Guard Against Dishonor h&f-5

by Simon R. Green

  lapses like that.

  Lord Nightingale selected one of the cut-glass decanters and poured out generous

  measures for them all. The mood was generally more relaxed than it had been, now

  that the traitor Fisher had been exposed, and they shared little jokes and

  anecdotes as they emptied their glasses. Nothing like talking for ages and

  saying nothing to work up a really good thirst. Their murmured conversation

  wandered aimlessly. None of them were in any particular hurry to get back to the

  Talks. The chairs were comfortable, the room was pleasantly warm, and in a while

  it would be time to take a break for dinner anyway.

  Lord Nightingale looked at the clock on the mantelpiece, heaved himself out of

  his chair and left the room on a muttered errand. He shut the door, smiled

  broadly, and then froze as someone in the hall behind him cleared his throat

  politely. He looked round sharply, and found himself facing ap Owen and Fisher,

  someone who by his appearance had to be Hawk, and a woman in sorcerer's black.

  For a moment Nightingale just stood there, his face and mind utterly blank, and

  then he drew himself up, and nodded quickly to ap Owen.

  "Well done, Captain. You've apprehended the traitor Fisher. I'll see you receive

  a commendation for this."

  Ap Owen stared at him stonily. "I'm afraid that's not why we're here, my lord.

  It is my duty to inform you that you are under arrest."

  "If this is some kind of joke, Captain, it's in very bad taste. I shall inform

  your superiors about this."

  Ap Owen continued as if he'd never been interrupted. "We've been here some time,

  my lord, searching the house. Among your belongings we discovered—"

  "You searched my room? How dare you! I have diplomatic immunity from this sort

  of petty harassment!"

  "Among your belongings, hidden inside the handle of one of your trunks, we found

  a quantity of the super-chacal drug."

  "A lot of things made sense, once we found the drug," said Fisher. "We knew the

  drug tied into the Talks somehow, but we didn't have a connection, until we

  found you. And once we started looking at you closely, all kinds of things

  became clear. You gave away the location of the house, because you knew you'd be

  safe inside the pocket dimension. When that didn't work as well as you'd hoped,

  you used your sorcery to open a door into the dimension, knowing your sorcery

  would protect you from the creatures you'd summoned. And of course you were able

  to close the door once it became clear the creatures were getting out of hand

  and might pose a threat to you. Finally, you've been subtly using your magic all

  along, influencing the delegates to make sure nothing would ever be agreed.

  You've gone very quiet, my lord. Nothing to say for yourself?"

  "I admit everything," said Lord Nightingale calmly. "I'll admit anything you

  like, here, in private. It doesn't matter anymore. You can't prove any of it,

  and even if you could, I have diplomatic immunity from arrest. And I'm afraid

  the whole matter is academic now, anyway. My fellow delegates have just drunk a

  glass of wine from a decanter I dosed rather heavily with the super-chacal drug.

  My sorcery protected me from suffering any effects, but we should begin to hear

  the results on them any time now. They'll tear each other to pieces in an animal

  frenzy, and that will be the end of the Peace Talks. Evidence is already being

  planted in the right places that this was the work of certain leading factions

  in Haven, to express their opposition to the thought of peace with Outremer."

  "Why?" said Hawk. "Why have you done all this? What sane man wants to start a

  war?"

  Lord Nightingale smiled condescendingly. "There's money to be made in a war,

  Captain. A great deal of money. Not to mention political capital, and military

  advancement. A man in the right place at the right time, if properly forewarned,

  can rise rapidly in wartime, no matter who wins. Whatever the outcome of the

  war, my associates and I will end up a great deal richer and more powerful than

  we could ever have hoped to be under normal conditions. The super-chacal was my

  idea. I helped fund its creation, and oversaw its introduction into Haven. You

  can think of this city as a testing ground for the new drug. If it does as well

  here as we expect, it should prove an excellent means of sabotaging the Low

  Kingdoms. We'll introduce the drug into selected foods and wines, poison some

  strategic wells and rivers, and then just sit back and watch as your country

  tears itself apart. All we'll have to do is come in afterwards and clean up the

  mess. It could be the start of a whole new form of warfare.

  "I hope you've all been listening carefully. It's so nice to be appreciated for

  one's work. And it's not as if you'll ever get a chance to tell anyone else. My

  fellow delegates should see to that."

  He reached to open the study door, and then hesitated, listening. Hawk smiled

  coldly.

  "That's right, my Lord. Quiet in there, isn't it? Like ap Owen said, we've been

  here for some time. Mistique's magic revealed that one of the decanters had been

  drugged, so we switched it for another one. The original should make good

  evidence at your trial. As for your citywide test of the drug, you can forget

  that, too. We got it all back before it could hit the streets, and it's

  currently being protected by some very trustworthy Guards. Morgan is dead. So is

  Burns. You're on your own now, Nightingale."

  "You can't arrest me," said Lord Nightingale. "I have diplomatic immunity."

