Hawk scowled as he strode along, brooding over recent events. It wasn’t that long ago that most of Haven had been convinced he’d gone berserk, killing anyone who got in the way of his own personal vendetta outside the law. It hadn’t been true, and eventually he’d proved it, but that wasn’t the point. He knew he had a reputation for violence; he’d gone to great pains to establish it. It kept the villains and the hardcases off his back, and made the small fry too nervous to give him any trouble. But even so, the speed with which people believed he’d gone bad had disturbed him greatly. For the first time, he’d seen himself as others saw him, and he didn’t like what he saw.
“We never used to be this hard,” he said quietly. “These days, every time I look at someone I’m thinking about the best way to take them out before they can get to me. Whether they’re behaving aggressively or not. Whenever I talk to someone, part of me is listening for a lie or an evasion. And more and more, I tend to assume a suspect is bound to be guilty, unless hard evidence proves them innocent.”
“In the Northside, they usually are guilty,” said Fisher.
“That’s not the point! I always said I’d never laid a finger on an honest man, or killed anyone who didn’t need killing. I’m not so sure of that anymore. I’m not infallible. I make mistakes. Only thing is, my mistakes could cost someone their life. When we first took on this job, I really thought we could do some good, make a difference, help protect the people who needed protection. But now, everyone I meet gets weighed as a potential enemy, and I care more about nailing villains than I do about protecting their victims. We’ve changed, Isobel. The job has changed us. Maybe... we should think about leaving Haven. I don’t like what we’ve become.”
Fisher looked at him anxiously. “We’re only as hard as we need to be to get the job done. This city is full of human wolves, ready to tear us apart at the first sign of weakness. It’s only our reputation for sudden death and destruction that keeps them at bay. Remember what it was like when we first started? We had to prove ourselves every day, fighting and killing every hardcase with a sword and a grudge, just to earn the right to walk the streets in peace. Now they’ve learned to leave us alone, we can get things done. Look, we’re a reflection of the people we’re guarding. If they start acting civilized and playing by the rule book, so will I. Until then, we just do what we have to, to get the job done.”
“But that’s the point, Isobel. Why do the job? What difference does it make? For every villain we put away, there are a dozen more we can’t touch who are just waiting to take his place. We bust our arses every day, and nothing ever changes. Except us.”
“Now, don’t start that again. We have made a difference. Sure, things are bad now, but they were much worse before we came. And they’d be worse again if we left. You can’t expect to change centuries of accumulated evil and despair in a few short years. We do the best we can, and protect the good people every chance we get. Anything above and beyond that is a bonus. You’ve got to be realistic, Hawk.”
“Yeah. Maybe.” Hawk stared straight ahead of him, looking through the driving rain without seeing it. “I’ve lost my way, Isobel. I don’t like what I am, what I’m doing. what I’ve become. This isn’t what I meant to do with my life, but I don’t know what else to do. We are needed here; you’re right about that. But some days I look in the mirror and I don’t recognize my face at all. I hear people talking about things I’ve done and it doesn’t sound like me. Not the me I remember being, before we came here. I’ve lost my way. And I don’t know how to find it again.”
Fisher scowled unhappily, and decided she’d better change the subject. “I know what your problem is. You’re just brooding because I’ve put you on another diet.”
Hawk smiled in spite of himself. “Right. I must be getting old, lass; I never used to put on weight like this. I can’t believe I’ve had to let my belt out another notch. When I was younger I had so much energy I used to burn off food as fast as I could eat it. These days, I only have to look at a dessert and my waistline expands. I should never have admitted turning thirty. That was when the rot set in.”
“Never mind, dear,” said Fisher. “When we get back home tonight I’ll put out your pipe and slippers, and you can have a nice doze in your chair by the fire before dinner.”
Hawk looked at her. “Don’t push your luck, Isobel.”
