Guards of Haven: The Adventures of Hawk and Fisher (Hawk & Fisher)

by Simon R. Green

  “Sorry. But if Fenris is our killer, it means we can stop wasting time looking for some imaginary murderous freak. I mean, what proof have we the creature ever existed, apart from Jamie’s story?”

  Hawk shrugged. “We’ve seen stranger things in our time.”

  On the other side of the room, Jamie looked at Alistair almost pleadingly. “We can talk about Richard and Isobel later, Alistair. I’ve more important things to worry about. What am I going to do about the killing? I’m the MacNeil, the head of the Family; they’ll all be looking to me for reassurance and answers I haven’t got, and I don’t know what to do!”

  “To start with, calm down,” said Alistair sharply. “Getting hysterical won’t help. Let’s look at this logically. Now that we know the freak’s a killer, what matters most is tracking it down before it strikes again. Which means we have to find the hidden cell. We’ll search the Tower from top to bottom, checking each room as we go for hidden panels and secret passages. If the freak got out of his room, there must be a way in. We can split into two groups to save time. I’ll take one group, you lead the other. Right?”

  “Yes. Right.” Jamie breathed deeply twice, and pinched the bridge of his nose hard. It seemed to help. The panic that had all but paralysed him was dropping swiftly away, now that he had a definite goal to focus on. He smiled quickly at Alistair and looked around him. “There’s no point in taking everyone with us. The women will be safer here, out of harm’s way.”

  “We’d better leave Lord Arthur behind as well.” Alistair’s voice was mild, but his gaze was unyielding. “I think he means well, but you can’t trust a drunk in a crisis. What about David Brook? Good man?”

  “The best,” said Jamie. “Good with a sword, level-headed, and doesn’t scare easily. Always knows the right thing to do in a tricky situation. I’d trust him with my life. We’ll take Greaves, too. He’s another steady one; utterly dependable. As for Robbie Brennan ... he’s a stout enough man, and damned good with a sword in his younger days, from what Dad used to say. But that was a long time ago.”

  “Once a soldier, always a soldier,” said Alistair. “The old instincts will still be there, just needing the right moment to bring them out again.”

  “If you say so. What about Marc?”

  Alistair frowned. “He’s a cool one, I’ll give him that, but I don’t know if I’d trust him to guard my back. Still, he doesn’t look the type to fold under pressure. And that just leaves Richard. And you know how I feel about him....”

  “He seems a solid enough sort,” said Jamie. “Somewhat gauche and a bit of a bumpkin, but this is his first trip to the big city, after all. And he was the one who got us all organized when everyone else fell apart at the sight of the body.”

  “Exactly,” said Alistair. “I’ve seen a good many dead men in my time, but even so, what was left of that poor bastard’s face stopped me in my tracks. It didn’t throw Richard, though. He was right there, examining the body and cracking out orders. It’s not natural, Jamie. And when I asked him about it, do you know what he said? He said murders fascinate him, so he spends all his time reading about them. Never trust a man who reads, Jamie; it gives him ideas. The wrong sort of ideas.”

  “Maybe. But right now he seems to be the only one of us who knows what he’s doing. He goes with us. If only so we can keep a close eye on him.”

  “I don’t trust him,” said Alistair. “He’s hiding something.”

  “Everyone has something to hide,” said Jamie. “All that matters right now is finding the freak before he kills again. This is my home. Whatever happened through the years, I always felt safe and secure here. The freak’s taken that away from me, and I want it back. I want my home back.”

  Alistair dropped a heavy hand on Jamie’s shoulder. “Buck up, lad. We’ll find the freak and kill him, and then things’ll get back to normal again. You’ll see.”

  Greaves looked disapprovingly at Robbie Brennan as the minstrel helped himself to a second large snifter of brandy. “Look at the state of you. I don’t know which makes your hands shake the more, the fear or the drink. The young master will have need of us soon, and he’ll be none too pleased if he finds you the worse for drink. Get a hold of yourself, man!”

  “Go to hell,” said Brennan flatly. “You’re a cold fish, Greaves, and always have been. I’ve never seen an honest emotion cross that cold face of yours in all the years I’ve known you. It’s always been ‘yes sir, no sir, can I wipe your arse now, sir?’ I’ve been with this Family for forty years, long before you came along, but I’ve always been my own man.”

