Warhammer - [The Ambassador Chronicles 01] - The Ambassador

by Graham McNeill

  She wept tears of bitterness and frustration, her sobs muffled by the blood-stiffened rag stuffed in her mouth and tied in place with a broad leather strap. Her wrists throbbed dully; she could no longer feel her fingertips and even the slightest movement brought fiery agony as the crusted blood split and the rough cord dug further into the meat of her arms.

  The days passed. Some as pain-filled boredom, others as unrelenting horror as he would climb into the attic, the dead skin mask stretched tight across his features. On many of those occasions, he would touch her, whisper to her that he loved her or that he had followed her orders and killed again for her, that he had eaten human flesh in honour of their day of liberation from his tyranny.

  Her eyes were gummed with lack of sleep and tears, her vision blurred with malnutrition and her lips cracked with dehydration. Her mouth felt sticky and her head rolled slackly on her shoulders as she heard the hateful creak of the trapdoor that led into the attic as it opened on rusted hinges.

  'Are you there, matka?' he said. Then he laughed. 'Of course you are. Where could you go?'

  She squeezed her eyes shut as she heard his footfalls approach and he laid a callused hand on her shoulder. She smelled his nearness and though she tried to be strong, could not help shuddering in naked fear. She felt his hands move across her body and felt him press himself against her.

  He moaned and said, 'I am almost done, yes?'

  Sofia could not answer, the gag choking any words she might have given voice to. But then she understood that he was not speaking to her at all. She hadn't heard anyone else enter the attic, but another voice, a distant, melodic voice answered, sounding as though it came from the bottom of a very deep well.

  'Very nearly, my handsome prince, very nearly. I have just one thing left for you to do. One last tiny thing and we will be done.'

  'Anything, matka, anything.' he said.

  'I want you to kill me.' said the voice. 'I was dead once before and I do not belong in this world. Morr claims me for his own and I should not be back in your world.'

  'No!' he cried. Sofia felt his grip on her body tighten and gave a muffled cry of pain as he roughly turned the chair around so that she was facing him. 'Why would you ask this of me? I only just found you again, I won't let you go. Not again.'

  'Trust me, my prince, you must.' said the soft, teasing voice.

  Sofia slitted open her eyes, seeing the loathsome masked face before her. A rippling light cast a soft glow over the preserved features of the corpse-mask, her captor's violet eyes wide with adoration beneath it. He stared at something over her shoulder, a firefly light glinting in the darkness of his pupils. Her eyes stung, but for the briefest instant it seemed as though the reflection of a bright face, pale and angelic, ghosted across the surface of his eye.

  'I can't.' he wailed, throwing his arms around her and burying his head in her lap.

  'Listen to me!' roared the voice, stripped bare of its earlier grace. 'Do it. I demand you do it. Kill me, kill me now. Cast off the shackles of your abused otherself and take out your knife, the knife I gave you and cut my throat, you snivelling, pathetic little whoreson. Kill her, cut her into pieces and throw them at von Velten's feet.'

  'No... I won't! I love you...' he wept, his voice trailing off into choking sobs.

  Sofia felt the fury of whatever was talking to her captor rise to terrifying heights and shut her eyes once more. Even through her swollen lids, she felt a burning light fill the death attic, but just as quickly as it bloomed, it faded and she sensed that whatever had spoken to the man had departed. Its rage left a crackling, actinic tang of magic in the air, but she felt a tiny flutter of hope at his defiance of its murderous desires. It wanted him to kill her, but, for whatever reason, he believed that she was his matka, his mother, and would not.

  'I can't kill you...' he said, as though hearing her thoughts. 'Not yet, but I have to cut you. Oh, matka, I have to cut you.'

  Sofia felt the blade of his knife against her skin and tried to scream as he sliced the thumb from her left hand.

  V

  THE BROTHEL WAS housed in a nondescript building of sagging black timbers and random blocks of rough-hewn stone that had once been part of the original city wall. Coloured panes of glass in the upper windows and a crimson sash hanging limply from the roofs finial were the only clue to the building's purpose and Kaspar could practically smell the stench of desperation that saturated its fabric.

  'This is the place?' he asked.

