Stalking the Shadows

  Only eight bodies had been found though, and records from the Excise men at the East Gate showed there had been nine in the party when it left. Lord Kreigel had said they could draw one of two conclusions from this: firstly, that it was the missing man, one Orson Kamps who had perpetrated the heinous act, but this seemed unlikely because archives showed that these men had travelled together on many occasions in the past, as a three wagon caravan almost every time. Also, if it had been him, surely he would have taken at least one of the horses, if not a wagon to make good his escape.

  The second option was that Kamps had been able to get away from whatever hit them and must therefore be wandering the countryside, possibly injured or in a confused and befuddled state. This was in turn unlikely because the countryside, even so close to the Stad, was a dangerous place, especially at night, and this man - if it was the case that he had escaped - would have been out there now for the best part of two days. If wild dogs or bandits had not already got him then surely, surely he should have made it back here by now. Of course he may have stumbled across another caravan, but... well, it was generally agreed that they would hear by the end of tomorrow at the very latest if that was the case.

  To Rens it was all very mystifying and terribly, terribly sad.

  There was also the possibility of further complications, as one of the patrols sent into the sewers that afternoon had not reported back; not at the time the council had broken up anyway, and by then they were already two hours overdue apparently.

  Now whatever that meant Rens just did not want to know; not tonight at least. Knowing the way Kreigel and Major Prince drilled them, they were most likely just being thorough. Anyway, it would have to wait until the morning; right now he was too tired to think.

  Probably they are back by now, he told himself, boozing it up at some tavern and enjoying themselves after a hard day’s work. He wished he could.

  Taking a sip of the brandy Marlene had poured for him, Rens set his head back in his leather chair and closed his eyes. She was coping very well with all this; not just his extra workload and the tension which seemed to be gripping the whole town, but also the added burden of having Sylvia Dupont here, and little Florentine and Claude as well. She had not complained - in fact it had been her that insisted they come and stay - but who knew how long all this was going to go on?

  He could understand the Burghermeister being shaken up by the assassination attempt, but to have fallen apart so utterly and completely... Heinrich had broken down to such an extent that Rens wondered privately, as he was sure many others were doing, whether he would ever fully recover.

  Was he being unforgivably unkind, he asked himself, for feeling a certain amount of scorn for Dupont? Karl Kreigel made no effort to disguise the contempt in which he held the Burghermeister for the way he had reacted so far, and Hoskam felt that in a fashion he really had to agree with him. He ought to be able to pull himself together, if not for himself or the Stad then, by Puurs, for his family at least! He wondered how he would have reacted in the Burghermeister’s place...

  Was that a noise outside on the landing? Rens thought he had heard something. Normally nobody would come to this end of the house to disturb him while he was in his study, unless it was to come to bed, but it was still only early and they had not even eaten yet.

  With the Dupont kids in the house though... Rens had forgotten how all-consuming youngsters were, their own children having left home some years ago. How old were Claude and Florentine? Did they still play? In his wearied state, Rens could not even remember.

  Where would they all be now, he thought. It must be almost time for supper, so Marlene would be helping the staff although of course she didn’t have to. He supposed the Duponts would be getting washed and ready in their rooms at the other end of the house.

  But there was definitely something going on out there. Rens heard another clump and then what sounded like something heavy falling down the stairs. “By the Bhard!” he swore in exasperation. “What now?” Pulling himself to his feet, he imagined what it was the youngsters might have broken, but when he opened the door and stepped out onto the landing, whatever admonishment he was preparing died on his lips as he found himself gazing out upon a scene of unimaginable horror.

  From what he could see of the hall downstairs, it was a blood-splattered picture of utter carnage, the ragged bodies of two servants sprawled out on the floor in shockingly unnatural, lifeless poses. They had been torn to pieces.

