Fisher grinned. “I can see you’re going to be a real barrel of laughs on this job. How about the Outremer delegates? Do you like them any better?”
“Not much. The leader is Lord Nightingale. Pleasant enough sort, but I don’t think I’ll turn my back on him. He’s got cold eyes. Then there’s William Gardener for the merchants, and Major Guy de Tournay. Can’t tell you much about them. Gardener likes his drink and talks too loudly, while de Tournay’s hardly opened his mouth to me since he got here.”
Fisher frowned thoughtfully. “Interesting that both sides have put forward a lord. The Quality aren’t normally considered expendable. Particularly not someone as noticeable as Lord Regis. And from what I’ve heard, Major Comber’s something of a popular hero at the moment. The Powers That Be must be taking these Talks pretty seriously.”
“Seems likely. Both sides have been losing a lot of men and equipment in the border skirmishes, and it’s getting expensive. You know how the Powers That Be hate to lose money. Of course, they hate to lose face even more, which is why it’s taken till now to set the Talks up.”
“All right. Fill me in on what security measures you’ve set up here. If we’re not allowed to call attention to ourselves, it cuts our options down to practically nothing, doesn’t it?”
“You’ve got that right,” said ap Owen grimly. “For all the good we’d be in a real crisis, we might as well not be here. I take it you spotted the plainclothes people outside? I’d be surprised if you hadn’t: everyone else knows who and what they are. Luckily, they’re just out there for show. My real undercover operatives have been here for days, establishing their characters and getting to know the area. We didn’t just choose this place on a whim, you know. Both the grounds and the surrounding streets are wide open, with nowhere to hide. The way we’ve got things set up, no one can get within a hundred yards of this house without being spotted a dozen times. And since we haven’t a hope in hell of beating off an armed assault, at the first whisper of an attack, or even an intended attack, the plan is for all of us to retreat into the pocket dimension and seal it off.
“In theory, we should then be perfectly safe. No one can get at us without the proper co-ordinates, known only to a top few people, so all we have to do is sit tight and wait until reinforcements arrive, and the emergency is over. Of course, there’s always the very real possibility that the delegates themselves will seal off the dimension at the first whiff of trouble, leaving us out here to fight off the attackers. In which case, we get to earn our money the hard way. Got it?”
Fisher nodded glumly. In other words, it was another damned watching brief. Lots of sitting around doing nothing, waiting for something to happen and hoping it wouldn’t. It was at times like these that Fisher seriously considered the simple pleasures of a desk job, and the security to be found in lots of nice safe paperwork. Of course, she’d be bored out of her mind in a week ... Ah well, if nothing else, she should be able to catch up on her sleep here. Working two shifts in a row had drained most of her strength, and helping Hawk drag survivors out of the tenement rubble had all but finished her off. She felt as if she could go to sleep right there in her chair, She caught herself slumping forward, and quickly sat up straight. Almost without realising it, her eyes had been closing, and she’d actually come close to nodding off. That would have made a great first impression on Captain ap Owen. She glanced quickly at him to see if he’d noticed anything, but he was apparently absorbed in leafing through the papers on his desk.
“Tell me about the Talks themselves,” she said, to show she was still with it. “Are they making any progress?”
“Beats me. I’m just the hired help round here; no one tells me anything. I’m not even allowed into the pocket dimension unless one of them calls for me, and though the delegates take an occasional break out here, none of them are much for small talk. As far as I can discover, their brief is to agree on a border frontier both sides can live with, and put an end to all those squabbles over which ragged old piece of map takes precedence. Both the Low Kingdoms and Outremer are going to end up losing some territory, so both sides are throwing in lucrative trade deals as sweeteners to help the medicine go down. Whatever happens, you can bet a lot of people living near the border will wake up one morning to find that overnight they’ve become citizens of a different country. Poor bastards. Probably end up paying two sets of taxes.”
Fisher frowned. “Those special trade deals are going to put a lot of noses out of joint in the business community. Nothing like a little preferential treatment to stir up bad feelings.”