  'Aye,' nodded Pavel. 'You find Chekatilo here, though why want to, Pavel not know. He not a man you should be in hurry to see. We should not be here, should go now.'

  'He might know something about Sofia's abduction,' said Kaspar, his voice as icy as the snow that swirled around him. Pavel and Kurt Bremen exchanged wary glances, neither liking the lethal edge to the ambassador's voice.

  'Ambassador von Velten,' said Bremen. 'If Chekatilo does indeed know something of Sofia's whereabouts then we must be delicate in our handling of him. You cannot afford to antagonise him.'

  'Don't worry, Kurt. I can be diplomatic if I need to be,' assured Kaspar, pushing open the door to the brothel and stepping through into the semi-darkness. The stench of unwashed bodies and cheap perfume filled the air, the latter patently failing to mask the former.

  Even in the light that filtered from the few hooded lanterns and low-burning fireplace, Kaspar could see the place was busy. It seemed that imminent war and death brought out the lust in Kislevite men and there were plenty filling the long hall willing to spend their last kopeks for the embrace of women who sold their flesh for coin.

  A few heads turned at their entrance, but most were too deep into their labours or lost in the bliss of weirdroot dreams to pay them much mind. A fug of acrid smoke hugged the ceiling, its scent sweet and cloying, like musk from Araby, and Kaspar had a vivid recall of his campaigns fought in that bleak desert landscape.

  He marched past the writhing bodies, ignoring the overly theatrical moans and cries of pleasure as he headed for a door at the back of the room, guarded by two cold-eyed men who made no effort to conceal the axes beneath their cloaks.

  Kaspar halted before the men, who pointedly ignored him until he made to move past them. One spat a burst of muttered Kislevite at him, pushing his axe free of his cloak.

  'Pavel.' said Kaspar, 'translate for me.'

  'Very well.' grumbled Pavel, tearing his gaze from the copulation taking place all around him and moving to stand beside the ambassador.

  'My name is Kaspar von Velten, and I am here to speak with your master, Vassily Chekatilo. I would be grateful if you were to convey my wishes to him.'

  Pavel repeated Kaspar's words and he watched as the men exchanged an amused look before the man Pavel had addressed shook his head.

  'Nya.' he said and the meaning was clear.

  'Pavel, tell him that I have a detachment of Knights Panther at my disposal and that if Chekatilo doesn't consent to see me, then I will have them burn this filthy whorehouse down. With him in it if necessary.'

  Again Pavel repeated Kaspar's words and this time the two men looked distinctly uneasy. A quiet, but heated discussion in rapid snatches of Kislevite ensued, followed by a raised palm and the man who had said no disappearing through the door. The remaining man gave a lopsided grin, exposing yellowed stumps of teeth.

  The three men waited for several minutes, Pavel returning his attention to the libidinous activities going on around them and taking several swigs from his hipflask.

  At last the door reopened and the messenger reappeared, beckoning with grubby fingers that they should follow him. Kaspar stepped after the man, making his way down a long, timber-floored corridor with velvet-curtained archways along both sides. Grunts and more groans of counterfeit pleasure came from behind them and Kaspar shut them out as they approached a heavy timber door banded with black iron. The man ahead of him drew out a long key and noisily unlocked the door before pushing it wide and indicating that the
y go through.

  'Yha! You go, Yha?'

  'Yha,' agreed Kaspar and stepped through into a well-appointed room of spacious dimensions and furnished with Empire-designed furniture and fixtures that Kaspar just knew had come from his embassy. Four women dressed in diaphanous silk gowns lounged around the room in various stages of weirdroot oblivion, their lips stained with narcotic juices. A naked woman danced clumsily before the enormous Chekatilo, who sat on a creaking wooden bench with his back to Kaspar. Standing at his side was a whip-thin man with the face of a fighter who stared at them with undisguised hostility.

  Chekatilo clapped in time with the woman's gyrations and Kaspar could see from her stocky build and frightened, prosaic features that she was of peasant stock, no doubt here to earn a few copper coins to feed her through the winter.

  'Herr Chekatilo,' said Kaspar.

  The big Kislevite did not answer, holding his hand up to indicate that Kaspar must wait until the dance was over.

