Gotrek & Felix- the Third Omnibus - William King & Nathan Long

by Warhammer

  But the sergeant laughed and turned to his men. ‘Look here, lads! It’s the “Saviours of Nuln” come back to protect us from some new menace!’

  His men laughed too, dark and nasty, repeating ‘the Saviours of Nuln,’ derisively.

  ‘You’ve quite an imagination, Herr Jaeger,’ said the sergeant, smirking. ‘Ratmen in the sewers of Nuln – skavlings did you call ’em? You and your friend the only ones who could save the day. The watch a lot of incompetent blunderers. Make for a good laugh around the watch station of an evening, your books.’

  Felix gaped. This was the last thing he had expected. ‘You’ve… you’ve read my books?’

  ‘Captain Niederling read ’em to us, as he can read. Never heard taller tales in all my life.’

  ‘What books are these?’ growled Gotrek, his single eye turning on Felix.

  Felix flushed. He had meant to tell Gotrek the night before, but the dwarf had been in such a foul mood that he had put it off, then forgotten it. ‘I… I’ll explain later.’

  ‘I don’t care who they are,’ said the halfling. ‘They smashed up my business. Lock ’em up!’

  ‘We were looking for the black powder,’ said Felix. ‘They stole if from the Gunnery College, then sold it this morning.’

  The sergeant cocked an eyebrow. ‘Playing out one of your books, Herr Jaeger? Maybe you ought to keep your adventures on paper in the future.’ He held up a hand as Felix and the halfling both started talking at once. ‘Now now, I think both of you better come down to the watch station and explain it all to the captain.’ He grinned. ‘Captain will be right pleased to meet you, Herr Jaeger. He loves your books. Highly imaginative, he calls them.’

  Gotrek growled in his throat and Felix shot him a warning glance. It would not do for the Slayer to murder an officer of the watch. They had only just returned to the Empire. Felix wasn’t keen on going into exile again so soon. On the other hand, an axe through the forehead of this sergeant and his captain might be just the thing. Highly imaginative, indeed! Every word he had put in his journals was the truth. Skaven had attacked Nuln. And he and Gotrek had had some part in defeating them. Did they think he was some purveyor of low melodrama? Some Detlef Sierck? How dare they!

  ‘What are these books, manling?’

  Felix swallowed, nervous. He had been waiting for the Slayer to ask that question.

  It was many hours later. Gotrek and Felix were walking back to the College of Engineering, trailing behind Malakai Makaisson and Lord Groot, who were talking eagerly about tomorrow. Apparently Lord Pfaltz-Kappel had found more funds, the Dwarf Black Powder Guild had found more powder, and the flight of the Spirit of Grungni was back on schedule.

  In the end, it had taken the intervention of Groot and Makaisson, and the reluctant confessions of the halfling and his henchmen, before the watch could be convinced to let Gotrek and Felix go. They had been released into Lord Groot’s custody like naughty children returned to their father, and told to leave the investigating to the authorities.

  Gotrek had been remarkably well behaved throughout the whole ordeal. Not that he was cooperative in any way. He had cursed Nuln and the watch and refused to surrender his weapon or answer any questions, but on the other hand, he hadn’t killed anyone, or wrecked the furniture, or punched the captain in the face when he laughed at the sergeant’s witticism about them being the ‘Saviours of Nuln,’ and called Felix’s stories of ratmen ‘amusing fancies’.

  Indeed, every time Felix’s books had been mentioned, Gotrek had turned that baleful glittering eye upon Felix, and stared silently at him. Felix quivered each time. It had reminded him of when Gotrek had attacked him in the tomb of the Sleeper, an experience he was not eager to repeat.

  Now Gotrek had at last asked the dreaded question.

  ‘Ah…’ said Felix. ‘Well, as you know, over the years I’ve kept journals of our journeys – notes for the epic poem of your death, you see. And… and whenever we’ve found ourselves in a friendly port, I’ve sent those that I’ve finished home to my brother for safekeeping. And he… well, he published them without my knowledge.’ He swallowed. Gotrek just continued to stare at him. Was he going to attack him here and now? ‘I– I meant to tell you last night, but somehow…’

  ‘So you’ve already begun to tell my saga?’ interrupted Gotrek.

