God Killer

Rowan began to feel a little better as the potion began its work, and she pushed back the bedclothes and swung her legs over the side of the bed. She picked up the cup of tea, looked at it for a moment, and then sipped at it cautiously. It was strong and sweet, and a pleasant warmth moved through her. Say what you would about Tomb, and she could think of a lot, most of it based around the word irritating, the fact remained that he made a good cup of tea. Still, she was definitely going to have to do something about him. She'd made it as clear as she could that she had no feelings of any kind for him and would be just as happy if he'd find somebody else to pester, but he seemed determined not to get the point. Maybe she should try something more direct, like hitting him. She didn't really want to be unpleasant about it, but it might be kinder in the long run. It certainly wasn't fair to let him go on hanging around like this.

She smiled sourly as she sipped her tea. Not that she had time for any more complications in her life, but if someone had to fall for her, why couldn't it have been Buchan? All right, he was a few years older than she, but he still had one hell of a body. He was more experienced than Tomb, more sophisticated; he would have understood the situation. They could have had a marvelous, uncomplicated affair that was fun while it lasted but nothing to fret over when it was finished. But no. The dashing, debonair, handsome Charles Buchan couldn't be bothered to look at a dumpy little thing like her. He had to save himself for those stinking bitches at the Sisters of Joy. She sighed wistfully. Such a waste of a good man… but then, that was the way the world went. Nothing was what it seemed, nobody could be trusted, and there was no point in believing in anything unless you could hold it in your hand and check it for flaws. A harsh philosophy, but better than nothing.

She looked at the traveling clock on the mantelpiece. Buchan should be back from the Hellfire Club soon, along with the two Guards. She scowled, thinking about Hawk and Fisher. They were going to be trouble; she'd known that from the moment she first met them. They didn't understand what was happening on the Street of Gods, but that wouldn't stop them from charging blindly in, trying to put things right by brute force. They were fools, but they were dangerous fools. She yawned suddenly, and took a long, slow stretch. She looked wistfully at her warm, comfortable bed. Just another half-hour's rest would feel so good…

She heard footsteps coming up the stairs, and tensed. Her head was still too muzzy for her to See who it was. The footsteps came unhurriedly along the landing and stopped outside her door. There was a long pause, followed by a hesitant knock. Rowan relaxed, and let out her breath in a quiet sigh. She knew that knock.

"Come in, Tomb."

The sorcerer opened the door and came in, shot a quick glance at Rowan to see how she was, and then smiled winningly at her. "Just thought I'd look in and check you were up. The others will be back soon."

"Yes, I know. I'm feeling much better, thank you."

"That's good. I'm glad."

"Tomb?"

"Yes, Rowan?"

"Do you think you could shut the door? It's rather drafty in here."

"Oh. Yes. Of course."

He pushed the door shut, turned back, and tried his winning smile again. Rowan realized she was still holding the teacup and put it down on the tray.

"Thank you for leaving me tea again. That was very sweet of you."

"You're welcome." The sorcerer grinned and nodded his head, pleased.

Just like a puppy that's done a trick correctly, and wants to be patted and told he's a good dog, thought Rowan tiredly. How the hell can a first-class sorcerer like Tomb be such an idiot when it comes to women? I really don't need this. Not now.

Tomb's smile slowly disappeared, and he shuffled his feet uncertainly. "You know, Rowan, I really am getting rather concerned about you."

"You are? Why?"

"Well, this isn't the first time you've been ill like this, is it?"

"There's no need for you to worry. I'll be fine. I know what I'm doing."

Tomb visibly braced himself to disagree with her. "I know you have a lot of faith in your potions, Rowan, but I really would be a lot happier if you'd let me call in a doctor, just to look you over and make sure it's nothing serious."

Rowan glared at him. "I do not need a doctor. How many times do I have to tell you, Tomb? My health and how I look after myself are none of your business."

"But I do worry about you."

"Don't. There's no reason why you should be so concerned. Just because I'm part of the God Squad doesn't give you the right to hover around me like a broody hen. You're an acquaintance of mine. Tomb; nothing more. Is that clear?"

Tomb nodded slowly. "Yes, Rowan. Very clear."

"Now, don't go all sulky on me. How long have I got before the Guards get back with Buchan?"

Tomb's face went blank for a moment as he used the Sight. "They're just approaching the front door. I'd better go down and greet them. If you're sure you're all right now…"

"I'm fine."

"Then I'll see you in a while."

He turned and left the room quickly, before she could say anything else. Rowan heaved a quiet but vehement sigh of relief. She knew she shouldn't be so harsh with him, but that damned puppy dog routine of his was getting on her nerves. Always doing her little favors, so she'd have to say something nice to him… She got up off the bed, stripped off her nightgown, and reached for her clothes. She was looking forward to bearing Hawk and Fisher tell about what had happened at the Hellfire Club.

Everyone was back in their favorite chairs in the drawing room. Tomb handed round long, narrow glasses of his syrupy sherry, and everyone except Hawk accepted the wine with a smile. Hawk sat back in his chair and tried not to feel like a barbarian. There was a quiet moment as everyone else sipped at their drinks.

"Let's start with the Hellfire Club," said Rowan finally. "What did you think of them, Captain Hawk?"

"A bunch of amateurs, playing with magic and jumping at shadows," said Hawk bluntly. "No danger to anyone, except maybe themselves."

"But did you turn up any connection to the God Killings?" asked Tomb, sitting forward on the edge of his chair, as though anxious not to miss a syllable.

"Not really," said Fisher. "But we did come across something interesting. Before we were seconded to you. Hawk and I were investigating the murder of a sorcerer named Bode." She didn't miss the quickly stifled reactions from Buchan and Rowan at Bode's name, but carried on as though she hadn't noticed. "We didn't have time to find out who killed him, but we did discover that Bode had been hired by some unknown person to carry out a secret mission on the Street of Gods."

"Did he succeed in this mission?" said Tomb.

"We don't know," said Fisher. "We didn't find any evidence directly linking him to the God Killings, but we did discover that Bode had been experimenting with homunculi; that is, magically produced physical duplicates."

"Yes, yes," said Rowan impatiently. "We all know what a homunculus is."

Fisher gave Rowan a hard look that didn't faze the mystic a bit, and then continued. "Somehow, Bode invested one of these duplicates with all his rage and hate, and set it to guard his house against intruders. He called it the Dark Man. It was huge, muscular, and very nasty. It murdered at least four people that we know of. Hawk and I killed it."

"This is all very interesting," said Rowan, "but what has it got to do with the Hellfire Club? Or the God Killings?"

Fisher looked at Hawk to see if he'd like to continue with the story, but he was busy looking for some convenient receptacle into which he could surreptitiously empty his sherry glass. Fisher sighed quietly, and continued. "On our way back from studying the murder sites of the three dead Beings, we were attacked by a second Dark Man. We killed him. A third Dark Man tried to kill us at the Hellfire Club. We killed that one too."

For a long moment no one said anything. Tomb was frowning deeply. "Did you notice any differences between the three homunculi?"

"Yeah," said Fisher. "They're getting harder to kill."

"More than that," said Hawk, putting down his empty sherry glass. "They were all unnaturally strong, but the muscular development was different each time. There was no way it could have been the same body… and yet, each time we met, the Dark Man was much harder to deal with. It's as though he learns from his previous mistakes. I think there's one single mind controlling all the homunculi, jumping from body to body. It's also quite possible that there are more Dark Men out there somewhere, waiting for another chance at us."

The God Squad looked at each other. "Can you tell us anything about this sorcerer Bode?" said Rowan.

"Well," said Hawk, "apart from his having a mysterious mission on the Street of Gods at the same time as the Gods started dying, apparently he also gave Lord Arthur Sinclair the original inspiration for the Hellfire Club. Bode does seem to get around, doesn't he? Did any of you know him?"

Buchan nodded slowly. "I met him a few times, on the Street of Gods. Seemed a pleasant enough sort, though I never did find out what he was doing on the Street. I haven't seen him for some time."

"Was this before or after the God Killings began?" said Fisher.

"Before, I think," said Buchan.

"Did you ever meet his girlfriend?" said Hawk.

Buchan shook his head. "Didn't know he had one. Is she important?"

"Beats me," said Hawk. "Anyone else here know Bode?"

"I met him once or twice," said Rowan. "He was asking questions on the Street, so I checked him out, just to see what he was up to. We get all sorts down here, and it pays to be careful. He was a bit vague about what he was doing on the Street, but that's not unusual. He seemed harmless enough, so I let him be."

"What kind of questions was he asking?" said Fisher.

Rowan shrugged. "Questions about the Gods. Their powers, their backgrounds, things like that. The usual tourist stuff. And I didn't see any girlfriend, either."

Hawk sat quietly a moment, letting his thoughts settle. Bode was turning out to be an important link in the case, but they didn't really know anything about him. Perhaps he should contact the Guards in charge of the Bode killing, and have them send over all the papers found in Bode's house. Maybe there was something in them that would shed more light on the sorcerer…

"Assuming all the homunculi have a single mind," said Tomb slowly, "the important question must be who is controlling them."

"Well, Bode, I would assume," said Rowan. "After all, the Dark Men are all versions of his own body. Perhaps he knew he was going to die, so he committed suicide and transferred his soul into one of the homunculi. That way he'd be free to continue with his mission. Whatever it is."

"Suicide?" said Fisher. "The cause of death was a single stab wound through the heart! If it was suicide, what happened to the knife?"

"That's a good point," said Buchan. "But if it isn't Bode, who is it?"

"Presumably the anonymous person who gave him his mission," said Hawk. "Whoever it is didn't want to be seen on the Street of Gods in person. Which suggests that somebody would have known him and recognized him."

"Or her," said Fisher. "Remember the girlfriend? That could have been our unknown person, emerging briefly from the shadows to give Bode new orders."

"This is getting complicated," said Buchan. "If we assume the Dark Men aren't really Bode, why are they still after Hawk and Fisher?"

"Because we're dangerous," said Hawk. "We're getting closer to the truth, and the Dark Man knows it."

"Wait a minute," said Tomb. "We're overlooking something important. Did I understand you to say that the sorcerer Bode was killed in his own house? Why didn't his magic protect him?"

"Good question," said Hawk. "We don't know. When we got there, there was no trace of magic anywhere in the house; no wards, no booby traps, nothing."

"That's insane," said Tomb flatly. "Even after his death, the protective wards should still have been there. They usually have to be dismantled by another sorcerer. Dammit, every sorcerer has wards of some kind; you can't work without them."

"All right," said Hawk. "So it's crazy. Doesn't surprise me. The whole damn case is crazy."

"But it is definitely looking more and more like one case," said Fisher.

"It seems to me," said Buchan, "that we're not going to get anywhere until we can find out what Bode was doing here on the Street. That's got to be the key to everything."

"So it would seem," said Tomb. "In which case, it's fortunate I asked an acquaintance of mine to join us here this evening. I thought Hawk and Fisher ought to meet him. He's very knowledgeable about the Street of Gods. It's said that nothing happens on the Street that he doesn't know about, often before it happens."

"Oh, no," said Buchan. "You haven't. You haven't called him in, have you? Not Lacey?"

"Dirty little sneak," muttered Rowan.

"He serves a purpose," said Tomb firmly. He turned to Hawk and Fisher and smiled, almost apologetically. "In order to do our job here on the Street, we have to be in constant touch with everything that's going on. Given the nature of the Street of Gods, that can be rather difficult. Rowan and I both have the Sight, but there's a limit to how much ground we can cover. So we are forced to depend on various reliable sources for our information."

"Right," said Buchan. "Half our budget goes on bribe money."

"And most of that goes to Lacey," said Rowan.

"He's always proved most useful to us," said Tomb. "He has his own organization of informants and eavesdroppers. They bring him all the news, rumor, and gossip, and he puts it all together. He's predicted more trends, business deals, heresies, and conspiracies than all our other sources put together."

"He's also a nasty, repellent little creep, and he makes my skin crawl," said Rowan.

"We know the sort," said Hawk. "We use informants in our line of work, too."

"How much do you pay them?" asked Buchan.

Hawk grinned. "Isobel lets them live. They seem happy to settle for that."

"Anyway," said Tomb, "our man Lacey is waiting just down the hall. With your permission, I'll have him join us."

He looked around for objections, but no one said anything. Buchan clearly didn't give a damn, and Rowan was sulking. Tomb gestured sharply with his left hand, and the drawing room door swung open on its own.

"Do come in, Lacey. There's a good fellow!" said Tomb loudly.

There was a pause, and then a wide, fleshy figure appeared in the doorway, smiling ingratiatingly. He was better than average in height, but his great bulk made him look shorter. He moved slowly but with surprising grace, and something in the way he held himself suggested he was no stranger to violence, should it prove necessary. He had a round bland face, the main features of which were his small, dark eyes and constant smile. Fisher didn't like the smile. It looked practiced. His hair was dark and greasy, plastered flat and parted neatly down the middle. Just looking at him, you knew immediately that you could trust him completely, provided you kept up the payments, but that the moment you ran out of money he'd disappear in an instant. The smile got worse the more you saw of it; the insincerity of it grated on the nerves like fingernails on a blackboard. All in all, Lacey was the kind of man you didn't want to shake hands with, in case some of his personality rubbed off on you.

"My dear Tomb, how nice to see you again. Looking well, as always. And your charming associates, Buchan and Rowan; two of my favorite people." His voice sounded exactly the way you'd expect it to. Soft and breathy and thoroughly oily. The kind of sound a toad would make if it was trying to sell you a horse that nobody wanted. "Always happy to be of service to you, my friends. Now then, I see we have guests present; Captains of our illustrious city Guard, no less. Will you honor me with your names, sir and madam?"

"Captain Hawk and Captain Fisher," said Hawk. "We're here on official business."

Something happened to Lacey's face. He didn't flinch and he didn't stop smiling, but his eyes were suddenly cold and watchful. He looked very much as though he'd like to see how far it was to the door but didn't quite dare look. Apparently even on the Street of Gods, people had heard of Hawk and Fisher.

"The renowned Captains Hawk and Fisher; an honor indeed to make your acquaintance. What can I do for you?"

"We need information," said Rowan. "Not long ago, a sorcerer named Bode appeared on the Street, asking questions about the Gods. What can you tell us about him?"

Lacey smiled like a decrepit cherub, lowered himself into the one remaining chair, and laced his fingers across his vast stomach. "Bode. Yes, I know that name." He paused a moment, to arrange his weight more comfortably, and the chair creaked loudly. He smiled about him pleasantly, and then began to speak without pause or hesitation, as though he'd only been waiting for permission to speak a piece he'd already prepared. For all Hawk knew, that might just be the case.

"Bode was a low-level sorcerer," said Lacey. "Mainly interested in alchemy and the production of homunculi. An expensive interest, which he supported through his extensive knowledge of pills and potions. He was well known in his field, but was never going to be anyone important. He lacked the drive, and the determination. He knew this, but it didn't seem to bother him. He was not, by all accounts, ambitious.

