[Gotrek & Felix 02] - Skavenslayer

by William King

  He smiled ironically. Fine words, he told himself, for a man who had just taken a hefty handout from his own rich family. Well, he had not made this world, he just had to live in it. He turned and walked along the bank of the river, losing himself in the sounds and smells and sights of the dockside.

  The smell of fish assaulted his nostrils. Felix gagged and held the pomander he had acquired from Doctor Drexler under his nose. Its perfumed scent was starting to fade, but it was still enough to sweeten the tainted air. Felix noticed that the smells of the street and other people seemed keener now that he’d had his first bath in weeks.

  The rumble of huge drayage carts competed with the shouts of the dock workers. An armed guard in the black tabard of the city-state stopped to take a pear from the cart of a small trader. A child pickpocket made a daring rush for the purse of an old trader too poor to afford bodyguards. It was all very much as Felix remembered it from his childhood visits to Nuln with his father and brothers. He headed onwards, making for the better part of town.

  He had a niggling feeling that someone was following him, but when he turned around to look no one was there.

  Felix studied his reflection in the mirror. Very nice, he thought. He knew he cut a fine figure. At the best of times he was tall, athletic and quite good-looking, if he said so himself. Now he was dressed to make the most of it. He took a deep breath, revelling in the smell of luxury, of oak panelling and fine old leather. This discreet tailor’s shop, catering only to the highest category of nobles, was one of the Jaeger family’s less well-known businesses. It had not even existed when Felix had last been in Nuln. It had been set up by Otto, using introductions passed on by the late Fritz von Halstadt. For once Felix was glad of Otto’s corrupt association with the man he had killed.

  His fine new clothes felt strange. The high leather boots pinched. The tunic felt a little stiff, the padded lining felt too soft. The white linen shirt smelled too fresh. He realised how used he had become to the harsh life on the road, when he had not changed his clothes for months. Only the new cloak of red Sudenland wool felt familiar. It resembled his old one, ruined by skaven blood during the attack on the Blind Pig. The sword he had taken from the Templar, Aldred, was encased in a fine new sheath of plain black leather.

  “Would sir like any alterations made?” the assistant asked obsequiously.

  Felix studied the bald-headed, sour faced fellow. Only an hour ago, when Felix had entered the shop, the assistant had inspected him as if he were a particularly large and repulsive cockroach. In a way, Felix could not blame him. He had been dressed like a beggar. Of course, the assistant’s attitude had changed within seconds of reading Otto’s hastily scrawled note. When Otto Jaeger himself told his minions to give this client anything he wanted, fawning courtesy was thrown in as part of the bargain.

  Felix gave the man his best condescending smile. “No. I would like several copies of these garments delivered to my residence within the day. And have my old clothing packed and returned immediately.”

  “Of course, sir. And where would sir’s residence be?”

  “At the sign of the Blind Pig, in the New Quarter. Have the clothes delivered to Felix Jaeger.”

  Felix enjoyed looking at the man’s face when he gave the address. He looked as if he had just swallowed that large and particularly nasty cockroach.

  “The Blind Pig, sir? Isn’t that a—”

  “Where I stay is my own business, don’t you think?”

  “Of course, sir. It is simply that sir took one rather by surprise for a moment. A thousand apologies.”

  “No need. Just make sure my clothes are delivered on time.”

  “I will see to it personally, sir.”

  Felix wondered if the man would have the nerve to come to the New Quarter himself. Maybe he would. He was obviously paid enough to make it worth his while to stay in Felix’s favour.

  “Will that be all, sir?”

  “For the moment, yes.”

  Felix emerged from the tailor’s into the late afternoon gloom. He glanced around. No pursuers were visible. If there had actually been any, perhaps they had grown bored with waiting while Felix was in the tailor’s. He hoped so at least.

  He noticed he was standing taller and he felt more poised than he had before. He carried himself like a different man from the weary wanderer who had presented himself at Otto Jaeger’s warehouse earlier. It was amazing the difference a bath and a change of clothes could make in a man.

  A feeling of nervous anticipation had been gathering in his stomach all day. It was not quite fear. It was more like a vague uneasiness about what he would encounter within Elector Countess Emmanuelle’s palace. He was forced to admit that he prayed he would not embarrass himself in front of the nobility.

  He considered that thought for a moment, then forced a smile. His manners were good. He was well-spoken and well-dressed. There was nothing to be afraid of. Yet he knew this was not true. The nobility did not like upstart newcomers from the merchant class. During his time at university he had endured many snubs by young nobles who had taken pains to communicate this to him. At the same time, he had always resented being looked down on by people who were often stupider and less well-educated than he, whose only qualification was that they happened to be born into the right inbred bloodline. Now he could not help but laugh at himself. He was certainly not working himself into the correct frame of mind for this interview.

  He thanked Sigmar for small mercies: at least Gotrek had not been summoned as well. He could just picture a confrontation between the local high-born and the sullen Trollslayer. It would be an encounter fated to end in disaster. Felix had never known the Slayer to show deference to anything or anyone, and he doubted that the countess or her minions would appreciate his independence of spirit.

