“Shut up!” said Fisher. “And get over here and help, damn you, or I swear. I’ll cut you down where you stand, charm or no bloody charm!”
MacReady shrugged, and moved in beside Barber. Fisher sank her arms into the spider’s body up to her elbows, and strained upwards with all her strength, but the body didn’t move. She tried again and again, hauling at the dead weight till her back screamed and sweat ran down her face in streams, but it was no use. Finally she realised that the others had stopped trying and were staring at her compassionately. She stumbled back from the dead spider, shaking her head slowly at the words she knew were coming.
“It’s no good,” said Barber. “We can’t lift it, Isobel. We’d need a dock crane just to shift the bloody thing. And it’s been too long anyway. He’s gone, Isobel. There’s nothing more we can do.”
“There has to be,” said Fisher numbly.
“I’m sorry,” said Winter. “He was a good fighter, and a brave man.”
“You couldn’t stand him!” said Fisher. “You thought he wanted your stupid command! If you hadn’t sent him in first, on his own, he might still be alive!”
“Yes,” said Winter. “He might. I’m sorry.”
Storm! yelled Fisher with her mind. You’re a sorcerer! Do something!
There’s nothing I can do, my dear. This close to the House, my magic is useless.
“Damn you! Damn you all! He can’t die here. Not like this.”
They stood for a while in the tunnel, saying nothing.
“It’s time to go,” said Winter finally. “We still have our mission. The hostages are depending on us. Hawk wouldn’t have wanted them to die because of him.”
“We can’t just leave him here,” said Fisher. “Not alone. In the dark.”
“We’ll send someone back for him later,” said Barber. “Let’s go.”
The spider’s back pressed upwards suddenly, and the whole body lurched sideways. The SWAT team stumbled backwards, lifting their swords again. It can’t be alive, Fisher thought dully. It can’t be alive when Hawk is dead. The spider’s back protruded suddenly in one spot and then burst apart as a gore-streaked axehead tore through it. A bloody hand appeared after the axe, and then Hawk’s head burst out beside it, gulping great lungfuls of the stinking air. The SWAT team stared at him uncomprehendingly, and then Fisher shrieked with savage joy and scrambled up on top of the spider again. She cut quickly at the torn hide with her sword, opening the hole wider. Barber and Winter climbed up beside her, and between them they hauled Hawk out of the spider’s body and helped him clamber down into the water again. Fisher clung to him all the way, unable to let go, as though afraid he might vanish if she did. He was covered in blood and gore from head to toe, but none of it seemed to be his. He was still breathing harshly, but he found the strength to hug her back, and even managed a small, reassuring smile for her.
“What the hell happened?” she said finally. “We’d all given you up for dead!”
Hawk raised a sardonic eyebrow. “I demand a second opinion.”
Fisher snorted with laughter. “All right, then; why didn’t you drown?”
Hawk grinned. “You should have known I don’t die that easily, lass. When the damned thing collapsed on top of me, the weight of its body forced me through the hole I’d made in its guts, and I ended up inside it. Turned out the thing was largely hollow, for all its size. There was just enough air in there to keep me going while I cut my way through its body and out the top. It was hard going, and the air was getting pretty foul by the end, but I made it.” He took a deep lungful of the tunnel air. “You know, even this stench can smell pretty good if you have to do without it for a while.”
Fisher hugged him again. “We tried to lift the spider off you, but we couldn’t budge it. At least, most of us tried. MacReady had already given you up for dead. He wouldn’t have helped at all if I hadn’t made him.”
“That right?” Hawk gave MacReady a long, thoughtful look. “I’ll have to remember that.”
MacReady stared back, unconcerned. Winter cleared her throat loudly. “If you’re feeling quite recovered, Captain Hawk, we ought to get a move on. The hostages are still depending on us, and they’re running out of time.”
