'Then you will do it alone.' said Anastasia, spinning on her heel and storming from the room. A heavy silence fell and Kaspar felt every eye in the room upon him.
'Nobody say a word.' he cautioned, simmering in anger.
II
THE LUBJANKO WAS just as grim and foreboding as Kaspar remembered it, the high, spike-topped walls and windowless facade warning away those who would dare to approach. Pillars of smoke billowed into the sky from behind the building, but even the warmth generated from the death pyres was not enough to entice the refugee population of Kislev to draw near this dreaded building.
The Lubjanko was now home to many of those struck down with the plague, the lower halls of the former hospital now given over to the business of death, the wails of the dying and afflicted echoing within its dark walls as though the building itself were screaming.
Kaspar and Bremen rode towards the Lubjanko, their horses plodding through the deep snow that lay thick and undisturbed - further proof that no one came this way. Since leaving the embassy, Kaspar had said nothing, still angry at the confrontation in the embassy's receiving room. Anastasia had infuriated him and, despite the many things he enjoyed about her, he knew that there would be no reconciliation this time. His instincts told him that events in Kislev were rapidly approaching a critical point, and he could not be distracted by those who would continually pour scorn on his thoughts.
After Anastasia had left he had endured another hour of ice on his knee until the swelling had gone down to a level where he could put his weight upon it again. Then he had changed into fresh, dry clothing and gathered up his weapons once more.
Sofia had advised him to rest some more before heading to the Lubjanko, but upon seeing Kaspar's resolve, settled for applying a cold compress to his knee and making him swear to be careful. In deference to Sofia's advice, he travelled on his horse, though he could still feel the ache in his joint even as he rode.
Kossars with black armbands and gauze facemasks stood at the gateway of the Lubjanko, an entrance with no gates that symbolised its initial purpose of caring for all who came within its walls. They allowed the ambassador past without comment, resting on the hafts of their long axes and gathered around burning braziers.
'This is a terrible place,' said Kurt Bremen, staring up at the featureless walls.
Kaspar nodded, turning in the saddle as he heard footsteps crunching through the snow behind them. Chekatilo and Rejak approached them, wrapped in furs and struggling through the deep snow with difficulty.
'Well met, ambassador,' said Chekatilo. 'You have recovered enough?'
'Enough,' agreed Kaspar. 'Let us get inside. I have no wish to tarry in this awful place longer than necessary.'
Chekatilo nodded and approached the heavy doors that led within. Twin statues of Shallya flanked the doors, with a Kislevite translation of one of her prayers carved above. Kaspar and Bremen dismounted, tying their horses to the hitching rail beside the door.
'Should I see if one of those soldiers will watch our horses?' said Bremen.
Kaspar shook his head. 'No, I do not think that will be necessary. Even though food is scarce, I have the feeling that few horse thieves would risk coming near this dreadful place.'
Bremen shrugged as Chekatilo hammered on the door and the four men gathered on the icy steps. Kaspar's knee hurt, but it was bearable, though he felt the cold seep into his body as they waited for someone to respond to the knocking.
'Damn this,' he said finally, pushing open the door without waiting for an answer. Kaspar stepped into the gloomy halls of the Lubjanko, the stone flagged hall he found himself within, cold and empty. A set of wide stairs led up to his left and a set of double doors marked with a painted white cross led deeper inside.
'Where will we find this ratcatcher, Chekatilo?' he asked.
'Upstairs. White cross means lower chambers are kept for those who will soon be dead from plague. Not so much work to carry them to the pyres if they kept here.'
Kaspar nodded and set off up the stairs, feeling his knee twinge with each step. Bremen, Chekatilo and Rejak followed him quickly, each sensing his dark mood. The stairwell was lit by the occasional lamp, doglegging several times before emerging onto a landing. Screams, hacking coughs and weeping could be heard from behind a nearby doorway and Kaspar pushed it open as Chekatilo nodded.
The long hall appeared to run the width of the building, the walls lined with wooden cots upon which desperate unfortunates rested in various stages of madness or catatonia. What little space was not filled with beds was occupied by sorry specimens of humanity curled up on blankets as they waited to die or go mad with cold and hunger.
