2
Friends, Enemies and Politicians
At the house of the sorcerer called Gaunt, the party was just beginning. It was an old house, situated in one of the better parts of the city. The party was being held in the parlour, a comfortably large room that took up half the ground floor. The walls were lined with tall slender panels of beechwood, richly worked with carvings and motifs, and the ceiling boasted a single huge mural by one of Haven’s most famous painters. But even without all that, Gaunt’s parlour would have been impressive enough simply for its collection of priceless antique furniture. Chairs and tables and sideboards of an elegant simplicity mingled with the baroque styles of decades past. It was a tribute to the sorcerer’s taste that the contrasting styles mixed so compatibly.
His parties were renowned throughout Haven; all the best people, wonderful food, and plenty of wine. Invitations were much coveted among the city Quality, but only rarely received. Since taking over the old DeFerrier house some four years earlier, the sorcerer Gaunt had shot up the social ladder with a speed that other newcomers could only envy. Not that Gaunt himself was in any way a snob. At his select affairs the elite of politics and business and society mixed freely, whatever their calling. But this evening the party was a strictly private affair, for a few friends. Councillor William Blackstone was celebrating his first year in office.
Blackstone was a large, heavyset man in his mid forties. Always well-groomed, polite and disarmingly easygoing, he had a politician’s smile and a fanatic’s heart. Blackstone was a reformer, and he had no time for compromise. He’d done more to clean up the city of Haven in his one year as Councillor than the rest of the Council put together. This made him very popular in the lower city, and earned him the undying enmity of the rich and powerful who made their living out of Haven’s dark side. Unfortunately for those with a vested interest in other people’s misery, Blackstone was himself quite wealthy, and not in the least averse to putting his money where his mouth was. At the end of his first year in office, the odds on his surviving a second year were being quoted as roughly four thousand to one. When Blackstone heard this he laughed, and bet a thousand in gold on himself.
His wife stood at his side as he talked animatedly with the sorcerer Gaunt about his next crusade, against the child prostitution rackets. Katherine Blackstone was a short, good-looking brunette in her mid twenties, and only slightly less feared than her husband. In her day she’d been one of the finest actresses ever to tread the boards in Haven, and though she’d put all that behind her on marrying Blackstone, she still possessed a mastery of words that left her enemies red-faced and floundering. Katherine had always had a gift for the barbed bon mot and the delicately judged put-down. She was also not averse to a little discreet character assassination when necessary.
Gaunt himself looked to be in his mid thirties, but was reputed to be much older. Tall, broad-shouldered but elegantly slim, he dressed always in sorcerer’s black. The dark robes contrasted strongly with his pale, aquiline features. His voice was rich and commanding, and his pale grey eyes missed nothing. He shaved his head, but indulged himself with a pencil-thin moustache. He’d arrived in Haven from no-one-knew-where some four years ago, and immediately made a name for himself by singlehandedly cleaning up the infamous Devil’s Hook area.
Devil’s Hook was a square mile of slums and alleyways backing onto the main docks, a breeding ground of poverty and despair. Men, women, and children worked appalling hours for meager wages, and prices in the Hook were carefully controlled to keep the people permanently in debt. Those who spoke out against the conditions were openly intimidated and murdered. The city Guard avoided the Hook rather than risk a war with the gangs who ran it. And then the sorcerer Gaunt came to Haven. He walked into the Hook, unarmed, to see for himself what conditions were like. He walked out again some two hours later. Not long after, the Guard were called in to start the long business of carting away the dead bodies. Every member of every gang was dead. None of them had died easily.
The Hook held a celebration that lasted for over a week.
Certain businessmen tried to send new people into the Hook to start the various businesses up again, but Gaunt simply visited each man in turn and pointed out that any attempts to run sweatshops would be taken by him as a personal insult. Conditions within the Hook began to improve almost overnight.
Gaunt poured himself more wine, and savored the bouquet.
“Darling, I don’t know how you can drink that stuff,” said Katherine Blackstone. “Hillsdown has some excellent orchards, but their grapes aren’t worth the treading.”
“I have no palate for wines,” Gaunt admitted calmly. “But there’s always been something about the Northern vintages that appeals to me. They’re not particularly subtle, but there’s no mistaking their power. If this wine was any stronger, it would leap out of the bottle and mug you. Would you care to try some, William?”
“Perhaps just a little,” said Blackstone, grinning. “I had hoped it would get a little cooler once the sun went down, but I’m damned if I can tell the difference. Looks like it’s going to be another long, dry summer.” He gulped thirstily at the wine the sorcerer poured him, and nodded appreciatively.
Katherine tapped him gently on the arm. “You be careful with that stuff. You know you’ve no head for wine.”
Blackstone nodded ruefully. “A grave drawback in a politician’s life. Still, it has its bright side. Because I spend most of the evening with a glass of water in my hand, I’m still there listening when other people are getting flustered and careless.”
“That’s right,” said Katherine sweetly. “Sometimes I’m surprised you don’t go around taking notes.”
“I have an excellent memory,” said Blackstone.
“When it suits you,” said Katherine.
“Now, now,” said Gaunt quickly. “No quarrelling.”
“Don’t be silly, dear,” said Katherine. “We enjoy it.”
The three of them chuckled quietly together.
“So, William,” said Gaunt. “How’s your new bill going? Is the debate finally finished?”
“Looks that way,” said Blackstone. “With a bit of luck, the bill should be made law by the end of the month. And not before time. Haven depends on its docks for most of its livelihood, and yet some of the owners have let them fall into a terrible state. Once my bill becomes law, those owners will be compelled to do something about renovating them, instead of just torching the older buildings for the insurance.”
“Of course, the Council will help them out with grants for some of the work,” said Katherine. “Just to sweeten the pot.”
“One of your better ideas, that,” said Blackstone.
“I’ll be interested to see how it works out,” said Gaunt. “Though I have a feeling it won’t be that simple.”
“Nothing ever is,” said Blackstone.
“How’s your latest project going, Gaunt?” asked Katherine. “Or aren’t we allowed to ask?”
Gaunt shrugged. “It’s no secret. I’m afraid I’m still not having much success. Truthspells are difficult things to put together. All the current versions produce nothing but the literal truth. They don’t allow for nuances, half-truths and evasions. And then of course there’s subjective truth and objective truth....”
“Spare us, darling,” protested Katherine, laughing. “You’d think I’d know enough by now not to enquire into a sorcerer’s secrets. Magic must be the only thing in the world more complicated than politics.”
“You obviously haven’t had to spend half an evening listening to an old soldier talking about military tactics,” said Blackstone dryly. “And speaking of which, aren’t the Hightowers here yet? You did say they’d be coming.”
“They’ll be here,” said Gaunt.
“Good,” said Blackstone. “I want a word with Lord Hightower. He’s supposed to be backing me on my next bill, but I haven’t seen the man in almost a month. It wouldn’t surprise me if he’d started getting cold feet.”
“I shouldn’t think so,” said Gaunt. “Roderik’s all right, when you get to know him. These old military types can be a bit of a bore when it comes to refighting all their old battles, but their word is their bond. If he’s said he’ll support you, he will. Count on it.”
“It’s not his support I need so much as his money,” said Blackstone dryly. “Politicians can’t live on applause alone, you know. The kind of campaigns I run are expensive. They need a constant flow of gold to keep them going, and even my resources aren’t unlimited. Right now, Hightower’s gold would come in very handy.”
“Mercenary,” said Katherine affectionately.
