Hawk scowled grimly as he and Fisher turned around and headed back down the street shoulders hunched against the renewed heavy rain. Damnation Row was Haven’s oldest and largest prison, as well as the most secure. A great squat monstrosity of basalt stone, surrounded on all sides by high walls and potent sorceries, it was infamous throughout the Low Kingdoms as the one prison no one ever escaped from. Riots were almost unknown, never mind a major riot. No wonder they’d been instructed not to talk about it. The prison’s reputation was part of its protection. Besides, if word did get out, the streets would be thronged with people heading for the prison to try and help the inmates break out. Most people in Haven knew someone in Damnation Row.
The prison itself stood jammed up against the city wall on the far boundary of the Northside, and Hawk and Fisher could see its outline through the driving rain long before they got to its gatehouse. The exterior walls were huge, dark, and largely featureless, and seemed especially grim and forbidding through the downpour. Hawk hauled on the steel bell pull at the main gate, and waited impatiently with Fisher for someone to answer. He’d never been inside Damnation Row before and was curious to see if it was as bad as everyone said. Conditions inside were supposed to be deliberately appalling. Haven had nothing but contempt for anyone dumb enough or unsuccessful enough to get caught, and the idea was that a stay in Damnation Row would scare the offender so much he’d do anything rather than be sent back—including going straight. The prison’s excellent security record also made it a useful dumping ground for dangerous lunatics, untrustworthy magic-users, and political and religious embarrassments. The city firmly believed in taking revenge on its enemies. All of them.
Hawk yanked on the bell pull again, hammered on the door with his fist, and kicked it a few times for good measure. All he got out of it was a stubbed toe and an unsympathetic glance from Fisher. Finally a sliding panel in the door jerked open and a grim-faced prison guard studied their Guards’ uniforms for a long moment before slamming the panel shut and opening the judas gate in the main door to let them in. Hawk and Fisher identified themselves, and weren’t even given time to dump their dripping wet cloaks before being hustled through the outer precincts of the prison to the Governor’s office. Everywhere they looked there was bedlam, with prison guards running this way and that, shouting orders no one listened to and getting in each other’s way. Off in the distance they could hear a dull roar of raised voices and the hammering of hard objects on iron bars.
The Governor’s office was comfortably furnished, but clearly a place of work rather than relaxation. The walls were bare save for a number of past and present Wanted posters, and two framed testimonials. The plain, almost austere desk was buried under paperwork, split more or less equally into two piles marked “Pending” and “Urgent.” The Governor, Phillipe Dexter, stood up from behind his desk to shake hands briefly with Hawk and Fisher, gestured for them to take a seat, and then returned to his own chair quickly, as though only sheer willpower had kept him on his feet that long. He was an average-looking man in his late forties, dressed fashionably but conservatively, and had a bland, politician’s face. At the moment he looked tired and drawn, and his hand had trembled slightly with fatigue when Hawk shook it. The two Guards took off their cloaks and draped them over the coat rack before sitting down. The Governor watched the cloaks dripping heavily on his carpet, and closed his eyes for a moment, as though that was definitely the last straw.
“How long has this riot been going on?” asked Hawk, to get the ball rolling.
“Almost four hours now.” The Governor scowled unhappily, but his voice was calm and measured. “We thought we could contain it at first, but we just didn’t have the manpower. This prison has always suffered from overcrowding, with two or even three inmates locked up in a cell originally meant for one. Mainly because Haven has almost doubled in size since this prison was built. But we coped, because we had to. There was nowhere else to put the prisoners; all the other gaols in Haven are just holding pens and debtors’ prisons, and they face the same problem as us. But, thanks to the Council’s ill-advised purge of the streets, we’ve had prisoners arriving here in the hundreds over the last week or so, and my staff just couldn’t cope with the resulting crush. We had four, sometimes five, to a cell in some places, and not even enough warning to allow for extra food and blankets. Something had to give.
