Dietz, still half-listening, had just turned down another aisle when Glouste distracted him. She had been glancing at the objects around them, her whiskers quivering with curiosity, and more than once a small squeak had indicated interest in a particular piece. This time, however, the sound was higher, more drawn-out and strangely trilling, and Dietz knew at once it was not pleasure but fear. His pet confirmed this by leaping from his shoulders and darting back down the aisle and out of sight.
“Glouste!” Swearing under his breath, Dietz took off after her, following the brief flashes of red fur he saw far ahead. Fortunately, the doors were all closed and the windows covered in heavy metal grilles, so Glouste could not escape. Even so, it took several minutes before Dietz caught up to her, and then only because she had stopped her mad flight and was cowering within a small stone cabinet.
“There there, little one,” Dietz whispered, scooping her from her hiding place and tucking her into the front of his leather jacket. “You’re safe now.” He stroked her head gently with one finger until her fur stopped puffing and the trilling faded back to her normal purr.
“Now, what had you so frightened?” he wondered out loud, retracing his steps and still petting her. The aisle they’d entered was near the back of the shop, and the piece he had almost reached before Glouste’s retreat was actually covered by a large sheet. Whatever it was stood taller than he did, and he could tell from the shape that it was more likely to be a sculpture than a building ornament, with a wide round base and projections above. His own curiosity aroused, Dietz tugged the sheet free. As its folds fell to the ground his face turned as white as the fabric, and it was a second before he could find his voice.
“Alaric!”
“What?” Hearing the panic in his companion’s voice, Alaric all but dropped the scroll Rolf had been handing him and ran towards the sound. When he turned the corner and skidded to a halt, he found Dietz standing stock-still, pale as chalk, one hand still clutching the sheet. The other was inside his vest, where Alaric could just hear the frightened squeaks of that infernal tree-monkey. He quickly forgot about Dietz’s unruly pet as his eyes registered the object before them, and Alaric took a step back himself.
The sculpture was large, easily seven feet tall, and roughly carved. Indeed, at first glance it looked uncarved, simply a rough block of stone. On second glance the depressions and protrusions began to assume a pattern, to show some semblance of design, and then individual features began to appear. At least, flashes of them did—Dietz felt as if he’d been watching a fast-moving deer through a thick wood, catching brief glimpses of an eye here, a leg there, an antler over there, never seeing the creature clearly, but getting an image from the scattered impressions. The image here was far less wholesome than any deer, and his head ached from the memory of it. He had a clear impression of limbs, too many limbs, some of them coiled and others bent in too many places.
Flatter spaces along the back, near the top, suggested wings flared in the act of taking flight, and both men cowered back slightly, afraid the stone monstrosity might indeed take to the air. Something about the way the statue narrowed just above its base spoke of clawed feet gouging the rock below them, as if impatient to leap free. But its face was the worst—hints of something long and vaguely bird-like, a massive hooked beak, yet Dietz was sure he had glimpsed row upon row of teeth as well. And the eyes; those he could not deny seeing. Small and faceted, several sets of them above where the beak would be, glared out at him. Most of the other features vanished again when he blinked, so that he could not find them a second time, but the eyes remained, their stare clearly intelligent, and just as clearly malevolent.
Though carved from stone, the surface glistened slightly in the dim light, as if covered in an oily sheen—as if damp with sweat or blood. Everything about the sculpture spoke of power and violence, and madness—a madness that beat at the back of your brain and threatened to burst free, overrunning your senses and your sanity if you gave it a moment’s opportunity.
“It’s a thing of Chaos,” Alaric whispered, backing away farther and dragging Dietz back with him. Neither of them could take their eyes from the foul carving. “I’ve—I’ve seen drawings like this, once before, back at the university. The master kept them locked away. A traveller had made them, sketches of sculptures he’d seen on his travels—through the Chaos Wastes!”
CHAPTER TWO
A massive hand clamped down on Alaric’s shoulder, making him quake. Then a deep voice rumbled above and behind him:
“What’s wrong?”
