Beyond the Blue Moon (Forest Kingdom Novels) (14 page)

“Sounds good to me,” said Fisher. “I’ve no wish to go back to being Princess Julia again. Far too limiting. Besides, I’m not who I used to be.”

“No one ever is,” said Chance.

“Which is sometimes a blessing,” said Hawk. “But I’ll tell you this: If we really are finally leaving Haven for good, we’ve got a lot of business to clean up here first.”

“Right,” said Fisher.

CHAPTER THREE

Taking Care of Business

When Hawk and Fisher announced that they were making a quick stop at their lodgings before they went any further, Chance wasn’t at all sure what to expect. So far the legendary figures of Prince Rupert and Princess Julia had been, certainly not a disappointment, but nothing at all like the people he’d imagined finding at the end of his journey south. He wasn’t sure exactly who or what he’d expected, but nothing in the legends, official or otherwise, had prepared him for Hawk and Fisher. Or Haven, come to that. And he definitely hadn’t expected to find the two greatest heroes of the Demon War living in a one-room apartment over a somewhat shabby family café.

The area was quiet, and people nodded politely if not warmly to Hawk and Fisher as they passed. It was midday now, and pleasant aromas of newly prepared food drifted from the open door of the café. Chance’s stomach rumbled loudly, reminding him it had been more than a while since he’d last eaten. But Hawk and Fisher ignored the café’s open door, heading instead for a rickety wooden stairway on the side of the building. From the look of the battered wooden steps, the whole structure hadn’t been painted or repaired since it was first erected. Chance watched the stairway shake and shudder under Hawk and Fisher’s weight, sighed once, loudly, and went after them. It took all his strength to drag Chappie away from the café’s enticing aromas, and even more determination to get the reluctant animal to ascend the wooden steps.

“We took this place when we first arrived in Haven,” said Fisher over her shoulder. “It was supposed to be just a temporary measure while we looked around for something better, or at least less appalling, but somehow we never got around to moving. What with one thing and another, we rarely get to spend much time here anyway. It’s a good enough place, I suppose. Warm in winter and cool in summer, and nobody bothers us. We get free meals at the café below, because burglars, thieves, and protection thugs have learned to give it a wide berth rather than annoy us.”

“Is the food any good?” asked Chance politely.

“It’s free,” said Hawk shortly.

“Best kind,” said Chappie.

The quivering stairway ended at last at a heavy wooden door with three heavy steel locks, and a varied assortment of protective runes and sigils carved deep into the wood. Hawk produced a set of keys on a ring, from which dangled not only a rabbit’s foot, but also what looked suspiciously like a human finger bone. He unlocked the three locks, pushed open the door, and Fisher barged right past him, plunging into the room beyond with sword in hand. She looked quickly about her, and only then put her sword away and gestured for the others to come in.

“You can’t be too careful, not in Haven,” she said offhandedly. “We’ve made a lot of enemies here over the years. Came home one time and found an iron golem waiting for us. Luckily its weight was too much for the floorboards, and the damned thing crashed right through into the café below. Last I heard, they were still using its belly as an oven. Make yourselves comfortable while Hawk and I grab a few things.”

Chance looked interestedly about him as Hawk locked the door and slammed home two heavy bolts at top and bottom. The apartment was one long room, taking up the whole upper floor of the building. The three narrow windows were barred, and what little light crept in only served to show up how gloomy the rest of the place was, even at midday. Fisher lit a lantern, and a warm golden glow filled her end of the room. There wasn’t much furniture, and belongings lay piled in heaps on the floor next to the walls. Rugs and carpets of varying design and quality covered the floor, scuffed and worn smooth in places. Everything in the room looked like it had been bought secondhand, to no overall plan or design. Periods and styles clashed rebelliously, but still the apartment had a warm, cozy feel to it; of comfort and ease and peace of heart.

Chance wandered slowly round the room, looking at this and that, trying to get a feel for Hawk’s and Fisher’s characters from the way they lived, but really the only word that immediately came to mind was
slobs
. Chance couldn’t help noticing the protective wards carved into the window-sills, and even on the walls and ceilings. He recognized just enough of the simpler spells to feel very uneasy about what had presumably tried to get in sometime in the past.

“There are more defenses you can’t see,” said Hawk casually, searching through the rumpled sheets on the unmade bed at the far end of the room. “People will always find the courage to strike from a distance, and Haven is crawling with magic-users for hire.”