The atmosphere in the parlour was getting dangerously tense, and Saxon was getting worried. There’d been no word on how negotiations were going, but whatever the terrorists’ deadline was, it had to be getting closer. Madigan had disappeared with his people some time back, leaving twenty mercenaries to watch the hostages. Talking wasn’t allowed, and the mercenaries had taken an almost sadistic pleasure in denying the hostages food or drink while taking turns at stuffing their own faces. Time dragged on, and the mercenaries grew bored while the hostages grew restless. Sooner or later, someone on one side or the other was going to do something stupid, just to break the monotony. Which would be all the excuse the mercenaries needed to indulge in a little fun and games....
Saxon smiled coldly. Whatever happened, he wasn’t going to make any trouble. The terrorists could kill every man and woman in the room, and he wouldn’t give a damn. These people represented all the vile and corrupt authority that had made Haven what it was. He was in no real danger himself. He had a way out, just in case things started getting really out of hand. He knew Champion House well from his earlier days, when he’d been a rising politician and much courted by those seeking patronage or influence with the Council. What he knew, and presumably the terrorists didn’t, was that the House was riddled with secret doors and hidden passageways, a holdover from the House’s original owners, who’d raised the fortune needed to build Champion House by being Haven’s most successful smugglers. Apparently the passages, with their magically warded walls, had come in handy more than once for concealing goods and people from investigating customs officers who were outraged at being denied their rightful cut.
As far as Saxon knew, the passages were still there, unless they’d been discovered and blocked off during the years while he was away. Either way, if he remembered correctly, there was a concealed door right there in the parlour, not too far away. All he had to do was press a section of the paneling in just the right place, the wall would open, and he’d be gone before the mercenaries knew what was happening. That was the theory, anyway. But he didn’t think he’d try it until he had no other choice. The way his luck had been going, the secret door would probably turn out to be nailed shut and booby-trapped.
The tension was so thick on the air now, he could practically taste it. The two Kings were sitting stiffly but not without dignity, trying to set a good example, but no one was paying them much attention. The military types were watching the mercenaries like hawks, waiting for someone to make a slip. The Quality were pointedly ignoring the mercenaries, as though hoping they might go away once they realized how unwelcome they were. The merchants stood close together and kept a hopeful watch on the closed door. They’d given up on trying to bribe the mercenaries, but they obviously still thought they could make some kind of deal with Madigan or one of his people. Saxon knew better. He knew fanatics when he saw them, and this bunch worried the hell out of him. It was clear they had their own agenda, and if they were as committed to their Cause as they seemed, once they’d started they wouldn’t turn aside for hell or high water. You’d have to kill them all to stop them.
Saxon glanced again at the hidden door, and his hand tightened around the smoke bomb he’d palmed while he was being searched. If trouble broke out, he was off, and to hell with all of them. Whatever the terrorists were up to, it was none of his business.
The door slammed open and everyone jumped, including most of the mercenaries. Eleanour Todd stood in the doorway with the young killer Glen at her side, and Saxon’s heart sank. He could tell from their faces that the deadline had come and gone without being met. Todd looked calm, almost bored, but there was an air of unfocused menace about her, as though she was readying herself for some bloody but necessary task. Glen was grinning broadly. Todd
looked unhurriedly about her, and the hostages stared back like so many rabbits mesmerized by a snake.
“It seems your city Council has chosen not to take us seriously,” said Todd. “They have refused to meet our legitimate demands. It’s time we showed them we are not to be trifled with. It’s time for one of you to die.”
She let her gaze drift casually over the hostages, and faces paled when her gaze lingered for a moment before passing on. People began to edge away from each other, as though afraid proximity to the one chosen might prove dangerous. No one raised a voice in protest. A few of the braver souls looked as though they might, but one look from Glen was all it took to silence them. Saxon held the smoke bomb loosely in his hand, and cast about for a good spot to lob it. He’d wait until Todd had chosen her victim, and all eyes were on them, and then he’d make his move.
