The grey skies sprawled endlessly above him, vast and unforgiving. A man could lose himself in minutes in such conditions, but not him. He rode towards his destination as surely as though drawn by a sliver of lodestone metal. Though without any discernable landmarks in this icy desert wilderness anyone else would have been hopelessly lost by now.
Anyone else except him.
His side ached from where he had fallen from the ladder and he suspected that he had at least one broken rib. Below that, he had packed his gunshot wound with snow and bound it tight with his sword belt. He swayed unsteadily on the back of his horse, gripping its mane tight as it plodded north through the snow. He was confident that he could survive the trip, but would his mount? He had no grain, nor was there any forage to be had on the steppe that wasn't frozen beneath the snows.
None of that mattered though; he had his bow to hunt food and if his mount perished, then he would have fresh meat. There was snow enough to melt for drinking water and he knew that his wounds, while painful, were not mortal.
No, all that mattered was that he returned to where it had all began.
Then they could be together at last.
VI
'I don't care how busy he is,' snapped Kaspar, 'I need to see Minister Losov now.'
'I am sorry, Ambassador von Velten, but the minister has left strict instructions that he is not to be disturbed,' said the bronze-armoured knight, blocking their path towards Losov's chambers within the Winter Palace.
After leaving Anastasia and Sofia, he and Pavel had ridden to the grim, dark-stoned Chekist building as though the hounds of Chaos themselves were hot on their heels and Kaspar had explained to Pashenko his theory of where they might find the fugitive Kajetan. Remembering an offhand remark from Losov at the reception where he had been presented to the Tzarina and the last word Kajetan had shouted as he made his escape, Kaspar had been seized by a powerful intuition as to where Kajetan would flee.
The chief of the Chekist had been sceptical, claiming that if Kajetan had left Kislev to travel to where Kaspar suspected, then he was already as good as dead. But Kaspar had been stubbornly insistent and had convinced Pashenko to accompany him to the palace, understanding that his fearsome reputation might open doors that he himself could not.
One such door that was firmly shut before them was the door that led to the chambers of the Tzarina's chief advisor, Pjotr Ivanovich Losov, and was guarded by an armoured knight who carried a silver-bladed halberd.
'You don't understand,' explained Kaspar, his patience wearing thin. 'It is a matter of the gravest urgency that I speak to him.'
'I cannot allow that,' said the knight.
'Sigmar's blood,' snapped Kaspar and turned in exasperation to Pavel and Pashenko. He nodded imperceptibly to the Chekist and Pashenko took a brisk step forward to stand before the knight with his hands laced behind his back.
'Do you know who I am, knight?' asked Pashenko.
'Yes, sir, I do.'
'Then you will know that I am not a man to cross. Ambassador von Velten requires to see the Tzarina's advisor with information on a matter that may have grave ramifications for our great city. I am sure you, as one of our city's guardians, will understand that I, as a fellow guardian, must see that that information is delivered, yes?'
'I understand that, but-'
'It is a position of no small prestige to wear the armour of bronze is it not?' said Pashenko, abruptly changing tack and rapping his knuckles on the knight's breastplate.
'It is a position of great honour, sir,' answered the knight proudly.
'Hmm... yes, I imagine the shame of being discharged from the Palace Guard in disgrace would be equally great, would it not?'
Kaspar found Pashenko's methods distasteful, but told himself that they did not have the luxury of time to achieve their goal by honourable means. If they must threaten this no doubt courageous knight with disgrace then so be it. Every second they wasted in Kislev put Kajetan further beyond their justice.
'Sir-' began the knight, beginning to realise his predicament.
'And I should imagine the likelihood of securing a commission in another knightly order would be almost impossible with that kind of stain against your honour, would it not?'
Pashenko brushed a fragment of lint from the lapels of his long coat as he gave the knight time to sweat inside his armour and weigh up the alternatives.
At last the knight stood aside and said, 'The black door at the end of the hall is Minister Losov's private chamber, sir.'
Pashenko smiled and said, 'Kislev and I both thank you. Ambassador?'
