“You’re going back to the village now,” Hanna said. Rudi nodded warily. He knew Hanna would want to go with him and face her accusers. He watched her pick up her satchel and sling it across her shoulder, her face set.
“I think you should stay here,” he said cautiously. “At least until I’ve spoken to Gerhard.”
“You’re probably right.” She sat down at the table again, a weary gesture which took him completely by surprise. “The mob last night didn’t seem too willing to listen to reason.” The memory still shocked her, the sight of people she’d known all her life baying for her blood like… well, Rudi couldn’t think of anything to compare it to. The villagers had seemed more like beastmen than civilised people. After a moment she lifted her head and looked directly at him. “How can people behave like that?”
“They’re frightened. They’re confused. They’re just looking for someone to blame it all on.” Rudi shrugged. “If it hadn’t been you it would have been somebody else.”
“Like my mother.” Her face seemed to pale still further. “I don’t like the thought of her facing that man alone.”
“She won’t,” Rudi promised her. “Magnus and the burgomeister will tell him how important she is, and how hard she’s been working to help people. And if they won’t, I will.”
“You’d better get going then.” For a moment the old peremptory tone was back in her voice, and Rudi felt a surge of relief mixed in with the reflexive resentment it usually roused. Then he saw her shoulders slump, and knew it for the act that it was. Moved by an impulse he couldn’t quite quantify he patted her awkwardly on the back, feeling the hard protuberances of her spine beneath his palm. He broke contact before she could react.
“It’ll be fine,” he said, with more bravado than conviction. “You’ll see.”
The streets of Kohlstadt were fuller and more agitated than Rudi had anticipated. It took him a moment to realise that most of the farmers who took refuge there overnight were still within the stockade. He couldn’t blame them after what he’d found at the Altmans’ farm. Many of them were congregated in the square in front of the Steiner house, no doubt eager for a glimpse of the witch hunter who had so suddenly arrived in their midst.
Rudi glanced surreptitiously around as he approached the burgomeister’s mansion, but to his relief there were no visible signs of the previous night’s disturbance. Presumably Big Franz and his militiamen had been able to keep a lid on things after all.
He presented himself at the kitchen entrance and was hurried along to the parlour. Voices were raised as he reached the room and he slipped inside hoping to avoid being noticed.
“Missing, you say?” Gerhard clearly didn’t believe a word of what he’d just been told, but he nodded astutely, as though it were perfectly reasonable. Greta smiled sweetly and insincerely.
“As Shallya’s my witness, I haven’t seen her at all since yesterday.” Which was perfectly true, Rudi reflected. “I’d say the same thing under a truth spell if you knew anyone able to cast it.”
“No doubt you would.” Gerhard matched the smile with a mirthless one of his own. “But that won’t be necessary. Under the circumstances it’s probably better for your daughter if she remains… lost. At least for the time being.”
“The accusation’s patently absurd,” Steiner put in. “The Katzenjammer boy’s weak in the head. Everyone in the village will tell you.”
“Except for his brother, presumably.” Rudi suppressed a shudder as Gerhard’s cold eye fell on him. He was anticipating some question about his visit to the Katzenjammer house the previous day, but the witch hunter merely nodded a barely perceptible acknowledgement of his presence.
“He’s almost as bad,” Magnus added. “A little brighter, but a troublemaker nevertheless.”
“That I will judge for myself,” Gerhard retorted.
Magnus nodded. “I’m glad to hear it. The sooner you speak to him the sooner we can forget all about this nonsense and get on with the business at hand.” A flicker of some unreadable emotion appeared in the witch hunter’s eyes.
“You seem very eager to direct the course of my investigation, Herr von Blackenburg.”
Magnus inclined his head.
“Forgive me. Your undoubted expertise in this area far outweighs any opinions I might have on the matter I’m sure.”
“But Magnus does have a point,” Steiner said, more to assert his own authority than because he agreed with it, Rudi thought. “While this accusation hangs over the poor girl her life is in peril from every passing ruffian who might stumble across her.”
“And I’m hardly going to be able to keep my mind on the job while I’m so worried about her, am I?” Greta smiled sweetly again, and the witch hunter scowled.
