‘It’s the Tide Bell,’ Ogg said. His eyes were wide with dismay. ‘Erkhart, Ernst, get going. The rest of you, pair off in squads and ride for the other temples.’
‘I just got my pipe lit!’ Ernst complained as he dumped the contents of his pipe on the street and stuffed it back within his saddle.
‘Isn’t that always the way of it?’ Dubnitz said as he climbed back into the saddle. Moments later he and Ernst were riding hard for the Temple of Manann. Smoke from dozens of fires rolled through the city streets, and the rain beat it down into a slushy scum of ash. People ran through the streets, fleeing in panic. The celebratory mood of Mitterfruhl had turned into terrified anarchy.
‘Pity about Gunter,’ Ernst said as they forced their horses through a choked square. ‘Lad had real promise, I thought.’
‘Promise is no proof against teeth and claws,’ Dubnitz said sourly. ‘Or against bad wagers. Did you know he still owed me five Karls?’
‘Owed–’ Ernst began as his eyes widened in sudden realization. ‘By Manann’s sea cucumber, that little rat owed me as well!’ He began to curse virulently. Dubnitz nodded sympathetically.
‘Do you think his family might cover his debts?’ Ernst said hopefully a moment later.
‘One thing at a time,’ Dubnitz said, pointing.
The square before the Temple of Manann was packed with a heaving crowd. It was an undeniably angry heaving crowd at that and it pressed close about the doors of the temple. Several pale-faced temple guards stood between the crowd and the doors, their tridents locked to form a makeshift barrier. ‘This looks bad,’ Ernst said, gripping his own trident more tightly.
‘Get between those guards and the crowd,’ Dubnitz said, kicking his horse into motion. He swatted about him with the flat of his trident, causing the fringe of the crowd to contract. People were yelling and screaming in a mingled cacophony of fear and anger. In times of trouble, people looked to their gods, but such a mob had been too quick to form. There was something other than blind panic at work here.
‘Get back or get trampled,’ he roared as he nudged his horse into the current of curses, boils and rude gestures. ‘Don’t make me come down there.’ Probing hands went for his legs and his saddle and he gave a portly fishmonger a jab with the business end of his trident. ‘This horse is church property, get off.’
As his horse spun, lashing out with its back-hooves, Dubnitz caught sight of several priests of the sea-god standing on the marble steps of the temple, watching in consternation. Only one of them was a familiar face. ‘Goodweather,’ Dubnitz bellowed, ‘Fancy seeing you here!’
The young woman, slim and dark, blinked in surprise as she caught sight of Dubnitz. She gave a half-hearted wave as Dubnitz urged his horse closer to the line of temple guards. ‘Goodweather, can’t you summon one of those winds of yours, or how about something nastier?’ Dubnitz said, leaning over in his saddle.
‘What are you doing here, Erkhart?’ she hissed, gathering up her robes and stalking down the steps. ‘I thought I told you to–’
‘What? Stay away from a temple dedicated to my patron god?’ Dubnitz said in mock disbelief. ‘And just because of a simple misunderstanding,’ he continued.
‘Is that what you call it?’ Goodweather snapped, glaring at him. Dubnitz flipped up his visor.
‘Of course,’ he said, beaming at her. ‘It was dark. Mistakes were made.’
Her fingers curled into claws. ‘Mistakes,’ she repeated darkly.
‘Yes. I thought she was you, obviously. Forgive me?’ he said, leaning down towards her. Her punch, when it came, nearly knocked him off his horse. She hopped back as he righted himself, clutching her hand and cursing. He rubbed his jaw. ‘Is that a no?’
‘Yes,’ she snarled.
‘Yes you forgive me, or yes it’s a no?’ Dubnitz said.
‘We don’t need your help!’ Goodweather said.
‘Looks to me like you do,’ Dubnitz said, looking back at the crowd. The faces of the crowd were studies in frustration, fear and anger. Most of them were just scared. Some of them were trouble-makers looking to make whatever was going on worse. And others… his eyes narrowed as he caught sight of a particular, peculiar figure, standing on an overturned cart and gesticulating in a frenzied fashion.
