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hood forward, adjusting it so that its shadow covered his face. He could have used a disguise spell, but
there were too many places on the Street where magic couldn't be relied on.
And this was too important to take unnecessary risks.
The sorcerer Tomb opened the door with a wave of his hand, and went out onto the Street of Gods.
Hawk and Fisher slogged up and down the Street of Gods, working their way through the list of names
Tomb had given them. Hours passed, but the sun overhead didn't move. It was noon on the Street of
Gods, and had been for several days. Robed acolytes hurried past them on unknown missions, heads
bowed to show respect and humility, and to avoid having to see churches and temples more splendid
than their own. The street preachers were still working themselves into hysterical rages and setting fire to
each other, but no one was paying much attention except the tourists. Hawk and Fisher tramped grimly
back and forth, getting what information they could from the Beings that Tomb had named as
potentiallyhelp ful, and doing their best to ignore the wonders and terrors that thronged the Street.
The Night People were an old necromantic sect, not as well-supported as they had once been. Their
High Priest met Hawk and Fisher in the Ossuary, the Cathedral of Bone. Intricate patterns of polished
bones formed the floor and walls and ceilings of the Ossuary. Some were recognizably human. Others
were so large and grotesque that Hawk preferred not to think about where they might have come from
originally. The air smelt of musk and cinnamon, and strange lights flickered in far off windows. All the
time they were there, Hawk had a strong feeling they were being watched, as though something awful
and implacable lurked just out of sight, waiting patiently for him to drop his guard. He kept his hand near
his axe.
The Night People were blind, their eyelids stitched together, but they all moved and spoke with an eerie
certainty that bordered on the unnerving. Hawk did his best to ignore the uneasy prickling on the back of
his neck, and asked to see the nameless Being the Night People worshipped. The High Priest shook his
head slowly. Only the faithful might see God, and that sight was so glorious it burned out the eyes of all
who saw. Hawk tried to press the matter further, but the High Priest would not be moved. He wouldn't
even ask questions on the Guards' behalf. Neither would he allow them to question the faithful. No one
knew anything that mighthelp the Guards. No one knew anything about the God killings. No one knew
anything about anything.
Hawk and Fisher went from church to temple to meetinghouse, and the message was always the same.
The Hanged Man was polite but unhelpful. Sweet Corruption wasn't even polite. The Lord of the New
Flesh refused even to see them.
And so it went the length of the Street, until finally they came to the Legion of the Primevil. The Legion's
church was a tall building of spires and domes and crenellated towers. There were magnificent
stained-glass windows, and flags and banners in a dozen different hues. Some other time Hawk might
have been impressed, but as it was, all he could think of was his aching feet. It had been a long day.
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The Legion priests, however, were frankly disturbing. Each and every one had a staring alien eye
embedded somewhere in his flesh. It was large and crimson with a dark split pupil, and it blazed
unblinkingly from forehead, chest, or hand. In a few cases it had displaced one of the priest's original
eyes, and it bulged uncomfortably in the too-small socket, glaring balefully at the world. Legend had it
that the Legion was the means whereby an ancient Being from another plane of existence was able to
observe the world of men.
The High Priest seemed happy enough to talk to Hawk and Fisher, but could do little tohelp them. With
three Beings murdered in a matter of weeks, gossip ran wild on the Street of Gods. But no one knew
anything for sure. People were scared. So were some of the Beings. Everyone was looking for a villain;
someone to blame and strike back at. No one had mentioned God War yet. but everyone was thinking
about it.
Hawk and Fisher talked with the High Priest for some time, trying to avoid staring at the great crimson
eye that glared unblinkingly from his forehead. Nothing much came of it until right at the end, when the
High Priest suddenly leaned forward on his throne and fixed Hawk with his unnerving stare.
"Tell me, Captain. Have you ever heard of the Hellfire Club?"
"No," said Hawk cautiously. "Can't say that I have." He looked at Fisher, and she shook her head
slightly.
The High Priest leaned back on his throne, his expression unreadable beneath the glowing third eye.
"Ask Charles Buchan, Captain. He knows."
And that was all he would say. In a matter of minutes the two Guards were back on the Street again, not
much wiser than when they'd started. It was still midday, and the air was uncomfortably warm. Hawk
and Fisher decided simultaneously that what they really needed tohelp put things in perspective was a stiff
drink. Or two. Accordingly, they made their way to the nearest temple dedicated to John Barleycorn,
and ordered a ceremonial libation in tall glasses. They took their drinks and settled into a private booth at
the back of the temple where the lights were comfortably dim. Hawk stretched out his legs with a
luxurious sigh, and propped his aching feet on a nearby chair. Fisher took off one of her boots and
massaged her toes. Some moments were just too precious to interrupt, but eventually they turned their
attention to their drinks, and the matter at hand.
"All right," said Hawk. "Let's run through what we've got. Three Beings are dead. Since they are dead, I
think it's safe to call them Beings rather than Gods. The Dread Lord died nine days ago. His body had
been torn apart. The Sundered Man was stabbed to death six days ago. And the Carmadine Stalker
apparently aged to death three days ago. Doesn't take a genius to spot the pattern, does it?"
"A murder every three days," said Fisher. "With another due sometime today, if the pattern continues."
"Right," said Hawk. "And there's nothing we can do to prevent it. We don't have enough information,
and no one will talk to us."
Fisher smiled briefly. "Why should the Street of Gods be any different from the rest of Haven?" [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]