  Greaves looked at him unflinchingly. “Is this leading anywhere?”

  “When I was a man-at-arms in the Broken Flats campaign, I saw more dead men than you could imagine in your worst nightmare. I saw them cut down and ripped apart and piled up in huge heaps under the midday sun, and I never got used to it. Which is why I came out of that campaign sane when a lot of men didn’t. Duncan would have understood. It’s enough to be strong when you have to be. He never expected a man to be always unmoved and unfeeling, like you. So, right now we’ve got a freak running loose in the Tower, out for revenge on all of us, but I bet at the end of the day I’ll still be standing and you’ll be crawling on your knees. Because I know when to bend with the wind, and you don’t.”

  “You always did have a way with words,” said Greaves. “But then, that’s all you’ve got left now, isn’t it? Your soldier days were a long time ago. Look at you, shaking and quivering in every nerve, with your snout buried in your glass. And Mister Duncan was always so proud of you, and saying what a fine warrior you were on the battlefield. What would he say if he could see you now?”

  “Duncan would have understood.” Brennan drained his glass and straightened up a little. “I’ll do my bit. You worry about yourself.”

  “It’s not myself that fills my thoughts, Robbie Brennan. And what worries I have are not for you. It’s the young master, the MacNeil himself, that we should be concerned about. He had no choice but to reveal the great Secret to all those ... people, but it must not pass beyond these walls. If it were to get out, the MacNeil would be ruined. It’s up to us to make sure that doesn’t happen.”

  Brennan frowned. “Just what are you suggesting, Greaves?”

  “What I am suggesting, Robbie Brennan, minstrel and sometime friend to the MacNeil Family, is that we make sure only those we can trust leave this Tower alive.”

  “If Jamie knew what you’re saying ...”

  “He is not to know. It is our job to protect this Family, and do what must be done for its safety. The MacNeil is too young to understand.”

  They looked at each other for a long moment, until Brennan finally nodded and put down his empty glass.

  Holly accepted a snifter of brandy from Lord Arthur, and nodded her thanks. Her hands were steadying, and some color was finally coming back into her cheeks. She smiled briefly around her, and then lowered her head again. “I’m sorry. I’m not usually like this. It’s the shock.”

  “It’s all right,” said Arthur. “We understand.”

  “There’s no need to hover over her like that, Arthur,” said David Brook testily. “Give the poor girl room to breathe.”

  Arthur nodded quickly, and stepped back a pace. Holly gripped his hand firmly, and reached out to take David’s hand too.

  “Please, don’t argue. I’m feeling better now. Let’s get out of here. We can stay with friends, in the city.”

  “We can’t leave just now, pet,” said Katrina soothingly. “You heard your brother; the wards are up. We can’t leave the Tower till tomorrow morning. But we’re perfectly safe here. Nothing can get to us.”

  “It’ll be all right, Holly,” said Arthur. “I won’t let anyone hurt you.”

  David shot him an exasperated look, and turned back to Holly. “We’ll look after you, darling. It’s obvious who the killer is. It’s that damned freak Jamie told us about earlier. All we have to do is track him down.”
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  “No! That’s too dangerous. He might kill you!” Holly gripped his hand hard, as though to physically restrain him from leaving. David smiled and patted her hand comfortingly.

  “There’s nothing to worry about. The freak doesn’t stand a chance against all of us. Isn’t that right, Arthur? Marc?”

  Arthur smiled, and nodded vigorously. Marc turned and looked at them directly for the first time. “We don’t know for sure that the freak is the killer. We have no hard evidence, one way or the other. The killer could be anyone. Perhaps even one of us.”

  There was a long pause as that sank in, and then one by one the others began looking round the room, their gaze lingering on some faces longer than others.

  “After all,” said Marc, “what do we really know about each other? Even the most ordinary person can do terrible things, under the right conditions. People you’ve known for years can become strangers in a moment, transfigured by a single insight or a hidden motive. Who is there you can really trust, when you come right down to it? Some days you can’t even trust yourself.”