"He first appeared on the Street of Gods just over a month ago, asking questions about the powers and backgrounds of the Gods. Where they came from, what attributes they possessed, why people worshipped them—the usual tourist stuff. Unlike most tourists, however. Bode wasn't prepared to settle for the usual answers. He kept digging for more and more details, refusing to be put off, even when it was made clear to him that some of his questions were not appreciated by the Beings involved. He just pressed even harder for answers, putting things together, despite several quite specific warnings. He was either very brave, very stupid, or lacking in any sense of self-preservation.

"He died quite recently, at his home in the Northside. Accounts of the manner of his death seem confused, but all the accounts agree that the good Captains Hawk and Fisher were somehow involved. As investigating officers."

Lacey sat back in his chair, smiling serenely in a self-satisfied way. There was a long pause, as everyone digested the information he'd provided.

"Did anyone spot anything… unusual, about Bode?" Hawk asked carefully.

"Well, apart from what I've already told you, there were a few interesting occurrences. Several times on the Street Bode was recognized by old friends, who went over to talk to him, as old friends do. It would appear that Bode was very short with them on these occasions. He wouldn't discuss his business, or what he was doing on the Street, and on some occasions even pretended not to know them. All of which was most unlike Bode. Perhaps he thought he was acting undercover, so to speak, but he'd made no effort to disguise himself."

"Did anyone ever see Bode looking… different?" asked Fisher. "Larger, more muscular?"

Lacey looked at her sharply. "An interesting question, Captain. It is true that since Bode's death previously reliable sources have reported seeing Bode walking the Street of Gods again, looking… somehow different. Perhaps you can shed a little light on that, Captain?"

"Not right now," said Fisher. "According to some reports, Bode sometimes met his girlfriend on the Street. Can you tell us anything about her?"

"Unfortunately I have been able to learn very little about her, Captain. She appeared on only three occasions, each time heavily muffled under a cloak and hood. On the last occasion two of my associates tried to get a close look at her. They both died, right there on the Street."

Hawk leaned forward on his chair. "How did they die?"

"Natural causes, Captain. Heart attacks. Simultaneous heart attacks."

"Sorcery," said Fisher. Lacey inclined his head in agreement but said nothing.

"So," said Rowan, "we have a sorcerer and a sorceress on the Street of Gods, asking questions about the Beings. Questions the Beings don't want to answer. Perhaps that's why the Beings died; because they wouldn't answer the questions."

"Or because they did," said Buchan.

Fisher looked at him. "I'm not sure I follow that."

"I'm not sure I do myself," said Buchan. "What worries me is how the Beings died. You'd need a hell of a lot of power to overcome a Being on his own territory. You'd need a sorcerer the level of the High Warlock. And if someone like that was on the Street, we'd all know about it."

"Let's move away from Bode for a moment," said Tomb. "Lacey, what is the situation on the Street at present? How are the Beings reacting to the murders?"

"Badly, my dear friend. There's a great deal of unease in the Street, both inside and outside the temples. In their own way, the Beings are quite frightened. They all tend to paranoia at the best of times. Right now most of them are busy looking for an enemy they can blame everything on; someone to strike back at. Old rivalries are becoming more intense. Old hatreds are being fueled afresh. Everyone knows you're doing your best to find the killer, but the Gods aren't known for their patience. I fear it's only a matter of time before some God decides to take matters in its own hands and strikes the first blow. And we all know what that would lead to."

"You're talking about a God War," said Tomb.

"Yes, I'm rather afraid I am. Unless something is done soon, something significant, things are going to get worse on the Street very quickly. As it is, we're all waiting for the inevitable spark to set off a conflagration none of us can hope to put out."

There was another long pause.

"I can't help feeling we're missing something," said Buchan. "Something so close we can't see the wood for the trees. Lacey, do you know of any connection between the three dead Beings?"

For the first time, Lacey looked a little uneasy, though his smile never wavered. "Well, there is one… coincidence, my friends, but it may be nothing more than that…"

"We'll decide what's important," said Rowan sharply. "What is it?"

Lacey braced himself visibly. "Each of the dead Beings received a visit from the Deity Division, on official business, not long before their death."

Hawk looked sharply at Tomb. "Is that right?"

"Well, yes. But we visit Beings all the time. It's part of our job. We've visited so many Beings recently, I hadn't even noticed the dead Beings were included."

"But it is a connection," said Fisher.

And then the voice of the Guard's communications sorcerer boomed suddenly in Hawk and Fisher's minds:

Riot on the Street of Gods! Riot on the Street of Gods! All available personnel report to the Street of Gods immediately. This command overrides all other orders and priorities until further notice.

Hawk and Fisher scrambled to their feet, their hands clawing instinctively for their weapons. The God Squad were on their feet too, looking equally shocked. They'd picked up the message, too. Lacey rose uncertainly to his feet.

"My friends, what is it? What has happened?"

"It seems your information came a little too late this time," said Rowan. "Someone's just fired the first shot in a God War."

She ran out of the door, with Tomb close behind her. Lacey made as though to approach Buchan, and then hesitated.

"Pardon my intrusion, my friends, but about my fee…"

"Worry about that later," said Hawk. "Buchan…"

"But…"

"I said later!" Hawk glared at Lacey, and the informer backed quickly away. Hawk turned back to Buchan, who was still standing in a daze. "I think we ought to get moving, sir Buchan. The riot won't wait for us to get there."

"Of course. I'm sorry. I just never really thought it would happen, that's all. There hasn't been a serious riot on the Street in almost seventy years."

"Seventy-one," said Lacey. No one paid any attention.

"You're the expert," Hawk said to Buchan. "What's the best thing to do?"

"Pray," said Buchan. "But make sure you pick the right God."

Hawk could hear the riot long before he could see it. Screams of rage and horror and anguish blended into a rising cacophony of sound that permeated the night air. The Street of Gods felt strangely out of synch, as though the various realities that made it up were no longer in alignment. Churches appeared and disappeared, and doors changed shape. Unnatural lights blazed in the starless sky, spread across the night like colour on a madman's palette. A surging vibration trembled in the ground underfoot, like the slow, regular heartbeat of something indescribably huge, buried down below.

Hawk and Fisher ran down the Street, weapons at the ready. They'd been running for some time, but the riot didn't seem to be getting any nearer. The Street was like that, sometimes, but at that moment it wasn't doing a thing for Hawk's nerves. He breathed deeply, trying to get more air into his lungs, and hoped his second wind would kick in soon. Fisher seemed to be struggling a little too, and she could usually run him into the ground. Buchan, on the other hand, was loping effortlessly along beside them, as though he covered this kind of distance every day before breakfast and thought nothing of it. With his physique, maybe he did. Hawk tried to stick with that train of thought, but his mind insisted on bringing him back to what passed for reality on the Street of Gods. The Guard communications sorcerer hadn't been very specific about how bad the riot was, but he wouldn't have sent out a general alarm like that unless his superiors had been sure something extremely nasty was happening up ahead.

He wondered briefly where Tomb and Rowan were. They'd disappeared even before Hawk had left God Squad headquarters, but there was no sign of them on the Street. Maybe they knew a shortcut. Maybe they'd already got to the riot, and had things safely under control. Yeah, thought Hawk sourly, and while I'm wishing, I'd like a fortune in jewels as well, please. The constant roar of noise was growing louder, uglier and more violent by the minute. Hawk rounded a comer that hadn't been there the last time he'd been this way, and then skidded to a halt, Fisher and Buchan piling up beside him. They'd found the riot.

Hundreds, maybe thousands of gaudily robed priests and acolytes were milling back and forth on the Street, furiously attacking each other with swords and fists and broken bottles. Everywhere there were bloody hands and faces, and unmoving bodies were being trampled blindly underfoot by the savage mob. Old hatreds were running loose and free, as age-old vendettas finally came to a head. Blinding lights flared from churches and temples, and overhead the sky churned sickly with uncontrolled magic. A handful of Guards had got there before Hawk and Fisher, and were fighting back to back on the edges of the crowd, too busy trying to stay alive to do anything about the riot. The Street belonged to the fanatics now, and they didn't care who they killed. A dozen green-robed priests swarmed over a Guard Constable and knocked him to the ground. He disappeared behind a host of swinging boots.

Hawk and Fisher waded in to help. Whatever else was happening. Guards looked after their own. They had to. No one else would. Hawk's axe swept back and forth in short, vicious arcs, and blood flew on the air. The priests scattered, and Fisher cut down those who didn't move fast enough. No one attacked a Guard and got away with it. It might give people ideas. The remaining priests disappeared into the crowd, and Buchan stood guard as Hawk and Fisher got the battered Constable to his feet and led him to the safety of a recessed doorway. There was blood on his face and his legs were shaky, but he seemed more or less intact. He nodded his thanks, and tried to get his thoughts together.

"Have you been here long?" asked Hawk.

"Can't be more than ten, twenty minutes," said the Constable breathlessly. "But it seems like forever. Just my luck to be working a beat so close to the Street of Gods when the riot call came…"

"Do you know what caused all this?" said Fisher.

"Seems another God has been murdered," said the Constable. He paused to wipe blood out of his eyes. Buchan passed him an immaculately clean handkerchief, and the Constable pressed it gingerly to his forehead. "The Lord of the New Flesh is dead. Someone ripped both its hearts right out of its breast. The High Priest found the body less than an hour ago. Didn't take long for word to get around. We don't know who actually started the riot. Could have been anybody."

"Details can wait," said Fisher. "How many more Guards are there already here?"

"There were seventeen. We all got here about the same time, but the crowd separated us. We'd better get some reinforcements here soon. The Beings are mad as hell and scared spitless. It's only a matter of time before one of them decides to take a hand personally. And you can bet your arse if one God comes out onto the Street, they all bloody will. Where the hell's the God Squad? They're supposed to prevent things like this from happening!"

"They're here somewhere," said Hawk, carefully not looking at Buchan. "We'll just have to try and keep the lid on things until they get their act together. Has anybody sent for the SWAT team?"

The Guard smiled sourly. "First thing we did when we got here was to scream for the SWAT team. But according to the communications sorcerer, they're busy dealing with an emergency on the other side of the city. Typical. They're never bloody around when they're needed. We need them here! We can't cope with this!"

"Take it easy," said Fisher. "We're just Guards, not heroes. No one expects us to cope with everything. We just do the best we can." She broke off to wave urgently at a contingent of Guards running down the Street toward them. "Look; you join up with this bunch, and fill them in on the situation. We'll do what we can here. Now move it!"

The Constable nodded briefly, and moved off to intercept the newcomers. Hawk and Fisher looked at the growing riot, and then at Buchan.

"If it was up to me," said Hawk, "I'd just let them get on with it. With a bit of luck all the fanatics would kill each other off and the Street of Gods would be a far more peaceful place. But, unfortunately, the Constable was right. If we don't break this up, the Gods will get involved. And if that happens, I for one am not hanging around to see who wins. I am going to beg, borrow, or steal a pair of fast horses, and you can wave Fisher and me goodbye as we head for the nearest horizon."

Buchan looked at Fisher. "He really would, wouldn't he?"

"No," said Fisher. "He's not that sensible. He always did think about his duty too damned much. And since I won't leave without him, it looks like we're here for the duration." She looked out over the frenzied mob and shook her head disgustedly. "I've seen smaller armies. You're the expert, Buchan. How do we handle this?"

"Clear the Street," said Buchan firmly. "Don't worry about the Gods; Tomb and Rowan will take care of them if necessary. The rioters are our responsibility."

"Get everyone off the Street," said Hawk. "Just like that?"

"It's not difficult," said Buchan. "We just have to make them more scared of us than they are of anything else. They may look dangerous, but most of them aren't armed, and those who are probably don't have much combat experience. Either way, they're no match for professionals like us."

Hawk looked it him steadily. "So we just wade right in and slaughter everything that moves. Is that it?"

"Pretty much," said Buchan. "And watch yourselves; rioting is a capital offence, and they know it. They'll kill you if you give them an opening. Don't make the mistake of thinking they'll respond to reason. They won't. They're beyond that now. So just do what you have to do, and worry about the body count later."

He walked unhurriedly into the riot, and his sword flashed. Robed bodies fell to the ground and didn't move again.

"The trouble is, he's right," said Hawk. "I hate this job sometimes."

"If we don't stop this riot, hundreds will die," said Fisher. "Maybe thousands. What are a few lives, compared to that?"

"I know," said Hawk. "But it doesn't make it any easier. I joined the Guard to protect people, not butcher them. Come on, lass. Let's do it."

Fisher nodded, and together they moved silently into the riot and began the slaughter. They worked back to back, blades swinging, and blood splashed their cloaks. Robes of all shapes and colors surged around Hawk, the fanatics nothing more than angry faces and flailing fists. A few had swords. Some had clubs and lengths of chain. None of them stood a chance against Hawk and Fisher. Hawk swung his axe back and forth in wide, brutal arcs, and bodies crumpled to every side of him. Fisher guarded his back, her blade a silver blur as men and women fell screaming to the ground. The crowd began to fall back around them, and some of the rioters turned to flee rather than face the grim-faced Guards.

More Guards spilled onto the Street of Gods from all directions, drawn from all over the city, and soon the cobbled ground was slippery with blood and gore. An armoured contingent arrived from the Brotherhood of Steel, eager for a fight and determined to restore order. The sound of the crowd changed, fear replacing rage, and it began to crumble and fall apart under the onslaught of so many determined professional fighting men. Priests and acolytes threw down their weapons and ran for the safety of their temples. Piles of dead and injured lay scattered across the Street, mostly ignored. Some of them were Guards. A handful of Guard sorcerers appeared on the scene, and slowly the shifting realities returned to what passed for normal on the Street of Gods.

Hawk slowly lowered his axe and looked about him, panting for breath. The Street was emptying fast, and a slow sullen silence had fallen across the night. Tired-looking Guards were sorting the injured rioters from the dead, and finishing the job. Rioting, as Buchan had said, was a capital offence. Hawk turned his head away, and sat down suddenly, his back to a wall. There were some things he wouldn't do, and to hell with what the law said. Fisher sat down beside him, and leaned against him, her head on his shoulder.

"They're not paying us enough for this," she said indistinctly.

"They couldn't pay us enough for this," said Hawk.

"Then why are we doing it?"

"Because someone has to protect the innocent and avenge the wronged. It's a matter of honor. And duty."

"That argument doesn't sound as convincing as it used to."

Hawk nodded slowly. "At least the worst is over now."

A harsh metallic scream broke the silence, deafeningly loud and utterly inhuman. Hawk and Fisher scrambled to their feet and looked round just in time to see something huge and deadly surging out of a temple doorway not nearly big enough to let it through. Stone and timber broke apart and fell away as the Being emerged onto the Street of Gods. It was at least thirty feet high, a shimmering patchwork of metal fragments held together by rags and strings of rotting flesh. Patches of dark, discoloured skin revealed splintered bone and obscurely connected metal mechanisms. Steel and crystal machine parts thrust through the tattered hide, their razor-sharp edges grinding together as the Being rose to its full height. A roaring crimson fire burned in its steel belly and glowed in its bony eye sockets.