She laughed. “Well, it serves you right. Anyone would think you were on your last legs and doddering towards the grave, to hear you talk. There’s nothing wrong with you that a good fight in a good cause couldn’t put right. In the meantime, no desserts, cut down on the meat, and lots of nice healthy salads. And no more snacks in between meals, either.”
“Why does everything that’s good for you have to taste so damned bland?” complained Hawk. “And I don’t care if lettuce is good for me; I’m not eating it. Flaming rabbit food ...”
They continued on their way through the Northside, doing their rounds and showing their faces. Hawk seemed in a somewhat better mood but was still unusually quiet. Fisher decided to let him brood, and not push it. He’d had these moods before, and always snapped out of it eventually. Together, they checked out three burglaries, and lectured one shopkeeper on the need for bolts as well as locks on his doors and window shutters. None of the burglaries were anything special, just routine break-ins. Not much point in looking for clues. Sooner or later they’d catch someone in the act, and he’d confess to a whole bunch of others crimes and that would be that. After the burglaries, they got involved in a series of assaults, sorting out tavern brawls, muggings, and finally a domestic dispute. Hawk hated being dragged into domestic quarrels. You couldn’t win. Whatever you did was bound to be wrong.
They approached the location of the domestic dispute cautiously, but at least this time there was no flying crockery to dodge. Or flying knives. The address was a poky little apartment in the middle of a row of shabby tenements. Neighbors watched silently as the two Guards entered the building. Hawk took the lead and kept a careful eye on the house’s occupants as they made way before him. Guards were the common enemy of all Northsiders; they represented and enforced all the laws and authority that kept the poor in their place. As a result, Guards were targets for anyone with a grudge or a mad on, and one of the nastier surprise attacks these days was the Haven mud pie—a mixture of lye and grease. Thrown at close range, the effect could be devastating. The lye burned through clothing as though it wasn’t there, and if it hit bare skin it could eat its way right down to the bone. The grease made the lye stick like glue. Even a small mud pie could put a Guard in hospital for weeks, if his partner didn’t get him to a doctor fast enough. And doctors tended to be few and far between in the Northside. The last man to aim a mud pie at Hawk had got both his arms broken, but there were any number of borderline crazies in the Northside, just waiting to be pushed over the edge by one frustration too many. So Hawk and Fisher stayed close together and kept a wary eye on shadowed comers and doors left just a little too far ajar.
They made their way through the hall and up the narrow stairs without incident. Mothers and small children watched in stony silence, while from above came the sound of domestic unrest. A man and a woman were shouting and screeching at the tops of their voices, but Hawk and Fisher didn’t let themselves be hurried. As long as the couple were still shouting they weren’t searching for blunt instruments or something with a sharp edge. It was when things went suddenly quiet that you had to worry. Hawk and Fisher reached the landing and strode down the hall, stepping over small children playing unconcernedly on the floor. They found the door with the right number, the sounds from within made it pretty hard to miss. Hawk hammered on the door with his fist, and an angry male voice broke off from its tirade just long enough to tell him to go to hell. Hawk tried again, and got a torrent of abuse for his trouble. He shrugged, drew his axe, and kicked the door in.
A man and a woman looked round in surprise as Hawk and Fisher stood in the doorway taking in the scene. The woman was less than average height, and more than a little undernourished, with a badly bruised face and a bloody nose. She was trying to stop the flowing blood with a grubby handkerchief, and not being very successful. The man was easily twice her size, with muscles on his muscles, and he was brandishing a fist the size of a mallet. His face was dark with rage, and he glared sullenly at Hawk and Fisher as he took in their Guards’ cloaks.
“What are you doing here? You’ve no business in this house, so get out. And if you’ve damaged my door I’ll see you pay for the repairs!”
Hawk smiled coldly. “If you’ve damaged that woman, you’ll pay for-it. Now, stand back from her and put down that fist, and we’ll all have a nice little chat.”