“The prisoners decided this morning that they couldn’t be treated any worse than they already were, and attacked the prison staff during breakfast and slopping-out. The violence soon spread, and we didn’t have enough manpower to put it down. Essentially, we’ve lost half the prison. Barricades and booby traps have been set up by the inmates in all the approaches to two of the main Wings, and they’ve been throwing everything they can get their hands on at us to make us keep our distance. They’ve started several fires, but so far the prison’s security spells have been able to stamp them out before they could get out of control. So far, no one’s actually escaped. Our perimeter is still secure.
“We’ve tried to negotiate with the inmates, but none of them have shown any interest in talking. Pretty soon the Council is going to order me to take the occupied Wings back by force, before the Kings get to hear about the riot and start getting worried. But that, believe it or not, isn’t the main problem. Adjoining the two occupied Wings is Hell Wing, where we keep our supernatural prisoners. Creatures of power and magic, locked away here while awaiting trial. Hell Wing is in its own pocket dimension, surrounded by powerful wards, so it should still be secure. But there are reported to be several magic-users among the rioters, and if they find a way into Hell Wing and set those creatures loose, a whole army of Guards wouldn’t be enough to control them.”
Hawk and Fisher looked at each other, and then back at the Governor. “If it’s as serious as all that,” said Hawk, “why are you wasting time talking to us? You need somebody with real power, like the God Squad, or the SWAT team.”
The Governor nodded quickly. “The God Squad have been alerted, but at present they’re busy coping with an emergency on the Street of Gods. I’ve sent for the Special Wizardry and Tactics team; they’re on their way. When they get here, I want you two to work with them. You’ve both worked with the God Squad in the past, you have experience coping with supernatural creatures, and you have a reputation for salvaging impossible situations. And right now, I’m so desperate I’ll grab at any straw.”
There was a brief knocking at the door, and it swung open before the Governor could even ask who it was. A woman and three men filed into the office and slammed the door shut behind them. The woman fixed the Governor with a harsh gaze.
“You sent for the SWAT team. We’re here. Don’t worry, we’ve been briefed.” She looked at Hawk and Fisher. “What are they doing here?”
“They’ll be working with you on this,” said the Governor firmly, trying to regain control of the situation. “The God Squad’s been delayed. These two officers are ...”
“I know who they are.” The woman nodded briskly to Hawk and Fisher. “I’m Jessica Winter, team leader and tactician. My associates are Stuart Barber, weaponmaster; John MacReady, negotiator; and Storm, sorcerer. That takes care of introductions; anything more can wait till later; we’re on a tight schedule and time’s running out. Let’s go. Sit tight, Governor; you’ll have your prison back in a few hours. Oh, and if any more Guards arrive, keep them out of our way.”
She smiled briefly, and hustled her people out of the office before the Governor could work up a reply. Hawk and Fisher nodded to him and hurried out after the SWAT team. Jessica Winter led the way down the corridor with casual confidence, and Hawk took the opportunity to surreptitiously study his new partners. He knew them all by reputation but had never worked with any of them before.
Winter was a short, stocky woman with a determined, friendly manner that reminded Hawk irresistibly of an amiable bulldog. She was in her early thirties and looked it, and clearly didn’t give a damn. She’d been through two husbands that Hawk knew of, and was currently pursuing her third. She moved and spoke with a brisk, no-nonsense efficiency, and by all accounts could be charming or overwhelming as the mood took her. She was dressed in a simple shirt and trousers, topped with a chain-mail vest that had been polished within an inch of its life, and wore a sword on her hip in a plain, regulation issue scabbard. She’d been with the SWAT team for seven years, two of them as leader and tactician. She had a good if somewhat spotty record, and preferred to dismiss her failures as learning experiences. Given that her team usually wasn’t called in until things had got totally out of hand, Winter had built up a good reputation for finding solutions to problems at the last possible moment. She also had a reputation for convoluted and devious strategies, which Hawk felt might come in very handy just at the moment. He had a strong feeling there was a lot more to this situation than met the eye.