The man was all ribs and shoulders, with coarse clothing and a dozen shark-tooth necklaces clattering around his scrawny neck. Strange tattoos covered his puckered, tough looking skin and warning bells went off in Dubnitz’s head. ‘Oh that’s not right,’ he muttered. He turned back to the fuming Goodweather. ‘See that skinny fellow on the cart there, Goodweather? What do you make of him?’ he said.
Before she could reply, someone hurled a cobblestone into the head of one of the temple guards. The man’s head snapped back and he toppled like a felled tree. Dubnitz cursed and jerked around in his saddle as Goodweather rushed towards the fallen man.
‘If you’re finished fraternising, Erkhart, I could use some bloody help!’ Ernst shouted, flailing about with his trident. His horse snorted as a human wave surged up around him, hands grabbing and improvised weapons stabbing, hacking or thumping. The crowd, unpleasant looking before, had turned ugly in a matter of moments. More cobblestones flew, accompanied by dung, bricks and several contradictory political slogans. Someone somewhere was beating a drum in time to the sound of the Tide Bell ringing. Dubnitz rode to the aid of his fellow-knight, but as he cut through the crowd, his horse gave a terrified snort and reared up.
The sickening sound tolled again, rattling his teeth in his jaw and causing the world to spin before his eyes. His stomach felt like it had the first time he had ever climbed to a crow’s nest, as if it were full and falling all at the same time. His horse reared again, screaming and lashing out at something he couldn’t see.
He heard cries of fright and saw bodies tumble past, trailing blood through the rain. A familiar smell bit into his sinuses and he forced his horse to drop down, revealing the hideous shape that was blossoming before him. The man was no different from any other; he had the look of a sailor or a sea-jack. He screamed and thrashed, his ballooning limbs snapping out to swat aside anyone who got too close. His eyes met Dubnitz’s and he reached out with fingers that looked like overcooked sausages.
‘Huh-help muh-meeee…’ he whined. His words spiralled up into a wordless shriek as pink flesh turned grey as twitching limbs wobbled in an unpleasant fashion. Bones cracked, splintered and re-knit even as the flesh on them puffed up and split and the face, once human, tore in half to reveal a great triangular maw full of razor teeth.
‘Gods below,’ Dubnitz hissed. The creature, obviously in agony, thrashed about as it tore too-tight clothing off. It was the spitting image of the monster from earlier; possibly uglier, in fact, if it was possible. Before it could realise he was there, he stabbed down at its roiling flesh with his trident. The prongs sank into the mutating meat and the trident was jerked from his grip as the creature whipped around. Talons fastened on his horse’s snout and a single, savage jerk snapped the animal’s neck and nearly decapitated it.
Dubnitz roared as he was forced to drop out of the saddle. He hit the street and immediately found himself being trampled upon by fleeing people. Luckily, his armour kept the damage to a minimum and he soon forced himself to his feet, just in time to meet the monster’s awkward, flopping charge. Moving quickly in full armour was difficult, but a strong desire not to be disembowelled lent him speed. He stumbled aside as the creature bounded past him, pouncing on a luckless man. The creature’s victim screamed just once before the shark-thing bit his head off in a single wide-mouthed bite. Dubnitz waited for the nearest bystanders to clear out of the way and then drew his sword.
The shark-thing stuffed the rest of the body into its maw, chewing noisily. Its black eyes scanned the crowd like those of the animal it resembled; there was no glee there, no sadistic pleasure, nothing to imply that the thing gained any enjoyment from its actions. It had no impetus but cold, pure hunger.
>
Dubnitz advanced towards it, sword held out before him. It turned, slurping a twitching foot down its gullet. Dubnitz grimaced and then blinked as he caught sight of a shark’s-tooth necklace dangling from its bulbous throat, the material of the necklace itself biting into the thing’s gray skin. He wanted to look around, to see if the skinny man with his many necklaces was capering about somewhere, but he didn’t dare take his eyes off the monster.
It gazed at him hungrily and started forward, picking up speed as it came. Dubnitz ducked under a wild sweep of its claws and his sword drew a red line across its barrel chest. The creature gave no indication that it felt any pain as it dropped a fist on him, knocking him to one knee. It snagged a fleeing woman as Dubnitz fought the catch his breath and took a leisurely bite out of her neck.
