Guards of Haven: The Adventures of Hawk and Fisher (Hawk & Fisher) by Simon R. Green
Authors: Simon R. Green
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Jamie?”
“Yes, it is. But I felt it only fair you should all know what the situation is. You see, before the will can be read, the Tower has to be isolated behind protective wards for twenty-four hours. That’s traditional.”
“You mean, once the wards are up, no one can leave the Tower for a full day?” said Hawk. “No matter what happens here?”
He and Fisher exchanged a quick glance.
“That’s right,” said Jamie. “But trust me, nothing’s going to happen. If the creature had meant any harm, it would have acted by now. All those years of imprisonment must have knocked the fight out of it.”
“I’m sure you’re right,” said Fisher. “But you couldn’t have known that, at the beginning. In fact, it must have been pretty scary, especially when the servants started leaving, rather than face whatever it was. So why did you stay? Wouldn’t it have been safer to evacuate the Tower?”
“This is my home,” said Jamie. “Home to my Family for generations. I won’t be driven out of it.”
There was an uncomfortable pause.
“Well,” said Katrina brightly, “if all else fails, we can always call on the Guardian!”
“Who?” said Hawk.
There was another, longer pause as the MacNeils looked at him strangely. Hawk silently cursed. He knew he should have insisted on a full briefing. Nothing was more likely to trip him and Fisher up than not recognizing some Family in-joke or reference, and this was clearly one of them. Still, the harm was done now. All he could do was try and face it down. He stared innocently back at Jamie and Katrina, and noticed for the first time that Holly wasn’t paying any attention to the conversation. Instead, her eyes were far away, as though she were lost in some world of her own. Then Katrina started speaking, and Hawk quickly switched his attention back to her.
“You must have heard of the MacNeil Guardian,” said Katrina, speaking slowly and carefully, as though to a rather backward small child. “Perhaps you know him by a different name. The Guardian is one of our more pleasant and comforting Family legends. One of our more remote ancestors is supposed to haunt the Tower, duty bound to protect his descendants from harm. Apparently it’s a penance for some bloody crime he later came to regret but was unable to put right while he lived. The legend doesn’t say exactly what his crime might have been.”
“That’s often the way with legends,” said Hawk. “You’re right, of course. I recognize it now. Has anyone seen this ghost in recent times?”
“No one’s seen him for centuries,” said Jamie. “Though there have been any number of times when the Family could have used his help. So I’m afraid it is just a legend, after all.”
“I believe in him,” said Holly suddenly. “I pray every night he’ll come to save me. But he never does.”
Everyone looked at her strangely for a moment. For the first time, there had been real passion in her voice, and something that might have been despair. Jamie looked at her worriedly, but said nothing, and Holly quickly subsided into silence again. Katrina cleared her throat loudly.
“That’s supposed to be a portrait of the Guardian,” she said brightly, indicating a dark and gloomy portrait directly over the fireplace. “Painted not long before his death. It’s certainly old enough, so who knows?”
They all looked at the portrait. The pigments had darkened gradually over the years, but the image was still clear. The portrait showed a grim, unsmiling middle-aged man, posed uncomfortably in a large upholstered chair. He was dressed in battered leather armour, and his face was lined and weathered. He looked as though he would have been more at home riding a horse into combat than sitting for an official Family portrait. There was an air of strength and wildness about him, and his great mane of white hair and sharp, beaked nose reminded Hawk uncannily of a bird of prey, trained to duty but never tamed.
“Yes, it is. But I felt it only fair you should all know what the situation is. You see, before the will can be read, the Tower has to be isolated behind protective wards for twenty-four hours. That’s traditional.”
“You mean, once the wards are up, no one can leave the Tower for a full day?” said Hawk. “No matter what happens here?”
He and Fisher exchanged a quick glance.
“That’s right,” said Jamie. “But trust me, nothing’s going to happen. If the creature had meant any harm, it would have acted by now. All those years of imprisonment must have knocked the fight out of it.”
“I’m sure you’re right,” said Fisher. “But you couldn’t have known that, at the beginning. In fact, it must have been pretty scary, especially when the servants started leaving, rather than face whatever it was. So why did you stay? Wouldn’t it have been safer to evacuate the Tower?”
“This is my home,” said Jamie. “Home to my Family for generations. I won’t be driven out of it.”
There was an uncomfortable pause.
“Well,” said Katrina brightly, “if all else fails, we can always call on the Guardian!”
“Who?” said Hawk.
There was another, longer pause as the MacNeils looked at him strangely. Hawk silently cursed. He knew he should have insisted on a full briefing. Nothing was more likely to trip him and Fisher up than not recognizing some Family in-joke or reference, and this was clearly one of them. Still, the harm was done now. All he could do was try and face it down. He stared innocently back at Jamie and Katrina, and noticed for the first time that Holly wasn’t paying any attention to the conversation. Instead, her eyes were far away, as though she were lost in some world of her own. Then Katrina started speaking, and Hawk quickly switched his attention back to her.
“You must have heard of the MacNeil Guardian,” said Katrina, speaking slowly and carefully, as though to a rather backward small child. “Perhaps you know him by a different name. The Guardian is one of our more pleasant and comforting Family legends. One of our more remote ancestors is supposed to haunt the Tower, duty bound to protect his descendants from harm. Apparently it’s a penance for some bloody crime he later came to regret but was unable to put right while he lived. The legend doesn’t say exactly what his crime might have been.”
“That’s often the way with legends,” said Hawk. “You’re right, of course. I recognize it now. Has anyone seen this ghost in recent times?”
“No one’s seen him for centuries,” said Jamie. “Though there have been any number of times when the Family could have used his help. So I’m afraid it is just a legend, after all.”
“I believe in him,” said Holly suddenly. “I pray every night he’ll come to save me. But he never does.”
Everyone looked at her strangely for a moment. For the first time, there had been real passion in her voice, and something that might have been despair. Jamie looked at her worriedly, but said nothing, and Holly quickly subsided into silence again. Katrina cleared her throat loudly.
“That’s supposed to be a portrait of the Guardian,” she said brightly, indicating a dark and gloomy portrait directly over the fireplace. “Painted not long before his death. It’s certainly old enough, so who knows?”
They all looked at the portrait. The pigments had darkened gradually over the years, but the image was still clear. The portrait showed a grim, unsmiling middle-aged man, posed uncomfortably in a large upholstered chair. He was dressed in battered leather armour, and his face was lined and weathered. He looked as though he would have been more at home riding a horse into combat than sitting for an official Family portrait. There was an air of strength and wildness about him, and his great mane of white hair and sharp, beaked nose reminded Hawk uncannily of a bird of prey, trained to duty but never tamed.
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