Eleanour Todd finally stepped forward and smiled at a young girl in the front row, not far from where Saxon was standing. The girl couldn’t have been more than fourteen or fifteen, some merchant’s daughter wearing her first formal gown to an important function. She’d been vaguely pretty before, but now sheer terror made her face ugly as she tried to back away from Todd’s smile. Her father stepped forward to stand before her, opening his mouth to protest, and Todd hit him with a vicious, low blow. He fell to the floor, moaning. Glen strolled forward and kicked him casually in the face a few times. The girl stared desperately around her for help, but no one would meet her eyes. She turned back to Todd and held herself erect with a pathetic attempt at dignity. She didn’t know she was whimpering quietly, and that her face was so pale her few amateurish attempts at makeup stood out against her pallor like a child’s daubings.
“It’s nothing personal,” said Todd. “We always choose a young girl for our first execution. Makes more of an impact. Don’t worry; it’ll all be over before you know it.”
“My name is Christina Rutherford,” said the girl steadily. “My family will avenge my death.”
“Your name doesn’t matter, girl. Only the Cause matters. Now, will you walk or would you rather be dragged?”
“I’ll walk. I just want to ... say goodbye to my family and friends.”
“How touching. But we don’t have time. Glen; drag her.”
His grin broadened, and Christina shrank away from him. She started to cry, and tears ran down her face as Glen grabbed her by the arm and pulled her towards the door. Saxon swore tiredly, and stepped forward to block their way.
“That’s enough, Glen. Let her go.”
“Get out of the way, guard, or we’ll take you too.”
“Try it.”
Glen chuckled suddenly, and thrust Christina behind him. Todd took her firmly by the arms. Glen studied Saxon thoughtfully. “So; someone here’s got some guts after all. I was hoping someone had. Now I get to have some fun. How far do you think you can run, hero, with your intestines dragging down around your ankles?”
His sword was suddenly in his hand, and he lunged forward incredibly quickly. Saxon sidestepped at the last moment, and the blade’s edge just caressed the chain mail over his ribs as it hissed past. Glen stumbled forward, caught off balance, and Saxon brought his knee up savagely. Glen fell to his knees, the breath rattling in his throat. Saxon kicked him in the ribs, slamming him back against the wall. He leant forward and picked up Glen’s sword, ignoring the unpleasant sounds behind him as the young killer vomited painfully. He turned to face Eleanour Todd, who had a knife at Christina’s throat. The young girl was looking at him with the beginnings of hope. The mercenaries standing around the room were staring at him open-mouthed. Saxon flashed them his most confident politician’s smile and then looked back at Todd.
“Let the girl go. We can talk about this.”
“No,” said Todd. “I don’t think so.” She drew the knife quickly across Christina’s throat, and then pushed the girl away from her. She fell onto her knees, her eyes wide in horror. She tried to scream, but only a horrid bubbling sound came out. Blood ran thickly down her neck and chest, and she put her hands to her throat as though she could hold the wound together, but the blood gushed through her fingers. She held out a bloody hand to Saxon, but she was already dead by the time he took it. He lowered her body to the floor, then looked up at Todd. There was death in his eyes, but she didn’t flinch.
“You bitch,” Saxon said numbly. “You didn’t have to do that.”
“She wasn’t important,” said Todd. “And at least she died in a good Cause. Now it’s your time to die, hero. Can’t have the sheep getting ideas, can we?”
She gestured impatiently to the watching mercenaries, and they began to close in.
“I’ll kill you for this,” said Saxon flatly. “I’ll kill you all.”
He threw the smoke bomb onto the floor before him and it cracked open, spilling out thick clouds of choking black smoke that billowed quickly through the parlour. Todd lashed out with her sword but Saxon was already gone, sprinting for the hidden door. Mercenaries loomed out of the smoke in front of him and he smashed his way through, tossing them aside like broken dolls. The hostages were shouting and screaming, and some made a dash for the door. Saxon hoped some of them made it. He found the right stretch of panelling, hit it smartly in just the right place, and a section of the wall swung open on silent counterweights. He darted forward into the gloomy passageway, and a knife came flying out of nowhere to bury itself in the panelling behind him. He hurried on without looking back, and a sourceless glow appeared around him, lighting the way ahead. It was nice to know the passage’s built-in magics were still functioning. He glanced back, and swore harshly as he saw the concealed door had jammed half shut, caught on the thrown knife. Todd would be sending mercenaries into the passage after him any time now. He grinned coldly. Good. Let them come. Let them all come. There were secrets in these passageways that only he knew about, and anyone foolish enough to come after him was in for some nasty surprises. And when they were all dead, he would go out into the House and kill Madigan and Todd and all the other terrorists.