It had slender jagged arms with long-clawed hands that shimmered in its own bloody light. Broken silver chains hung from its wrists. Its steel jaws snapped together like a man-trap. A long tail studded with bony spikes lashed back and forth behind it. The Being threw back its long, wedge-shaped head and screamed defiance at the night. It had got out, and there was nothing anyone could do to stop it. It screamed again, a harsh metallic shriek that sent a sudden shiver through Hawk. There was nothing remotely human in the sound. The creature should never have lived, and was not alive in any way that made sense. But this was the Street of Gods, and it had got out, and not even those who had prayed to it for so long could hope to control it now.

It lowered its massive head, and looked at the Guards and Brothers of Steel gathered before it. There were close on three hundred armed men facing the Being, and Hawk knew with a sickening certainty that they weren't going to be enough. The huge creature darted forward, and its razor-sharp claws raked through a dozen men. More died screaming as the creature surged back and forth, crushing men under its massive bulk. Swords and axes cut uselessly at the Being's patchwork hide. Its long head snapped down to bite a man in half. Blood dripped from the metal jaws like steaming saliva. The Guards and the Brotherhood fell back, only their training keeping them from utter panic. The few Guard sorcerers roared and chanted, but their magics shattered harmlessly against the rogue Being, whose very existence defied the laws of reality.

"Where the hell did that thing come from?" said Fisher, as she and Hawk peered warily at the creature from the shadows of a concealed doorway.

"Must be a God of some kind," said Hawk.

"You mean there are people crazy enough to worship that?"

"This is Haven, Isobel; they'll worship bloody anything here. And if one God's out, it won't be long before more come out to join it. I think this might be a good time to make a strategic retreat."

Fisher looked at him sharply. "We're not going anywhere, Hawk. We're God Squad now. And since the rest of the Squad has apparently vanished, that means that thing is our responsibility. It has to be stopped here, before it gets into a more populated part of the city."

Hawk scowled. "I hate it when you're right. Okay; you take left, I'll take right. We'll circle round behind the thing and see if we can cut through whatever it has instead of tendons in its legs. That should bring it down to our height if nothing else."

"And if that doesn't work?"

"Pray really hard that Tomb and Rowan are on their way here, instead of doing the sensible thing and hiding in a storm cellar somewhere."

"You worry too much, Hawk. After all, we've faced worse, in our time."

They shared a smile, and then separated, darting silently from shadow to shadow as they made their way behind the unliving creature. The Being reared up to its full height and glared down at the Guards and Brothers of Steel scattered around it. It screamed again, the inhuman sound echoing on and on. The sound was almost painfully loud as Hawk emerged from the shadows behind the Being, hefting his axe. Up close, the dead flesh smelt of corruption and burning oil. The Being's leg was taller than Hawk and easily twice as broad. There were flat plates of metal sliding against each other, and fraying ropes of muscle that flexed and tore with every movement. Steel cables stretched and hummed, lined with traceries of broken veins. Hawk looked at the axe in his hand and shook his head slowly.

This is probably a really bad idea…

He gripped the axe firmly with both hands, and swung it with all his strength at one of the steel cables in the left leg. The heavy axe sheared clean through the cable, and wedged itself between the moving parts inside the leg. The Being screamed deafeningly. Hawk tugged at his axe, but it was stuck tight. The Being lifted its leg, and Hawk was jerked up into the air, still clinging grimly to his axe. The foot slammed down heavily, cracking the cobbled ground, and Hawk was thrown clear. He lay on his back a moment, dazed, and then rolled quickly to one side. The taloned foot slammed down where he'd been lying. He clambered shakily to his feet, and saw his axe protruding from the leg, just in front of him. He grabbed it firmly with both hands, pulled hard, and almost fell down again as it came away easily. The impact of the stamping foot had jarred it loose.

Great, thought Hawk, circling quickly to keep behind the Being, Now what do I do? Cutting the cable didn't even slow the bloody thing down.

He caught a glimpse of something moving on the edge of his vision. He spun round, axe at the ready, and then relaxed a little as he saw it was Fisher. He just had time to nod acknowledgement, and then both of them had to throw themselves to the ground as a huge clawed hand slashed through the air where they'd been a moment before. They hit the ground rolling and were up and running before the Being could turn to face them. They ran in different directions to confuse it, but the huge creature paused only briefly before going after Fisher. Hawk swore briefly, and running after the Being, cut at one of its legs with his axe to get the creature's attention. The great wedge head swung down toward him, full of bloody steel teeth over a foot long. Hawk threw himself between the creature's legs and pounded down the Street after Fisher. The Being screamed deafeningly, and started after them.

The two Guards darted into a narrow alleyway, and the Being lurched to a halt at the alley mouth, uncertain how to get at them. Hawk and Fisher backed away down the alley, not taking their eyes off the creature. And then it slowly turned its head and looked away, as though sensing a greater menace close at hand. It looked back down the Street, and turned quickly to face the new threat. Hawk and Fisher watched silently from the protective shadows.

Tomb and Rowan were standing side by side in the middle of the Street of Gods, facing the rogue Being. Everyone else had disappeared. Only the dead remained, scattered over the cobbles like so many crumpled heaps of bloody clothing. The Being stared at Tomb and Rowan with its furnace eyes, and then started slowly, deliberately, toward them. Rowan held up her left hand. A small blue jewel blazed brightly in her grasp, the azure light spilling between her fingers. The Exorcist Stone. Rowan spoke a single Word of Power, and in a moment that seemed to last forever, the world changed.

Reality convulsed, shaking like a plucked harp string, and the rogue Being was suddenly no longer there. There was a sharp clap of thunder as air rushed in to fill the vacuum left by its sudden disappearance. And as quickly as that, it was all over. The night air was still and quiet, and the Street of Gods was calm again. Tomb and Rowan turned away as the Guards and Brothers of Steel reappeared on the Street and moved among them, doing what they could to help the injured. The Exorcist Stone had disappeared, tucked casually away into one of Rowan's pockets.

Hawk and Fisher leaned wearily back against the wall at the alley mouth, eyes closed, letting their aching muscles slowly relax. Tiredness so deep it was more like pain coursed through Hawk's body, tugging at his muscles like a persistent beggar demanding attention.

"So," he said finally. "That was the Exorcist Stone."

"Yeah," said Fisher. "Impressive. Pretty colour, too."

"If nothing else, it should calm things down a bit. Both the Beings and their priests will think twice before getting out of line again."

"Don't bank on it," said Fisher. "That's too sensible, too logical. Nothing on this bloody Street is ever logical."

"True."

They moved out onto the Street of Gods to help with the injured. Tomb waved and smiled at them briefly, but he and Rowan were too busy to break away. Buchan appeared from among a group of Guards, caught Hawk and Fisher's attention, and strode quickly toward them. Hawk took in Buchan's face and stance, and his heart sank. Whatever the man had to say. Hawk knew instinctively he didn't want to hear it. Buchan came to a halt before Hawk and

Fisher, and nodded briskly. There was blood on his clothes and hands, none of it his.

"Whatever it is, the answer's no," said Hawk flatly. "I don't care if someone's planning to destroy the whole Street of Gods. I might even applaud. Isobel and I are exhausted. We've worked too hard too long, and we're way behind on our sleep. That's a dangerous state to be in. It's too easy to make mistakes when you're tired. So, Isobel and I are going to help out here for a while, and then we're going home to get some sleep. Whatever you want will just have to wait."

"Right," said Fisher.

"Sleep can wait," said Buchan. "This can't. I was just talking to one of the Guard sorcerers. Something nasty is building at Hightower Hall. Something really nasty. Tomb and Rowan can't go. They're needed here. That just leaves us."

"Read my lips," said Hawk. "We're not going. Isobel's out on her feet and I'm not much better. If the Hellfire Club's got their fingers burnt, it's their own damned fault."

"This is God Squad business," said Buchan. "We can't turn our back on people who need us just because we don't like them."

"Watch me. Isobel's in no state…"

"Oh, hell, let's go," said Fisher. "The time we spend arguing with Buchan, we could be there and back. Besides, I haven't got the strength to argue."

"That's the spirit," said Buchan. "It's only a mile or so to High Tory from here. We can do it in ten minutes if we hurry. Don't you just love working in the God Squad? Never a dull moment."

He set off briskly down the Street of Gods, and Hawk and Fisher moved wearily after him.

"If he doesn't stop being so bloody cheerful," growled Hawk ominously, "I am personally going to tie both his legs in a square knot."

"I'll help," said Fisher.

They hurried after Buchan, muttering mutinously under their breath. From the shadows of a side alley, the Dark Man watched them go but made no move to follow.

Chapter Six

Needs, Desires, And Other Motives

By the time they reached Hightower Hall, Hawk had found his second wind and was feeling only moderately shattered. The crisp cold air of winter felt refreshing after the close, humid warmth of the Street of Gods, and helped to clear his head. Even so, it was Buchan who noticed the first sign of something amiss. He stopped well short of the tall iron gates and looked uncertainly about him. Hawk and Fisher stopped with him, their hands dropping automatically to their weapons.

"What's wrong?" said Fisher.

"It's too quiet," said Buchan slowly. "And there's no one watching the gates. Where are all the men-at-arms? They wouldn't just go off and leave the gates unguarded." He reached out and pushed at the gates, and they swung slowly open at the pressure. "Not even locked. Something unexpected must have happened. An emergency, a call for help; something. The men-at-arms went to investigate… and never came back." He looked slowly around him, senses straining and alert. "There's something else too; a feeling on the air…"

Hawk nodded. He could feel it prickling on his skin and scratching at his nerves; a vague pressure, like the building tension on the air that warns of an approaching storm. "Magic," he said flatly. "The Hellfire Club finally found a ritual that worked."

He hefted his axe once, and then moved cautiously through the gates and into the grounds. The only light came from the half-moon overhead and the wide blazing windows of the Hall. All was still and quiet. There was no sign of men-at-arms anywhere. Hawk padded softly forward, Fisher and Buchan close behind him, swords at the ready. They walked on the grass, avoiding the gravel pathway. Gravel was noisy. The hall loomed up ahead, silhouetted against the night sky.

Almost halfway there, Hawk found two of the guard dogs. They were lying stretched out on the grass, still and silent, two darker shadows in the gloom. Hawk knelt down beside them, and pushed one gently with his fingertips. The body rolled slightly back and forth, and then was still again. Both dogs were dead. He checked them over quickly, but there was no sign of any wound, no trace to show what had killed them. It was as though they'd just lay down where they were, and the life went out of them.

"Captain Fisher," said Buchan quietly. "Do you still have your suppressor stone?"

"Sure," said Fisher. "Why?"

"Activate it. Now. And you and Captain Hawk had better stay close together. That way, the stone will protect you both from any general magic in the area."

"What about you?" said Hawk.

"I have my own stone," said Buchan. "Now let's get moving. Something bad has happened at the Hall, and I have a horrible feeling we've got here too late to stop it."

He and Fisher muttered over their suppressor stones, and then the three of them moved warily forward into the darkness, their eyes fixed on the Hall. There was still no sign of any movement at the brightly blazing windows. Hawk was the first to reach the front door. It was open, standing slightly ajar. Hawk pushed at it with his foot. The door moved back a way, and then stopped as it hit an obstruction. Hawk eased himself through the narrow gap and looked down to see what was blocking the door. As he'd expected, it was a body: one of the men-at-arms. Hawk knelt down and checked quickly for vital signs. The man-at-arms was alive, but only just. His skin was cold and deathly pale, his pulse slow, and his breathing disturbingly shallow. Hawk straightened up and looked along the hallway. More men-at-arms lay scattered and unmoving the length of the entrance hall. Hawk squeezed through the doorway, followed by Fisher and Buchan.

"There was an emergency," said Buchan quietly. "Someone called for help. The men-at-arms came running, from the house and from the grounds. This was as far as they got. Whatever the Hellfire Club has called up, it didn't want to be disturbed."

"But how could they have called up something?" said Fisher. "They were a bunch of amateurs; you said so yourself."

"They must have had help."

Hawk frowned. "What kind of help?"

"Good question," said Buchan. "Let's go and find out."

He took the lead, and guided Hawk and Fisher unerringly through the maze of corridors that led to the ballroom. The silence was complete, broken only by their own soft footsteps. They found servants here and there, lying crumpled where they fell, struck down by the same deathly sleep. Hawk peered continuously about him, skin crawling in anticipation of the attack that never came, his tiredness burned away by rising adrenalin.

They finally came to the closed double doors that led to the ballroom. Buchan made as though to push the doors open and walk straight in, but Hawk stopped him with a cautious hand on his arm. He looked warily around him, then stepped forward, and pressed his ear against the right-hand door. He couldn't hear anything. Either the wood was too thick, or there wasn't anything to hear. Taking hold of both door-handles, he very carefully eased the doors open an inch or two and then stepped back. He made sure his grip on his axe was secure, looked quickly at Fisher and Buchan, then stepped forward and kicked the doors open. The three of them surged forward to fill the doorway, weapons at the ready.

The Quality lay strewn across the waxed and polished floor of the ballroom in their brightly colored finery, like so many broken butterflies. They lay singly or in heaps, wherever they'd been standing when the magic struck them down. Most were awake but unable to move. Some were moaning quietly, as much in horror as in pain. All of them looked withered and ancient, aged long beyond their years, held somehow on the very edge of death as their life drained slowly out of them. Those nearest the blue chalk circle looked almost mummified. And there, in the middle of the ballroom, inside the blue circle, stood the thing the Hellfire Club had called up out of the Gulfs. It looked across at the doorway, and smiled charmingly.

"Well, now," it said in a soft, pleasant voice. "Visitors. How nice."

The figure was six feet tall, quite naked, and aesthetically muscular in a way usually achieved only by statues. Its face was classically handsome and unmarked by time, so flawlessly perfect as to be almost inhuman. A raw sensuality burned around it like an invisible flame attractive and repellent in its uncaring arrogance, like bitter honey or the smell of an open wound masked by perfume. It was the perfect embodiment of the male form, burning with ruthless vitality.

"What's wrong with the Quality?" said Fisher softly. "What's happened to them?"

"The creature they called up is draining the life right out of them," said Buchan. "Their deaths will make it even more powerful. Even a low-level sorcerer would have known to set wards so this couldn't happen, but these people were amateurs, and they didn't know. At least they had enough sense to draw a restraining circle. That should hold it for a while."

"How long?" said Hawk, not taking his gaze from the figure before him.

"Only as long as it takes to drain its summoners dry," said Buchan. "After that, it'll be powerful enough to break the circle, and there'll be nothing we can do to stop it."

"What about the Exorcist Stone?" said Fisher.