“Right,” said ap Owen. “And let’s not forget, there’s a hell of a lot of money to be made out of a war, if you’ve got the right kind of contacts with the military.”
“Any more bad news you’d like to share with me?”
“You mean apart from political extremists, religious fanatics, and terrorists-for-hire?”
“Forget I asked. Do you think it’ll come to a war, if the Talks fail?”
“I don’t know... Countries have gone to war over a lot less in the past. The Low Kingdoms have traditionally preferred action to talk, and Outremer can be touchy as hell where its honour is concerned. I wouldn’t be surprised if a war did break out, but then it must be said I have something of a vested interest in war. I’ve always made most of my living as a mercenary. I only ended up as a Guard because I’d spent too long between jobs and the money had run out. Ironic, really, that I should end up protecting Talks whose purpose is to keep me and my kind out of work. You ever been caught up in a war, Captain Fisher?”
“Just once,” said Fisher. “Several years back. It’s funny, you know; at the time I would have given everything I owned to be somewhere else, somewhere safe. But now, looking back, it seems to me I’ve never felt so alive as I did then. We were fighting for great stakes, and everything I did mattered; everything I did was important. But I wouldn’t go through it again for all the money in the Low Kingdoms’ Treasury. I saw too many good people die, saw too many people I cared for hurt and maimed.”
“Did you win?”
“Yes and no.” Fisher smiled tiredly. “I suppose that’s true of any war. Our side won in the end, but the Land was devastated by the fighting. It’ll take generations to recover. I suppose you’ve seen a lot of war, as a mercenary?”
Ap Owen shrugged. “More than I care to remember. One war is much like another, and the campaigns all tend to blur into each other after a while. Endless marching, rotten food, and lousy weather. Waiting for orders that never come, in some godforsaken spot in the middle of nowhere. And every now and again, just often enough to keep your nerves ragged, there’ll be a sudden burst of action. You get used to the blood and the flies and seeing your comrades die, and there’s always the looting to look forward to afterwards. I could have been a rich man a dozen times over, if I could have kept away from the cards and the dice and the tavern whores. I started out fighting for a cause, but that didn’t last long. First thing you learn as a mercenary is that both sides believe they’re right.
“So why have I spent most of my adult life fighting for strangers? Because I’m good at it. And because, just as you said, you never feel more alive than when you’ve just cheated death. In its way, that feeling’s more addictive than any drug you’ll find on the streets.” He broke off, and smiled at Fisher. “You’re a good listener, Fisher, you know that?”
Before she could say anything, a ring on ap Owen’s finger pulsed with a sudden silver light, and he rose quickly to his feet. “That’s the delegates’ signal; they’re going to take another break. Just stay back out of the way, for the time being. I’ll introduce you if I get a chance, but don’t expect any great show of interest. We’re just hired help as far as they’re concerned.”
Two footmen entered the study in response to some unheard summons, carrying silver trays laden with assorted delicacies of the kind Fisher hadn’t seen in the markets for weeks. Whoever was funding these Talks obviously didn’t bel
ieve in doing things by halves. The footmen put down their trays on the main table, by the cut-glass wine decanters, then withdrew without saying a word. Fisher decided they were probably real footmen, if only because of their supercilious expressions.
Ap Owen stood before his desk, staring at the far wall. Fisher followed his gaze, but couldn’t see anything of interest. She started to ask something, and then shut up as a door appeared out of nowhere, hanging unsupported on the air a few inches above the floor. It was plain, unvarnished wood, without pattern or trimmings, but its very presence was subtly disturbing. A mounting chill emanated from it, like a cold wind blowing into the room. Fisher’s hand dropped to her sword, and she had to fight to keep from drawing it as the door swung slowly open.
The delegates appeared through the doorway, chatting quietly together, and headed for the food and wine without so much as a glance at ap Owen and Fisher. The door shut silently, and disappeared. Fisher took her hand away from her sword. Ap Owen moved in beside her and quietly identified each delegate by name. Fisher looked them over carefully without being too obvious about it.