At the other end of the huge parlour, Graham Dorimant and the witch called Visage were helping themselves to the fruit cordial in the silver punch bowl. As a refreshing fruit drink the cordial was something of a letdown, there being too much emphasis on the various powerful wines involved and not nearly enough on the fruit, but Dorimant was well known for drinking anything, provided he was thirsty enough. And the current heat wave had left him feeling very thirsty.
Graham Dorimant was medium height, late thirties, and somewhat overweight. He smiled frequently, and his dark eyes held an impartial warmth. He’d been Blackstone’s political adviser for almost three years, and he was very good at his job. He had an encyclopedic knowledge of Haven’s electoral system, and he knew where the bodies were buried. Sometimes literally. He was on first-name terms with most of the Council, and quite a few of their staffs. He knew who could be persuaded, who could be browbeaten, and who could be bought. He knew when to talk and when to push, but most important of all, he had no political interests himself. Ideologies left him cold. He didn’t give a damn one way or the other. He aided Blackstone simply because he admired the man. Dorimant himself was lazy, amoral, and uninterested in anything outside Haven, but he nevertheless found much to admire in a man who was none of these things and yet attacked life with a zest Dorimant could only envy. Though he rarely admitted it to himself, Dorimant had found more fun and excitement in his time with Blackstone than at any other time in his life.
He drank thirstily at his fruit cordial, and smiled winningly at the witch Visage. Dorimant fancied himself a ladies’ man and aspired to an elegance he was too lazy to fully bring off. He wore nothing but the finest and most fashionable clothes, but lacked the self-conscious élan of the true dandy. Basically, he had too much of a sense of humor to be able to take fashion seriously. His only real vanity was his hair. Although he’d just entered his late thirties, his hair was still jet black. There just wasn’t as much of it as there used to be.
The witch Visage smiled back at Dorimant and sipped daintily at her drink. She was in her early twenties, with a great mass of wavy red hair that tumbled freely about her shoulders. Her skin was very pale, and her broad open face was dominated by her striking green eyes. There was a subtle wildness about her, like an animal from the Forest that had only recently been tamed. Men sensed the wildness and were attracted to it, but even the most insensitive knew instinctively that her constant slight smile hid very sharp teeth. Visage was tall for a woman, almost five foot nine, but painfully thin. She made Dorimant feel that he wanted to take her out to a restaurant and see that she had at least one good meal before he had his wicked way with her. Such a paternal, protective feeling was new to Dorimant, and he pushed it firmly to one side.
“Well, my dear,” he said briskly, “how is our revered master? Your magics still keeping him safe and sound?”
“Of course,” said Visage shyly, her voice as ever low and demure. “As long as I am with him, no magic can harm him. And you, sir, does your advice protect his interests as well as I protect his health?”
“I try,” smiled Dorimant. “Of course, a man as honest as William is bound to make enemies. He’s too open and honest for his own good. If he would only agree to turn a blind eye now and again....”
“He would not be the man he is, and neither of us would be interested in serving him. Am I not right?”
“As always, my dear,” said Dorimant. “Would you care for some more cordial?”
“Thank you, I think I will. It is very close in here. Are you not having any more?”
“Perhaps later. I fear all this fruit is terribly fattening, and I must watch my waistline.”
“That shouldn’t be too difficult,” said Visage sweetly. “There’s enough of it.”
Dorimant looked at her reproachfully.
* * * *
Hawk and Fisher stood together before Gaunt’s front door, waiting for someone to answer the bell. The sorcerer’s house was a fair-sized two-story building, standing in its own grounds, situated near the Eastern boundary of the city. A high wall surrounded the grounds, the old stonework mostly buried under a thick blanket of ivy. The grounds had been turned into a single massive garden, where strange herbs and unusual flowers grew in ornate patterns that were subtly disturbing to the eye. The night air was thick with the rich scent of a hundred mingled perfumes. Light from the full moon shimmered brightly on the single graveled path. The house itself had no particular character. It stood simply and squarely where it had stood for hundreds of years, and though the stonework was discolored by wind and rain and the passing of years, its very simplicity suggested a strength that would maintain the house for years to come.
The front door was large and solid, and Hawk eyed the bell pull dubiously, wondering if he should try it again in case it hadn’t worked the first time. He tugged impatiently at his high collar and shifted his weight from foot to foot. Both he and Fisher were wearing the formal Guards’ uniform of navy blue and gold, topped with their best black cloaks. The heavy clothes were stiff, uncomfortable, and very hot. Hawk and Fisher had protested loudly before they set out, but to no avail. Guards had to look their best when mixing with High Society. To do otherwise would reflect badly on the Guards. Hawk and Fisher had given in. Eventually.
“Leave your collar alone,” said Fisher. “You’re not doing it any good.”
“I hate formal clothes,” growled Hawk. “Why did we have to draw this damned duty? I thought that after staking a vampire we’d have been entitled to a little time off at least, but no; just time for a quick healing spell, and off we go again.”
Fisher chuckled dryly. “Nothing succeeds like success. We solved the vampire case where everyone else had failed, so naturally we get handed the next most difficult case, bodyguarding Blackstone.”
Hawk shook his head dolefully. “The only really honest Councillor in the city. No wonder so many people want him dead.”
“You ever meet him?” asked Fisher.
“Shook his hand once, at an election rally.”
“Did you vote for him?”
“Well, the other guy was handing out money.”
Fisher laughed. “An honest Guard; you stayed bought.”
Hawk smiled. “Like hell. I took their money, voted for Blackstone anyway, and defied them to do anything about it. It didn’t exactly make their day.” He grinned broadly, remembering.
“I admire Blackstone’s courage,” said Fisher, “if not his good sense. Standing up against all the vested interests in this city takes real guts. We could do a lot more in our job if half our superiors weren’t openly corrupt.”
Hawk grunted, and pulled at his collar again. “What do you know about this sorcerer, Gaunt?”
“Not much. Fairly powerful, as sorcerers go, but he’s not flashy about it. Likes to throw parties, but otherwise keeps himself to himself. Not married, and doesn’t chase women. Or men, for that matter. No one knows where he came from originally, but rumor has it he was once sorcerer to the King. Then he left the Court under something of a cloud, and came and settled here in Haven. Made a name for himself in the Hook. You remember that?”
“Yeah,” said Hawk. “I was part of the team that had to go in there and clean up the mess. We were still carrying out the bodies a week later.”
“That’s right,” said Fisher. “I was still working on the Shattered Bullion case.” She looked at Hawk thoughtfully. “You never told me about this before. Was it bad? I heard stories....”
“It was bad,” said Hawk. “There were no survivors among the gangs—no wounded, no dying; only the dead. We still don’t know what killed them, but it wasn’t very neat. Most of the bodies had been ripped apart. There’s no doubt the gangs were evil. They did some terrible things. But what happened to them was worse.”
“And this is the man whose party we’re attending as bodyguards,” said Fisher, grimacing. “Great. Just great.”
She broke off as the front door swung suddenly open. A bright, cheerful light filled the hall beyond and spilled out into the night. Hawk and Fisher blinked uncertainly as their eyes adjusted to the glare, and then they bowed politely to the man standing before them. Gaunt took in their Guards’ cloaks, and inclined his head slightly in return.
“William’s bodyguards. Do come in; I’ve been expecting you.”
He stepped back a pace and waited patiently as they made their way past him into the hall. He shut the door carefully and turned back to extend a slender, well-manicured hand. Hawk shook it firmly, and then gritted his teeth as Gaunt all but crushed his fingers in a powerful grip. He hated people who did that. Somehow he kept his polite smile in place, and then surreptitiously flexed his fingers as Gaunt turned to Fisher. The sorcerer took Fisher’s hand and raised it to his lips. Hawk frowned slightly. He wasn’t too keen on people who did that, either. Fisher smiled politely at the sorcerer. He wasn’t quite what she’d expected. After Hawk’s tale of what he’d found in the Hook, she’d been expecting someone more... impressive. With his mild grey eyes and pleasant smile, Gaunt just didn’t look the part.