  "I think your people can be persuaded to waive that," said Hawk. "You'll be

  surprised how fast they disown you, to avoid being implicated themselves. After

  all, no one loves a failure. They'll probably let us hang you right here in

  Haven, if we ask them nicely."

  Lord Nightingale suddenly raised his hands and spoke a Word of Power, and

  halfway down the hall the air split open. A howling wind came roaring out of the

  widening split, carrying a rush of thick snow and a bitter blast of cold. Within

  seconds, a blizzard raged in the narrow hallway, and the temperature plummeted.

  Ice formed thickly on the doors and walls, and made the floor treacherous

  underfoot. Hawk raised an arm to protect his face as the freezing wind cut at

  his exposed skin like a knife. The cold was so intense it burned, and even the

  shallowest breath was painful.

  Hawk glared about him into the swirling snow, trying to locate Lord Nightingale,

  but he and everyone else had become little more than shadows in the roaring

  white. From behind him, he could hear something howling in the world beyond the

  gateway that Nightingale had opened. It sounded huge and angry and utterly

  inhuman. More howls sounded over the roaring of the blizzard and the buffeting

  wind, growing louder all the time, and Hawk realised the creatures were slowly

  drawing nearer. He staggered forward, head bent against the wind, until his

  flailing arms found the nearest wall. Nightingale would be just as blind in this

  storm as everyone else, so he had to be following the wall to find his way out.

  All Hawk had to do was make his way down the wall after him—assuming he hadn't

  got s
o turned around in the blizzard that he'd ended up against the wrong wall…

  Hawk decided he wasn't going to think about that. He had to be right.

  And then his heart leapt in his chest as a door suddenly opened to his right,

  revealing the startled faces of the other delegates. The force of the storm

  quickly threw them back into the study, where they struggled to close the door

  again, but Hawk took little notice. He knew now that he'd found the right wall.

  The howling of the creatures came again, rising eerily over the sound of the

  storm. They sounded very close. Hawk ran down the corridor, slipping and sliding

  on the ice, his shoulder pressed against the wall. A shadow loomed up before

  him. Hawk threw himself forward, grabbed the figure by the shoulder, and slammed

  it back against the wall. He thrust his face close up against the other's, and

  smiled savagely as he recognized Nightingale's frightened face.

  "We've got to get out of here!" shouted Nightingale, his voice barely audible

  over the roar of the blizzard. "The creatures will be here soon!"

  "I've got a better idea," said Hawk, not caring if the Outremer lord heard him.

  He took a firm hold of Nightingale's collar and dragged him kicking and

  struggling back down the corridor towards the gateway he'd opened.

  Hawk had to fight the force of the storm with every step, as well as hang on to

  Nightingale with a hand so numb he could barely feel his grip anymore, and he

  thought for a while that he wasn't going to make it. But then suddenly he was

  close enough to make out the split in the air, stretching from floor to ceiling,

  and he lurched to a halt. The split was wider now. Huge dark shadows moved in

  the blizzard beyond the gateway. The creatures were almost there. Their howls

  were deafening. Hawk put his mouth against Nightingale's ear.

  "Close the gateway! Close it, or I swear I'll throw you through that opening and

  let those things have you!"

  Nightingale lifted his hands and chanted something, the words lost in the tumult

  of the blizzard and the creatures' incessant howling. For a long, heart-stopping

  moment nothing happened, and then the split in the air snapped together and was

  gone, and the blizzard collapsed. The sudden silence was shocking, and everyone

  just stood where they were, numbly watching the last of the snow drift lazily on

  the air before falling to the floor. The corridor seemed a little less cold, but

  their breath still steamed on the air before them. Nightingale lurched away from

  Hawk, and headed down the corridor at a shaky run. Hawk caught up with him

  before he'd gone a dozen paces, and clubbed him from behind with the butt of his

  axe. Nightingale fell limply into the thick snow on the floor, and lay still.

  Hawk leaned over him and hit him again, just to be sure. Then he dragged him

  back to the others. Ap Owen shook his head unhappily.

  "They won't let us put him on trial, you know. He'd be an embarrassment to both

  sides, and probably prevent any future Talks. And besides, diplomatic immunity's

  too important a concept in troubled times like these. They'll never allow it to

  be waived, no matter what the crime."

  "You mean he's going to get away with it?" said Fisher, scowling dangerously.

  Ap Owen shrugged. "Like I said; he's an embarrassment. His own people will

  probably take away his position and privileges and send him into internal exile,

  but that's about it."

  "Right," said Hawk. "Technically, for what he tried to do, he should be

  executed, but there's no way that will happen. Aristocrats don't believe in

  passing death sentences on their own kind if they can avoid it. It might give

  the peasants ideas." He looked down at Nightingale's unconscious body, his face

  set and cold. "So many people dead, because of him. All the people who might

  have died. And I almost raised my axe against Isobel… If I killed him now, no

  one would say anything. They'd probably even thank me for getting rid of such an

  embarrassment."