‘Monster,’ Dubnitz snarled. He lunged and the beast flung the woman’s body at him, sending him stumbling. It jumped at him with a quickness that belied its size and its claws sank into his armour.
‘Hold fast, Erkhart,’ Ernst shouted, galloping towards Dubnitz and his opponent. The other knight threw his trident, catching the shark-thing in its thigh. It shoved Dubnitz aside and turned, yanking the weapon loose in a spray of blood. As Ernst rode past, chopping down on it with his sword, it slapped him out of the saddle with the trident. Ernst crashed into the street and lay unmoving. The creature stalked towards him, still clutching the trident.
Dubnitz rushed towards it and drove his sword between its shoulder-blades. It shuddered and threw its arms wide. He threw himself against the hilt, forcing the blade in deeper, hoping to shatter its spine or pierce something vital. It hunched over, chomping at the air. He was nearly pulled off of his feet, but he drove a boot into the small of its back and ripped his sword free. The shark-thing turned and grabbed for him. He backpedalled and chopped into its wrist. The blade cut halfway through its limb and stopped. It whipped its arm aside, pulling his sword out of his grip and stabbing at him with the trident. The tines scraped off of his cuirass and he tripped over his own feet, landing heavily.
Coughing blood, the creature raised the trident over him. It dove towards his head and his palms slapped together around the outer tines. Jerking his head to the side, he guided the points into the street and kicked at the creature’s belly. It was like kicking a wall, but it rocked back, off balance. Desperate, he grabbed the head of the trident and snatched it out of the creature’s slack grip. Spinning the weapon around, he jammed it into the creature’s belly. It loomed over him, jaws snapping, and began to pull itself down the length of the trident.
‘Dubnitz, get the necklace!’ Goodweather screamed from somewhere just out of sight. ‘Get the necklace you great oaf!’
He lunged for the necklace and hooked it with a finger even as the thing’s saw-edged teeth scraped his visor. Dubnitz ripped it free and the creature convulsed as if he’d removed a limb. It bucked and thrashed and he rolled it off of him with a grunt of disgust. It curled around the trident and its heels thudded into the street as steam began to boil off of it, carrying a strange stench into the air.
Dubnitz watched in horrified fascination as the creature began to shrink back to human proportions. It sloughed off the corrupted grey hide, revealing bloody pink flesh beneath. The man gasped and gazed at him blankly. His wounds had not disappeared and as Dubnitz sank down beside him, he coughed, muttered and went still. He didn’t look much like a cultist; then, they never did.
Still, he had asked for help. What cultist or mutant would do that? The knight closed the corpse’s staring eyes and stood as Goodweather moved quickly towards Ernst’s splayed form. Moving towards her, Dubnitz said, ‘Is he…?’
‘No. Just had his lights put out is all,’ she said, looking at him over her shoulder. ‘More than I can say for some.’ Dubnitz looked around. The square was now host to a scene of carnage – bodies laid heaped here and there, mostly the result of the crowd’s panic at the creature’s initial appearance. The survivors had cleared out quick enough, and the other priests were endeavouring to help those that they could, while the temple guard looked on warily. The air stank of smoke and blood, despite the rain washing both away. Alarm bells were still ringing, and he could hear the crackle of fire and the clash of weapons. The latter was likely the Dock Watch or Ambrosius’s Marsh Watch snapping into action with all the speed an underpaid, unenthusiastic autocratic body could muster.
He looked back at Goodweather. She was an altogether more pleasant sight. Women weren’t a common fixture in the Grand Temple of Manann. Thus, Goodweather was, in many ways, an uncommon woman. She knew the holy sea-shanties backwards and forwards, even the rude bits most priests left out. And she had a punch like a mule.
‘We’ve sent for the priestesses of Shallya, but they’re in the same situation we were,’ Goodweather said, wiping her hands on her robes and standing. ‘There’re mobs at every temple. What,’ she said, noticing the look on his face.
Dubnitz coughed and shook his head. ‘We might want to send runners and warn them to be on the look-out for more individuals wearing these little beauties,’ Dubnitz said, letting the shark’s tooth necklace dangle from his fingers. ‘How did you know, by the way?’
‘I guessed,’ she said with a shrug.