Lord Regis of Haven was of average height and weight, and in pretty good shape for a man in his early fifties. He had dark, flashing eyes and a quick smile buried in a neatly trimmed beard. He used his hands a lot as he talked, and nodded frequently while he listened. Lord Nightingale of Outremer was twenty years younger, six inches taller, and muscular in a broad, solid way that suggested he lifted weights on a regular basis. Which was a little unusual. As far as most of the Quality were concerned, strenuous exercise was something best left to the lower classes. The Quality only exerted themselves in duelling or seducing. Usually both, as one often led to the other. Nightingale, on the other hand, looked as though he could have picked up Regis with one hand, and torn him apart with the other. If Regis was aware of this, it didn’t seem to bother him.
The two traders, Rook and Gardener, were talking together quite amicably, smiling and laughing as they rummaged through the out-of-season delicacies on the trays. Fisher’s stomach rumbled, but she made herself pay attention to the two merchants. William Gardener of Outremer was in his early forties, with thinning hair and a droopy moustache. He was skinny as a rake, but wore clothes of the very latest cut with casual elegance. Jonathon Rook was the same age, and dressed just as well, but had the kind of figure politely referred to as stout. His hands were weighed down with jewelled rings, and he paid little or no attention to the expensive food with which he was stuffing his face. Fisher moved in a little closer to listen in on their conversation. They both studiously ignored her, which suited her fine. It soon became clear that both merchants thought they had a lot to lose in the event of a war, and were pressing for peace at practically any cost. It was also clear they were finding it an uphill struggle.
Major Comber and Major de Tournay stood a little way off from the others, talking quietly and only picking at their food. They were both in their late thirties, with short-cropped hair and grim faces. They’d swapped their uniforms for civilian clothes, and Fisher was hard put to tell which of them looked the most uncomfortable. They both glared at her when she got too close, so she didn’t get to overhear what they were saying. She sensed, however, that neither one was too pleased with the way the Talks were going, from which she deduced that neither side had gained the upper hand yet.
They all finally put down their plates and turned away from the table. Captain ap Owen coughed loudly, and then again, louder still, and having got their attention, introduced Fisher to each of them. Fisher bowed formally, and got a series of perfunctory nods in reply. Lord Regis smiled at her coldly.
“Good to have you with us, Captain. Your reputation precedes you.”
“You don’t want to believe everything you hear,” said Fisher easily. “Only the bad bits.”
Regis smiled politely. “Is your partner, Captain Hawk, not here with you?”
“He’s working on a case of his own at the moment, and can’t leave it, I’m afraid. But not to worry, my lord. You’re safe in our hands.”
“I’m sure we shall be.”
“I trust you’ll pardon my interruption,” said Lord Nightingale, looking only at Lord Regis, “but we are rather short of time. Perhaps you could continue this conversation later ...”
“Of course,” said Regis.
He nodded politely to Fisher and ap Owen, and turned to face the far wall. The door reappeared, and swung silently open. Fisher shivered suddenly. She tried to see what lay beyond the door, but there was only an impenetrable darkness. The delegates filed through, and the door swung shut behind them and vanished. Fisher sank back into her chair and stretched out her legs. This was going to be a long, hard job, she could tell. She looked thoughtfully at the food left on the table, but didn’t have the energy to get up and go after it. She hoped Hawk was taking it easy, wherever he was, but doubted it. Without her to keep an eye on him, there was no telling what he’d get up to.
4
A Matter of Trust
Hawk led Captain Burns into the rotten heart of the Northside. The streets grew steadily narrower, choked with filthy snow and slush, and bustling crowds that made way for the two Guards without ever looking at them directly. Even so, they made slow progress, and Hawk had to fight to control his impatience. The pressure seemed to be bearing down on him from every side now, but he knew his only hope of dealing with it was to stay calm and controlled. His enemies would be delighted to see him striking out blindly in all directions and missing the real targets. Besides, he didn’t want to spook Burns. And yet behind his grim, impassive face, Hawk’s thoughts danced restlessly from one problem to another, searching for answers that eluded him. The super-chacal was out there somewhere, poised to sweep across the city in a tidal wave of blood and death. Morgan was out there too, hidden somewhere safe and plotting the deaths of everyone who knew the truth about his new drug. Not to mention Hammer, the gang leader from the Devil’s Hook, and his threatened vendetta.
