found what she was looking for.
His name was Griff—a shabby, skinny man with long, greasy dark hair, darting
eyes, and a quick, unpleasant smile. He wore a long frock coat mended at the
collar and elbows, and carried a quarterstaff. He didn't look like much, but
bigger men than he bobbed their heads and smiled nervously in his presence. He
was Morgan's eyes and voice and executioner, and everyone knew it. Mistique
curled lazily on the air as Griff strode down a gloomy side street,
unobtrusively checking now and again that he wasn't being followed. Mistique
floated after him, everywhere and nowhere, ahead and behind him.
Griff took a sudden turn into an alleyway and stopped dead, just inside the
alley mouth. He looked casually about him to be sure he was unobserved, and then
moved slowly forward, counting the steps under his breath. He then stopped,
reached out and pressed five bricks in the left-hand wall in a careful sequence.
A door slowly appeared in the wall, a great slab of solid steel, featureless
save for a single moulded handle, forming itself moment by moment out of the
dirty brickwork. Griff waited impatiently, his gaze darting back and forth, and
then he pulled the door open, grunting with the effort. A bright crimson light
flared out into the alley, and Griff stepped forward into it. The door slammed
shut behind him, cutting off the bloody light, and melted back into the
brickwork. In the renewed gloom of the alleyway, the roiling mists curled and
twisted triumphantly.
In the tavern, Hawk and Burns watched silently as Mistique closed her eyes and
fell immediately into a trance state. All trace of personality dropped out of
her face as her muscles relaxed completely. The air grew thick and indistinct
around her as wisps of mist seeped out of her skin. The mists gradually
thickened until they were boiling up off her like ectoplasm at a seance. The
tavern quickly emptied as the other customers headed for the door at a run. The
bartender disappeared behind his bar. Burns started to rise from his chair, and
then sank reluctantly back into it when Hawk glared at him. Hawk watched,
fascinated, as Mistique's eyes darted back and forth beneath her closed eyelids
as though she were dreaming, and then her eyes snapped open and personality
flooded back into her face. The mists in the booth began to dissipate, stirred
by a sourceless wind. Mistique fixed Hawk with her gaze.
'I've got him. Morgan's been hiding out in another pocket dimension, hidden off
Packet Lane, not ten minutes' walk from here.'
'Did you get a look inside?' said Hawk. 'Did you see Morgan himself?'
'Not really. I could sense his presence, along with a dozen or so bodyguards,
but when I tried to enter I brushed up against another sorcerer's wards, so I
got the hell out of there before I gave myself away.'
'Are you sure there's just the one sorcerer?' said Hawk.
Burns looked at him. 'One is usually enough to screw up any mission.'
Hawk ignored him, his gaze fixed on Mistique. 'This is the second we've come
across already. There might be more.'
'No,' said Mistique. 'There's just the one.'
'Good,' said Hawk. 'Burns and I will take care of the bodyguards. You handle the
sorcerer. Only this time, let's all try really hard not to bring the pocket
dimension down around our ears. All right?'
Mistique led the way to Packet Lane, striding confidently through the thickening
fog. Hawk carried his axe at the ready and kept a careful watch, but no one
seemed to be paying them any particular attention. People tended not to look at
Guards if they could help it, on the grounds they didn't want Guards looking at
them. Burns grumbled most of the way to Packet Lane, muttering that the odds
stank, the whole idea was crazy, and they ought to call Headquarters for a
backup. Eventually Hawk said No with enough force to prove that he meant it, and
Burns shut up and sulked the rest of the way. As long as he did it quietly, Hawk
didn't give a damn. He couldn't afford to have Headquarters involved at this
stage. If they were, he'd have to tell them about Fisher.
Mistique finally brought them to Packet Lane, and they stood together in the
alley mouth, staring into the gloom. Nothing moved in the alleyway, and the
shadows lay quiet and undisturbed. Burns drew his sword, and the sudden grating
noise was eerily loud in the quiet. He glanced at Hawk, who nodded to Mistique.
She walked forward, counting out the steps, and pressed the five bricks in the
correct sequence. The huge steel door appeared out of the brickwork, and swung
open at Mistique's gesture. They stepped forward into the bright crimson light,
and the door swung silently shut behind them.
The three Guards stood close together a moment, squinting into the crimson
glare, and then Hawk hissed at Burns and Mistique to spread out. They made too
good a target standing as a group. Their eyes quickly adjusted, and Hawk relaxed
a little as he realized the long corridor before them was completely empty. The
brilliant red light seemed to come from everywhere and nowhere, bathing
everything in its bloody glow. The corridor had no furniture, no doors, and no
visible turnings off. The walls and the floor were bare wood, not even
varnished. Hawk took the point and led the way forward, axe at the ready. Burns
and Mistique followed close behind. Their footsteps echoed loudly from the bare
wooden floor, no matter how softly they trod.
The corridor seemed to go on forever. Hawk glanced back over his shoulder, and
his hackles rose sharply as he saw the corridor stretching away behind him into
the distance, with no sign of the door through which they'd entered. He shrugged
uncomfortably, and trudged on down the corridor. It had to lead somewhere. The
corridor suddenly rounded a corner and branched in two. Hawk looked down both
paths, but there was nothing to choose between them. He looked back and forth
while Burns and Mistique waited patiently for him to make up his mind, and then
he tensed as he heard footsteps approaching. Hawk gestured quickly for the other
two to fall back, and they retreated round the corner. Hawk eased back round the
corner after them and stood poised, listening to the footsteps draw nearer. A
man-at-arms rounded the corner, and Hawk whipped an arm round his throat before
he had time to react. The man-at-arms started to call out, and Hawk tightened
the hold until all that came out was a strangled croak.
'Don't move,' said Hawk quietly. He waited till the man was perfectly still, and
then eased his grip a little. The man-at-arms drew in a long, shuddering breath.
Hawk nodded to Burns, and he stepped forward and took the man's sword. Hawk put
his mouth close to his prisoner's ear.
'Morgan. Where is he?'
'Are you crazy? He'll have you killed for this…' He broke off abruptly as the
hold round his throat tightened harshly and then relaxed again.
'What's your name?' said Hawk.
'Justin.'
'Do you know who I am?'
'No. Who are you?'
