"Simon R. Green - Haven 04 - Wolf in the Fold" - читать интересную книгу автора (Green Simon R)

Hawk and Fisher, husband and wife and Captains in the Guard for more than five years, stood together
at the back of the room, enjoying the warmth of the fire and trying not to think about the cold streets
outside. Hawk was tall, dark, and no longer handsome. The series of old scars that marred the right
side of his face gave him a bitter, sinister look, heightened by the black silk patch over his right eye.
He was lean and wiry rather than muscular, and building a stomach, but even standing still the man
looked dangerous. Anyone who survived five years as a Captain had to be practically unkillable, but
even those who didn't know his reputation tended to give him plenty of room. There was something
about Hawk, something cold and unyielding, that gave even the hardest bravo cause to think twice.
He wore the standard furs and black cloak of the Guard's winter uniform with little style and less grace.
Even on a good day Hawk tended to look as though he'd got dressed in the dark. In a hurry. He wore
his dark hair at shoulder length, swept back from his forehead and tied at the nape with a silver clasp.
He'd only just turned thirty, but already there were streaks of grey in his hair. On his right hip Hawk
carried a short-handled axe instead of a sword. He was very good with an axe. He'd had lots of
practice.

Isobel Fisher leant companionably against him, putting an edge on a throwing knife with a whetstone.
She was tall, easily six feet in height, and her long blond hair fell to her waist in a single thick plait,
weighted at the tip with a polished steel ball. She was heading into her late twenties, and handsome
rather than beautiful. There was a rawboned harshness to her face that suggested strength and
stubbornness, only slightly softened by her deep blue eyes and generous mouth. Sometime in the past,
something had scoured all the human weaknesses out of her, and it showed. She wore a sword on her
hip in a battered scabbard, and her prowess with that blade was already legendary in a city used to
legends.

A steady murmur of conversation rose and fell around Hawk and Fisher as the Guard Captains brought
each other up to date on the latest gossip and exchanged ritual complaints about the lousy coffee and
the necessity of working the graveyard shift. As in most cities, the night brought out the worst in
Haven. But the graveyard shift paid the best, and there were always those who needed the extra
money. As winter approached and the trade routes shut down one by one, choked by snow and ice and
bitter storms, prices in the markets rose accordingly. Which was why every winter Hawk and Fisher,
and others like them, worked from ten at night to six the next morning. And complained about it a lot.

Hawk leant back against the wall, his arms folded and his chin resting on his chest. He was never at his
best at the beginning of a shift, and the recent change in schedules had just made him worse. Hawk
hated having his sleeping routine changed. Fisher nudged him with her elbow, and his head came up
an inch. He looked quickly round the squadroom, satisfied himself the Commander wasn't there yet,
and let his chin sink back onto his chest. His eye closed. Fisher sighed, and looked away. She just
hoped he wouldn't start snoring again. She checked the edge on her knife, and plucked a hair from
Hawk's head to test it. He didn't react.

The door flew open and Commander Dubois stalked in, clutching a thick sheaf of papers. The Guard
Captains quieted down and came to some sort of attention. Fisher put away her knife and whetstone
and elbowed Hawk sharply. He straightened up with a grunt, and fixed his bleary eye on Dubois as the
Commander glared out over the squadroom. Dubois was short and stocky and bald as an egg. He'd
been a Commander for twenty-three years and it hadn't improved his disposition one bit. He'd been a
hell of a thief-taker in his day, but he'd taken one chance too many, and half a dozen thugs took it in
turn to stamp on his legs till they broke. The doctors said he'd never walk again. They didn't know
Dubois. These days he spent most of his time overseeing operations, fighting the Council for a higher
budget, and training new recruits. After three weeks of his slave-driving and caustic wit most recruits