And also back at the Hook, the little girl Hawk had rescued from underneath the wreckage was lying in a hospital bed, still in a coma. The doctors didn’t know whether she’d ever regain consciousness.
On top of all that, the Guard wanted his scalp for screwing up, and they’d taken Isobel away from him. Some days you just couldn’t get a break. Hawk realised Burns was speaking to him, and looked round sharply.
“I’m sorry. What?”
“I said,” Burns repeated patiently, “is it always this bad here? I’d heard stories, of course, but this place is disgusting.”
Hawk looked around at the squalid buildings and the ragged people, and the overriding sense of violence and despair that rose from them like an almost palpable mist. After five years working the Northside he’d grown inured to most of the misery and suffering, for the sake of his sanity, but it still disturbed him enough to appreciate how bad it must seem to an outsider. Haven was a dark city wherever you looked, but the Northside was dark enough to stamp out the light in anyone’s soul eventually. Hawk realised Burns was still looking at him for an answer, and he shrugged harshly.
“It’s quiet today, if anything. The snow and the cold are keeping most people off the streets, even the beggars, and those who are out and about aren’t hanging around long enough to start any trouble. But you can bet that somewhere, someone is starting a fight, or stabbing someone in the back for no good reason. There’s all sorts of crime here, everything you’d expect in an area as poor as this, but the violence never ends. To a Northsider, everyone is an enemy, out to steal what little he has, and most of the time he’s right. There’s little love or comfort here, Burns, and even less hope. And the only thing the Northsiders hate more than each other is an outsider. Like us.”
“How do you cope with working here?” said Bums. “I’d go crazy in a week.”
Hawk shrugged. “I’ve seen worse. All you can do is try and make a difference for the best, where you can. What brought you here from the Westside?�
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“Doughty and I were filling in for some Guards who were down with the flu. When I heard they were sending us here, I seriously thought about calling in sick myself, but of course it was too late by then. Doughty didn’t mind. There wasn’t much that bothered him.”
“I’m sorry about your partner,” said Hawk.
“Yeah. He had a wife, you know. Separated three years back, but... Someone will have told her by now. I should have done it myself, but she never liked me anyway.”
They walked in silence for a while, not looking at each other.
“So, what’s the plan?” said Burns finally. “Are we headed anywhere in particular?”
“I thought we’d start off with Short Tom,” said Hawk. “Has a nice little distribution setup, down on Carlisle Street. He’ll move anything for anyone, as long as the money’s right. Not one of the biggest, but certainly one of the longest established. I doubt he’s handling the super-chacal himself, but he’ll probably have a damned good idea who might be.”
“Will he talk to us? Do you have a good relationship with him?”
Hawk looked at Burns. “This is the Northside, no one here talks to the Guard willingly. We’re the enemy, the ones who enforce the laws that keep them in their place. The poverty here’s so bad, most people will do anything to escape it. They don’t care who they rob or who they hurt. All they care about is making that one big score that will finally get them out of the Northside. You can’t reason with people like that. Short Tom will talk to me because he knows what will happen to him if he doesn’t.”
Burns stared straight ahead of him, his face expressionless. “I don’t approve of strong-arm tactics. I put on this uniform to help people, not oppress them.”
“You’ve spent too long in the Westside, Bums. They still like to pretend they’re living in a civilised city over there. Here in the Northside, they’d quite happily cut you down for the loose change in your pockets, or a chance at your boots. The only thing that keeps them off my back is the certain knowledge that I’ll kill them if they even think of raising a hand against me. I have to be obviously more dangerous than they are at all times, or I’d be a dead man. Look... I used to think the same as you, once. There are good people here, same as there are good people everywhere, and I do my best to help and protect them. Even if it means bending or ignoring the rules to do so. But when you get right down to it, my job is to enforce the law. Whatever it takes.”
Guards of Haven: The Adventures of Hawk and Fisher (Hawk & Fisher) Page 28