Hundreds of people filled the hall, their demented wailings echoing from the high ceiling like a chorus of the damned. Black robed priests of Morr made their way up and down the aisles between the people who had been dumped here, speaking words of comfort to those who would listen or signalling the ragged orderlies to bring a shroud to wrap another body in.
The babble of lunatic voices was disorienting, hundreds of human beings reduced to such wretched misery by war, suffering and poverty. Kaspar felt his anger turn to sorrow as he took in the scale of human anguish he saw around him.
This was the result of wars, he knew. Men might tell grand tales of the glory of battle and the eternal struggle for freedom, indeed he himself was guilty of such sentiments, having spoken of these things before battle was joined to rouse the courage of his soldiers. But Kaspar knew that such talk was easy when the battle was long over, when the terror, bloodshed and suffering was nothing but a half-remembered nightmare, and he felt a deep wave of loathing wash through him.
Amidst such thoughts, he saw a hugely fat man standing beside a bed containing a supine young man. The man snapped his fingers to summon the orderlies before drawing his finger across his throat. The meaning was clear and Kaspar found this callous display of inhumanity utterly unforgivable.
As he moved onto the next bed, the fat man noticed Kaspar and his companions and limped towards them, his ruddy features clouded with anger. He unleashed a torrent of Kislevite, and Kaspar fought the urge to smash his fist into the man's ugly features.
Seeing Kaspar did not understand, he switched to heavily accented Reikspiel.
'Who you and what you be doing here?' he demanded.
'Dimitrji...' said Chekatilo. 'It is good to see you too.'
The man appeared to notice the fat crook for the first time and sneered. 'Vassily? What you here for?'
'I want to see Nikolai again,' said Chekatilo.
'Pah! That madman!' snapped Dimitrji. 'I have priest of Morr give him much laudanum to keep him quiet. His ravings set others off and place become madhouse.'
'I thought it already was.'
'You know what I mean,' growled Dimitrji, his flushed features red with a lifetime's abuse of kvas.
'Where can I find him?' pressed Chekatilo.
'In storeroom at end of hall,' said Dimitrji, waving his hand vaguely towards the far end of the scream-filled hall. 'I keep him apart from others.'
'Your compassion does you credit,' chuckled Chekatilo.
Dimitrji sneered and limped off, leaving them to make their way through the hall. They stood aside respectfully for the shaven-headed priests of Morr, stately and dignified in their long black robes and silver amulets bearing the symbol of their god, the gateway that separated the kingdoms of the living and the dead.
The Lubjanko was truly a place of horror. Kaspar saw all manner of disfigurements, both physical and mental in the forms of the inmates sequestered here. Those cursed by deformities from birth, mutilated by war, ravaged by sickness or left with broken minds following some nightmarish trauma; all were equal within the walls of the Lubjanko.
So touched by the scale of suffering he saw, Kaspar didn't notice the hooded priest of Morr coming the other way until he ran into him.
'I'm sorry-' began Kaspar, but the stoop-shouldered figure ignored him, walking quickly
in the opposite direction, his plain black robes swathing him from head to toe. Kaspar shrugged, his nose wrinkling at the rank smell that came from the priest, but supposed that working in such a terrible place did not leave much time for personal hygiene. Something about the priest seemed out of place, but Kaspar could not say what and put the encounter from his mind as they reached the door to the storeroom Dimitrji had indicated.
He pushed open the door and immediately saw that they had made a wasted journey.
Nikolai Pysanka lay on a simple cot-bed with his throat pumping a jet of blood onto the floor. His slack, dead features were twisted in an expression of pure terror, as though his last sight had been of his greatest fear made flesh. There was no need to check if he was still alive; no man could live with his throat opened like that.
'By Sigmar!' swore Bremen, rushing to the corpse. 'How could anyone have known?'
Rejak stepped over the spreading pool of blood and said, 'This done not long ago. Blood still flowing from him.'
'Whatever Nikolai knew, he takes to Morr's kingdom with him,' said Chekatilo.