Rolf stood behind them, his hand still on Alaric to prevent his backing into the other sculptures crowded along the aisle. The big stonemason saw the direction of their glance and nodded, absently releasing his grip.
“Aye, hideous, isn’t it? And would you believe that’s the fourth of its kind?” He laughed and shrugged. “Well, I’m not one to demand good taste in my clients, just coin.”
“Four of them?” Alaric risked one last glance at the statue, shuddered, and focussed his attention upon the craftsman. “Who would want such things?”
“You know I can’t say,” Rolf admonished, frowning down at him. “Where’d I be if I started giving out names?” Then he seemed to realise how intently they were staring at him, and how pale they both were. “Why? What’s wrong?”
“What’s wrong?” Dietz managed a shaky laugh. “That’s what’s wrong!” He gestured back towards the statue without looking at it.
The stonemason merely shrugged again. “So it’s ugly. So what? I’ve seen hideous creatures perched on the sides of castles and manor houses. So’ve you. Wanted these to frighten away thieves, he said.” He grinned. “I guarantee anyone coming across this fella in the night will run the other way in a hurry. ’Sides, it was a challenge.”
“Rolf, don’t you realise what you’ve done?” Alaric glared up at him. “These aren’t decorations or conversation pieces, they’re daemonic icons! You’ve crafted sculptures of Chaos beasts! It’s sacrilege!”
“What?” Now it was Rolf’s turn to go pale as he stared at the statue as if for the first time. “No! Taal’s teeth, I didn’t—I never—” he glanced down at Alaric and over at Dietz. “You’ve got to believe me—I had no idea! Said he wanted them to spook people and paid in cash.” He shook his head. “Told me the key was making it frightful but subtle, letting people see things in it ’stead of spelling them out. Had me start on one and make it ugly, but not too detailed. Then said it wasn’t enough and told me to add bits here ’n there. Had a clear idea what he wanted, even drew me sketches to work from. Last bits were those spots at the back—that did it, and he wanted three more just like it.”
“Clever,” Alaric admitted, feeling calmer now that he was no longer facing the abomination. “If he’d given you the complete sketches you might have suspected their origins. Instead he added one section after another until he had the appearance he wanted, but pretended it was a happy accident.” He glanced towards the statue again and barely had enough control to tear his gaze free. “What about the face?”
“That was real particular,” Rolf admitted. “He had a sketch all roughed out and everything. Said I couldn’t shift from it at all or he’d take none of them.”
Dietz had been watching the exchange and eyeing the statue warily in between. “What was his name, Rolf?”
The stonemason started to shake his head, and then stopped and shrugged. “Aye, it’s clear he used me ill, so I’ll not be bound by scruples in return. Wilfen von Glaucht, he said it was. Member of the baron’s court, recently titled and come into an estate. That’s why he wanted these, to ward off trespassers. Said he didn’t want anyone knowing of them aforehand—thought it would ruin the effect. Even had a warehouse where they could be delivered, so as not to wheel them right up his front walk.”
Alaric glanced at Dietz. “Von Glaucht? I knew of a von Glaucht here in Middenland once, a minor baroness. Wilhemina, I think her name was. Nasty old harridan with yell
owed teeth and a wig to cover her liver-spotted pate.” He shuddered. “She chased me more than once, I don’t mind saying—ran fast, too, for such an old biddy.”
“Her husband, maybe?” Dietz offered.
Alaric frowned. “No, she was a widow,” he explained. “Husband died years before—under mysterious circumstances, or so some claimed. He left her everything and no one to restrain her lusts.” He shuddered again, clearly reliving the memory.
“A son or nephew?”
Alaric shook his head again. “She had no children, and no heirs. She was the last of the von Glaucht line.” He gave them a weak, slightly disgusted smile. “She claimed she’d make me her baron and shower me with wealth. Ugh.”
“This Wilfen must have known about her,” Dietz pointed out, “and chose a name close enough to confuse any who’d heard of her.” He didn’t have to say the rest, that whoever this man was, he was definitely no von Glaucht. He had borrowed the old woman’s family name, guessing that a title and some ready gold would keep Rolf from searching further. He had been right.