“Very well. If you’re so determined to waste my time, then by all means let’s deal with this trifling matter instead of trying to get to the heart of the evil that threatens you all.” He stood up, gesturing to Rudi to follow him. “I’ll send the boy back with word of what I uncover.”
Rudi hurried over to join him, but he had to stop suddenly to avoid running into him as Gerhard paused in the doorway to rake his pitiless gaze across the trio of village notables facing him.
“But be advised,” he added, with an emphasis made stronger by its normal conversational tone, “that if this turns out to be a trick to divert me from the truth, I won’t be at all forgiving.”
Steiner blenched, Magnus frowned, and Greta smiled at him again.
“The truth is what it is,” she said. Gerhard nodded soberly.
“That is indeed the case,” he said. “And all too often that’s not what we’d like it to be.” For the first time since he entered the room, Rudi saw Greta’s expression of confidence begin to slip.
“Meaning what, exactly?” she asked.
“It’s not unknown for children to dabble in the dark arts unbeknownst to their parents,” Gerhard said slowly. Now both the healer and burgomeister looked stricken, only Magnus’ expression remained neutral, masking his feelings with skills no doubt learned during his business negotiations. Satisfied that he’d made his point, Gerhard strode out of the room.
“Katzenjammer’s lying,” Rudi said, hurrying to catch up with him. “Hanna’s no witch, whatever he says.”
“She’s a friend of yours?” The witch hunter paused on the threshold of the front door. His cold eyes fixed on Rudi with an expression of patient interest. Rudi swallowed.
“Not really,” he answered, as truthfully as he could. Gerhard nodded.
“That’s good,” he said. “Then you won’t miss her if you turn out to be wrong.”
Stunned into silence, Rudi hurried along in the witch hunter’s wake, rousing himself only for as long as it took to answer terse questions about their route. A large segment of the crowd from the square followed at a discreet distance, muttering curiously among themselves. After a brief contemptuous glance Gerhard ignored them. A small group of militiamen, among them Littman and Stug, had been guarding the front door of the burgomeister’s house, no doubt to stop any further displays of zealotry like the one Fritz had indulged in the previous night. At a gesture from Gerhard they had fallen in behind him, and they now trotted a few paces to the rear, screening Rudi and the witch hunter from the crowd.
“Just down here,” Rudi said, indicating the mouth of the alley that led to the Katzenjammer’s house. It was just as unprepossessing as he remembered it from the previous day. Gerhard walked up to the ramshackle building, picking it out from its neighbours by the livid mark of pestilence on its door, and pounded on the weathered timber with his fist.
“Keep the fleas off our backs,” he said, glancing at Littman. The sergeant dispersed his men into a cordon around the front door. The crowd hovered nervously, choking the narrow street, voices raised in speculation and query. Rudi caught a glimpse of unease in the old soldier’s eyes, but he deployed his men in good order, and they at least looked intimidating enough to deter any casual interfere
nce.
After a moment Frau Katzenjammer opened the door, starting nervously from the clamour and the crowd. An expression almost like relief entered her features as she recognised Rudi.
“You’re back,” she said. “You have an answer for him?”
“Answer?” Gerhard shot a sidelong look at the young messenger. Rudi shrugged, trying his best to look casual.
“Hans had a message to deliver yesterday. I picked it up when I delivered the food.”
“I see. We’ll talk about this later.” Gerhard returned his attention to the old woman. “I’m here to see your son.”
“He’s too sick to see anyone.” The woman stood her ground, barring the way into the house. She indicated Rudi. “I’m surprised he didn’t tell you.”
“I’m referring to your other son.” Gerhard fixed her with an expression of mild enquiry. “Or has he fallen ill too?”
“I’m fine.” Fritz had appeared in the hallway behind his mother. “Who wants to know?” Gerhard aimed a wintery smile in his direction.
“Luther Gerhard. You made quite an effort to attract my attention last night.” Comprehension dawned slowly across the simpleton’s face.
