Guards of Haven: The Adventures of Hawk and Fisher (Hawk & Fisher) (70 page)

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Authors: Simon R. Green

BOOK: Guards of Haven: The Adventures of Hawk and Fisher (Hawk & Fisher)
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He watched the main gate carefully, from beneath lowered brows. He’d been there almost two hours, shivering in the damp and the cold, and had put together a pretty good picture of the House’s outer security system. The honour guards were everywhere, watching all the entrances and checking everyone’s credentials carefully before allowing them to enter. They took their time and didn’t allow anyone to hurt them, no matter how important-seeming or obviously aristocratic the applicant might be. The Brotherhood of Steel trained its people well. Saxon frowned, thinking his way unhurriedly through the problem. There had to be magical protections around the House as well, which suggested that the successful applicants had been issued charms of some kind which allowed them to enter the grounds without setting off the alarms. He’d have to acquire one. After he found a way in.
He hugged his knees to his chest, and ignored the rain trickling down his face with proper beggarlike indifference. He’d suffered worse discomfort in his early career as a confidence trickster, before he discovered politics. Though there were those who’d claimed he’d just graduated from the smaller arena to the large. He smiled to himself, and his fingers drifted casually over his left trouser leg, pressing against the long leather canister strapped to his shin. The baggy trousers hid it from view, but he liked to remind himself of its presence now and again. It helped fuel his anger. The contents of the canister would be his revenge against the two Kings. The first of many blows against the heartless and corrupt authorities who’d made Haven the hellhole it was and kept it that way because it suited their interests to do so. He was going to hurt them, hurt them all in the ways that would hurt them the most, until finally his vengeance forced them to make reforms, for fear of what he’d do next.
He made himself concentrate on the problem at hand, and reluctantly decided against a frontal assault. No matter how good his disguise, or how persuasive his arguments, there were just too many guards at the main gate and too many ways for things to go wrong. Not to mention too many witnesses. Fouling up in public would destroy his reputation before he even had a chance to re-establish it. And there was still the problem of the House’s protective wards. He wasn’t going to get anywhere without the right charms. Saxon shrugged. Fate would provide, or she wouldn’t. He tended to prefer simple plans, whenever possible, mainly because they allowed more room for improvisation if circumstances suddenly changed. Though he could be as obscure and devious as the next man, when he felt like it. The more intricate schemes appealed to his creative nature, if not his better judgment.
He rose to his feet and stumbled off through the crowd of beggars, his head carefully bowed, his whole attitude one of utter dejection. No one looked at him. Beggars tended to be invisible, except when they got under people’s feet. Saxon made his way into a nearby dark alley, listened for a long moment to be sure he was alone, and then straightened up with a low sigh of relief. All that bowing his head and hunching over was doing his back no good at all. He stepped briskly over to the nearest drainpipe, took a firm grip, and climbed up onto the roof. The pipe creaked threateningly under his weight, but he knew it would hold. He’d checked it out earlier, just to be on the safe side. He pulled himself up over the guttering and onto the sloping roof in one easy motion, so quietly he didn’t even disturb a dozing pigeon in the eaves. He padded softly over the rain-slick slates to the far edge of the roof, and jumped easily onto the adjoining roof. The gap was only a few feet, and he didn’t look down. The length of the drop would only have worried him; he was better off not knowing. He crossed two more roofs in the same fashion, and crouched down on the edge of the final roof, a ragged gargoyle in the driving rain. A narrow alley was all that separated him from Champion House.
The wall surrounding the grounds stared aggressively back at him: ten feet of featureless stone topped with iron spikes and a generous scattering of broken glass. A single narrow gate looked out onto the alley, a tradesman’s entrance manned by two large, professional-looking men-at-arms. They both wore chain mail, and had long, businesslike swords on their hips. Saxon had spotted the gate on his first reconnoitre, and had marked it down in his memory as a definite possibility. Tradesmen had been in and out of Champion House all morning, bringing extra supplies for the new guests and their entourages. At the moment, a large confectioner’s cart was parked at the end of the alley, and a stream of white-coated staff were carrying covered trays past the men-at-arms. Saxon grinned. Perfect. The confectioner hadn’t even questioned the unexpected order when Saxon delivered it to him, clad in his most impressive-looking footman’s outfit. Of course, it had helped that the order had been written on engraved notepaper bearing the Champion House crest. Saxon believed in getting all the details right.