He glanced across at Stuart Barber, the weaponmaster, and felt a little reassured. Even walking down an empty corridor in the midst of friends and allies, Barber exuded an air of danger and menace. He was a tall, powerfully-built man in his mid-twenties, with arms so tightly muscled the veins bulged fiercely even when his arms were apparently relaxed. He had a broad, brutal-looking sword on his hip, in a battered leather scabbard, and wore a long chain-mail vest that had been repaired many times, not always neatly. He had a long, angular head, with pale, pinched features accentuated by dark hair cropped short in a military cut. He had a constant slight scowl that made him look more thoughtful than bad-tempered.
John MacReady, the negotiator, looked like everyone’s favourite uncle. It was his job to talk people out of things before Winter let Barber loose on them. MacReady was average height and well-padded, in a friendly, non-threatening way. He smiled a lot, and had the charming gift of convincing people he was giving them his entire attention while they were talking. He was in his mid-forties, going bald, and trying to hide it with a somewhat desperate hairstyle. He had an easy, companiable way about him that made him hard to distrust, but Hawk decided to try anyway. He didn’t put much faith in people who smiled too much. It wasn’t natural.
The sorcerer called Storm was a large, awkward-looking man in his late twenties. He was easily six foot six inches, and his broad frame made him look even taller. His robe of sorcerer’s black looked as if it hadn’t been cleaned in months. and the state of his long black hair and beard suggested they’d never even been threatened with a comb. He scowled fiercely at nothing and everything, and just grunted whenever Winter addressed him. His hands curled and uncurled into fists at his side, and he strode along with his beard jutting out before him, as though just waiting for some fool to pick a quarrel with him. All in all, he looked rather like some mystical hermit who’d spent years in a cave meditating on the nature of man and the universe, and came up with some very unsatisfactory answers. The sorcerer looked round suddenly, and caught Hawk’s eye.
“What are you staring at?”
“I was just wondering about your name,” said Hawk easily.
“My name? What about it?”
“Well, Storm’s not exactly a usual name for a sorcerer. A weather wizard, maybe, but ...”
“It suits me,” said the sorcerer flatly. “Want to make something of it?”
Hawk thought about it for a moment, and then shook his head. “Not right now. I was just curious.”
Storm sniffed dismissively, and looked away. Jessica Winter fell back a few steps to walk alongside Hawk. She smiled at him briefly. “Don’t mind Storm,” she said briskly, not bothering to lower her voice. “He’s a gloomy bugger, but he knows his job.”
“Just what kind of a setup are we walking into?” asked Fisher, moving up on Hawk’s other side. “As I understand it, you’ve had a full briefing. We just got the edited highlights.”
Winter nodded quickly. “Not surprisingly, the situation isn’t as simple and straightforward as it appears. The riot broke out far too suddenly and too efficiently for it to have been entirely spontaneous. Somebody had to be behind it, pulling the strings and pointing people in the right direction. But the Governor’s attempts to negotiate got nowhere, because the rioters couldn’t agree on a leader to represent them. Which suggests that whoever is behind the riot is keeping his head down. Which in turn suggests that person had his own reasons for starting it.”
“Like breaking someone out, under cover of the chaos?” said Fisher.
“Got it in one,” said Winter. “But so far no one’s got out over the walls or through the gates; the prison guards have seen to that. The Governor’s insistence on regular panic drills seems to have paid off. The real problem lies with Hell Wing, which is where we come in. If someone’s managed to get in there and bust any of those creatures loose, we could be in real trouble. You could break out any number of people in the chaos that would cause. And if that someone’s let them all loose ... we might as well evacuate the entire city.”
“That bad?” said Hawk.
“Worse.”
Hawk thought about it. “Might this be a good time to suggest a strategic retreat, so we can wait for the God Squad to back us up?”
Storm sniffed loudly. “The word retreat isn’t in our vocabulary.”
“It’s in mine,” said Hawk.
“Just how well-confined are these supernatural prisoners?” asked Fisher hurriedly.