  “You have to trust someone,” said Arthur. “And better a friend than a stranger. Take yourself, for instance. We don’t know a single thing about you, except for what you’ve chosen to tell us. You could have all kinds of secrets, for all we know.”

  “Oh, honestly, Arthur,” said Katrina crushingly. “If Marc did have something to hide, he wouldn’t have brought up the subject in the first place, would he? You’ll have to excuse Arthur, Marc; his mouth tends to say things before his brain can catch up. Anyway, I think you’re barking up the wrong tree, dear. I’ve known Jamie and David and Arthur for years, and they don’t have a malicious bone in their bodies.”

  “But Alistair, though; that’s different. He claims to be just a distant cousin, but he seems to know an awful lot about Family history. He knows things even I didn’t know.”

  “I wish the Guardian were here,” said Holly. “I prayed for him to come.”

  “Yes dear, we know,” said Katrina. “But you shouldn’t take Family myths so seriously. Most of them are just legends and fireside tales that have grown in the telling.”

  “The freak turned out to be real,” said Holly stubbornly. “So why not the Guardian too?”

  “Personally, I have to say I’ve got a few doubts about Richard,” said David thoughtfully. “He seems awfully full of himself, for a minor cousin from Lower Markham. I didn’t even know the Family had branches in that part of the world. What about you, Marc? You ever run across either Richard or Isobel before?”

  “Never,” said Marc flatly. “Their arrival here was a complete surprise to me.”

  “Now, don’t you dare start picking on Richard,” said Katrina. “Just because he comes from Lower Markham. We’ve always known that some parts of the Family have ... gone down in the world. And remember, he’s one of the few people to stick by us, even after he found out about the Secret.”

  “Yes,” said David. “Interesting, that. Why should he and his sister be so loyal? Why come all this way, with winter so close?”

  “Presumably, he expects Duncan to make it worth his while in the will,” said Arthur.

  “Could be,” said David. “But that might not be his only motive.”

  “What other motive could he have?” said Katrina.

  “Why don’t we ask him?” suggested Marc.

  “Yes,” said David. “Why don’t we?”

  But just then Jamie strode forward into the middle of the room and called for everyone’s attention, and all conversation died quickly away.

  “My friends, I regret to say it, but we can’t simply barricade ourselves in here and wait for the wards to go down tomorrow morning. We have a duty and an obligation to find the freak and put an end to its miserable existence.”

  “But no one’s been able to find the bricked-up room for centuries,” objected Katrina.

  “I’ve been thinking about the problem,” said Jamie, “And I’ve come up with an idea. Based on certain comments and internal evidence in the notes my father left, I’m pretty sure the freak’s cell has some kind of window. Presumably not very large, but enough to allow light to enter. So, I propose we make a tour of the Tower, floor by floor, opening every window and hanging out a marker of some kind, until we’ve covered them all. Then we go outside and take a look. Whichever window remains unmarked has to be the freak’s cell. Shouldn’t be too difficult to find the room, with that to point the way.”

  “It might just work,” said Hawk. “It’s simple and straightforward. I like it.”

  “Wait just a minute,” said Fisher. “Did you say go outside the Tower? I thought we were all trapped in here by the wards?”

  “The wards do not become operative until some ten feet beyond the Tower,” said Jamie patiently. “And no, I don’t know why. The wards themselves were designed hundreds of years ago; I just raise and lower them, as and when needed. Now, if there are no more questions, I think we should make a start.”

  “Obviously we can’t all go,” said Alistair. “The women will have to stay here, and someone will have to remain with them, to protect them.”

  “Right,” said Hawk. “And the smaller the search party, the better. No point in risking anyone we don’t have to. The freak could be out there anywhere, just waiting for a chance at us. This has to be volunteers only, and people who can look after themselves in a fight. I’ll go, for one. Who’s with me?”

  “You do like to take charge, don’t you, Richard?” said Jamie.

  “Sorry,” said Hawk. “I’m just ... eager to make a start. But of course you’re in charge. You’re the MacNeil.”

  “That’s right,” said Jamie. “I am. So I’ll decide who goes and who stays. Since you’re so eager, Richard, you can be part of the group, along with Alistair and myself. How about you, Arthur? Are you any good with a sword?”

