Here the smell overcame the scent of incense and unguents. Felix understood with a start why their cowls had a special flap of cloth which could be drawn over the mouth and nostrils. He adjusted his to cut down on the stink and moved on to the section where the plague victims lay. Nearby stood two priests, eyes closed, censers held in their hands. They muttered prayers for the dead and showed no fear of what had killed them.
Perhaps they were simply inured to fear by their long exposure to death, Felix thought. Or perhaps they simply did not fear to die? They were, after all, priests of the Death God and were assured of preferential treatment in the hereafter. He decided that if he ever encountered one of the priests later he would ask him about this. He was curious how they had become so hardened.
Drexler advanced cautiously to the slabs and exchanged words and coins with the priests. They nodded, ceased their muttering, and withdrew. Without fuss, Drexler drew back a sheet from the nearest body. It was the body of a short man, a trader, dressed in his best. A black rose was set in the lapel of his tunic. He looked oddly exposed and defenceless in death. He had been cleaned up since he died.
“Some bruising on the hands and knees as well as on the forehead,” Drexler pointed out. “Most likely from where the man fell over in the last extremities of his anguish.”
Felix thought of the spasming of the man he had seen in the street and understood how this could have happened.
“Notice the swollen areas on the chest and throat and the slight crust of greenish stuff on the upper lip and nostrils.”
Drexler pushed the eyelids back with his fingers and there were faint traces of green around the eye rims as well. “I am sure that if I performed a dissection, something which our priestly friends here would object to, we would find the lungs filled with a green viscous fluid. It is this which eventually kills the victim. They literally drown in it.”
“A horrible way to die,” Felix said.
“In my experience few diseases kill pleasantly, Herr Jaeger,” Drexler said. He moved on to the next body and drew back the sheet. This was the corpse of a middle-aged woman, dressed in black. Her eyes were open and stared at the ceiling in horror. There was a trace of rouge on her cheeks and of kohl around her eyes. Felix found that there was something rather pathetic about this attempt to improve the appearance of one who was now dead.
“At least she’s dressed in the right colours,” Gotrek said—somewhat tactlessly, Felix thought.
Drexler shrugged. “Widow’s robes. Her husband must have died within the last year or so. She’ll be joining him now.”
He moved along to the next slab and studied the body of a small child. There was a family resemblance to the dead widow. Drexler looked at the piece of parchment that was around her neck. “Daughter. An unlucky family, it seems.”
He turned and looked at Felix. “Nothing unusual, unfortunately. It is quite common for plagues and other diseases to spread among families and those who live together generally. It seems this plague can shift like a summer cold.”
Felix sniffed. “What exactly are we looking for here, Herr Drexler?”
“A pattern. Something out of the ordinary. Something that would tell us whether there was any common factor that all of these poor victims shared.”
“How would that help us?” asked Gotrek.
Felix already knew the answer. “If we could find that, we might find out how the disease is spreading. We might be able to take steps to isolate it. Or if it’s really coming from the skaven we might be able to trace it back to its source.”
“Very good, Herr Jaeger. In a way, it’s like solving a murder or a mystery. You need to be able to see the clues, that way you’ll find the culprit.”
“And have you seen any clues?” Gotrek asked.
Drexler removed the last sheet from the last body. It was a young man, barely out of his twenties. Felix felt a sudden shocking sense of his own mortality. The plague’s victims could not be much older than he.
“Anything?” Felix asked, his mouth suddenly dry.
“Unfortunately not,” Drexler said, and turned to leave.
* * * * *
After the gloom of the mortuary, the daylight seemed impossibly bright. After the quiet of the halls of the dead, the cacophony of the street seemed impossibly loud. After the perfumed smell of the vaults, the stench of the city was nearly overwhelming. Felix’s nose was runny and there was a slight pain in his joints. Not the plague, he told himself, fingering the pomander, just a summer cold. His earlier unanswered question returned to him.
“Why don’t the priests of Morr get all the plagues and diseases that kill their… clients? Does their lord extend them some special protection?”
“I do not know. Their mausoleum is clean and well washed, and in my experience that helps stop the spread of disease. They are priests and thus well fed and well rested; that helps too.”
“Really?”
“Oh yes. Grief, stress, poor living conditions, dirt, bad food—all contribute to the spread of disease, and sometimes help decide who will survive it.”
“Why’s that?”
“I do not know. I can only say I have observed it to be true.”
“So you think these things help make the priests of Morr immune to disease?”
“I never said they were immune, Herr Jaeger. Every now and again, one of them falls ill.”
“What then?”
“He goes to his god, with no doubt a special dispensation in the afterlife due to the strength of his faith.”
“That’s not very reassuring,” Felix said.
“If you want reassurance, Herr Jaeger, talk to a priest. I am a physician, and unfortunately, I must now return to making my living. I am sorry I could not have been of more help.”
Felix bowed to him. “You’ve already been a great help, Herr Doctor. Thank you for your time.”
