by William King
“Yes. You think there is a connection?”
“Again, it is an unlikely coincidence.”
“You are starting to frighten me,” she said.
“There’s nothing to fear, I am here,” he said, reaching out for her.
“But what about when you are not,” she said, moving into his arms and kissing him.
The next morning, after he had visited the shrine of Saint Verma, Kormak made his way to the cell of Frater Lucian.
“Come to make another offering, brother?” said Lucian as Kormak entered his chamber. He got up from his stool, moved around the desk, went to the arched window, looked out, moved to the door, looked into the corridor, closed the door and ushered Kormak in. Kormak went over and checked the window himself, and then remained there so he would have a view of the courtyard outside.
“Yes,” said Kormak loudly. Lucian moved over to stand beside him. There was a worried look on his long, bony face. His fingers writhed for a moment before he locked them together as if in prayer.
“Have you made any progress?” Lucian asked.
“I encountered the Silent Man and I know there is some form of were-beast in the city. It stalked me last night.”
Lucian’s features went even more pale. His mouth tightened into a compressed line. He seemed to be trying to pull his hands apart and be unable to for a moment.
“You met the Silent Man?”
“He is one of the unliving.”
“That means a necromancer.”
“Or someone who more than dabbles in the dark arts.”
“And a were-beast? Are they the same person do you think?”
“No. I think one of them works for the Krugmans. I don’t know about the other yet. Maybe. It may simply just be taking advantage of the chaos in the city.”
“Whatever it is doing it is no good thing. All of the skin-turners are Moon worshippers.”
“Those that do not follow the Shadow, at least,” said Kormak.
“That’s hardly reassuring. You think it is a werewolf?”
“No. A city like Vermstadt is not their usual hunting ground. The rats are numerous and aggressive. Cats have been disappearing.”
“You think it may be a ratkin then?”
Kormak nodded.
“The ratkin are also known as the children of Murnath,” said Lucian. “This city was sacred to him in the days before the Blessed Verma drove the Old Ones out.”
“Murnath has not been seen for nigh on two thousand years,” said Kormak. “Saint Verma destroyed him or so it is recorded.”
“He bred a lot of children,” said Lucian. “The ratkin skin-turners. This city was a sacred spot to them once. Periodically throughout history they surface again and again.”
“What more can you tell me?”
“Not much but there may be something in the Council Archives. Or the archives in the Prelate’s palace. Either way, I should be able to get access to them. There must be something useful there.”
“Find out everything you can about the Cult of Murnath and its connection with the city.”
Lucian nodded then licked his lips nervously, as if caught between his fear and his desire to be about his business.
“Don’t let me stop you,” Kormak said. “Time is getting short.”
“What about you?”
“I am going to visit my new employers,” said Kormak. “They may have something new to tell me.”
Karsten was in an expansive mood. He strode across the great carpet in his study, planted himself with his feet astride the symbol of the sun, tilted his golden head upwards and said, “Tonight we strike at the Krugmans and put an end to them once and for all.”
Balthazar’s lips twisted into something that might have been a smile or might have been a sneer.
“How do you propose to do that?” Kormak asked.
“A servant in my pay will throw open the house doors to us. Our men will enter and put all of the Krugmans to the sword. Balthazar assures me the Silent Man will not be able to stop us.”
“He may not be so badly hurt he cannot rise,” Kormak said.
“Balthazar has duplicated the amulets of safety. Even if he rises he will not attack us.”
Balthazar nodded and smiled, a pet whose master had rewarded it with a treat. The black-clad man would be well-rewarded for that discovery, if he had not already been.
Kormak considered his options. He was certain that the Krugmans were practising necromancy. This would be the simplest way to get rid of that threat, even if it meant massacring the whole family.
“Jurgen has children,” Kormak said.
“And a wife,” agreed Karsten, “else he would not have been able to breed his gets.”
“Sir Kormak is perhaps too tender hearted to do what must be done,” said Balthazar. There was a mocking note in his scratchy voice.
“I will not kill innocents,” said Kormak. “If that is what you mean.”
Karsten nodded as if Kormak had just confirmed a judgement of his. He looked pleased.
“If you will not do it, I am sure Lord Karsten can find someone who will,” Balthazar said.
“I mean I will not stand by and let it happen,” said Kormak. The words were torn from him and he cursed inwardly. He was doing his position no good by blurting such things out. He could help no one if Karsten ordered him killed.
Karsten studied him closely. He looked more bearish than ever. There was a kind of sleepy menace in his manner. “Sir Kormak was a knight once if I am not mistaken. He points out the course of honour to us and he is right to. We need not make war on children or women for that matter. All adult males must die though. Do you find that acceptable?”
There was something in his manner that told Kormak not to trust him. Karsten must have sensed his thoughts. “The children will need a guardian, someone the Council will appoint to manage their wealth for them till they are old enough to manage it themselves.”
“And you think the Council will appoint you?”
“I am certain of it. With a word in the right ear and the promise of a division of the spoils among interested parties it will all be arranged.”
“The children would end up paupers.”