  "You can't just kill him in cold blood!" protested ap Owen.

  "No," said Hawk finally. "I can't. Even after all these years in Haven, I still

  know what's right and what's wrong. I only kill when I have to. I know my duty."

  "Look on the bright side," said Mistique cheerfully. "You found the drug before

  it hit the streets, exposed the traitor in the Guard, and with Nightingale

  removed from the Talks, they might actually start agreeing on things. You've

  saved the city and possibly averted a war. What more do you want?"

  Hawk and Fisher looked at each other.

  "Overtime," said Hawk firmly.

  Chapter Ten

  Loose Ends

  As prisons went, it wasn't too bad. Certainly Lord Nightingale had spent longer

  periods under far worse conditions during his travels. He'd known some country

  inns that boasted accommodations so primitive even a leper would have turned up

  what was left of his nose at them. His present circumstances were surprisingly

  pleasant, and, all things considered, the Outremer Embassy in Haven had gone out

  of its way to treat him with every courtesy. He was confined in one of the

  Embassy's guest rooms, with every comfort the staff could provide, until such

  time as he could be escorted back to Outremer. And given the current appalling

  weather conditions, that could be quite some time.

  Nightingale didn't mind. The longer the better, as far as he was concerned. He

  was already filling his time writing carefully worded letters to certain people

  of standing and influence back in Outremer. There were quite a few who shared

  his feelings about the coming war, people who could be trusted to see that his

  cause was presented to the King in its most positive light. He'd have to spend

  some time in internal exile, of course; that was only to be expected. But once

  the war began, as it inevitably would, and his associates became men of power at

  Court, he would undoubtably be summoned again, and his present little setback

  would be nothing more than an unfortunate memory. In the meantime, his current

  captors were being very careful to treat him with the utmost respect, for fear

  of alienating the wrong people. You could always rely on diplomats to appreciate

  the political realities; particularly when their own careers might be at risk.

  So, for the moment, Nightingale bided his time and was the perfect prisoner,

  never once complaining or making any fuss, and the time passed pleasantly

  enough. There were books to read and letters to write, and a steady stream of

  visitors from among the Embassy staff, just stopping by for a chat, and dropping

  not especially subtle hints of encouragement and support, in the hope of being

  remembered in the future. True, his door was always locked, and there was an

  armed guard in the corridor outside his room, but given the current

  circumstances, Nightingale found that rather reassuring. If word of what he'd

  intended were to get out in Haven, the populace would quite probably attempt to

  storm the building and drag him out to hang him from the nearest lamppost. You

  couldn't expect the rabble to understand the importance of concepts like

  diplomatic immunity.

  There was a sudden knocking at the door, and Nightingale jumped in spite of />
  himself. He cleared his throat carefully, and called for his visitor to enter. A

  key turned in the lock, and the heavy door swung open to reveal Major de

  Tournay, carrying a bottle of wine. Nightingale was somewhat surprised to see

  the Major, but kept all trace of it from his face. De Tournay had taken the news

  of Nightingale's treachery surprisingly calmly, given that his life had been one

  of those threatened, but even so he was one of the last people Nightingale had

  expected to drop by for a chat. Still, recent events had done much to turn up

  unexpected allies.

  "Come in, my dear Major," he said warmly. "Is that wine for me? How splendid."

  He studied the bottle's label, and raised an appreciative eyebrow. "I'm obliged

  to you, de Tournay. The Ambassador means well, but his cellar is shockingly

  depleted."

  "I need to talk to you, my lord," said de Tournay bluntly. He looked vaguely

  round the room, as though embarrassed to be there and unsure how to proceed.

  Nightingale waved for him to sit down on a chair opposite, and the Major did so,

  sitting stiffly and almost at attention. "We need to discuss the present

  situation, my lord. There are matters which need to be… clarified."

  "Of course, Major. But first, let us sample this excellent wine you've brought

  me."

  De Tournay nodded, and watched woodenly as Nightingale removed the cork, sniffed

  it, and poured them both a generous glass. They toasted each other politely, but

  though de Tournay drank deeply, his attention remained fixed on Nightingale

  rather than the wine.

  "Before we begin, Major," said Nightingale, leaning elegantly back in his chair,

  "perhaps you would oblige me by bringing me up to date on what is happening with

  Captains Hawk and Fisher. I must confess I half expect every knock at my door to

  be them, come to drag me off in chains to face Haven justice, or worse still,

  administer it themselves."

  "You needn't worry about them," said de Tournay. "They had their chance to kill

  you, and chose not to. They understand the realities of the situation. And since

  they've been cleared of all charges, they're not foolish enough to risk their

  necks again by harassing you."

  "I'm relieved to hear it." Nightingale drank his wine unhurriedly, ignoring de

  Tournay's impatience to get to the point of his visit. Nightingale smiled. It