by ich du
Brunner could see that these were not members of the mercenary watch hired by the guildhouses to protect their goods and maintain a semblance of law in the mercantile district. These were hard-faced Tileans, scarred veterans who had already cut their teeth as dogs of war. Over their suit of reinforced leather armour, each man wore a tabard decorated with the scarlet field and black tower of Prince Borgio himself.
The scowling soldiers motioned for the gondola to stop at their post, which was set before a massive iron portcullis that blocked the canal's progress under the wall. One of them produced a long boat hook to facilitate the landing. The other two soldiers fixed their stern gaze on Brunner and his companion.
Ortez smiled back at the guards, thumbing three gold coins from his money belt. The soldier with the boat hook accepted the payment without a word, then nodded at his comrades.
'Search it,' the soldier growled. Both men grabbed short spears from a barrel resting on the jetty and began to tap the bottom of the gondola, listening intently for any hollow sound. Satisfied in this respect, the guards looked carefully at the sides of the small boat, their keen eyes searching for anything that shouldn't be there. As one of the soldiers turned to replace the spear in its barrel, Brunner caught sight of a small, hairy hand-like paw swinging from a leather strap on the man's belt. It seemed that rat catching as well as gate keeping was part of the soldiers' duties.
The soldier with the boat hook set the implement down and strode towards the wall. He spoke into a barred grille of a heavy iron door. Soon, the corroded portcullis that blocked the canal was groaning its way upward. The gondolier pushed off and began to navigate his way into the prosperous old quarter.
The canal soon narrowed beyond the wall. Looking back, Brunner could see the creaky portcullis lowering once more. A pair of crossbowmen in burnished bronze armour regarded the passing gondola from the top of the wall, then returned their attention to their duties.
The temperature was noticeably cooler here. The palazzos of the merchants and the Tilean noble houses rose to either side of the canal, their many balconies reaching across the reeking water to within an arm's length of one another, casting the waterway below into shadow. Brunner studied his surroundings, noting the garish, opulent porticoes that fronted the mansions, each of the colonnaded entryways trying to outdo the next in extravagance and artistry. At times, a tiredlooking footman in the livery of some merchant house could be seen leaning against one of the doorways, desperately awaiting some visitor to break the tedium and provide him with a brief escape from the stench of the canal.
The gondolier expertly navigated the confused network of canals, at last drawing his craft toward a massive grey-stoned building. Like the other palazzos, this one sported an extravagant portico, its fluted columns fashioned of black marble. Intricate carvings writhed about the mantle in a manner that suggested serpents as much as they did vines. A thick-necked, burly figure stood at the top of half a dozen steps that descended from the door to the canal. As the gondola approached, the doorman descended, accepting the rope the gondolier offered him and fastening it to an iron fixture cast in the shape of a swan.
'The house of my lady, the Contessa Carlotta de Villarias,' Ortez announced proudly as he stepped from the gondola. Brunner waited for a moment before following the scarecrow-like steward. He spared a moment to once again observe the elaborate portico. There was indeed an opulence to it, but there was also a touch of decay. Dirt had infiltrated the scrollwork, and cobwebs had gathered in the corners. It was an observation that gave him some misgiving. Was his prospective patroness the inheritor of a failing fortune? It had been the bounty hunter's experience that there were few creatures more dangerous than an expiring dynasty seeking to preserve the illusion of wealth.
'The contessa, she wait in the black room,' the massive doorman growled, his accent thick with the tones of Miragliano's most debased street thieves. Brunner took note of the brief, furtive glance between Ortez and the doorman when the thug mentioned the black room. He made a pretence of scratching at his forearm, as though the armoured vambrace were chafing at his skin. But he was actually ensuring that the needle-sharp spring-loaded stiletto he had relieved from the mercenary Ursio years ago was ready for plying its murderous function.
'This way,' Ortez gestured, showing the bounty hunter the door, as though Brunner had been ignorant of its presence. The scrawny Estalian hovered on the threshold as the doorman pushed the portal inward. The swarthy-visaged scarecrow looked into the room beyond for a moment, then turned his eyes back on Brunner. He had a puzzled and somewhat annoyed expression on his wrinkled features.
