Guards of Haven: The Adventures of Hawk and Fisher (Hawk & Fisher)
Page 22
Over by the booking desk in the centre 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 realised 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 ...”
“I think I’d like to confess, please, Captain Hawk.”
“You do realise you don’t have to?”
“I want to.”
“Legally, you’re not bound to do so ...”
“Please, let me confess! I want to! Honestly!”
“Good man,” said Hawk, standing back from him. “It’s always refreshing to meet a citizen who believes in honesty and justice. Now, get in there and start talking while we’re still in a good mood.”
Benny ran out of the alleyway and back into Guard Headquarters. Fisher smiled and put away her knife. The two Guards left the alley and made their way unhurriedly down the street, heading back to their beat in the Northside.
The Northside was the rotten heart of Haven, where all that was bad in the city came to the surface, like scum on poisoned wine. Crime and corruption and casual evil permeated the Northside, where every taste and trade was catered to. Various gangs of drug dealers fought running battles over lucrative territories, ruthlessly cutting down any innocent bystanders who got in the way. Spies plotted treason behind shuttered windows, and many doors opened only to the correct whispered password. Sweatshops and crowded slum tenements huddled together under broken street lamps, and the smoke from local factories hung permanently on the air, clawing at the throats of those who breathed it. Some said the Northside was as much a state of mind as an area, but states of mind don’t usually smell that bad.
Hawk and Fisher strolled through the narrow streets, nodding to familiar faces in the bustling crowd. Speed was a way of life in the Northside; there were deals to be made, slights to be avenged, and you never knew who might be coming up behind you. Hawk and Fisher rarely let themselves be hurried. You could miss things that way, and Hawk and Fisher always liked to know what was going on around them. They’d had the Northside as their beat for five years now, on and off, but despite their best efforts, little had changed in that time. For every villain they put away, the Northside produced two more to take his place, and the soul-grinding poverty that was at the root of most crimes never changed from one year to the next. In their most honest moments. Hawk and Fisher knew that all they’d really done was to drive the worst crimes underground, or into other areas. Things tended to be peaceful as long as they were around, but they couldn’t be everywhere at once. Occasionally one or the other would talk about quitting, but they never did. They wouldn’t give up. It wasn’t in their natures. They took each day as it came, and helped those they could. Even little victories were better than none.
The stone-and-timber buildings huddled together as though for warmth, their upper stories leaning out over the streets till their eaves almost touched. Piles of garbage thrust up through the snow and slush, and Hawk and Fisher had to be careful where they put their feet. The garbage collectors came once a month, and then only with an armed guard. The beggars who normally lived off the garbage had been driven from the streets by the cold, but there were still many who braved the bitter weather for their own reasons. Business went on in the Northside, no matter what the weather. Business, and other things.
In the light of a flickering brazier, an angel from the Street of Gods was throwing dice with half a dozen gargoyles. A fast-talking salesman was hawking bracelets plated with something that looked like gold. A large Saint Bernard with a patchy dye job was trying to bum a light for its cigar. Two overlarge rats with human hands were stealing the boots off a dead man. And two nuns were beating up a mugger. Just another day in the Northside.
A sudden burst of pleasant flute music filled Hawk’s and Fisher’s heads as the Guard communications sorcerer made contact. They stopped to listen and find out what the bad news was. It had to be bad news. It always was. Anything else could have waited till they got back to Headquarters. The flute music broke off abruptly, and was replaced by the dry, acid voice of the communications sorcerer.
Attention all Guards in the North sector. There’s a riot in The Crossed Pikes tavern at Salt Lane. There are a large number of dead and injured, including at least two Constables. Approach the situation with extreme caution. There is evidence of chacal use by the rioters.
Hawk and Fisher ran down the street, fighting the snow and slush that dragged at their boots. Salt Lane was four streets away, and a lot could happen in the time it would take them to get there. From the sound of it, too much had happened already. Hawk scowled as he ran. Riots were bad enough without drugs complicating the issue.
