Kaspar sighed and knelt beside the convulsing Nikolai, his eyes widening as he saw what Chekatilo was pointing at. On the ratcatcher's side there was a small wound, little more than a scratch.
But the wound suppurated, weeping a thin gruel of pus, and the flesh around the wound was a peculiar shade of green, a spiderweb of necrotic jade veins radiating outwards from the cut. Kaspar had seen many wounds that had become infected, but had only ever seen something like this once before...
In the shoulder of the Knight Panther who had been shot by the mysterious sharpshooter on the Urskoy Prospekt just before he died from the rampaging infection that Sofia had been unable to halt.
'Show me where this happened,' said Kaspar.
II
PJOTR IVANOVICH Losov, chief advisor to the Tzarina of Kislev, scratched nervously at the parchments before him, signing orders, authorising promotions and dating proclamations. But his mind was unfocussed and eventually he stood the quill in the inkwell before him and leaned back in his chair.
He knew now that the attack on Chekatilo's brothel had failed to kill the crook and that Kajetan had somehow survived the assassin's attempt to prevent his handover to the Chekist.Losov felt a sheen of perspiration across his body, despite the chill of his private chambers, and rubbed a hand across his thin, ascetic features. His robes of office were scarlet, wound at the collar and trims with gold thread and decorated with black fur and silver tassels. Normally it gave him a sense of security to be so dressed, but he felt acutely vulnerable just now.
What if Chekatilo and the ambassador were to join forces? She said they would not, that the ambassador's hatred for the Kislevite would blind him to the idea of cooperation, but Losov was not so sure. She also believed she had him wrapped around her little finger, that he danced to her tune, but Losov did not think that von Velten was a man who could be so easily manipulated.
Who could have predicted that he would not kill Kajetan? After the violation of his physician, they had felt confident that either Kajetan would kill the ambassador and then be cut down by the Knights Panther, or that von Velten would be forced to kill the swordsman. Either way, it was a problem solved. But when the ambassador had returned with Kajetan alive, it had thrown them into a panic.
It did now appear their alarm had been unfounded, however, Kajetan now little more than a catatonic wretch awaiting death. She was content to simply have Kajetan watched now, saying that his continued descent into madness might yet prove useful to the Dark Gods.
If only Teugenheim had not been such a bloody libertine and got himself sent back to the Empire in disgrace. The man had been a weak-willed fool and easy to control, but von Velten was a different kettle of fish, disrupting plans that had been years in the making with his unthinking blunderings.
Well, at least Pavel Korovic was probably out of the picture. That thought alone gave him comfort; that the fat bastard he had had kill Andrej Vilkova would, if not already dead, be dying an extremely painful death. He wondered if von Velten knew of Korovic's murky past and briefly pondered how he might allow it to reach the ambassadors ears without incriminating himself.
He smiled, feeling sure the ambassador would enjoy hearing that particular nugget of information.
III
SOFIA SAT ON the edge of Pavel's bed, gripping his wrist and feeling the weak, thready beat of his pulse. She had managed to prevent the cold from killing him, but shook her head, knowing that the big man was not out of danger yet.
Colour had returned to his face, but he was still desperately fevered, needing rest and nourishment if he were to regain his strength. She had stitched the cuts and bites across his flesh, sitting up all night to drain the infected wounds of pus and evil humours, and applying ointments that she hoped would kill whatever filth had got into his blood. She had seen too much death recently and was damned if she would lose Pavel. The ambassador had asked her to look after this man and she would not let him down, not for anything.
She felt her eyelids drooping, more tired than she could ever remember. The last few weeks had passed in a blur, the nightmare streets of the city where the plague had taken hold haunting her dreams when she was able to snatch a few fitful hours of rest.
Hundreds had already died and the contagion was spreading. The other physicians did not want to believe that their quarantine and so-called cures were failing to halt the spread of the disease. Starting in the poorer quarters of the city adjacent to the Goromadny Prospekt, the plague had, at first, spread in a highly unusual manner, appearing in areas of the city nowhere near the initial outbreak. Worse, the epidemic seemed to change with each passing day, manifesting symptoms amongst its victims of a dozen different contagions.
