'Can we get back to Bode's murder?' said Fisher. 'These notes aren't just about his research, you know. I saved the best for last. Take a look at this.'
She handed Hawk a sheaf of letters from the desk. He looked quickly through them, his frown gradually deepening. Someone had hired Bode to investigate something to do with the Street of Gods. The details had been left deliberately vague, as though the writer hadn't wanted to commit anything incriminating to paper. Presumably he and the sorcerer had known what they were talking about, at any rate.
'Whatever Bode found out, someone didn't want him passing it on,' said Fisher.
'This is crazy,' said Hawk. 'What was a low-level sorcerer like Bode doing, messing about on the Street of Gods? They'd have eaten him alive. Literally, in some cases.' Hawk shook his head slowly. 'I'm starting to get a really bad feeling about this case, Isobel.'
'You always say that at the beginning of a case, Hawk. '
'And I'm usually right.'
'That's Haven for you.'
The door behind them flew open, and the Dark Man filled the doorway. Hawk and Fisher spun to face him, weapons at the ready. The Dark Man's hand snapped forward, and the severed head flew through the air and struck Hawk on the forehead. Hawk had a brief glimpse of the staring eyes and gaping mouth and then he was staggering backwards, pain blinding him, his thoughts vague and muzzy. Fisher quickly stepped forward to stand between him and the Dark Man. She kicked at the head, and it rolled away across the floor. The Dark Man charged forward, and Fisher thrust at him with her sword. He dodged the blade with inhuman speed, darted inside her reach, and grabbed her by the arm. She struck at him with her fist, but he didn't even notice. He threw her against the wall with sickening force, driving the breath out of her. She started to slide down the wall, but the Dark Man grabbed her by the throat with one hand and lifted her into the air. Her feet kicked helplessly inches above the floor. He was still smiling. And then Hawk stepped forward, swinging his axe double-handed, and buried it in the Dark Man's side.
Ribs splintered and broke under the heavy blade, and the Dark Man staggered to one side, dropping Fisher to the floor. Hawk jerked his blade free, and blood flew on the air. He and the Dark Man stood facing each other for a moment, each judging the other's condition. The Dark Man was bleeding freely, but otherwise showed no weakness from his wound. Hawk had a huge bruise forming on his forehead, and his hands weren't as steady as he would have liked. The Dark Man's smile widened slightly, and he threw himself at Hawk, hands reaching like claws for Hawk's throat. Hawk buried his axe deep in the Dark Man's chest, but he just kept coming.
And then he froze suddenly, and all the hate and savagery went out of his face, to be replaced by something like surprise. He turned his head slowly to look at Fisher, who was leaning against the wall, and then he fell forward onto his face and lay still. Hawk looked at Fisher. The suppressor stone was glowing brightly in her hand like a miniature star. Hawk grinned at her.
'Told you it would come in handy.'
He leant over the Dark Man and pulled his axe free. Fisher came over to join him, and they leaned on each other for a moment.
'I should have worked it out before,' said Fisher. 'If he was an homunculus, he was a magical construct. The suppressor stone took away his magic, and there was nothing left to hold him together.'
Hawk nodded slowly. 'I'm going to have to pay more attention to morning briefings.'
Hawk and Fisher were snatching a late breakfast at a fast-food stall when the sound of a struck gong filled their minds, followed by the dry acid voice of the Guard communications sorcerer. Hawk nearly choked on his mouthful of sausage, and Fisher burnt her tongue on the mustard.
The rasping voice was suddenly gone from their minds. Hawk spat out his mouthful of sausage, and shook his head gingerly. 'If he doesn't stop using that bloody gong I swear I'm going to pay him a visit and stick it somewhere painful.'
Fisher snorted. 'From what I hear, you'd have to join the queue. This would have to happen now, right in the middle of a murder case. The Deity Division; what the hell does the God Squad want with us?'
'Beats me,' said Hawk. 'Maybe a God's got out of hand, and they want us to lean on him.'
Fisher looked at him. 'I hope you're not going to talk like that on the Street of Gods, Hawk. Because if you are, I'd be obliged if you'd keep well away from me. As I understand it, most Gods don't have a sense of humor. And the few that do have a downright nasty one. After all, we're talking about Beings who tend towards striking down heretics with lightning bolts, and dispensing plagues of boils when Church takings are down on the week before.'
'You worry too much,' said Hawk.
'And it's all because of you,' said Fisher.
The Street of Gods lies in the centre of Haven, right in the middle of the high-rent district. Hundreds of religions crowd side by side up and down the Street, promising hope and salvation, doom and destruction, and whatever else people need to keep them from thinking about the darkness at the end of all life. Everyone needs something to believe in, something that offers comfort in the face of despair, and whatever it is you're looking for, you'll find it somewhere on the Street of Gods. Churches and temples of all kinds stand shoulder to shoulder, each proclaiming the glory of its particular God and ostentatiously ignoring everyone else's. Everywhere you look there's a High Priest claiming to know the Truth of All Existence, and ready to share it with the faithful in return for regular tithes and offerings. Religion is big business in Haven.
According to the official city maps, the Street of Gods is exactly half a mile long. In fact, the Street is as long as it has to be to fit everything in. It's possible to start at one end of the Street, walk all day, and still not reach the far end before night falls. And then there are always the little side streets and back alleys, unmarked on any map, where the persistent enquirer can find the more controversial faiths and religions, the existence of which is often hotly denied in the clear light of day. There are doors that lead to mysteries, to wonders and nightmares, and few of them can be found in the same place twice.
Reality tends to be rather elastic on the Street of Gods.
The Deity Division, commonly known as the God Squad, exists to keep order on the Street. The city Council appoints its members, pays its wages, and does its best to pretend the Squad doesn't exist. Most of the time they try to pretend the whole damned Street doesn't exist. It makes them nervous. On the whole, things tend to be quiet on the Street. The great majority of Beings prefer to believe they're the only ones there, and won't even admit the existence of any other Churches. But there are always the occasional feuds and vendettas, human and inhuman natures being what they are. The God Squad was there to try and head off confrontations before they happened, whenever possible. Sometimes it wasn't possible, and that was when the Squad earned their money.
'You worked with the Squad once, didn't you?' said Hawk to Fisher, as they made their way through the slush-covered streets towards the heart of the city. The sun was starting its slow climb up the sky, and the freezing streets were full of well-wrapped people heading to and from work.
'Briefly,' said Fisher. 'It was while you were working on that werewolf case, the one where young Hightower died. I was teamed with five other Guards on the Shattered Bullion case, and we spent a few days working with the God Squad. Didn't come to anything.'
'What were they like?' said Hawk.
Fisher shrugged. 'Stuck-up bunch, as I recall.'
'Apart from that, what were they like? Give me some details, Isobel. Like it or not, we've got to work with these people, and I want to know what I'm getting into.'
Fisher scowled thoughtfully. 'The Squad is always made up of three people: a sorcerer, a mystic, and a warrior. Individuals come and go, but the mix stays the same. Presumably the Council are so relieved at finally finding a balance that works, they don't want to mess with it. This particular group has been together for four years. They've got a good track record.'
'The sorcerer is called Tomb. Cheerful name. He's a bit older than us, quiet, thoughtful, powerful as all hell,