Buchan smiled tiredly. "The creature will be gone long before we could get the Stone here, and all the Quality will be dead."

"Great," said Hawk. "Just great." He moved slowly forward, stopping right at the edge of the chalk circle. The creature watched him intently, still smiling its perfect smile. Hawk looked into its dark unblinking eyes and saw no humor there, or any other emotion he could recognize. "Who are you?" he said harshly. "What are you?"

"I'm what they wanted," said the thing in the circle. "I'm all the darkness in their souls, all their hidden hates and wants and desires set free at last, given shape and form and substance, in me. I'm strong and beautiful and perfect because that's what they wanted me to be. Or perhaps because that's how they see themselves, in the privacy of their mind's eye. It really doesn't matter. They gave me life, whether they meant to or not, and they'll go on giving me life until they die. Then, when I have fully come into my power, I'll leave them here and go out into the city. A new Being, in all his glory. A new God for the Street of Gods. And men shall worship me as they always have, under one name or another, in blood and suffering and all the hidden darkness of their souls. I shall be very happy here. This city was built with me in mind."

"I've met your kind before," said Hawk. "You're just another Dark Man with delusions of grandeur, that's all."

"I shall show you blood and horror," said the creature pleasantly. "I will break your body and your spirit, and you will praise me before I let you die. You don't understand what I am. What I really am. I'm everything that ever scared you, every dark impulse you tried to hide, your worst nightmare given flesh and blood and bone."

"You're also stuck in that circle," said Fisher, moving forward to stand beside Hawk. "And if you had any power to use against us, you'd have used it by now. You're not leaving this circle. You're not going anywhere. We'll see to that."

"So brave," said the creature. "And so foolish. You are nothing compared to me."

Fisher grinned. "Fancies himself, doesn't he? Let's see how he likes half a yard of cold steel rammed through his appendix."

"No!" said Buchan, moving quickly forward to join the two Guards at the edge of the circle. "Don't try it. Captain. You can't reach the thing from outside the circle, and once you cross the chalk line your suppressor stone wouldn't be able to protect you anymore. The creature would drain you dry just like the Quality."

"No problem," said Fisher. She sheathed her sword, took a throwing knife from her left boot, aimed and let fly with a single rapid movement. The creature's hand moved, too quickly for the eye to follow, and snatched the knife in midair. It dropped the knife to the floor and smiled at Fisher. She blinked, and turned to Buchan. "We might just have a problem here after all. How long do you think we've got before it has enough power to leave the circle?"

"Not long. Half the Quality are at death's door already. Whatever we're going to do, we've got to do it soon."

"Wait a minute," said Hawk. "The Exorcist Stone would get rid of it, right? How about the suppressor stone? That's supposed to work on the same principle, isn't it?"

Buchan frowned. "Well, yes, but it's nowhere near as powerful. You'd have to get the suppressor stone within an inch or so of the creature, and even then there's no guarantee it would work. And if it didn't… the creature would either drain you like the Quality, or tear you apart just for the fun of it."

"If we wait till it gets out of the circle we're dead anyway," said Hawk. "Look, if you've got a better idea, let's hear it. I'm not actually wild about going into that bloody circle unless I have to."

"There is… another alternative," said Buchan. He turned his back on the creature and looked out over the ballroom. "It's gathering its power from the life force of the Quality. If they were all to die—before the creature could come into its full power—it would remain helpless within the circle."

"We can't just kill them!" said Hawk.

"You think I like suggesting it?" snapped Buchan. "I grew up with these people They're my friends!"

"It's out of the question," said Hawk flatly.

"No it isn't," said a quiet voice from among the Quality. "Kill us. Kill us all. Please. Do you think we want to live like this?"

They found Lord Louis Hightower sitting propped up against the wall. His flesh was pale and blotched and heavily wrinkled, sunk right back to the bone, and Buchan only recognized him by his clothes. His mouth was just a colorless gash, and his breathing barely stirred his chest, but still he fought to force out his words as Buchan knelt beside him.

"If we die, the shock will kill that thing. It's linked to us."

"Louis…"

"Do it, Charles! Please. I can't face living like this."

"No!" said Hawk. "If we can kill the thing while it's still in the circle, there's a damn good chance you'll get your life back. The link between you works both ways. Or it should." He knelt down beside the mummified figure. "Let us at least try to save you. I've lost two Hightowers already. I don't want to lose a third."

Hightower looked at him, and his mouth moved in something that might have been a smile. "All right, Captain. Go ahead. But, this time, get it right."

Hawk nodded stiffly, then straightened up and headed back to the edge of the circle. Fisher and Buchan went with him.

"I take it you do have some kind of plan," said Buchan.

"I wouldn't bank on it," said Fisher. "Hawk's always been a great one for improvising."

"Well, basically, I thought I'd cut the creature's heart out and jam the suppressor stone into the hole," said Hawk. "That should ruin its day."

"Sounds good to me," said Fisher. "You hit him from the left, I'll hit him from the right."

"This is crazy," said Buchan. "Absolutely bloody crazy. Let's do it, before we get an attack of common sense and change our minds."

The three of them spread out round the circle, weapons at the ready. The creature smiled at them warmly and spread its arms as though welcoming them. Hawk hesitated a moment at the chalk line, then braced himself and stepped quickly across it. The years hit him like a club, almost forcing him to his knees. He could feel his joints stiffening and his muscles shriveling as life itself was sucked out of him to feed the creature before him. His axe grew heavier with every movement, and it took all his strength to keep his back straight and his head erect. He heard shocked gasps of pain and horror as Fisher and Buchan entered the circle, but he didn't look round. He didn't want to see what was happening to them. He didn't want to think about what was happening to him. He hefted his axe, and threw himself at the smiling creature.

It dodged the axe easily, and sent Hawk flying across the circle with a casual backhand blow. He hit the ground hard, driving the breath from his lungs, and for a moment he couldn't find the strength to get to his knees. He gritted his teeth and staggered to his feet again, swaying from the effort. Fisher and Buchan were cutting at the creature with their swords, but the thing simply raised its arms to ward off the blows, and the blades sprang away as though they'd met solid metal instead of flesh. The creature's arms weren't even bruised.

Fisher was an old woman, with white hair and a heavily lined face. Buchan was bent and twisted with age, barely able to hold onto his sword. Hawk fought down a rising tide of panic. Their weapons were no use against the creature, but they had nothing else. Except the suppressor stones. Get the stone close to him. That was what Buchan had said. Get it as close as possible, or it won't work. Hawk scowled. He knew what he'd like to do with the stone… The scowl slowly became a smile. When in doubt, be direct. He waited a moment as Buchan and Fisher gathered up their remaining strength and threw themselves at the creature, and then he put away his axe and lurched forward. The creature saw him coming, but since Hawk was empty-handed, ignored him to concentrate on fending off its armed attackers. Hawk moved in behind the creature, took a deep breath, and jumped the thing from behind, locking an arm round the creature's throat. It tried to grab him to throw him off, but couldn't quite reach. Hawk hung on grimly, forcing the head back.

"Isobel!" he yelled harshly. "Get the stone and ram it down his throat!"

Fisher dropped her sword and clawed the suppressor stone from her pocket. Buchan leapt forward and grabbed both the creature's arms. Fisher seized the creature's chin, yanked it down, and pressed the stone into its mouth. Then she forced the mouth closed with both hands and held on with all her strength. The creature bucked and heaved and threw Hawk off. Buchan let go its arms, stepped back a pace, and punched the creature in the throat. It gagged, swallowed despite itself, and then screamed horribly. There was a small, very localized explosion, and then Hawk, Fisher, and Buchan were alone in the circle.

Hawk blinked dazedly a moment, then looked at Fisher, and smiled widely with relief. She was herself again, the added years gone along with the creature that had tried to force them on her. They hugged each other tightly for a long moment, and then let go and looked around them. There was a rising hum of voices as the Quality discovered that they also had been renewed. Buchan was already moving among them, grinning and laughing and being slapped on the back. Fisher noticed that her sword, her knife, and the suppressor stone were lying on the floor inside the circle, and she bent down to retrieve them.

"One of your better ideas, Hawk," she said finally, as she sheathed her sword. "Where did the creature go, do you suppose?"

Hawk shrugged. "Back where it came from. And good riddance."

The noise in the ballroom had risen from a babble to a roar, as the Quality tried to figure out what had happened, and exactly who was to blame. Lord Hightower shook Buchan firmly by the hand, and then strode over to join the two Guards. He nodded to them both, and they bowed politely.

"I just wanted to extend my personal thanks and congratulations. I'll see there's a commendation in this for both of you. Going into that circle after the creature was the bravest thing I've ever seen."

"Thank you, my Lord," said Hawk. "It's all part of the job."

"I didn't get a chance to talk to you the last time you were here. I wanted to assure you and your partner that I don't hold you in any way responsible for the deaths of my father or my brother Paul. I checked you out very thoroughly. It wasn't your fault. You mustn't blame yourselves."

"Thank you," said Hawk. "I'm glad you feel that way. I never really had the chance to know your father, but I liked your brother. He was a good man to work with."

"Speaking of blame," said Buchan, as he joined them, "How the hell did you manage to raise that creature in the first place?"

Hightower frowned unhappily. "Lord Brunel came into possession of an old grimoire, and persuaded us that some of its rituals might be adapted to suit our purposes. Yes, I know. We should have known better. But we thought we'd be safe, as long as we stayed outside the circle…"

"Oh, that's typical, that is! Put all the blame on me!" Brunel's voice blared out from nearby, and the small group turned to see him stalking toward them. "You're not laying the blame for all this at my door. We discussed whether or not to use the ritual, and everyone agreed. Including you, Hightower. It wasn't my fault everything went wrong."

"We can talk about this later," said Buchan. "In the meantime, I think you'd better let me have the grimoire for safekeeping. My colleagues in the God Squad will want to examine it."

Brunel's hand dropped halfway to a square bulge underneath his waistcoat. "I'm not handing over anything. The grimoire's mine. If I let you have it I'll never see it again. I know your sort. You'd keep it for yourself. But you're not having it. There's power in this book, and it belongs to your betters. All right, things got a bit out of hand this time, but…"

"This time?" said Buchan. "You're not thinking of trying this kind of stunt again?"

"Why not? Next time, we'll get it right. You can't stop us. We're Quality, and you're not—not anymore. What we do is our business and nothing to do with you. You're not one of us anymore, Buchan, and your precious heroics here tonight don't change a thing. You're still nothing more than a dirty little Sister-lover, and we don't want you here."

Fisher stepped briskly forward, punched Brunel out, and took the grimoire from his unconscious body. She looked round at the watching crowd.

"Any objections?"

No one said anything, and most of the Quality looked away to avoid catching her eye. Fisher turned her back on them and handed the grimoire to Buchan.

"You have to know how to talk to these people. Shall we go?"

Buchan and Hightower exchanged a brief smile, and then bowed formally to each other. Buchan left the ballroom through the open double doors, followed by Hawk and Fisher. Hawk turned back to shut the doors, and came face to face with the silent, staring Quality. He'd helped save their lives, but all he could see in their faces was resentment, and perhaps even hate. They'd been saved by a social inferior who didn't even have the decency to be apologetic about it. Hawk grinned at them, winked, and closed the doors on their disapproving scowls.

Hawk and Fisher and Buchan returned to God Squad headquarters to find Rowan and Tomb sitting slumped and shattered in their usual chairs in the drawing room. Apparently clearing up the mess left on the Street of Gods had been a major undertaking, and was still continuing even now, but they'd done all they could. The Beings remained in their churches and temples, and their followers had retired to lick their wounds and plot more trouble for the future. Everything was quiet for the moment, but it was a false peace, and everyone knew it. They were just waiting for the next dead Being, and then there would be God War on the Street of Gods. And not even the Exorcist Stone would be enough to stop that. Tomb had sent an urgent message to the Council's circle of sorcerers, bringing them up to date on the situation and asking for help and support, but as usual the circle was split by factions and intrigues, and probably wouldn't even respond till it was too late.

"I don't know why I feel so bitter about it," said Tomb tiredly. "This is Haven, after all."

Rowan's mouth twitched in something that might have been meant as a smile. She didn't just look tired, she looked exhausted. Her face was pale and slack, with dark bruises of fatigue under her eyes.

"Are you feeling all right, lady Rowan?" Hawk asked politely.

"I'm fine," said Rowan. "I just need a rest, that's all."

Her voice was flat and strained, and they could all see the effort it took her just to speak. Tomb cleared his throat uncertainly.

"Rowan, I really think we'd all be a lot happier if you'd let us call in a doctor, just to have a look at you…"

"How many more times do I have to tell you?" snapped Rowan. Her anger produced two fiery red spots on her cheeks, but her face remained dull and impassive, as though the facial muscles were simply too tired to respond. "I don't need a doctor, I don't need fussing over, and most of all I don't need you crawling around me all the time. Why won't you all just leave me in peace?"

There was an awkward pause, and then Buchan rose unhurriedly from his chair. "Come on, Tomb. Let's raid the kitchen and see what we can find there. I don't know about you, but I'm starving. It's typical we had to have our busiest day in months on the one day in the week our servants have off."

Tomb nodded without looking at him, and the two men left the drawing room, Buchan pulling the door firmly shut behind them. Hawk and Fisher looked at each other.

"I hate to press you on this, lady Rowan," said Hawk firmly, "but if there is something seriously wrong with you, we need to know about it. Things are going from bad to worse out there on the Street, and we have to know if we can depend on you in a crisis."

Rowan shifted tiredly in her chair. "Yes. I suppose you do. And it would feel so good to talk about it to someone. But you have to swear not to tell Buchan and Tomb. Especially Tomb." She looked at Hawk and Fisher in turn, fixing them with her piercing eyes in her weary face, and waiting until they'd both nodded in agreement. "I have cancer. It's well-established and very advanced, and there's nothing that can be done about it. I thought for a long time I could cure it myself, with my knowledge of potions. By the time I discovered I couldn't, it was too late. It's spread too far for alchemy to do any good now. I've talked to experts. There are spells that might work, but I don't have that kind of money. I've got a month or so left; maybe a little more.

"You mustn't tell Tomb. It would upset him. He hasn't the power to cure me himself, and the dear fool would bankrupt himself trying to raise the money to buy a cure. It's better that he doesn't know."

"But surely… one of the Gods could do something," said Fisher uncertainly. "I mean, they do miracles. Don't they?"

"I used to think that," said Rowan. "But if I've learned anything here, it's that there are no Gods on the Street of Gods. I looked really hard, trying to find just one, but all I found were supernatural Beings with no love for the God Squad."

She broke off as the door opened, and Tomb and Buchan came in bearing trays of cold food. For various reasons no one had much to say while they ate, so the meal passed for the most part in silence. Rowan just picked at her food, pushing it back and forth on her plate, and finally she put it to one side and quietly announced she was going back to bed and didn't want to be disturbed. Everyone nodded, and Tomb wished her good night. She left the room without answering, shutting the door firmly behind her. The others finished their food, and sat for a while in silence, thinking their separate thoughts.

