Simon R. Green - Hawk and Fisher 2 - Winner Takes

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Winner Takes All by Simon R.

Green

Chapter One

THE HOLLOW MEN

Every city has its favorite blood sports. Some cities prefer the traditional cruelties

of bearbaiting or cockfights, while others indulge their baser appetites with

gladiators and arenas. The city port of Haven gets its thrills from the dirtiest,

bloodiest sport of all: politics.

It was election time in Haven, and the shutters were going up all over town. It was

a time for banners and parades, speeches, and festivities, and the occasional, good

old-fashioned riot. The streets were packed with excited crowds, pickpockets and

cutpurses were having the time of their lives, and the taverns were making money

hand over fist. Work in the city slowed to a standstill as everyone got caught up in

election fever. Everyone except the Guards, who were working double shifts in an

increasingly vain attempt to keep Haven from turning into a war zone.

It was autumn in Haven, and the weather was at its most civilized. The days were

comfortably warm, and the nights delightfully cool. There was a constant breeze

from off the ocean, and it rained just often enough to make people grateful for the

times when it didn't. Just the kind of weather to make a man dissatisfied with his

lot, and determined to get out and enjoy the weather while it lasted. Which meant

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there were even more people out on the streets than was usual for an election. The

smart money was betting on a complete breakdown of law and order by mid-

afternoon. Luckily the city only allowed twenty-four hours for electioneering.

Anything more than that was begging for trouble. Not to mention civil war.

Hawk and Fisher, husband and wife and Captains in the city Guard, strolled

unhurriedly down Market Street, and the bustling crowds parted quickly before

them. Patience tended to be in short supply and tempers flared quickly around

election time, but no one in Haven, drunk or sober, was stupid enough to upset

Hawk and Fisher. There were quicker and less painful ways to commit suicide.

Hawk was tall and dark, but no longer handsome. A series of old scars ran down

the right side of his face, pale against the tanned skin, and a black silk patch

covered his right eye. He wore a simple white cotton shirt and trousers, and the

traditional black cloak of the Guards. Normally he didn't bother with the cloak. It

got in the way during fights. But with so many strangers come to town for the

election, the cloak served as a badge of authority, so he wore it all the time now,

with little grace and even less style. Hawk always looked a little on the scruffy

side, and his boots in particular were old and battered, but a keen eye might have

noticed that they had once been of very superior quality and workmanship. There

were many rumors about Hawk's background, usually to do with whether or not

his parents had been married, but no one knew anything for sure. The man's past

was a mystery, and he liked it that way.

On the whole, he didn't look like much. He was lean and wiry rather than

muscular, and beginning to build a stomach. He wore his dark hair at shoulder

length, in defiance of fashion, swept back from his forehead and tied with a silver

clasp. He had only just turned thirty, but already there were thick streaks of grey

in his hair. At first glance he looked like just another bravo, past his prime and

going to seed. But few people stopped at the first glance. There was something

about Hawk, something in the scarred face and single cold eye that gave even the

drunkest hardcase pause for thought. On his right hip Hawk carried a short-

handled axe instead of a sword. He was very good with an axe. He'd had plenty of

practice, down the years.

Isobel Fisher walked at Hawk's side, echoing his pace and stance with the

naturalness of long companionship. She was tall, easily six feet in height, and her

long blond hair fell to her waist in a single thick plait, weighted at the tip with a

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polished steel ball. She was in her mid- to late-twenties, and handsome rather than

beautiful. There was a rawboned harshness to her face that contrasted strongly

with her deep blue eyes and generous mouth. Somewhere in her past something

had scoured all the human weaknesses out of her, and it showed. Like Hawk, she

wore a white cotton shirt and trousers, and the regulation black cloak. The shirt

was half unbuttoned to show a generous amount of bosom, and her shirt sleeves

were rolled up above her elbows, revealing arms corded with muscle and lined

with old scars. Her boots were battered and scuffed and looked as though they

hadn't been cleaned in years. Fisher wore a sword on her left hip, and her hand

rested comfortably on the pommel.

Hawk and Fisher were known throughout Haven. Firstly, they were honest, which

was in itself enough to mark them as unusual amongst Haven's overworked and

underpaid Guards. And secondly, they kept the peace; whatever it took. Hawk and

Fisher brought in the bad guys, dead or alive. Mostly dead.

People tended to be very law-abiding while Hawk and Fisher were around.

They made their way unhurriedly down Market Street, enjoying the early morning

warmth, and keeping an eye on the street traders. The election crowds meant good

pickings for the fast-food sellers, souvenir stalls, and back-alley conjurers with

their cheap charms and amulets. Stalls lined the streets from one end to the other

without a gap, varying from tatty affairs of wood and canvas to established family

concerns with padded silk and beaded awnings. The clamor of the merchants was

deafening, and the more tawdry the goods, the louder and more extravagant were

the claims made on their behalf.

