“Come in, Captain Hawk,” said Tomb. “I’ve been waiting for you.”
The sorcerer was sitting on a plain wooden stool, a few yards beyond the doorway. Above and around him loomed a bare stone cavern, maybe twenty feet high and almost as wide. A pale blue light flickered around the sorcerer, gleaming brightly on metallic traces in the rock. There was no one else there, only the sorcerer Tomb. Hawk stayed put in the doorway, looking around him. There had to be someone else there. Tomb couldn’t have come all this way just to sit in a cave by himself.
“How long have you known I was here?” he asked finally, careful to keep his voice calm and relaxed.
“Quite some time, Captain. I wouldn’t be much of a sorcerer if I didn’t know when I was being spied on, now would I? Don’t worry; I’m not angry. In your position, I’d probably have done the same. Probably. I like the robe, by the way. It suits you.”
“Tomb, what are you doing here?”
“It’s rather difficult to put into words, Captain. But if you’ll stop skulking in the shadows and come and join me, I’ll do my best to explain.”
Hawk mentally tossed a coin, shrugged, and stepped forward. He might as well, he wasn’t learning anything useful where he was. The moment he crossed the threshold, the Presence washed over him like a wave. It filled the cavern; a vast, implacable but utterly intangible Presence. It was like nothing but itself; a living entity with no physical existence, but so real that Hawk could almost feel its heartbeat against his skin. He looked wonderingly at Tomb, who smiled faintly.
“Le Bel Inconnu; the Fair Unknown. It was worshipped as a God long ago, in another place. My family served as its priests for generations. But we are both far from home now, this God and I. It seems I am the last of my line, and when Le Bel Inconnu discovered it was dying, it had no one else to turn to but me.”
“Dying?” said Hawk. “How can a God die? It doesn’t even have a body!”
“Things are never that simple, Hawk. Especially not here, on the Street of Gods. There is a time for everything, a beginning and an end for all that exists. Le Bel Inconnu was once a great Being, and knew the worship of millions. Now it is almost completely forgotten, nothing more than an obscure footnote in some of the order histories. It has no followers and no priests. It came here to die, Hawk, to fade quietly away into the nothing it came from, and go to whatever afterlife Gods go to. I spend what time with it I can, and never know from one day to the next whether it will still be here the next time I call.”
“But why all the secrecy?” said Hawk.
Tomb sighed tiredly. “No member of the Deity Division is allowed to worship a God, Captain Hawk. Religion and faith are not for us. It’s the law. How else could the Beings on the Street respect our judgements, and be bound by them, unless they could be sure we showed no favour to any of them? But I can’t abandon Le Bel Inconnu. No one should have to go into the dark alone, with no one to care or even know they’ve gone. But if word of my vigil were to get out, I’d have to leave the God Squad. I don’t want that. I’ve given my life to the Squad. Before I took over, it was a mess. No one took it seriously, least of all the Beings. I changed all that. Made the Squad a power to be reckoned with. The Street of Gods had known almost ten years of peace ... until the God murders began.” He looked unflinchingly at Hawk. “Are you going to report this, Captain Hawk?”
Hawk looked about him, feeling the Presence beat on the air like the fluttering wings of a dying bird. He shook his head slowly. “There’s nothing to tell, Tomb: Nothing to do with the case I’m working on. I’ll see you later.”
He turned away from the sorcerer and his God, and made his way back through the darkness to the life and bustle of the Street of Gods.
Fisher followed Buchan through the crowded Street, elbowing aside people who momentarily blocked her view of the man she was following. No one objected out loud. Even on the Street of Gods, people knew about Captain Fisher. She was careful to stay well back, but Buchan showed no signs of caring if he was being followed. The man was deathly tired; Fisher could see it in the way he walked, the way he held his head too carefully erect. But even so, nobody bothered him. They knew about Buchan’s reputation, too.
Buchan, with Fisher still a discreet distance behind him, made his way along the Street, passing through the usual crowd of priests and worshippers. Riot or no riot, business went on as usual on the Street of Gods. From time to time people called out greetings to Buchan, some clearly false and some as clearly not, but he answered them all with the same preoccupied nod and wave of the hand. A few people looked as though they might call out to Fisher, but she glared at them until they changed their minds.
