“Snap out of it!” A stinging slap smashed across his face, and he found himself looking into Gerhard’s eyes. Where had the man come from? From the ache in his jaw it seemed the blow hadn’t been the first, and he raised a feeble hand to ward off the next strike just as the witch hunter drew his hand back to hit him again.
“Sigmar’s hammer!” Rudi ducked his head to avoid the incipient blow. “What are you doing?”
“Saving your soul, probably.” Gerhard spoke with a matter-of-fact tone, which implied he was telling no more than the truth. “I was beginning to think we’d lost you entirely.”
“He’s right, lad.” Littman was standing at his shoulder, making the sign of the hammer. “You looked possessed.” A chill of dread shot through his heart.
“What by?” he asked. For a moment Gerhard looked surprised at the speed of his recovery.
“I don’t know,” he admitted at last. “But the pattern you were walking is obviously a sigil of great power. This whole field will have to be burned.”
“Will that stop it?” Littman asked, his voice trembling a little. Beastmen he could handle, but naked sorcery was another matter entirely. Gerhard shook his head.
“I don’t know,” he said at last. “But it’s worth a try.” He turned back to Rudi. “Show me the farmer.”
“This way.” To his surprise Rudi found his voice almost steady. The thought that he had been touched, possibly even tainted, by the powers of Chaos was a terrifying one, but there was nothing he could do about it now. And at least the witch hunter seemed to think he was free of whatever malevolent forces he’d disturbed. He was certain of that because Gerhard hadn’t killed him, he would undoubtedly have done so without hesitation had he seen the need. That thought was hardly comforting either, so he forced himself to concentrate on the matter at hand.
“Intriguing.” Gerhard stooped to examine the mutilated corpse of the farmer as though it were nothing out of the ordinary. Maybe for him it was. “And what have we here?” He reached out a black-gloved hand to pick up the medallion Rudi had noticed earlier.
“Be careful,” Rudi said. The words slipped out unbidden. “I think he’s infected.”
“I don’t doubt it.” Gerhard snapped the narrow chain, lifting the curious tri-circular object clear of Altman’s chest. It came free with a curious sucking sound, and a stench of putrefaction that Rudi wouldn’t have expected from a body that fresh. “I’d be astonished if he wasn’t infected, wearing this.”
“What is it?” Rudi asked, curiosity overcoming his apprehension. The scar on Gerhard’s face flared red.
“The mark of his heresy,” he said shortly, making the sign of the hammer. “And proof, if I needed it, that the pestilence gripping your village is far from natural.” As he raised the object the setting sun caught it, bringing the engraving on the circles into sharp relief.
Rudi gasped, the breath freezing in his lungs. Without the faintest idea as to how he knew, he was absolutely certain that the design on one of the circles was the one he’d walked a few moments before in the wheat field. An air of palpable malevolence hung about the artefact, and he felt both repelled and drawn towards it.
“Best destroy it,” Littman counselled.
Gerhard nodded.
“I intend to,” he said. He gestured at the corpse. “And burn that.”
As Schuller had predicted there was more than enough residual heat under the ashes to incinerate the corpse, and greasy flames were soon running over it as the fat beneath the skin started to melt. Gerhard flung the medallion after it, as well as the gloves he’d used to handle the thing. He stared at the corpse as it burned with an expression of loathing.
“What’s the matter?” Rudi ventured after a while, hoping to distract himself from his own inner turmoil. The witch hunter shook his head.
“There’s no satisfaction in burning a heretic after he’s dead,” he said. “This one’s escaped retribution.” He smiled grimly, but still spoke in a conversational tone. “But I promise you, his confederates won’t get away so lightly.”
Despite the furnace heat, Rudi shivered.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
News of the witch hunter’s arrival spread through Kohlstadt like flame through a wheat field; it even eclipsed the news of the massacre at the Altmans’ farm. An undercurrent of alarm rippled through the village now that everyone’s worst fears had been realised, but Gerhard’s presence seemed to reassure most of the local folk. The pious spoke smugly of the retribution shortly to be visited on whoever was responsible for bringing down the wrath of the gods on the little community, while the pragmatic kept their heads down and tried not to bring themselves to the witch hunter’s attention.