While studying in Altdorf, she had read the journals of those physicians who had attempted to fight off the great plague that had swept the Empire in the twelfth century, learning the patterns in which such epidemics typically spread. At first the outbreak in Kislev had defied all that she had learned, appearing to move like a wayward traveller through the city and alter its effects before settling on a final epicentre. If only they could find the source and nature of the contagion they might stand a chance of defeating it.
But she was tired, so very tired, and could think of nothing but how good it would be to fall asleep curled up beneath soft, warm bedsheets.
Sofia cried out as she felt a hand on her shoulder, realising she had fallen asleep for a moment. She shook herself awake and smiled weakly as she saw Kaspar standing over her.
'You startled me.' she said.
'Sorry, I didn't mean to.'
'What time is it?' asked Sofia, rubbing her eyes.
'It's morning,' said Kaspar. 'How is he?'
Sofia brushed a strand of lank, auburn hair from her forehead and said, 'He is better, but is far from well, Kaspar.'
'Will he live? Honestly?'
'Honestly, I do not know,' admitted Sofia. 'I am trying all I can, but there is only so much I can do for him.'
'You should get some sleep,' said Kaspar. 'You look dead on your feet.'
'I cannot sleep,' said Sofia, rather more sharply than she intended, 'there is too much to do. I have to go out, there are more cases of the plague every day and we can't seem to stop it.'
'You need sleep,' pressed Kaspar. 'You will be of no use to anyone if you make a mistake through tiredness.'
'And how many more will die because I am sleeping and unable to care for them?' demanded Sofia, immediately regretting the words. Kaspar seemed not to notice and put his hand back on her shoulder. Without thinking, she reached up and took his hand.
'You can't save them all, Sofia. No matter how hard you try.'
'I know,' she said, 'but it hurts. Every one you lose hurts.'
'Aye, I understand,' agreed Kaspar. 'I felt the same every time I walked the field before a battle. Knowing that no matter what I did, many of my soldiers would die. There is nothing so much like a god on earth as a general on a battlefield, Sofia. With a word I was condemning men to death and nothing I could do would prevent that.'
Sofia nodded, finally noticing the utilitarian clothes Kaspar was clothed in: plain riding britches and a several layers of quilted jerkins. He carried a small pot helmet under one arm and instead of his usual rapier, wore a short, stabbing sword buckled at his waist next to his ubiquitous pistols.
'Where are you going dressed like that?' she asked.
'Below the city, into the sewers.'
'Whatever for?'
'Because I think that we might find something that will explain what the hell is happening to this city. Too much is going on that doesn't make sense, and I think we might get some answers down there.'
'Are you going with Chekatilo? I heard what happened last night.'
'Aye,' nodded Kaspar.
'Do you trust him? Because you shouldn't.'
'No, I don't, but I think he's right, there are forces working against us and I need to know more.'
Seeing that Kaspar would not
be dissuaded from this course of action, Sofia simply nodded and said, 'Please be careful, Kaspar.'
'I will,' he promised and leaned down to kiss her cheek.
Neither of them saw Anastasia watching from the hallway.
IV
REJAK WEDGED THE tapered end of the iron bar beneath the rim of the sewer cover and pushed down, levering it from the cobbles of the Goromadny Prospekt. As the heavy bronze cover rose, Kurt Bremen reached down and wedged his fingers beneath it, dragging it away from the opening. A foul stench wafted up from below and Kaspar was glad of the camphor-doused scarf Sofia had given him before leaving the embassy.
He pulled the scarf over his mouth and nose as Bremen finally lifted the sewer cover clear and stared down into the darkness.
'Sigmar's oath, it smells worse than an orc down there.'
'What you expect? It's a sewer.' sneered Rejak, getting down on his haunches and swinging his leg onto the rusted ladder. He wore faded leather riding clothes with a pair of long-bladed daggers sheathed at his waist. In addition to his weapons, he carried a clinking canvas satchel slung over one shoulder and a pair of hooded lanterns over the other. Bremen ignored him and followed the assassin into the sewers with a grimace of distaste. The knight had relinquished his normal plate armour and instead wore a plain iron breastplate over a padded leather jerkin. Kaspar could see how much it irked the Knight Panther to be out of his armour.
