Stalking the Shadows Page 3

  “Chandrigal maybe?” Philips Brandt asked him. “I have heard there are Bushmen living in the jungles there who utilise the blowpipe - it is said they can pick off a monkey in a tree from forty yard away!”

  “Possibly,” Kreigel answered, “but I couldn’t say for sure. After all, I believe they also use them to a limited degree in Delta. Wherever he came from, he left the needle lodged in the wall on a level with Dupont’s neck, and it was travelling upwards when it hit. From the angle the needle was embedded in the wood panelling we can deduce the trajectory of the flight and following that, the location it was fired from.

  “On the facing wall there are two windows opening out onto Zwart Laan. The windows are leaded in a diamond pattern and in one of them the leads had been lifted and bent backwards so as to remove a single panel of glass. No tools marks were evident, so we can assume he has long, powerful fingers,” Kreigel emphasised the words for Schtomm’s benefit, glaring at him as he did so.

  “The level of this single pane was consistent with the angle of the dart in the wall and from this we can estimate the probable height of the assassin, as he would no doubt be firing his blowpipe from a stance that was comfortable to him. Now, I do not even have a rudimentary knowledge about firing a blowpipe, but after a few quick experiments I was able to find what I thought to be the most comfortable posture for me, both left and right handed. Transferring these likely stances back to the window I think we can put a figure on his height with some confidence. As I said, I believe our man to be only between four and five feet tall, somewhere around four foot eight or nine would be my best guess.”

  “Could we be talking about a child then?” Brandt asked.

  Kreigel screwed up his face. “As far as height is concerned, yes I suppose we could,” he nodded, “but I do not believe it to be the case. There are too many other variables. Apart from the level of planning involved in the attack -”

  “Which could have been done by a third party and explained to the would-be assassin.”

  “Indeed, but as well as the minutiae you also have to look at the crime as a whole, from an overall perspective. Put yourself in the villain’s shoes - we are talking here about the assassination of the Burghermeister of a well policed, walled and gated town on a main Imperial Highway. Think about it. If you were willing to risk such an act in the first place, would you entrust it to a child? Would you let all your plans and schemes hang on a minor?”

  “Hmmm...” Brandt pulled a face. “No, probably not.”

  “Nor would I. There is just too much about this to put it down to hirelings, children or otherwise. The location for the hit was well worked out, the routes in and out planned beforehand and...” Kreigel paused and shook his head. “Gentlemen, I have been involved with the field of criminality for many years and this is just... different. I’m not sure I can explain it better than that. This is intelligent, sophisticated and very well planned. It smacks of professionalism.”

  “One of the Families from Verdun perhaps?” Weisselsbloed asked.

  “It’s possible, but why? When has Dupont ever been anywhere near Delta? I thought all his companies traded with Spastad and further south?” Weisselsbloed could only shrug and none of the other councillors were able to add anything. “Well, that is something for us all to ponder. In the mean time I suggest we all remain vigilant. I have stepped up patrols to ensure a good visible presence in the streets and on the walls, in case he does try coming back, but as much to reassure the burghers as anything else - we cannot allow them to think lawlessness will be tolerated, otherwise Puurs only knows how this may escalate.”

  “Can we open the gates again?” Councillor Hoskam asked. “We cannot afford to let trade suffer unduly - life must go on after all.”

  “Indeed. I don’t see why not, especially given that Puss has confirmed he has already left the Stad. We will double the men on the Gates though, and instruct them on what to look out for.”

  “Chandrigali iron-fingered midgets I assume,” said Schtomm acerbically.

  “What would you have us do, Councillor?” Kreigel snapped angrily, slamming a hand down onto the pinewood table. “What would you do? Come on, you’re all too ready to sit there and rubbish anything that’s said, but do you actually have anything worthwhile to give in its place?”

  Schtomm grew even more sullen at having been rounded upon. “Well, I suppose if he really did come up through the sewers, I’d send a squad down there to take a look around.”

  “I have already sent three units of men into the sewers, each accompanied by a Catcher guide, just in case he is still down there. I will also be holding interviews with the remaining Catchers later on today. I have been hearing some pretty wild rumours coming from their quarters since the attack, albeit third hand. No doubt some of you have too.”