The sorcerer looked at the two Guards thoughtfully. “Captain Hawk and Captain Fisher,” he said, after a moment. “I’ve heard of you.”
“Nothing good, I hope,” said Fisher, and Gaunt chuckled.
“You did an excellent job of taking care of the Chandler Lane vampire. Most. impressive.”
Hawk raised an eyebrow. “News travels fast in Haven.”
Gaunt smiled. “I have my sources.”
“Yeah,” said Hawk. “I’ll just bet you do.”
“If you follow me,” said the sorcerer politely. “Councillor Blackstone is already here, with some of my other guests.”
He led the way down the hall to a heavy oaken door on the right. He pushed it open, and then stood back to usher the two Guards into the parlour. The guests looked briefly at Hawk and Fisher, took in the black cloaks, and went back to their conversations. Hawk looked casually about him, getting the feel of the place. Two huge windows were blocked off by closed wooden shutters, despite the heat. There was only the one door, leading into the hall. Hawk relaxed a little. If push came to shove, it shouldn’t be too difficult to defend the parlour against an attack. Assuming anyone was suicidal enough to take on the sorcerer Gaunt in his own home.
Gaunt went over to Blackstone and spoke quietly to him. Blackstone glanced at Hawk and Fisher, excused himself to the witch Visage, and walked back with Gaunt to meet them. He shook them both by the hand; the usual quick, firm handshake of the seasoned politician.
“Glad you’re both here,” he said briskly. “I’m sure I’ll feel a lot safer with you two at my side. It’s only for the next few days, until my bill has become law. After that, the danger will be over.”
“Really?” said Fisher. “The way I hear it, you’ve got more enemies in Haven than the Chancellor on tax day.”
Blackstone laughed. “Well, the immediate danger, anyway. If I’d wanted a safe occupation, I wouldn’t have entered politics.”
“Well then, Councillor,” said Hawk briskly, “what would you like us to do?”
“For tonight, just mingle with the guests and enjoy yourselves,” said Blackstone pleasantly. “I’m in no danger here, not in Gaunt’s house. Even my enemies know better than to risk his anger.”
“You are always safe here, William,” said Gaunt quietly. “This house is protected against any and all intrusions.”
“And now, if you’ll excuse us,” said Blackstone, flashing a quick smile at Hawk and Fisher, “Gaunt and I have some business to discuss. Do help yourself to a drink and something to eat.”
The politician and the sorcerer moved away, talking animatedly. Hawk and Fisher looked at each other.
“Free booze,” said Fisher. “This may not be such a bad assignment after all.”
“Yeah,” said Hawk.
They made their way over to the punch bowl and helped themselves to the fruit cordial. Hawk wrinkled his nose at the taste, but drank it anyway. The room was hot, he was thirsty, and besides, it was free. Various canapés had been laid out beside the punch bowl, arranged in interesting patterns in the mistaken belief that this would make the food appear more appetizing. Hawk didn’t even recognize half of it, but he tried one anyway, just to show himself willing.
“Not bad,” he said indistinctly.
“I’m glad you think so,” said Katherine Blackstone. “Gaunt prides himself on his culinary skills.”
Hawk chewed and swallowed quickly to empty his mouth as the councillor’s wife looked him and Fisher over. She seemed friendly enough, in a condescending way. Katherine’s gaze lingered on Hawk more than Fisher, and he wondered if he’d imagined the sudden glitter in her eyes. The way she was acting, he half expected her to lean forward and pin a rosette on him.
“So you’re the best the Guard could supply,” said Katherine finally. “I do hope you’re as fearsome as your reputation suggests.”
“We try,” said Hawk.
Katherine looked thoughtfully at his face. “The scars are certainly impressive, darling. What happened to your eye?”
“I lost it in a card game.”
Katherine gave him a startled look, and then dissolved into giggles. It made her look much younger. “My dear, I think you won that one on points. Do help yourself to the spiced lamb; it’s really quite delicious. I believe there’s even some asparagus, though where Gaunt managed to get it at this time of the year is beyond me. Knowing a sorcerer does have its advantages, I suppose.”
There was a pause, while they all busied themselves with the food. Fisher smiled suddenly as she bit into a piece of cold garlic sausage.
“We could have used some of this earlier today.”
“What?” said Katherine. “Oh, the garlic. Gaunt was just telling us about the vampire before you arrived. Horrible creatures. Did you really kill it by driving a wooden stake through its heart?”
“Eventually,” said Hawk.
“Such a pity about Trask,” said Katherine. “I mean, he wasn’t much of a Councillor, but he did a good enough job, and at least you knew where you were with him. And his was a marginal seat, you know. Now there’ll have to be another election, and I hate to think who we might get in his place. Better the devil you know, and all that.”
Hawk and Fisher nodded politely and said nothing. They hadn’t told anyone about Trask being the vampire’s Judas Goat. They just passed him off as another victim, along with his daughter. It was true enough, in a way. And besides, his widow was going to have a hard enough time as it was. Katherine Blackstone chattered on for a while, talking lightly about this and that, and then fluttered away to talk to Graham Dorimant. Hawk looked at Fisher.
“Well?” he said dryly. “What did you make of that?”
“Beats me,” said Fisher. “Katherine Blackstone, coming on like an empty-headed socialite? That’s not the woman I’ve heard so much about.”
“Maybe it’s a test of some kind. Checking us out to see if we’re smart enough to see through the act.”
Fisher scowled dubiously. “Could be, I suppose.”
“Actually, it’s a little more complicated than that,” said the witch Visage.
Hawk and Fisher turned quickly to find her standing beside them. Hawk’s hand dropped to his axe. He hadn’t heard her approaching.... Visage saw the movement, and smiled slightly.
“I’m not your enemy, Captain Hawk. In fact, I’m glad you’re here. I’ve had a premonition about William.”
Hawk and Fisher looked quickly at each other, and then back at the slender redhead before them.
“A premonition,” said Hawk slowly. “You think he’s in danger?”
“Yes. I’m Visage. I’m a witch. It’s my job to protect William from magical threats. He should be safe enough here in Gaunt’s house. I’ve never seen so many defensive spells. The place is crawling with them. And yet... there’s a feeling in the air. It worries me. I’ve given William some extra protection, but still...”
“Have you sensed anything in particular?” asked Fisher quietly.
Visage shook her head, frowning. “Nothing definite. Somebody here, or close by, is planning a death; and the victim is either William or someone connected with him. That’s all I can get.”
“Have you told Blackstone?” asked Hawk.
“Of course. He isn’t taking the threat seriously enough.”
“Somebody here or close by,” said Fisher. “Maybe we should check the grounds.”
“I suggested that to Gaunt,” said Visage. “He said no one could get into the grounds or the house without his knowing.” She looked at Hawk steadily. “Unless you do something to stop it, someone is going to die in this house. Tonight.”
She turned suddenly and walked away. Hawk and Fisher watched her go.
“Great start to the party,” said Hawk.
“Isn’t it,” said Fisher.
“Did you notice,” said Hawk thoughtfully, “that she never did get around to explaining why Katherine Blackstone was acting out of character?”
“Yeah,” said Fisher. “Interesting, that.”
They looked at each other a moment, shrugged, and helped themselves to more of the fruit cordial.