As Bremen disappeared below the level of the street, Kaspar and Chekatilo shared an uneasy glance. There was no love lost between them and the idea of descending into the labyrinthine darkness below Kislev with someone who would quite happily see him dead was clearly not an appealing prospect for either man.
'After you.' said Kaspar.
'The ambassador is too kind.' grumbled Chekatilo, lowering himself to the sewer entrance. He clambered onto the ladder and Kaspar feared for a moment that the giant Kislevite crook's girth would be too great to fit through the hole in the ground. Taking a deep breath and sucking in his prodigious gut, Chekatilo was able to squeeze through and, as his head vanished into the darkness, Kaspar followed him down.
THE INKY BLACKNESS was utterly impenetrable beyond the diffuse cone of light that descended from the world above. A glistening tunnel stretched off into the darkness, its continuing course lost to sight. Once Kaspar stepped from the ladder, Rejak knelt at its base and removed a tinderbox, striking sparks with the flint and blowing the tinder to life to light the oil-soaked wicks of the two lanterns.
He handed one lamp to Bremen, keeping the other for himself, and the yellow light cast its warm glow around the dripping echoes of the sewer tunnel. The wet brickwork threw back glittering reflections of light, pinpoints of brightness that rippled on the surface of the sluggish river of effluent that ran down the centre of the sewer tunnel.
'Now what?' asked Kurt Bremen, panning the light from his lantern around the tunnel.
Rejak examined the mud around the base of the ladder, saying, 'Is good. Ground has frozen, so tracks still here.'
'What can you tell?' asked Kaspar.
'Tracks of a man come from that way,' said Rejak, pointing northwards along the length of the tunnel. 'Lot of space between each track, so man was running to ladder.'
'Like a man running from rats that walk like men,' pointed out Chekatilo.
'Running from something, perhaps, but let's wait and see what we find before leaping to wild conclusions,' said Kaspar.
Chekatilo shrugged and set off after Rejak, who started up the tunnel, keeping his eyes locked to the frozen muddy ground. Kaspar followed Chekatilo, with Kurt Bremen bringing up the rear.
The curved roof of the tunnel was just low enough to force him to stoop and Kaspar knew that he would suffer for this expedition on the morrow. The ground was hard and rutted, the imprint of the ratcatcher's tracks clearly visible, and Kaspar wondered what exactly had happened down here to drive the man Chekatilo had brought him to such a state of lunacy.
The tunnel echoed with the steady drip of moisture, the noise of their footsteps and the sound of their breathing. Kaspar's breath misted before him and he shivered in the oppressive gloom that the lamps did little to dispel. Even with the scarf he wore wrapped around his mouth and nose, the stench from the dark water that ran beside them was horrendous.
The four men made slow progress along the curving brickwork tunnel, Rejak stopping every now and then to more carefully examine a track in the frozen mud. Kaspar began to regret his decision to come down here; there was nothing here in the sewers except the stench and the cold.
He pulled the scarf from his face, grimacing as the full force of the sewer stench hit him, ready to call a halt to this foolhardy expedition, when Rejak spoke, his voice magnified in the dim light of the tunnel. 'Something strange.'
'What is it?' asked Kaspar.
'Look,' said Rejak, pointing to where a sprawling pile of debris, bricks and mud lay on the ledge that ran alongside the effluent, leaving a gaping black hole in the wall.
'Some bricks and stone, what of it?' said Kaspar.
'You not see?' said Rejak. 'Bricks been knocked into tunnel. Someone broke down wall and tunnelled in here.'
'Why would someone need to tunnel into the sewers?' asked Kurt Bremen.
'Perhaps because they could not travel on the streets above,' suggested Chekatilo.
Kaspar knelt beside the rubble as Rejak shone the light of his lantern into the hole in the wall. The tunnel was wide and high, several yards in diameter, and disappeared into darkness. Kaspar had the sudden sensation that the passage led to a place of terrible nightmares.