This, Rudi knew, was likely to be extremely difficult, since Gerhard was interested in everyone and everything. Rudi’s privileged position as the burgomeister’s messenger kept him close to the centre of events, so he saw more of the witch hunter’s investigation than he felt altogether comfortable with.
“I must apologise for my tardiness,” Gerhard said, taking a seat at the head of the burgomeister’s dining table. Rudi looked around the room, awed at the opulence of the furnishings, although the man in black seemed indifferent to them. Rich tapestries hung on the walls, and china of a fineness and lustre he’d never dreamed could exist was displayed on a dresser of ornately carved wood. Most of the decorations were hunting scenes, although to his practical eye the youths and maidens pursuing a slightly bored-looking stag seemed to be wearing rather too little for protection against the forest underbrush. Steiner, determined to play the good host, inclined his head slightly and refilled his guest’s goblet from an exquisitely engraved silver flagon.
“To be honest I wasn’t sure you’d got any of my messages,” he said. The phrase seemed to remind him of Rudi’s presence, and he glanced briefly in his direction before ignoring him again as strongly as possible. Since Rudi had become a vital conduit between the burgomeister, Greta and Magnus he had been admitted to the Steiner mansion on a number of occasions, but only by the rear entrance. And he was never allowed further than the plain parlour where Steiner conducted business with his social inferiors. His personal living quarters were jealously guarded, and it obviously galled him to have a peasant sitting in them. But Gerhard had demanded that Rudi accompany him that evening, and had strolled into the mansion by the front door, leaving the burgomeister with no option but to acquiesce to his presence. The witch hunter smiled sardonically.
“You were lucky,” he observed, with a tilt of the head. “I happened to be concluding some business in Dreibruken when a merchant who’d been to your village came by. You showed commendable resourcefulness.”
Steiner took the compliment uneasily. Few knew he’d taken to asking passing travellers to carry letters for him, no matter which direction they’d been going in. They were to be delivered to the first witch hunter they came across. Many of the villagers would no doubt think the cure worse than the disease, but the creeping air of decay and corruption had left him no alternative. In his own way Steiner was a pious man, but knew he was out of his depth; if the village he led had offended the gods, or, worse still, attracted the attention of the malign ones of whom no one spoke, then he needed a crusader to root out the cause and set matters right again. He shrugged.
“I knew if I sent out enough letters one of your order would respond eventually.”
“Eventually being the operative word.” Gerhard sipped at his wine, and nodded appreciatively. “We’re few and far between, and all too often heresy and malice take root beyond our notice. Fortunately, as I said, I had business nearby.”
“Successfully concluded, I trust?” Steiner asked.
Gerhard shrugged. “In a manner of speaking. The guilty were punished as they deserved, by the grace of Sigmar.”
“You burned the witches?” Steiner asked, hesitantly. Gerhard smiled grimly.
“No. Their accusers. It only seemed fair.” He looked from Rudi to Steiner, evidentl
y enjoying their expressions of shock. The mirthless smile spread across his face again. “The accusations were lies, intended to secure an inheritance by removing the legitimate heir. Anyone who would wantonly condemn another to so agonising a death simply to satisfy their own greed deserved nothing less themselves.”
“I see.” The burgomeister nodded, clearly not sure how to respond. The witch hunters of popular gossip wouldn’t have been so careful, or slow to judgement, but were certainly as grimly efficient when it came to burning whoever they thought was guilty. “Sigmar has surely sent us the right man to get to the bottom of whatever afflicts our community.”
“I’m gratified by your confidence, Herr Steiner. Now tell me about the others you’ve been working with. This merchant, Von Blackenburg. How does he fit in?”
“Magnus?” Steiner was clearly taken aback. “He’s been one of our most prominent citizens for twenty years or more. Made a fortune here, and ploughed most of it straight back into the village.”