“Who the hell would be desperate enough to attack Blackstone in Gaunt’s house?” said Hawk. “All right, Gaunt isn’t the most powerful sorcerer I’ve ever met, but I’d put him right up there in the top ten. I certainly wouldn’t cross him without a damn good reason.”
“Right,” said Fisher. “If nothing else, our potential murderer must be pretty damn confident. Or crazy. Or both.”
“Or he knows something we don’t.” Hawk scowled grimly. “Think we should say something to Blackstone?”
“Not yet,” said Fisher. “What could we tell him that he doesn’t already know? Besides, like you said, who could get to him here?”
“There’s no place so well-defended that someone determined enough can’t find a way in,” said Hawk firmly. “After all, it might not be a direct attack. It could be something that’s been planned in advance.”
Fisher nodded slowly. “A prearranged spell, or curse. Or maybe they poisoned the food.”
“Or the drink,” said Hawk.
They looked at their empty glasses.
“Unlikely,” said Fisher. “The witch said someone was planning a death tonight, not several. And anyway, Gaunt would surely be able to detect the presence of anything poisonous. Same for any spells.”
“I suppose so,” said Hawk. “All right, poison is out. But a direct attack seems even more unlikely. In order to get to Blackstone, an assassin would have to get past all of Gaunt’s defenses, and then fight his way past us. There are assassins that good in the Low Kingdoms, but I don’t really think Blackstone’s important enough to warrant their attentions. No, I think a magical attack of some kind has to be the most likely.”
“But according to the witch, this house is covered with defensive spells.”
“Yeah.” Hawk shook his head disgustedly. “Nothing’s ever simple, is it? You know, Isobel, just once I think I’d like to work on a case that was simple and straightforward. Just for a change.”
“So what are we going to do?” asked Fisher.
“Stay close to Blackstone, and watch everyone else very closely.”
“Sounds like an excellent idea,” said Dorimant.
Hawk and Fisher looked him over coldly, and Dorimant didn’t miss the way their hands fell naturally to the weapons at their sides. He felt a sudden chill run down his spine. As a political adviser, Dorimant had mixed with some hard people in his time, but one look into Hawk’s cold eye was enough to convince him that everything he’d heard about Hawk and Fisher was true. These people were dangerous. He smiled at them calmly, and hoped they’d put the sweat on his brow down to the heat.
“Allow me to introduce myself. Graham Dorimant, William’s political adviser.”
Hawk nodded politely. “I’m...”
“Oh, I know who you two are,” said Dorimant quickly. “Everyone in Haven’s heard of Hawk and Fisher.”
“Fame at last,” said Fisher dryly.
Dorimant chuckled. “Honest Guards are as rare as honest politicians. That’s why I particularly asked for you as William’s bodyguards.”
“The witch says that Blackstone is in danger,” said Fisher bluntly. “She thinks that someone’s going to try and kill him tonight.”
Dorimant frowned. “I wouldn’t take Visage too seriously, Captain Fisher. She’s good enough at her job, but she sees threats in every shadow.”
“But Blackstone does have enemies,” said Hawk.
“Oh, certainly. What politician doesn’t? And William’s policies aren’t exactly aimed at making him popular with the vested interests who make this city the cesspool it is. But when all is said and done, he’s safe here. Gaunt was telling me about some of his defences earlier, and I can assure you that nothing and nobody gets into this house unless Gaunt says so. Believe me, William has absolutely nothing to worry about tonight.”
“Unless one of his guests turns out to be an assassin,” said Fisher.
Dorimant looked at her sharply. “Captain Fisher, everyone at this party is a friend of William’s, and has been for years. Not one of them has anything to gain by his death. The only people at this party that I can’t personally vouch for are you and Captain Hawk. And your reputations suggest you lack the taste for assassination work.”
“Yeah,” said Hawk. “The pay’s good, but the working conditions are lousy.”
Fisher nodded solemnly. Dorimant looked from one to the other, and then smiled reluctantly.
“Captain Hawk, Captain Fisher, right now William’s under a lot of pressure. His political opponents are doing their best to sabotage his new bill, and there have been a few death threats. Usual anonymous rubbish. I thought having you two around for the next few days might make him feel a little more secure. All you have to do is stick with him, and don’t let anyone within arm’s reach of him unless I vouch for them. All right?”
“Sure,” said Hawk. “I’ve done bodyguarding work before.”
“Good,” said Dorimant. “You do know you’ll be staying the night here, along with the rest of us?”
“Yeah,” said Fisher. “We didn’t have time to pack a bag, but no doubt Gaunt can provide us with what we need.”
“Of course,” said Dorimant. “I’ll have a word with him.”
The doorbell rang, and Gaunt went into the hall to answer it. Hawk frowned slightly.
“Why does a sorcerer like Gaunt answer his own door? Doesn’t he have any servants?”
Dorimant smiled. “Gaunt doesn’t trust servants. Afraid they might be after his secrets, I suppose. Industrial espionage is rife among magicians.”
“Secrets,” said Fisher. “What do you know about Gaunt, sir Dorimant?”
“Not much. He’s a private man. William knows him better than I do. There are rumours he used to be sorcerer to the King, until they had a falling out. The rumours don’t say what they might have argued about. Gaunt’s a quiet sort, usually. Don’t think I’ve ever known him to raise his voice in anger. On the other hand, you know what he did in the Hook....”
“Yeah.” Fisher scowled, her hand idly caressing the pommel of her sword. “I don’t trust sorcerers.”
“Not many people do,” said Dorimant dryly. “But Gaunt is no threat to William. They’ve been friends for years.”
He broke off as Gaunt came back into the parlour, accompanied by a tall, wiry man in his late twenties. He had a shock of long dark hair and a thick curly beard, so that most of his face was hidden from casual view. He smiled easily, but the smile didn’t reach his eyes. He was dressed in the latest fashion, and wore it well. Considering that the latest fashion included tightly cut trousers and a padded jerkin with a chin-high collar, this was no mean achievement. It would have been easy to dismiss him as a dandy, if it hadn’t been for the sword that hung at his left hip, in a well-worn scabbard. Blackstone and his wife went over to greet the newcomer.
“Now there’s a man you can distrust,” said Dorimant quietly. “Edward Bowman. William’s right-hand man. A brilliant politician with a first-class mind. Watch him. The man’s a rat.”
Hawk frowned, and started to ask him more, but Dorimant was already walking away, heading back to the witch Visage. Hawk looked back at Bowman. Gaunt and Blackstone were deep in conversation, leaving Katherine chatting with Bowman. Hawk’s eye narrowed as he watched them. There was nothing specific he could put his finger on, but there was something about the way Katherine and Bowman were talking together.... They were too friendly. They smiled too much, their concentration was too intense, and they touched each other politely but too often.
“Yeah,” said Fisher. “They’re certainly glad to see each other, aren’t they?”
“Probably just good friends,” said Hawk.
“Sure. Sure.”
The doorbell sounded again, and Gaunt disappeared into the hall. Blackstone moved over to join Bowman and Katherine. Hawk watched closely, but couldn’t see any obvious signs of tension between them. They all smiled a little too brightly and too often, but then, they were politicians.... Hawk sighed, and looked away.
“I assume the bell means more guests,” he said tiredly. “That’s all we need; more suspects to watch.”
“You worry too much,” said Fisher, pouring herself more of the fruit cordial. “Look, all we’ve got to do is keep the man alive for the next three days until his bill becomes law. After that, the pressure will be off, and he won’t need us anymore. Surely we can keep him out of trouble for three days.”