Drexler bowed back and turned to go. At the last moment, he turned and spoke. “Let me know of there are any new developments,” he said. “Look for a pattern.”
“I will,” Felix said.
“I’m going to look for a beer,” Gotrek said.
“I think that might be a good idea,” Felix said, suddenly wanting desperately to get the taste of the mortuary out of his mouth.
Felix stared down into his third beer and considered what they had seen. His head ached a little from what he kept having to tell himself was a summer cold, but the beer was helping to take away that pain.
Gotrek sat slumped beside the fire staring into the flames. Heinz was standing by the bar, getting things ready for the evening rush. The other bouncers nursed their drinks and played hook-knife at the next table.
Felix was troubled. He felt baffled and stupid. He knew that there must be a pattern here but he just could not see it. It looked like something invisible and deadly was killing the people of Nuln and there was nothing he could do to stop it. It was frustrating. He almost wished for another raid by the gutter runners, or another attack by skaven warriors. What he could see, he could fight. Or to be absolutely specific, what he could see, the Slayer could fight and most likely beat. Thinking, Felix realised, was not their strong suit.
Once he had prided himself on being a clever and well-educated man, a scholar and a poet. But things had changed in his wanderings. He could not remember the last time he had put pen to paper, and last night was the first night in a long, long time when he had opened a book with any pretensions to scholarship. He had fallen right into the role of wandering mercenary adventurer, and his brain appeared to have fallen dormant.
He was out of his depth, he knew. He was not a razor-witted investigator of the sort which featured in the plays of Detlef Sierck. And to be honest, he did not believe that in real life things worked quite the way they did in the theatre, with clues arranged in neat chains of logic, pointing towards an inevitable solution. Life was messier than that. Things were rarely simple, and if there were really clues, doubtless they could be given far more
than one neat and logical interpretation.
He thought about Drexler. So far the doctor had done nothing but help them, but it would be easy to put a sinister interpretation on his work and his motives. He possessed too much knowledge of the sort that was frowned on in the Empire, and that in itself was suspicious. In the more superstitious parts of the human realms, just the possession of the books that Drexler owned would be cause for burning at the stake. The reading of them would cause a witch hunter to execute him without trial.
And yet Felix himself had read one of those books, and he knew he was no friend to Chaos. Could not Drexler be in the same boat? Could he simply be what he appeared to be, a man who was concerned with acquiring any knowledge that would help him in his vocation of curing people, no matter what the source? It was all too difficult, Felix thought. The beer was starting to make his head spin.
Ultimately he knew in his heart of hearts that there had to be a link between the deaths of all the people. He was certain, in fact, that he had already seen evidence of it but was just too foolish to know what it was. So far the only link he could think of was that they had all ended up in the Halls of the Dead, in the temple of Morr, and that was no link at all. Eventually every man and every woman would end up there en route to burial in the Gardens of Morr. Every citizen of Nuln would end up in that huge cemetery one day.
He wanted to laugh bitterly at that, but then a thought struck him. Wait! There was a link between most of the people he knew had died of the plague. The man he had seen in the street two days ago had worn a black rose. Another victim, the one in the mortuary, had also worn a black rose, the traditional symbol of mourning. The woman and her child had been widow and orphan. Only the last one had not shown any connection, but perhaps if he dug deeply enough he would find one.
What could it mean? Was the Temple of Morr itself involved in the spread of the plague? Did the corruption run so deep? Somehow Felix doubted it. The first man he had seen had just been to a funeral. Had any of the others? The one wearing the rose was virtually a certainty. The mother and child? He did not know, but he knew a way to find out. He pulled himself up out of the chair and tapped Gotrek on the shoulder.
“We need to go back to the Temple of Morr,” he said.
“Are you developing a morbid attachment to the place?”
“No. I think it may hold the key to this plague.”
It was dark when they arrived at the temple. It did not matter. The gates were open. Lanterns were lit. As the priests never tired of pointing out, the gates to Morr’s kingdom were always open, and a man could never tell when he might pass through them.
Felix asked to talk with the priest who he had spoken to earlier. He was in luck. The man was still on duty. The offer of some silver procured the information that he was always willing to talk. Felix and the Slayer were shown into a small, spartan antechamber. The walls were lined with books. They reminded him of the ledgers which lined the walls of his father’s office. In a way, that was what they were. They contained the names and descriptions of the dead. Felix did not doubt they contained records of donations for funeral services and prayers to be offered in the temple. He had had dealings with the priests of Morr before.
“So you are Doctor Drexler’s assistants?” the priest asked.
“Yes. In a manner of speaking.”
“In a manner of speaking?”
“We are helping with his researches into the plagues. We’re trying to find a way to stop them.”
The priest showed a slow, sad smile. “Then I don’t know if I should help you.”
“Why?”
“They’re good for business.”
Seeing Felix’s shocked look, he gave a small, polite cough. “Just a small attempt at humour,” he said eventually.