"You mustn't mind Rowan," said Tomb finally, to Hawk and Fisher. "It's just her way. She'll be a lot better once she's had a little rest."

"Sure," said Hawk. "We understand."

"Now, if you'll excuse me, I have to be going out again." Tomb pushed his empty plate to one side and stood up.

"Already?" said Fisher. "We only just finished putting down that riot and clearing up after the Hellfire Club. What else is there that needs doing?"

Tomb smiled. "Nothing for you to worry about, Captain. This is just some old personal business that I have to attend to. I won't be long. I'll see you again, later."

He nodded generally to them all, and left. The door was still closing when Buchan got to his feet.

"Afraid I must be off as well. Tomb isn't the only one who's had to neglect his personal life of late. I'll be back in an hour or two. If you have to go out as well, don't worry about Rowan. There are wards around the house to keep her safe and alert Tomb if she needs anything. Now I really must be going."

And as quickly as that, he was gone. Hawk and Fisher looked at each other. "I'll follow Tomb," said Hawk. "You follow Buchan. Right?"

"Right," said Fisher. "There are too many secrets around here for my liking. You know, those have to be two of the flimsiest excuses I've ever heard."

"I get the feeling they're both under pressure," said Hawk. "And I don't just mean the trouble on the Street. They probably intended to go out a lot earlier, but got sidetracked by the riot and the Hellfire Club. Right. They've had enough time to get a good start by now. Let's go."

They got to their feet and hurried out into the corridor. Hawk spotted one of Tomb's long hooded robes hanging on a wall hook, and slipped it on instead of his own distinctive Guard's cloak. With the hood pulled well forward, he looked like just another priest. He glanced at Fisher.

"Maybe you should try a disguise, too."

Fisher shook her head. "Six-foot muscular blond women tend to stand out in a crowd, no matter what they're wearing. I'll just have to be careful, that's all. It's dark out, so as long as I keep well back and stick to the shadows, I should be all right. I'll meet you two hours from now at the Dead Dog tavern. Our usual booth. Sound good to you?"

"Great," said Hawk. "Maybe now we'll get a break on this case, and find a motive that makes sense. The way things are going, I'd settle for a motive that doesn't make sense. Now let's move it, before we lose them."

Hawk had no trouble locating Tomb. The sorcerer was striding down the Street of Gods at a pace that kept threatening to break into a run. People saw the scowl on his face and got out of his way fast. Hawk strode along after him, not even trying to be inconspicuous. Even at this late hour of the evening there were crowds of priests and acolytes and worshippers bustling back and forth, getting on with the business of life that the riot had only briefly interrupted. Hawk was just another robed figure among many. Not that Tomb would have noticed anyway. He shouldered his way through the crowd with utter indifference to the snarls and curses this earned him, apparently entirely preoccupied with wherever he was going. Hawk had been banking on that. If Tomb even suspected he was being followed, he would undoubtedly have any number of spells to deal with the situation, few if any of them pleasant.

Tomb strode on, ignoring the manifestations that haunted the sidewalks and alleyways. Hawk did his best to do the same, but was momentarily thrown when an acolyte in a cheap crimson robe stepped directly in front of him to beg for a blessing. Hawk put a hand on the acolyte's shaven head, muttered something about peace and joy and brotherhood, and hurried after Tomb, hoping fervently that he hadn't inadvertently invoked a nearby Being by accident. You had to be careful what you said on the Street of Gods. You could never be sure who was listening.

He followed Tomb down into the low-rent section of the Street of Gods, where the twisting back streets and alleyways turned in upon themselves, offering sanctuary to Beings and beliefs who had fallen on hard times. A last harbor for forgotten Gods and fading philosophies. Hawk hung well back as Tomb approached a nondescript, weather-beaten door set into a dirty white wall. The sorcerer produced a heavy iron key from a hidden pocket and unlocked the large iron padlock. The door creaked open under his hand, and he disappeared inside, pulling the door shut behind him.

Hawk quickly took up a position in a shadowed doorway overlooking the street, in case this was only a way stop and the sorcerer might reappear unexpectedly. Long moments passed. No one moved in the narrow back street. Hawk bit his lip, scowling thoughtfully. What the hell was Tomb doing here? It couldn't be anything illegal; the sorcerer had made no attempt to disguise his appearance. But what was so important to Tomb that it could drag him down here at this time of the night, when he was clearly already exhausted from coping with the riot? Hawk left his hiding place and padded silently over to the shabby door. He listened carefully, but everything seemed quiet within. He tried the door handle and raised an eyebrow as it turned easily under his hand, and the door swung open. Hawk froze as the door hinges creaked softly, but no one came to investigate. He slipped inside and eased the door shut behind him.

The narrow hallway was lit by a single lamp on the wall. Hawk tested the glass with his fingertips. It was barely warm. Tomb must have lit the lamp when he came in, which suggested there was no one here but the sorcerer. The walls were bare wood. They might have been waxed or polished a long time ago, but now there was only a thick coating of dust on the dull surfaces. Whatever this place was, no one had lived in it for a long time. There were no doors leading off the hallway. Hawk followed it to its end, where it turned a sharp corner and became a long narrow stairway leading down into darkness. Hawk scowled at the bottomless gloom, and then reached for the stub of candle and box of matches he kept in his cloak pocket for emergencies. His fingers scrabbled futilely against rough cloth for a long moment before he remembered he was wearing one of Tomb's robes instead of his Guard's cloak. He cursed under his breath, and padded back down the hall to fetch the lamp.

The stairway didn't look nearly so menacing in the lamplight, but even so he still hesitated at the top of the stairs. When all was said and done, following a sorcerer into an unknown situation was never a Good Idea. There could well be a magical bodyguard or booby trap waiting for him at the foot of the stairs. The suppressor stone might protect him… but it was still in Fisher's pocket. Hawk shook his head quickly, and drew his axe. He'd faced sorcerers before with nothing but cold steel in his hand, and he was damned if he'd let his nerves get the better of him now.

He descended slowly into the dark, lamp in one hand, axe in the other, ears straining for any sound down below. The walls were bare stone, rough and crumbling and splotched here and there with clumps of lichen. What the hell was Tomb doing in a dump like this? It couldn't be anything commonplace or innocent, or he'd have said where he was going. Since he hadn't, that meant Tomb either wouldn't or couldn't explain. Hawk didn't like secrets. Particularly when they left him in the dark in the middle of a murder enquiry. The stairs ended at a simple wooden door, standing slightly ajar. Light shone round its edges. Hawk stayed put on the bottom step and chewed his bottom lip thoughtfully. He seemed to have spent an awful lot of time hovering outside ominous-looking doors recently, and none of them had led him anywhere pleasant. He hefted his axe, took a deep breath and let it go, and kicked the door open.

"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 favor 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 realize 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 scandalized 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 paintwork 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 recognized? 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 splendor 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 stone-work 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…"

Fisher gave the Sister one of her best scowls, just to make it clear who was really in charge here, and then followed her through a series of stairs and corridors to a plain anonymous door on the second floor. The Sister bowed deeply and left her there. Fisher knocked once, and walked straight in without waiting for an answer. The room was luxurious without being overbearing, and the furnishings had the understated elegance of old money. Fisher wondered fleetingly just how old the Sisters' establishment was, and then fixed her attention on Charles Buchan. He was standing stiffly beside a chair on which sat a beautiful young woman, a pale willowy blonde barely into her twenties. Is that it? thought Fisher. All this secrecy, just because he's fallen for a girl young enough to be his daughter? And yet… there was something wrong with the scene. She turned and pushed the door shut, to give herself a moment to think. Buchan's attitude; that was what was wrong. As soon as she turned back, she recognized what it was. Buchan didn't look ashamed, or indignant, or obsessed with the girl; he looked protective toward her, as though all that mattered was protecting the Sister from Fisher. If he cared at all about being found out, he was doing an excellent job of hiding it. He met Fisher's gaze unwaveringly.

"Captain Fisher. I should have known you'd find us out, if anyone would."

Fisher shrugged. "I don't like secrets. I take it personally when people hide things from me. Particularly when it affects a case we're supposed to be working on together."

"There's no connection between this and the God murders, Captain. You have my word on that. Annette, I'd like you to meet Captain Fisher, one of my colleagues on the God Squad. Captain, this is Annette. My daughter."

Annette smiled at Fisher, who just stood there, completely thrown.

"Why don't we all sit down?" Buchan suggested. "This is going to take some explaining."

"Yes," said Fisher. "I think it is."

Buchan pulled up a chair beside Annette, and Fisher sat on a chair facing them. Buchan took a deep breath and plunged straight in.

"Annette's mother was a young Lady from a rival Family. The heads of our Families weren't talking to each other, and there had even been a few duels. Nothing unusual, but it was all very tense, and the worst possible time for us to meet and fall in love. But we were young and foolish, and nothing mattered to us except each other. We were going to run away and be married secretly. We even had some naive hopes that our marriage would bring the Families back together again.

"But she became pregnant. Her Family found out, and when she wouldn't name the father, they sent her out of the city to stay with relatives until it was all over. She died giving birth to Annette. Her Family let everyone assume the child was dead, too. They weren't interested in raising some bastard half-breed mongrel, so they gave her to the city orphanage.

"I went a little crazy after I heard my love was dead. I'd do anything, for a laugh or a thrill or just to fill my time. I chased women endlessly, trying to find someone who could replace the one I'd lost. Finally it all got out of hand, and I ended up on the God Squad. It was interesting work, and it passed the time. And then I came here, on business for the Squad, and found Annette. She looked just like her mother. I investigated her background, and worked out who she was. I thought about it for a long time, and then came here and introduced myself.

"She's very precious to me. For all my affairs, Annette is my only child. We sit and talk for hours.

"But somehow word of my visits to this house got out, at least in High Society, and I couldn't explain why I came here. Someday Annette may choose to leave this place and take her rightful place in High Society. The Quality must never know of her time here. They can be very old-fashioned about some things. So, I decided to let people think what they liked about my visits to the Sisters of Joy. My friends and family disowned me, and the Quality turned their back on me. But Annette's secret was safe. The rest you know."

Fisher shook her head slowly. "That is so crazy a story it has to be true."

"Will you keep our secret?" said Buchan. "For her sake, if not for mine."

"Sure," said Fisher. "Why not? Hawk will have to know, but I don't see any reason why it should go any further." She looked at Annette. "Are you happy here, lass? Really happy? If they've got any kind of hold over you, I can take care of it. No one's stupid enough to upset me and Hawk. If you want to leave, just say the word. I'll escort you out of here right now."

Annette smiled and shook her head. "Thank you, Captain, but I'm quite happy here. As I keep telling my father, I wasn't brainwashed into joining the Sisters of Joy, there isn't any geas keeping me here, and if I want to leave I'm perfectly free to do so at any time. The Sisterhood is a vocation, and one I believe in. How many other religions do you know that are simply dedicated to making people happy? Perhaps someday, I'll feel differently, but even then I don't think I'll be joining High Society. From what I've heard of the Quality, I doubt we'd get on. In the meantime, my father and I have each other. No one ever told me who my father was. I never dreamed it would turn out to be the legendary Charles Buchan."

Buchan stirred uncomfortably. "You don't want to pay too much attention to those stories, Annette."

"Why? Aren't they true?"

"Well, yes. Most of them. But I'm a reformed character, now I've found you."

Annette raised an eyebrow. "Reformed? You?"

Buchan grinned. "Partly reformed."

Father and daughter laughed quietly together. Fisher got to her feet, feeling decidedly superfluous, and wished them both goodbye. They favored her with a quick smile and a wave. Fisher smiled quickly in return and left them to each other.

The Dead Dog Tavern was a seedy little dive in the Northside, not that far from the Street of Gods. The air was full of smoke, the sawdust on the floor hadn't been changed in weeks, and the only reason the drinks weren't watered was that the patrons would have lynched the innkeeper if he'd tried it. Hawk and Fisher had used the Dead Dog as a meeting place before. It was the kind of place where everyone minded his own business, and expected everyone else to do likewise. Or else. Having Hawk and Fisher around didn't keep people away; the other patrons just kept their voices down and one eye always on the nearest exit. Hawk and Fisher liked the Dead Dog because it was quiet and convenient and nobody bothered them. There weren't many places like that in the Northside.

Hawk glared into his ale, gave a frustrated sigh, and slouched down in his chair. "Dammit, we're getting nowhere with this case, Isobel. No matter which way we turn, we end up going round and round in bloody circles."

Fisher took a healthy drink from her mug, and shook her head. "Don't give up now. Hawk. We're getting close; I can feel it. Look; we know how the God murders took place. Somebody used the Exorcist Stone. That tells us who; it has to be one of the God Squad. Did you notice that when we talked about Bode's death, and the lack of magic at his house, none of them even mentioned the Exorcist Stone as a possible murder weapon? Significant, that. All we have to do is find a way to narrow it down from three suspects to one."

"It's not that simple, Isobel, and you know it. First, the Council put a geas on all of them, specifically to prevent them misusing the Stone. If the compulsion spell had somehow been broken, the Council would have known immediately. And second, we still don't have a motive for the murders. What do any of them have to gain by killing Gods?"

They sat in silence for a while, nursing their ale.

"Let's go over everybody again, one at a time," said Hawk. "The one thing the three of them have in common is that they all have secrets. Buchan has a daughter who's a Sister of Joy. Tomb has broken God Squad rules by worshipping Le Bel Inconnu. And Rowan is dying of cancer and doesn't want the others to know about it. Secrets often make for good motives. People will do desperate things to keep a secret hidden.

"So, suppose the dead Gods knew about Buchan's daughter. Priests do talk to each other, even when they're supposed to be enemies. They're in the same line of business, after all. Word could have got around. What if the murdered Gods had tried to use that knowledge, to put pressure on Buchan to look the other way on occasion? It could be a very handy thing for a Being to have a member of the God Squad in his pocket."

"It's a nice idea," said Fisher. "But I don't think it's Buchan. In order to come and go without being seen by the Gods' followers, the killer must have had access to some kind of sorcery, and Buchan doesn't have any. He had to use an ordinary disguise when he went to visit his daughter, remember? And besides, if he'd had any magic, he'd have used it against that creature at the Hellfire Club, wouldn't he?"

"Not necessarily," said Hawk. "He could be trying to put us off the scent by not using magic when we're around. He might have known you were following him."

Fisher sniffed. "Firstly, if he'd known I was following him, he wouldn't have led me to the Sisters and revealed his secret. Secondly, I don't really think Buchan's that clever, to be honest. He's famed for many things, but subtlety's not one of them. I think we'd be better off taking a hard look at Tomb. Now, he has a motive that makes sense. If the Council know about his private God, they'd throw him off the Squad, and Tomb's put a lot of time and effort into making the God Squad a force to be reckoned with. He might see a threat to himself as a threat to the Squad, and act accordingly. So, if another Being had found out, and threatened to tell on him… Hey, wait a minute, I've just had another thought. What if the God killings were some kind of sacrifice to Tomb's God? To make it stronger, more powerful?"