  “Oh, not all that again!” councillor Rood laughed.

  “All that, Marco?”

  “Those bird-brained stories of monsters and terrors lurking in the dark - you never heard them?” Rood glanced at the faces around the table. “Most of us here have. Rats the size of dogs was the last I heard, walking upright on two legs even! Go to St. Barneva’s if you want crazy stories, Lord Kreigel, you’ll hear plenty of them there without asking around for any more! In fact, isn’t there a Catcher in there at the moment? A recent inmate, I think.”

  “Be all that as it may,” Karl carried on undaunted, “these Catchers appear to be the only ones who know anything about our sewers right now, so it would seem prudent to me to at least listen to what they have to say. No doubt there will be a good deal of chaff, but there may well be a piece of corn or two in amongst it all. The interviews are scheduled for later on this morning and I would welcome perhaps two or three others to help me in assessing the Catchers’ stories as well as their states of mind.”

  *

  “Any survivors D’joos?” asked the Captain from amongst the smoking ashes. Raymond D’joos, corporal in the Werpenstad Militia shook his head, grimacing at the discovery of another blackened body.

  They had come across this wrecked and burned out wagon train as they made their way towards the possible rendezvous point with Stad tracker, Joshua Puss. Captain Brabant’s outrider had noticed the faint traces of smoke at about the same time as he spotted the carrion birds circling high overhead. Then they had come across the horses, still wearing their harnesses, grazing on the gentle slopes by the sides of the road. They had evidently been cut loose from the three-wagon merchants’ caravan, presumably to prevent any attempts at getting away.

  There were only thin wisps of smoke by now, the fires having been lit somewhere between four and seven hours ago. That was Brabant’s best guess anyway, and the buzzards had retreated while his squad had sifted through the debris. The crows still hopped around the scene of devastation though, cawing and jostling amongst themselves for the choicest scraps. The smell of charnel flesh was disgusting and the sight no less so.

  The three covered wagons and most of their contents - sacks of beans for the most part, from what they could make out - had been almost totally consumed by the flames, and his men had pulled out the charred remains of eight bodies and lined them up on the side of the road. Brabant had sent one man back to Werpenstad immediately to report the incident. Then he had most of his men dig graves for the eight corpses because, apart from anything else, to leave them lying about in the open would invite disease and that, so close to a town of sixteen thousand people, was not something he was prepared to risk.

  Someone from the Village would be sent out in due course to perform whatever rites were necessary for the dead to continue on their way, but until then he had his men douse the bodies with flasks of oil before they shovelled the dirt back over them to stop the scavengers and carrion eaters from clawing what was left of them back up.

  “Blasted crows!” D’joos shouted, hurling a rock at a group of the large, black ravens fighting over a scrap of something mercifully indefinable. “Get out of it, verdomme! Haven
’t they suffered enough?”

  “Stand down corporal,” Brabant admonished. “They can’t help their natures and they’re doing Miu’s work, so leave them be.”

  Each man within earshot made the sign of Miu across his chest at the mention of His name. The God of Death, or Lord of the West as He was also sometimes known, was respected by all, in Kingdoms and Empire alike. They had a variety of arrangements with Him in the Kingdoms, but in the Empire a portion of land to the west of every settlement’s boundaries was given over to Miu and those enjoying His care. In the smaller dorps and villages this may be nothing more than a simple half-acre graveyard or even just a patch of earth, whereas in the larger towns and settlements like Werpenstad they were considerably larger, and run by one of the terrifying Priests of Miu. No matter the size, they were invariably known as the Village of the Dead, or more simply the Village.

  “There’s none of us like what we’ve seen here, but losing our heads isn’t going to help. We’ve got a job to do, so let’s just do it and be on our way.”

  D’joos sighed. “Sorry Captain, but... there was no sense to this! There can’t have been anything taken and why would anybody attack a caravan and not take the goods it was carrying? It doesn’t make sense! This is just cold-blooded murder!”

