reward was currently on her head.
Fisher had no doubt there was a reward. The Powers That Be needed a scapegoat,
and she was tailor-made for the role. She could plead her innocence till she was
blue in the face, but no one would give a damn. She had to be found guilty so
that the Outremer delegates would be reassured and the Peace Talks could go on.
They'd told her right from the beginning that she was expendable. Fisher grinned
fiercely. That was their opinion. If they wanted her to be a rogue, she'd be
one. And anyone who got in her way was going to regret it.
She slowed her pace slightly as two ragged figures appeared out of a dark alley
mouth and moved casually towards her. She caught brief glimpses of the knives
half hidden under their cloaks, and turned to face them. She'd obviously
overdone the unthreatening aspect of her disguise and made herself look an easy
target. Fisher scowled. She couldn't afford to fight them; at best it would draw
attention to her, particularly when she won, and at worst it might actually give
away who she was. But she couldn't hope for any help, either. Not in the
Northside. She swore under her breath, and let her hand move to her sword under
cover of the cloak. There was never a bloody Constable around when you needed
one.
The two bravos moved to block her path, and she came to a halt. She pushed back
her cloak to reveal the sword at her side, and lifted her head to give them her
best glare. She'd put a lot of work and practice into that glare, and it had
always served her well in the past. It suggested she was one hundred percent
crazy, barely under control, and violent with it. The two bravos took in the
glare and the sword, looked at each other, and then made their knives disappear,
and moved casually off in another direction, as though they'd intended to go
that way all along. Fisher let her cloak fall back to cover the sword, pulled
her hood even lower over her face, and continued on her way, trying not to look
too much in a hurry.
She had to think of somewhere to go, somewhere she could hole up for a while
till she could figure some way to get out of the city. She couldn't go home; it
was the first place they'd think of, and was probably crawling with Guards by
now, ransacking every room in search of evidence that wasn't there. A slow,
sullen anger burned in her, at the thought of strangers trampling through her
house, but she knew there was no point in brooding over it. Or the treasured
possessions she'd have to leave behind when she finally found a way out of the
city.
She had to find somewhere she could stop and think, somewhere safe. And there
were all sorts of things she'd have to get her hands on, things she'd need just
to survive out in the wilds of the Low Kingdoms, in the dead of winter. Starting
with a decent fur cloak. The cold cut right through the thin grey one she had
now. And she'd need a horse and provisions… and a dozen other things, none of
which she had the money to buy. Her money was back at the house. What there was
of it.
Her pace slowed as her thoughts churned furiously. She wasn't used to having to
plan ahead. That had always been Hawk's responsibility. Hawk. The name cut at
her briefly, like a razor drawn against unsuspecting skin. She wanted to go to
him so badly, but she didn't dare. Everything she'd heard since she hit the
streets suggested that Hawk had gone berserk, fighting and killing anyone who
got between him and Morgan. Something bad must have happened, something so awful
he no longer cared what happened to him as long as he got to Morgan. Her first
impulse had been to find him and fight at his side, but she couldn't do that. By
now there had to be a small army of Guards on her tail, and she'd be leading
them straight to Hawk. And if he really had gone berserk, he'd die rather than
be stopped.
She couldn't let that happen.
There must be somewhere she could go, somewhere they wouldn't think of looking.
She trudged on, head down, not looking where she was going, as her mind
floundered from one possibility to another before finally, reluctantly, settling
on one. The Tolling Bell was a rancid little tavern, tucked away at the back of
nowhere. The kind of place where they sold illegally strong drinks and the
bartender had little conversation and even less of a memory for faces. Fisher
had used the place before, when she needed to get away by herself for a while.
When she'd had a row with Hawk, or just needed to be alone with her thoughts.
She'd always taken pains to disguise her identity, so no one could find her till
she was ready to be found. The Tolling Bell… Yes… she could be there in half an
hour.
Her head snapped up, suddenly alert as she heard tramping feet heading towards
her. Six Guard Constables were moving purposefully in her direction. She quickly
dropped her head again, and hunched over under her cloak to make herself look
smaller. Her hand moved unobtrusively to the sword at her side. Six-to-one odds,
and no one to watch her back. Bad odds, but she'd faced worse in her time. She
glanced cautiously around for possible escape routes, and only then realized the
Guards weren't actually looking at her. Hope flared in her again, and she shrank
back against the wall as the Guards tramped past, doing her best to look
insignificant and harmless. The Constables hardly glanced at her as they passed,
and continued on their way. Fisher waited where she was, listening to the sound
of the footsteps dying gradually away, and then moved slowly on, careful not to
look behind her. Her back crawled in anticipation of a sudden sword thrust, but
it never came. She finally allowed herself to glance back over her shoulder, and
found the Constables were almost out of sight at the end of the street. Her
breath began to come a little more easily, and she increased her pace. She'd be
safe at The Tolling Bell. For a while. She could sit down, and rest, and think.
And just maybe she'd be able to see a way out of this mess.
Hawk strode angrily down the main street, pulling his ratty brown cloak tightly
about him. The cold cut through the ragged cloth as though it weren't there, but
at least the hood concealed his face, as long as he remembered to keep his head
bowed. Someone had to have found Glen and Burns by now, which meant word would
soon be circulating on the streets that Hawk was fair game for anyone who felt
like going after him. And with the kind of reward the Guard would be offering,
there'd be no shortage of volunteers. Most of the usual bounty hunters would
have more sense than to go after Captain Hawk, but there were always some stupid
enough to take any risk, for a chance at the big money. And if enough of them
got together, they might just manage it.
Hawk scowled, and peered unobtrusively about him. They were after Fisher too. He
had to find her, before anyone else did. Find her, and find out what had
happened. Why she'd betrayed Haven, and the Guard. And him. There had to be a
reason, a good reason. He believed that implicitly, because to think anything
else would drive him insane. He trusted Isobel, but all the evidence pointed to
her guilt. As a Guard, he'd learned to rely on the evidence before anything