  ‘Ah, yes,’ said Felix. ‘In a way. Although I can’t speak for the quality. I haven’t begun to read them yet myself, and I have no idea what kind of editing my brother–’

  ‘Good,’ said Gotrek, cutting him off again. ‘If my fame is great enough, my doom may seek me out and save me hunting for it. I owe your brother a debt.’

  He stumped on without another word. Felix gaped after him. He had expected anger, dismemberment even. Never had it occurred to him that the Slayer might approve. On the other hand, he had asked him to write the epic. Why should he be surprised that Gotrek was pleased that he had begun?

  CHAPTER FOUR

  Felix woke again to thunder. This time it was all outside his head, and much louder than previously. The blast brought him bolt upright in bed. Was it a cannon firing? If so, it must have been much closer. Perhaps one of Makaisson’s inventions had exploded. It wouldn’t be the first time.

  He blinked around sleepily in the pre-dawn light as the reverberations of the explosion faded away and people in nearby rooms raised their voices in alarm. He had not slept well. His mind had been restive. Images of the black-clad, white-haired figure in the rafters of the cold cellar had spun endlessly through his head, trying to resolve themselves into a memory that wouldn’t come.

  People were running in the halls now. He moaned and climbed wearily out of bed. By the time he had found and pulled on his clothes and stepped into his boots, someone was knocking sharply on his door. He opened it. Gotrek and Malakai stood without, looking grim.

  ‘There’s been an explosion on the Gunnery School’s testing field on Aver Isle,’ said Malakai. ‘The last gun of our shipment was tae be tested this morning. We’re off tae see what’s what.’

  Gotrek gripped his axe like he meant to butcher someone with it. His face was rigid with rage. ‘The gods conspire to keep me from my doom,’ he rasped.

  Felix nodded. It certainly seemed that some unearthly agency was trying to stop Gotrek from reaching Middenheim in time for the siege. He and the Slayer stood on the neatly clipped green lawn of the Gunnery School’s test range, which was situated on Aver Isle, a small island in the centre of the River Aver, and linked by bridges to the Neuestadt district to its north, to the Halbinsel district to the south, and to the west, the forbidding Island of the Iron Tower, the notorious prison of the witch hunters. The testing range was a cool and strangely peaceful place at this time of the morning, silent and wreathed in swirling mists from the river, but evidence that terrible tragedy had recently shattered that peace smouldered before them.

  An enormous iron cannon sat broken upon the lawn, its lavishly decorated barrel split into five splayed sections, peeled back so that it resembled some black orchid from the jungles of Lustria. The wooden gun carriage the cannon had been mounted on was shattered and smoking, and the grass all around it was scorched. Patches of red remained on the ground where the bodies of the crew had been flung when the gun had exploded.

  Malakai and Lord Groot and other men from the Gunnery School and the College of Engineering circled the cannon, examining it closely and talking amongst themselves. Behind them, a sturdy wagon was being wheeled onto the field in preparation for carrying the gun back to the school. Magus Lichtmann stood to one side, murmuring incantations and making strange gestures with his left hand and the stump of his right arm. By the armoury building, Ward Captain Wissen talked with the administrators of the range. A company of city guard waited near the gate.

  Lord Pfaltz-Kappel paced behind Lord Groot, a sour look on his face. ‘I suppose I’ll have to pay for this too,’ he whined.

  ‘Certainly not,’ said Groot sharply. ‘The school guarantee
s all its work. You paid for the finest gun the Empire can build. You’ll get it. No matter how many times we have to cast it.’

  ‘How long to make anither?’ asked Malakai.

  ‘From start to finish, shaping and casting a gun takes fourteen days,’ said Groot. ‘Twelve if we rush it.’

  ‘Twelve days,’ growled Gotrek under his breath. His axe twitched.

  ‘Fortunately,’ continued Groot, ‘we have a gun just ready to be poured. It is meant for the garrison at Carroburg, but they can wait. Middenheim’s need is greater. If we pour it this morning, it can be ready four days from now at dawn.’

  Gotrek grunted angrily but said nothing.

  ‘Ah’ve niver before seen a gun explode wae such force,’ said Malakai shaking his head. ‘It’s almost as though the muzzle wis plugged. Groot, were ye using some experimental ammunition?’

  Groot shook his head. ‘We would never do that for a test fire. It was loaded with plain iron shot.’

  ‘Perhaps it was loaded wrong,’ said Pfaltz-Kappel.

