Stalking the Shadows

  “Indeed Sister. You speak as if this is not your first dealing with one of the Verminators.”

  “No, my lord, I am very sorry to say that it is not.”

  She invited Kreigel to step through into the ward and it was only then, as she locked the huge, iron-bound door behind her, that he began to hear the screams. They stood in a corridor perhaps six yards across and eighty long, lit by a series of skylights in the high ceiling as well as a number of lanterns positioned well out of arm’s reach, on hooks driven in high up on the walls.

  The passage opened out about half way down to become a good sized room, where three burly male attendants kept a discreet vigil as a half dozen Sisters interacted with those patients deemed safe enough to be allowed out of their cells. A number of doors lined each side of the corridor, both leading up to the open space and then carrying on beyond it, and it was from behind some of these doors that the tortured sobs, maniacal laughter and insane rantings of some of the forty or so unfortunate men and women currently residing at St. Barneva’s could be heard.

  Kreigel felt instantly uneasy here, unable to ignore the hideous cacophony of madness, as well as the sights and smells which assaulted the senses of those not used to them. Sister Verbruggen was not so affected and set out down the hall in her calm, unruffled manner.

  “Although we have never had to take one in before, we have given both comfort and counsel to the Catchers and sewer workers of the Stad on many, many occasions over the years.”

  Kreigel forcefully buried his discomfort and followed after the priestess. Despite the frankly awful conditions under which she worked, Karl noted an almost total compassion suffusing her soul, radiating out from her in all directions. Easily catching up with her, he looked down admiringly at the soft, gentle smile she wore at all times. Truly remarkable, he thought. The wails of the lunatics would be enough to drive anybody over the edge, and yet she subjected herself to them voluntarily, every single day.

  “Has there ever been a... general trend to their complaints, Sister?” he asked, feeling slightly humbled.

  “Not really,” she shrugged, stopping at a door on their left. “Over the years they have suffered a wide range of malaises, from physical sicknesses to loneliness and questions of self-worth, all the way up to poor Gurney here,” she gestured to the door. Knocking very gently she opened it half way and leaned carefully through. “Is it all right if we come in Gurney?” she asked. “It’s Sister Verbruggen and a guest come to see you.”

  “The door is not locked?” Kreigel whispered in amazement. Verbruggen looked back and shook her head.

  “Not this one, no. He has full freedom to come out and enjoy the free space should he want to, but he has so far preferred to stay inside. That’s quite normal,” she explained.

  No answer had come from within, but the Sister had not expected any. Pushing the door wide enough to admit them, she entered the tiny room, Lord Kreigel following her with only a slight hesitation. She left the door ajar and then went over to the bed to kneel beside the pitiful form of Gurney Duvel, her movements slow and deliberate.

  The ex-rat catcher was a dishevelled wreck of a man, squeezed up against the corner of his cell, legs drawn up tightly to his chest with his arms clasped together in front of them, helping to hold them in place. Kreigel saw that he was rocking backwards and forwards, very slightly, very slowly.

  “Now Gurney,” the Sister began, placing a tender hand on one of his feet, “this is Meneer Kreigel and he has come to see you. He would like to ask you about something he thinks you might be able to help him with. Would that be ok?” Duvel continued his gentle rocking, but his eyes flashed once to take in Kreigel and after a few more moments he nodded almost imperceptibly to the Sister. She nodded and thanked him. “Please keep your voice calm and quiet my lord,” she asked of Kreigel. “Gurney here has had a terrible shock, so please do try to keep that in mind.”

  “Indeed. I will. Thank you Sister.” Karl squatted slowly and tried to formulate his thoughts. He had not really been sure what he was going to ask, and coming face to face with this broken man - together with all the other sights and sounds of this god-awful place - had disturbed him more than he liked to admit. All in all he was finding this whole experience far more unsettling than he had prepared himself for.

  Come on man, pull yourself together! Start with something simple.