Hawk shrugged, unconvinced. “I don’t like coming onto a case unprepared. We don’t know enough about what’s going on here, and we certainly don’t know enough about the people involved. Katherine Blackstone is acting out of character. Visage knows why, but won’t tell us. Instead, she tells us that Councillor Blackstone is in danger, in one of the best-defended houses in the city. Blackstone’s political adviser warns us about Blackstone’s right-hand man, who turns out to be very friendly with the Councillor’s wife. I’ve got a bad feeling about this, Isobel.”
“You’re always getting bad feelings.”
“And I’m usually right.”
Fisher chuckled affectionately. “We’ve had a long hard day, my love. It’s just the tiredness talking, that’s all. Blackstone is perfectly safe here. We’re just window dressing. Now, have a drink, and relax a little. Okay?”
“Okay.” Hawk smiled fondly at Fisher. “You were always the sensible one. What would I do without you, lass?”
“Beats the hell out of me,” said Fisher, smiling. “Now, relax. Everything’s going to be fine.”
Gaunt came back into the parlor, and Hawk’s heart sank. He knew the middle-aged couple with the sorcerer only too well. Lord and Lady Hightower were a prominent part of Haven’s High Society. They moved in all the right circles, and knew all the right people. In a very real sense, they were part of the moneyed and influential elite who controlled Haven. They were also, surprisingly, two of Blackstone’s strongest supporters.
Lord Roderik Hightower was a stocky, medium-height man in his early fifties. His short-cropped hair was iron grey, and his piercing dark eyes stared unyieldingly from a harsh, weatherbeaten face. Only a few years earlier, he’d been the Chief Commander of the Low Kingdoms’ army, and a legend in his own lifetime. He always led his men into battle, and he was always the last to retreat. His grasp of strategy was second to none, and he had guts of solid steel. A soldier’s soldier. He was still solidly muscled, but signs of wear were finally beginning to show. He was getting slower, and old wounds gnawed at him when it rained. He’d retired from the army rather than accept the desk job they offered him, and had immediately looked for a new challenge with which to occupy himself. He finally settled on politics, and took on the campaign to clean up Haven with the same determination and gusto he’d shown in his army days.
Hawk knew him from a year or so back. There had been a series of werewolf murders on the lower Northside, and Hawk had been one of the investigating Guards. It had been a complicated, messy case. Hawk had finally identified the shapechanger and destroyed it, but not before three more men had been killed. One of them was Hightower’s only son. Hawk’s superiors had stood by him, but Hightower still blamed him for his son’s death.
Great, thought Hawk. Just what I needed. More complications.
He looked curiously at Hightower’s wife, the Lady Elaine. A very well-preserved early fifties, she wore the latest fashion with style and dignity. Her dress was long and flowing, despite the muggy weather, and studded with semiprecious stones. She fanned herself constantly with an intricately painted paper fan, but otherwise seemed unaffected by the heat. She had a long mane of pure white hair and showed it off to advantage. Her face had a strong bone structure, and she was still stunningly good-looking, despite her years. All in all, she looked splendid, and she knew it. She held her husband’s arm protectively, and looked around Gaunt’s parlour with such poise that she seemed to be suggesting that simply by entering such a room she was most definitely slumming.
Hawk felt an almost overwhelming urge to sneak up behind her and kick her in the bustle.
Fisher leaned closer to Hawk. “Hightower ...” she said softly. “Wasn’t he the one who...”
“Yeah,” said Hawk.
“Maybe he’s forgotten by now.”
“I doubt it.”
Hightower looked across the room, saw Hawk and Fisher, and stiffened slightly. He spoke quietly to his wife, who looked at the two Guards as though they’d just crawled out from under a rock. She reluctantly let go of her husband’s arm and moved away to greet Blackstone. Lord Hightower glared at Hawk for a long moment, and then walked slowly across the length of the room to confront him. Hawk and Fisher bowed politely. Hightower didn’t bow in return. He waited for Hawk to straighten up, and then studied him coldly.
“So. You’re William’s bodyguards.”
“That’s right, my lord,” said Hawk.
“I should have had you drummed out of the Guard when I had the chance.”
“You tried hard enough, my Lord,” said Hawk calmly. “Luckily my superiors knew the facts of the matter. Your son’s death was a tragic accident.”
“He’d still be alive if you’d done your job properly!”
“Perhaps. I did my best, my Lord.”
Hightower sniffed, and looked disparagingly at Fisher. “This is your woman, is it?”
“This is my partner and my wife,” said Hawk. “Captain Fisher.”
“And if you raise your voice to my husband again,” said Fisher calmly, “I’ll knock you flat on your arse, right here and now.”
Hightower flushed angrily, and started to splutter a reply. And then his voice died away as he looked into Fisher’s steady eyes and saw that she meant it. Hightower had a lifetime’s experience of fighting men, and knew without a shadow of a doubt that Fisher would kill him if she thought he was a threat to her husband. He recalled some of the things he’d heard about Hawk and Fisher, and suddenly they didn’t seem quite so impossible after all. He sniffed again, turned his back on the two Guards, and walked back to his wife with as much dignity as he could muster.
“How to make friends and influence people,” said Hawk.
“To hell with him,” said Fisher. “Anyone who wants to take you on has to go through me first.”
Hawk smiled at her fondly. “I knew there had to be some reason why I put up with you.” His smile faded away. “I liked Hightower’s son. He hadn’t been in the Guard long, but he meant well, and he tried so hard. He was just in the wrong place at the wrong time, and he died because of it.”
“What happened on that werewolf case?” said Fisher. “That’s another one you never told me much about.”
“Not much to tell. The case started badly and went downhill fast. We didn’t have much to go on, and what little we thought we knew about werewolves turned out to be mostly untrue. According to legend, the werewolf in human shape is excessively hairy, has two fingers the same length, and has a pentacle on his palm. Rubbish, all of it. Also according to the legend, the man takes on his wolf shape when the full moon rises, and only turns back again when the moon goes down. Our shapechanger could turn from man to wolf and back again whenever he felt like it, as long as the full moon was up. That made finding him rather difficult. We got him eventually. Ordinary-looking guy. You could walk right past him in the street and never notice him. I killed him with a silver sword. He lay on the ground with the blood running out of him, and cried, as though he couldn’t understand why any of this was happening to him. He hadn’t wanted to kill anyone; the werewolf curse made him do it. He hadn’t wanted to die either, and at the end he cried like a small child that’s been punished and doesn’t know why.”
Fisher put an arm across his shoulders and hugged him.
“How very touching,” said an amused voice. Hawk and Fisher looked round to see Edward Bowman standing to their right, smiling sardonically. Fisher moved unhurriedly away from Hawk. Bowman put out his hand, and Hawk shook it warily. Like Blackstone, Bowman had a politician’s quick and impersonal handshake. He shook Fisher’s hand too.
“Enjoying the party?” he asked, smiling impartially at Hawk and Fisher.
“It has its ups and downs,” said Hawk dryly.
“Ah yes,” said Bowman. “I saw you and Hightower. Unfortunate business about his son. You’d do well to be wary of Hightower, Captain Hawk. The Lord Roderik is well known for his ability to hold a grudge.”
“What’s his connection with Blackstone?” asked Fisher. “I’d have thought a man like Hightower, old army and High Society, would be conservative by nature, rather than a reformer.”