Kaspar swept past the dejected-looking knight, pushing open the door and marching down a wide, stone walled corridor carpeted with emerald green rugs lined with gold and silver threads that traced an intricate pattern of cursive spirals. Gilt-framed portraits of the former holders of Losov's office lined the walls; grim-faced men with an air of pompous self-importance.
Kaspar paid them little heed as he grasped the gold handle of the black door at the end of the hallway. He turned to his companions and said, 'Whatever dirt or leverage either of you have on Losov, I need you to use it. Whatever it is, I don't care, we need to know what he knows.'
Pavel nodded, but said nothing, beads of sweat glistening on his forehead.
'If you think it will help us catch Kajetan, then I will do what I can,' said Pashenko.
Kaspar nodded in thanks and pushed open the door to Pjotr Losov's chambers without so much as a knock.
The Tzarina's advisor sat behind his desk, scratching at a long parchment with a grey goose feather quill and started in surprise as Kaspar, Pavel and Pashenko entered. Clothed in the ceremonial dress of the Tzarina's chief advisor, he cut a distinguished figure in his scarlet robes, threaded with gold trim and decorated with black bear fur and silver inlaid tassels, but neither Kaspar nor Pashenko were in the least bit intimidated by his rank or finery.
'What in Ursun's name are you doing in my private chambers?' snapped Losov, quickly opening a drawer and placing the parchment within.
'I need you to tell me something,' said Kaspar as Pashenko and Pavel spread out to either side of Losov.
'What? This is intolerable, Ambassador von Velten,' snapped Losov, 'an absolutely intolerable breach of diplomatic protocol. You know as well as everyone else that requests for an audience with the Tzarina must come to me in writing.'
'We not want to see Tzarina,' said Pavel hoarsely.
'No,' added Pashenko from Losov's other side, 'it is you we need to talk to.'
But Losov was an old hand at the diplomacy game and was not about to be put off balance by such obvious disorientation tactics. Instead, he sat back in his thickly cushioned chair and said, 'Very well, before I have you escorted from the palace and lodge a formal edict of breach of protocol I shall indulge you. What is it you want?'
'Kajetan,' said Kaspar simply.
'What about him?' replied Losov.
'He is the Butcherman,' said Kaspar. 'And I need to know where his family estates are. I am sure Kajetan will flee there now and at the reception where I met the Tzarina you said his family owned "wondrously picturesque estates on the Tobol". You know where they are, and you are going to tell me right now.'
Losov said nothing for long seconds as he digested this information. Eventually he said, 'You are trying to tell me that Sasha Fjodorovich Kajetan, one of this city's greatest and most popular heroes, is the Butcherman?'
'Aye,' said Pavel. 'He is Butcherman, sure enough.'
Losov laughed and said, 'That is, quite possibly, the most ridiculous thing I have ever heard. Coming from you, Korovic, even more so.'
'You are snake, Losov,' said Pavel. 'You and I both know-'
'Know what?' sneered Losov. 'There is nothing you can say to me that matters any more, Korovic. My past is what I now decide to make it, is yours?'
Pavel bit his lip and said, 'Ursun damn you, Losov...'
'Quite,' said Losov, dismissing Pavel fro
m his attentions and leaning forward to steeple his fingers on his expansive desk of imported Empire workmanship. 'Ambassador, that you could accuse one of Kislev's most noble warriors of such brutal crimes is an affront to my great nation, and I shall thank you not to repeat it.'
Kaspar leaned over the desk, planting his palms before Losov, 'Herr Losov, it has been proven beyond doubt that Sasha Kajetan is the Butcherman. We discovered his lair and have an eyewitness to his brutality, what more do you want?'
'And you have seen all this, Pashenko?' asked Losov.
'I have indeed, minister,' nodded the Chekist. 'The attic where Madame Valencik was held captive was a most... unpleasant place. I am fully aware of Sasha's reputation amongst the common folk, but have to confess that all the evidence seems to point to him being guilty. You should tell Ambassador von Velten what he needs to know and we will be on our way.'
'Ridiculous,' repeated Losov scornfully. 'I'll hear no more of these slanderous accusations.'
'Slanderous?' snarled Kaspar. 'Kajetan killed one of my oldest friends and tortured another. He brutalised her, starved her and beat her almost to death. He cut off her thumb, for Sigmar's sake! I'll not stand idly by while officious bastards like you let him get away. Now tell me where his damned estates are!'