Chance nodded, taking in the string of garlic buds hanging on one wall, next to two crossed silver daggers and a large vial of what he assumed was holy water. “You have troubles with vampires and werewolves here?” he asked, trying hard to sound casual.

“Just now and again,” said Fisher, pulling off her boots and wiggling her toes with unrestrained satisfaction. “That stuff’s just tools of the trade in a city like Haven.”

On the wall next to the tools of the trade was a plain, unadorned crucifix, and Chance crossed himself automatically. “I see you still kept your faith, so far from home.”

“You need something to believe in in a cesspit like this,” said Hawk, staring dubiously at a pair of rolled socks.

“A lot’s changed in the Forest Church since you’ve been gone,” said Chance. “It’s a lot more organized and influential than it used to be. The long night put the fear of God into a lot of people.”

“We saw heaven once,” said Fisher, pulling on a pair of scruffy boots that looked to Chance entirely identical to the ones she’d just taken off. “Or at least, something very like it.”

“You mean you
died
?” asked Chance, uncertainly.

“Yes,” said Hawk. “But we got over it.”

Chance decided he wasn’t going to ask. He didn’t think he wanted to know. He looked around to see what mischief Chappie was getting into. The dog was ambling happily around, sniffing at everything and sticking his nose into every dark corner he could find. He found something on the floor, gobbled it up, and then spat it out at speed. He realized Chance was watching him, and grinned widely.

“Interesting place you’ve brought me to, Chance. I’ve known stables where all the horses suffered from bloat and wind that smelled more fragrant than this dump. And you’ve got mice here. I’ve found some droppings, if anyone’s interested. And a whole pile of clothes absolutely begging to be hauled off to the laundry. Don’t you people ever clean up in here?”

“We’re between maids at the moment,” said Hawk. “Ah, I wondered where I’d put this.”

He was holding up what appeared to be a small doll made out of twisted raffia, decorated with slender colored ribbons, each studded with tight little knots.

“What is it?” Chance asked politely.

“Well, it started out life as a dream-catcher, but I had a sorcerer acquaintance of ours boost its power. I won’t tell you exactly how, but the goat was never the same afterward. Now this little mannikin functions as a general protective ward against all kinds of offensive magic. It won’t last long once it’s been activated, but while it’s awake, nothing short of a major summoning will be able to get to us.”

“You think we’re going to need that kind of protection?” asked Chance.

“This is Haven,” said Fisher. “And we’re going to be stirring up one hell of a lot of trouble before we leave.” She looked reflectively at the mannikin in Hawk’s hand. “I remember when we got that. The case of the Collector of Souls and the Dread Mandalas.”

“Yeah,” said Hawk. “That was a bad one.”

Hawk and Fisher looked at each other for a moment, and then went back to rooting through their piles of possessions. Chance went back to looking about him. Half of one wall was taken up with a bookcase, mostly crammed with cheap Gothic romances. Chance pulled out a couple at random, and nodded to see the familiar garish covers of tousled gypsy lasses half falling out of their blouses, while in the background was the usual brooding mansion with one lighted window. There were times when Chance felt very strongly that the invention of the printing press had a lot to answer for. When he was at school in the north, reading wasn’t something just anybody did. He put the books back, and Hawk caught the movement.

“I know,” he said unapologetically. “But they’re cheap and cheerful, and when you limp home in the early hours at the end of a double shift, you need something not too demanding to unwind to. I like the spooky stuff; Isobel mostly goes for the romantic elements.”

“We do have other books,” Fisher pointed out huffily, but couldn’t seem to come up with any other titles on the spur of the moment.

Chance went back to wandering around the long room, stepping carefully over the empty wine bottles and an occasional discarded sock, to look at a jigsaw of impressive size, almost finished on a wide wooden board. It was a forest scene, with tall trees and bursting green foliage. Chance didn’t feel any need to comment. Everyone deals with homesickness in their own way.

“We would have finished that,” said Fisher, trying to force something large and woolly and recalcitrant into a backpack. “But Hawk’s only good at doing the borders. And he lost the last few pieces.”

“I did not lose them!” Hawk said hotly. “I don’t think they were in the box in the first place. And I can do more than borders. I just don’t have the time, mostly.”