  Collapsed at the foot of the stairs was Marlene, a gaping hole in her stomach from which her purple innards had spilled forth in a bleeding, pulpy mass. Her vacant eyes stared sickeningly up at the Ciprian chandelier as the blood continued to ooze from her other wound, a slash ripped across her neck so deep it had almost severed her head.

  His eyes were quickly drawn to where a third member of his staff began tumbling down the carpeted staircase, having been hacked open in the same horrifying manner as his wife.

  It was then that his eyes fell upon a horror dredged up from the very worst of his nightmares - the very soul of evil incarnate. A hideous figure, squat and rat-like, was moving away from the top of the stairs, stalking away towards the northern end of the house. It was wrapped in a hooded cloak which only partly-concealed the dark fur that covered its repulsive body. The creature’s thick tail, the ugly pink skin devoid of any hair, trailed along the carpet behind it, flickering and twitching jerkily, as if it possessed a life of its own.

  On hearing his gasp of horror, the monster whipped around with preternatural speed and Rens suddenly found himself staring into a face of such wicked malevolence it froze him to the spot. Squinting its burning red eyes for only a second, the man-sized rat flung one of its gore-soaked knives underarm, with an almost casual air. The blade seemed to spin lazily through the air, sending flecks of blood splattering in broken lines across the floor and ceiling as it passed. Then it slammed into Hoskam’s chest with terminal force, smashing through his ribcage and piercing his heart.

  Rens dropped open-mouthed to his knees, the brandy tumbler falling from his grasp and rolling across the floor in a semi-circular arc, gently discoursing its liquid as the Councillor fell forwards onto his face, dead.

  *

  The smell of spilled alcohol from across the landing made Seequar twitch his nose and shake his head slightly a couple of times. That was both the owner and his consort counted for, along with five underlings. Would there be any more? He doubted it now, from the preparations he had seen in their kitchen. That just left the three of Dupont’s clan - the female and two younglings. He would still go through the house to be sure, but afterwards...

  He calculated that the sentry should be passing the front entrance again by now, where he would see his two companions still standing straight and firm. Plenty time. He approached the three doors at the end of the corridor, swivelling his large, pointed ears around to listen intently while he sniffed the air. The adult and one of the younglings - the females - were in the room straight ahead of him and the male child was through the door to the right.

  Reaching out his clawed left hand, Seequar quietly pulled the handle down of the door directly in front of him, releasing the catch. Then, flexing his fingers around his remaining knife he pushed open the door and quietly darted inside.

  The female youngling was sat facing a three-panel mirror on a desk on the right hand wall with the consort-mother stood behind her, grooming its long tangles of hair. Both had their backs to the door.

  The mother died with a gasp on her lips as Seequar’s rodent features blurred across the faces of the mirror. The youngling spun around on her seat, her arm scattering the boxes and flasks lying atop the desk. She opened her mouth to scream, but only a bloody gurgle came out as the Vit-vit assassin worked the knife embedded in her small body, taking all the air out of her. He eased her down gently as he withdrew his weapon so as not to make a noise, but then twisted around as he heard the other door opening.

  “I hear
d a crash mother,” the male youngling entered the room, “is everythi -” he stopped and gawked before whirling round on his heel to run. Quick this one.

  Not quick enough though. Not nearly. The boy had barely made it two steps along the corridor back towards the landing before Seequar’s left arm reached around his neck, snapping him off his feet in mid-stride. He plunged the knife into the youngling’s torso so fast that he left four deep, rending punctures before the boy’s body hit the floor, each one enough on its own to have killed him.

  Retrieving the knife he had left sunk up to its hilt in the chest of Rens, Seequar rapidly went through every room on each of the floors, but as he had guessed, there was nobody else here. Back down the stairs, through the dining room where he had killed his second victim and then into the kitchen where he had killed his first. From there into the servants’ quarters and the window from which he had entered.