Bowman smiled knowingly. “Normally you’d be right; and thereby hangs a tale. Up until a few years ago, Lord Roderik was a devoted advocate of the status quo. Change could only be for the worse, and those who actually lobbied for reforms were nothing but malcontents and traitors. And then the King summoned Lord Hightower to Court, and told him it had been decided by the Assembly that he was too old to lead the army anymore, and he would have to step down to make way for a younger man. According to my spies at Court, Hightower just stood there and looked at the King like he couldn’t believe his ears. Apparently he hadn’t thought the mandatory retirement from the field at fifty would apply to someone as important as him. The King was very polite about it, even offered Hightower a position as his personal military adviser, but Hightower wouldn’t have any of it. If he couldn’t be a real soldier, he’d resign his commission. I don’t think he really believed they’d go that far. Until they did.
“He was never the same after that. Thirty years of his life given to the army, and he didn’t even get a pension, because he resigned. Not that he needed a pension, of course, but it was the principle of the thing. He came back here, to his home and his family, but couldn’t seem to settle down. Tried to offer his advice and expertise to the Council, but they didn’t want to know. I think he joined up with Blackstone originally just to spite them. Told you he carried grudges. Then he discovered Reform, and he’s been unbearable ever since. There’s no one more fanatical than a convert to a Cause. Still, there’s no denying he’s been very useful to us. His name opens quite a few doors in Haven.”
“It should,” said Hawk. “His family owns a fair chunk of it. And his wife’s family is one of the oldest in the city.” He looked thoughtfully at Bowman. “How did you get involved with Blackstone?”
Bowman shrugged. “I liked his style. He was one of the few politicians I met who actually seemed interested in doing something to improve the lives of the people who live in this rat hole of a city. I’ve been in politics all my life; my father was a Councillor till the day he died, but I hadn’t really been getting anywhere. It’s not enough in politics to have a good mind and good intentions; you have to have a good personal image as well. I’ve never had much talent for being popular, but William has. I knew he was going places from the first day I met him. But, at that time, he didn’t have any experience. He threw away chances, because he didn’t even know they were there. So, we decided to work together. I provided the experience, he provided the style. It hasn’t worked out too badly. We get on well together, and we get things done.”
“And he gets all the power, and all the credit,” said Fisher.
“I’m not ambitious,” said Bowman. “And there’s more to life than credit.”
“Indeed there is,” said Katherine Blackstone. She moved in to stand beside Bowman, and Hawk and Fisher didn’t miss the way they stood together.
“Tell me,” said Katherine, sipping daintily at her drink, “where did you and your wife come from originally, Captain Hawk? I’m afraid I can’t quite place your accent.”
“We’re from the North,” said Hawk vaguely. “Up around Hillsdown.”
“Hillsdown,” said Katherine thoughtfully. “That’s a monarchy, isn’t it?”
“More or less,” said Fisher.
“The Low Kingdoms must seem rather strange to you,” said Bowman. “I don’t suppose democracy has worked its way up North yet.”
“Not yet,” said Hawk. “The world’s a big place, and change travels slowly. When I discovered the Low Kingdoms were in fact governed by an elected Assembly, presided over by a constitutional monarch with only limited powers, it was as though my whole world had been tipped upside down. How could he be King if he didn’t rule? But the idea; the idea that every man and woman should have a say in how the country should be run: that was staggering. There’s no denying the system does have its drawbacks, and I’ve seen most of them right here in Haven, but it has its attractions too.”
“It’s the way of the future,” said Bowman.
“You might just be right,” said Hawk.
The doorbell rang, and Gaunt went off to answer it. Bowman and Katherine chatted a while longer about nothing in particular, and then moved away to talk quietly with each other. Fisher looked after them thoughtfully.
“I don’t trust Bowman; he smiles too much.”
Hawk shrugged. “That’s his job; he’s a politician, remember? But did you see the way Katherine’s face lit up every time Bowman looked at her?”
“Yeah,” said Fisher, grinning. “There’s definitely something going on there.”
“Scandalmonger,” said Hawk.
“Not at all,” said Fisher. “I’m just romantic, that’s all.”
Gaunt came back into the parlor with a tall, muscular man in his late forties. Hawk took one look at the new arrival and nearly spilled his drink. Standing beside Gaunt was Adam Stalker, possibly the most renowned hero ever to come out of the Low Kingdoms. In his time he’d fought every monster you can think of, and then some. He’d single-handedly toppled the evil Baron Cade from his mountain fortress, and freed hundreds of prisoners from the foul dungeons under Cade’s Keep. He’d been the confidant of kings and the champion of the oppressed. He’d served in a dozen armies, in this cause and that, bringing aid and succor to those who had none. His feats of daring and heroism had spread across the known world, and were the subject of countless songs and stories. Adam Stalker: demonslayer and hero.
He stood a head and shoulders taller than anyone else in the room, and was almost twice as wide as some of them. His shoulder-length black hair was shot with grey now, but he was still an impressive and powerful figure. His clothes were simple but elegantly cut. He looked around the room like a soldier gazing across a battlefield, nodding at the familiar faces, and then his cold blue eyes fell on Hawk and Fisher. He strode quickly over to them, crushed Hawk’s hand in his, and clapped him on the back. Hawk staggered under the blow.
“I heard about your run-in with the Chandler Lane vampire,” Stalker said gruffly. “You did a good job, Captain Hawk. A damned good job.”
“Thanks,” said Hawk, just a little breathlessly. “My partner helped.”
“Of course.” Stalker nodded briefly to Fisher. “Well done, my dear.” He looked back at Hawk. “I’ve heard good things about you, Hawk. This city has much to thank you for.”
“Yeah,” said Fisher. “We’re thinking of putting in for a raise.”
“Thank you, sir warrior,” said Hawk quickly. “We do our best, but I’m sure we’ve a long way to go before we become as renowned as Adam Stalker.”
Stalker smiled and waved a hand dismissively. “Minstrels exaggerate. I take it you’re here as William’s bodyguards. You shouldn’t have any trouble, not with me and Gaunt to look after him. Still, I can always use a backup. I’ll talk to you again later; I want to hear all about this vampire killing. I once stumbled across a whole nest of the things, up in the Broken Crag range. Nasty business.”
He nodded briskly, and strode off to speak to Blackstone. Hawk and Fisher watched him go.
“Big, isn’t he?” said Hawk.
“I’ll say,” said Fisher. “He must be close on seven feet tall. And did you see the size of those muscles?”
“Yeah.” Hawk looked at her narrowly. “You were a bit short with him, weren’t you?”
“He was a bit short with me. He’s obviously one of those men who think women should stay at home while the men go out to be heroes. You ever met him before, Hawk?”
“No. Heard most of the songs, though. If only half of them are true, he’s a remarkable man. I wasn’t sure I believed some of the stories, but now I’ve met him ... I don’t know. He’s certainly impressive.”
“Right.” Fisher sipped thoughtfully at her drink. “A very dangerous man, if crossed.”
Hawk looked at her sharply. “Oh, come on. Stalker as an assassin? That’s ridiculous. What reason could a great hero like Stalker possibly have for taking on a small-time politician like Blackstone? We’re talking about a man who’s supposed to have toppled kings in his time.”
Fisher shrugged. “I don’t know. He just strikes me as a little too good to be true, that’s all.”
“You’re just jealous because he congratulated me, and not you.”
Fisher laughed, and emptied her glass. “Maybe.”
“How many of those have you had?” asked Hawk suddenly.
“Two or three. I’m thirsty.”
“Then ask for a glass of water. This is no time to be getting legless. Hightower would just love to find some reason to drop us in it.”
“Spoilsport.” Fisher put down her empty glass and looked about her. The party seemed to be livening up. The chatter of raised voices filled the parlour, along with a certain amount of self-satisfied laughter. Every hand held a wineglass, and the first few bottles were already empty.