“You look tired,” Felix said to break the silence. The priest gave a long hacking cough. “And ill.”
“In truth, I do not feel so well and it’s been a long day. The brother who should have replaced me has himself fallen sick and is cloistered in his cell. He’s not been well since he presided over the inhumations yesterday.”
Felix and Gotrek exchanged looks.
Felix nodded politely. Gotrek growled.
“Your, errm, associate does not look much like a physician, Herr Jaeger,” the priest said.
“He helps with the heavy work.”
“Of course. Well, how can I help you?”
“I need to know more about those people Doctor Drexler looked at this morning.”
“Not a problem.” He tapped the leather bound book in front of him. “All the appropriate details will be in the current libram. What exactly do you need to know?”
“Had any of the deceased attended any funeral services just recently?”
“Frau Koch and her daughter had. I officiated at the inhumation of Herr Koch myself last week at the Gardens.”
“And the other gentleman?”
“No, I do not think so. He is not a man who we would allow to attend any of our services. Except his own inhumation, of course.”
“What do you mean? I thought anyone could enter the Gardens of Morr.”
“Not quite. Herr Gruenwald belonged to that noxious class of criminals who make their living by robbing family crypts and stealing corpses to sell to dissectionists and necromancers. He was under interdict. He would never be allowed within the gates of the garden on pain of supreme chastisement.”
“Death, you mean.”
“Precisely.”
“And the man wearing the black rose?”
“I will check the records. I suspect that given the nature of his adornment we will find that he too had attended an inhumation recently. You are not from Nuln, are you, Herr Jaeger? I can tell from your accent.”
“You are correct. I come from Altdorf originally.”
“Then perhaps you did not know it is a local custom to pick one of the black roses from the Death God’s Garden when you attend a ceremony there.”
“I thought people bought them from the flower sellers.”
“No. The roses grow only in the Gardens and it is forbidden to sell them for profit.”
There was silence for a few minutes as the priest studied the records. “Ah, yes. His sister passed away last week. Inhumed in the Gardens of Morr. Is there anything else I can do for you?” he asked brightly.
“No. I think you’ve told us enough.”
“Can you tell me what all this is about?”
“Not at the moment. I’m sure Doctor Drexler will inform you when he has completely formulated his theory.”
“Please ask him to do so, Herr Jaeger.” As they left, the priest was bent almost double in a fit of coughing.
“Tell me what all of this is about, manling,” Gotrek said as they entered the street. Felix glanced around to make sure that there was no one close enough to overhear them.
“All of the people who we know have died of the new plague have visited the Gardens of Morr recently. The tomb robber as well, most likely.”
“So?”
“That’s the only connection I’ve been able to see and Drexler told us to look for connections.”
“It seems unlikely, manling.”
“Do you have any better ideas?” Felix asked allowing a measure of his frustration to show in his voice. The Slayer considered for a moment then shook his head.
“You think we’ll find our little scuttling friends brewing plagues up in the city cemetery?”
“Possibly.”
“There’s only one way to find out.”
“I know.”
“When?”
“Tonight. After work. It will be quiet then and we can take a look around.”
Felix shuddered. He could think of many places he would rather be than crawling around the city’s main cemetery after midnight with a bunch of skaven in attendance, but what else was he going to do? If they took their tale to the authorities they would most likely not be believed. Perhaps the skaven would get wind
of their presence and move their operation. At least he felt sure that there could not be too many of the rat-men up there. A small army camped in the graveyard would be noticed. Hopefully they would be few enough for the Slayer’s axe to take care of. Felix certainly hoped so.
The gates of the Gardens of Morr were not open. Steel bars filled the archway, padlocked by heavy chains. A small postern gate was occupied by a night-watchman who sat warming his hands at a brazier. Spikes covered the high wall which surrounded the city graveyard. Felix wondered at that. In some ways the cemetery resembled a fortress but he was unsure as to whether the walls were intended to keep grave robbers out or the dead in. There had been times in history, he reflected, when the dead had not slept easily in their graves.
There was a basic primal fear at work here, he thought. Something intended to separate the dead from the living. In its way, the physical barrier was reassuring. Except, of course, when you intended to broach it, as he and the Slayer did tonight.
What was he doing here, Felix wondered? He should be at home, back in the inn, sharing his pallet with Elissa now that the night’s work was done. Not skulking around in the shadows, preparing to break into the city graveyard, a crime for which the penalty was several years imprisonment, and interdiction by the Temple of Morr.
Surely there had to be an easier way than this. Surely somebody else could deal with the problem. But he knew this was not true. If he and Gotrek did not hunt down the skaven, who else was interested? They were the only people crazy enough to involve themselves in these affairs. If they did not do it, no one else would.
The authorities seemed to want to turn a blind eye to the evil which was happening in their midst. The best possible interpretation Felix could put on it was that they were ignorant or afraid. The worst possible interpretation was that they were in collusion with the Powers of Darkness.
[Gotrek & Felix 02] - Skavenslayer Page 18
