Beyond the torches at the gate, the little village was dark, and it was hard to see many details, but Felix could see enough to realise that Bauholz was not a healthy town. The silhouettes of the little houses were lopsided and tumble-down, some with the ribs of their roof timbers naked to the sky. There was rubbish in the street and a stink of excrement, urine and rot all around. Things skittered away from them in the dark.
Towards the centre of the village there was more light — quite a bit of it in fact. Bright lanterns hung outside two large structures on opposite corners of the central intersection. To the right was a squat, stone strong house with a crenellated roof that must have been the town’s last line of defence at one time. Now it seemed to be a bawdy house. There was a shield above the door that sported the coat of arms of Countess Emmanuelle von Liebewitz, and drunken songs and women’s laughter came from, within it. To the left was the old stone temple of Sigmar that Kat had said the soldiers had made into a tavern. The: hammer had been taken down from above the door and replaced with a sign that showed a barrel of blackpowder with pyramids of cannon balls piled around it. Roaring laughter and heated argument spilled from its open door, and a man in the uniform of an Ostland spearman was being violently sick on the front steps.
“Ludeker’s places,” whispered Kat.
“Lovely,” said Felix.
At the intersection, she led them to the right, down a dirty street that sloped towards the river. A sturdy warehouse — in better repair than any other building in the village — squatted to the left, and beyond it, the town’s wall stretched out a little way into the water to guard: the end of a wooden bridge. More guards stood before it, barring the way.
Felix raised an eyebrow. “Don’t tell me.”
Kat nodded, embarrassed. “Aye. Another tax.”
If the village was a garbage dump, the refugee camp was a pigsty — a muddy field by the river with dozens of tents and makeshift shacks sticking up from it like broken kites trampled into a swamp.
“Are you sure this is best?” asked Reidle, looking around uncertainly from the bench of the wagon as he followed them.
“Your men will get no care in the village, mein herr,” said Kat. “Not any worth the price, at least.” She looked around at the camp angrily. “Doktor Vinck was once the mayor of Bauholz, the most respected man in town,” she said. “Now he lives here. It isn’t right.”
“What happened?” asked Ortwin.
Kat sighed. “Marauders came during the invasion. The people hid in the woods. When they came back, they found it all ruined. Captain Ludeker came a while later with his men. He offered to rebuild the town and protect it. Doktor Vinck said no, they didn’t need the help, but the rest of the people were scared. They asked Ludeker to stay, so he did.” She kicked a pebble. “He tried to charge Doktor Vinck rent on his own house if he wanted to practise medicine there. Doktor Vinck refused. Now he is here and Ludeker lives in his house.”
“This Captain Ludeker sounds like a charming fellow,” said Felix.
Kat snorted and kicked another pebble.
The doctor lived near the centre of the ramshackle encampment, in a tent only slightly grander than those around it — its principal amenity being that it had a plank floor that mostly kept the mud out.
Kat rapped the edge of this floor with the toe of her boot as they drew the wagon up in the narrow street outside it. “Herr Doktor, are you at home?” she called.
“Just a minute, just a minute,” came a reedy voice from within, and a few moments later the flap of the tent was pushed aside and a thin old man in a night shirt and a scarf looked out at them, wispy white hair floating in the night breeze. “Ah,” he said. “Young Kat. You have some business for me?”
Felix winced a little when he saw the man. There was thin and there was gaunt. Herr Doktor Vinck was gaunt. He looked of an age with Sir Teobalt, but he appeared to be starving to death. And maybe this was the case. If it cost so much just to get inside Bauholz, how much would it cost to get food? There was obviously none stored from the harvest. There had been no harvest. All the food in the town would have had to be imported from somewhere else, and Felix could not imagine that prices were cheap.
“These men fought beastmen in the forest,” said Kat, “All are wounded. Two are dire.”
“Well, bring them in, bring them in,” said the doctor, holding aside the tent flap. “And we shall see what we can do.”
