“Shhh,” he grinned as the man lay there helpless. “Little-little noise. The guards hear not no.” The Vit-vit assassin sneered into his face and snapped his teeth together causing his captive to soil himself again.
Another few minutes, he thought, fingering his vial of opiates. Let him suffer.
*
Maxwell Weisselsbloed arrived shortly before eleven, just in time to see Major Prince of the Militia hurrying out of the Stadhuis and mounting his horse, galloping off in the direction of Langlaan - presumably back to the Prefecture. Something else has happened, he said to himself as he made his way up to the first floor. Finding the Council Chamber vacant, he made his way further along the corridor to Kreigel’s office. Knocking twice, he walked in.
“Maxwell,” Kreigel greeted him, looking weary. “Come in. Give me something, please.”
“Sorry Karl,” the old man shook his head, taking the seat opposite the Vice-mayor. “Useless. The man in the cells at Langlaan North is a wreck; he’s blaming himself for the whole thing, poor chap, but in all honesty I don’t know what he could have done.”
“Indeed. He’d have only got himself added to the guest list at Miu’s Table I suspect. What about the other two?”
“Honestly? Gibbering idiots, the pair of them,” Weisselsbloed replied, aping Kreigel in making the sign of Miu in front of him. “To go with quite a few others it would seem. Your rat catcher has become remarkably vociferous since your visit, I was informed, and his... enthusiasm has infected several of the others. You are not exactly flavour of the month with the good Sisters right now Karl.”
“Indeed.”
“I’m afraid not even they will be able to get any sense from either of those other two though. One is virtually catatonic; he just sits there staring into space and scratching himself. They don’t expect him to last more than a couple of weeks. The other is slightly more robust, but no less insane. He just keeps repeating Rats to anyone who’ll listen. Rats - they’re upon us. Rats - they’ve taken over. Rats Rats Rats Rats! It’s quite upsetting to see really, strong men like that -”
“Yes, not as upsetting as the news from Prince though.”
“Ahh, yes, I saw the good major leaving. The missing squad?”
“Butchered. Absolutely torn apart, to a man. Mostly in one clump down below the Guilderslaan district, but the Sergeant - what was left of him - was found at the bottom of a ladder leading out into the Vogelsmarkt Gardens.” Weisselsbloed exhaled a deep breath, grimacing at the news. “It was a total massacre,” Kreigel continued, clearly exasperated. “Bhard’s blood, Maxwell! A Catcher along with ten men. Ten men, verdomme - armed, armoured and highly drilled!”
“Gods... What do you think happened?”
“It’s difficult to say, but they must have been ambushed. Eight of them were lying pretty much in formation, as if they’d been cut down before they even knew what was happening! Two men lay not ten yards away and the sergeant, well... he must have just fled. I’m guessing he panicked and ran blind because he must have passed several exits and passageways leading to exits to get to where we found him in the end. He was the first one they discovered, but it still took some time to locate the others.”
The old councillor looked set to speak, but then faltered. “I... I don’t know what to say Karl,” he mumbled eventually, shaking his head. “I really don’t.”
“Save it anyway - there’s more,”
Weisselsbloed sighed. “Go on then, let’s hear it.”
“Dupont’s got himself mixed up with something,” Kreigel told him with steel in his voice. “It’s either a Family from Verdun or else a... a cult of some kind.”
“What?”
“I’ve sent for a Jaeger.”
“You’ve done what?” the old man spluttered, leaping to his feet, sending his chair crashing to the floor behind him.
“There was a mark scraped into the door at Hoskam’s place, some sort of symbol.”
“But Captain Denehof never mentioned anything about that!”
“Indeed. The man’s intelligence and discretion are just as valuable to me as his sword; possibly more so. He removed all trace of it before first light and told me in confidence after the Council had broken up. If word got out there would be riots.”
“And what do you think’s going to happen when the Holy Order turns up? Sweet Sulaika have mercy on us all! What were you thinking Karl?”