After a while, she began to realise Buchan was heading into the high-rent section of the Street of Gods. The churches and temples became richer and more ornate, works of art in their own right, and there was a much better class of worshippers, most of whom seemed scandalised at Fisher’s presence in their midst. Fisher glared at them all impartially. Buchan finally stopped outside one of the more modest buildings. It was three storeys high, with rococo carvings and elegant wrought iron. The building had an anonymous air to it, as though it was a place for those who were just passing through, not staying. The kind of temporary residence popular among people on the way up or on the way down. The management didn’t care which, as long as it got cash in advance.
Buchan produced a key and unlocked the front door. He stepped inside, and shut the door firmly behind him. Fisher scowled. What was Buchan doing in a place like this? She hesitated a moment, not sure what to do next. Hawk was the one who usually tailed people. She couldn’t just barge in and start asking questions about Buchan. He wasn’t supposed to know he was being followed. She frowned. She couldn’t just hang about outside the place, either. People would notice. She made her way round the side of the building and down a narrow alleyway she hoped would lead to a back entrance. Maybe she could sneak in that way and find some low-level staff she could intimidate into providing some answers. Fisher always preferred the direct approach.
She hurried down the alleyway, keeping to the shadows when she remembered, rounded the corner, and sighed with relief as she took in the back of the building. It didn’t look nearly as impressive as the front, with uneven paint-work and a filthy back yard. Judging by the smell, the drains weren’t working too well either. There was one back door, strictly functional and clearly a servants’ and tradesmen’s entrance. Fisher started toward it, only to stop dead as the door suddenly swung open. She darted behind a pile of stacked crates, crouched down, and watched with interest as a hunched and furtive figure pushed the door shut. He was wearing, a torn and ratty-looking cloak with the hood pulled forward, but from her angle Fisher could see the face clearly. It was Buchan. He reached up to pull the hood even further forward, looked quickly around him, and then hurried along the alley and out onto the Street.
Fisher grinned broadly, and stayed where she was a moment to give him a good start. Buchan was definitely up to something. Where could he be going, that he couldn’t afford to be recognised? Buchan was known and welcomed pretty much everywhere outside of High Society. She slipped out from behind the crates, ran silently down the alley, and emerged on the Street just in time to see him walking unhurriedly away. He was so confident in his disguise he didn’t even bother to look behind him. Fisher stayed well back anyway, just in case. She was beginning to get the hang of following people.
Buchan lead her through the luxurious high-rent district of the Street of Gods, where the magnificent buildings struggled to outdo each other in splendour and ostentatious opulence. He passed them all by without looking, until he came to the largest and most ornate structure yet. It was as broad as any three churches, and an amazing four storeys high. Fisher didn’t even want to think how much money the owners must be paying for spells to protect the place from the violent spring gales. Massive bay windows jutted out onto the Street, and there was gold and silver scrollwork in abundance. And enough intricately carved stonework to have kept entire families of stonemasons busy for generations. There was one door, centrally placed: a huge slab of polished oak, bearing a large brass knocker. Engraved into the stone above the door was a single ornate symbol, known and reviled throughout the Low Kingdoms. Buchan knocked twice, and waited. Even from across the Street, Fisher could feel his impatience. The door opened, and Buchan quickly disappeared inside. Fisher bit her lower lip thoughtfully as the door swung shut behind him. In a way, she was almost disappointed. You didn’t expect a man like the legendary Charles Buchan to go sneaking off to the notorious Sisters of Joy.
Fisher didn’t approve of the Sisters. They were dangerous. Like a rose with poisoned thorns. In her time as a Guard, Fisher had seen men entrapped by the Sisters and betrayed by their own weaknesses. They lost all strength and dignity, giving up on everything except the object of their obsession. They threw away their jobs, alienated their families, and sold everything they could lay their hands on to make donations to the Sisters. By the time the Sister concerned had sucked them dry, it must almost have come as a relief.