“A fortune?” Gerhard sounded sceptical. “Ah well, I suppose these things are relative. He’s a native of Kohlstadt?”
Steiner looked at something of a loss.
“I don’t think so. He’s been around for so long, though, he might as well be.”
“His grandfather came from Nuln,” Rudi volunteered. “And I think his father must have moved to Marienburg.”
“Marienburg?” The witch hunter looked at him speculatively. “Why do you say that?” Rudi coloured.
“It’s more of a guess, really. He just mentioned once that his father invested in voyages to Lustria. And Marienburg’s the biggest port in the world, so it would make sense, wouldn’t it?”
“A reasonable deduction,” Gerhard said, looking at Rudi with something akin to respect. “You’ve a head on your shoulders, boy. I wouldn’t waste it chasing rabbits in the woods all your life if I were you.” Rudi was reminded of Greta’s words in her cottage a couple of weeks before, and wondered again if they had been simple pleasantries or something more akin to a prophecy. Then another chill hit him; if she really did have mystical powers she would be in deadly danger from the man in black. For a moment he dreaded the apprehension showing on his face, but to his relief Steiner was nodding thoughtfully, and had deflected the witch hunter’s attention.
“He does have property in Marienburg, I believe. He travels there on business a couple of times a year, and usually stays at least a month.”
“I see.” Gerhard nodded. “And you say he’s been using his fortune to help alleviate the suffering of the sick?”
“And the poor,” Steiner said. “He’s been sending food to several families who aren’t yet afflicted.”
“Has he?” This seemed to interest the witch hunter greatly, and he turned to Rudi. “I’ll need a list of everyone you’ve taken food to. I’m sure Herr Steiner can find me a quill and ink so you can dictate them before we leave.” He looked sharply at the young forester. “Unless you’re about to surprise me again and tell me you’re literate.”
“No. I’m not,” Rudi said, surprised by the defensive embarrassment he felt.
“Am I to infer that you suspect Magnus of dabbling in dark sorceries?” Steiner was clearly flabbergasted. Gerhard shrugged.
“Why not? He sent letters to a known member of a Chaos cult. Or have you forgotten what I told you of the Altman farm?”
“He’s sent letters to practically everyone in the village!” The burgomeister was incensed. But an undercurrent of fear was evident in his bluster now. “Including me. Are you accusing me of complicity in witchcraft too?”
“Not yet.” The smile returned to Gerhard’s face. “But in all good conscience you can’t expect me to ignore the possibility.”
“But I summoned you here!” Steiner could hardly believe his own ears. “Why would I do that if I was part of some unholy cult?”
“What better way to deflect suspicion?” Gerhard asked. Steiner swallowed, outrage clogging his throat. The witch hunter tilted his head a little to convey his amusement. “Not a very strong possibility though, I’ll give you that.”
“I’m glad to hear it,” Steiner said, rearranging his dignity as best he could.
“Good.” Gerhard leaned across the table and helped himself to more wine. “I’ll speak to him as soon as I can. Now…” He took a deep draught of the vintage. “What can you tell me about this healer?”
“You certainly won’t find any heresy there,” Steiner assured him. “Greta Reifenstal has been helping people all her life.”
“Nevertheless,” Gerhard said, “it’s not unheard of for country healers to meddle with powers best left alone.”
“I’ve never seen anything of the like,” Steiner assured him. “She uses herbs and plants a good deal, and can set a bone as well as a city chirurgeon, but there’s nothing mystical about her. Or her daughter.” Abruptly Rudi remembered Hanna’s apparent indifference to the heated cauldron that had seared his palm. He felt his mouth go dry. He had little enough time for her, that was true, but he wouldn’t want to see her killed. Even if she truly was a witch. Which of course she wasn’t. The idea was ridiculous…
“Well, time will tell.” Gerhard’s tone was even. “The innocent have nothing to fear.” He might truly have believed his own words, but Rudi wasn’t so sure. He was beginning to suspect that in the real world no one was truly innocent, and no one had nothing to fear. “Odd, though, wouldn’t you say, that with all her expertise she could do nothing to alleviate this contagion?” Steiner shrugged.