“I had no choice Max!” Kreigel snapped. “Verdomme, the Burghermeister has the same symbol branded into his shoulder! It is Imperial Law, you know that! If there is evidence of any form of cult activity it must be handed over to the Jaegers. I don’t like it any more than you, Max, but I had no choice!”
“Oh sweet Puurs above...” Weisselsbloed picked his chair up, then flopped heavily back into it. He raised a hand to his head, suddenly feeling faint. “Did you recognise the mark at all?”
Kreigel scowled and looked away, frustrated. “No, and I couldn’t get any sense out of that idiot Dupont either! I’ve put him under house arrest until the Jaeger gets here.”
“Yes, yes, but the symbol - you’ve never seen it before?”
“Never. It’s an animal head, crude and stylised. Pointed ears and a long nose. Mean anything to you?”
Weisselsbloed sat with his face towards the ceiling, his eyes closed as he wracked his brains, deep in thought. “No,” he said, “not a thing.”
*
When the Council reconvened that afternoon they discussed Kreigel’s decision to close the gates again, as well as the hiring of additional militia as an emergency bolstering of the Stad’s defences. A curfew was set and they also added to the plan to scour the sewers.
Kreigel and Weisselsbloed had agreed not to make any mention of the marks found both on the door and branded into Dupont’s arm, or about having sent word to the Holy Order. With the pigeon already gone, a Jaeger would probably arrive within two to three days and then all hell would break loose, so there was no point for any of that to begin any sooner.
When confronted as to why the Burghermeister was under house arrest and had been declared an enemy of the Stad, Kreigel simply stated he had discovered some potentially treasonous irregularities in Dupont’s business dealings and begged the Council’s patience for another day or two while he tried to substantiate what he had found. They broke up that evening, unsettled and afraid.
*
The sky overhead turned from black to blue to grey. Dawn spilled over the farms and forests to the east, and the light slowly picked out shapes from the darkness as the night faded away. It was iron grey overhead, like unburnished steel, totally overcast, with a strong wind blowing down across the marshes from the Spears. A storm was on its way.
Captain Brabant had returned that morning with the rest of his men. They had spent half a day and a night searching the fringes of the Borgersveldt, but could only bring home more bad tidings. They had discovered a series of markers leading into the swamps, at the end of which they had found the floating, half-eaten remains of the Stad’s tracker, Joshua Puss.
Wrapping what remained of him in a sheet he was carried out of the marshes and interred into the ground by the nearest road, awaiting Miu’s Blessing. They had then ridden double-time back to Werpenstad, pushing the horses to the limits of their endurance in order to get the news back as quickly as they could.
Other than that it was a largely uneventful day in the Stad, although the tension was palpable, even to the humblest of burghers. One hundred and twenty men were sent into the sewers, and the fact that six hours later they came up with nothing was somehow worse than if they had actually found the monsters everybody was talking about. After the Council broke for the night, Weisselsbloed took Kreigel aside.
“Did you manage to get those letters off to the Hoskam children yet?”
“Damn it, no! Verdomme, sorry, I -”
“Karl, Karl,” the old man reassured him, “calm down. Look at you - you’re wound up tight as a merchant’s pu
rse strings. I’ll do it. Will you go home and try to get some rest? The Jaeger may very well be here tomorrow and by the Bhard, we’re going to need you fresh and thinking straight for that! You know how they can be...”
Kreigel sighed. “Indeed. Yes, I am tired,” he wiped a hand over his face and pinched the back of his neck, the muscles knotted and tight, “but leave the letters Max. If you don’t leave now you’ll not make the curfew.”
“Yes, and I’m sure the Jaeger will give us all the time we need to write letters on the morrow.” Weisselsbloed patted him on the arm as he led him towards the door. “Don’t worry, Karl, I’ll stay here tonight; there’s plenty of chambers free. I’ll be fine; you just go and get some rest.”
“Alright then,” Karl conceded finally. “Thanks Max. Until the morning then old friend.”
“Until the morning.”