Felix, Gotrek, Ortwin and the less wounded guard carried in Sir Teobalt and the other guard and laid them on the bare floorboards. There were two makeshift cots at the back of the tent, but they were already occupied, one with a young woman and a baby, the other with a man with a bandage around his head — all asleep. The rest of the tent was hardly better furnished — a small iron stove and a barrel of water on one side, a table and stool on the other, and a chair in the centre with a little tray full of barber and dentistry tools next to it. A curtain hung half-open before the entrance to another room. Felix saw another cot in it.
Doktor Vinck dragged a surgeon’s bag out from behind the stove and then examined Teobalt and the unconscious guard, tsking and murmuring as he pulled back Kat’s crude bandages and poked and prodded.
“Broken arm. Broken leg. Lacerations. Sigmar, that’s a nasty cut.”
Teobalt woke with a hiss as the doctor turned to him and manipulated his shoulder.
“Good evening, sir knight,” said Doktor Vinck. “Sorry to wake you.”
The templar lay back and composed himself. “Not at all,” he said. “Pray continue.”
The doctor smiled. “Thank you. May I have a look at your eyes? Very good. And if you could move your fingers? Excellent. Well, I shall have a busy night tonight, and no mistake.”
He turned to Felix and the others. “My friends, we will start with this fellow here,” he said, pointing to the unconscious guard, who had horrible gashes on his chest and arms, and a leg that was bent at an unnatural angle. “If you would be so kind as to hold his arms and legs while I wash his wounds and sew them up?”
Ortwin sputtered at this. “My master is a knight, sir. You will attend to him first!”
Doktor Vinck glared at him as he dipped a bucket in the barrel of water. “Your master has only bruises, minor cuts, a concussion and a dislocated shoulder. He will not die if he waits a while. This man will.”
“But—” began Ortwin.
“Obey the doctor, novitiate,” said Teobalt. “We are in his domain here.”
Doktor Vinck bowed to the knight, then collected a bottle of vinegar from the table. “There is no hierarchy here but the hierarchy of need, young sir. Now, if you wish your master to be seen to quickly, then you would do well to assist me with the first.”
Ortwin frowned stubbornly at this and muttered under his breath, but after watching for a while, gave in and joined the others as they helped the doctor with his surgery.
More than two hours later, Felix lay down with the others on the bare floor beside the patched-up men and tried to sleep. The surgery had been long and unpleasant, and in the end the guard that Doktor Vinck had tried to patch first had died. He had lost too much blood. They had put him outside on the wagon with the other bodies and concentrated on saving Sir.; Teobalt, and then patching the rest of them. Teobalt had survived, at least for now. His arm had been set back in its socket and bound tightly. His lacerations had been bandaged and the hideous bruises on his legs where the beastman had trod on him and crushed his armour had been bled with leeches and salved. Doktor Vinck also gave him a draught of “elixir of poppy” to help them sleep. Felix noticed that the good doctor had a gulp of it himself before he retired to his room.
Felix wouldn’t have minded a sip himself, for the floor was hard and cold, and his aches and cuts and bruises from the fight were less than comfortable. It made it hard to sleep. He shifted, hissing, then rolled over — and found Kat staring at him from her space beside him on the floor.
His heart thudded at the intensity
of her stare. “Uh… hello?” he said uncertainly.
“Where have you been, Felix?” she asked in a whisper. “And why have you come back again?”
Felix let out a sigh, then chuckled. What a question. “It’s too late in the evening to tell you everywhere I’ve been It’s a long story. As to why I’ve come back to the Drak…” He paused, suddenly embarrassed. It sounded silly and old-fashioned to say it. “I am on a quest,” he said at last, and waited for her to laugh, but she took it without even a smile. “The sword I carry belongs to Sir Teobalt’s knightly order. He has said that I can keep it if I help him find out what happened to his brother templars.”
“What was the name of the order?” Kat asked. “I served as a scout during the fighting, and guided many knights north through the woods.”
“The Order of the Fiery Heart,” said Felix. “Sir Teobalt told me he had word of them a month ago, defending a village near Fort Stangenschloss from beastmen.”