Chacal was something new on the streets. Relatively cheap, and easy enough to produce by anyone with a working knowledge of alchemy and access to a bathtub, the drug brought out the animal side of man’s nature. It heightened all the senses while turning off the higher functions of the mind, leaving the user little more than a wild animal, free to wallow in the moment and indulge any whim or gratify any desire, free from reason or remorse or any stab of conscience. The drug boosted the users’ strength and speed and ferocity, making them almost unstoppable. It also burned out their nervous systems in time, leaving them paralysed or mad or dead from a dozen different causes. But life wasn’t worth much in the Northside anyway, and there were all too many who were willing to swap a hopeless future for the savage joys of the present.
Hawk and Fisher charged round the last corner into Salt Lane and then skidded to a halt. A large crowd had already gathered, packing the narrow street from side to side. The two Guards bulled their way through without bothering to be diplomatic about it, and quickly found themselves at the front of the crowd, facing The Crossed Pikes tavern from a safe distance. The tavern looked peaceful enough, apart from its shattered windows, but a Guard Constable was sitting on a nearby doorstep, pressing a bloody handkerchief to a nasty looking scalp wound. Blood covered half his face. He looked up dazedly as Hawk and Fisher approached him, and tried to get to his feet. Hawk waved for him to stay seated.
“What happened here?”
The Constable blinked and licked his dry lips. “My partner and I were the first here after the alarm went out. There was fighting and screaming inside the tavern, but we couldn’t see anything. The crowd told us there were two Constables already in there, so my partner went in to check things out while I watched the crowd. I waited and waited, but he never came back. After a while it all went quiet, so I decided I’d just take a quick look through the door. I’d barely got my foot over the doorstep when something hit me. I couldn’t see for blood in my eyes, so I got out of there quick. I’ll try again in a minute, when I’ve got my breath back. My partner’s still in there.”
Hawk clapped him on the shoulder reassuringly. “You take a rest. Fisher and I’ll have a look. If any more Guards come, keep them out here till we’ve had a chance to evaluate the situation. Are you sure it’s chacal-users in there?”
The Constable shrugged. “That’s what the crowd said. But there’s no way to be sure. As far as I can tell, anyone who was in the tavern when the trouble started is still in there.”
Hawk squeezed the Constable’s shoulder comfortingly, and then he and Fisher moved off a way to discuss the matter.
“What do you think?” said Hawk.
“I think we should be very careful how we handle this. I don’t like the sound of it at all. Three Guards missing, another injured and so spooked he can’t bear to go near the place, and an unknown number of rioters who might just be out of their minds on chacal. The odds stink. How come we never get the easy assignments?”
“There aren’t any easy assignments in Haven. We’ve got to go in, Isobel. There could be innocent people trapped in there, unable to get out.”
“It’s not very likely, Hawk.”
“No, it’s not. But we have to check.”
Fisher nodded unhappily. “All right; let’s do it, before we get a rush of brains to the head and realise what a dumb idea this is. What’s the plan?”
“Well, there’s no point in trying to sneak in. If there are chacal-users in there, they’ll be able to see, hear, and smell us coming long before we even get a glimpse of them. I say we burst in through the door, weapons at the ready, and hit anything that moves.”
“Planning never was your strong suit, was it, Hawk?”
“Have you got a better idea?”
“Unfortunately, no.”
Hawk grinned. “Then let’s do it. Don’t look so worried, lass. We’ve faced worse odds before.”
He drew his axe and Fisher drew her sword, and they moved cautiously over to the tavern’s main entrance. The door was standing ajar, with only darkness showing beyond. Bright splashes of blood marked the polished wood, below a series of gouges that looked unnervingly like claw marks. Hawk listened carefully, but everything seemed still and quiet. He put his boot against the door and pushed it wide open. The two Captains braced themselves, but nothing happened. Hawk hefted his axe thoughtfully, and glanced at Fisher. She nodded, and they darted through the doorway together. Once inside they moved quickly apart to stand on either side of the door, so they wouldn’t be silhouetted against the light, and waited silently for their eyes to adjust to the gloom.