"Could be," said Hawk, thinking about it. "Certainly Tomb's got enough sorcery to get in and out of the churches undetected."

"And he certainly knew his way around when he showed us the murder sites earlier on."

"No. We can't single him out on that. According to the informer Lacey, all of the God Squad had visited the dead Beings previously."

"All right," said Fisher. "Forget that. But the rest fits."

"It still doesn't explain how he broke the geas without the Council circle of sorcerers knowing. That's supposed to be impossible."

Fisher nodded reluctantly. "All right. Let's leave Tomb for a moment and look at Rowan. She's got enough sorcery to move unseen, and she's certainly got no love for the Gods."

"Sure," said Hawk. "But what's her motive?"

"Revenge," said Fisher. "She's dying, and she wants to kill as many of the Gods she despises as she can before she dies."

"That's pushing it a bit, isn't it?"

Fisher shrugged. The two of them drank more ale, their scowls deepening as they struggled with the problem. People around them took in the danger signs, quietly finished their drinks, and made for the exits.

"I don't know," said Hawk. "Whatever motives the God Squad have, I keep coming back to the geas. Either one of them's found a way round the compulsion spell, which is supposed to be impossible, or it has to be somebody else. Maybe it's really the sorcerer Bode after all, using the Dark Men as weapons. Remember, two of the Gods had been torn apart, which would seem to indicate that the killer had great physical strength."

"You may have something there," said Fisher slowly. "But have you ever noticed that the Dark Men never attack us except when the God Squad aren't around?"

They looked at each other for a moment. "Are you suggesting one of the God Squad is the controlling mind behind the Dark Men?" said Hawk finally.

"Why not? It fits!" Fisher leaned forward excitedly. "That's how someone on the Squad could use the Exorcist Stone! The geas was placed on a specific person, once that person was in another body—a Dark Man homunculus— he or she became a different individual, free to use the Exorcist Stone without any restraints!"

"You're right," said Hawk. "It does fit. I think we're finally getting somewhere. And it means we can rule out Buchan as the murderer. He was there when the Dark Man attacked us at the Hellfire Club. And anyway, he doesn't have the sorcery needed to transfer his mind from one body to another. You know, more and more makes sense now. Let's assume our God Squad murderer is the same person who hired Bode. That's why Bode sometimes didn't recognise his friends on the Street of Gods: Someone else was using a duplicate of Bode's body at the time! Bode's body could ask questions that a member of the God Squad couldn't ask without appearing suspicious. Whoever gave Bode his mission wasn't just hiring Bode as a person, they were also hiring his body! Hell's teeth, that's devious."

"Don't get too excited," said Fisher dryly. "We still haven't got a motive. Let's try it from a different angle. What was Bode, or the person inside Bode's body, looking for on the Street of Gods?"

"Ways of getting to the Beings?"

"No, they already knew how to do that as part of the God Squad." Fisher scowled, and doodled aimlessly in the spilt ale on the table. "Bode, or whoever was inside his double, was asking questions about the Gods themselves. Their histories, their powers, their natures. It was the answers to these questions that marked the Beings for death."

"But what's so important about those questions?" said Hawk. "Every tourist in the Street asks questions like those."

"And they end up with tourist answers. But a sorcerer and a member of the God Squad might just get an answer that meant something…" Fisher sat up straight suddenly. "Hawk, I think I've got it! Remember the Being who was stabbed to death—the Sundered Man? That priestess of his. Sister Anna, was really bitter about his death because it meant she'd wasted her life worshipping something that wasn't really a God after all! I don't know about the last death, the Lord of the New Flesh, but both the other dead Beings died when the Exorcist Stone removed all the magic from their vicinity. The Dread Lord fell apart, and the Carmadine Stalker aged to death. That's what Bode and his employer were looking for on the Street of Gods: proof that a Being wasn't a God after all but just a supernatural creature with magic powers and a following."

"Not quite," said Hawk suddenly. "Turn it around. They weren't looking for Beings among the Gods; they were trying to find one real God among the Beings, and killing the ones who failed the test."

"But why would Tomb or Rowan be so desperate to find a real God?" Fisher's eyes widened suddenly. "Because one of them needed a miracle cure. It's Rowan; it has to be! It all fits together. The killings only started after she joined the Squad. She went to Bode when her potions couldn't control the cancer, probably hoping he'd have something that would help her. After all, he was an alchemist as well as a sorcerer. He didn't have a cure, but he did have the Dark Men. Which was just what she needed to investigate the Beings. She must have been getting pretty desperate by then. She couldn't ask questions on the street herself, so she got Bode to do it for her, and sometimes did it herself in one of the homunculus bodies. Every time she thought she'd found a real God, she'd go to them and beg for a miracle cure. If they couldn't or wouldn't help her, she destroyed them, using the Exorcist Stone and the strength of the Dark Man. Presumably out of revenge for wasting her limited time."

"No wonder she's spent so much time in bed recently," said Hawk. "Her mind was out and about, attacking us in a Dark Man body. But why did she kill Bode?"

Fisher shrugged. "Maybe he found out about the God killings, and wanted to call it off. She couldn't allow that. She killed him the same way she killed the Beings. She must really have panicked when she found out the same two Guards who investigated Bode's murder had been seconded to the God Squad. That's why she tried to get rid of us when we first arrived. And why she kept attacking us through the Dark Men. We were so close to the answer all along, and didn't know it… But then, why did she tell us she had cancer?"

"Trying for sympathy, I expect," said Hawk. "Hoping that would distract us from seeing her as the killer. It almost worked. You don't expect a dying woman to be a murderer. We've got to get back to the Squad and confront her."

"What's the hurry? She's not going anywhere in her weakened condition."

"Oh no? What's to stop her leaving her dying body behind and living on in a healthy Dark Man body?"

"A woman living in a man's body?" Fisher wrinkled her nose. "That's kinky."

"Don't knock it till you've tried it. Now let's go. I wouldn't put it past Rowan to have a few more tricks up her sleeve. And we can't afford another dead God."

Chapter Seven

Return of the Dark Man

The Street of Gods was unusually quiet. The riot had cleared the air somewhat, and most people were licking their wounds and waiting to see what would happen next. Guards and sorcerers walked the length of the Street, keeping the peace, backed by armored contingents from the Brotherhood of Steel. But in the side streets and back alleys, the dark and shadowed places of the Street of Gods, plots were hatched and plans were whispered. The God War drew steadily nearer, awaiting only one last deadly spark. Anticipation filled the air like the smell of spilt blood, feared and desired in equal measure, as man and God looked each to his own position and saw how it could be worse or better. Change had come to the Street of Gods, and whatever happened, nothing could ever be the same again. Four Beings had been proved to be merely mortal, and no God could feel entirely secure after that.

Hawk and Fisher trudged wearily back to God Squad headquarters, following the shortest route the Street allowed. Hawk yawned continuously, too tired even to raise a hand to cover his mouth. Given the Street of Gods' eccentric attitude to the passing of time, he'd long ago lost track of what hour of which day it was, but it had been a hell of a long time since he'd last had any sleep. His feet were like lead, his legs ached, and his back was killing him. Getting old, Hawk. He smiled sourly. He always got gloomy when he was tired. Still, the sooner he and Fisher wrapped up this case, the better. The more tired you got, the more likely you were to make mistakes. And making mistakes on a case like this could get you killed.

The few people still out on the Street gave Hawk and Fisher plenty of room. Word of their victory over the rogue Being had spread, and priests and worshippers alike kept to their best behavior while the two Guards were around. Even the street preachers lowered the volume a little as they passed.

God Squad headquarters finally loomed up ahead, and Hawk allowed himself to relax a little. The small nondescript building, with its old-fashioned lamp shining brightly over the door, looked actually cosy. Almost there, almost over. All they had to do was face Rowan with what they knew, and she'd crack. They always did, when you had them dead to rights. Some villains even seemed relieved as you took them off to gaol, as though they were as tired of the chase as you were. And anyway, Rowan shouldn't be too difficult to handle. When all was said and done, without the Exorcist Stone in her hands she was nothing more than a minor league magic-user with a side line in potions. With the suppressor stone to protect them from her magic, they should be safe enough. As long as they didn't drink anything she offered them. A sudden thought struck Hawk, and he stopped dead in his tracks, his mind working furiously. Fisher stopped too, and looked at him.

"Hawk? What's the matter?"

"I just thought of something. We've been assuming Rowan transferred her mind into a Dark Man, then used the Exorcist Stone against the Beings. Right?"

"Right."

"But if the Exorcist Stone banished all the magic from the area, it should also have affected the homunculus Rowan was inhabiting. After all, that's how we beat the original Dark Man, remember? You fired up the suppressor stone, and he went out like a light. So if Rowan had used the Exorcist Stone, it would have knocked out the Dark Man she was using and thrown her back into her own body. Which means our whole theory has just gone up in smoke!"

"Don't panic," said Fisher. "The Stone doesn't work that way. It isn't designed to affect everything in the area, or it would end up affecting itself, destroying its own power. It has built-in safety guards, like our suppressor stones, so that they don't affect themselves or the people using them. It's only common sense, after all. If you'd paid attention at the morning briefing when the suppressor stones were handed out, you'd have known that."

"Sorry," said Hawk. "You know I'm never any good with technical stuff."

"And you have the nerve to complain because I won't let you carry the suppressor stone…"

"All right. No need to rub it in. Anything else I ought to remember about the stone?"

"Yes…" said Fisher slowly. "Unlike the Exorcist Stone, our stones have only a limited amount of magic, and we've been using our stone a hell of a lot just recently. And before you ask: No, there's no telling how badly we've drained it, or how much magic there is left in the stone. These things are prototypes, remember?"

"Great," said Hawk. "Just great." They looked at each other. "If we try and arrest Rowan, and the stone doesn't work, we're going to be in real trouble. Without the stone's magic to counteract hers, she'll just transfer her mind into a Dark Man body and disappear."

"Then we'll just have to hope there is enough magic left in the stone to hold her," said Fisher.

Hawk looked at her. "This case just gets better and better." He thought hard for a moment. "Look. How about if we get one of the others to use the Exorcist Stone? That should prevent her leaving her body."

Fisher nodded. "All right. Who do we ask?"

"Buchan. We can't trust Tomb. He's too close to Rowan."

They continued on their way, frowning thoughtfully. Passersby gave them even more room than usual. The two Guards finally reached God Squad headquarters, and Hawk hammered on the door with his fist. Not the politest way to knock, but Hawk wasn't in a polite mood. There was a long pause, and then Buchan opened the door, sword in hand. He relaxed a little as he saw who it was, sheathed his sword, and nodded politely to them.

"I was wondering what had happened to you two. Officially, we're still on emergency status, but things seem to have calmed down a lot now. The Street's quiet, and the Guard and the Brotherhood of Steel are out in force to make sure it stays that way."

"I'll drink to that," said Hawk. "Is everyone here?"

"Sure. Tomb and Rowan are talking upstairs. Want me to give them a call?"

"Not just yet," said Hawk. "I think the three of us ought to have a word first. In the drawing room. It'll be more private."

Buchan looked at him, and then at Fisher, his face cold but composed. He nodded stiffly, and led the way into the drawing room. Fisher closed the door behind them, and put her back against it so they wouldn't be interrupted before they were finished. Besides, she didn't want Buchan to have the option of leaving. He wasn't going to like what they had to tell him. Fisher couldn't blame him. It always comes hard to find someone you've trusted and fought beside is a traitor. Buchan looked at the two Guards evenly, his gaze firm and unyielding.

"This is about Annette, isn't it?"

"No," said Hawk. "Your secret's safe with us. It's irrelevant to our investigation. We need to talk to you, sir Buchan. We know who the God killer is."

"You do? Who is it?" Buchan looked eagerly from Hawk to Fisher and back again. "Do you need my help with the arrest? Is that it?"

"In a way," said Fisher. "You'd better brace yourself, Buchan. You're not going to like this."

Buchan frowned uncertainly. "What's going on here?"

"It's Rowan," said Hawk. "She's the God killer. She killed all four beings, and the sorcerer Bode, too. Probably because he wouldn't go along with her plans."

For a moment, Buchan's face was absolutely slack and empty. Then he shook his head in a dismissive gesture and laughed shakily. "You're crazy. You're out of your minds, both of you. It can't be her! She's one of us. Part of the God Squad. Has been for years. Besides, she's been ill; it couldn't be her."

"It's her," said Hawk. "But she's not going to surrender herself easily. There might be trouble. We could use your help."

"Do you have proof? Hard evidence?"

"Some," said Hawk. "Enough. Now, will you help us?"

"I don't really have a choice, do I?" said Buchan. "If I don't, you'll tell everyone about me and Annette. Right?"

"No," said Fisher. "We don't work that way. Your secret's safe, whatever you decide. But we really could use some backup on this."

"You were right," said Buchan. "I don't like this. What do you want me to do?"

"First," said Hawk, "go up and tell Rowan and Tomb we're back and want to talk to them. If they ask what about, you don't know. Wait till they're safely downstairs, and then while we're having our little chat, you get hold of the Exorcist Stone and activate it. Hopefully our suppressor stone will be enough to hold her, but I'll feel better knowing you're there."

"There's not to be any rough stuff," said Buchan. "I won't stand for any rough stuff. Rowan's done a lot of good work with the Squad, in her time. She even saved my life once. She deserves better than this."

"She brought it on herself," said Fisher. "How many Guards died out there in the riot tonight, do you suppose? The riot she helped bring about?"

"That's enough, Isobel," said Hawk. "He knows."

Buchan turned and headed for the door. He opened it and stepped out into the hallway, then stopped and looked back at Hawk and Fisher. "You'd better be right about this. If you're not, if you're only guessing… I'll break you. Rowan is God Squad. We look after our own."

He shut the door firmly behind him, just short of a slam. Hawk and Fisher looked at each other, and then moved as one to the drinks cabinet. They both felt very much in need of a stiff drink, or two.

"He means it, you know," said Fisher.

"Damn right he means it," said Hawk. "This could easily turn very nasty, lass. It wasn't until Buchan asked about proof and evidence that I realized how thin our case actually is. We can show motive and opportunity, and demonstrate how it could have been done, but we'd be hard pressed to prove any of it in Court."

"It's a bit late for second thoughts," said Fisher. "We can't put this off; we have to confront her now. All it needs is one more dead Being and all hell will break loose on the Street of Gods. Probably quite literally. We'll just have to face Rowan with what we know, and hope she'll break down and confess."

"And if she doesn't? If she laughs in our faces, and tells us we're crazy?"

"Then I'll swear blind it was all your idea, and nothing to do with me."

"Gosh, thanks," said Hawk. "What would I do without you?"