  “That it is D’joos,” Brabant replied, “that it is. Or that is how it appears at least; we don’t know, maybe there was a smaller, more precious cargo that whoever it was took away before... this,” he waved a disgusted arm at the desolation. “Perhaps there was a bag of gemstones, or a... chest of monies.”

  “Do you think so Captain?” D’joos asked.

  The Captain sucked his teeth, still casting his eyes around what amounted to the total annihilation of the caravan. “Personally D’joos, no,” he said finally. “I think you were right first time - this was the work of some unfeeling, cold-blooded murderer, or murderers. They never stood a chance.” He turned to look at his corporal. “And I’ll tell you another thing - if we ever catch the black-hearted scum who did it... Well, let’s just hope we do, that’s all.”

  An hour and a half later Captain Brabant kicked the soil off his boots before climbing back into the saddle. Forcing his eyes to linger on the sickening remnants of the torched wagons, he saw the last of the soil being mounded up on the roadside graves. He signalled to two of the men. “Get those horses rounded up; we’ll take them with us. Luc!” he shouted to his outrider. “Mount up! The rest of you too. We’ve lost enough time here, let’s get going. We need to make the Borgersveldt by nightfall!”

  *

  Three other council members had joined Lord Kreigel to interview the Rat Catchers of Werpenstad, together with his own Captain of the Guard and Major Leopold Prince, his second in command of the Stad Militia. Several of the Catchers had already been seen and each had spoken, reservedly, about hidden things stalking the sewer system. None had ever seen anything though, until Matthias Gilbert entered the room.

  “Err,” Kreigel checked his list of names, “Matthias isn’t it? Good, good; well, take a seat man and tell me what you know.”

  “What I know, my lord?” Gilbert asked sheepishly, his woolly cap clutched firmly between his nervous hands.

  “You have heard about the attack made upon the Burghermeister young man; it is believed that the assailant travelled through the sewers, both into and out of the Stad. We are asking all of you Catchers if you have seen anything strange down there. Anything out of the ordinary, no matter how inconsequential it may seem to you.”

  “He means even if it doesn’t seem important,” the wily old Weisselsbloed explained to Gilbert, who was obviously struggling with Kreigel’s language.

  “Thank you Maxwell, yes. So, have you seen anything strange?”

  “My lord,” Matthias began to mumble, “if I may speak freely...?”

  “But of course.”

  “And if I say something, nothing bad’s going to happen to me?”

  “Of course nothing bad is going to happen to you! Please get on with it man, what are you talking about?”

  “Well, old Gurney, he said something last week didn’t he, and look what happened to him - he got carted off to the Barn didn’t he?”

  “What? Old Gurney? The Barn?” It was Kreigel’s turn to look non-plussed.

  “Old Gurney Duvel, my lord. One of the oldest Verminators in the service.”

  “Ahh yes,” Weisselsbloed told him. “Gurney Duvel; he was taken over to St. Barneva’s Hospital last week - the Barn, you may or may not be aware, is how it is commonly referred to by the burghers.”

  “Because it’s full of barn-pots,” whispered Ludo Henkel, sniggering.

  “Indeed,” cut in Lord Kreigel again. “So why was this Duvel taken to the good Sisters of the Saint, and what bearing does this have on yourself and these proceedings?”

  “Because I seen what old Gurney seen and, begging your pardon my lord, but while it fair scared the life out of me, if it means I’m going to end up in the Barn then I’m keeping my mouth shut!”

  “I see. Very well Matthias, be assured that you can speak freely here. You have my word that you will not be hospitalised as a result of what you say.”

  “Well, as long as I’ve got your word...”

  “Yes! Now be about it man, there’s another fifteen of you to go yet!”

  “Ok, well,” Matthias began, “there’s been stories for years, but always kept underground, just between us Catchers like, because it’s... well, it’s crazy awful stuff my lord.

  “There’s always been legends of the Big ‘Un, and trying to catch the biggest rat of them all. King Rat we call him, near as tall as a man and twice as nasty, and he’ll come to get you for killing off all his kin folk.”

  “King Rat,” Kreigel said levelly.