“At least they would not be dead, Sir Kormak. Come now, I have shown you I have good reason to spare them and if they are destitute they can be no threat to me. I have no reason to have them . . . removed from the scene.”
At least not until you have plundered their wealth, Kormak thought. His self-control had returned and he kept his mouth shut. “Very well,” Kormak said.
“Good,” said Karsten. “Fight well tonight and you will be a very wealthy man by the morning. You will have enough to buy off any blood on your hands at the shrine of the saint and still live like a prince for years to come.”
“You are very generous.”
“Indeed. This is one fee that Jurgen won’t be able to guess or match. And, please do not even think about trying to get him to do so.”
“I would not dream of it.”
“It would be best if you did not. Oh by the way, I have a visitor. I understand he is a friend of yours.” He rang a bell on the table. Jan entered the room.
Karsten picked up a golden letter opener and went to stand over by the boy. The letter opener’s blade glittered in his hand. It was very near the boy’s neck. Kormak understood the message. If he tried to warn Jurgen, Jan’s throat would be cut.
“He tells me he saved your life last night,” Karsten said. Jan looked at once ashamed and proud, as if unsure whether he should have claimed such credit for a deed he was very proud of. “Is that true?”
“Yes,” Kormak said.
“Then he should be rewarded,” said Karsten slapping the boy on the back jovially and tossing him a silver coin. Jan’s eyes widened.
“You’re too kind, sir.”
“Any friend of Sir Kormak is a friend of mine,” Karsten said. “Now run along boy and tell my cellar master to give you a page’s
uniform and a good meal. We can surely find some work for you around here.” Jan bowed clumsily and gratefully and turned and ran out.
Karsten turned back to Kormak. “A quick boy that. We will be able to make something out of him one way or another.”
Kormak kept his face impassive. “You said we are going to attack the Krugman’s tonight.”
Karsten smiled. “We meet at the Golden Bear tavern. There will be a feast for my followers or so the word will be put about. The men will assemble and we will strike hard and fast at the Krugmans.”
“Very good,” Kormak said.
“Till tonight then,” he said.
Chapter Twelve
A MONK ENTERED the Gilded Lion. He wore the habit of Saint Verma. He walked up to the bar, talked with the barman who pointed at Kormak then came over. “You are Sir Kormak?”
Kormak nodded.
“I have a message for you from Frater Lucian. He seemed to think it was urgent. He insisted I get it to you by Vespers although how he expected me to find you if you were not here, I do not know . . .”
“You have the message?” Kormak was keen to stop the man. He looked capable of simply rambling on.
The monk produced a rolled up scroll from within his sleeve. The wax seal did not look as if it had been tampered with. The monk waited, head tilted to one side as if he either expected something or was curious to see what Lucian had written. Kormak dropped a silver shilling in his hand. “For your trouble, brother.” The monk recoiled as if insulted.
He sat back in the chair and the man still watched him. “You can put the money in the poor box if you wish. Best return and tell Frater Lucian that you have given me his message.”
The monk nodded. “Of course. Blessings of the Sun upon you.”
“And you, frater,” Kormak said. He broke the seal and unrolled the message. It was written in Frater Lucian’s shaky hand. It read, Meet me in the Council Archives. Come at once! I have found something of dreadful import. It is matter of life and death, for you, for me, for everyone in the city.
Kormak rose from his seat. The bell tolled the tenth hour. If he hurried he might have time to see Lucian and learn whatever the monk had to tell him before it was time to assemble at the Golden Bear.
He stepped out into the night air. The full moon glared down mockingly from the chilly sky.
Kormak’s footsteps echoed deep below the Council Chambers. He could feel the weight of the massive old building pressing down on him. At least it was dry and warm. Someone had taken the trouble to preserve the city’s records.
Even before he opened the door, Kormak knew there was something wrong. A foul smell wafted through the air. Frater Lucian lay on the floor, sprawled in a pool of blood. His chest cavity was open in a way Kormak had seen before. He knew without having to examine the body that the heart would have been removed and most likely eaten. It seemed the Beast had arrived before him.
There were no signs of any books on the table though there were volumes missing from the shelves. There was only a pen, ink, a blotter, a candle and wax. Kormak did not wonder that the body had not been found yet. The reading room was deep below the Council Hall, at the end of a long corridor. It looked rarely used. It might be days before anyone noticed the corpse.
He continued to search but he was certain now that he would find nothing. The Beast had taken whatever it was that Lucian had found. Looking down at the dead body Kormak felt a very great anger. Another innocent had fallen victim to the skin-turner and he had been a servant of his own order, the last of many, apparently. He thought of Frater Ambrose and his agents. He thought about Lucian, who had wanted only to stay in his cell but who had risked his life coming here.
He heard a skittering sound atop the pile of books. Looking up he saw a large rat glaring down at him with mocking eyes. Before he could do anything, it scampered away into the shadows. Kormak became aware of footsteps racing down the corridor. The door slammed open behind him.
Sergeant Altman glared at him. He held his blade in his hand. Behind him were a squad of watchmen. Two of them held crossbows. “Hold it right there,” said Altman.