  Kaspar bit his bottom lip and folded his arms across his chest. Bremen averted his eyes from the dancing girl and Pavel also had the decency to look away from her shame.

  At last Chekatilo clapped and stood, ushering the girl away to retrieve her clothes.

  'Rejak,' he said, turning to face the flint-eyed killer at his side. 'Put her to work in main hall, she won't do for the booths.'

  Rejak nodded and led the girl to the door Kaspar and the others had entered through and pushed her into the corridor with a barked order to the guards at its end. He returned to his master's side, his hand clasped firmly around the hilt of his sword. Kaspar instantly recognised the man for what he was: an assassin and murderer.

  At last Chekatilo deigned to face Kaspar and his entourage, his wide and intimidating features masked with a predatory smile. His beard was as huge as Kaspar remembered it and his leather and fur clothing was well cared for and expensive. He sat back down on the bench and said, 'You wanted to see me?'

  'Yes, I'd like to ask you some questions.'

  'I make it rule never to answer questions I do not have to,' said Chekatilo.

  'You'll answer these ones,' said Kaspar.

  'Really? What makes you so sure?'

  'Because I'll kill you if you don't,' promised Kaspar.

  Kurt Bremen flinched at Kaspar's threat and Chekatilo laughed, a booming peal that startled several of the stupefied women.

  'I think you not know of your master's plan, knight?' asked Chekatilo.

  Bremen did not answer as Chekatilo continued. 'Pavel Korovic! Is long time since I see you in here. Do you bring me another Empire ambassador to corrupt?'

  Pavel shook his head hurriedly, casting his eyes to the floor when Kaspar glowered at him. Kaspar flushed as Chekatilo laughed once more. 'You come with questions, but you know nothing of the man you ask them of. And you threaten me in my own chambers? One word from me and you all die. There are dozen men in earshot I can call to kill you where you stand.'

  'Maybe there are, and maybe there aren't.' said Kaspar, 'but could they get to us before I rammed a sword into your gut?'

  'Perhaps not, but there are worse armours than many layers of fat, Empire man. I think you be dead if you try, and you not ready for that yet.'

  'No?'

  'No.' said Chekatilo. 'You got things to do before crows feed on you. I see this.'

  Kaspar knew he had lost control of this conversation, if indeed he had ever had it in the first place, but he was desperate for something, anything, that might provide a clue as to where Sofia had been taken. And if Anastasia was right about Sofia's past, then there was every chance this bastard might know something of value.

  Kaspar knew that he had come to this confrontation much less prepared than he ought to have been, now understanding that threats were not the way to get the answers he wanted, and so he switched tack.

  'Herr Chekatilo, we are all men of the world here, are we not? We are behaving like animals in the wild, locking horns like stags trying to be the master of the herd. But this is your lair and I realise now that it is pointless to try and assert my authority here,' said Kaspar, spreading his arms wide in what he fervently hoped was a gesture of gracious magnanimity. 'I am in need of your help and come to you in desperate need. A good friend of mine has gone missing and I believe you may be in a position to help me find her.'

  Chekatilo smiled, immediately reading Kaspar's gambit. 'Clever, Empire man, much cleverer than that fool, Teugenheim. He too thought he could be big man in this place. Sadly, he was wrong in all regards.'

  'Then you'll help?'

  'Perhaps. Who you lost?'

  'My physician. Her name is Sofia Valencik and I am told she used to work for you.'

  'Sofia!' barked Chekatilo. 'Ah, yes, I remember Sofia, but no, she never work for me, no matter how much money I offer her. I think she not like me.'

  'I can't imagine why,' sneered Bremen.

  Kaspar shot the knight a venomous glare as he saw Rejak stiffen, saying, 'Really? She never worked for you? Are you sure?'

  Kaspar felt what little hope he had that this avenue of investigation might yield some result fade. Anastasia had convinced him that Sofia had worked for Chekatilo, and he would take her word over the fat Kislevite's every time, but his instinct told him that Chekatilo was not lying.

  'You're sure?' repeated Kaspar.

  Chekatilo scowled. 'I may be over forty, but memory not failing me yet. No, she never work for me. She came here a few times each year though.'

  'What?' said Kaspar, horrified. 'Sofia came here, of her own free will?'

