and he lurched to a halt. The split was wider now. Huge dark shadows moved in
the blizzard beyond the gateway. The creatures were almost there. Their howls
were deafening. Hawk put his mouth against Nightingale's ear.
'Close the gateway! Close it, or I swear I'll throw you through that opening and
let those things have you!'
Nightingale lifted his hands and chanted something, the words lost in the tumult
of the blizzard and the creatures' incessant howling. For a long, heart-stopping
moment nothing happened, and then the split in the air snapped together and was
gone, and the blizzard collapsed. The sudden silence was shocking, and everyone
just stood where they were, numbly watching the last of the snow drift lazily on
the air before falling to the floor. The corridor seemed a little less cold, but
their breath still steamed on the air before them. Nightingale lurched away from
Hawk, and headed down the corridor at a shaky run. Hawk caught up with him
before he'd gone a dozen paces, and clubbed him from behind with the butt of his
axe. Nightingale fell limply into the thick snow on the floor, and lay still.
Hawk leaned over him and hit him again, just to be sure. Then he dragged him
back to the others. Ap Owen shook his head unhappily.
'They won't let us put him on trial, you know. He'd be an embarrassment to both
sides, and probably prevent any future Talks. And besides, diplomatic immunity's
too important a concept in troubled times like these. They'll never allow it to
be waived, no matter what the crime.'
'You mean he's going to get away with it?' said Fisher, scowling dangerously.
Ap Owen shrugged. 'Like I said; he's an embarrassment. His own people will
probably take away his position and privileges and send him into internal exile,
but that's about it.'
'Right,' said Hawk. 'Technically, for what he tried to do, he should be
executed, but there's no way that will happen. Aristocrats don't believe in
passing death sentences on their own kind if they can avoid it. It might give
the peasants ideas.' He looked down at Nightingale's unconscious body, his face
set and cold. 'So many people dead, because of him. All the people who might
have died. And I almost raised my axe against Isobel… If I killed him now, no
one would say anything. They'd probably even thank me for getting rid of such an
embarrassment.'
'You can't just kill him in cold blood!' protested ap Owen.
'No,' said Hawk finally. 'I can't. Even after all these years in Haven, I still
know what's right and what's wrong. I only kill when I have to. I know my duty.'
'Look on the bright side,' said Mistique cheerfully. 'You found the drug before
it hit the streets, exposed the traitor in the Guard, and with Nightingale
removed from the Talks, they might actually start agreeing on things. You've
saved the city and possibly averted a war. What more do you want?'
Hawk and Fisher looked at each other.
'Overtime,' said Hawk firmly.
Chapter Ten
Loose Ends
As prisons went, it wasn't too bad. Certainly Lord Nightingale had spent longer
periods under far worse conditions during his travels. He'd known some country
inns that boasted accommodations so primitive even a leper would have turned up
what was left of his nose at them. His present circumstances were surprisingly
pleasant, and, all things considered, the Outremer Embassy in Haven had gone out
of its way to treat him with every courtesy. He was confined in one of the
Embassy's guest rooms, with every comfort the staff could provide, until such
time as he could be escorted back to Outremer. And given the current appalling
weather conditions, that could be quite some time.
Nightingale didn't mind. The longer the better, as far as he was concerned. He
was already filling his time writing carefully worded letters to certain people
of standing and influence back in Outremer. There were quite a few who shared
his feelings about the coming war, people who could be trusted to see that his
cause was presented to the King in its most positive light. He'd have to spend
some time in internal exile, of course; that was only to be expected. But once
the war began, as it inevitably would, and his associates became men of power at
Court, he would undoubtably be summoned again, and his present little setback
would be nothing more than an unfortunate memory. In the meantime, his current
captors were being very careful to treat him with the utmost respect, for fear
of alienating the wrong people. You could always rely on diplomats to appreciate
the political realities; particularly when their own careers might be at risk.
So, for the moment, Nightingale bided his time and was the perfect prisoner,
never once complaining or making any fuss, and the time passed pleasantly
enough. There were books to read and letters to write, and a steady stream of
visitors from among the Embassy staff, just stopping by for a chat, and dropping
not especially subtle hints of encouragement and support, in the hope of being
remembered in the future. True, his door was always locked, and there was an
armed guard in the corridor outside his room, but given the current
circumstances, Nightingale found that rather reassuring. If word of what he'd
intended were to get out in Haven, the populace would quite probably attempt to
storm the building and drag him out to hang him from the nearest lamppost. You
couldn't expect the rabble to understand the importance of concepts like
diplomatic immunity.
There was a sudden knocking at the door, and Nightingale jumped in spite of
himself. He cleared his throat carefully, and called for his visitor to enter. A
key turned in the lock, and the heavy door swung open to reveal Major de
Tournay, carrying a bottle of wine. Nightingale was somewhat surprised to see
the Major, but kept all trace of it from his face. De Tournay had taken the news
of Nightingale's treachery surprisingly calmly, given that his life had been one
of those threatened, but even so he was one of the last people Nightingale had
expected to drop by for a chat. Still, recent events had done much to turn up
unexpected allies.
'Come in, my dear Major,' he said warmly. 'Is that wine for me? How splendid.'
He studied the bottle's label, and raised an appreciative eyebrow. 'I'm obliged
to you, de Tournay. The Ambassador means well, but his cellar is shockingly
depleted.'
'I need to talk to you, my lord,' said de Tournay bluntly. He looked vaguely
round the room, as though embarrassed to be there and unsure how to proceed.
Nightingale waved for him to sit down on a chair opposite, and the Major did so,
sitting stiffly and almost at attention. 'We need to discuss the present
situation, my lord. There are matters which need to be… clarified.'
'Of course, Major. But first, let us sample this excellent wine you've brought
me.'
De Tournay nodded, and watched woodenly as Nightingale removed the cork, sniffed
it, and poured them both a generous glass. They toasted each other politely, but
