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

by Warhammer

  ‘Grimnir take them,’ cursed Gotrek. ‘No time. No time.’ He ran on.

  Felix looked back again. The dark figures were closer – much closer. Gotrek turned a corner into a small square space and stopped. He lifted Felix off his shoulder and steadied him against the wall. A set of iron rungs ran up it.

  ‘I hope you can climb,’ said Gotrek.

  ‘I hope I can too,’ said Felix.

  Gotrek started up the rungs. ‘Come on. Right behind me.’

  Felix nodded and pushed himself away from the wall. The world swirled vertiginously around him. He clutched a rung and held on. The world steadied. He began to climb. One rung. Two rungs. He heard a soft thudding. It got louder. Was it his heart?

  Above him, Gotrek reached the top of the ladder and put his shoulder to the grate. A shaft of weak sunlight slanted in and lit up a square of bricks beside the ladder. The Slayer pushed the grate up until it fell aside with a clang.

  Felix kept climbing. Halfway there. His vision dimmed. His head pounded. Or was that the thudding sound, growing louder still?

  Gotrek climbed out of the hole.

  Felix looked back. A black wolf bounded into the room from the tunnel, a petite woman clinging to her back. The wolf had four legs, but one was pale and shiny and had no fur. Behind the wolf and rider was a looming shadow, as thin as a dead tree.

  Felix climbed faster, at least he tried to, urging his legs to extend, his arms to pull and grasp. He was sweating like a pump.

  ‘Come on, manling!’ called Gotrek from above. He held his hand down into the hole.

  The wolf shook off its rider and leapt at him, snapping. Her teeth clashed shut an inch from his ankle. Felix climbed another rung. Only three more! The wolf howled angrily, and transformed. The howl became words as the paws became hands and clambered up the ladder behind him.

  ‘No ye don’t, pet!’ said Madame Mathilda. ‘Haven’t had my dinner.’ She grabbed his ankle in a grip like a steel talon and yanked down, hard.

  Felix’s slick fingers slipped off the rungs. But just as he fell, Gotrek’s meaty hand grabbed his right wrist and pulled up, hard. Felix barked in agony. He was being stretched like taffy. Another few stitches popped. Every wound on his body screamed.

  ‘Your other arm!’ rasped Gotrek.

  Felix threw up his left arm. Gotrek caught it and pulled, his legs braced on either side of the hole. Mathilda hauled back the other way. Felix groaned with pain.

  Below Mathilda, Lady Hermione was standing wearily and making gestures with her hands and Mistress Wither was floating upwards like a dry leaf, scrawny, bandaged fingers stretching out of her drooping sleeves towards him.

  Felix kicked Madame Mathilda in the face with his free foot. She snarled and grabbed his other ankle, pulling with all her weight. Above him, Gotrek heaved mightily. Felix felt his spine pop. His muscles tore and spasmed. But he was rising, slowly – too slowly. Mistress Wither was closing fast.

  Gotrek pulled harder. Felix’s legs raised up into the slanting shaft of sunlight. The edge of it touched Mathilda’s fingers. She screamed and let go, her hands smoking.

  Felix came up all at once, scraping his shoulders on the frame of the hole as he shot through it and landed on top of Gotrek. He groaned, in too much agony to move.

  Gotrek shoved him off and staggered up, pulling his axe off his back, his eye fixed on the sewer hole.

  ‘Not coming out, maggots?’ he called.

  There was no answer.

  He shrugged, then turned back to Felix and hauled him to his feet.

  Felix hissed, nearly passing out from the pain. ‘Easy.’

  ‘No time for easy, manling,’ he said, starting away. ‘Come on.’

  Felix looked around as he limped after the Slayer. They were in a side street next to the Imperial Gunnery School. Gotrek’s uncanny sense of direction had come through again.

  Halfway to the corner, a faint, echoey voice reached his ears. ‘It won’t always be daylight, heroes.’

  Gotrek and Felix limped through the gates of the Imperial Gunnery School and headed for the broad flat lawn that stretched along its west side. Men of the College of Engineering and of the Gunnery School were working together to dismantle a tower made of steel beams and guy wires. Other men loaded the pieces onto the backs of a line of wagons and made them secure as the dray horses stamped the grass and snorted steam into the cold morning air.

  Off to one side, Lord Groot stood talking with Lord Pfaltz-Kappel and Lord Hieronymous Ostwald. They looked up as the poet and the Slayer approached, then gasped.