'That's it!' exclaimed Kaspar and bolted from the storeroom. He ran back to the wide hall full of human detritus and quickly scanned the room. There! Bremen, Chekatilo and Rejak joined him, looking quizzically at the ambassador as he shouted, 'You! In the black robes, stop!'
Kaspar set off in the direction of the stairs. Various priests of Morr looked up from their labours at the sound of Kaspar's shout, but he ignored them, running as fast as his injured knee allowed towards the man he had bumped into; the man who did not wear a pendant with the gateway symbol of Morr.
The figure ignored him and Kaspar drew his pistol, pulling back the flint with a loud click. He aimed just above the figure's head and shouted again. 'Stop! Stop now or I fire!'
The black robed figure was almost at the door that led to the stairs and Kaspar had no choice but to pull the trigger. The pistol boomed, the noise deafening, and the din in the hall rose as the inmates, frightened by the gunshot, erupted in a heightened cacophony of shrieks and wails. Madmen surged from their beds, cripples diving to the floor as nightmare memories of battle returned to haunt them.
The figure at the end of the hall spun, inhumanly quick, and Kaspar saw its hands dart beneath its robes. He jammed his pistol into his belt and ducked towards the cover of a stone column as he drew his second pistol and a blur of silver steel flashed through the air towards him.
He heard a series of clangs and risked a glance around the column, seeing three razor-edged triangular throwing stars embedded in the stone. He felt hands upon him and turned to see a filthy man dressed in a soiled smock pawing at his shoulders.
'Yha, novesya matka, tovarich!' yelled the man, spittle flying from his cracked lips.
Kaspar pushed the man away as Rejak and Bremen pounded past him, heading after the figure in black as it dashed through the door to the stairs.
Kaspar ran after them, fighting his way through the mad press of bodies that filled the hall. Screaming lunatics surrounded him, yelling insensible babble. Madness shone from every face as he fought to break free and pursue the ratcatcher's murderer. Hands tore at him, broken nails drawing blood from his cheeks as they clawed at his eyes. He felt himself being borne to the ground and lashed out with his fist and elbows as they began tearing at his clothes.
'Get off me!' he yelled, but either they did not understand him or paid him no mind if they did. A bare foot hammered his groin and the breath was driven from him, his body jack-knifing in pain.
Then suddenly it was over as Kurt Bremen returned and fought his way through the crowd of attacking madmen. His fists and feet cleared a path and the others fell back, terrified at this fearsome warrior in their midst.
'Ambassador! Grab my hand!' shouted Bremen. Kaspar reached up and Bremen hauled him to his feet, dragging him towards the stairs.
'Did you catch him?' managed Kaspar at last.
'Rejak is going after him.'
Kaspar and Bremen barged through the door and hurried downstairs in time to find Chekatilo's assassin lying at the foot of the stairs, his left arm hanging uselessly at his side. The man's face was deathly pale and blood matted the furs he wore.
'Rejak!' shouted Kaspar. 'Where is he?'
'Outside,' said Rejak slowly, 'Ursun save me, but he was quick. Fastest bladesman I ever see. He make me look like child. A heartbeat slower and my guts be all over floor.'
Kaspar had seen Rejak's speed with a blade and felt a chill race up his spine at the thought of an opponent faster than him. The only man faster with a blade that Kaspar knew of was securely locked away.
Bremen pulled open the Lubjanko's main door and raced outside into the snow.
Kaspar knelt by the wounded swordsman and tried to assess the damage. He was no surgeon, but knew that Rejak was lucky to be alive. Blood soaked his stomach and britches where a blade had cut him across the belly. A fingerbreadth deeper and Rejak would have died, not that Kaspar would have shed any tears for him.
'You are lucky to be alive,' said Kaspar as Chekatilo finally reached the bottom of the stairs. Chekatilo glanced at Rejak's injury and said, 'Will he die?'
'I'm not sure. I don't think so,' said Kaspar, 'but he needs a physician or he will.'
Chekatilo nodded, his breathing ragged and uneven. 'I not built for running.'
'You are not built for anything, Chekatilo.' said Kaspar bitterly. 'No sign of him.' said Bremen, returning to the entrance hall, frustrated at their failure to capture the killer. 'Damn.' swore Kaspar. 'Now we are back to square one.' His heart sank as he knew that their best chance to unravel the truth had just been snatched from beneath their very noses.
