the soul-grinding poverty that was at the root of most crimes never changed from
one year to the next. In their most honest moments, Hawk and Fisher knew that
all they'd really done was to drive the worst crimes underground, or into other
areas. Things tended to be peaceful as long as they were around, but they
couldn't be everywhere at once. Occasionally one or the other would talk about
quitting, but they never did. They wouldn't give up. It wasn't in their natures.
They took each day as it came, and helped those they could. Even little
victories were better than none.
The stone-and-timber buildings huddled together as though for warmth, their
upper stories leaning out over the streets till their eaves almost touched.
Piles of garbage thrust up through the snow and slush, and Hawk and Fisher had
to be careful where they put their feet. The garbage collectors came once a
month, and then only with an armed guard. The beggars who normally lived off the
garbage had been driven from the streets by the cold, but there were still many
who braved the bitter weather for their own reasons. Business went on in the
Northside, no matter what the weather. Business, and other things.
In the light of a flickering brazier, an angel from the Street of Gods was
throwing dice with half a dozen gargoyles. A fast-talking salesman was hawking
bracelets plated with something that looked like gold. A large Saint Bernard
with a patchy dye job was trying to bum a light for its cigar. Two overlarge
rats with human hands were stealing the boots off a dead man. And two nuns were
beating up a mugger. Just another day in the Northside.
A sudden burst of pleasant flute music filled Hawk's and Fisher's heads as the
Guard communications sorcerer made contact. They stopped to listen and find out
what the bad news was. It had to be bad news. It always was. Anything else could
have waited till they got back to Headquarters. The flute music broke off
abruptly, and was replaced by the dry, acid voice of the communications
sorcerer.
Attention all Guards in the North sector. There's a riot in The Crossed Pikes
tavern at Salt Lane. There are a large number of dead and injured, including at
least two Constables. Approach the situation with extreme caution. There is
evidence of Chacal use by the rioters.
Hawk and Fisher ran down the street, fighting the snow and slush that dragged at
their boots. Salt Lane was four streets away, and a lot could happen in the time
it would take them to get there. From the sound of it, too much had happened
already. Hawk scowled as he ran. Riots were bad enough without drugs
complicating the issue.
Chacal was something new on the streets. Relatively cheap, and easy enough to
produce by anyone with a working knowledge of alchemy and access to a bathtub,
the drug brought out the animal side of man's nature. It heightened all the
senses while turning off the higher functions of the mind, leaving the user
little more than a wild animal, free to wallow in the moment and indulge any
whim or gratify any desire, free from reason or remorse or any stab of
conscience. The drug boosted the users' strength and speed and ferocity, making
them almost unstoppable. It also burned out their nervous systems in time,
leaving them paralysed or mad or dead from a dozen different causes. But life
wasn't worth much in the Northside anyway, and there were all too many who were
willing to swap a hopeless future for the savage joys of the present.
Hawk and Fisher charged round the last corner into Salt Lane and then skidded to
a halt. A large crowd had already gathered, packing the narrow street from side
to side. The two Guards bulled their way through without bothering to be
diplomatic about it, and quickly found themselves at the front of the crowd,
facing The Crossed Pikes tavern from a safe distance. The tavern looked peaceful
enough, apart from its shattered windows, but a Guard Constable was sitting on a
nearby doorstep, pressing a bloody handkerchief to a nasty looking scalp wound.
Blood covered half his face. He looked up dazedly as Hawk and Fisher approached
him, and tried to get to his feet. Hawk waved for him to stay seated.
'What happened here?'
The Constable blinked and licked his dry lips. 'My partner and I were the first
here after the alarm went out. There was fighting and screaming inside the
tavern, but we couldn't see anything. The crowd told us there were two
Constables already in there, so my partner went in to check things out while I
watched the crowd. I waited and waited, but he never came back. After a while it
all went quiet, so I decided I'd just take a quick look through the door. I'd
barely got my foot over the doorstep when something hit me. I couldn't see for
blood in my eyes, so I got out of there quick. I'll try again in a minute, when
I've got my breath back. My partner's still in there.'
Hawk clapped him on the shoulder reassuringly. 'You take a rest. Fisher and I'll
have a look. If any more Guards come, keep them out here till we've had a chance
to evaluate the situation. Are you sure it's chacal-users in there?'
The Constable shrugged. 'That's what the crowd said. But there's no way to be
sure. As far as I can tell, anyone who was in the tavern when the trouble
started is still in there.'
Hawk squeezed the Constable's shoulder comfortingly, and then he and Fisher
moved off a way to discuss the matter.
'What do you think?' said Hawk.
'I think we should be very careful how we handle this. I don't like the sound of
it at all. Three Guards missing, another injured and so spooked he can't bear to
go near the place, and an unknown number of rioters who might just be out of
their minds on chacal. The odds stink. How come we never get the easy
assignments?'
'There aren't any easy assignments in Haven. We've got to go in, Isobel. There
could be innocent people trapped in there, unable to get out.'
'It's not very likely, Hawk.'
'No, it's not. But we have to check.'
Fisher nodded unhappily. 'All right; let's do it, before we get a rush of brains
to the head and realize what a dumb idea this is. What's the plan?'
'Well, there's no point in trying to sneak in. If there are chacal-users in
there, they'll be able to see, hear, and smell us coming long before we even get
a glimpse of them. I say we burst in through the door, weapons at the ready, and
hit anything that moves.'
'Planning never was your strong suit, was it, Hawk?'
'Have you got a better idea?'
'Unfortunately, no.'
Hawk grinned. 'Then let's do it. Don't look so worried, lass. We've faced worse
odds before.'
He drew his axe and Fisher drew her sword, and they moved cautiously over to the
tavern's main entrance. The door was standing ajar, with only darkness showing
beyond. Bright splashes of blood marked the polished wood, below a series of