  He could wait, as it would only be ten seconds until the third sentry came around the corner again, but ten seconds was more than enough time for Seequar. Leaping out and landing lightly on his feet, he closed the window behind him and scuttled past the two guards still rooted to the spot, paralysed, but no doubt screaming inside. Without once looking back, he darted across the street and melded once more with the darkness, disappearing into the night.

  *

  Karl Kreigel had not slept that night; had not even gone home, choosing instead to walk the walls of his beloved Stad, hooded and cloaked. Not to ward off the elements as the night air was still warm, but because what he wanted was to be alone. The events at St. Barneva’s had left him feeling shaken; a man’s mind cracking right there in front of him - partly because of him, his guilt would not let him forget. Perhaps he had pushed him too hard after all, but he’d had to, for the good of the Stad; he was adamant about that.

  Knowing that did not make him any less untroubled though. The accusing eyes of Sister Verbruggen had followed his steps throughout the night, despite her having closed the hospice doors on him hours before, frostily ejected him almost as soon as the orderlies had wrestled Gurney Duvel to the ground. He would have to make reparations with the good Sisters of the Saint, he was sure about that, but afterwards. After all this madness had finished. He had to get to the bottom of it and knew he would know no peace until he had.

  When he arrived at the Stadhuis early the next morning he was met by the full Council already there. Only the seats of the Burghermeister and Rens Hoskam were vacant, other than his own. The fact that Major Prince of the militia and the captain of his own guard, Bernard Denehof, were both there told him straight away that something had happened. Weisselsbloed stood as he entered the pinewood-panelled Council Chamber and urged him over to take his seat.

  “Finally!” Lars Schtomm exploded. “We’ve had men out looking for you half the night Karl! Talal’s Teeth, where have you been?”

  “I couldn’t sleep. I didn’t leave St. Barneva’s until quite late and then...” Kreigel looked around him, took in the distraught looks on the faces. “I take it there have been further developments?”

  “You’d better sit down Karl,” Weisselsbloed said and nobody else uttered a word until he had taken his place. “There has been another... incident, yes,” the old man sighed wearily. “A most terrible tragedy...” He tailed off and none of the others seemed to want to say anything. An uncomfortable silence began to smother the room.

  “Well?” Kreigel spoke into the silence. “Verdomme, will somebody tell me what’s happened?”

  “There has been another attack,” Lars Schtomm answered him grimly. “At the Hoskam residence.”

  “What?”

  “They’re all dead Kreigel,” he said bluntly. “Every one of them.”

  “What? Verdomme!” he swore, completely taken aback. “But...” he did not know what to say; this was all too much to take in. It was Weisselsbloed who continued.

  “The entire household was butchered last night Karl. Rens, Marlene, all the servants - thankfully their own children have all left home so they were spared at least, but the Duponts...” his voice was laced with sadness.

  “Sylvia and the children?”

  “Everybody.” Schtomm leaned forward again. “Every last one of them slaughtered - horribly and without mercy according to your captain. Of course none of us have been there to see.”

  Kreigel’s head snapped round to look at Denehof. “You’ve been there?”

  “Yes, my lord,” the distinguished Captain of the Guards of House Kreigel acknowledged. “When the honourable members of the Council were unable to locate you they asked if I could secure the area and investigate the reports of the somewhat hysterical militiamen who had been watching the house - the Stad militia is already well over-stretched my lord, so I took it upon myself -”

  “Yes, yes of course,” Kreigel interrupted. “But the house was still being watched you say?”

  Major Prince coughed uncomfortably where he sat. “My lord, yes it was. By three men who I am most ashamed to say appear to have been in gross dereliction of their duty.”

  “Oh come on now, Major, steady on,” Councillor Phillips Brandt cried out. “That hardly seems fair!”

  “Nevertheless, there will be repercussions for the men involved,” the Militia man insisted.

  “Look,” Kreigel turned again to Denehof, “will you for Puurs’ sake tell me what has happened here? Details,” he snapped his fingers.