  ‘The Spirit of Grungni,’ barked Gotrek. ‘Where is it?’

  ‘You… you have missed it, Slayer,’ said Groot. ‘Look.’

  Gotrek and Felix followed Groot’s finger as he pointed west. At first Felix could see nothing but the towers and roof peaks of the city, outlined in pink by the light of the rising sun. But at last he found, just between the sturdy mass of the town hall and the sharp spires of the University of Nuln, a small black oblong shape nosing north and west before a high bank of lavender clouds.

  Gotrek’s shoulders slumped. He cursed.

  Felix groaned. They were too late. The tainted cannon were on their way to Middenheim, to wreak havoc on the Fauschlag’s defences from within. But maybe it wasn’t too late. Maybe there was some way to warn them, to call the airship back – carrier pigeons or flares or some such.

  He turned to Lord Groot. ‘My lord…’

  Groot, Ostwald and Pfaltz-Kappel were all backing away from them and covering their noses, their eyes wide with dismay and apprehension.

  ‘Did you fall in the sewer, Herr Jaeger?’ asked Lord Ostwald, gagging.

  ‘Were you in a fight?’ asked Groot.

  ‘Are you diseased?’ asked Lord Pfaltz-Kappel.

  Felix looked down at himself, then over at Gotrek. He could understand the lords’ reactions. He and the Slayer looked a mess. Felix’s beautiful new clothes were torn and bloodied and smeared with filth, and he was still bleeding from the gashes the frog thing had torn on his arm. The Slayer was worse. His body was a mass of bleeding wounds. His bandages were soaked and partially peeled away, revealing his healing burn scars, his crest and beard were singed black in places and clotted with sewer muck, and his face, neck and shoulders were covered in angry, pus-filled blisters from the farm girl’s vomit. He looked like he had contracted some virulent plague and was in its later stages. Well, perhaps their battered condition would add urgency to their words.

  ‘The sewer fell on us,’ said Felix. ‘But listen, please, my lords. Something terrible has occurred. The cannon…’

  ‘Another secret plot like the last one you invented?’ sneered Pfaltz-Kappel, waving his handkerchief in front of his face. ‘The Gunnery School seems to have failed to explode.’

  ‘We only just stopped it from happening, my lord,’ said Felix. ‘Down in the sewer. Hence our, er, disarray. But please listen…’

  ‘What!’ said Lord Groot. ‘You say someone was trying to blow up the school after all?’

  ‘Yes, my lord,’ said Felix, impatiently. ‘Ward Captain Wissen. He was the leader of the Cleansing Flame. He and his followers…’

  ‘Captain Wissen a cultist?’ said Pfaltz-Kappel. ‘Preposterous. No more zealous defender of the public good exists in Nuln.’

  ‘That was how he covered his actions,’ said Felix. ‘But who perpetrated the plot isn’t important anymore. Wissen has been defeated and his bombs defused. What is important is the fact that the cannons…’

  ‘Wissen has been “defeated”?’ asked Lord Ostwald, raising an eyebrow. ‘What do you mean by that?’

  ‘We…’ Felix paused, suddenly realising how awkward this could become. He shot a look at Gotrek, but the Slayer was staring fixedly at the ground, mumbling to himself. He didn’t seem to be listening at all. Well, it would all come out in the end. And it had to be told. ‘We… we fought and defeated him and his followers, in order to stop the destruction of the Gunnery
School. But unfortunately, part of their plan has succeeded. You see, the cannon…’

  ‘Do you mean you killed him?’ pressed Ostwald.

  ‘Er,’ said Felix. ‘Well, he was killed, yes. But as I say, we discovered part of his plan too late, and…’

  ‘You killed Captain Wissen!’ cried all three, stepping back from them.

  ‘And did you also assault the guards of the Altestadt Gate last night?’ asked Lord Ostwald.

  ‘And also one of the patrols Captain Wissen placed in the sewers the day before?’ asked Lord Pfaltz-Kappel.

  ‘My lords, please,’ Felix pleaded. ‘I can answer all these charges later. But you must hear me about the cannon. They have been…’

  But Lord Groot was waving over a detail of Gunnery School guards as Ostwald and Pfaltz-Kappel continued to back away, hands on the hilts of their swords.