“This is family business,” said the man quickly, before the woman could say anything. He lowered his fist, but stood his ground defiantly.
Fisher moved forward to speak to the woman, and the man fell back a step in spite of himself. She ignored him, and spoke softly to the woman. “Does this kind of thing happen often?”
“Often enough,” said the woman indistinctly, behind her handkerchief.
Fisher frowned. “Just say the word, and we’ll drag him off to gaol. You don’t have to put up with this. Are you married to him?”
The woman shrugged. “More or less. He’s not so bad, most of the time, but he can’t keep a job because of his temper. He just lost another one today.”
“So he comes home and takes it out on you.” Fisher nodded understandingly.
“That’s enough!” snapped the man suddenly, stung at being talked about as though he wasn’t there. “She’s got nothing more to say to you, Guard, if she knows what’s good for her. And you two can get out now, or I’ll throw you out.”
Hawk stirred, and looked at him with interest. “You and what army?”
“I really think you should swear out a complaint against him,” said Fisher. “Next time he might not just break your nose. A few mights in gaol might calm him down a bit, and if nothing else, it should make him think twice about hitting you again.”
The woman nodded slowly. “You’re right. I’ll swear out a complaint.”
“You lousy bitch!” The man lurched forward, raising his huge hands menacingly. Fisher turned and smacked him solidly between the eyes with her fist. The man fell back a step and then sat down abruptly, blinking dazedly. Fisher looked at Hawk.
“We’d better get him downstairs. You take one arm and I’ll take the other.”
“Right,” said Hawk. “There’s some railings outside we can chain him to until we can find a Constable to take him back to Headquarters for charging.”
They got him to his feet easily enough and were heading for the door when Hawk, hearing a muffled cry behind them, looked back just in time to see the woman heading straight for him with a knife in her hand. Hawk dropped the man and stepped quickly to one side, but the woman kept coming at him, her eyes wild and desperate. Fisher stuck out a leg and tripped her. The woman fell heavily and lost her grip on the knife. Hawk stepped forward and kicked it out of reach. The woman burst into tears. Hawk looked at Fisher.
“What the hell was that all about?”
“She loves him,” said Fisher, shaking her head sadly. “She might not like the treatment, but she loves him just the same. And when she saw us hauling him off to gaol, she forgot how angry she was and decided we were the villains of the piece, for threatening her man.... Now we have to take them both in. Can’t let anyone get away with attacking a Guard, or we’ll never have any peace.”
Hawk nodded reluctantly, and they set about manhandling the man and the woman down the stairs and out into the street.
They found a Constable, eventually, and let him take over, then set off on their beat again. The rain continued to show signs of letting up without ever actually doing anything about it. The day wore slowly on, fairly quiet by Northside standards. Hawk and Fisher broke up half a dozen fights, ran off a somewhat insecure flasher, and helped talk a leaper out of jumping from a second-story building. The city didn’t really care if a leaper killed himself or not, but there was always the chance he might land on someone important, so official policy in such cases was to clear the street below and then just let the would-be suicide get on with it. As in many other things, Hawk and Fisher ignored official policy and took the time to talk quietly and encouragingly to the man, until he agreed to go down the normal way, via the stairs. The odds were that by tomorrow he’d be back up on the roof again, but at least they’d bought him some time to think it over. Working in the Northside, you learned to be content with little victories.
“You know,” said Hawk as he and Fisher walked away, “sometimes, when I’m up on a roof with a leaper, I have an almost overwhelming urge to sneak up behind him and shout Boo! in his ear. Just to see what would happen.”
“You’re weird, Hawk,” said Fisher, and he nodded solemnly. At which point a rush of gentle flute music poured through their minds, followed by the dry, acid voice of the Guard communications sorcerer.
All Guards in the Northern sector, report immediately to Damnation Row, where there is
a
major riot in progress.
This order supersedes all other instructions. Do not discuss the situation with anyone else until you have reported to the prison Governor. That is all.