“What shall I do?” Rolf was demanding, tugging his beard absently with one hand. “I didn’t know!”
“I know,” Alaric assured him, “and I will gladly lend my word on your behalf, but we have to tell the authorities.” He raised a hand as Rolf began arguing, and the bigger man fell silent. “We have to tell them,” Alaric repeated. “If we don’t they’ll find out somehow, and you’ll have been concealing information. We’ll simply tell them that you were tricked, and that you came forward as soon as you understood what you had done. That way no one can accuse you of anything worse than accepting a false commission.”
“It’s a bad idea,” Dietz argued. “They’ll not believe you any more than him, and why should they? All you’ll do is hasten our fate.”
“Aye, best to leave it alone,” Rolf added, nodding desperately. “The guard have enough on their minds as it stands. Why add to their troubles?”
“Because someone will see one of these things eventually,” Alaric insisted, “and then the guards will know. They’ll trace it back here, to your shop and the fact that you didn’t speak up earlier will only make you look more guilty.”
“We could move it,” Dietz suggested quietly.
Both men turned to stare at him, neither of them evidently understanding. “Drag it out into the street,” he explained, “plenty of rubble out there already, who would notice a little more?”
“I’ll smash it,” Rolf offered helpfully, grabbing a hammer from a nearby stool. “Then it really will only be rubble then.”
“And what of the other three?” Alaric reminded him gently. “Those are already loosed and you cannot go after them with your hammer as easily. Nor would dragging this outside fool anyone,” he added with a hard look at Dietz. “They’d follow the tracks back here, especially since this stone is heavy. You’d not get very far. No,” he said again. “It’s far better to own up to what happened. They’re more likely to be lenient if you come forward.”
Dietz snorted behind him, reminded yet again of how young and naive his companion was. Lenient? Not likely. They would demand to know why he hadn’t come forward earlier… and the notion that no one could accuse Rolf? Of course they could—he had seen many good men wrongly accused and unjustly sentenced in his time. The authorities saw what they wanted to see, including guilt. However, Alaric was right about one thing—lying about the statue and covering it up would only make matters worse.
“Wait here,” Alaric told them both, and strode from the store. Rolf paced back to his worktable, shoulders slumped, and Dietz followed, more to get away from the statue than anything else.
“You believe me, don’t you, Dietz?” Rolf asked when they were by the desk, and Dietz started to shrug, then nodded instead.
“I believe you.” He had known Rolf his entire life, and could not picture him tapping dark magicks deliberately. Rolf didn’t even trust folk magic, preferring the cold touch of stone and the bite of metal to all those “silly ways for old folk to awe the younglings”.
“What’ll they do, d’ya reckon?”
He had never seen the big man so scared, and tried to keep his own voice and face calm. “Ask questions, nose around, fine you for being involved.”
Rolf was already shaking his head. “You’ve not been here, Dietz, not since afore the troubles. That was then. They’re jumping at shadows now—and with good reason. There’s too many beasties wandering in the dark, too many starved refugees and veterans so desperate they’ll do anything for stale bread, and too many ready to take advantage of it all. Afore the war no one really thought that Chaos could touch us here. We were protected, but now—now we know it can enter freely, and no one trusts anyone.”
“Alaric and I will vouch for you,” Dietz pointed out, though he realised that might not mean much. He was a son of Middenheim, it was true, and still a member of his guild, but he had been absent for months and not a true resident for far longer. Alaric, for all his airs and his noble blood, was from another region entirely. Plus the young man had a startling ability to rub people the wrong way, particularly older men in power. They would do their best, however. Rolf deserved no less.
Both men were quiet after that, Rolf idly chipping at his current work, and Dietz glancing around everywhere but at that dreaded far corner. Finally, the door swung open again, and Alaric returned, a pair of guards at his heels. One of them, Dietz saw with a sinking feeling, was the same man his employer had berated for rifling through their bags at the front gate.