  Groot wheeled on him, eyes blazing. ‘The crews of the Imperial Gunnery School are the best in the world. The men who died here today were fifteen-year veterans. Great soldiers and personal friends of mine. They did not “load it wrong”.’

  Magus Lichtmann joined them, frowning. ‘I detect no residue of magic,’ he said. ‘No spell caused this to happen. It seems it may have been an accident after all. Some hidden fault in the iron.’

  Lord Groot made a face.

  Lichtmann shrugged. ‘These things happen, Julianus.’

  ‘Not to my guns,’ said Groot. ‘I want to look at it more closely when we bring it back to the school.’

  ‘It was saboteurs,’ said Captain Wissen, crossing towards them. ‘I’ll stake my reputation on it. The same villains who stole the powder. Someone from within the school, most likely. Secret cultists among the gun shapers. They want to delay the shipment to aid their masters in the north.’

  ‘There are no cultists in the Gunnery School!’ bellowed Groot.

  Wissen’s lip curled. ‘There are cultists everywhere.’

  The men stepped aside as workers from the school lowered planks from the back of the wagon and attached chains to the wounded cannon. Four men manned cranks and, with a clattering of gears, began to drag the massive gun inch by inch up the planks. Groot watched in sad silence, like he was at a funeral.

  A grey and gold palanquin carried by four men in the livery of Countess Emmanuelle, Elector Countess of Wissenland and ruler of Nuln, came through the high iron gates of the firing range and crossed the lawn. Murmurs rippled through the nobles, and they turned towards it expectantly, waiting to see who it carried. Could it be the Countess herself, Felix wondered? He hadn’t seen her since she had thanked him and Gotrek for their help in defeating the ratmen and saving her city twenty years ago. She had been beautiful then. Had she kept her looks?

  It was not the Countess.

  The bearers set down the palanquin, and one of them opened the door. Out stepped a tall, stooped, delicate old man in severe but exquisitely-tailored black. He had a long, horsy face and thick white hair. The murmurs from the nobles grew louder. Felix frowned when he saw him. He looked familiar, and he knew he had met the man before, but couldn’t remember where.

  ‘Greetings, gentlemen,’ he said in a soft voice. ‘I have come at the request of the Countess. She has heard of the school’s troubles and wishes to know what is being done.’

  Felix knew him as soon as he spoke. It was Hieronymous Ostwald, the Countess’s personal secretary, though he was much changed since he had last seen him. Twenty years ago, when the courtier had called Felix to his offices in the Countess’s palace during the skaven crisis, he had been a dark-haired, slightly fleshy man in his fifties. Now he looked like a frail and kindly old grandfather.

  But judging by the wary glances Lord Pfaltz-Kappel and Lord Groot and the others gave him, he was more dangerous than he looked.

  ‘I understand that there has been a theft and sabotage,’ Ostwald continued. ‘I would like to hear the details, and also who the suspects might be. Have the cults been investigated? Have you entertained the possibility that it might be the…’ He paused and looked around furtively, then lowered his voice. ‘That it might be our “enemies below”. I…’ His eye fell on Felix and he paused, frowning. ‘By Sigmar! Is it… are you related to Felix Jaeger? The bearer of the Templar’s Sword? His son perhaps?’

  Felix bowed. ‘I am Felix Jaeger himself, sir,’ he said. ‘A pleasure to see you again.’ He stifled a smile. It was funny how easily the old courtesies came back.

  ‘Impossible,’ said Ostwald, goggling at him. ‘You haven’t aged a day. You must have drunk from the chalice of youth!’

  Felix blushed and didn’t know what to say. ‘No, sir. I… I feel every one of my years, I’m afraid.’

  ‘My friends,’ said Ostwald, turning to the others. ‘You know not who you have in your midst! This is Felix Jaeger, who, with the help of his stout – er, stout-hearted – companion, helped turn the tide against the ska… the beastmen who invaded our fair city all these many years ago.’ He looked at Wissen. ‘Captain, I would request that you ask the High Constable to allow Herr Jaeger and Herr Gurnisson to assist you in your investigations, and to share with them all information you have about these crimes.’

  Wissen looked appalled, but hid it by bowing and clicking his heels together. ‘As you wish, excellency.’