  He coughed to clear his throat. “I want to thank you Gurney, for all the services you have done, for all of us. Over the years you have proved yourself a valuable asset to the Stad.” Duvel did not reply, but his eyes kept flickering to Kreigel’s face and then back down again, so he had to assume he was listening. “I have been speaking to some of your colleagues, your friends. Matthias Gilbert - you remember Matthias, yes? Well, he told me what has been happening down under the Schoenmarkt; about Geer van den Elsken and Rene von Brugge... And about what happened to you Gurney.”

  Duvel’s eyes widened and he began to breathe faster, the speed and intensity of his rocking increasing as he did so. Sister Verbruggen reached out and took his hands in hers, trying to placate him in her soothing voice. Gradually this worked and after he had begun to settle again she beckoned for Kreigel to come away with her to the door.

  “I’m not sure just how much he is going to be able to help you, my lord. He hasn’t spoken much since his arrival and his memories are obviously very painful for him.”

  “Yes, yes indeed. But just a few minutes more Sister, please. For the good of the Stad, please let me try just a few more questions. Anything he may be able to confirm, anything, could be invaluable to us.”

  “Very well. A few more minutes then, but please don’t push him to somewhere he doesn’t want to go. Whatever has happened to him, he has suffered so very much, so please...”

  “Thank you Sister, I will be as gentle as I can.” She returned to her position by the bed and signalled for Kreigel to try again. “I am sorry to have to ask you these things Duvel, but the safety of every burgher in the Stad could be at stake here, so... Some of your co-workers spoke of seeing a figure down in the sewers,” Gurney let out a whimper and pressed back up even further into the corner, but Kreigel carried on regardless. “Some are now missing. Some of them, yourself included, were chased and attacked -”

  “My lord...” Verbruggen warned as a crazed look came into the Catcher’s eyes.

  “I must!” Kreigel insisted to the woman. Leaning down on the bed he continued. “They told me wild, fanciful stories of a rat - a huge, giant-sized rat stalking the sewers and seeking retribution for the slaying of its subjects.” Gurney’s breathing began to increase again and Kreigel knew he did not have much longer. “You must remember Gurney! It killed your dog and supposedly cut your leg open!”

  Seeing the man shrinking even further back into himself, Karl decided on a drastic measure. Lunging forwards suddenly, he grabbed the man’s legs, hauling him out of the corner and onto his back. Gurney began to kick out and writhe frantically in his grasp, screaming, but he could not break free.

  Sister Verbruggen leapt to her feet. “My lord! That’s enough!”

  Ignoring her, Kreigel pushed the threadbare material of Duvel’s trousers up towards his knees, struggling to hold onto his thrashing legs. Although a week old by now, the deep gashes raking down the calf and ankle of his left leg were still vivid and painful.

  “Stop!” Verbruggen wrestled at Lord Kreigel’s arm.

  “What did this to you?” he yelled. “Speak up man!”

  “Stop it! Help! Help! Jacob!” the Sister shouted over her shoulder to the orderlies back out in the hall.

  “Who was it, verdomme?” Kreigel shook the howling rat catcher forcefully. “Speak! Speak man, by all that’s Holy!”

  Two of the massive orderlies burst into the room and seized Kreigel by the arms, hauling him off the writhing patient and grappling him to the doorway of the cell.

  “Damn it, I’ve got to know!” Kreigel struggled in the men’s rough grip
. Sister Verbruggen was leant over placating Gurney who had retreated back up against the wall again, but he was not screaming any more. Instead he was sat quite still, panting from the struggle, but staring directly at Kreigel with a hard, hateful look in his eyes.

  “It wasn’t a rat!” he yelled suddenly, shocking everybody in the room with his vehemence. Kreigel stopped struggling against the orderlies, who remained holding him, waiting for further instructions. Sister Verbruggen, who had backed away at his sudden outburst, moved in closer again.

  “Gurney,” she began, but he interrupted her, continuing to stare ferociously up at Kreigel.

  “It was no simple rat,” he spat.