  “Not really,” said Lord Arthur. “Sorry, Jamie, I’m not really up to heroics. But I’ll do my best to protect the ladies while you’re gone.”

  “I’d better stay too,” said David Brook. “There ought to be one person here who knows one end of his sword from the other.”

  “I’ll go with you, Jamie,” said Marc. “I’m fairly proficient with a sword, and I hate being cooped up.”

  “Mister Brennan and I will be happy to accompany you, sir,” said Greaves, stepping forward with the minstrel. Jamie smiled, but shook his head.

  “No offense, but I think we’ll make better time without you.”

  “As you wish,” said Brennan flatly.

  “Don’t sulk, Robbie. It doesn’t become you. I’d take you if I could, but speed is of the essence, and I think you’ll be more useful here. In the meantime, barricade the door behind us once we’ve gone. Make it sturdy enough to keep the freak out but not so heavy you can’t dismantle it fast if we need to get back in here in a hurry. Well, no point in hanging about, is there? We might as well go. Unless there’s anything you want to add, Richard?”

  “I don’t think so, Jamie,” said Hawk courteously. “You’ve covered everything I can think of.”

  “Then let’s go,” said Alistair. “We’ve got a lot of ground to cover.”

  There was a quick murmur of goodbyes. Jamie took Holly in his arms, and she hugged him hard for a moment before pushing him resolutely away. Hawk pulled the chair away from the door, listened a moment, and then carefully eased the door open. A quick glance up and down the corridor revealed nothing but familiar furniture and the occasional shadow. Everything was still and silent. He stepped out into the corridor, sword in hand, followed by Jamie and Alistair and Marc. The door closed quickly behind them, and there was the sound of furniture being piled against it.

  Hawk looked at Jamie for orders, and Jamie hesitated a long moment before nodding to the left. They set off down the corridor, alert for any sudden sound or movement. Despite all that had taken place it was still early in the day, and the corridor was bathed in bright golden sunlight. From out an
open window Hawk could hear gulls keening and the distant crash of waves on the rocks far below. Jamie moved over to the window and draped one of the curtains so that it hung out over the windowsill. They continued on down the corridor, swords at the ready, keeping a careful eye on every door they passed. The quiet grew heavy and oppressive and Hawk’s skin prickled uneasily. He hadn’t liked breaking up the group, but he could see Jamie was determined to have his way, so he’d gone along with it. But he still didn’t feel right about it.

  The last time he’d been in a situation like this had been in the sorcerer Gaunt’s house. People had insisted on going off on their own, despite everything Hawk and Fisher did to stop them. Most of them had died horribly. He was damned if he’d let that happen again. But there were limits to what he could do in Tower MacNeil: Jamie wasn’t about to let him take control of the situation, no matter what. Richard was a minor cousin from Lower Markham, and should accordingly know his place and keep his mouth shut. Hawk smiled sourly. He’d never been very good at that.

  He hefted his sword unhappily as they walked along. With only the one eye left, Hawk’s depth perception was shot to hell, and his swordsmanship was only a shadow of what it had once been. It didn’t affect him so much with the axe. An axe has many qualities and virtues all its own, but subtlety isn’t one of them. With an axe, as long as you can see your opponent, you can usually hit him. And a man who’s been hit with an axe does not grit his teeth and fight back, as sometimes happens with a sword wound. A man hit solidly by an axe tends rather more to being thrown to the ground with the impact, bleeding copiously and screaming for his mother. Admittedly an axe isn’t much use as a defensive weapon, but Hawk never had believed in fighting defensively. He was much more comfortable with an all-out attack, backed up by dirty tricks. Hawk looked disgustedly at the narrow duelling sword in his hand. If it came to a fight, he’d probably be better off throwing the damn thing like a spear.

  He scowled, and then winced as a stab of pain flared up around his glass eye. The damn things always made his face ache after a while. The last doctor he’d seen had told him the pain was all in his mind, to which Hawk had angrily retorted that it was all in the eye socket, and what was the doctor going to do about it? The doctor had recommended a change to a less stressful occupation, and presented Hawk with an inflated bill, which Hawk refused to pay.