  The others looked at Felix and Gotrek with raised eyebrows. He couldn’t tell if they were impressed or amused.

  Gotrek chuckled almost inaudibly.

  Groot stepped forward. ‘My lord, if you will come back with me to the school I will tell you what we know.’

  ‘Of course, of course,’ said Ostwald. He motioned to Felix as he started back to his palanquin. ‘Come, Herr Jaeger. Walk beside my chair so that we may talk. I am no longer able to walk long distances.’

  Groot and the others lined up behind the wagon carrying the exploded cannon, and followed it out of the test grounds and onto the stone bridge that connected Aver Isle with the north bank of the Reik. Felix paced next to Lord Ostwald’s palanquin with Gotrek beside him. The old man sat at the window and pulled a sable rug around his knees, as if the late summer weather was too cold for him.

  A host of memories flooded Felix’s mind as they walked, brought on by Ostwald’s sudden reappearance in his life, the scenes and emotions coming to him as if they had happened yesterday – killing von Halstadt, the burning of the Blind Pig, Elissa’s dark curls, and her betrayal, hideous rat-faces coming out of the dark, the terror of the poison gas, the horror of the diseased skaven in the cemetery, the doctor who had given him the pomander that had protected him from their noxious stew. Felix paused. The doctor was the same man who had introduced him to Lord Ostwald. The two of them had belonged to a secret order of some kind. What had his name been? Oh yes.

  He turned to Ostwald. ‘Do you still see Doctor Drexler, my lord?’ he asked.

  ‘Doctor Drexler?’ said Ostwald. ‘Oh, but I’m terribly sorry, my dear boy. Doctor Drexler passed away, many years ago.’

  ‘Oh. I’m sorry to hear it,’ said Felix. And he was. The old physician had been one of the wisest, most learned men he had ever met, a great healer with a deep understanding of human nature.

  ‘Yes,’ said Ostwald. ‘He never truly recovered from his fight with that vile skaven warlock. His health remained feeble for a few years, then he succumbed to a cancer of the brain and died.’

  ‘That is sad news indeed,’ said Felix, but Ostwald’s mention of the skaven sparked another question. ‘Tell me, my lord, why no one believes that it was ratmen who attacked the city? Everyone, even men who were there and fought the vermin, seem to remember them as beastmen.’

  Ostwald leaned closer to the window and put a finger to his lips. ‘Quietly, Herr Jaeger. Quietly.’ He looked around, then continued. ‘It is strange, I know, but it is for the good of the
Empire.’

  ‘The good of the Empire?’ Felix looked around too, though he couldn’t imagine who would be eavesdropping on their conversation. They were halfway across the bridge now, moving very slowly behind the wagon that carried the huge shattered gun. The only person near them was Gotrek, who was spitting over the balustrade into the water.

  ‘Yes. Don’t you see?’ continued Ostwald. ‘The morale of the people is low enough as it is, and the knowledge that the entire land, from the wilds of Kislev in the north, to the Border Princes in the south, is riddled and undermined by the burrows of an innumerable, implacable foe bent on our utter destruction, would cause widespread despair. So, though we know of their existence, for the good of the people, those of us in possession of this dangerous knowledge must remain silent and fight them in secret. Therefore, the Countess and her advisors tell the people that it was not skaven they fought, but beastmen, and those who say otherwise are arrested – for the good of the community, of course.’

  ‘And this works?’ asked Felix, confounded.

  ‘I have found,’ said Ostwald, with a sad smile, ‘that if you tell a lie long enough and loud enough and from a high enough position of authority, that most people will come to believe it, even with the truth staring them in the face. And those who don’t believe it can be disposed of as traitors or madmen.’

  ‘I… I see.’ Felix wanted to say that he thought that this was a despicable practice that would only cause the people to come to mistrust the Emperor and his servants, but since Lord Ostwald was one of those servants he decided it was probably in his best interests to hold his tongue.

  ‘I do not approve of this practice,’ said Ostwald, pursing his lips. ‘For I believe that the skaven thrive in this secrecy. I believe it would be better if we were to speak openly–’

  A sound like the gabbling of a thousand geese interrupted him. It came from ahead of them, further down the bridge. Felix looked up, but could see nothing around the great bulk of the cannon. Captain Wissen and his troops were edging around its wagon as Groot and Lord Pfaltz-Kappel craned their necks and asked what was happening.