They shouldn’t have killed the girl. He’d make them pay for that.
Back in the parlour, the smoke was slowly starting to clear, but terrorists and hostages alike were still coughing helplessly and wiping tears from their smarting eyes. The mercenaries had rounded up the escaping hostages without too much trouble, and the situation was more or less back under control. Todd glared into the hidden passageway, and gestured quickly to two mercenaries. “Horse, Bishop; take five men and go in there after him. You needn’t bother to bring all of him back; just the head will do. After that, check the passage for other concealed exits. I don’t want anyone else suddenly disappearing on me. Move it!”
The two mercenaries nodded quickly, gathered up five men with a quick series of looks and nods, and led the way into the passage. Glen started to go in after them, but Todd stopped him.
“Not you, Glen. I need you here, with me.”
“I want that bastard. No one does that to me and gets away with it.”
“He won’t get away. Even if he gets out of the passage, there’s nowhere he can go. The House is full of our people.”
Glen scowled unhappily. “I don’t know, Eleanour. He’s fast. I’ve never seen anyone move like that. And anyway, I want to kill him myself.”
“Glen, we’ve got work to do. The guard can wait. He isn’t important. Not compared to our purpose here. Now, get yourself another sword, and get the girl’s body out of here. Show it to the city negotiators, and tell them we’ll kill another hostage every half hour until our demands are met.”
Glen looked at her, puzzled. “I thought the hostages were just a cover,” he said quietly.
“They are,” said Todd, just as quietly, “but as long as the city’s concentrating on them, they won’t be getting suspicious about what we’re really up to. Now, do as you’re told, Ellis; there’s a dear.”
Glen blushed at the endearment, and turned quickly away to bark orders at the mercen
aries. The hostages watched silently as the girl’s body was dragged out. Todd coughed suddenly as the smoke caught in her throat again.
“Someone open those bloody windows!”
Horse and Bishop led their men cautiously down the narrow stone corridor of the secret passage, checking for other exits as they went. A sourceless glow had formed around them, enough to show them the way ahead, but it didn’t carry far into the darkness. The rogue guard could be lurking just ahead of the light, waiting in the dark to ambush them, and they’d never know it until it was too late. Horse shook his head determinedly, pushing aside the thought. The guard had enough sense to keep running. He’d be long gone by now. But if he was dumb enough to be still hanging around, then he and Bishop would take care of him. They’d dealt with would-be heroes before, and in Horse’s experience they died just as easily as anyone else. Particularly if you outnumbered them seven to one.
Horse was a large, heavily built man in his late twenties, with thick, raggedly cut black hair and a bushy beard. He’d fought in seventeen campaigns, for various masters, and had never once been on the losing side. Horse didn’t believe in losing. In his experience, the trick to winning was to have all the advantages on your side, which was why he’d teamed up with Bishop. His fellow mercenary was the same age as he, a head or so taller, but almost twice Horse’s size. It wasn’t all muscle, but then, it didn’t have to be. He wasn’t the brightest of men either, but Horse was bright enough for both of them, and they both knew it. Besides, Bishop was very creative when it came to interrogating prisoners. Especially women. Horse grinned. Bishop stopped suddenly, and Horse stopped with him, glaring back at the other mercenaries when they almost ran into him.
“What is it, Bishop?” he said quietly.
“I’m not sure.” The big mercenary fingered the heavy iron amulet he wore on a chain round his neck, and glowered unhappily into the gloom ahead. “Something’s wrong, Horse. This place doesn’t feel right.”
Guards of Haven: The Adventures of Hawk and Fisher (Hawk & Fisher) Page 56