Rowan and Tomb faced each other across Rowan's bedroom. Rowan was in a towering rage, her face dangerously flushed, but Tomb stood his ground.

"You did what, Tomb?"

"I ran a scanning spell on you," said Tomb. "A full body scan. I was worried about you. It seems I had every right to be. You're ill, Rowan, very ill. You have been for some time. Your body's riddled with cancers. I'm amazed you're still able to function as well as you do. I can only assume your potions are effective painkillers, if nothing else." His voice broke, and his pose broke with it. He looked miserably at her, almost pleading. "Why didn't you tell me. Rowan? Did you think you couldn't trust me?"

"I didn't tell you," said Rowan coldly, "because I wanted to avoid a scene like this. How many times do I have to say it, Tomb? This is none of your business. I'm none of your business. I have no interest in your feelings, and your interest in me is annoying when it isn't intrusive. I want you to stay away from me. Dammit, Tomb, get the hell out of my life and leave me alone!"

"I can't. You're dying, Rowan. You must know that. Your condition is so advanced now there's nothing sorcery can do for you anymore. Healers aren't miracle workers. Why didn't you tell me earlier? I could have helped you…"

"I don't want your help! I don't need your help!"

"At least let me tell Buchan. We can handle the God Squad work between us for a while. You have to rest, take things easy. We'll look after you."

"You'd love that, wouldn't you? You do so love to fuss over me. Well, I haven't time for that nonsense anymore. I have things to do, and not much time to do them in."

Tomb looked at her blankly. "Things? What things? What can be more important than this? We're talking about your life, Rowan! If you rest and take things easy, you could have months ahead of you yet. There are still some things I can do, some things I can try. If you don't rest, you'll be dead in a few weeks."

Rowan looked away from him. "A few weeks," she said quietly. "I didn't realize it had got that close. Are you sure?"

"Yes. I'm sorry, Rowan. My scan was very thorough, and there's no room for doubt. Please. Let me help you."

"No." Rowan lifted her head and faced him squarely, perfectly composed. "I've chosen my way and I'll stick to it."

"And if you're wrong?"

"Then I'm wrong!" Rowan smiled suddenly. "Trust me. Tomb. Whatever happens, I'm not going to die."

"Rowan, you have to face this. You can't just turn your back on it…"

"Oh, shut up! Get out of here, Tomb. Find something else to do instead of pestering me. I have some thinking to do."

There was a knock on the door, polite but firm. Rowan strode past Tomb without looking at him, opened the door, and glared at Buchan. "What do you want?"

"Hawk and Fisher are back. They're waiting in the drawing room. They want to talk to us immediately. Apparently they've made a breakthrough on the God murders."

"What kind of breakthrough?" asked Rowan.

"They didn't give me any details. But they seemed quite excited."

"This better be important," Rowan said, sweeping past him. "I have things to do."

Tomb and Buchan followed her out of the room, each lost in his own separate thoughts.

Rowan stormed into the drawing room and threw herself into her favorite chair. Hawk and Fisher stood together, their faces professionally calm, their hands resting on their sword belts. Rowan studied them both.

"Buchan said something about a breakthrough. What have you found out?"

"The truth," said Hawk. "It took us a while, but we finally got there. We know who the God murderer is."

Tomb entered the room just in time to hear that, and brightened up a little. "Well, that is good news, Captain. When can we expect an arrest?"

"I think you'd better sit down, sir Tomb," said Fisher. "Our news isn't exactly pleasant."

Tomb's smile faded away. He made no move to sit down, and studied their faces closely. "What is this? I don't understand."

"Rowan does," said Hawk. "Don't you. Rowan?"

The mystic met his gaze unflinchingly. "I don't know what you're talking about, Captain."

"All right," said Hawk. "We'll do it the hard way. Rowan, you're under arrest for the murder of four Beings, and the sorcerer Bode. You will come with us to Guard headquarters, where arrangements will be made for your trial. If you wish to make a confession, pen and paper will be provided."

Hawk glanced at Tomb. The sorcerer was staring at him blankly. Rowan hadn't reacted at all, except for a small smile tugging at the corner of her mouth.

"You must really be desperate, if you're reduced to making blind allegations like that," she said calmly. "What proof do you have? Where's your evidence? I have a right to know why I'm being charged."

"There'll be time for that later," said Fisher.

"We'll talk about it now!" snapped Rowan. "I'm a member of the God Squad, in good standing. We have friends in high places. They won't stand by and let you lay all the blame on me, just because you're getting nowhere and the pressure's on you to make an arrest."

"That's right," said Tomb quickly. "I think this has gone quite far enough. You must be mad, both of you. How could it be Rowan? She's been very ill, and was actually confined to her bed when the killings took place! I understand the pressure you must both be under, but I'm damned if I'll let you get away with this…"

"That's enough!" Hawk's voice cut sharply across the sorcerer's bluster. "That's enough, sir Tomb. We have a job to do, and you're not making this any easier for anyone. We know how the murders were committed, and we know why. And if you weren't so blinded by your feelings for Rowan, you'd have probably worked it out for yourself long ago. Rowan, it's time to go. Is there anything you want to take with you, or anything you want to say?"

"I don't think so," said Rowan.

"You're not taking her anywhere!" said Tomb. "I told you; she's ill. She's in no condition to be locked up in some filthy cell. I won't allow it. If she has to be kept somewhere, until she can be proved innocent, she can stay here, under house arrest."

"I'm afraid we can't allow that," said Fisher. "We have to follow procedure."

"This is all irrelevant anyway," said Rowan. "None of you have the power to hold me anywhere."

"Rowan, dear, let me handle this," said Tomb quickly.

"Oh, shut up, Tomb."

Tomb gaped at her as she rose unhurriedly to her feet and smiled defiantly at Hawk and Fisher. Something in the room's atmosphere changed in that moment, and they could all feel it. Without drawing a weapon or moving a muscle, Rowan had suddenly become dangerous.

"That suppressor stone of yours won't stop me, Captain Fisher. It'll protect you and Hawk from my magic, but it's not powerful enough to prevent me leaving any time I choose. I should have killed you both when you first came here. But I made the mistake of going by appearances instead of reputation. I really didn't think you had the brains to work out what was going on. By the time I realized you'd earned your reputation, it was too late to attack you directly. That would have been too obvious. Even Tomb might have noticed something. I tried using the Dark Men against you, but I couldn't match your training as fighters."

"Rowan, what are you saying?" Tomb's face was pale and slack with shock. He made vague, fluttering movements with his hands, and there was desperation in his voice. "You mustn't listen to her, Captain Hawk. She's not well, she doesn't know what she's saying…"

"Yes I do," said Rowan, almost cheerfully. "I'm guilty, Tomb. Guilty as charged, guilty as hell. I killed Bode, and the four Beings, and I'll kill a damn sight more before I'm done. There are no Gods on the Street of Gods, and I'll make them pay for pretending otherwise. I needed them. I needed them to be real, and they let me down. I'll see them all dead and rotting for that." She smiled at Hawk and Fisher, and it was not a pleasant smile. "You want to arrest this body? Fine. Take it. I have plenty more, and this one's almost through. I would have had to abandon it soon anyway; you just made the decision a little easier."

"I'm afraid not," said Hawk. "I thought you might try and leave your body for one of your Dark Men homunculi, so I had a word with Buchan earlier. He has the Exorcist Stone, Rowan. Until we decide otherwise, no magic will work in your vicinity. You're stuck in your own body. And you'll stay there until your trial."

"What are you talking about?" said Tomb. "Nothing's happened to the magic here. I'd know." He gestured quickly with his left hand, and a lamp on the wall lit itself. Hawk looked at the bright flame, and his heart sank.

He and Fisher looked at each other. "That shouldn't be possible," said Hawk "Isobel, go and find Buchan. Make sure he's got the Stone."

"That won't be necessary," said a slow, harsh voice from the doorway. Everyone except Rowan looked round in time to see the Dark Man throw Buchan's bloodied form into the drawing room. He hit the floor hard, and lay still. The Dark Man strode into the drawing room, the Exorcist Stone clutched firmly in one large bony hand. Two more Dark Men followed him into the room. They all wore the same shapeless furs, they were all heavily muscled, and they all had the same cold smile. Rowan's smile.

"I've learned a lot since I first started working with Bode," said Rowan calmly. "In the beginning, it was all I could do to handle one body at a time. But the more I practiced, the easier it got. Now there's no limit to how many homunculi I can control at one time."

Tomb had knelt beside Buchan, and was checking his injuries with gentle hands. "Cracked ribs, broken right arm, cracked skull; probably concussion as well. How could you do this, Rowan? He was your friend."

"He would have used the Stone on me," said Rowan. "Luckily, for a famed duelist he was surprisingly easy to sneak up on from behind."

"We have to get him a doctor, Rowan. I can't heal serious injuries like these. He needs a specialist."

Rowan looked at Buchan unemotionally. "He would have used the Stone on me." She turned and looked at Hawk and Fisher again. "Keep your hands away from your weapons. I had a feeling you were getting too close to the truth. I had planned to have the Dark Men ambush you as you left here, but this has worked out just as well. Now I have all my enemies in one place."

"Where did you get all the Dark Men from?" said Fisher, playing for time and mentally measuring the distance between her and the mystic.

Rowan smiled. "I inherited them from Bode. He really was very talented. After I've had a chance to acquire his notes and study them, I'm sure I'll be able to create even more. I should even be able to produce copies of my original body, without the original's defects. There's a lot to be said for the Dark Men, but I always feel so much more comfortable in my own body."

"Buchan needs a a doctor!" said Tomb. "He could die!"

"He never liked me," said Rowan. "He never even looked at me."

Tomb got slowly to his feet. "So. It is all true. Everything they said. And you're going to kill everyone who knows your secret."

"That's right. Tomb."

"What about me?"

"What about you?"

They looked at each other, and neither of them would drop their eyes. Hawk drew his axe, aimed, and threw it in one rapid movement while Rowan was distracted. The heavy blade flashed through the air and buried itself between the eyes of the Dark Man holding the Exorcist Stone. Rowan screamed in pain and rage as the homunculus crumpled to the floor. The Stone rolled away from his limp fingers. One of the other Dark Men started toward it, but Fisher moved quickly forward to block his way. She grinned nastily at him, sword at the ready before her. Rowan's mouth set itself in a thin, flat line, and the two Dark Men advanced, one on Hawk and one on Fisher.

Hawk threw himself at the fallen homunculus, put a foot on the head to steady it, and jerked his axe free. He spun round just in time to parry a sword blow from the approaching Dark Man. Sparks flew as steel rang on steel again and again. Hawk was forced back, step by step, from the sheer force of the attack. The Dark Man pressed forward untiringly, and Hawk's arm began to ache from the effort of parrying the blows. The axe was never intended as a defensive weapon. At any other time, he might have been able to turn aside the attack and launch one of his own, but he'd gone too long without rest or sleep and it was starting to catch up with him. His back slammed up against a wall, bringing him to a sudden halt. Finding extra strength from somewhere, he brought his axe across in a short vicious arc that had the Dark Man jumping backwards to avoid it, but he couldn't find the speed to follow it up. He moved away from the wall, and the Dark Man was on him again. Hawk caught a glimpse of the Exorcist Stone lying on the floor, but it was a long way away, and besides, he didn't even know how to activate it. He swung his axe double-handed, and tried to make himself some room to move in.

Fisher attacked her Dark Man head on, and the two of them stamped and lunged, their swords clashing and flying apart almost too quickly for the eye to follow. Rowan obviously didn't know much about swordsmanship, but with the Dark Man's strength and reflexes she didn't have to. All she had to do was keep up her attack and wait for Fisher's strength to run out. They both knew it wouldn't take long. Fisher was already exhausted from the long day, and the Dark Man was fresh and tireless. Fisher held her ground, as much out of pride as anything, but she was beginning to have a bad feeling about this fight.

Tomb faced Rowan squarely. Her face was blank and empty, but her muscles occasionally jumped and twitched in sympathy with the Dark Men.

"Rowan, you've got to stop this. Get out of here while you can."

"Not now. Tomb. I'm busy."

"Hawk and Fisher are Guards, experienced fighters. They'll win, in the end. And as long as they've got the suppressor stone, your magic can't hurt them."

"There are ways round the suppressor stones. I have more magic than you think."

"I won't let you hurt them. Rowan."

Life came suddenly to Rowan's eyes, and she fixed him with an unwavering stare. "Don't interfere, Tomb. It wouldn't be healthy."

"Your magic's no match for mine, and you know it. There's still time to stop this nonsense, Rowan. We could leave here now, together, and use the Dark Men and our magic to cover our trail. We could leave Haven, start again somewhere else. No one could ever have to know about all this."

"Yes," said Rowan slowly. "I could do that." She stepped toward him, took hold of his chin, and pulled his face close to hers. "You'd give up everything, to be with me?"

"Of course," said Tomb. "I love you, Rowan."

"I know."

She thrust her dagger into Tomb's gut, twisted it once, and them jerked it sharply upwards. Tomb's hands clutched at her shoulders, closed tight, and then released her as he fell clumsily to the floor. His eyes were still open, staring reproachfully at the ceiling. Rowan turned her back on him and slipped the dagger back into its concealed sheath on her arm.

Meanwhile, Hawk had got his second wind. He'd got more than a little annoyed at being beaten by a slab of muscle with no skills, and the anger had given him new strength. He brought his axe across to hold the Dark Man's sword locked in position, and the two of them stood toe to toe, glaring into each other's faces. Without looking away, Hawk stamped down hard on the Dark Man's instep, and felt, as much as heard, bones break in the Dark Man's foot. Pain flared across the homunculus's face, and his sword arm wavered. Hawk spat in his eye, and the Dark Man fell back instinctively. Hawk took advantage of the opening to knee his opponent solidly in the groin. The Dark Man froze, his sword dropping as Rowan's mind tried frantically to deal with so many pains at once, and Hawk swung his axe in a vicious lateral sweep. The heavy blade cut through the Dark Man's throat, almost severing the head from the body. He fell heavily to the floor, twitched uncertainly, and then lay still in a growing pool of his own blood.

Fisher suddenly broke away from her opponent and sprinted across the room toward Rowan. The mystic opened her mouth to begin a spell, but Fisher was already there, her sword point at Rowan's throat. The Dark Man froze where he was.

"Drop his sword, Rowan. Or I swear I'll kill you now and to hell with a fair trial."

Rowan glared at her. Fisher increased the pressure of her sword. A thin trickle of blood ran down the mystic's neck as the sword point broke her skin. Hawk stepped in behind the hesitating Dark Man and buried his axe in the back of the creature's skull. The Dark Man crashed to the floor. Some of the strength seemed to go out of Rowan, and her shoulders slumped. Hawk pulled his axe free and wiped it on the Dark Man's clothes. He looked to see Fisher was all right, and nodded, satisfied.

"I trust there are no more surprises in store, Rowan? Isobel, keep an eye on her. I'll take a look at Tomb and Buchan."