He was just grateful he’d had the foresight to store all his con man’s props in his secret lock-up all those years ago. Actually, it hadn’t really been foresight. He just hadn’t wanted to take a chance on any of them turning up unexpectedly to embarrass him after he’d become an eminently respectable Councillor....
And he never could bear to throw anything away.
He slid silently over the edge of the roof, and padded quickly down the fire escape, the few unavoidable sounds drowned out by the pounding rain. He stood very still in the shadows, under the fire escape, and waited patiently for just the right moment. A white-coated confectioner’s assistant came out of the side gate with his hands in his pockets, and headed unhurriedly for the cart at the end of the alley. He passed by the fire escape, whistling tunelessly, and two strong hands shot out of nowhere and dragged him into the shadows.
Saxon emerged from the shadows a few moments later wearing a white coat, and headed for the confectioner’s cart. The coat fit like a tent, but you couldn’t have everything. More’s the pity. At the cart, a harried-looking supervisor handed him down a covered tray, and Saxon balanced it on his shoulder as he’d seen the others do. He kept his face carefully averted, but the supervisor was too busy to notice anyway.
“Get a move on,” he growled to Saxon, without looking up from the list he was checking. “We’re way behind schedule, and if the boss chews on my arse because we got back late, you can bet I’m going to chew on yours. And don’t think I didn’t spot you sloping off to lounge about behind the fire escape. You pull that again, and I’ll have your guts for garters. Well, don’t just stand there; get the hell out of here! If those pastries are ruined, it’s coming out of your wages, not mine!”
Saxon grunted something vaguely placating, and headed for the side gate. The men-at-arms didn’t even look at him, just at the white coat. Saxon timed his pace carefully, not too slow and not too hurried, and tucked his chin down against his chest, as though trying to keep the rain out of his face. As he neared the gate, one of the men-at-arms stirred suddenly, and Saxon’s heart jumped.
“Stay on the path,” said the man-at-arms in a bored monotone, as though he’d said it before many times, and knew he’d have to say it a great many more times before the day was over. “As long as you stay on the path the alarms won’t go off. If you do set off an alarm, stay where you are till someone comes to get you.”
Saxon grunted again, and passed between the two men-at-arms. He braced himself for a last-minute shout or blow, but nothing happened. He strode quickly along the gravel path, speeding up his pace as much as he dared. The path led him through the wide-open grounds to a door at the rear of the House. He followed slow-moving white coats into the kitchens, put down his tray with the others, and leaned against a wall to get his breath back and wipe the rain from his face, surreptitiously taking in the scene as he did so. The kitchen was bigger than some houses he’d known, with ovens and grills on all sides, and a single massive table in the middle of everything, holding enough food to feed a medium-sized army. The air was full of steam and the smells of cooking, and a small battalion of servants bustled noisily back and forth, shouted at impartially by the three senior cooks. A single guard was leaning easily against the far door, gnawing on a pork rib and chatting amiably with a grinning servant girl. Saxon smiled. Just what the doctor ordered. He headed straight for the guard, oozing confidence and purpose, as though he had every right to be there, and people hurried to get out of his way. He came to a halt before the guard and coughed meaningfully. The guard looked at him.
“Yeah? You want something?”
“Through here,” said Saxon crisply. “You’d better take a look at this.”
He pushed open the door behind the guard, stepped through, and held the door open for the guard to follow him. The guard shrugged, and smiled at the servant girl. “Don’t you move, little darling. I’ll be back before you know it. And don’t talk to any strange men. That’s my job.” He stepped out into the corridor, and Saxon pulled the door shut behind him. The guard glared at him. “This had better be important.”