“You’re the witch hunter!” He drew his mother aside with a ham-like fist, and waved them inside. Gerhard stepped across the threshold with a barely-concealed expression of distaste. Rudi followed quickly, fearful of being told to wait outside.
“You’ve been making serious allegations, Herr Katzenjammer.” Gerhard spoke as quietly as he always did, but Rudi could tell that Littman was listening intently from his post just outside the open door. Frau Katzenjammer made no move to close it. She stood next to her son with an expression of frozen shock that reminded Rudi of a rabbit faced with a predator. She clutched his arm, staring up at the simpleton in horror.
“Fritzie,” she said. “What have you done?”
“He’s accused one of the village girls of witchcraft. Are you familiar with the name of Hanna Reifenstal?” Gerhard said, turning to address the woman with a tone of mild courtesy. This seemed to reassure her a little, and she responded directly.
“The healer’s daughter?” She looked incredulous. “She’s a little strange, I suppose, but… witchcraft? There must be some mistake…”
“She put a curse on Hans,” Fritz insisted, with the dogged persistence of the truly stupid. “I heard it.” He pointed at Rudi. “He was there too.”
“Indeed.” Gerhard turned to look at the young forester. “And you didn’t see fit to mention this to me?”
“Because it’s nonsense,” Rudi said. “She did no such thing.”
Fritz’s face turned even uglier than usual. “I might have known you’d be in it together.”
Rudi felt a chill of horror run down his spine as Gerhard looked at him speculatively for a moment, and spoke up hastily.
“Hans and I had an argument in the street. Hanna… spoke up for me. It was just words, that’s all.”
“You’re sure?” Gerhard asked. “She didn’t make any hand gestures, or take hold of an object of some kind?” Rudi shook his head. “You saw nothing unusual at all?”
“Nothing,” Rudi said firmly.
“Sometimes words alone are enough,” Gerhard said mildly. He turned back to Fritz. “Did you recognise the language she used?”
“The language?” The hulking simpleton blinked in confusion. “Reikspiel of course.”
“Reikspiel. The common tongue.” Gerhard nodded with evident satisfaction, his voice positively dripping with sarcasm. “Clearly weighted with tremendous occult significance.” He turned back to Rudi. “Come. We’ve wasted enough time here.” He turned back to the door, and paused to bow to Frau Katzenjammer. “Your son is clearly suffering from nothing more than the pestilence afflicting so many unfortunates in this village. My apologies for any additional distress our visit may have caused you.”
“But he’s not!” Fritz bellowed, desperately. “He’s changing! She said he was already cursed and he started changing!”
“Changing?” Gerhard snapped round to face the hulking youth. “You mean physically?”
“But he can’t…” Frau Katzenjammer looked more stunned than ever, clearly unable to comprehend the magnitude of the accusation. “He’s just sick! That’s why he won’t let anyone near him!” She turned to Rudi in desperate appeal. “You saw him yesterday! You saw!”
“Did you?” Gerhard’s eyes bored into him, and Rudi swallowed uncomfortably.
“I don’t know,” he said at last, ransacking his mind for every memory of that foetid room. “It was dark. He wouldn’t let me near the bed. I thought he was worried about passing on the infection. He sounded delirious. I thought he was raving.”
“Raving? About what?” Gerhard asked softly. Rudi tried desperately to think of some way of hedging the truth, and failed to find it.
“Hanna,” he admitted reluctantly. “That’s what the message was. He asked her to lift the curse he thought she’d put on him.” Then he rallied. “It was just the fever talking. You said yourself there was nothing in it.”
“Quite probably.” Gerhard turned to the foot of the stairs. “Nevertheless I’d like to see him.” He glanced at Fritz. “Show me.”
“Up here,” Fritz replied, bounding eagerly up the staircase. Gerhard followed, and Rudi trailed miserably in his wake. Much as he disliked Hanna in general he was beginning to feel some sympathy for her. He felt he’d let her down by admitting the contents of Hans’ message. Maybe if he stayed close enough to the witch hunter he’d be able to repair some of the damage.
“Wait!” Frau Katzenjammer held out ineffectual hands to stop them. “He’s not well, he shouldn’t be disturbed…” Her voice continued to echo up the stairwell after them.
