Guards of Haven: The Adventures of Hawk and Fisher (Hawk & Fisher) by Simon R. Green

that he wasn’t going to think about it anymore. Just trying to visualize the logistics was enough to make his head ache. He realized Fisher was staring at the Tower too, and deliberately quickened his step.
    “Come on, Isobel,” he said briskly. “There’s no telling how long Fenris will stay put in the Tower. If he decides to leave before we can get there to stop him, Dubois will have our heads. Probably literally.”
    “I don’t know why Fenris didn’t just keep running,” said Fisher, picking up the pace. “I would have. What made him think he’d be safe here?”
    “The longer he stayed in the open, the more likely it was he’d be spotted,” said Hawk. “And the Tower’s a good place to go to ground. It’s within easy reach of the city but out of everyone’s thoughts. I wouldn’t have thought to look for him here. If it hadn’t been for the Council’s sorcerers, he’d have probably got away with it. And let’s face it. If worst came to worst, and for some reason the MacNeils decided not to hand him over, we’d have one hell of a job getting him out of the Tower. You’d need an army and every sorcerer in the city to breach those walls, by all accounts. No, my guess is Fenris is probably biding his time in there, looking over his shoulder a lot and waiting for one of his own people to contact him with a safe route out to the Low Kingdoms. Assuming someone hasn’t already done so.”
    “I still haven’t figured out what we’re going to do once we’re inside the Tower,” said Fisher. “I mean, we’ve no idea what he looks like now. He could be anybody. He could be passing himself off as an out-of-town MacNeil cousin, like us, or a friend of one, or a newly hired servant, or ... Hell, I don’t know. The man’s a spy, after all; he’s used to pretending to be someone he isn’t. How are we going to trip up someone like that? This case is a mess, and we’ve barely even started yet. Do you think we’re going to be able to recognize him?”
    “Not a hope,” said Hawk. “If I had to fight him again I might recognize his style, but I’m damned if I’m going to go round challenging everyone to a duel. Especially without my axe. Have you seen this stupid sword they’ve given me? One good parry and it’ll snap in half. I’d be better off sneaking up behind my opponent and clubbing him to death with the hilt.”
    “So what are we going to do?”
    “Same as usual, lass. Ask lots of questions, keep our eyes open, and hopefully make enough of a nuisance of ourselves that the killer will do something stupid to try and shut us up.”
    “Great,” said Fisher. “I just love being a target.”
    They both fell silent as they finally drew near the Tower MacNeil. The large, squarish front door was a different shade of white from the surrounding stonework, and Hawk felt a sudden, unsettling thrill go through him as he realized the door had been carved from a single huge slab of polished ivory. He tried to visualize the size of the whale that could donate such a bone, and quickly decided he’d rather not know. He tugged briskly at the bell pull, and then he and Fisher took turns using the black iron boot-scraper. They were Quality now, and had to keep up appearances.
    The door swung smoothly open on well-oiled counterweights, revealing a medium-height, heavyset man in his mid-forties, wearing the slightly outdated formal wear that was the accepted hallmark of the Haven butler. He had dark, lifeless hair, a flat immobile face that might have been carved from stone, and a general air of gloomy efficiency for which the long black frock coat was the perfect finishing touch. He bowed formally to Hawk and Fisher, each bow nicely calculated to the inch to show respect for his betters whilst reminding them that as butler of the household he was a force to be reckoned with in his own right. It was a masterful performance. Hawk felt like applauding.
    “I am Richard MacNeil of Lower Markham,” he said