to get his breath. He ached in every muscle, and he'd torn his hands and knees
to ribbons. But he couldn't let himself rest. The little girl needed expert
medical help, and she was running out of time. He held the girl tightly to his
chest with one arm and slowly began to climb back up the shaft, with only his
legs and his back to support his weight and that of the child.
It didn't take long before the pain in his tired muscles became excruciating,
but he wouldn't stop. The girl was depending on him. Foot by foot he fought his
way up the shaft, grunting and snarling with the effort, his gaze fixed on the
gradually widening circle of light above him. He finally drew near the surface,
and eager hands reached down to take the child and help Hawk the rest of the
way. He clambered laboriously out and lay stretched out on the rubble, squinting
at the bright daylight and drawing in deep lungfuls of the comparatively clean
air. Fisher swore softly at the state of his hands and knees, helped him sit up,
and wrapped his cloak around him. Someone brought him a cup of lukewarm soup,
and he sipped at it gratefully.
'The child,' he said thickly. 'What have they done with her?'
'A doctor's looking at her now,' said Fisher. 'And as soon as you've finished
that soup we're going to get one to take a look at you, as well. God, you're a
mess, Hawk. Was it bad down there?'
'Bad enough.'
Eventually he got to his feet again, and Fisher found him a doctor who could
work the right healing spells. The wounds closed up easily enough, but there was
nothing the doctor could do for physical and emotional exhaustion. Hawk and
Fisher looked around them. The dead and injured had been laid out in neat rows
on the snow, the dying and the recovering lying side by side. A large pile of
unidentified body parts had been tactfully hidden under a blood-spattered
tarpaulin. Hawk shook his head numbly.
'All this, to catch one drug baron and his people. Tomorrow there'll be a dozen
just like him fighting to take his place, and it will all have to be done
again.'
'Stop that,' said Fisher sharply. 'None of this is your fault. It's Morgan's
fault, for having set up a pocket dimension here in the first place. And if we
hadn't acted to stop the super-chacal being distributed, there's no telling how
many thousands might have died across the city.'
Hawk didn't answer. He looked slowly about him, taking in the situation.
Engineers and sorcerers had got together to stabilize the surrounding buildings,
and people were being allowed back into them again. That should please the slum
landlords. Even they couldn't charge rent on a pile of rubble. Firemen were
moving among the wreckage, shoring up the few broken walls and inner structures
that hadn't collapsed completely. A few people were still sifting through the
rubble, but the general air of urgency was gone. Much of the real work had been
done now, and most people had accepted that there probably weren't going to be
any more survivors. The volunteers had gone home, exhausted, and Hawk felt he
might as well do the same. There was nothing left for him to do, he was out on
his feet, and it had to be well past the end of his double shift. He was just
turning to Fisher to tell her it was time to go, when there was the sound of
gentle flute music, and the dry, acid voice of the communications sorcerer
filled his head.
Captains Hawk and Fisher, return to Guard Headquarters immediately. This order
supersedes all other directives.
Hawk looked at Fisher. 'Typical. Bloody typical. What the hell do they want
now?'
'Beats me,' said Fisher. 'Maybe they want to congratulate us for finally nabbing
Morgan. There are a lot of people at Headquarters who'll fight for the chance to
ask him some very pointed questions.'
Hawk sniffed. 'With our luck, they'll probably screw it up in the Courts, and
he'll plea-bargain his way out with a fine and a suspended sentence.'
'Relax,' said Fisher. 'We got him dead to rights this time. What can possibly go
wrong?'
'What do you mean, you let him go?' screamed Hawk. He lunged across the desk at
Commander Glen, and Fisher had to use all her strength to hold him back. The
Commander pushed his chair back well out of reach, and glared at them both.
'Control yourself, Captain! That's an order!'
'Stuff your order! Do you know how many people died so we could get that
bastard?'
He finally realized he couldn't break free from Fisher without hurting her, and
stopped struggling. He took a deep breath and nodded curtly to Fisher. She let
go of him and stepped back a pace, still watching him warily. Hawk fixed
Commander Glen with a cold, implacable glare. 'Talk to me, Glen. Convince me
there's some reason behind this madness. Or I swear I'll do something one of us
will regret.'
Commander Glen sniffed, and met Hawk's gaze unflinchingly. Glen was a tallish,
blocky man in his late forties, with a permanent scowl and a military-style
haircut that looked as though it had been shaped with a pudding bowl. He had
large, bony hands and a mouth like a knife-cut. He'd spent twenty years in the
Guard, and amassed a reputation for thief-taking unequaled in the Guard. He'd
been day Commander for seven years, and ran his people like his own private
army, demanding and getting complete obedience. Ordinarily, he didn't have to
deal much with Hawk and Fisher, which suited all of them.
Glen pushed his chair forward, and leaned his elbows on the desk. 'You want me
to explain myself, Captain Hawk? Very well. Thanks to your going after Morgan
without waiting for orders or a backup, we now find ourselves faced with major
loss of life and destruction of property within the Devil's Hook. We still don't
know exactly how many died because of your actions, but the current total is
four hundred and six. The Hook's still in shock at the moment, but when they
finally realize what's happened, and that the Guard was responsible, we're going
to be facing riots it'll take half the Guard to put down! On top of that,
there's the cost of rebuilding and repairs, which is going to run into thousands
of ducats. The landlord of the tenement is suing the Guard for that money, and
he'll probably win. And finally, you assaulted a gang leader in front of his own
people. Does the word vendetta mean anything to you, Captain Hawk?'
'I don't give a damn about any of that,' said Hawk, his voice carefully
controlled. 'What I did was justified by the circumstances. Morgan was preparing
to distribute a drug that would have killed thousands of people and torn Haven
apart. Now, explain to me, please, why this man was allowed to go free.'
'There was no evidence against him,' said Glen flatly.
'No evidence? What about the super-chacal?' said Fisher. 'There were crates of
the damn stuff; I helped number and label them.'
'I never saw any drugs,' said Glen. 'Neither has anyone else. And none of the