  Suddenly a new problem presented itself, and one that he had not even bothered to consider earlier. The streets were muddy and full of rubbish. The gutters were overflowing. The crowds were unwashed and tightly pressed. He could not get to the palace without some of the dirt of the streets transferring itself to his superb new clothes. He knew it would never do to appear at the palace looking less than immaculate. He glanced around, hoping that a solution would present itself.

  He gestured with his arm, summoning a passing palanquin. The litter’s curtains were open, showing it was for hire. The two burly bearers approached him deferentially. Felix was startled for a moment. Normally two such bravoes would have cursed him or exchanged coarse jibes, but now they were all attentive respect. Of course, he realised, it was the clothes. They saw him as a rich noble and a potentially lucrative fare. It was an impression which was in no way diminished when he said: The palace, and swiftly.”

  He clambered into the plushly upholstered seat and the bearers set off at a fast striding pace. Felix pulled open the curtains at the back of the palanquin, checking to see if he was being followed once more. Was it just his imagination or had someone just ducked back into the mouth of that alley?

  The way to the palace was steep and winding. The townhouses of the nobility arrayed themselves around the highest hill in the city.

  From where Felix sat he could see a fine view of the roofs of the merchants below, and the great curve of the River Reik. He could see the spires of the temples and the great building site where workmen laboured to rebuild the College of Engineering.

  Horses’ hooves clattered on the cobbled streets. Coaches swept past. Servants in the liveries of a dozen famous families swarmed everywhere, carrying messages, leading beasts, holding great satchels full of provisions. The lowest of them were better dressed than some of the city’s merchants, and the highest ranking wore uniforms scarcely less ornate than a mercenary captain’s. Everyone looked cleaner and better fed than the commoners down below.

  Here and there nobles garbed in splendid raiment walked with their retainers and bodyguards, the crowd parting as if under the influence of some mysterious force before them. Felix studied their ha
ughtiness, thinking that he recognised a few of the younger ones who played at being poor in the Blind Pig of an evening. He doubted that any of them would recognise him now.

  Ahead of them loomed the walls of the palace. It dwarfed the stately townhouses around it. Even now, with its walls replastered and ornate statuary lining the approach, it looked far more like a fortress than a palace. The great arch of the gateway was huge, and the heavy oaken gates were shod with bronze and looked like they could resist a hundred battering rams. Sentries barred the entrance and scrutinised all who attempted to pass. Some were recognised immediately and allowed to go in unhindered. Others were stopped and challenged, and Felix guessed he would be in the latter category.

  He tapped on the canopy of the palanquin to indicate that they should stop, paid the footmen the two silver shillings and added another shilling for a tip, then watched them depart. He patted his tunic to make sure his summons was still there, then strode as confidently as he could manage in the direction of the gate.

  When one of the guards asked him his business, he showed them the letter and the seal and was surprised when a tall, lean man garbed all in black emerged from within the gatehouse. He looked at Felix with cold, grey eyes.

  “Herr Jaeger,” he said in a calm, emotionless voice. “If you would be so good as to accompany me? I will explain the nature of this business on the way.”

  Filled with sudden trepidation, Felix fell into step beside him. He could not help but notice that two armed guards dogged their steps. They moved down long corridors, passed through a series of galleries and an enormous ballroom, before going down some steps into the dungeons below. Somewhere in the distance, the evening bell tolled.

  Felix studied the office warily. It was large and sumptuously furnished, not at all what he had expected. He had expected a torture chamber or a cell, but not this. Nevertheless, the two men-at-arms had followed them in and positioned themselves against the far wall where they stood, immobile. As Felix watched, a lamplighter in the livery of the palace entered, carrying a small ladder. Another bearing only a lit taper clambered up the ladder and lit the candles set in the massive chandelier. Its light dimmed the rays of the setting sun that filtered in through the narrow window.

  The tall man gestured to the massive leather armchair which sat in front of his equally enormous desk. “Please, Herr Jaeger, be seated.”

  Felix allowed himself to sink into the chair. The tall man wandered over to the window and stared out for a moment, before pulling the heavy brocade drapes closed. He considered the window as if he were looking at it for the first time. It was narrow, obviously designed as an arrow slit.

  “This place was a fortress before it was a palace,” he said.

  His words hung in the air. Felix turned them over, wondering if there was some hidden meaning. He did not respond but waited for the man to continue, to amplify his statement if he was going to. The man considered this and smiled for the first time. His teeth were a brilliant white and made even his pale skin look sallow.

  “Forgive me, Herr Jaeger; you are not quite what I expected.”

  “And what did you expect, Herr…?”

  The man bowed as one would to an opponent who had just scored a point in a fencing match. “Forgive me, once more. It has been a long and harrowing day and I quite forget my manners. I am Hieronymus Ostwald. I am the personal secretary to Her Serenity.”

  Felix was not sure whether he should rise and bow back. He was not given the chance. Ostwald moved swiftly behind his desk and sat down. Felix noticed that even in that comfortable chair he sat with his back straight, like someone used to the iron discipline of a soldier.

  “In answer to your question, from the description I had of you, I expected someone less… polished than yourself. Serves me right, I suppose.” He opened a small leather book in front of him. “You are a member of the Jaeger family, I see. Good. Very good.”