“Who is it?” The harsh croak Rudi remembered from yesterday issued from the bedroom door as Fritz pushed it open and went inside. The smell was just as bad as Rudi remembered; Gerhard followed the simpleton inside without hesitation, and after a moment Rudi trailed after them.
“It’s me,” Fritz said. “I’ve brought someone who can help.” To Rudi’s astonishment he actually sounded pleased with himself.
“I don’t want to see anyone! I’ve told you…” The harsh voice rose in anger, the mound of bedclothes stirring agitatedly in the gloom. “Get out!”
“I’m afraid I can’t do that.” In a moment Gerhard had crossed the room and flung the shutters open. Bright sunlight flooded the room, illuminating a scene of squalor that made Rudi gag. A howl of anguish rose from the stained blankets on the bed.
“I brought the witch hunter,” Fritz was vainly attempting to sooth his brother. “He’ll know how to break the spell, catch the witch who did this…”
“You idiot! You’ve killed us all!” Powerful hands tipped with talons threw aside the blankets, and red-rimmed eyes glared at the intruders from a face which still resembled Hans Katzenjammer. All three orbits blinked. A third eye had appeared in the centre of his forehead, where the bandage had been, and bony ridges were beginning to form a crest along his skull. What other changes had been wrought in him Rudi had insufficient time to notice, as the thing which had once been Hans leapt from the bed with inhuman speed, and made for the window.
“Hold, mutant!” Gerhard’s voice took on an edge of pure loathing as he began to draw his sword, but he was too late. The changeling swatted him aside with the back of its hand and dived through the gap, provoking a chorus of shock and profanity from the street below, which redoubled as the Hans creature grabbed the sill and swung itself up and out of sight.
Rudi hurried across to the window and stuck his head out. Hans was on the roof of the house opposite, bounding across the gap that separated it from the next building in the row with the nonchalant ease of a peasant farmer hopping over a drainage ditch. A second later Gerhard pulled him aside.
“Sergeant! Find that thing and kill it!”
In truth the order was entirely superfluous, as Littman was experienced eno
ugh to have reacted the moment the creature appeared. He was already limping down the street as fast as he could, the rest of his militia squad keeping up with difficulty despite the sergeant’s age and old injury. The milling crowd fell into their wake with alacrity: finally they had a real agent of Chaos to vent their anger and hatred on, and few of them were willing to miss the chance. A roar went up, which reminded Rudi uncomfortably of the mob the evening before, and within seconds it seemed the street in front of the house was deserted.
“What happened?” Fritz was gazing at the window, the expression of stupefaction on his face almost comical to behold.
“What happened?” Gerhard echoed, his voice tight with anger, the scar on his cheek flaring lividly. “What happened is that you’ve been sheltering a mutant!” He took a step towards the heavy-set youth, who flinched and shuffled involuntarily backwards. “By the powers invested in me by the Holy Church of Sigmar, I charge you with heresy and consorting with the powers of Chaos!”
“But… but…” Fritz blinked rapidly for a moment, his eyes filling with tears, then turned and fled down the stairs. Gerhard picked up his hat, which had fallen off when Hans knocked him over, and straightened the feather. Rudi hovered diffidently.
“Shouldn’t we go after him?” he asked after a moment. Gerhard shrugged.
“The militia will pick him up soon enough. He’s not worth getting out of breath over.”
“And when they do?”
Gerhard looked mildly surprised. “I’ll ask him some pertinent questions. His guilt seems pretty obvious, though.” Rudi considered this. He had no reason to like Fritz Katzenjammer, quite the opposite, but he had no wish to see him suffer an agonising death.
“He’s a simpleton, don’t forget. All he wanted to do was help his brother.”
“I’ll bear that in mind,” Gerhard said, in a tone, which indicated that it wouldn’t make an awful lot of difference. They descended the stairs slowly, to be met by a bewildered Frau Katzenjammer and an out-of-breath Stug, who was nursing a bruised and swelling eye. The witch hunter glanced at the dishevelled militiaman. “What are you doing here?”
[Blood on the Reik 01] - Death's Messenger Page 12