Hawk moved away to talk to Blackstone about the security arrangements, and Fisher was left on her own. She looked disinterestedly around her. Society gatherings didn’t appeal to her much. Private jokes, malicious gossip, and sugary wines were no substitute for good food and ale in the company of friends. Not that she was particularly fond of that kind of gathering, either. I guess I’m just basically antisocial, thought Fisher sardonically. She shrugged and smiled, and then stood up a little straighter as Edward Bowman came over to stand before her. She bowed politely, and he nodded briefly in return.
“Captain Fisher. All alone?”
“For the moment.”
“Now that is unacceptable; a good-looking woman like yourself should never want for company.”
Fisher raised a mental eyebrow. Her face was striking rather than pretty, and she knew it. He’s after something....
“I’m not very fond of company,” she said carefully.
“Don’t much care for crowds myself,” said Bowman, smiling engagingly. “Why don’t we go somewhere more private, just the two of us?”
“I don’t think Gaunt would like that. We are his guests. And after all, I’m here to do a job.”
“Gaunt won’t say anything.” Bowman leaned closer, his voice dropping to a murmur. “No one will say anything. I’m an important man, my dear.”
Fisher looked him straight in the eye. “You don’t believe in wasting time, do you?”
Bowman shrugged. “Life is short. Why are we still talking? There are so many other, more pleasurable things we could be doing.”
“I don’t think so,” said Fisher calmly.
“What?” Bowman looked at her sharply. “I don’t think you understand, my dear. No one turns me down. No one.”
Fisher smiled coldly. “Want to bet?”
Bowman scowled, all the amiability gone from his face as though it had never been there. “You forget your place, Captain. I have friends among your superior officers. All I have to do is drop a word in the right quarter....”
“You’d really do that?”
“Believe it, Captain. I can ruin your career, have you thrown in jail.... You’d be surprised what can happen to you. Unless, of course ...”
He reached out a hand towards her, and then stopped suddenly and looked down. Fisher had a dagger in her left hand, the point pressed against his stomach. Bowman stood very still.
“You threaten me again,” said Fisher quietly, “and I’ll cut you one you’ll carry for the rest of your days. And be grateful my husband hasn’t noticed anything. He’d kill you on the spot, and damn the consequences. Now go away, and stay away. Understand?”
Bowman nodded jerkily, and Fisher made the dagger disappear. Bowman turned and walked away. Fisher leaned back against the buffet table and shook her head resignedly.
I think I preferred the party when it was boring....
Gaunt stood alone by the doorway, keeping a careful eye on the time. The first course would be ready soon, and he didn’t want it to be overdone. The first course set the mood for the meal to come. He looked around at his guests, and then winced slightly as he saw Stalker making his way determinedly towards him. Gaunt sighed, and bowed politely to Stalker. The giant warrior inclined his head briefly in response. “I’d like a word with you, sir sorcerer.”
“Of course, Adam. What can I do for you?”
“Sell me this house.”
Gaunt shook his head firmly. “Adam, I’ve told you before ; I’m not interested in selling. This house suits me very well, and I’ve spent a great deal of time investing both it and the grounds with my own magical protections. Moving now would be not only expensive and highly inconvenient, it would also mean at least six months’ hard work removing those spells before anyone else could live here.”
“The money needn’t be a problem,” said Stalker. “I’m a rich man these days. You can name your price, sorcerer.”
“It’s not a question of money, Adam. This house suits me. I’m quite happy here and I don’t want to move. Now I hate to be ungracious about this, but there’s really no point in your continuing to pester me about selling. Your gold doesn’t tempt me in the least; I already have all I need. I don’t see why this house is so important to you, Adam. There are others just like it scattered all over the city. Why are you so obsessed with mine?”
“Personal reasons,” said Stalker shortly. “If you should happen to change your mind, perhaps you would give me first refusal.”
“Of course, Adam. Now, while you’re here, I’d like a word with you.”
“Yes?”
“What’s happened between you and William? Have you quarrelled?”
“No.” Stalker looked steadily at Gaunt. “Why do you ask?”
“Oh, come on, Adam; I’m not blind. I don’t think the pair of you have exchanged two words you didn’t have to in the last few weeks. I thought perhaps you’d had a falling-out, or something.”
Stalker shook his head. “Not really. I’m here, aren’t I? It was just a difference of opinion over what our next project should be. It’ll work itself out. And now, if you’ll excuse me ...”
He nodded stiffly to Gaunt, and walked away. The sorcerer watched him go, his face carefully impassive. Something was wrong; he could feel it. Stalker might talk calmly enough, but the man was definitely on edge. Still, it wasn’t likely he’d make any trouble. Not here, not at William’s party. Gaunt frowned. Just the same, perhaps he’d better have a word with Bowman; see if he knew anything. If something had happened to upset Stalker, he’d make a dangerous enemy.
Lord and Lady Hightower stood together, a little apart from the rest of the guests. Lord Roderik looked out over the gathering, his eyes vague and far away. Lady Elaine put a gentle hand on his arm.
“You look pale, my dear. Are you feeling all right?”
“I’m fine. Really.”
“You don’t look it.”
“It’s the heat, that’s all. I hate being trapped in the city during the summer. Damn place is like an oven, and there’s never a breath of fresh air. I’ll be all right, Elaine. Don’t fuss.”
Lady Elaine hesitated. “I saw you talking to the Guards. That is him, isn’t it?”
“Yes. He let our boy die.” .
“No, Rod. It wasn’t that man Hawk’s fault, and you know it. You can’t go on blaming him for what happened. Do you blame yourself for every soldier under your command who died in battle because you didn’t predict everything that could go wrong? Of course you don’t.”
“This wasn’t a soldier. This was our son.” ,
“Yes, Rod. I know.” ..
“I was so proud of him, Elaine. He wasn’t going to waste his life fighting other people’s battles; he was going to make something of his life. I was so proud of him....” .
“I miss him as much as you, my dear. But he’s gone now, and we have to get on with our lives. And you’ve more important things to do than waste your time feuding with a Captain of the city Guard.”
Lord Roderik sighed, and looked at her properly for the first time. For a moment it seemed he was going to say something, and then he changed his mind. He looked down at her hand on his arm, and put his hand on top of hers. “You’re right, my dear. As usual. Just keep that man out of my sight. I don’t want to have to talk to Captain Hawk again.” ,
Stalker picked up one of the canapés and studied it dubiously. The small piece of meat rolled in pasta looked even smaller in his huge hand. He sniffed at it gingerly, shrugged, and ate it anyway. When you’re out in the wilds for days on end you can’t ever be sure where your next meal’s coming from. So you eat what you can, when you can, or risk going hungry. Old habits die hard. Stalker looked about him, and his gaze fell on Graham Dorimant, talking with the witch Visage. Stalker’s lip curled. Dorimant. Political adviser. Probably never drew a sword in anger in his life. All mouth and no muscle. He had his uses, but ... Stalker shook his head resignedly. These were the kinds of people he was going to have to deal with, now that he’d entered the political arena. Stalker smiled suddenly. He’d thought life in the wilds was tough, until he’d entered politics. These people would eat you alive, given half a chance.
And politics was going to have to be his life, from now on. He was getting too old for heroics. He didn’t feel old, but he had to face the fact that he just wasn’t as strong or as fast as he once was. Better to quit now, while he was still ahead. He hadn’t lasted this long by being stupid. Besides, politics had its own rewards and excitements. The pursuit of power ... Long ago, when he was young and foolish, a princess of a far-off land had offered to marry him, and make him king, but he’d turned her down. He hadn’t wanted to be tied down. Things were different now. He had money, and he had prestige, so what was there left to reach for, except power? The last great game, the last challenge. Stalker frowned suddenly. Everything had been going fine. He and William had been an unbeatable team, until ... Damn the man. If only he hadn’t proved so stubborn.... Still, there wouldn’t be any more arguments after tonight. After tonight, he’d be free to go his own way, and to hell with William Blackstone.