  “But your friends said -”

  “It’s an abomination!” he snarled. “A mockery of everything pure and true in life!” he wailed insanely. “It is a demon-spawned perversity, vile and evil and wicked beyond compare!” Gobbets of spittle flew from his mouth as his fear finally cracked his brain and found its voice. “It is a creature from the Umberlands - a monster dredged up from the deepest and darkest of all five hells!” Total madness shone from his eyes as whatever chain that had been anchoring him to the last vestiges of reality had suddenly snapped. He began to cackle. “It is not a rat, but a Rat Man, the bastard child of an unholy union, ripped early from the womb of its blasphemous mother and set out upon a course of ruination!”

  The orderlies loosened their grip as Duvel’s tirade intensified, aware that the threat had now changed - Gurney had sprung to his feet, fists clenched and muscles tensed dangerously. Kreigel backed further towards the door and even Sister Verbruggen began to edge away from the raving man.

  Gurney Duvel was by now totally out of control, his arms flailing about and foam beginning to issue from his mouth.

  “It is coming!” he shrieked in a sickeningly high-pitched voice. “It is coming for us all! It is unstoppable! Every night it will wreak its bloody vengeance and there are none who can stand in its way! None I tell you! No one!”

  At this point Sister Verbruggen gave the signal to the two big men and they threw themselves forward to try and force Duvel to the ground. Despite their considerable strength and the combined weight of their giant size, they still struggled against the thrashing madman.

  “It’s coming I tell you! Under the Glare of the Eye it is coming, and it will destroy us all!”

  *

  The town house of Councillor Rens Hoskam was located near the centre of the Guilderslaan district in the west of Werpenstad, just south of the Garden Laan. It was a pleasant, landscaped neighbourhood only slightly less affluent than Veeldonk to the north, situated on the rising ground of Borger’s Tor, the southern slopes of which, beyond the summit known as Werper’s Peak, became the district known as The Hill. The house was big and old, with thick trees of ivy climbing up its three stories, all of which were built on solid foundations, with oak beams and a beautifully thatched roof displaying the obvious wealth of the owners.

  There were two guards standing at the front door with a third patrolling around the property at a measured, regular pace. Seequar glared out from the blackness of an overhanging porch across the wide, well-kept street, his beady red eyes taking in details, details, details.

  Spear, shield, mail shirt. Helmet. Sword at the waist. Knife. Sweat. Dandruff. Boredom.

  His anger was still there, seething beneath his thick and hairy skin, but it was controlled now, properly channelled to let its fiery energy fuel the task at hand.

  He counted again how long it took that third human to make his circuit; then again and then again, until he was satisfied he had an accurate count. He picked out what would be his preferred way into the house as well as a second alternative through an upstairs window should the one on the ground floor prove for some reason inaccessible.

  He did not know if there were any visitors due, nor how much traffic could be expected to pass outside, but there had been hardly anything since sundown and nobody had entered the house since a fifty-something year old male had arrived shortly before the lamps had been lit on the street corners - the owner of the house, Seequar presumed.

  Most important of all the gaps in his intelligence though was that he did not know how many people were in there: the owner and his woman-partner, plus the kin-folk of that miserable, corpulent scum Dupont who had managed to escape his attentions two nights ago. More than that he did not know though, and by the size of the house there could be anything up to another twenty in there, from what he knew of human habitation habits. He anticipated at least three more, minimum, as these more affluent humans usually kept a staff of menials to carry out the work of the house.

  In this instance it actually didn’t matter too much - whether there were three or thirty, they were all going to die to tonight, but as a general rule the Lore Knots stated it was never the best if you had to go in blind.

  It was actually satisfying that it had turned out like this, Seequar reflected. That bloated half-wit would learn that his kin-folk had suffered terrible deaths all because of him and his transgressions. This would allow the terror to sink in nice and deep before he himself was killed. Did he honestly believe he could negotiate with the Vit-vit? Dictate terms even? It would be as if one of their dogs had started to tell its human masters what to do! The audacity! The arrogance! The very thought that a human could presume to know better than the Masters of the Four was more than enough cause to slit his throat, and Seequar looked forward to doing that very thing.