*
Seequar had waited for the storm to break before venturing out, evading the guards outside the house easily by clambering up onto the roof from an upstairs window and then leaping across the narrow street to the next building. Then he was away towards the Stadhuis.
The fact they had apparently imposed a curfew would make it easier for Seequar, rather than more difficult, as that meant there were only the watchmen to avoid and he wouldn’t have to concern himself about the possibility of any random encounters. With his vastly superior senses and expertise he did not anticipate having any trouble detecting and avoiding the contemptible human soldiers, even with the burden he was going to be bringing back with him.
Creeping stealthily, but rapidly through the Stad, alternating between the streets and the rooftops as he saw fit, it wasn’t long before the Vit-vit assassin found himself peering out from the darkness across the plaza at the ornate structure of the Stadhuis, one of the architectural highlights of Werpenstad. It was still ringed by uniformed humans, as it had been since the day after his initial attack, but their numbers had dwindled significantly, presumably to cope with the increased patrols. Not that they mattered - they were inept, even the best of them; racially inferior in the first instance, without even beginning to take into account their comparative levels of training.
He had come here thinking he might have to make some kind of distraction, but reassessing the situation with the heavy rain, Seequar decided he wouldn’t have to bother. Narrowing his eyes to wicked slits, he pulled his hood back up over his head and readied himself in the shadows of a doorway, waiting for the right moment...
When that chance came - the guard nearest to him hunching down inside his great coat in order to light a cigarette in the downpour - Seequar darted out and slipped past him, swift and silent as a ghost in a churchyard. He was scuttling up the beautifully carved façade, already half way to the roof by the time the guard was taking his first, deep puff.
Hunched over low and still moving with eye-watering speed, Seequar made his way to the chimney he had identified as the one serving the Burghermeister’s rooms; there he stopped.
From his observations from the previous night he had chosen this as the most suitable way in. There were others of course, but this was most attractive - he had already utilised windows in his two other attacks and the Lore Knots stated it was unwise to use the same method more than two times in a row.
From what he knew of this human already, he guessed him to be pretty incompetent when it came to practical tasks such as making a fire, and the pathetic wisp of smoke rising from his efforts backed this up. Judging from the feeble plume now struggling out of the brickwork flue, he guessed the fire at the bottom could be scarcely bigger than a bundle of sticks. He would have no trouble getting down the chimney and then he could bring this whole affair to a close...
*
Weisselsbloed climbed the stairs slowly, his aged limbs feeling stiff and slightly achy in the damp air of the storm. He still had much to do because tomorrow... Tomorrow was going to be - well, how could he possibly know? A Jaeger, for Puurs’ sake!
He shook his head as he reached the last step and came out into the hallway on the second floor. The Holy Order of the Jaegers du Diabolique. That’s how they were known in the Empire, or sometimes Hex Jaegers over in the east. Down in the Kingdoms they were called the King’s Questioners, but they were the same body of men and women who, together with their thuggish henchmen known variously either as Enforcers or Zealots, were responsible for standing up against any threat to the sanctity of Mankind. That’s how their official canon had it, and they were sanctioned by both King and Empress to ignore all borders in the prosecution of their work. Made out to be the noble upholders of the Human Soul, they had started out as the autonomous military arm of the Church, but the truth was now somewhat different.
Rabid, crazed fanatics at best, they were not so much Mankind’s bloodhounds as their frenzied attack dogs, frothing at the mouth and straining at the leash to snap at anyone and everything unfortunate enough to come within reach.
Ahh, that it should come to this, the wizened old man thought sadly. He did not know what the Burghermeister had done, but he was certain in his own mind that he deserved whatever was coming to him. He had always been a fool, Dupont, and he would never have even dreamed of giving him his backing when the votes had been cast at the last election - had he not been instructed to do so, that is. It had shocked several of the Council at the time, not least Karl Kreigel himself, to whom he ordinarily would have lent his support, but what could he do? If his Handler wanted Dupont, then Dupont he must have.
As he drew up to the two guards standing by the hastily repaired door to the Burghermeister’s rooms he stopped and reached into his sling bag.
