and Fisher looked interestedly around them at the magnificent halls and mansions, Charles Buchan kept up a running commentary on the Quality, and how they fitted into Haven life. Hawk and Fisher knew most of it already, but let him talk. There was always the chance they'd learn something new; about Buchan, if not the Quality.
There were exactly one hundred Families in the Quality, never more, and together they formed a separate little state within the city-state of Haven. The only way in was to be born a part of it, or marry into it. Personal wealth wasn't enough. A man could be poor as a church mouse, and still look down on the wealthiest of merchants, if he had the right blood in his veins. The aristocracy's wealth was mostly inherited, though some of it still came from rents and the like; between them the Quality owned most of Haven and the surrounding lands. They could have been even richer if some of that wealth had been invested in Haven's businesses, but that just wasn't done. Trade was for the lower, merchant classes. Technically, the Quality were subordinate to the elected city Council, which represented King and Parliament, but in reality both sides were careful not to put pressure on the relationship from either direction.
Hawk let Buchan drone on, listening with one ear at most. He had his own problems. The party they were going to gate-crash was being hosted by Lord Louis Hightower, and that might lead to complications. The present Lord Hightower had come to his estate after the tragic deaths of both his father and elder brother. Both men had died violently during the course of enquiries into murders on which Hawk had been the investigating officer. No one blamed him for the deaths. Officially, he'd been cleared of any negligence. It remained to be seen what Lord Louis Hightower felt about the matter. The Quality had its own private ideas on justice and retribution. Officially, the Guard were exempt from the Code Duello, or any other form of vengeance, but that was just officially. In this, as in so many other matters, the Quality went its own way when it suited them.
The cold winter air was brisk and bracing after the artificial summer warmth of the Street of Gods. Hawk kicked moodily at the dirty slush that covered the road and the pavement. The Council was supposed to scatter grit and salt on the road at the first sign of approaching winter, but they always left it too late, with the excuse of not wanting to waste money by acting too soon. So this year, as every year, a gritting that could have been done in an hour or two would now take two or three days, during which business would grind to a halt all over the city. Typical.
Hightower Hall loomed up ahead, dominating the surroundings at the end of Royal Row. It was a long, impressive two-story building of the best local stone, the great wide windows blazing with light. A high stone wall surrounded the luxurious grounds, topped with iron spikes and broken glass. Four men-at-arms in chain mail manned the tall iron gates. They looked very professional. Hawk slowed his pace, and put a hand on Buchan's arm to stop his monolog.
'Looks like they're expecting trouble,' he said quietly, nodding at the men-at-arms. 'The Quality's security measures aren't usually so ostentatious. And you can bet that if there are four armed men in clear sight, there are a hell of a lot more patrolling the grounds and scattered throughout the Hall. Are you sure this is the right place, Buchan? I'd hate to fight my way in and then find I was at the wrong address.'
Fisher sniggered. 'Wouldn't be the first time.'
'This is the place,' said Buchan. 'I still have a few contacts with High Society. The Hellfire Club meets here tonight. And Captain, please: no violence. The God Squad has its reputation to think of. Besides, we shouldn't have any trouble getting in; I've acquired invitations for all of us.'
'Pity,' said Fisher. 'I was quite looking forward to a good dust-up. There's nothing like kicking a few supercilious backsides to put you in a good mood.'
Buchan looked at her sharply. She didn't appear to be joking. 'Please, Captain Fisher. Promise me you won't kill anyone.'
'Don't worry about it,' said Hawk. 'We'll be on our best behavior. We'll just ask our questions, get some answers, and leave. Right, Isobel?'
Fisher sniffed. 'You're getting old, Hawk.'
'I'm not even sure what we're doing here,' said Buchan. 'The Hellfire Club may be technically illegal, but there isn't a Court in Haven that would convict a member of the Quality on such a minor charge.'
'You're probably right,' said Hawk. 'Personally, I don't give much of a damn about the Hellfire Club itself; but there's got to be a reason why that priest pointed us in their direction. It may just be professional jealousy, but I don't think so. Somewhere, there's a connection between the Club and the God murders, and I want to know what it is.'
The men-at-arms at the gate looked suspiciously at Buchan's engraved invitations, and passed them back and forth amongst themselves before reluctantly opening the gates and standing back. Buchan retrieved the invitations while Hawk and Fisher strolled casually into the grounds as though they owned the place. Buchan smiled politely at the men-at-arms and then hurried after Hawk and Fisher as they strode off up the gravel pathway that led to Hightower Hall.
'Not the front door,' he said quickly. 'The men-at-arms might have been fooled by the invitations, but no one else will be. Anyone with real authority will take one look at your Guards' cloaks and slam the door in our faces. Only the Quality and their personal servants are allowed into a Quality home. Our only chance of crashing this party is to sneak in through the servants' entrance at the back. Once inside, everyone will just assume you're wearing costumes in rather bad taste.'
Hawk and Fisher looked at each other, and Buchan's heart sank as he took in their expressions. 'We don't sneak in through the back door,' said Hawk firmly. 'We're Captains in the city Guard. We go in through the front door. Always. Right, Isobel?'
'Right, Hawk.' Fisher smiled slowly. 'And anyone who tries to slam the door in my face will regret it.'
The two Guards headed determinedly for the front door, their hands resting on the weapons at their sides. Buchan wished briefly but vehemently that he was somewhere else, anywhere else, and followed them.
Hawk pulled the bell rope and knocked firmly on the front door. Fisher kicked it a few times for good measure.
After a discreet pause, the massive oak door swung open, revealing a tall and very dignified butler dressed, as tradition demanded, in slightly out-of-date formal wear. He had a thick mane of carefully groomed grey hair, and a pair of impressively bushy eyebrows that descended slowly into an even more impressive scowl as he took in the two Guards standing before him.
'Yes?' he said, disdainfully, his mouth tucking in at the corners as though he'd just bitten into an especially sour lemon.
'We're here for the party,' said Hawk easily. 'Show him the invites, Buchan.'
Buchan quickly held them forward. The butler didn't even bother to look at them. 'There must be some mistake… sir. This gathering is exclusively for the young gentlemen and ladies of the Quality. You have no business here… sir.'
'My partner and I are Captains in the city Guard,' said Hawk. 'We're here on official business.'
The butler gestured sharply, and two men-at-arms appeared behind him, swords in hand. The butler smiled slightly, his eyes cold and contemptuous.
'You forget your place, Captain. Your petty rules and regulations have no bearing here, among your betters; your lords and masters. Now kindly remove yourselves from these premises. At once.'
'You're not going to be reasonable about this, are you?' said Hawk.
'Leave now,' said the butler, 'Or I'll have my men set the dogs on you.'
Hawk hit him briskly, well below the belt, waited a moment as the butler folded forward, and then punched him out. By the time the two men-at-arms had reacted, Hawk had drawn his axe and Fisher had drawn her sword, and the two Guards had walked over the butler's unconscious body and into the hallway. The men-at-arms looked at them, and then at Charles Buchan, the most famous duelist in Haven, and quickly sheathed their swords.
'I'm not getting paid enough for this,' said one flatly, and the other nodded. 'The party's that way.'
Hawk and Fisher smiled politely, and strolled unhurriedly in the direction the man-at-arms had indicated. Buchan stepped over the butler and went after them.
'You promised me you'd behave,' he said urgently.
'We haven't killed anyone yet,' said Fisher.
Buchan had a horrible suspicion she wasn't joking.
A footman in a rather garish frock coat appeared from nowhere, and apparently assuming they were official guests, led them to the main ballroom. Servants, laden with trays of food and wine, swarmed back and forth
