01 - Death's Messenger

by Sandy Mitchell - (ebook by Undead)

  “Yes. Thank you.” The day was warm, and a drink would be welcome; but even if it were not, he would have accepted. Magnus’ hospitality was legendary throughout the valley, and the viands he provided to his guests were of a quality commensurate with his wealth. He ushered Rudi through the main hall of the house, which was panelled in dark, polished wood, towards the parlour where he habitually conducted their business. As always, when they passed along the passageway, Rudi found his gaze drawn to the glass mirror on the wall above the settle carved with a coat of arms so blackened by age as to be almost indecipherable. The looking glass was a luxury so rare that he doubted there was another in the whole of Kohlstadt, even in the burgomeister’s house, and the fact that Magnus had chosen to hang it right next to his front door, where every visitor would notice it, was calculated to impress everyone with his wealth and sophistication.

  Two faces gazed back at him. The older one was familiar enough, as he saw Magnus frequently in the streets as well as at his home: alert dark eyes in a sallow face, beneath lank hair of midnight black. The corners of his mouth were set in a wry smile, which could change in an instant from good humour to sardonic disdain. He had a fondness for robes of dark green and yellow, like the ones he wore now. The other reflection was less familiar, and, as always, he regarded it with mild surprise for a moment. Though he knew intellectually that it was himself, he saw his own face infrequently enough to be taken aback every time he encountered it. Of course it didn’t help that at his time of life every glimpse revealed a change in his rapidly maturing body.

  Despite his best intentions, as he did every time he visited the house, he couldn’t help pausing for a moment to see what new alterations had appeared. The youth who stared back at him seemed older than he felt, tall, well-muscled and fit, a natural consequence he supposed of his life in the forest. A mop of straw-blond hair, unevenly cut, fell across his brow, half-concealing eyes of a misty grey which seemed to recede to hidden depths, like the forest pools he occasionally swam in on his rounds of the rabbit snares. His features were regular, although he wasn’t vain enough to think of himself as handsome. The faint shadow of what would one day become a beard was beginning to be visible on his cheeks and jaw.

  “You have the package?” Magnus pulled the door of the parlour to behind them, leaving it slightly ajar, and rang a small silver hand bell that stood on an intricately inlaid occasional table in one corner. Most of the space was taken up by a handful of high-backed chairs in light polished wood, their seats cushioned by small pillows of the yellow and green the merchant favoured, clustered for the most part around the wide empty fireplace. It was a comfortable room, calculated to put guests at their ease, and judging by the number of books left lying around, it was a place the merchant used to relax when he was alone as well. His library was impressive: he owned in excess of a dozen volumes, more than the rest of the village could boast combined.

  “Right here,” Rudi replied, reaching inside his shirt to pull it out. It was small and light, with something hard and irregular inside, wrapped in oilcloth and sealed with wax. As usual he had no idea what the contents might be, and he had no inclination to pry. He liked and admired Magnus, and simply assumed that his business dealings were so complicated he’d never have understood them anyway.

  For his part Magnus seemed to trust Rudi implicitly, which the young forester felt was flattering. Few of the villagers were comfortable in his presence, and for one of the most wealthy and powerful to take him even partially into his confidence made him feel hugely important.

  “Thank you.” Magnus took it without a second glance and dropped it onto the table next to the bell, which chimed gently from the vibration. “Was there anything else?”

  “Oh yes. A letter.” Rudi handed that over too, and waited while Magnus scanned the contents. Unable to read himself he found the idea of being able to communicate by little marks on paper almost magical. He watched the process with a tingle of something approaching superstitious awe. “Was there a reply?”

  “Nothing that can’t wait.” Magnus smiled, and folded the paper away, gesturing Rudi to a chair opposite his own. Rudi sat down. Feeling the upholstery sag under his weight was vaguely alarming, as he was used to plain wooden furniture. “It’s a long way back to Altman’s farm, and I wouldn’t want to impose on your good nature.”