Rejak joined him and said, 'More tracks. Two sets, smaller, not human.'
'Not human?'
'No, see. These tracks barefoot and only four toes. Clawed too. Two sets come out, but only one goes back.'
'What do you think made them?'
Rejak shrugged, running his fingers around the edges of the tracks. 'I do not know, but whatever they were, they carried something heavy with them. Tracks coming into tunnel very deep, but one that goes back not so deep.'
Kaspar could see no difference between the tracks, but trusted that Rejak knew what he was talking about. The assassin moved off to continue following the tracks and Kaspar's knee began to ache from crouching, but as he made to stand up, he saw the frozen corpse of a huge rat lying partially buried in the rubble.
'Wait a moment,' said Kaspar, lifting broken bricks from the dead rat and pulling its stiff and frozen body free of the debris. Its spine had been broken, presumably by the tunnel wall when it had collapsed, and a thin line of blood had frozen around its jaws.
'You find something?' asked Chekatilo.
'Maybe,' said Kaspar. 'Kurt, bring the lamp closer.'
Bremen stood behind Kaspar and held his lantern close to the dead rat. Kaspar turned its furry body over, unsurprised to see a triangular brand mark imprinted on its back.
'What is that?' asked Chekatilo. 'A scar?'
Kaspar shook his head. 'No, I don't think so. I saw this same mark on a rat I found in the remains of your brothel. I think it is some kind of brand or something.'
Chekatilo nodded as Kaspar dropped the rat. 'Still think this a fool's errand?'
'I'm not sure what to think just now,' admitted Kaspar, standing and brushing his gloves against his britches; touching the rat had made him feel unclean.
They set off once more, the tunnel curving and soon widening into a domed chamber with a vaulted ceiling and a wide pool of lapping sewage at its centre. The smooth enamelled tiles of the ceiling threw the light from their lamps around the echoing space and Kaspar could see submerged sewage pipes just below the surface of the water. A circular ledge some six feet wide ran around the circumference of the chamber and Kaspar admired the scale of engineering skill that had built these tunnels, proud that it had been one of his countrymen who had designed them.
The group made its way around the edge of the chamber, Rejak following the tracks to a
point on its far side. Here, he stopped, kneeling to better examine a patch of ground where a number of differing tracks converged.
'We need some more light,' said Kurt Bremen, squinting at the tracks.
'Not a problem,' said Rejak, opening the clinking canvas satchel he carried and removing thin lengths of timber with their ends tightly wrapped in cloth. Kaspar could smell the acrid reek of lamp oil on the cloth as he took the torch from Rejak and lit it from the flame of Bremen's lamp.
Flickering flames illuminated the chamber and Kaspar took some reassurance from the simple act of having a flame in the darkness. Rejak returned his attention to the tracks as the last of the torches were lit.
'They met someone. Two people.' he said. 'A man and a woman.'
'How can you tell?' asked Kaspar. To him, the tracks were little more than a jumble of impressions in the mud that could mean anything.
'Woman's feet much smaller, not as deep as man's and she wears woman's shoe.' explained Rejak. 'They brought cart or dray with them, see?'
That at least Kaspar could read from the tracks: parallel grooves in the frozen filth running towards an arched opening in the chamber's wall. A brickwork tunnel curved away into the darkness beyond the archway, but even with his burning torch, Kaspar could not see more than a few yards along its length.
'Why would someone in a sewer need a cart?' he wondered.
'Whatever the ones who broke into tunnel were carrying must have been taken away on the cart. Perhaps coffin Nikolai spoke of.' said Chekatilo. 'That explain why tracks that went back into tunnel not as deep. They brought it here, but not leave with it.'
'But who did they bring it for?' wondered Kaspar.
Bremen walked over to the archway, shining the light from his lantern into the tunnel beyond. He bent to examine the cart tracks and said, 'The cart they used has a cracked rim on one of the wheels on its left side, look. See, every revolution it leaves a "v" shaped impression in the mud.'
Warhammer - [The Ambassador Chronicles 02] - Ursun's Teeth Page 8