  “Yes, my lord!” Gilbert replied, hurrying now as he feared the disbelief and ridicule of the councillors and thought they might stop him before he could get his story out, which, having started, he so badly wanted to finish. “There’s a few of us have seen him, more than a score of sightings only this year - five in the last two weeks or so! No, don’t scoff!” he said as Henkel stifled a laugh. “He’s been spotted, but always from a distance and always kind of by accident, as if we’d surprised him. Always skulking around he was, in a black, hooded cloak, almost as high as a man and evil as a horse’s bite.”

  “And you say a number of you have seen this figure?”

  “That’s right my lord, five of us in all,” he suddenly looked even more downcast, “though there’s only two of us left now. Just me, if old Gurney really has gone mad...”

  “Explain.”

  “Well, I’ve seen him and old Gurney, and so has Rob - err, that was Robert Spannend I mean. He was the first one to see him back in... start of spring it was, but the day after he packed his bags and quit.”

  “He quit? But we’ll need to talk with him. You know where he lives?”

  “Begging your pardon my lord, but he quit the Stad. Said that was the end for him here, he wouldn’t sleep another night behind these gates. He got a bit of kit together, bought himself a mule, and said he was going to try his luck prospecting up in the mountains.”

  “Oh, I see.”

  “The last two, Geer van den Elsken and Rene von Brugge, well, they ain’t with us no more, may Miu take their souls,” he shuddered, making the sign of Miu across his chest. All the others present did the same.

  “They’re dead?” Kreigel asked.

  “That’s what we all reckon my lord,” Gilbert answered. “They must be. Haven’t been seen since just before the rising of the Eye and none of us reckon they’ll ever be seen again.”

  “I see. So what happened with this Duvel then?”

  “Well, he was the one that saw the King two weeks ago, and he told us all about it, see. He was working the Schoenmarkt then, but Geer and Rene were taking over the following week - we work shifts see, so’s we all get a turn in the good tunnels.”

  “You mean
in districts like Veeldonk and Guilderslaan?” Weisselsbloed asked.

  “Err, no my lord - we gets paid by the tail see. Them fancy sewers round Veeldonk, well, there’s rats there all right, but up there you’ll make in a week what you can get in a night down in the Slaachthuis.”

  “Yes, yes,” Kreigel interrupted, “but what happened under the Schoenmarkt?”

  “It was... last Tillerman’s day,” Gilbert continued, “what’s that, ten days ago? They both saw the King on the same night, Rene and Geer, and both came up excited, claiming they was each going to bag him; beat the other to it, like. Three days this went on and then, on the day before Mittwok, they both went down the Schoenmarkt and never came back up again.”

  “And you didn’t go looking for them?”

  “Begging your pardon sir, but there ain’t that many of us and money’s kind of tight you know... We reported it and a couple of the lads spent an afternoon searching off shift, but there was nothing. No sign of them or their dogs... they’d just disappeared. The King had had them, and they was probably already dancing with Miu!” They all instinctively made the sign again before Gilbert was motioned to carry on.

  “I had to go down there next night and three hours into my shift, well bugger me, but I saw him too! He was all furtive like, seemed to be looking up at the grates and manholes - there’s a few of them in quite a small stretch down in that area. I came up behind him - about a hundred and fifty yards behind him, by Griet’s Grace, but behind him all the same. We was just on the boundary of the Schoenmarkt and Centrum, up there by the wall.”

  “So what happened next?” asked Henkel, still somewhat disbelieving.

  Matthias laughed. “Well, I ran didn’t I? There was a culvert only ten yards behind me and I was up it like a shot! I slammed the lid back down hard and had it away on my heels back to Paarden Straat as fast as I could! And I’ve refused to go down there ever since!

  “He was the meanest looking brute I ever seen my lords, and as Puurs is my witness I’ve seen that King every night since then, all ferocious like, in my dreams! I’ve been given a week off to calm down, because of Geer and Rene like, but that don’t matter none, because I ain’t going back down there, no sirs; not for all the girls in Gansen! I ain’t sure what I’ll do just yet - maybe I’ll go and join Rob up in the Spears...”