  ‘Herr Jaeger,’ said Ostwald. ‘I am very disappointed in you. I believed you to be a true and noble knight, a defender of humanity against the horrors that besiege us from all sides, but these actions of yours are very disturbing – assaulting the watch, killing a ward captain of the watch, Sigmar only knows what other villainy. I am afraid I will have to place you under arrest until these matters can be investigated further.’

  ‘Fine!’ said Felix angrily. ‘Lock us up! Do what you will! Only let me finish what I have been trying to tell…’

  Gotrek’s head snapped up. ‘The gyrocopter!’ He barked, then started across the lawn towards the front gates. ‘Come on, manling. We’ve no time to lose.’

  ‘Stop them!’ shouted Lord Ostwald. ‘Arrest them for the murder of Ward Captain Adelbert Wissen!’

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  Gotrek glared around, pulling his axe off his back. ‘What’s this?’ he growled menacingly as the Gunnery School guards began closing in.

  Felix drew his sword. ‘I tried to explain about the cannon, but they wouldn’t listen. They won’t believe that Wissen was a cultist, and…’

  ‘Never mind, manling,’ said Gotrek. ‘There’s no time for explanations.’ He lashed about with his axe, making the guards dance back. ‘Stay clear if you want to live!’ he shouted, then looked around. ‘Here, manling,’ he said, trotting off. ‘Hurry.’

  Felix limped after the Slayer and saw that he was heading for the line of wagons from the College of Engineering. Good. As fragile as he felt at the moment, the idea of sprinting to the college with a troop of guards at his heels didn’t sound appetising, or possible.

  The guards moved with them, maintaining a cautious distance from their weapons, but when they realised Gotrek and Felix were heading for the wagons, they blocked their way, drawing their pistols and resting them across their forearms.

  ‘Shoot, then,’ growled Gotrek, without breaking stride. ‘But aim well, or it will be the last thing you do.’

  ‘No!’ shouted Ostwald. ‘Don’t shoot!’

  ‘What, my lord?’ cried Lord Pfaltz-Kappel. ‘They are murderers. Groot! Tell them to fire.’

  ‘No, Groot! Hold!’ said Ostwald. ‘There is a story here that may have bearing on the security of Nuln, perhaps all the Empire, and I will hear it.’ He glared at Pfaltz-Kappel. ‘And witch hunters have difficulty wringing confessions from dead men, my lord.’

  Gotrek slashed at the guards and they danced back out of the way. He and Felix climbed on the first wagon. Felix took the reins.

  Groot stepped in the way of the wagon. ‘Be reasonable now, sirs. Turn yourselves in.’

  ‘And face the witch hunters?’ said Felix, flicking the reins. ‘No fear.’

  The horses started slowly forward.

  Groot backed away, then paced them. ‘But you cannot hope to escape the city.’

  ‘Want to bet on it?’ said Gotrek.

  ‘Hoy!’ said an engineer as he noticed the wagon moving. ‘What are you doing? That’s the property of the College of Engineering! Get off of there!’ He ran at them and tried to climb on board.

  Gotrek shoved the man down. Felix slapped the reins again and the horses picked up speed. More engineers started running forward, joining the guards as they ran after them. Gotrek stood wide-legged in the wagon bed, snarling back at them as the wagon bumped and bounced.

  ‘Close the gates!’ called Groot, waving towards the front of the school. ‘Call for the watch! Call for the army!’

  The gate guards frowned and cupped their ears, momentarily uncomprehending, as the horses pounded towards them across the lawn.

  ‘Close… the… gate!’ screamed Groot.

  The guards understood him at last and scrambled into action, running to the iron gates.

  The wagon jolted over a low curb and fish-tailed through the gravel of the drive as Felix pointed the horses at the entrance. The guards pushed on the gates. They groaned, closing slowly, but picking up speed.

  ‘Faster!’ shouted Felix, and slapped the reins again.

  The horses strained forward, stretching out into a gallop. It was going to be close.

  ‘Hold on!’ Felix called over his shoulder.

  Gotrek grabbed the back of the driver’s bench.

  The horses shot the gap easily. Unfortunately, the sides of the wagon stuck out more than a foot to either side of them. The left front corner caught the closing edge of the left gate with a splintering crack, bending the ironwork and ripping away the wagon’s left side. The wagon swerved crazily, banged sideways against the right gate, then straightened as the horses plunged into the street, screaming with fright and trying to get away from all the noise and violence behind them.