Kat nodded, her brow furrowing. “I remember them, but from the beginning of the war. I did not see them or hear of them the last time I was at Stangenschloss.” She shrugged. “They may have come and gone again while I was elsewhere. I am mostly in the woods.”
“When were you last there?” asked Felix.
“About two weeks ago,” she said. “Since the end of the war I have made it my job to guide refugees from Stangenschloss to Bauholz, and supply trains from Bauholz to Stangenschloss.”
“How did you find us, then?” Felix asked, frowning. “We weren’t on your route.”
“There were rumours of beastmen near Bauholz, so I went hunting for them.” Her eyes glittered. “That is my other job — my true job — finding the camps of the beastmen and leading the soldiers to them so that they can kill them all.”
Felix’s eyes widened. He could think of no more dangerous profession. “The girl was mad — valiant — but that… That is very brave of you.”
“I only follow your example,” she said.
Felix groaned to himself. It was like Ortwin all over again! His was not a life to be emulated, particularly not by a petite young woman. He was about to say this when he saw she was yawning.
“Good night, Felix,” she said, closing her eyes.
“Good night, Kat,” he replied, but it took him a long time to go to sleep, and he looked over at her many times.
The next morning Felix woke so cold that he felt as if he were frozen to the floorboards. The others looked just as miserable — all except Gotrek, who might have been in Tilea in the summer for all the discomfort he showed.
Herr Reidle and the remaining guard went out as soon as they were up to try and find some horses and an escort to help them recover the barrels of beer they had left in the woods the night before, but Kat and Felix! huddled around Doktor Vinck’s little iron stove and stomped their feet to get their blood moving.
As the doctor made them all willow tea, which was all he had to give them, Sir Teobalt beckoned Felix and Gotrek to his cot, where Ortwin was sitting him up and bundling him with everyone else’s blankets.
“Though it pains me, it seems I must stay here for some time until my shoulder heals,” Teobalt said in a tired voice. “But I would not have the search for my brother templars wait with me. I bid you continue to look for them, and if you find them, return with them to me.”
“We will do our best, sir,” said Felix, though he had secretly hoped that, now that he was injured, the knight would declare the adventure over.
Teobalt inclined his head. “My squire will accompany you to assist you.”
Felix paused at this. He didn’t want to take Ortwin along. The boy was more likely to be a burden than an able assistant. His bright-eyed naivety and his desperate longing for glory were a sure recipe for disaster, and Felix didn’t want to have to keep an eye on him if things got rough. He had enough trouble looking after the Slayer.
“Sir,” he said at last. “I thank you for your concern, but the search is likely to be hazardous, and I wouldn’t like to endanger the life of your squire unnecessarily. The Slayer and I will be more effective on our own.”
The old knight’s eyes flashed up at him, recovering something of their old fire.
“I am afraid I must insist, Herr Jaeger. Out of my sight, your enthusiasm for the vow you have made may wane. Ortwin shall be my eyes and ears, to see that you see the thing to its finish.”
Gotrek bristled at this. “You doubt our honour? We have sworn.”
“You have done nothing yet to make me doubt it,” said Teobalt stiffly. “But a man is entitled to ask for proof that a deed has been done. If you are truly honourable, you should have no objection to Ortwin’s presence. Honesty fears no scrutiny, as the saying goes.”
Felix could see that Gotrek was going to make further objection. He couldn’t let him. If they weren’t careful the argument could get out of hand and Sir Teobalt could withdraw the quest — and Felix’s chance to keep Karaghul.
“If you insist, Sir Teobalt,” Felix said. “And if Ortwin is willing to take the risk, then we will take him.”
“I do insist,” said Teobalt. “And I thank you for your acquiescence.”
Gotrek grunted unhappily, but then shrugged and resigned. Felix let out a relieved breath, but felt a pang of guilt as well. He had agreed to take the boy into danger just so he could get his sword back. That seemed a very callous thing to do. Of course, if Teobalt had for-bidden them from searching for the templars, he would likely have sent Ortwin on the quest alone, so by bringing the squire along, Felix and Gotrek were actually protecting him. At least that’s what Felix told himself.