  All in good time, Seequar grinned maliciously as he imagined the fear, the sorrow and the utter helplessness worming its way into Dupont’s fat human head, filling him with abject terror and freezing his heart. In all likelihood Seequar would not have to follow up after tonight - he was quite sure that given only a few days more the human would either die of fright or else take his own life, being the craven he was, but Seequar wouldn’t give the human the satisfaction. He would finish it. Once a Brood Brother had been tasked to do something he would never, never rest until it was done. Ever. To do any different would be a grave dishonour, to the Tzeen-tek, to the Four and to the Half Tail Herself. No, the human called Dupont would meet his death on the edge of Seequar’s blade, but he would suffer first.

  As the third human guard walked past once again at his ponderous, lazy pace, Seequar took two darts from a small belt strapped around his upper arm. From this range he knew he could hit his targets as easily as wiping dust motes from his whiskers, but remembering the embarrassment of his failure two nights ago he snarled and crept forwards - tonight he would be sure. Sometimes the wind could funnel down these human streets in unexpected gusts, and there could be no more mistakes. He had another six yards of darkness so he would use it.

  A dart spat out, piercing one of the guards posted at the door through the cheek. Another flew into the neck of the human standing beside him before he even had chance to turn his head. Seequar waited only seconds before scuttling out of the shadows, knowing exactly how long it would take the powerful alkaloids to enter the bloodstream of the humans and take effect. He crossed the street without a sound and quickly pulled the darts out of the men, so as to leave little trace.

  He had not killed them, choosing instead to paralyse them where they stood, this particular mixture keeping their limbs locked up like that for up to four hours. They would be totally aware of what was going on around them, the toxin leaving the senses well alone, just unable to move from their rigid state.

  Seequar was too focussed on the work still to be done to enjoy the unmitigated terror in their eyes as they saw him, but it was there. He could easily have killed them, the third one too, but this way was better. To the sentry patrolling the boundaries of the property and to any other onlookers who might pass by in the street everything would look completely normal - the two guards standing straight, still and tall in their duty. But when the men came round from their paralysis...

  The fear in this town would be magnified a thousand fold! A living witness was somet
imes used by the Tzeen-tek, a useful tool making any subsequent work so much easier. Humans feared the unknown like nothing else, the Vit-vit had noticed over the years, and fear-filled rumours always spread like a plague in the slums, adding the element of mystery to that of dread.

  Standing directly behind the guards, he hissed deliberately so they would hear him as he used an iron-hard claw to scratch a symbol into the wooden door: six well-practiced, fluent strokes making up a stylised rat’s head - the sign of the Half Tail.

  Moving on to the ground floor window he had chosen as his entry point, he gripped it gently yet forcefully in his clawed hand and opened it outwards. Then slowly, silently, all his senses on full alert, Seequar crept inside.

  *

  Rens Hoskam had returned home late after yet another emergency council meeting, tired and numbed by the inexplicable events of the last two days. Something truly terrible seemed to have settled on the Stad, and what it was exactly was still very much a mystery. A horror had come to Werpenstad and no one knew why; neither did they know where it had come from or, more disturbingly, where it might lead next.

  First were the missing Verminators, which Lord Kreigel insisted were an unfortunate part of this murderous affair and Rens tended to believe him. Then of course there was the attempt on the Burghermeister’s life. They had had no news from Puss, the Stad’s Tracker since he entered the Borgersveldt and that in all likelihood spelled bad news - the chances of survival after a day and a half, or even two days, in the sprawling swamplands was remote, even for one as capable as Puss. It was possible he was still alive, but none of them held out much hope.

  The unit sent out to rendezvous with him had not come back yet, but they had not been expected until tomorrow morning anyway and probably later now, given the news that had returned with one of their riders - a whole caravan butchered and burnt out, for no apparent reason, right on the middle of the Great West Road!