“Here you go lads,” he said smiling, handing them each a clay bottle stoppered with a cork. “It’s from the Donkersweg Brewery, just near my house; a very good tipple, if you’ve not already had it. For all your hard work over the last few days - it’s been a trying time for all of us,” he explained, pressing the bottles into reluctant hands.
“Well sir, that’s very kind of you, but I’m afraid we can’t. We’re supposed to be -”
“Oh yes, on duty, I know,” the old man waved a hand dismissively in the air, “but these are hardly normal circumstances are they? The whole Stad’s gone crazy if you ask me - whole world for all we know. It is only one after all. Look, I know Lord Kreigel is a bit of a stickler, so if you want, just leave the bottles outside my door over there when you’ve finished and I’ll take them away with me in the morning. What the eye don’t see...” he tapped his nose with a sly grin, then glanced pointedly at the heavily barred door. “I mean, it’s not as if he’s going anywhere is it?”
This was enough to sway the guards, who accepted the heavy bottles and winked conspiratorially at the councillor. “Aye, go on then. Thank you very much, sir.”
“For all you boys do? It’s nothing; nothing at all. Goodnight lads,” he said and shuffled into his room a little further down the hall, closing the door behind him.
“Goodnight sir,” both men chorused, raising their bottles to him and clinking them together after he had disappeared. Whey-hey! Maybe this was not going to be such a long night after all!
*
Seequar examined the three blankets he had brought with him, which he had spread out on the roof these last five minutes; they were soaked through. Good. It was time.
Taking one, he stretched it out over the chimney top and held it there for a full minute before swapping it with the second and then with the third a minute after that. The fire being so small, this was enough to starve it of oxygen and put it out.
With no more smoke rising from the grate below, he dropped the soggy blankets down the chimney one by one, and then followed them down. Emerging in the cold grey ashes at the bottom he kicked the blankets out into the room; they had done their job perfectly.
Landing lightly on his feet, Seequar emerged from the fireplace stooped over almost double. There was not a puff of smoke in the room, the fire having been so weak that the first
of his blankets had put it out. His beady eyes darted about and quickly took in the state of disorder in the room, noticing everything, missing nothing. After flickering on and off the Burghermeister several times as he satisfied himself with the scene, he finally sprung across the clutter and pounced over to where the pathetic creature lay curled up and whimpering behind an overturned table.
He squeezed a leathery, fur-backed hand tight across Dupont’s mouth to prevent him from calling out, but he need not have bothered; the human seemed incapable of anything, be it speech or action. Pinned to the floor with the Tzeen-tek assassin on top of him, he was choking on his own fear.
“Good evening ‘Rik,” Seequar whispered maliciously, his face lit up by a sudden flash of lightning outside. “It is yes time we took a small walk, you and yes I,” he said into the face of the gibbering Dupont.
From under his cloak he produced a long length of rope with which he bound the Burghermeister, circling it around his chest and back, trapping his arms against his sides. He drew the knots so tightly they drew blood and made the human’s breathing difficult. He had already gagged him first, forcing a wet rag deep into his mouth and securing it with another piece of cord.
Stepping over to the large glass-paned doors that led onto the balcony, Seequar peered out into the night, opening them up and slinking out when he was satisfied he would not be seen. He took out his blowpipe and blew a mouthful of air down it a few times to be certain the tube was clear. The storm, with its enormous claps of thunder and the rain sleeting down in torrents, would probably be sufficient to mask the noise of his escape, but he had to be sure.
He could see two human males standing sentry from his position up here, and he took two darts from the belt wrapped around his upper arm and put the pipe to his lips. Even in the driving rain and wind and with the distance involved, Seequar’s mastery showed and both darts found their marks. The two sentries toppled over seconds after each other, fitting and spasming satisfyingly as the violent toxins took effect. Nodding, he then disappeared back inside and hauled the Burghermeister to his feet. He forced him out onto the balcony, enjoying his attempted resistance.