“How would I know? I’m no doctor. But she hasn’t stopped trying, I can tell you that.”
“Some of the people she’s treated have stopped getting worse,” Rudi put in, desperate to deflect the witch hunter’s suspicions. “Even if no one’s recovered, she’s been helping them at least.”
“Perhaps.” Gerhard spoke as though the matter was of little importance. “I’ll know more when I’ve spoken to her.” He turned back to Rudi. “Now, those names I asked you for…”
When the meeting had concluded Rudi found himself out in the street again. Steiner had conducted him to the kitchen door with almost indecent haste, a couple of new letters to be delivered tucked into his pouch. Gerhard had scrawled a few lines on each scrap of paper, and he hadn’t needed to be able to read them to deduce their tone or contents. Peremptory summonses to Magnus and Greta, to discuss what they knew of the crisis with him.
He trotted the handful of yards to Magnus’ house, hoping to speak to the merchant. His head was bursting with the events of the day, and he needed a sympathetic ear to discuss them with. His father would be waiting at home, true, but he doubted that Gunther’s earthy pragmatism would be able to cope with such momentous news. Magnus, on the other hand, was a man of the world, and he was sure he’d be able to offer some sound advice.
To his great disappointment, however, the merchant was not at home. The only person around was Kirstin, who took the letter. Again she let her hand linger against his for a fraction of a second before withdrawing it. Her fingers curled around the folded paper. She looked into his eyes for a moment, slightly disappointed then turned away, closing the door with an automatic exchange of pleasantries.
Feeling slightly let down, Rudi turned to go. He still had Greta’s letter to deliver, and for a moment the thought cheered him. He didn’t doubt that her robust good sense would be almost as good as asking Magnus’ advice. Then, with a sudden sinking feeling, he remembered he had another message to deliver to the cottage too. Hans Katzenjammer’s ridiculous plea to Hanna to lift the curse he’d imagined in his delirium. That wouldn’t exactly go down well at the best of times, and with a summons from a witch hunter for her mother in his pouch the prospect had suddenly become ten times worse. Nevertheless he’d been paid to deliver the message, and felt honour-bound to do so.
For a moment he was tempted to bypass the Reifenstal’s cottage and go straight home, but that would be a very bad idea. Gerhard would be expecting his
message to be delivered as soon as possible, and everything he’d seen of the man convinced him that he would be a bad enemy to make.
There was nothing else for it, he’d just have to get it over with as quickly as he could. He turned to retrace his steps, intending to cut through the square, which the Steiner mansion overlooked. From there he would make his way to the main gate.
As he approached the square, a confused babble of sound came to his ears. Voices were raised, and the clatter of footsteps echoed on the dried mud of the street, hurrying towards the source of the disturbance. Rudi picked up his pace, curious to see what was going on.
“Let me through! I need to talk to the witch hunter!” Something about the voice was familiar, although the speaker was hidden among the knot of onlookers that was flooding into the square in response to the commotion. Rudi had noticed a few of the villagers hanging about outside Steiner’s house when he’d visited that evening, their numbers swelled by the small gaggle of the curious who followed Gerhard wherever he went at a respectful distance. Having left by the rear entrance he hadn’t paid them any further mind, but it was clear from the level of the noise that no one had got bored and gone home yet. Quite the contrary, there was a considerable crowd by now. Night was beginning to fall in earnest, and their faces took on a sinister hue, lit by the flickering flames of torches and the few sconces attached to the walls of the nearby houses.
“No one’s seeing the witch hunter tonight.” Big Franz loomed above the crowd, a couple of nervous-looking militiamen at his shoulders, barring the way to the Steiner house. He looked even more gaunt than he had that afternoon, his face slick with perspiration, and Rudi found himself wondering if the plague had claimed him at last. Whether it had or not, though, his strength was clearly undiminished, as he was holding off a struggling figure who was trying with relentless determination to force his way past. “He’s got business with the burgomeister.”
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