He knelt beside the sorcerer, and winced at the awful wound. Rowan had all but gutted him. Blood had pooled around Tomb and soaked his robes, but incredibly he was still breathing, shallowly. His eyes moved slightly to meet Hawk's gaze.

"Lie still," said Hawk quickly. "We'll get you a doctor."

"No point," said Tomb, his voice little more than a whisper. "I'm a sorcerer. I know how bad the wound is. I take it you beat the Dark Men?"

"Sure," said Hawk. "We beat them."

"Is Rowan all right? You didn't hurt her?"

"She's fine."

"Good." Tomb closed his eyes. Hawk said the sorcerer's name a few times, but he didn't respond. The man's breathing was so shallow that Hawk was sure each breath would be the last, but somehow Tomb held on. Hawk moved over to Buchan. He was unconscious, but breathing strongly. His wounds looked nasty, but not immediately dangerous. Hawk got to his feet and moved over to join Fisher. She'd taken the sword point away from Rowan's throat but held the sword ready, just in case.

"Tomb's dying," said Hawk. "Buchan is badly injured. They were your colleagues. Rowan. Your friends. They cared about you. Doesn't that mean anything to you?"

Rowan smiled briefly, but there was no humor there, only a weary disdain. "I never wanted their friendship. All I ever wanted was to be left alone. Nobody ever really cares for anyone else; they just pretend to, to get what they want from you. They don't fool me. I look out for myself. And you needn't look at me like that. I'm no different from anyone else; it's just that I have the guts to be honest about it.

"You can't hold me, you know. There are more Dark Men, scattered all over Haven. Bode had been creating them for years, selling his potions to subsidize his experiments. He had a horror of dying, you see. He thought he could live forever, through his doubles. But I put a stop to that. I had a better use for them. I still do. You can't stop me. The magic in your suppressor stone is fading, even as we speak. Soon it'll be cold and silent, and I'll leave this defective body behind and live again as a Dark Man. I will have my revenge on the Street of Gods, and there's nothing you can do to prevent it."

"Maybe they can't," said a calm, deep voice. "But I can." They all turned, startled, to look at the doorway. A Dark Man stood there smiling, dressed in a cheap grey robe and looking somehow… different. He wasn't in the least muscular, being instead slender almost to the point of malnutrition, and his face held none of the anger that was a permanent part of Rowan's expression whatever body she was wearing. Hawk looked quickly at Rowan, but she seemed just as surprised as he was. Hawk looked back at the Dark Man. If she wasn't controlling the body, then who… ?

"It can't be," said Fisher. "It can't be him."

"It is," said Hawk. "It has to be. That's Bode." The sorcerer smiled at them all, and bowed politely. "At your service, Captain."

"You're dead," said Rowan harshly. "I killed you. I watched you die."

"I'm afraid not," said Bode, stepping coolly into the drawing room. "Though you did have a damn good try. Perhaps I should explain. It's a very interesting story, and there's no one else I can tell it to. Besides, I've been starved for company for the past few days. I've been watching you all ever since my death, but I couldn't afford to be recognized. So I stayed in the shadows and waited for the right moment.

"I'm afraid you made a simple but understandable mistake, Rowan, my dear. When you surprised me at my home with the Exorcist Stone, you didn't encounter the real me; just one of my duplicates. I hadn't lived in my own body for months. I kept that somewhere safe, and lived in a series of homunculi. My experiments had become rather dangerous, you see, and I didn't want to subject my real body to unnecessary risks. So, when you activated the Exorcist Stone in my house after our little disagreement, you destroyed all the spells I'd set up, including the one that kept my spirit in the duplicate body. The Stone threw me out of the homunculus and back into my own body. All you killed was an empty husk.

"You'd probably have worked it out for yourself, if you'd had time to study my papers, but luckily my Dark Man watchdog returned from the errand I'd sent him on, and you left in something of a hurry, rather than risk being discovered. The watchdog was a rather crude prototype, and unfortunately given to insane rages, but he had his uses. You've really caused me a great deal of difficulty, Rowan. Once the Guard discovered the nature of my researches, I had no choice but to stay dead while I tracked you down. Establishing a new identity and starting over is going to be very difficult. Not to mention expensive. And all because of your obsession with the Street of Gods. I should never have listened to you in the first place. But… I needed the money. That's always been my problem.

"Dear me, listen to me talk. Rambling on and on, and all of you too polite to interrupt. That's what comes of being officially dead; you don't dare talk to anyone for fear of being recognized. So, let me get straight to the point. I want my duplicates back under my control, and I want revenge for all the inconvenience I've been put to. So I'm afraid you're going to have to die, Rowan. It's the only way. And of course I can't leave any witnesses… Well, I'm sure you all understand. Nothing personal, Captain Hawk, Captain Fisher."

"Blow it out your ear," said Hawk. "You haven't enough magic to get past our suppressor stone, and you don't have the muscles you gave your Dark Men. So you can take your threats and stuff them where the sun doesn't shine. You're under arrest for illegal research on homunculi."

There was a soft, scuffing sound behind Hawk, and he instinctively threw himself to one side. The dead Dark Man's sword only just missed him, and plunged on to sink deep into Rowan's side. The force of the blow threw her back against the wall, clutching desperately at the sword. Her face was full of pain and horror, as she stared at the risen dead man, but she couldn't find the breath to scream. The Dark Man pulled the sword free, lacerating her hands cruelly, and stabbed her neatly through the heart. She sank slowly down the wall, leaving a bloody trail behind her.

Hawk swung his axe and buried it in the Dark Man's back. The dead body turned slowly to face him, unaffected. Hawk jerked his axe free, and he and Fisher moved quickly to stand back to back. All three Dark Men moved steadily toward them, blood still seeping from their death wounds, their eyes bright and knowing.

"I'd got a lot further in my researches than Rowan ever did," said Bode easily. "And I learned a lot more on the Street of Gods than I ever passed on to her. I really shouldn't have let her know as much as I did, but she seemed so keen, so interested… and it was a long time since I'd been able to talk to anyone about the advances I'd made… Of course, in the end she decided she wanted it all for herself. Which meant I had to be disposed of. I really should have known… but then, I never was a very good judge of character.

"Still, she's dead now. Really dead. One of the things I never taught her was how to keep someone from leaving their body. But I know how. No more Dark Men for you, Rowan, my dear."

Hawk listened to the man chatter with one ear, while he concentrated on the approaching Dark Men. They moved slowly but surely, and held their swords with a confident grip. They didn't breathe, and blood no longer ran from their wounds. There was no doubt they were all dead, animated only by the sorcerer's will. Hawk thought quickly, running the possibilities through his mind. He couldn't get to the nearest exit, so he'd have to stand and fight. A lich may be unkillable, but it can still be stopped. Disable them by cutting through the arms and legs, or severing the head, and they'd be helpless. Hawk smiled sourly. Sure. As easy as that. But since he had no other choice; when in doubt, be direct.

He jumped forward and swung his axe in a vicious arc at the nearest Dark Man. Its unblinking eyes never wavered, and its sword flashed up to meet the axe. Hawk changed his grip at the last moment and swept the axe under the sword to slam into the dead man's side. Bones broke and splintered as the heavy axe head punched through the rib cage, throwing the Dark Man off balance. Hawk jerked the axe free and struck savagely at the lich's neck. It sank to one knee under the impact of the blow, and shuddered as Hawk jerked the axe free again. But another Dark Man was already closing in, and although Hawk stepped quickly back, the lich followed him relentlessly, launching a sustained attack with his sword, which took all of Hawk's skill to parry. Behind him, he could hear the clash of steel on steel as Fisher took on the remaining Dark Man. On the floor, the first Dark Man was already getting to his feet again.

Fisher muttered the suppressor stone's activating phrase under her breath again and again, but nothing happened. Either the stone was drained or it wasn't powerful enough to overcome Bode's sorcery. She scowled, and launched a furious attack on her Dark Man, trying to fight her way past it to get at Bode, but the lich stood its ground and parried all her blows with inhuman efficiency. Sweat ran down her face, stinging her eyes, and she had to fight to get her breath. It had been a long hard day, and her second wind had come and gone. Even if she'd been fresh and at her peak, the lich would have been hard to beat, and as it was she had to struggle to make it anything like an equal contest. She had no tricks left up her sleeve, or at least none that would work on a dead man, and she was starting to slow down. Slowly the Dark Man moved from de fence to offence, and Fisher began to give ground.

Hawk and Fisher stood back to back, swinging sword and axe with leaden arms and hammering hearts. Their breath rasped in their throats and sweat soaked their clothes. The near misses got closer all the time as the Dark Men pressed steadily forward. Blood flew on the air, and Hawk and Fisher spat curses as here and there a blow struck home. Hawk gathered the last of his strength and prepared for one final lunge to take him past the Dark Man and launch him at Bode's throat. The odds weren't exactly good, but what the hell. It wasn't that far. Maybe he'd get lucky.

And then a brilliant light flared up, filling the room with its glare, and one by one the Dark Men slowed to a halt and fell heavily to the floor. Hawk looked quickly round, gasping for breath. Tomb had dragged himself across the floor, leaving a wide trail of blood behind him, and now sat propped against the wall with the Exorcist Stone in his hands. The Stone blazed like a miniature star, too bright to look at, banishing all magic from the room. Bode looked at Tomb incredulously. Tomb smiled, showing bloody teeth.

"This is for Rowan, you bastard. Hawk, kill him."

Bode looked back at Hawk, and quickly raised his hands in the air. "I surrender, Captain."

"Like hell," said Hawk, and cut the sorcerer down with one blow. Bode died with the same incredulous look on his face.

"What the hell," said Fisher, tiredly lowering her sword. "He'd only have escaped anyway."

They put away their weapons and moved over to kneel beside Tomb. The Exorcist Stone slipped from his fingers and rolled away. Its light flickered and went out. Tomb's face was deathly pale, the blood at his mouth stark red against the white skin. He looked across at Rowan, lying still and lifeless, and his mouth worked once.

"I loved her, you know. I really loved her."

He closed his eyes. Hawk felt for a pulse in Tomb's neck. It was there, but so faint he could barely feel it.

"Is he still alive?" asked Fisher quietly.

"Yeah. But don't ask me how. You'd better go for a doctor; I'll try and keep Tomb and Buchan comfortable till you get back." He looked across at Rowan, and his mouth hardened. "Do you suppose she ever cared for him at all?"

"I don't know," said Fisher, getting to her feet. "Maybe, if things had been different…"

"Yeah," said Hawk. "Maybe." He looked away. "He deserved better than her."

And then a living Presence exploded in the room, suffusing everything with a glow of its existence. The Presence beat on the air like a giant heartbeat, or the wings of a powerful bird. A deep and desperate sorrow permeated the room, grief beyond bearing, until Hawk felt as though he would break down and weep at any moment.

"What is it?" whispered Fisher, her eyes bright with unshed tears. "What's happening?" it's Le Bel Inconnu," said Hawk softly. "The God that Tomb worshipped. The dying God. It's come here to be with its friend, in their last moments. So neither of them would have to go into the dark alone."

And then, in a moment, the Presence was gone, as though it had never been. The room seemed to echo with its loss. Hawk looked down at Tomb, and didn't need to check the man's pulse to know that he was dead, too.

Aftermath

The Street of Gods was back to normal again, or at least as close as it ever got to normal. The sky was a bright and cheerful blue, and reminded Hawk of pleasant summer days. As long as he didn't look at it too closely. The unmoving clouds and lack of a sun tended to spoil the illusion. Priests and worshippers crowded the Street, bustling back and forth and playing out their familiar roles in the never-ending game of salvation and damnation. Seekers for truth rubbed shoulders with wide-eyed tourists, all of them heckled by street preachers and badgered by concession stallholders. It was all very much business as usual, for mortals and Beings alike.

Guard Constables and Brothers of Steel stood together on street corners, keeping an eye on things and swapping lies about their exploits during the recent unrest. The priests pretended they weren't there, and concentrated on the more important task of sneering at their inferiors and ostentatiously ignoring the rest. There was almost an air of carnival on the Street of Gods; a celebration of life, of chaos narrowly avoided. When you got right down to it, no one had really wanted a God War. It was bad for business.

Hawk and Fisher strolled down the Street, taking their time and enjoying the sights, accompanied by Lord Louis Hightower. People who recognized the two Guards gave them respectful bows and plenty of room. Hawk smiled graciously. It seemed to him he'd never seen the Street so calm and serene. There was still the usual sprinkling of supernatural flotsam and jetsam: a headless man crawling down the Street on hands and knees, a flock of birds that flew in an endless circle overhead, a laughing woman covered with bubbling blood, and burning coals where her eyes should be; but even they seemed content to keep to themselves and not bother anyone.

"I don't think I've ever known the Street so peaceful," said Lord Hightower. "One can only hope it'll last."

"I doubt it," said Hawk. "People have short memories, and from what I hear, the Beings aren't much better. Except when it comes to feuds."

Hightower laughed. "You're probably right. Still, the Beings have settled down somewhat, now the God killer has been identified and dealt with, and the priests are behaving themselves for the moment. I suppose your work here is pretty much finished."

"Pretty much," said Fisher. "The Guard sorcerers are searching the rest of the city for more of Bode's homunculi, just in case, but that's the only loose end. We're just hanging on here until the Council appoints a new Deity Division. Buchan's the only survivor of the last God Squad, and it'll be some time before he's ready for duty again."

"Indeed," said Hightower. "I looked in on Charles earlier today. He was looking decidedly pale, but much improved. Amazing what they can do with healing spells these days. And the delightful young lady acting as his nurse seemed very competent."

"She'll take good care of him," said Hawk. "Annette's very fond of Buchan."

They walked a while in silence, each of them waiting for the other to continue. Hawk broke first. "All right. Lord Hightower. What the hell are you doing here? Not that we aren't pleased to see you, but I can't believe this is the kind of venue you'd normally choose for a pleasant constitutional."

Hightower chuckled easily. "I'm here because the Council has selected me to be part of the next God Squad. I applied some time back, when I realized how bored I was with my life. The family estate practically runs itself, I've no interest in politics or the romantic intrigues so beloved by High Society, and even the Hellfire Club was starting to seem a bit childish. But Buchan had seemed happy enough with his work in the God Squad, so I applied.

"The Council contacted me last night and gave me the good news. Personally, I think it just goes to show how desperate they are, but that's their problem. I can't wait to see who they're going to choose as sorcerer and mystic. Anyway, in the meantime I have been given the responsibility of keeping the peace on the Street of Gods. If I'm to do that, I'm going to need people to work with I can trust and the priests and Beings will respect. I need you, Captain Hawk, Captain Fisher. What do you say?"

"Sure," said Hawk, after a quick look at Fisher, "we'll help you out. But only until the new Squad's ready to take over. The Street of Gods is an interesting place to visit, but I'd hate to have to work here."

proofed by Morrigan