Losov took a deep breath, calm in the face of Kaspar's outburst.
'I shall do no such thing, Ambassador von Velten, and if you would be so good as to leave now, I am a busy man and have much to do.'
Kaspar drew breath for another explosive outburst, but Pashenko gripped his arm and shook his head. Kaspar turned to see seven knights of the Palace Guard in bronze armour with their visors lowered and swords drawn gathering behind them. So furious was he that he had not even heard their approach.
Losov smiled, a loathsome reptilian smile, and said, 'These knights will escort you from the palace, Ambassador von Velten. Good day.'
VII
Pavel took another long swallow of kvas and stared up at the moonlit silhouette of Chekatilo's brothel, his misery as all-enveloping as the cold that seeped into his bones with every passing second. The guilt that sat upon his shoulders, the guilt that had been growing each day for the last six years, had finally grown too heavy to bear and here he was, back where his fall into degradation and villainy had begun.
When they had confronted Losov earlier that day, his palms had been moist with sweat and his heart pounding in his chest. He had known exactly what he would say to Losov, had known exactly how to prise the information Kaspar so desperately needed from that corrupt sack of shit, but at the crucial instant where the courage of his convictions had been tested, he had crumbled and said nothing. The shame burned hot in his breast, but he could not have borne to disappoint Kaspar again, not after all he had done for him, now and in the past.
He raised the wineskin of kvas to his lips and as he smelled the sour, milky spirit, he tossed it away in disgust. Drink had led to his disgrace and he felt an immense wave of self-loathing wash over him.
Pavel knew that there was no point in delaying this any longer and pushed open the door to the brothel, taking a deep breath and inhaling the musky aroma of incense burners and sweat.
He nodded to a few familiar faces and worked his way through the libidinous crowd to take a seat at the simple trestle bar. He dropped a handful of copper kopeks on the stained wooden bar and accepted a wooden tankard of ale. It was stagnant and flat, but he drank it anyway and waited, shaking his head each time one of the whores attempted to part him from his money with clumsy, graceless attempts at seduction. He saw the girl they had watched dance for Chekatilo numbly ply her trade on a fat man who Pavel swore was insensibly drunk. The fool would wake up on the street without any memory of what had happened and an empty purse, knew Pavel. He had worked as a heavy on the floor of this place for too many years not to know that.
He didn't have to wait long before a callused, swordsman's hand tapped him on the shoulder.
'Hello, Rejak,' said Pavel without turning.
'Pavel,' answered Chekatilo's flint-eyed killer. 'He wants to see you.'
Rejak didn't have to say who 'he' was. Pavel nodded and climbed from his stool to face the assassin. 'Good, because I want to see him too.'
'Why are you here, Pavel?' growled Rejak.
'That's between me and Chekatilo.'
'Not if you want to see him, it isn't.'
'I want to ask him a favour,' said Pavel.
Rejak laughed, a thin nasal bray, and said, 'You always did have a good sense of humour, Pavel. I think that's the only reason he let you live.'
'Are you going to take me to him or not? Or are you just going to blow hot air up my arse all night?'
Rejak's scarred face twitched and Pavel saw the murderous hostility there. Then Rejak gave a thin-lipped smile.
'Like I said, a good sense of humour,' he chuckled and strode off to the same door Pavel, Kaspar and Bremen had passed through some days earlier.
Pavel followed him, only too aware of the dire consequences of what he was about to do. He had already failed one test of courage today, he would not fail at another.
He found Chekatilo eating a plate of steaming meat and potato stew. While Kislev went hungry, Chekatilo dined handsomely. He drank wine from a wooden goblet and did not look up as Rejak led Pavel into the room.
Rejak stood behind his master, crossing his hands before him and enjoying Pavels obvious discomfort. Chekatilo waved Pavel to the seat opposite him without looking up and said, Wine?'
'No, thank you.' said Pavel, the smell of cooked meat making his mouth water.
'Pavel Korovic refusing a drink? Have the Chaos Wastes frozen over?'
'No.' said Pavel. 'I just don't want a drink. I've drunk too much already.'