There were drink stands everywhere, competing with the taverns by offering

cheap spirits with the traditional sign:

DRUNK FOR A PENNY; DEAD DRUNK FOR TUPPENCE. There was beer as

well, for the less adventurously minded. That came free, courtesy of the

Conservatives. On the whole, they preferred the electorate to be well the worse

for drink on polling day. That way, they were either grateful enough to vote

Conservative in the hope of more free booze, or too drunk to raise any real

opposition. And since the populace was also usually too drunk to riot, the Guards

liked it that way too.

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Everywhere Hawk and Fisher looked there were more traders' stalls, crowding the

streets and spilling into the alleyways. There were flags and fireworks and masks

and all kinds of novelties for sale, every one of them guaranteed to be worth a

damn sight less than what you paid for it. If you wanted more upmarket

souvenirs, like delicate china and glassware tastefully engraved with designs and

slogans from the election, then you had to go uptown to find them. The Northside

might have been upmarket once, but if so, it was so long ago that no one could

remember when. These days the Northside was the harshest, poorest, and most

dangerous area in Haven. Which was why Hawk and Fisher got the job of

patrolling it. Partly because they were the best, and everyone knew it, but mainly

because they'd made just as many enemies inside the Guard as out. It was possible

to be too honest, in Haven.

Hawk looked wistfully at a stall offering spiced sausage meat on wooden skewers.

It looked quite appetizing, if you ignored the flies. Fisher noticed his interest, and

pulled him firmly away.

"No, Hawk; we don't know what kind of meat went into those sausages. You can't

afford to spend the rest of the day squatting in the jakes with your trousers round

your ankles."

Hawk laughed. "You're probably right, Isobel. It doesn't matter; if I remember

correctly, there's a tavern down here on the right that does an excellent lobster

dinner for two."

"It's too early for dinner."

"All right; we'll have a lobster lunch, then."

"You're eating too many snacks these days," said Fisher sternly. "It's a wonder

you can still do up your sword belt."

"Everyone's entitled to a hobby," said Hawk.

They walked on in silence for a while, just looking around them, seeing what

there was to be seen. People in the crowds waved and smiled, or ostentatiously

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ignored them. Hawk and Fisher gave them all the same polite nod, and walked on.

They couldn't trust the smiles, and the rest didn't matter. Hawk's attention began

to drift away. He'd been in Haven for five years now, and some days it seemed

like fifty. He missed his homeland. He felt it most of all at autumn. Back in the

Forest Kingdom, the leaves would be turning bronze and gold, and the whole

sight and sound and smell of the Forest would be changing as the great trees

prepared for winter. Hawk sighed quietly and turned his attention once again to

the grimy stone houses and filthy cobbled streets of Haven. For better or worse,

he was a city boy now.

Explosions shook the air ahead, and Hawk's hand went to his axe before he

realized it was just more fireworks. The Haven electors were great ones for

fireworks; the louder and more extravagant the better. Bright splashes of

magically augmented colors burst across the sky, staining the clouds contrasting

shades until they looked like a rather messy artist's pallet. There were several

attempts at sign-writing in the sky, but they all got entangled with each other,

producing only broken lines of gibberish. The various factions quickly grew

bored, and began using the fireworks as ammunition against each other. There

were shouts and yells and the occasional scream, but luckily the fireworks weren't

powerful enough to do any real damage. Hawk and Fisher just looked the other

way and let them get on with it. It kept the crowds amused.

Sudden movement up ahead caught Hawk's eye, and he increased his pace

slightly. The crowd at the end of the street had turned away from the fireworks to

watch something more interesting. Already there were cheers and catcalls.

"Sounds like trouble," said Hawk resignedly, drawing his axe.

"It does, doesn't it?" said Fisher, drawing her sword. "Let's go and make a

nuisance of ourselves."

They pressed forward, and the crowd parted unwillingly before them, giving

ground only because of the naked steel in the Guards' hands. Hawk frowned as he

saw what had drawn the crowd's attention. At the intersection of two streets two

rival gangs of posterers were fighting each other with fists, clubs, and anything

else they could get their hands on. The crowd cheered both sides impartially, and

hurried to lay bets on the outcome.

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file:///G|/Program%20Files/eMule/Incoming/Simon%20R.%20Green%20-%20Hawk%20and%20Fisher%2002%20-%20Winner%20Takes%20All.htmlScannedbyHighroller.ProofedbyMorrigan.MadeprettierbyuseofEBookDesignGroupStylesheet.WinnerTakesAllbySimonR.GreenChapterOneTHEHOLLOWMENEverycityhasitsfavoritebloodsports.Somecitiespreferthetraditionalcrueltiesofbearbaitingorcockfights,whileothersindulgetheirbaserappetiteswithgladiatorsandarenas.ThecityportofHavengetsitsthrillsfromthedirtiest,bloodiestsportofall:politics.I...

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Simon R. Green - Hawk and Fisher 2 - Winner Takes

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