Fisher folded her arms and leaned back against a church wall, staring thoughtfully at the house of the Sisters of Joy. What the hell was Buchan doing here? It wasn’t at all in character for the great romantic she’d heard so much about. Of course, she if anyone had good reason to know that people weren’t always what their storied personas made them out to be. But still ... What if there was something else going on here? Something ... deeper. Fisher pushed herself away from the wall and unfolded her arms. Whatever Buchan was mixed up in, she wanted to know about it. There were too many secrets in this case. She checked her sword moved freely in its scabbard, marched over to the Sisters’ door, and knocked loudly. There as a long pause. Passersby looked at Fisher in various ways. Fisher glared at them all impartially.
The door finally opened a few inches. Fisher put her shoulder to the door and shoved it all the way open. She stalked in past the astonished Sister she’d sent flying backwards, and looked around her. There was an understated elegance to the hallway, with delicately fashioned furniture and a deep pile carpet. An ornate glass-and-crystal chandelier hung from the ceiling, and the air was scented with rose petals. It was actually quite impressive in a quiet way. Fisher had been in country mansions that looked less refined. Until you took in the obscene murals on the walls. Fisher had never seen anything like them. She felt a blush rising to her cheeks, and looked quickly away. The Sister had recovered her composure, and took the opportunity to bow respectfully to Fisher. She was very lovely, in an open, healthy way that owed nothing to makeup, with curly russet hair and a heart-shaped face. Her long flowing gown was spotlessly white and hugged her magnificent figure in all the right places. She couldn’t have been more than nineteen or twenty. Fisher felt decidedly battered and dowdy in comparison, which didn’t do a thing for her temper.
The Sister bowed again, showing off her cleavage, and smiled widely at Fisher. “Welcome to the house of pleasure and contentment, Captain. In what way may we be of service to you?”
“I’m looking for Buchan,” said Fisher flatly. “Where is he?”
The Sister shook her head, still smiling. “We guarantee complete anonymity to all who come here, Captain. Within this house our patrons are free to adopt whatever names or characters they wish. We ask no questions, demand no answers. We offer comfort and security to all who come here, and we protect their privacy. Whatever your business is with the man you seek, it will have to wait until he has left these walls.”
Fisher scowled. She knew a set speech when she heard one. “All right, we’ll do it the hard way.” She reached out, took a handful of the Sister’s gown, and pulled her close so that their faces were only inches apart. “I’m Captain Fisher of the city Guard. I’m here on official business, and I want to see Charles Buchan right now. And if you or anyone else gets in my way, I am going to bounce them off the nearest wall till their ears bleed. Got it?”
The Sister never flinched once. She met Fisher’s gaze calmly, and when she spoke, her voice was mild and even and unafraid. “Kill me, if you wish. My Sisters will avenge me. The secrets of this house are not mine to tell, and I will die rather than divulge them. No Sister here will tell you anything, Captain. We will not betray those who trust us.”
Fisher swore briefly, and let the Sister go. She felt obscurely ashamed, as though she’d been caught bullying a child. She had no doubt the Sister meant what she said. Her voice and face held the unquestioning certainty of the fanatic. Probably brainwashed. Or under a geas’ compulsion. Or both. She sighed, and stepped away from the Sister. When in doubt, be direct.
“Buchan!” she roared at the top of her voice. “Charles Buchan! I know you’re here. Either get the hell down here and talk to me or I’ll go out into the Street and tell everyone I see that you’re in here. What do you think would happen to your reputation as a member of the God Squad if word got out that you were a sister-lover? Buchan! Talk to me!”
There was a long pause, and then a second Sister appeared from a concealed doorway. She wore the same white gown and was equally lovely, in a cool aristocratic way, but she was nearer Fisher’s age, and though she smiled and bowed respectfully, her eyes were cold and hard. “There’s no need for threats, Captain. The person you seek has agreed to see you. Even though he was assured he didn’t have to. And Captain; if he hadn’t agreed, you would not have got any further in this house. We have spells to ensure our privacy. Very unpleasant spells. Now, if you’ll come with me, please...”