'True.' nodded Chekatilo, mopping up the last of his dinner with a chunk of black bread and finishing his wine. He poured another and sat back as a girl appeared from behind Pavel to take away the plate.
'Now, what brings Pavel Korovic to me at this late hour?' asked Chekatilo.
'He says he wants a favour.' said Rejak.
'Does he now?' laughed Chekatilo. 'And why is he under the mistaken impression that I give out favours, Rejak?'
Rejak shrugged. 'I don't know. Perhaps he's gone soft in the head.'
'Is that it, Pavel?' asked Chekatilo. 'Have you gone soft in the head?'
'No.' said Pavel, growing tired of Chekatilo's theatrics.
'Very well, Pavel, tell me what you want before I say no.'
'We have Sofia Valencik back, we found her earlier today. She was being held by Sasha Kajetan. He is the Butcherman.'
'I know this already. The Chekist have been turning the city upside down looking for him ever since then. Tell me what this has to do with me?'
'Now that we have Sofia back, the ambassador owes you nothing.' said Pavel, hating himself for saying these words, but unable to stop. 'I can place him in your debt again.'
Though Chekatilo tried to mask it, Pavel saw a glimmer of interest in his eyes.
'Go on.'
'The ambassador is desperate to find Kajetan and make him pay for what he did, but he can't find him. He thinks that Kajetan will return to his family estates. Kaspar knows that Pjotr Losov knows where they are, but Losov isn't telling us anything. But you know things. You can put pressure on Losov that we cannot.'
'Ah, Losov, a despicable piece of human filth to be sure. I am surprised you did not use the intimate knowledge you possess to force him to tell the ambassador what he wanted to know.'
'I... I wanted to, but...'
Chekatilo laughed, 'But you could not say anything because you knew that Losov had more damning information concerning you.'
Pavel nodded mutely as Chekatilo continued. 'Tell me, Pavel, do you think your friend the ambassador would enjoy hearing how Minister Losov was the man who paid me to have Anastasia Vilkova's husband murdered, or that Minister Losov is said to enjoy the company of young children?'
'If it hel
ps him find Kajetan, then, yes, he would.' answered Pavel neutrally.
'Yes, I'm sure he would.' grinned Chekatilo, 'but would the ambassador also enjoy hearing how his old friend Pavel Korovic was the very man who, six years ago, bashed Madame Vilkova's husband's brains out onto the cobbles not a hundred yards from this very building?'
Pavel said nothing, the guilt of what he had done while in the service of Chekatilo flooding back to haunt him once more. Chekatilo laughed at Pavel's silence and leaned forward.
'You know I only let you live because I was indebted to your uncle Drostya, don't you? You are a drunk, a thief, a murderer and a liar, Pavel Korovic; just because you swan about with an Empire ambassador now doesn't change that.'
Pavel nodded, tears of shame running down his cheeks. 'I know that.'
Chekatilo sat back and pulled a long cigar from beneath his furred cloak. Rejak lit it with a taper from the fire and the massive Kislevite exhaled an evil-smelling cloud of blue smoke.
'If I do this thing for you, the ambassador will be in my debt?'
'Yes.'
'Why?'
'You said it yourself, he is a man of honour and if you find out what he needs to know, he will not allow that debt to go unpaid.' said Pavel, twisting and knotting his fingers as he spoke.
Chekatilo considered this for a moment and took another puff on his cigar.
'Very well. I will see what I can do.' said Chekatilo eventually. 'But you know that it is not just the ambassador who is in my debt now.'
'Yes.' said Pavel wretchedly. 'I know that also.'
CHAPTER TEN
I
Night around the Lubjanko was a time to be feared. The howls of the lunatics and dying within its fortress walls filled the air with cacophonous ravings and the fear that their madness or maladies could somehow be caught even by being nearby. As such it was a shunned place, the derelict buildings and empty streets around its spike-topped walls empty and deserted, even in a time when so many were desperate for shelter and warmth.
Even criminals, those to whom the scrutiny of others was unwelcome, did not often frequent the echoing prospekts around the death-house of the Lubjanko. Only those about some particularly dark business would dare the haunted shadows that gathered about it, and even then, they hurried to complete their business rather than linger too long.
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