  His captain, accustomed to his lord’s mannerisms, nodded in assent and spoke. “There were three men watching the house. Two were attacked and drugged with toxins we have to assume were delivered by darts from a blowpipe. These two have subsequently gone mad, in all probability as a result of the intoxicants. They were taken off to the Barn shortly before dawn. The third is inconsolable with grief, blaming himself for the entire affair. He appears to be suffering from such a deep shock he may very well need the administrations of the Sisters himself before too long.”

  The Captain then proceeded to give a full account of what he had seen in the Hoskam household, concise and to the point.

  “Knowing your methods my lord, I carried out my investigations as you would have done, and my conclusions can only concur with all your own previous observations. Unfortunately, despite the scene of such devastation which I can only describe as utter butchery, I could discover precious little in the way of hard evidence.

  “I can add to your character profile that this assassin is an extremely proficient, expert killer, demonstrating his abilities in both close quarters as well as at range. The poison used on the guards, as I said, I believe to have been administered in the same fashion as it was against the Burghermeister, although it appears the poison was different. These men were kept debilitated but alive, whereas that used in the assassination attempt against the Honourable Meneer Dupont, as your tests proved my lord, would unquestioningly have been fatal.

  “Last night has all the hallmarks of deliberate extermination. I believe the Burghermeister’s family to have been the principle targets and the rest of the household were nothing more than unfortunate bystanders.”

  “Unfortunate bystanders?” Sophie Verwarmt exclaimed.

  “The military term is incidental deaths, Mevrouw,” Denehof answered her, “however callous that my sound; they were killed simply because they happened to be in the way. I must point out that this is purely conjecture, my interpretation of the facts as I saw them; nothing set in stone. However, I do believe that the entire household was massacred to make a statement - I strongly suspect that this killer, whoever he is, is proficient enough to have been able to have entered the house unnoticed and single out only his targets had he wanted to - perhaps this was a matter of pride after the previous failed attempt.”

  “But you definitely believe the Dupont’s to have been the targets,” Kreigel asked him.

  “I do my lord. They were butchered in their own rooms so there can be no question of them having heard something and disturbed the killer while
he was about his other work.” He shook his head again as he remembered the gruesome bloodbath he had walked into. “No, they were the targets my lord. All the evidence points towards it.”

  “So these attacks are unequivocally related to the attempt on the Burghermeister. There is absolutely no doubt?”

  “None whatsoever my lord. The fact that members of the Dupont family were targeted on both occasions could be construed as circumstantial by some - two separate houses in two different districts of the Stad,” he shrugged. “The fact that a blowpipe was used in both incidents, however, cannot. It was the same man my lord. Although,” he continued, slightly reluctantly, “from the ravings of the guards on the door, it may not have been a man at all...”

  “Explain,” Lord Kreigel ordered, his mind instantly going back to his experience at St. Barneva’s the previous evening and the outlandish stories of the rat-catchers.

  “Well, both men were paralysed where they stood my lord,” the captain explained, “frozen like statues, although still able to see. Having been struck in the face and neck respectively - from a distance of at least nine yards, by my calculations of the area of light given off by the street lamps - the men reportedly saw a hooded, err... a errm...” Denehof hesitated, obviously reluctant to repeat what he had heard.

  “Out with it Bernard.”

  The Guard Captain nodded deferentially and continued. “They claim to have seen a hooded, rat-like humanoid, which rushed out of the darkness at them and removed the darts before disappearing behind them and, from what we know now, entering the house.” There were several hollow laughs and exclamations of outrage and ridicule from around the table. Denehof waited a few moments for them to die down. “They claim this rodent-like figure emerged barely five minutes later and simply vanished into the night. They heard very little of the butchery and in fact did not even appear to know it had taken place. Both were interviewed separately and each corroborated the other’s story although, as I said, they were both highly traumatised and their sanity has to be considered...” he thought for a suitable word for the unfortunate men, “questionable.”