  Rudi felt himself flushing.

  “It’s no bother,” he began, but was interrupted by a cough from the doorway. Magnus raised his eyes to the servant girl who had entered while they were talking.

  “Ah. Kirstin. A little light refreshment for our young friend, if you’d be so kind.”

  “Very good, sir.” Kirstin stared at Rudi just long enough to make it plain that she considered waiting on riff-raff from the forest an affront to her dignity. Then she withdrew from the room. She was a pale girl, a couple of years older than him, with a sallow complexion and a reedy, unhealthy-sounding cough, which followed her about like a persistent pet. Her eyes were unnaturally bright, almost febrile, and on his first few visits to the house Rudi had assumed she was sickening for something. Now, old enough to be a little more cynical, he suspected it had more to do with a taste for staying out in the tavern to the small hours of the morning and not being particularly choosy about which bed she woke up in the following day. Not that he had any personal experience of either, but her nocturnal habits were a perennial staple of the village gossip, along with Magnus’ inexplicable failure to rid himself of such an embarrassing servant.

  Though some of the rumours drew the obvious conclusion, most folk were of the opinion that he was simply too kind-hearted to sack the girl. After all, his charitable inclinations were widely known. He gave generously to Father Antrobus, to relieve the suffering of the poor, and had taken an avuncular interest in Rudi ever since the day Gunther had brought him back to the village after finding the traumatised toddler wandering the paths of the forest almost sixteen years before. A prolonged search of the woodlands had found no trace of his parents, and in the end it had been assumed they were itinerant charcoal burners who had wandered too far into its depths and had fallen foul of the goblins or beastmen. Magnus had provided the funds for the child’s upkeep, and he still gave his adoptive father an occasional stipend to assist with additional clothing and other provisions despite it no longer being strictly necessary.

  Moreover he had taken it upon himself to provide Rudi with the only paid work he’d ever had. His business dealings required the occasional dispatch of notes, letters and packages to many of the outlying farmsteads, and the almost as frequent collection of the same, and it was far easier to employ a messenger than to do the job himself. When Rudi had asked why the merchant had picked him for the task Magnus had simply laughed, and said he couldn’t think of anyone better qualified for the job. Rudi had thought it flattering at the time, but thinking about it later he could see the man’s point. Living outside the village meant that he knew the surrounding area better than most, and his explorations around the valley had added to that knowledge, so he was certain that no one knew the terrain around Kohlstadt as well as he did. Except possibly his father. And entrusting his business to an outsider had been clever in another way too, Rudi supposed. If he had been one of the villagers he might have been tempted to gossip about the errands he ran, which could have given one of Magnus’ business rivals valuable information.

  Another cough announced Kirstin’s return. She nudged the door open with her knee to admit a turned wooden platter containing a flagon, a couple of pewter goblets, and a plate of oatcakes fresh from the bakery together with some cheese and a quartered apple. Rudi felt his mouth begin to water.

  “I hope this will do,” she said, her tone managing to convey that it had better, as she had more important things to be getting on with than feeding upstart peasants. Magnus rose to take the tray, his lopsided smile betraying his amusement at her irritation.

  “I’m sure it will do admirably,” he said evenly, before adding, �
��that will be all, thank you,” just quickly enough to deny her the satisfaction of flouncing out in a state of visible dissatisfaction. Despite feeling a little out of his depth, Rudi echoed the faint smile of complicity Magnus directed at him. His isolated upbringing on the fringes of the forest had left him at something of a disadvantage when it came to picking up on the unspoken undercurrents of human interaction. However, he knew enough to realise that Kirstin had meant to slight him and that Magnus had turned the tables somehow, and he relished the sense of belonging that conferred. This must be what it was like to have friends, he thought, or a whole family instead of just a father.