  Felix pulled left on the reins and they careened down Commerce Street as students and labourers and fruit sellers scattered before them in terror. Faint and far behind he heard Groot calling, ‘Open the gates! Open the gates!’

  At the end of the street Felix turned left again and they thundered down the Wandstrasse, which paralleled the Altestadt wall. The gallop came to an abrupt end just before the Emmanuelleplatz, where it passed through the Great Gate into the Altestadt. The way was blocked by merchants and tradesmen in carts and on foot, all waiting to get through the gate to service their rich clients on the other side. Gotrek and Felix’s stolen wagon could go no further.

  Gotrek jumped down. ‘Come on, manling.’

  Felix hissed and climbed down gingerly, looking back down the Wandstrasse. Bobbing helmets glinted at the far end. The Gunnery School guards were still coming. He limped after Gotrek as he turned left onto the Emmanuelleplatz. The towers of the College of Engineering loomed over the street, half way down, casting a long shadow over the tenements on the other side. Gotrek and Felix crossed the street, pushing through the crowds, and hurried to the entrance to the college.

  The sergeant at the gate stepped out as they entered. ‘Professor Makaisson is gone, sirs. Left with the airship. I’m afraid I can’t…’

  ‘It’s all right, sergeant,’ said Felix, over his shoulder as Gotrek stumped on unheeding. ‘We… we’re just collecting our belongings. Won’t be a minute.’

  He pressed after Gotrek before the sergeant could reply.

  Inside the main building they wound their way through the maze of corridors and stairwells towards the roof.

  As they passed near Makaisson’s workshop, a few of the students gave them cheery salutes, then stared after them when they saw the condition they were in.

  Gotrek pointed his axe at one. ‘Where’s the clumsy one? The blind one?’

  The student shrank from the axe, and undoubtedly from the smell and Gotrek’s blisters as well. ‘Who? D’ye mean Petr?’

  ‘Aye. Him. Where is he?’

  ‘He, ah, he went with Professor Makaisson,’ said the student, quaking. ‘In the airship.’

  ‘You’ll do, then,’ said Gotrek, advancing on him. ‘Is the gyrocopter fuelled? Is it ready to fly?’

  ‘I… I don’t know.’ The student cowered back against the wall. ‘Professor doesn’t let us touch it.’

  ‘Where is the black water stored?�
�� Gotrek barked.

  ‘On the roof,’ said the student. ‘Please don’t kill me.’

  Gotrek grunted and pushed past him, striding towards the stairs.

  ‘But it’s locked up!’ the student called after him. ‘You have to get the key from the supply steward.’

  Gotrek snorted and started up the stairs. As he made to follow, Felix heard a commotion coming from outside – raised voices and angry argument. It sounded like the Gunnery School guards had reached the college and were arguing with their counterparts at the college gate. He hurried on, groaning with each step. There was no place on his body that didn’t hurt.

  Three weary flights later he stepped panting onto the long, narrow roof. Gotrek was waiting to close the door.

  ‘They’re coming,’ Felix gasped.

  ‘I heard them, manling,’ said Gotrek.

  The Slayer looked around the roof. A sturdy cart loaded with heavy brass tanks labelled ‘Heberluft’ sat at one side. He stepped to it, grasped the handles, and pushed at it, angling it around. Felix pushed too, though he wasn’t sure he was helping. Over the sound of the wheels grinding across the copper sheeting he heard a swarm of footsteps pounding up the stairs. Gotrek pushed harder, wrenching on the handles to bring the cart into position.

  Just as they eased it side-on to the stairwell door, the door banged open half an inch and slammed against the cart. Fists pounded and knocked on the wooden panels.

  ‘In the name of Countess Emmanuelle, open this door!’ said an angry voice.

  ‘You are under arrest!’ bawled another.

  Gotrek laughed and stumped to a padlocked shed halfway along the roof. He slashed at the lock with his axe and it fell in pieces.

  Felix looked back as he heard banging and smashing behind him. The men in the stairwell were attacking the door. It rattled and shook.

  Gotrek entered the shed, then returned a moment later carrying two brass tanks and a tin funnel. He lugged them to the gyrocopter, which was tied down with ropes at the far end of the roof. Felix followed, eyeing the flimsy-looking machine warily, as Gotrek chopped through its ropes and threw them aside. The thing only had one seat.