“Right then,” Alaric announced, rubbing his hands together briskly, an expression of satisfaction on his face. “They’ve sent for their superior. We’re to wait here until he arrives and we can tell him the full story. He’ll sort it out.”
It was only a few minutes before the officer arrived, several more soldiers behind him. Dietz had seen the man before, though he did not know his name—he was lean, with greying hair, but a jet-black beard, and dark, wary eyes. His armour and helmet were highly polished, but still had several dents, and Dietz knew at once that this was no ornament, but a true warrior who had fought for his city all too recently.
“Names!” the officer barked as he approached. Rolf answered first, Dietz and Alaric right behind. The officer nodded at the first two and frowned at the third, no doubt surprised to find a noble in this part of the city. “Where is it?” was his next question, and Alaric led him over to the statue. The guards followed, and their exclamations were all too audible as they saw the hideous carving.
“What horror is at work here?” the officer demanded, his face pale and adorned with sweat. Dietz noticed a thin trickle of blood from the man’s nostrils and thought he saw similar droplets at the officers’ ears. The other guards seemed equally afflicted and he counted himself lucky to have received only a headache from his own encounter. He avoided glancing at the statue again to prevent a relapse.
“I believe it is daemonic,” Alaric explained, and hastened to add: “I was trained at the University of Altdorf, and saw similar carvings during my studies.”
The officer said nothing for a moment, and then nodded. “Very well.” He turned his back to the sculpture, and a guard hastened to toss the sheet over it again. “You are under arrest for sacrilege and suspected treason,” the officer informed Rolf, who stood frozen as if he’d expected the charges, but had hoped to avoid them. “Take him,” the officer added, gesturing to two guards, and they escorted Rolf from the shop.
“I will personally vouch for Rolf,” Alaric informed the officer as the stonemason disappeared through the door. “We have known him for several years and have always found him to be a loyal citizen.” But the officer was glaring at Alaric, and Dietz did not like the look in the man’s eyes.
“You two,” his glance swept to include Dietz, “are under arrest for suspected conspiracy to commit treason.” Guards stepped up beside each of them and removed their weapons. Dietz held his arms out to allow the disa
rmament, but his employer stepped back, shock plain across his face.
“What? We brought you here! This makes no sense!”
“Perhaps,” the officer conceded with a tight nod, “but what’s to say you didn’t summon me to conceal your own guilt?” He studied Alaric closely. “You are not from here,” he pointed out, “and Carrul informs me you objected strongly to a routine baggage search.” The guard from the gate grinned and tightened his grip on Alaric’s arm. “Perhaps it was you who commissioned these sculptures and the mason threatened to expose your secret. I cannot take that chance. The witch hunters will sort you out and if you’re innocent you’ll be released.” His tone of voice, and the way Carrul’s grin widened, indicated the likelihood of that happening. The officer turned to go, but Alaric’s next words stopped him.
“What about that?” He was pointing towards the sheet-covered sculpture. Carrul and the other guard beside Alaric actually cowered back, as if worried it might suddenly leap to their captive’s defence.
“It will be confiscated and destroyed,” the officer assured him.
“And the other three?”
That caught the older man’s attention, and he turned back to face them, his eyes locked on Alaric’s face. “What other three?” The officer’s voice was dangerously soft, and Dietz prayed his employer knew what he was doing.
“Rolf was hired to carve four such statues,” Alaric announced, and then sniffed dramatically. “A fact you would have possessed if you had bothered to question him more thoroughly, instead of hauling him away and turning upon us. Since the other three are not here in the shop, I can only assume this von Glaucht has already claimed them.” This time it was Alaric who glared. “I suggest you retrieve them at once.”
The officer stiffened, then turned to the guard by his shoulder. “Find out where those statues went. At once!”
“There’s a warehouse,” Dietz mentioned, drawing the officer’s attention to himself. He shrugged. “Rolf mentioned it before you arrived.”
[Daemon Gates 01] - Day of the Daemon Page 3