“You’re still upset because we didn’t get the mountain scene you wanted.”

“I didn’t want it,” said Hawk, in that extremely patient tone that drives women mad. “I just said it had more colors, and would have been more challenging.”

Hawk and Fisher came together in the middle of the room, and looked quietly about them. They were both carrying bulging backpacks, crammed full of essentials. The mannikin peered out of the top of Hawk’s pack like a watchful sentinel. Chappie came and sat beside Chance, chewing happily on something he’d found. Chance knew better than to inquire what.

“We really should get going,” said Hawk.

“Yes,” agreed Fisher. But neither of them moved.

“Not a lot to show for ten years,” said Hawk. “But then, I think I always knew we were just passing through.”

“You know we can’t take much,” said Fisher. “It would only slow us down.”

“Yes, I know. But I shall miss this place. Hard to think we’ll never see it again, once we close the door behind us.”

“Do us good,” Fisher said briskly. “We were getting into a rut here anyway.”

“Part of me doesn’t want to leave,” said Hawk. “We were comfortable here. Safe. Safe from having to be heroes and legends.”

“We don’t
have
to go …” Fisher said slowly.

“Yes, we do,” said Hawk. “Vacation’s over.”

They left the apartment securely locked behind them, because to do otherwise would only call attention to their leaving, and tied their packs to the horses Hawk had requisitioned from a nearby stable. Hawk sent Chance and Chappie back to their hostelry to pick up his horse and belongings, while he and Fisher went to make their goodbyes at Guard Headquarters. They studied the streets along their way with more than usual interest, the knowledge that they’d never be seeing them again allowing Hawk and Fisher to see them with fresh eyes. After so many years in Haven, they’d become inured to far too many sights and sounds, and all the many familiar evils.

It was time for one last crusade in Haven, one last chance for justice, retribution, and the casting down of the guilty. And to hell with what the law had to say about it.

Guard Headquarters was busy as always, with any number of colorful people bustling in and out. No one paid Hawk and Fisher any unusual attention as they tied up their horses outside, tipped a Constable to keep a watch on them (because otherwise they’d have come out to find nothing left but their horseshoes), and then moved purposefully through Headquarters toward the main Stores. The Storemaster objected loudly to their unannounced visit, and demanded to see the necessary paperwork. Hawk gave him a hard look, Fisher let her hand rest on her sword’s hilt, and the Storemaster decided he was needed urgently elsewhere. He left at not quite a run, and all the clerks at their desks became very interested in their work as Hawk and Fisher strolled casually through the Stores, helping themselves to whatever they liked the look of.

There was a lot to choose from. Guard scientists were always coming up with new ideas, to help the poor souls on the beat survive another day on the mean streets of Haven. Hawk and Fisher loaded up with concussion grenades, incendiary devices, and as many throwing knives as they could carry. Hawk was particularly taken with the chaos bombs. They were new, very much untried and untested in the field, and as expensive as prototypes always are, but they were rumored to be quite amazingly destructive, and that was enough for Hawk. He stuffed all six of them into his belt pouch, and looked hopefully around for more goodies. Fisher had to smile. Hawk always loved the latest toys. Even so, they quickly decided to pass on the other latest development, drug bombs filled with black poppy dust. The one and only time the things had been used in the field, the bomb saturated the whole room with poppy dust, and criminals and Guards alike had just sat around holding hands and giggling a lot until the effects wore off.

“How about the new handcuffs?” asked Hawk. “They’re supposed to be guaranteed escape-proof.”

“I don’t think so,” said Fisher. “First, I wasn’t planning on arresting anybody, and second, the last time those things were used, they ended up having to cut the poor bugger out of them. I think we’ve got enough toys, Hawk. Let’s go and hit the Files room before word gets out.”

Hawk nodded reluctantly, and they strode briskly out of the Stores and down the main corridor. People took one look at their determined faces, and hurried to get out of their way. The Files room was currently enjoying one of its more accessible periods, thanks to a poltergeist that had moved in recently. The unseen ghost had a thing about order, and everything being in its place. It wasn’t an especially logical or useful order, but the general feeling was that some was better than none, and everything possible was being done to make the poltergeist feel at home. However, the bureaucrat in charge, one Otto Griffith, a long bony specimen with a face like a slapped behind, still saw the Files as being his personal territory, and defended them with all the spleen at his command.