gouges that looked unnervingly like claw marks. Hawk listened carefully, but
everything seemed still and quiet. He put his boot against the door and pushed
it wide open. The two Captains braced themselves, but nothing happened. Hawk
hefted his axe thoughtfully, and glanced at Fisher. She nodded, and they darted
through the doorway together. Once inside they moved quickly apart to stand on
either side of the door, so they wouldn't be silhouetted against the light, and
waited silently for their eyes to adjust to the gloom.
Hawk held his axe out before him, and strained his ears against the silence. A
fire was burning fitfully at the far end of the tavern, and some light fell past
the shuttered windows. The tavern slowly took form out of the gloom, and Hawk
was able to make out chairs and tables overturned and scattered across the
floor, as though a sudden storm had swept through the long room, carrying all
before it. Dark shapes lay still and silent among the broken furniture, and Hawk
didn't need to see them clearly to know they were bodies. He counted fourteen
that he was sure of. There was no sign of their killers.
Hawk moved slowly forward, axe at the ready. Broken glass crunched under his
boots. Fisher appeared silently out of the gloom to move at his side. He stopped
by a wall lamp, and working slowly and carefully, he took out his box of matches
and lit it, while Fisher stood guard. It wasn't easy lighting the lamp with one
hand, but he wouldn't put his axe down. The sudden light pushed back the
darkness, and for the first time Hawk and Fisher were able to see the full
extent of the devastation. There was blood everywhere, splashed across the walls
and furniture and pooled on the floor. Most of the bodies had been mutilated or
disfigured. Some had been torn apart. Loops of purple intestine hung limply from
a lamp bracket, and a severed hand beckoned from a barbecue grill by the fire.
Most of the bodies had been gutted, ripped open from throat to groin. Whoever or
whatever had done it hadn't bothered to use a blade. Fisher swore softly, and
her knuckles showed white on her sword hilt. Hawk put the lamp back in its
niche, and the two of them moved slowly forward. The tavern was still and
silent, full of the stench of blood and death.
They went from body to body, methodically checking for signs of life, but there
were none. They found the three Guards who'd gone in to face what they thought
was a simple riot. The only way to identify them was by their Constable's
scarlet cloak and tunic. Their heads were missing. There was no sign anywhere of
their attackers. Hawk wondered briefly if they might have made their escape
during the confusion, but he didn't think so. Every instinct he had was
screaming at him that the killers were still there, watching, and waiting for
their chance. He could almost feel the weight of their gaze on his back.
The tavern's bar had been wrecked. There wasn't an intact bottle or glass left
on the shelves, and the floor was covered with a thick carpet of broken glass.
Hawk drew Fisher's attention to the bartop. The thick slab of polished mahogany
was crisscrossed with long, curving scars that made Hawk think again about
claws. He looked at Fisher, who nodded slowly.
'Are you thinking what I'm thinking, Hawk?'
'Could be. We've been working on the assumption this was the work of
chacal-users, but more and more this is starting to look like something else
entirely. I don't see how anything human could have caused injuries like those,
or claw marks like these. I think we've got a werewolf here, Isobel.'
Fisher reached down and pulled a silver dagger from inside her boot, and held it
loosely in her left hand. Just in case. She moved behind the bar, and then
signaled quickly for Hawk to come and join her. He did so, and the two of them
stood looking down at the bartender, lying wedged half under the bar. His throat
had been torn out, and there were bite marks on his arms where he'd lifted them
to defend himself.
'Werewolf,' said Fisher.
'Maybe,' said Hawk. 'I don't know. The bite marks look wrong. A wolf's muzzle
would leave a larger, narrower bite…'
Something growled nearby. Hawk and Fisher moved quickly out from behind the bar
to give themselves room to fight. They glared about them, but nothing moved in
the shadowy, blood-spattered room. The growl came again, louder this time, and
then a heavy weight hit Hawk from above and behind, throwing him to the floor.
Glass crunched loudly beneath him as he rolled back and forth, trying
desperately to tear himself free from the creature that clung to his back,
pinning his arms to his sides with its legs and reaching for his throat with
clawed hands. He tucked his head in, chin pressed to his chest, and then nearly
panicked as he felt teeth gnawing at the back of his head. He got his feet
underneath him, glanced quickly about to get his bearings, and then slammed
himself back against the heavy wooden bar behind him. The creature's grip
loosened as the breath was knocked out of it, and Hawk pulled free. He threw
himself to one side, and Fisher stepped forward in a full extended lunge,
pinning the creature to the bar with her sword.
For a moment, no one moved. Hawk and Fisher stared incredulously at the
blood-soaked man transfixed by Fisher's sword. His clothing hung in rags, and he
held his hands like claws. Blood soaked his hands and forearms like crimson
gloves, and there was more blood spattered thickly over his livid white flesh.
His eyes were wide and staring. He snarled silently at the two Guards, showing
his bloody teeth, but he was still just a man. And then he lunged forward,
forcing himself along the impaling blade, his bloody hands reaching for Fisher's
throat. She held her ground, watching in fascination as the jagged-nailed hands
grew steadily nearer. Part of her wondered crazily what had happened to wreck
his nails like that.
Hawk lurched to his feet, lifting his axe. The killer lunged forward again,
blood spilling down his gut from where Fisher's sword pierced him, snarling and
growling like a wild animal. And then Fisher lifted her hand with the silver
dagger in it, and cut his throat. Blood sprayed across her arm, and she watched
warily as the light went out of his eyes and he slumped forward, dead at last.
She pulled out her sword and he fell limply to the floor and lay still. Hawk
came over to stand beside her.
'He must have been up in the rafters,' he said finally. 'All this time, just
watching us, and waiting.'
.Fisher looked up at the ceiling. 'There's no one else up there. But I can't
believe one man did all this, drug or no drug.'
Hawk looked down at the dead user. 'Maybe we shouldn't have killed him after
all. There are a lot of questions we could have asked him.'
'He didn't exactly give us a choice,' said Fisher dryly. 'Besides, he wouldn't
have been allowed to talk. We'd have had to keep him in gaol till he came down,
and by then word would have reached his suppliers. They'd either have sprung him
or killed him to keep his mouth shut.'
Hawk scowled. 'It has to be said Headquarters' security isn't worth spit these