  “Why am I here?”

  “Dieter! Johan! You may wait outside.” Ostwald gestured to the men-at-arms. They opened the door and quietly and discreetly vacated the room. Once they had gone, Ostwald steepled his fingers and started again.

  “Tell me, Herr Jaeger, are you familiar with the skaven?”

  Felix felt like his heart was about to stop. His mouth felt suddenly dry. He considered his words very carefully indeed. “I know of them. I am not personally acquainted with any.”

  Ostwald laughed again. It was a cold, mechanical laugh and there was no humour in it. “Very good. I had understood that this was not the case.”

  “What are you getting at?” Felix’s nervousness made him sound snappish. He did not know the way this conversation was going but he could imagine several possible outcomes, none of them pleasant.

  “Merely that you have served in the sewer watch and you claimed to your superiors there that you had encountered them. Is that not the case?”

  “You know it is.”

  “Yes. I do.” Again Ostwald smiled. “You do not seem to me like a typical sewerjack, Herr Jaeger. The sons of rich merchants rarely leap at the chance to hunt goblins in our sewers.”

  Felix was getting used to this now. He was not as surprised as he might have been by the unexpected nature of the statement. He could see that this was all part of Ostwald’s technique. He liked to keep the people he was dealing with off-balance. It was like getting the measure of your opponent in a duel. Felix smiled back at him.

  “I am the black sheep of my family.”

  “Indeed. How interesting. You must explain to me how that came about some time.”

  “I suspect you already know.”

  “Perhaps. Perhaps. Let us return to the skaven, Herr Jaeger. How many times have you encountered them?”

  “On several occasions.”

  “How many precisely?”

  Felix counted the number of times he was prepared to admit to. There was the encounter in the sewer. There was the attack on the Blind Pig. There was his fight in the Gardens of Morr. He decided that under the circumstances it might be undiplomatic to mention his meeting with the rat-ogre in von Halstadt’s house and his battle with the warlocks of Skryre in the College of Engineering.

  “Three.”

  Ostwald consulted his book again. Another piece of the puzzle fitted into place, Felix thought to himself. He doesn’t really know anything. He’s just fishing. His style is to intimidate people and then see what they let slip. Of course, thought Felix, this knowledge will do you no good, if he orders you taken down into the dungeons and tortured. He decided to try a few questions himself.

  “On whose authority are you doing this?” he asked.

  “The Elector Countess Emmanuelle’s,” Ostwald said with absolute certainty. “Why do you ask?”

  “I am just trying to work out what is going on here.”

  Ostwald gave him a long cold chilling smile. “I can explain that to you quite easily, Herr Jaeger. What do you know of Fritz von Halstadt?”

  Once again, Felix felt his heart leap into his mouth. He fought to keep his guilt and his surprise off his face. A slight amused flicker in Ostwald’s eyes told him that the man had noticed something.

  “It’s a familiar name,” he said. “I think I saw him once at my brother’s club.”

  “Very good, Herr Jaeger. Allow me to share something with you—on the understanding on your word as a gentleman, that nothing I tell you goes beyond the confines of this room.”

  The tone in which the words were said told Felix that Ostwald was not simply counting on his word as a gentleman. Felix did not doubt that there would be serious and violent reprisals if he betrayed the man’s confidence.

  “Please go ahead. You have my word I will tell no one.”

  “Fritz von Halstadt was murdered.”

  Felix thought he was going to be struck down on the spot. He felt sure that his guilt was written all over his face and that Ostwald was going to summon the guard to have him thrown into the dungeon.

  “By the
skaven.”

  Felix let out a long, rushing sigh of relief.

  “I can see you are appalled, Herr Jaeger.”

  “Am I?” Felix collected his scattered wits. “I mean—aren’t I just?”

  “Yes. It’s a terrifying thought, isn’t it? I will tell you something else. Fritz von Halstadt was no ordinary servant of the crown. He was the chief of Her Serenity’s secret police. We think he must have discovered some skaven plot and been murdered because of it.”

  If you’d used the word “joined” instead of “discovered”, I would have to agree with you, Felix thought. What he said instead was: “What makes you think this?”

  “In the burned-out remains of his home we found the skeleton of a creature that was not human. We suspect that it was some monster conjured by the skaven to assassinate Von Halstadt. He must have fought with it and killed it then died of his wounds. The house was probably set on fire during their struggle.”

  “Go on.”

  “Interestingly enough, soon after that there was an attempt on your life. As far as I know, you and your associate, the dwarf Gurnisson, were the only people who had then claimed to have seen the skaven. Perhaps this was an effort to cover their tracks.”

  “I think I see what you mean.”

  “There are other things you may not know, Herr Jaeger, and I tell you them now only so you will realise the seriousness of the situation. You may have heard that there was a fire at the College of Engineering?”

  “Yes.”

  “What you may not be aware of is that the fire was the work of the skaven too. I assure you, Herr Jaeger, this is nothing to smile about. The gods were against those rat-man devils in one way. There seems to have been some sort of accident, for we found many skaven corpses at the scene.”