'After you,' Brunner said, his voice icy, one hand caressing the pistol across his belly. Ortez favoured him with a nervous smile, then entered the palazzo. Brunner trained his eyes upon the thuggish doorman, watching him for the slightest suggestion of untoward intentions. The big Tilean just glowered back, his expression no less unfriendly than it had been upon their arrival. The bounty hunter smiled back, his mind working to place a name to the hulking ruffian's face, and a price to fit the name.
THE PALAZZO OF Contessa de Villarias was a cold, clammy place. Despite the heat outside which slowly boiled the filth floating in the canals, the air in the noblewoman's residence carried a definite chill. The marble floors were dusty, and the bounty hunter's eyes were quick to note the trails that disturbed that dust. He mentally filed away the prints, cataloguing each distinct set, and slowly calculating how many others had been privileged to disturb the Contessa de Villarias's dust.
The winding corridor and stairway that Ortez had conducted him through bore all the traces of a wealthy house. Statues of quality and antiquity adorned marble pedestals spaced along the walls. Where the statues were absent, portraits took their place, displaying the fading features of once powerful men. Each was the work of a master, though it was evident no one hand had painted any two. Moreover, many of the portraits featured men in costume dressed after the fashion of noblemen from ages past. It was a curious collection, for it was apparent that the portraits bore no familial connection. Perhaps the contessa was an eccentric spinster trying to fill her empty halls with a tiny trace of that which she had never claimed?
Everywhere amidst the artwork and elaborately engraved moulding that framed every doorway was the air of decay. Dust had silently gathered in the corners, in the cracks and crannies of the skirting, on the frames of portraits and on the brows of statues. Cobwebs dangled from the narrow space at the top of the vaulted ceilings. Brunner considered the paltry number of footprints he had seen. It was obvious that the contessa did not maintain a large household. It was equally obvious that what servants she did keep were tasked to duties other than maintaining the palazzo.
The man stopped before a set of double doors, massive things of dark Drakwald timber, with a pair of leering gargoyles carved into the face of each panel. Ortez placed his hands on the steel handles and pushed the doors inward. Brunner paused an instant then followed the man inside.
The black room had been named well. The floor was of onyx, the lustrous black stone shining in the flickering light cast by a hanging chandelier. The walls were draped in heavy black cloth, a slight draught making the cloth rustle with a faint motion, as though the room itself were alive. Brunner noted the walls with particular suspicion. He studied each motion of the cloth, watching for anything that might portend more than a mere draught. The room itself was almost devoid of furnishings, the only exceptions being a small claw-footed table and a tall leather-backed chair. A decanter of some dark, smoky crystal stood upon the table. In the chair sat the Contessa Carlotta de Villarias.
The noblewoman wore a soft velvet dress that had been dyed to match the floor and the walls. The neckline was cut low, in a v-shaped pattern and trimmed with intricate spider webs of lace. A great, ponderous pendant of gold hung from her neck. It was a gleaming trinket that resembled a terrible eye as much as it did the unblinking disc of the sun.
The contessa l
ounged in the chair, posing to accentuate every curve of her voluptuous figure. Above the pendant, the woman's face regarded the bounty hunter from within a frame of sleek black hair. Hers was a sort of timeless beauty that had been aped throughout the ages by Tilean painters and sculptors. Her delicate nose was like a small button set at the centre of her face. The full, slightly pouting lips were at once inviting and mocking. The high cheeks and slight chin were clothed in soft, pale, unblemished skin, as flawless as polished marble, as cool and inviting as the soft sands of the shores of Ulthuan. The sensual green eyes shrouded by long lashes taunted the observer to gaze into their emerald depths, and to dare unlock the secret thoughts and unspoken knowledge that rested behind them.
'I welcome you, bounty hunter,' the contessa said, her voice soft, inviting. 'I am pleased that you have accepted my commission.' As she spoke, she stroked a small, short-haired cat resting in her lap.
Brunner found himself unable to turn his eyes from the beautiful figure seated before him. Emotions long abandoned welled up within him, and the more controlled part of his mind became ever more unsettled. She was beautiful. Her voice was soft as new-fallen snow. Her eyes were the most captivating he had ever seen. The contessa Carlotta de Villarias was the most lovely woman he had ever encountered. He needed to clear his head. It had been a long time since he had succumbed to such thoughts. He was here for business, he needed to focus on that.