Stalker looked over at the young witch Visage, and smiled slightly. Not bad-looking. Not bad at all. Not quite to his usual taste, but there was a quiet innocence in her demure mouth and downcast eyes that appealed to him. It’s your lucky night, my girl. He moved over to join her and Dorimant. They both bowed politely to him, but Stalker didn’t miss the barely suppressed anger in Dorimant’s eyes.
“Good evening, sir warrior,” said Dorimant smoothly. “You honor us with your presence.”
“Good to see you again,” said Stalker. “Keeping busy, are you? Still digging up secrets and hauling skeletons out of the cupboards?”
“We all do what we’re best at,” said Dorimant.
“And how are you, my dear?” said Stalker to Visage. “You’re looking very lovely.”
“Thank you,” said Visage quietly. She glanced at him briefly and then lowered her eyes again.
“Not drinking?” said Stalker, seeing her hands were empty. “Let me get you some wine.”
“Thank you, no,” said Visage quickly. “I don’t care for wine. It interferes with my concentration.”
“But that’s why we drink it, my child,” said Stalker, grinning. “Still, the alcohol in wine needn’t always be a problem. Watch this.”
He poured himself a large glass of white wine from a handy decanter, and then held up the glass before him. He said half a dozen words in a quick, rasping whisper, and the wine stirred briefly in the glass, as though disturbed by an unseen presence. It quickly settled itself, and the wine looked no different than it had before.
“Try it now,” said Stalker, handing the glass to Visage. “All the taste of wine, but no alcohol.”
Visage sipped the wine tentatively.
“Good trick,” said Hawk.
Stalker looked quickly round. He hadn’t heard the Guard approach. Getting old, he thought sourly. And careless. He bowed politely to Hawk.
“A simple transformation spell,” he said calmly. “The wine doesn’t change its basic nature, of course; that would be beyond my simple abilities. The alcohol is still there; it just can’t affect you anymore. It’s a handy trick to know, on occasion. There are times when a man’s survival can rest on his ability to keep a clear head.”
“I can imagine,” said Hawk. “But I always thought you distrusted magic, sir warrior. That seems to be the one thing all the songs about you agree on.”
“Oh, them.” Stalker shrugged dismissively. “I never wrote any of them. When you get right down to it, magic’s a tool, like any other; just a little more complicated than most. It’s not that I distrust magic; I just don’t trust those who rely on it too much. Sorcery isn’t like a sword or a pike; magic can let you down. And besides, I don’t trust the deals some people make to gain their knowledge and power.”
He looked at Gaunt on the far side of the room, and his eyes were very cold. Hawk looked thoughtfully at Stalker. Dorimant and Visage looked at each other.
“Thank you for the wine, sir warrior,” said Visage. “It’s really very nice. But now, if you’ll excuse us, Graham and I need to discuss some business with the Hightowers.”
“And I must return to my partner,” said Hawk.
They bowed politely, and then moved quickly away, leaving Stalker standing alone, staring after Visage. You rotten little bitch, he thought finally. Ah, well, she wasn’t really my type anyway.
The sorcerer Gaunt raised his voice above the babble of conversation, and called for everyone’s attention. The noise quickly died away as they all turned to face him.
“My friends, dinner will soon be ready. If you would like to go up to your rooms and change, I will be serving the first course in thirty minutes.”
The guests moved unhurriedly out of the parlor and into the hall, talking cheerfully among themselves. Gaunt disappeared after them, presumably to check on how the first course was coming along. Hawk and Fisher were left alone in the great parlor.
“Change for dinner?” said Hawk.
“Of course,” said Fisher. “We’re among the Quality now.”
“Makes a change,” said Hawk dryly, and they both laughed.
“I’m getting rid of this cloak,” said Fisher. “I don’t care if we are representing the Guard; it’s too damned hot to wear a cloak.”
She took it off and draped it carelessly over the nearest chair. Hawk grinned, and did the same. They looked wistfully at the great table at the rear of the parlor, covered with a pristine white tablecloth and gleaming plates and cutlery. There was even a massive candelabrum in the middle of the table, with all the candles already lit.
“That looks nice,” said Hawk.
“Very nice,” said Fisher. “I wonder if we’re invited to dinner.”
“I doubt it,” said Hawk. “We probably get scraps and leftovers in the kitchen, afterwards. Unless Blackstone decides he wants a food taster, and I think Gaunt would probably take that as an insult to his culinary arts.”
“Ah, well,” said Fisher. “At least now we can sit down for a while. My feet are killing me.”
“Right,” said Hawk. “It’s been a long day....”
They drew up chairs by the empty fireplace, dropped into them, and stretched out their legs. The chairs were almost indecently comfortable and supportive. Hawk and Fisher sat in silence a while, almost dozing. The unrelenting muggy heat weighed down on them, making sleep seem very tempting. The minutes passed pleasantly and Hawk stretched lazily. And then Katherine Blackstone came hurrying into the parlor, and Hawk sat up with a jolt as he saw the worry in her face.
“I’m sorry to trouble you,” said Katherine hesitantly.
“Not at all,” said Hawk. “That’s what we’re here for.”
“It’s my husband,” said Katherine. “He went into our room to get changed while I paid a visit to the bathroom. When I came back, the door to our room was locked from the inside. I knocked and called, but there was no answer. I’m afraid he may have been taken ill or something.”
Hawk and Fisher looked quickly at each other, and got to their feet.
“I think we’d better take a look,” said Hawk. “Just in case. If you’d show us the way, please ...”
Katherine Blackstone nodded quickly, and led them out of the parlor and into the hall. Hawk’s hand rested on the axe at his side. He had a bad feeling about this. Katherine hurried down the hall and up the stairs at the far end, grabbing at the banister as though to pull herself along faster. Hawk and Fisher had to push themselves to keep up with her. Katherine reached the top of the stairs first, and ran down the landing to the third door on the left. She hammered on the door and rattled the doorknob, then looked worriedly at Hawk.
“It’s still locked, Captain. William! William, can you hear me?” There was no reply. Katherine stepped back and looked desperately at Hawk. “Use your axe. Smash the lock. I’ll take the responsibility.”
Hawk frowned as he drew his axe. “Perhaps we should talk to Gaunt first....”
“I’m not waiting! William could be ill in there. Break the door down now. That’s an order, Captain!”
Hawk nodded, and took a good grip on his axe. “Stand back, then, and give me some room.”
“What the hell is going on here?” said Gaunt, from the top of the stairs. “Captain; put down your axe.”
Hawk looked steadily at the sorcerer. “Councillor Blackstone doesn’t answer our calls, and his door is locked from the inside. Do you have a spare key?”
Gaunt came forward to join him. “No,” he said slowly, “I’ve never needed any spares.” He looked at the closed door, and his mouth tightened. “William could be hurt. Smash the lock.”
Hawk nodded, and swung his axe at the brass lock, using all his strength. The blade sank deep into the wood, and the keen edge bit into the brass. The heavy door shook violently in its frame, but didn’t open. Hawk jerked the blade free, and struck again. The axe sheared clean through the lock. Hawk smiled slightly as he pulled the blade free. It was a good axe. He kicked the door open, and he and Fisher hurried into the room, with Katherine and Gaunt close behind.
William Blackstone lay on his back on the floor, staring sightlessly at the ceiling. A knife hilt protruded from his chest, and his shirtfront was red with blood.