They decided over their tea that the best course of action was to go back into Bauholz proper and ask the soldiers and southbound refugees there if any of them had heard news of the Order of the Fiery Heart. If they learned nothing, then tomorrow they would set off for Stangenschloss and enquire there.
At that, Kat said that if they could wait another day, she would guide them. “I am to lead a supply train to the fort. They start the day after tomorrow, once one last supply boat from Ahlenhof arrives.”
Felix and Gotrek readily agreed. Neither of them was adept at navigating through deep woods.
Walking through the refugee camp on their way to the bridge to Bauholz, Felix could see that it was even worse than he had thought the night before. The inhabitants didn’t just live in a garbage heap, they lived in garbage itself. Some of the shacks were made from broken carts, or stacks of broken barrels or crates. Some were no more than stained bedsheets draped over a line.
Even in the freezing cold, the smell was abominable, and ice-ringed latrine pits were everywhere. Felix saw men, women and children huddling around small fires, cooking rats and pigeons for their breakfasts. Others seemed to be eating leaves and brown grass. All of them had the near-death gauntness that Doktor Vinck had shown. He wondered how any of them were going to survive the winter.
Even as he thought it, he saw two men carrying a woman out of a tent. She was as stiff as a log, and frosted with ice. One of the men had tears frozen on his face.
Felix shivered, and not from the cold. The true horror of war was not the battlefield, no matter how bloody. It was the aftermath — the disease and famine and displacement that followed when a land was laid waste. The knights did not suffer. They either died or went home to their plenty. The enemy did the same. It was the poor damned souls in whose fields the battles were fought that suffered, and not for days or weeks, but for years. He hated the iniquity of it.
As they neared the bridge, Kat sucked in a breath and slowed her steps.
Felix looked ahead. “What’s the matter?” he asked.
“Noseless Milo,” she said, pointing with her chin. “He runs the refugee camp like Ludeker runs the village. He may want to make trouble.”
“Good,” said Gotrek. “I could use a warm-up.”
Felix looked to where Kat had pointed. A group of men in tattered leather jerkins lounged against
the end posts of the bridge, swords and clubs dangling from their belts, watching everybody that passed. The passers-by all hunched their shoulders and ducked their heads as they edged by the men, as if they were afraid they were going to be hit. The men grinned and called out to some. Others they tripped and laughed at. One pinched a young girl on the behind as she went by and giggled as she scurried away across the bridge like a frightened rabbit.
“Scum,” said Gotrek.
“Varlets,” said Ortwin.
“Aye,” agreed Felix. After seeing the misery and deprivation around him, he too was angry enough to want a fight, particularly with anyone who was making life more miserable for these people.
“Please don’t fight them,” begged Kat. “You will only make trouble for Doktor Vinck and the knight if you do. And me,” she added.
Gotrek looked up at her. “Do these villains have some hold on you, little one?”
She shook her head. “No. But I cannot live completely in the woods. Sometimes I have to come back here. And I won’t be able to if…”
“Aye,” said Gotrek. “I see.”
The biggest of the men looked up as they approached, and a snag-toothed smile snaked across his face. It was one of the ugliest faces Felix had seen that wasn’t on a mutant. The man was balding, with piggy little eyes in a moon face, but his most distinguishing feature was one he didn’t have. Just as Kat’s name for him suggested, he had no nose. It looked like it had been torn off a long while ago, and he was, left now with nothing but two vertical slits in his face and a bit of white cartilage that poked out above them, all surrounded by a puckered sphincter of scar tissue.
“Kat.” he said, in a pleasant, mocking voice, as he trailed over Gotrek, Felix and Ortwin. “Looking lovely as always. Who’s yer friends?” His men sidled forwards, grinning and blocking the way.
FIVE
“Let us pass, Milo,” said Kat, sticking out her chin. “We don’t want any trouble.”
[Gotrek & Felix 11] - Shamanslayer Page 6