'Something troubles you?' the noblewoman asked, her slender hand hesitating in its stroking of the cat. The black-furred animal turned its head to face the bounty hunter. Its great eyes snapped open in its head. They were eyes of jade, dull imitations of those of its mistress.
Brunner stared back at the woman, meeting her piercing green eyes. She was indeed beautiful, but the colour of her gold would be more so. The bounty hunter considered his need for the woman's wealth, using his lust for revenge to counter the desires that had risen unbidden within him. A brief flicker of emotion crossed the contessa's face, something that conveyed amusement and annoyance almost as a single expression.
'It remains to be seen if I will accept your commission,' Brunner stated, struggling to keep his voice level. The contessa smiled back, nodding her head.
'Do not let the condition of my Miragliano house deceive you,' she said. 'It has been many long years since I last had cause to visit this palazzo in the city. As my servant has no doubt explained, I am a native of Estalia, and it is there where I make my home. Moreover, I wanted to keep my arrival in the city as unremarkable and unnoticed as possible. Bringing sufficient staff to restore this place would have been detrimental to my present concerns.' The contessa allowed herself a slight, hollow laugh. 'Rest assured, bounty hunter, I can well afford your services.'
Brunner adjusted his stance, once again eyeing the curtained walls with suspicion. 'I have not yet heard what it is you wish to hire me to do. I don't take a job until I know what it is.'
'Right to the point. All business,' the contessa observed. 'I find it is a rare thing to find men who are so, ah, professional. Very well. I wish to hire you to secure an item which was stolen from me, and to eliminate whoever is in possession of it.'
'That would depend on the nature of the item,' the bounty hunter stated, 'and who is in possession of it. I am hardly going to accept a commission to murder Borgio the Besieger because he happens to have stolen some bauble of yours.'
'Do not worry,' the contessa said. 'Those who have stolen from me are no great princes or merchant lords. They are thieves, simple robbers and nothing more. Whoever they might have traded my possessions to is also criminal scum. You won't be decorating one of Miragliano's leaning watch towers by accepting my assigment, I assure you.'
'I just wanted to make it clear to you that there are some lines which I will not cross,' Brunner explained. 'Suicide is one of them.' A slight smile of mockery and amusement tugged at the noblewoman's features.
'If you are half the man they make you out to be, then you will have little problem in reclaiming my stolen property.' The contessa gestured with her hand, indicating a stack of small pamphlets resting beside the decanter. Brunner could see that they were a collection of Ehrhard Stoecker's adventure stories, tales that Brunner himself had related to the man.
'All right,' the bounty hunter said, doing his best to ignore the contessa's reference to what he himself considered to be spurious fabrications diluted from his real exploits. 'Just exactly what is it you wish me to find?'
The contessa straightened herself in her seat, upsetting the cat, which cast a sullen look up at its mistress. The noblewoman paused for a moment, the tip of her tongue licking her bottom lip as she collected her thoughts. Finally, having decided where to begin, or, more likely, how much to tell, she began to relate her story.
'Several months ago, I came into possession of a map which showed the location of a previously undiscovered tomb in Nehekhara. I have always been fascinated by the ancient civilisation of the pyramid builders, and fortunately have enough wealth to indulge my penchant for such antiquities. I travelled to Araby and arranged to outfit an expedition to the tomb. I myself did not go, of course, but I did send a number of representatives along with those Arabyans I employed.'
'Two months passed before my representatives returned. Some of the Arabyans I had employed had deserted the expedition, taking with them a number of priceless artefacts. My men had observed that one of the Arabyans had displayed some knowledge of Miragliano and its black market. In fact, he had been trying to convince the other men to desert with him and to bring away a greater portion of the loot. With this report, I at once made arrangements for passage to Miragliano and hoped to reclaim my property.'
'And have you?' asked Brunner.
