Guard Against Dishonor by Simon R. Green
Chapter One
Chacal
There are bad cities, there are worse cities; and then there's Haven.
By popular acclaim the vilest and most corrupt city in the Low Kingdoms, Haven
in midwinter gleams purest white under falls of frozen snow, and its towers
shine with frost and ice like pillars of crystal. But only from a distance. The
snow on the ground is a dirty grey from the unceasing factory smoke, and
grey-faced people trudge wearily through the snow-choked streets.
Seen up close, Haven is an ugly city, in more ways than one. Even in the early
morning, when the killing cold grips the streets like a clenched fist, there is
still no peace for the city. There are still deals to be made, conspiracies to
be entered into, and blood to be spilled. Death is a way of life in Haven, and
sudden violence the pulse of its narrow streets.
And only the city Guard, stretched to breaking point at the best of times,
stands between the city and open, bloody chaos.
Hawk and Fisher, husband and wife and Captains in the city Guard, strode briskly
down the crowded street towards Guard Headquarters, their prisoner scurrying
along between them. Winter had finally come to Haven, despite everything the
city weather wizards could do, and the bitter air was several degrees below
freezing. The street was ankle-deep in snow and slush, and thick icicles hung
from every building. Roofs groaned under the weight of a week's accumulated
snow, and the iron-grey sky promised more blizzards to come. But still people
packed the street from end to end; men, women, and children jostling each other
impatiently as they hurried to and from work. No one jostled Hawk and Fisher, of
course. It wouldn't have been wise.
It was eight o'clock in the morning, but so dark that street lamps still burned
at every corner, their amber glare doing little to dispel the gloom. Hawk hated
the winter, and not just because the recent flu epidemic had hit the Guard badly
and he and Fisher were working a double shift for the third day running. Winter
meant hard times in Haven, and hardest of all for the poor and destitute. In
every street, in every part of the city, there were bodies lying stiff and cold,
caught out in the freezing night because they had nowhere else to go. They ended
up in sheltered doorways, or huddled together under tarpaulins in back
alleyways, sharing their meager warmth as best they could. Every day the garbage
squad made their rounds and hauled the bodies away, but there were always more.
Hawk found a young girl once, curled in a tight little ball over a street
grating. She couldn't have been more than five or six years old, and her staring
eyes had frozen solid in her head. Hawk hated the winter, and sometimes he hated
Haven too.
Captain Hawk was tall, dark-haired, and no longer handsome. A series of old
scars ran down the right side of his face, and a black silk patch covered his
right eye. He told lots of stories about how he got the scars, most of them
contradictory. His thick furs and official black cloak made him look
impressively bulky, but underneath his winter uniform he was lean and wiry
rather than muscular, and building a stomach. He wore his shoulder-length hair
loose, mostly to keep his ears warm, and kept it out of his vision with a plain
leather headband. He'd only just turned thirty, but already there were streaks
of grey in his hair. At first glance he seemed like just another bravo, a
sword-for-hire already past his prime, but few people ever stopped at a first
glance. There was something about Hawk, something cold and unyielding that gave
even the most belligerent hardcase pause to think twice. On his right hip, Hawk
carried a short-handled axe instead of a sword. He was very good with an axe.
He'd had lots of practice.
Captain Isobel Fisher walked confidently at his side, echoing her partner's
stance and pace with the naturalness of long companionship. She was tall, easily
six feet in height, and her long blond hair fell to her waist in a single thick
plait, weighted at the tip with a polished steel ball. She wore a battered and
almost shapeless fur hat, pulled down low to protect her ears from the bitter
cold. There was a rawboned harshness to her face, barely softened by her deep
blue eyes and generous mouth. She was handsome rather than pretty, her gaze was
cool and direct, and she didn't smile much. Sometime, somewhere in the past,
something had scoured all the human weaknesses out of her, and it showed. She
wore the same furs and cloak as Hawk, though with rather more grace and style.
She wore a sword on her hip, and her skill with it was legendary, in a city not
easily impressed by legends.
Hawk and Fisher, feared and respected by one and all as the toughest and most
honest Guards in Haven. They had a lot of enemies, both inside and outside the
Guard.
Their prisoner was a short, scrawny, harmless-looking man, wrapped in a long fur
coat, topped off with a pair of fluffy earmuffs. His thinning black hair was
plastered to his head with rather more grease than necessary, and he had a
permanent scowl. Benny the Weasel was not a happy man.
'You're making a terrible mistake,' he repeated for the tenth time, in what he
imagined was an ingratiating tone. 'Let's be reasonable about this.'
'Sorry,' said Hawk, without looking round. 'I'm only reasonable at weekends. And
Fisher doesn't believe in being reasonable. Says it's bad for her image.'
'Right,' said Fisher, glaring horribly at a nun who hadn't got out of her way
fast enough.
'This is all a misunderstanding,' said Benny doggedly. 'I am a legitimate
businessman.'
Hawk snorted derisively. 'Benny, you are a small-time villain who makes most of
his money running a nasty little protection racket, advising local shopkeepers
of all the awful things that might happen to them or their premises if they
don't keep up the payments. Only this time you were dumb enough to do it in
person, in front of Fisher and me. What's the matter, both your leg-breakers
down with the flu?'
Benny sniffed. 'You can't get good help these days. Look, I am an important
figure in the community. I know my rights. I pay my taxes. Technically, you work
for me.'
'Then you should be pleased to be getting such value for your money,' said
Fisher. 'We witnessed a crime and arrested the criminal on the spot. What more
do you want?'
'You won't get away with this!' said Benny desperately. 'I have friends. I have
influence. You won't be able to make this charge stick. I'll be out on the
streets again before you can blink!'