  Magnus poured refreshing goblets of small beer for the two of them, and for a while they simply drank and ate. The merchant chatted easily as if Rudi were a proper guest and someone of consequence rather than a lowly employee. But then he was like that with everyone, surprisingly free of airs and graces considering his exalted position in the community.

  “And how are things out there in the wild wood?” he asked. “Remaining quiet, I trust?” Rudi nodded, swallowing a plug of masticated oatcake in order to reply.

  “Nothing out of the ordinary,” he confirmed. In the week and a half since his discovery in the forest neither he nor his father had come across any further traces of the beastmen, and he was beginning to hope that they never would. Burgomeister Steiner had eventually agreed, after listening to Littman and his father that the Walders could remain outside the village while the rest of the local inhabitants retreated behind the stockade at night. Needless to say the farmers and peasants were only too eager to scuttle behind the palisade as the sun went down, and the valley looked subtly sinister after dark now without the familiar pattern of lamplight, which marked the scattering of cottages and hovels.

  “I’m glad to hear it.” Magnus smiled warmly. “I think we all owe you both a debt of gratitude for staying out there every night in case something happens.”

  “Well, you know my father,” Rudi shrugged. “He’d hate it in town. And we feel safe enough.” The truth was that for the first couple of nights he’d lain awake almost until dawn, starting at every sound and imagining hordes of feral Chaos spawn creeping up on him with murder in their hearts. Only as the days passed did he come to share his father’s confidence. Now, he suspected, it would only be a matter of time before the local folk became blasé again and returned to their homes.

  “I trust he remains in good health?” Magnus asked, after a moment of awkward silence. Rudi nodded.

  “He’s fine.”

  “I’m glad to hear it,” Magnus nodded judiciously. “I never really expected that arm of his to heal, to be honest.”

  “Well, he says it’s better than ever.” Rudi evaded the topic with a subtlety that surprised him. The rash had spread to Gunther’s shoulder, and looked distinctly unhealthy to him, but his father showed no sign of discomfort. If anything the affected limb seemed stronger than ever: while they were gathering firewood that morning Gunther had thrown tree branches casually onto the pile with one hand. Rudi would have been hard put to lift them with two.

  “Well, that’s excellent news.” Magnus finished his drink, and waited politely for Rudi to drain his own goblet. The hint was easy to read, even for someone with Rudi’s rudimentary social skills, and he didn’t want to outstay his welcome. The young forester stood.

  “Thank you for the drink. I’d best be on my way.”

  “Of course. I wouldn’t dream of detaining you.” Magnus rose smoothly to his feet, and reached into the purse at his belt. “Thank you again for your valuable assistance.” He produced three copper pennies, and handed them to Rudi. “I trust this will be adequate recompense for your time.”

  “That’s far too much,” Rudi protested, fighting the impulse to take the coins. Magnus was rich, it was true, but accepting them would be taking advantage of the man. Normally he would expect a single copper for each errand he ran, and he just couldn’t bring himself to take three times his usual rate. Magnus smiled warmly.

  “Spoken like an honest man. But you’re forgetting you brought back a letter as well. Surely it’s only fair to be paid for that too?”

  “Well, I suppose so,” Rudi shrugged dubiously. It was logical, but he still felt as though he was being overpaid. “But I didn’t have to walk any further with it.”

  “Fair enough,” Magnus concurred. “Then let’s compromise. I’ve a note I need to send to the burgomeister this week. If you’ll wait a moment you can take it round for me now, and that should square your conscience.”

  Rudi nodded. That seemed reasonable. The Steiner house was just at the other end of the street, a handful of yards away. Normally Magnus wouldn’t have bothered using his services for such a short trip, but while he was here he might as well run the errand and feel he was earning the extra penny honestly.

  He waited while Magnus sharpened his quill and scratched a few words on a piece of paper taken from a drawer in the ornamental table. He watched in awe as the precisely formed letters made their incomprehensible patterns on the blank leaf. He wondered briefly what it might be like to be able to read them, or make such marks himself, but dismissed the thought almost at once. He had no need of such esoteric skills in the woodland, and no ambition for any other life. At length the merchant folded the paper and handed it to him, evidently seeing no need to seal it. Rudi wasn’t able to decipher the note himself, and the next person to see it would be its intended recipient.