'Only partially,' sighed the contessa. 'Many of the smaller items have been recovered by my own people, but one of the most noteworthy items has not.' She paused again, wetting her lip. 'The preserved mummy of a Nehekharan priest-king has eluded our best efforts to recover it.' When she paused again Brunner could see the first trace of life in her compelling eyes. They were wide with fear. 'The mummies of Nehekhara are valuable in themselves, but not in the same way as gold or gems or even scrolls and books. The mummies are sometimes sold to apothecaries, who chop them to bits to make powerful medicines. But there is a much darker possibility. It is possible that the mummy has been sold to a necromancer, to provide the degenerate wizard with a mighty relic for his warped experiments.' The contessa paused again, fixing Brunner with her gaze. 'It is that possibility which I fear the most.'
'You want me to recover something that may be in the hands of a necromancer?' Brunner questioned, a trace of disbelief and shock in his voice. The contessa inclined her head slightly.
'Indeed,' the contessa replied. 'Find whoever has the mummy. Kill them and destroy the mummy, lest it has absorbed some unholy sorcery while in the possession of such a fiend. I will sleep safer knowing it has been destroyed, and that by my actions no nameless horror will have been unleashed upon the world.' The noblewoman's face became softer, the fear in her eyes becoming a more desperate pleading.
'You will help me? You will destroy this thing I caused to be taken from the Land of the Dead?'
Brunner stared back. 'For two thousand gold crowns,' he replied. 'Fighting sorcerers and the living dead is not something I do on the cheap.'
He wasn't entirely convinced by the contessa's claims that she was worried what someone else might do with this mouldering relic. But if she paid him enough gold, he didn't care if she was going to grind it up herself and poison the king of Estalia with it. The colour of gold could silence many questions.
The Contessa de Villarias's face twisted into an angry glower, but it quickly faded. 'If gold is all that moves your heart,' she said at last, 'then gold you shall have. But you must act swiftly, lest my fears come to pass!'
The bounty hunter inclined his head. 'Just have the money ready,' he commented, his tone surly. 'I'll provide the bodies. Dead and even mor
e dead.'
THE THING THAT had taken the title of Contessa Carlotta de Villarias watched the bounty hunter depart. He was an unpleasant creature, the sort of vermin whose neck she would happily snap like a twig without giving it a second thought. There was only a residue of the higher emotions within him, not even enough for her to play upon and exploit. Gold and the pursuit of wealth were the only desires that motivated the bounty killer. Even for one of her kind, dealing with such a despicable creature made Carlotta feel soiled and unclean.
Still, it had to be admitted that the villain was not without his positive attributes, particularly if a callous and ruthless nature could be considered a virtue. Brunner's reputation for getting a job done bordered on legend among the thieves of Miragliano. The merest rumour that the bounty hunter might be on their trail was enough to make many men relocate to another of Tilea's walled cities.
Carlotta had been surprised when she had discovered that the street novels of the exiled Altdorf author Ehrhard Stoecker contained more than a germ of truth in them. If anything, the writer seemed to have downplayed the fear with which the underworld of Miragliano held his subject. The bounty killer had acquired a truly formidable reputation. Carlotta had read the spurious pamphlets out of simple curiosity. After all, Stoecker was of some slight interest to members of the Aristocracy of the Night after his scandalous True History of Vlad von Carstein. But as she read, she had become intrigued, and saw the bounty hunter as a solution to her present troubles.
The man was no less impressive in the flesh, what she could see of him at any rate. He was well built, without the grotesque overabundance of muscle favoured by many men who depended upon violence as their trade. The wary manner in which he carried himself, the cunning, calculating light in his eyes as though prepared for attack had made their impression upon her. Indeed, he was a man that she might have dallied with, maybe even allowing him to cross the threshold of Morr and become one of her thralls. But he was also possessed of an arrogant and disdainful manner. He seemed to lack deference to those of a loftier station than his own. True, he might be brought to heel, but Carlotta had a feeling that breaking the man might not be so easy. His will was strong; he had even resisted her attempt to beguile him into her service. Seldom had the ancient vampire encountered a mortal who could manage to deny her ethereal charms, her mastery of the art of seduction with the merest glance. Carlotta pondered whether she might be able to transfix the man, should she be forced to deal with him herself. Might he throw off her compelling gaze? Might he even be able to raise his hand against her?