“Oh, it is,” said Saxon. “You have no idea.” He looked quickly around to be sure no one was looking, then briskly kneed the guard in the groin. The guard’s eyes bulged, and he bent slowly forward. His mouth worked as he tried to force out a scream and couldn’t. Saxon took him in a basic but very efficient stranglehold, and a few seconds later lowered the unconscious body to the floor. It was good to know he hadn’t lost his touch. He dragged the body over to a cupboard he’d spotted, and yanked it open. From now on, speed was of the essence. Anyone could come along, at any moment. The cupboard proved big enough to take both of them easily, and he took the opportunity to change his white coat and beggar’s rags for the guard’s honour outfit and chain mail. Leaving the door open a crack provided all the light he needed. The mail fit tightly in all the most uncomfortable places, but it would do. He kicked the guard spitefully for being the wrong size, and strapped the man’s sword to his own hip. He wished briefly for a mirror, and then pushed open the cupboard door and stepped out into the corridor. A passing servant stopped in his tracks and stared blankly at Saxon.
“Excuse me ... this is probably a silly question, but what were you doing in the cupboard?”
“Security,” said Saxon darkly, closing the door. “You can’t be too careful.”
He met the servant’s gaze without flinching, and the man decided to continue about his business and not ask any more stupid questions. Saxon grinned at the servant’s departing back. It was his experience that people will believe practically anything you care to tell them, as long as you say it firmly enough. He fingered the bone medallion he’d found on the guard, and which was now hanging round his own neck. Presumably this was the charm that protected the guard against the House’s protective wards. With it, he should be able to go anywhere he wanted. Of course, if it wasn’t the charm, or the right charm, he was about to find out the hard way. He shrugged. Whatever happened, he’d think of something. He always did.
He strode leisurely through the House as though he belonged there, nodding to people as they passed. They nodded back automatically, seeing only his uniform, sure he must have a good reason for being where he was. Saxon smiled inwardly, and studied his surroundings without seeming to do so. Everywhere he looked there was luxury, in the thick carpets and antique furniture, and the portraits and tapestries covering the walls. And so much space. He remembered the single room where his sister now lived, and his fury burned in him.
He had to find the two Kings. He needed to see them, study their faces, look into their eyes. He wanted to know the people he was going to destroy. There was no satisfaction in taking vengeance on faceless people, on titles and positions rather than individuals. He wanted this first act of revenge to be entirely personal. He stepped out of a side corridor into a high-ceiling hall, and stopped to get his bearings. Servants scurried back and forth around him, intent on their various missions. He couldn’t just stand around watching without appearing conspicuous. So, when in doubt, be direct. Saxon stepped deliberately in front of a hurrying footman, and gave the man his best intimidating scowl.
“You; where are the Kings?”
“Fourth floor, in the main parlour, sir. Where they’ve been for the past two hours.”
There had been more than a hint of insolence in the footman’s tone, so Saxon cranked up his scowl another notch. “And how do you know I’m not some terrorist spy? Do you normally give away vital information to the first person who walks up to you and asks? Shape up, man! And stay alert. The enemy could be anywhere.”
Saxon stalked off in the direction of the stairs, leaving a thoroughly confused and worried footman behind him. He threaded his way through the bustling crowd, nodding briskly to the few guards he passed. He’d almost reached the stairs when a guard officer appeared out of nowhere right in front of him, and he had to stop or run the man down. The officer glared at him, and Saxon remembered just in time to salute him. The officer grunted and returned the salute.
“What the hell do you think you’re doing, appearing on duty looking like that? Your uniform’s a disgrace, your chain mail looks like it was made for a deformed dwarf, and that was the sloppiest damn salute I’ve ever seen. What’s your name and your unit?”
Oh, hell,
thought Saxon wearily.
I don’t need this. I really don’t.
He glanced quickly around to be sure no one was looking and then gave the officer a vicious punch well below the belt. All the color drained out of the officer’s face, and his legs buckled. Saxon grabbed him before he fell and quickly walked him across the hall and back into the side corridor. He shook his head woefully at a passing guest.

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