III
THERE SEEMED LITTLE point in any further action that day so Kaspar and Bremen left the Lubjanko to return to the embassy, leaving Chekatilo to requisition a genuine priest of Morr to tend to Rejak's wounds until a priestess of Shallya could be brought.
Rejak's survival was a matter of supreme indifference to Kaspar, but the thought of how easily the man had been bested by the black-robed killer unsettled him greatly. Were their unknown foes so highly skilled? The only man of such skill Kaspar had seen was Sasha Kajetan, and he wondered if the swordsman would know of anyone else in Kislev with similar gifts. He wondered if there was enough of Kajetan's mind left to ask.
Kislev was quiet as the afternoon drew on, the low sun bright in a sky of azure blue, the day seeming so much brighter than it had earlier on. Kaspar wondered if this were really were true or whether it was simply the joy of leaving such a dark hellhole that made it seem so.
They rode back to the embassy in silence. He dismounted and handed the reins of his horse to one of the Knights Panthers' lance carriers, feeling a real sense of hopelessness.
He was not equipped to deal with such matters. Understanding the nature of warfare and how best to motivate his troops; those things he understood, but intrigue and mysteries were matters he felt were beyond him. The thought depressed him, but as he limped into the embassy and saw Sofia smiling at him, he felt his spirits lift.
He saw her notice the weariness in his face and said, 'What happened?'
Kaspar shook his head. 'I'll tell you later, but right now I need a drink.'
She stepped close and took his arm. 'Are you alright? Are you hurt?'
'No, I am fine, I am just... tired.' said Kaspar. 'Very tired.'
Sofia saw the exhaustion in his eyes and knew not to press the point. 'Very well. I have some news that might cheer you.'
'That would be a nice change. What is it?'
'It looks as though Pavel's fever has broken.' said Sofia. 'I think he is over the worst of his ordeal. If he can stay off the kvas, he may actually live to see the new year.'
Kaspar looked up. 'Is he awake?'
Sofia nodded and Kaspar set off upstairs to Pavel's room, where he found his old comrade sitting up in bed blowing on a bowl of hot soup. Pavel was still a terrible sight, covered in stitche
s and bandages and Kaspar forced himself to smile as he entered the room.
Pavel looked up and grimaced. 'I look that bad?'
'You've looked better.' answered Kaspar. 'But I'll wager the other man looks worse.'
'Ha! If by other man you mean rats and a broken window, then yha, they look worse.'
'What happened?' asked Kaspar, pulling up a chair and sitting beside the bed. 'How much do you remember?'
'Pavel not remember much after the rats. By Olric that was bad. Hundreds of rats, they came from everywhere at once. Biting, clawing and killing. I never see anything like it in all my days. They kill everyone...'
'What happened to you after that?'
'I... I am not sure. I was very drunk already when I get there and had begun to drink more when it all happen. To get away from the rats, I jump through window and cut myself badly.'
'You will have some fine scars, it's true.' said Kaspar.
'Perhaps they make Pavel more handsome.' laughed Pavel, grimacing as the stitches in his face pulled tight.
'Maybe.' said Kaspar, doubtfully, 'you never know what some people find attractive.'
'Yha, Pavel will be dangerously handsome with scars, but to be honest, I not know what happened after the rats. I wandered through streets and collapsed. All I remember is terrible dream about falling and then thinking that I had to get back here. I not know how long I was away or how I find my way back. Next thing I knew I was back here with Madame Valencik cleaning my wounds.'
'Well, I'm glad you are on the mend, Pavel.'
Pavel nodded and took a mouthful of soup. 'Sofia tell me that you and Chekatilo working together now. He is dangerous man, you sure that is wise?'
The question was asked lightly, but Kaspar could sense the tension behind it.
'He told me you went to see him, Pavel.' said the ambassador. 'That you asked him to help me find Kajetan.'
'Kaspar, I-' began Pavel, but Kaspar cut him off.
'I know you went to him for all the right reasons, but you once said that Chekatilo was not a man to be indebted to, and that's just where you have put me. Haven't you?'
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