One of the men standing behind him said, “Looks like we caught him red-handed this time.”
“Don’t move,” said the Sergeant. He levelled his crossbow so that it pointed directly at Kormak.
“I didn’t kill him, you know that,” said Kormak.
“Do I? I only have your word for that.”
“What are we waiting for, Sergeant. Let’s take him to the cells and beat a confession out of him. He won’t get away with it this time.”
Altman looked grim. The rest of the watchmen looked scared and trigger-happy. It was not a good combination. All it would take is one false move and violence would erupt.
“The monk said he saw it, Sergeant,” the watchman said. “We have a witness.”
“Did I tear his chest open? Did I pull out his heart?” Kormak asked. “Don’t you think I would have blood on me if I did?”
“The monk said he changed into a gigantic rat-faced beast.”
“And yet I am standing here with no blood on me,” Kormak said.
“He’s a skin-turner, Sergeant. Who knows what he’s capable of?”
“Let’s hear your side of it,” Altman said. His voice was flat and calm. His hands were steady. Kormak doubted he would miss at this range.
“I got a message from Frater Lucian telling me to meet him here.”
“You’ve got this message with you, of course?”
Kormak nodded.
“Pull it out very slowly, put it on the table and then walk over to the wall.”
Kormak did as he was told. Altman walked into the room, flanked by the two crossbowmen. He put his own weapon on the table, picked up the paper and looked at it. “He’s telling the truth about this at least.”
“Are you going to let him stand there with that sword on his belt, Sergeant?” The watchman asked. “We’d better take it off him.”
“Only if you want to die,” said Kormak.
Altman looked at him. “It’s the first time the Beast has struck outside the Maze,” he said.
“I know what it is,” Kormak said. He indicated Lucian’s corpse. “So did he. That’s why he is dead.”
Altman’s eyes widened. “What is it?”
“A ratkin, a skin-turner, a child of Murnath.”
Some of the watchmen went white. Some of them gasped. One of them dropped his sword. Altman did not look too surprised.
“Why him, not you?”
Kormak tapped the hilt of his blade with his finger. “Easier target or . . .”
A thought struck him. “You said a monk told you I had killed Lucian. What did he look like?”
Altman’s description fitted the messenger who had brought Kormak the letter perfectly. “It wanted me here,” he said. “It wanted you here as well.”
“So we could arrest you?” Altman asked.
Kormak shook his head. “It does not care. It just needs you to keep me here for a while.”
“Why?”
“Because it’s going to the Golden Bear,” Kormak said.
“You’re about to tell me the reason, aren’t you?” Altman said.
“Karsten Oldberg is giving a feast there,” Kormak said. “I should be there too.”
“What does the Beast want with Oldberg?”
“I suspect it is going to kill him,” Kormak said.
“Then we’d better go warn him.”
“If we still have time.”
The snow crunched under Kormak’s boots as he raced through the street. His breath came out in cold clouds. He could hear the watchmen straggling out behind him.
It was late and most people were already abed. The Council Hall was mostly dark behind them and the Cathedral was only a gloomy mountain looming out of the snow. Kormak’s mind raced faster than his body.
He prayed he was wrong. It was just possible that the ratkin had killed Lucian because he w
as onto something, but the timing of killing and the messenger bringing the watch pointed to something else entirely. Karsten’s preparations for a grand attack were the only thing he could think of that would justify that.
The Beast must be confident indeed to attack a tavern full of armed men, but it would have advantages. Skin-turners were all but immune to normal weapons, only silver and fire or his dwarf-forged blade would hurt them. He imagined the were-beast unleashed in a tightly packed mass of panicking men. It could easily fight its way through to Karsten and kill him, and escape afterwards. It seemed like Karsten’s plan to land a killing blow against the Krugmans was about to be turned against him. What he thought was a surprise attack on them was going to be one on him instead.
It certainly looked as if the Beast favoured the Krugman’s although why that should be, he could not guess. He knew that if Karsten Oldberg was killed they would be the most powerful clan in the city. Kormak raced on, hoping that would be in time to stop the slaying.
In the Golden Bear torches flared and hot fires blazed. Men in the tabards of the House of Oldberg drank and toasted their leader. Men who carried swords and looked like they knew how to use them swore oaths about what they were going to do to the lackeys of the House of Krugman when the order came. All of them knew they had been summoned for something big, that Karsten Oldberg would speak soon and they would wipe those filthy Krugman bastards from the face of the earth.
Captain Rene staggered outside to the jakes, and pissed against the wall, watching the hot urine melt the snow, before stepping back in.
On the wooden walls of the stall a huge rat perched. It watched him with wicked eyes then chittered mockingly. An answering cry came from the roof of the jakes and he thought he heard soft scuttling movements. He aimed a blow at the beast but it sprang to one side and then bit his hand. Cursing, he rubbed the wound, looking around he saw more and more rats looking at him from the darkness. He walked forward and aimed a kick at the tightly packed mass. They scurried away into the shadows, cold eyes glittering.