  Magnus ushered him to the door, and this time Rudi almost managed to resist the temptation to glance at his reflection in the mirror. Three pennies for a morning’s work! He could hardly believe his luck. So preoccupied was he with his pleasant mood he barely glanced down the street as he set off towards the Steiner house, clearly visible on the corner, its elaborately worked gargoyles and pargeting proclaiming its owner’s status.

  He had almost reached his destination when he realised the identity of the two figures that had just turned the corner, and were now barring his way with expressions of calculated malevolence. The Katzenjammer brothers, Hans and Fritz.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  “Well look who it is,” Hans Katzenjammer took a step sideways to block Rudi’s path. His brother moved in to flank him as always. “You’re a bit out of your proper place, aren’t you Walder?” Fritz giggled like an imbecile, anticipating the pleasure of victimising someone smaller, weaker, and outnumbered.

  “It’s a public street.” Rudi made to push past, determined not to be intimidated by them. The memory of his latest reflection was still with him, and the new awareness that he was almost as tall as the two bullies and better muscled than both lent him confidence.

  “Really?” Hans tried to force a sneer onto his face, but the damage left by the thorn bush got in the way. The scratches were livid and inflamed, and thin yellow pus was weeping through a bandage tied tightly around his forehead. The effort of the facial contortion was obviously painful, and he gave it up quickly in favour of glowering as menacingly as he could. “Then maybe we’d better show a bit of civic pride and clear the rubbish off it.”

  “That’s right. Clear the rubbish,” Fritz added, prodding Rudi in the chest. Out of the corner of his eye Rudi could see movement, other villagers were stopping to stare at the confrontation. No one looked inclined to intervene though, worse luck. He supposed it might be different if he had a family in the village, or friends inclined to back him up. Oh well, things were as they were, and out in the forest there was no one else to rely on. He’d just have to show them he didn’t need anyone’s help to deal with these two.

  With that thought, he felt his anger rising. He’d had enough of being pestered by the pair of them, and if he was going to be forced to fight he wasn’t going to let them get the best of him. Almost without noticing he felt his fists ball.

  “Should be easy enough,” he said evenly. “Even you two should be able to walk as far as the midden without falling over your own feet.” To his surprise he heard som
ebody snigger behind him. That was encouraging, at least one of the onlookers was on his side.

  “What did you say?” Hans’ discoloured face flushed even further, anger and outrage rushing to the surface. He’d clearly been expecting Rudi to back down and slink away, enabling him to get in a few spiteful nudges and jabs. The realisation that the young forester wasn’t going to oblige, and that he might end up having to fight someone capable of defending himself was obviously rattling him. Even with his brother to back him up he might get hurt, which wasn’t part of the plan.

  “You heard. Now get out of my way. I’ve a message to deliver, and I haven’t got time to waste on you.” Rudi took a step forward, raising a hand to push Hans out of the way. That was a mistake. The older Katzenjammer took a step backwards and swung a lazy punch at his head.

  It took all the time in the world to connect, and Rudi had what felt like long slow minutes to duck out of the way. As his head dipped he felt Hans’ fist graze the top of it, barely making contact. He stood up instantly, bringing his own fist forward sharply from the waist to connect solidly with the older boy’s midriff. Hans folded over, the breath driven from his lungs with an audible gasp of astonishment and pain.

  Had he been an experienced fighter Rudi would have stepped in at that point and finished the belligerent youth, but he was so astonished at the success of his initial sally that he simply stood there watching his opponent wheezing and retching. A surge of triumphant euphoria gripped him for a moment, to be rapidly replaced by confusion and disgust. This was the first time he’d ever struck someone in anger, and he wasn’t sure he liked the sensation.