher.”
Roxanne smiled. “I’ve heard of them. They’re supposed to be good. Very good.” She laughed happily. It was an unpleasant, disturbing sound. “Hardcastle, I’d almost do this for free, just for the chance to go up against those two.”
“They’re not the target,” said Hardcastle sharply. “If you have a grudge with them, you deal with it on your own time.”
“Of course,” said Roxanne.
“Even apart from them, Adamant’s going to be hard to reach. He has his own mercenaries, and a new magic-user. I understand you have a special contact of your own among his people, so I’ll leave the details to you. But it has to be done soon.” He picked up his wineglass. “Jillian, get me some wine.”
She moved quickly forward, took the glass from his hand, and went over to the row of decanters on the nearby table.
“Do I get any support on this?” said Roxanne, “Or am I working entirely on my own?”
“Use whatever people you need, but make sure there are no direct links to me. Officially, you’re just another of my mercenaries.”
Jillian brought him a glass of wine. Hardcastle looked at it without touching it. “Jillian, what is this?”
“Your wine, Cameron.”
“What kind of wine?”
“Red wine.”
“And what kind of wine do I normally drink when I have guests?”
“White wine.”
“So why have you brought me red?”
Jillian’s mouth began to tremble slightly, though her face remained blank. “I don’t know.”
“It’s because you’re stupid, isn’t it?”
“Yes, Cameron.”
“Go and get me some white wine.”
Jillian went back to the decanters. Hardcastle looked at Roxanne, who was studying him thoughtfully. “Have you got something to say, mercenary?”
“She’s your wife.”
“Yes. She is.”
Jillian came back with a glass of white wine. Hardcastle took it, and put it down on the desk without tasting it. “I’ll talk with you about this later, Jillian.”
She nodded, and stood silently beside his chair. Her hands were clasped so tightly together that the knuckles showed white.
“It’s time you spoke to your people, Cameron,” said Wulf softly. “We need them out on the streets as quickly as possible, and you need to speak to them before they go.”
Hardcastle nodded ungraciously and got to his feet. He looked at Roxanne. “You’d better come too. You might learn something.”
“Wouldn’t miss it for the world,” said Roxanne.
The main hall at Brimstone Hall was uncomfortably large. Two chandeliers of massed candles spread a great pool of light down the middle of the hall, and oil lamps lined the walls. Even so, dark shadows pressed close around the borders of the light. Silence lay heavily across the hall, and the slightest sound seemed to echo on forever. Armed men stood at intervals along the walls, staring blankly straight ahead, somehow all the more menacing for their complete lack of movement. A wide set of stairs led up to a gallery overlooking the hall. Hardcastle stood at ease on the gallery, smiling faintly at some pleasant thought of things to come. Jillian stood at his side—quiet, pliant, head bowed, and eyes far away, as though trying to pretend she wasn’t really there at all.
Roxanne stood back a way, hidden in the shadows of the gallery. Wulf sat on a chair beside her, legs casually crossed, hands folded neatly in his lap. He might have been waiting for a late dessert, or a promised glass of wine, but there was something unsettling in the air of anticipation that hung about him, something ... unhealthy. Roxanne kept a careful watch on him from the corner of her eye. She didn’t trust sorcerers. Not that she trusted anyone, when you got right down to it, but in her experience magic-users were a particularly treacherous breed.
Hardcastle finally nodded to the two armed mercenaries at the end of the hall, and they pulled back the bolts and swung open the heavy main doors. The crowd of Conservative supporters came surging in, herded by polite but firm stewards. There were flags and banners and a steady hum of anticipation, but it had to be said that the crowd didn’t exactly look enthusiastic to be there. Roxanne couldn’t help but wonder whether the armed guards were there to keep people out, or keep them in. The main doors slammed shut behind the last of the crowd. Hardcastle looked out over his supporters, and cleared his throat loudly. The hall fell silent.
Afterwards, Roxanne was never really clear what the speech had been about. It was an excellent speech, no doubt of that, but she couldn’t seem to sort out what exactly had been so enthralling about it. She only knew that the moment Hardcastle began to speak he became magnetic. She couldn’t tear her eyes away from him, and she strained to hear every word. The crowd below were besotted with him, cheering and applauding and waving their banners frantically every time he paused. Even the stewards and mercenaries seemed fascinated by him. The speech finally came to an end, amid rapturous applause. Hardcastle looked out over the ecstatic crowd, smiling slightly, and then gestured for silence. The cheers gradually died away.
&n
bsp; “My friends, there is one among you who has proved himself worthy of my special attention. Joshua Steele, step forward.”
There was a pause, and then a young man dressed in the gaudy finery of the minor Quality made his way through the crowd to stand at the foot of the stairs. Even from the back of the gallery Roxanne could tell he was scared. His hands had clenched into fists at his sides, and his face was deathly pale. Hardcastle’s smile widened a little.
“Steele, I set you a task. Nothing too difficult. All you had to do was use your contacts to find out whether James Adamant was still magically protected. You told me he wasn’t. That’s not true, is it, Steele?”
The young man licked his lips quickly, and shifted his weight from one foot to the other. “I did everything I could, Councillor. Honestly! His old sorcerer, Masque, is dead, and Adamant hasn’t made any move to replace him. My informants were very precise.”
Hardcastle shook his head sadly. “You lied to me, Steele. You betrayed me.”
Steele suddenly turned and ran, pushing his way through the crowd. Hardcastle looked back at Wulf, and nodded quickly. The sorcerer frowned, concentrating. Steele screamed shrilly, and the crowd drew back from him in horror as he fell writhing to the floor. Blood spurted from his nose and ears, and then from his eyes. He clawed at his face, and then at his stomach as bloody spots appeared on his tunic. Small fanged mouths burst out of his flesh all over his body, as hundreds of bloodworms chewed their way out of him. One of them ruptured the carotid artery in his neck and blood flew out, soaking the nearest members of the crowd. They moaned in revulsion, but couldn’t tear their eyes away. Steele kicked and struggled feebly for a few moments longer, and then let out his breath in a long, ragged sigh. His body continued to twitch and jerk as the bloodworms ate their way out. Some of the crowd stamped on the horrid things as they left the body, but it quickly became clear the worms were already dying. They couldn’t survive for long once they’d left their host.
Swords of Haven: The Adventures of Hawk & Fisher Page 28