  'Aye,' confirmed Chekatilo. 'Of her own free will. She looked after girls who worked the rooms here, gave them poultices for the pox and other such things. Sometimes she birthed or ended children as well. She tried to keep girls healthy.'

  The fat crook grinned lasciviously. 'Not easy task in Kislev. But, no, she never work for me, though I was glad of her services. She was good woman.'

  'Is,' insisted Kaspar. 'She is a good woman. And now she's missing, taken by the Butcherman.'

  'Then she is dead. Cut up and eaten.'

  'I don't believe that,' stated Kaspar.

  'No? What make you so sure she alive?'

  'I just am,' said Kaspar, his voice suddenly fatigued and drained of emotion. 'Until I see something that proves she's gone, I'll keep looking for her.'

  'You in love with her?' laughed Chekatilo. 'I not blame you if you are. Sofia Valencik is handsome woman.'

  'No,' said Kaspar, and Chekatilo smiled at the swiftness of his answer.

  'I see, but why you think I can or will help you find her?' 'I don't know.' admitted Kaspar. 'I came here thinking that maybe you had taken her, but now I don't believe you have. I don't know if there is anything you can do to help me, but if there is anything at all, then I beg you to do it.'

  Chekatilo considered Kaspar for long seconds before answering.

  'I will help you, Empire man, though Ursun alone knows why. You and I would be enemies I think just now, if not for Sofia. What you offer me if I help you?'

  'All I can offer you is my gratitude.' said Kaspar.

  The giant Kislevite laughed before seeing that Kaspar was serious. 'Are you man of your word, Kaspar von Velten?'

  'I am.' nodded Kaspar. 'My word is iron and once given is never broken.'

  'Kaspar-' warned Bremen, but the ambassador waved him to silence.

  Both men locked eyes before Chekatilo finally nodded and rose from the bench seat. 'I think that you are, Empire man, just be sure it not the end of you. Very well, I have many eyes and ears around Kislev and if there is anything to know, I will find it for you.'

  Chekatilo leaned forwards. 'But if I do this thing for you...' he said, letting the sentence trail of meaningfully.

  'I understand.' said Kaspar, wondering if he really did.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  I

  IN THE DAYS following Kaspar's meeting with Chekatilo, the weather continued to worsen, the sagest of Kislev
's older heads proclaiming that this could be the hardest winter since the time of the Great Tzar, Radii Bokha. Whether this was true or not, Kaspar did not know and didn't much care, so busy was he with the continued demands of maintaining an army of war during the interminable period when there was no fighting to be done.

  As yet more days passed, thoughts of Sofia kept intruding on his dreams as well as his waking thoughts. In a rare show of compassion, Pashenko had personally informed him that his Chekist were now forced to abandon the search for her. As well as the four hearts that had been left outside the embassy, other mutilated bodies had since been discovered and demanded investigation that they might shed some light on the identity of the killer.

  Despite Pashenko's admission of failure, Kaspar refused to give up hope that Sofia might, somehow, still be alive. Upon their return from Chekatilo's, he had told Anastasia what little they had learned and she had held him close, warning him not to trust the word of such a lowborn criminal. Kaspar wanted to let her convince him, but his earlier gut feeling that Chekatilo was telling the truth kept returning to him.

  Anastasia had taken over the job of organising the distribution of supplies to the soldiers and refugees, throwing herself into the task with gusto and displaying a real aptitude for such work, though Kaspar had insisted that she do so from the embassy. He would not lose another to the Butcherman through carelessness.

  She had taken the chambers adjacent to Kaspar's, and on the second night she had come to his bed, slipping easily into his embrace and they had comforted one another in the way of two lonely people needing to shut out the cruelties of the outside world for a time. Their lovemaking was gentle, tentative, each touch and caress a little afraid, and as he lay spent in her arms each night, Kaspar found himself uttering love's greatest lie: 'I'll never leave you.'

  She came to him each night and he found himself more and more grateful for her attentions. They would lie together in the darkness, Kaspar telling her of Nuln and his life back in the Empire, and she in turn telling him fantastical tales of the ancient Khan Queens and the magical powers they were said to possess. The nights brought Kaspar closer to Anastasia, and they clung to one another tightly, taking reassurance from the simple act of holding another person near.