‘Dubnitz blinked. ‘What?’
‘In the stories, it’s always the amulet. Or the crown, or the glove or the ring, some out of place innocuous thing,’ she said, turning back towards the temple. She gestured to two of the guards. ‘Pick him up,’ she said, motioning to Ernst. They hastened to obey.
‘Well, regardless of your astonishing disregard for my safety, you were right,’ Dubnitz said, hurrying after her. ‘The question is, why?’
‘Stories are stories for a reason,’ she said. She stopped and looked at him. ‘There’s something moving in the city. It’s in the air and the water; it’s in the rain, Erkhart,’ she said, holding out a hand. The rain filled her palm and gleamed greasily before she dumped it onto the street. ‘It’s moving through Marienburg, just out of sight and sense.’
‘Like a shark in the shallows,’ Dubnitz said, holding up the necklace and eyeing it.
‘Are you trying to be funny?’ she snapped.
‘No,’ he said. He bounced the shark’s tooth on his palm. It felt warm. He turned, prompted by some instinct. ‘Hunh,’ he said.
‘What?’ Goodweather said.
‘I wonder what happened to our friend with a neck full of necklaces just like this one, the skinny wastrel on the cart. I suppose it’s too much to hope he got trampled.’ He looked at her. ‘Did you see him?’
‘No, I was distracted by the monster,’ she said tersely. ‘Give me that!’ She snatched the necklace out of his hands. A moment later she grunted and almost dropped it.
‘What?’ Dubnitz said.
‘Stromfels,’ she hissed, turning the tooth over to reveal a curiously shaped scratch in the surface. The tooth seemed to squirm in the rain, and Dubnitz felt a prickling, crawling sensation in his gut.
‘Oh bugger,’ he said. Stromfels… the god of pirates, storms and sharks. Every sailor’s least favourite things. The worship of the shark-god had long been outlawed in Marienburg, thought furtive sects still worshipped him in badly lit back rooms and isolated tributaries out in the marshes. It was a name that every follower of Manann, devout or otherwise, knew well. Stromfels was the bogeyman… the dark of the deep sea and the doom that waited down below the white-capped waves. ‘Was he just some deranged cultist then? Daemon-possessed?’ he said, his mouth suddenly dry. He looked back towards the body of the man who’d been a shark. Was that what it had been? He thought again of the confused, despairing look in the man’s eyes and shuddered.
‘If he was, then he was not alone,’ someone said. Dubnitz turned and his eyes went cross as he stared down the tip of a sword. On the blade dangled a half-dozen more necklaces like the one Goodweather held. Most of them were bloody. Dubnitz looked up.
‘Lord Justicar,’ he said. ‘Ah, I ¬�
� that is to say, we–’
‘I see,’ Ambrosius said, leaning across the pommel of his saddle, his sword blade resting on his forearm. Dots of blood marred his cheek and armour. His horse whickered softly and stamped a hoof dangerously close to Dubnitz’s instep. Past the animal’s rump, Dubnitz saw members of the Marsh Watch, mostly looking worse for wear, moving through the carnage of the temple square, arresting those who weren’t dead or dying. Ambrosius tilted his blade, spilling the necklaces into Goodweather’s hands. ‘We have reports of more of the creatures, though we’ve only managed to kill a few. Their numbers are increasing. I am alarmed by this,’ he said calmly. ‘Ogg and the others are protecting the other temples in the district, as well as certain other, ah, strategically important areas.’ That meant they’d be guarding the richest and most influential members of Marienburg society, Dubnitz knew. Even in the midst of a crisis, Ambrosius was keenly aware of which side his bread was buttered on.
Goodweather looked at the pile of teeth in her cupped palms and her face took on a slightly queasy look. Dubnitz looked up at the Lord Justicar. ‘That’s a lot of monsters,’ he said.
‘One is more than this city needs,’ Ambrosius said grimly.
‘Mitterfruhl,’ Goodweather said suddenly. The two men looked at her. She made a face. ‘Mitterfruhl – the beginning of the rainy season-is a day sacred to Stromfels. Traditionally, it’s when his worshippers made their sacrifices.’ She looked up. ‘Storms were a sign of Stromfels’s pleasure.’
Hammer and Bolter 17 Page 8
