1 the claws of chaos

by ich du

  She walked down the corridor, up a short flight of steps and out through the rusted gateway into the small exercise yard. Her skin prickled in the cold air. The ground was awash with snow that numbed her feet, beginning to melt as the first touches of winter's end began to take hold. She took a few deep breaths of air, fresh in comparison to the dank squalor of the gaol, and noticed the distinctive smell of smoke. Looking up above the high wall, she saw a pillar of darkness rising into the air. It was the third fire in as many days, and she resolved to quiz Lowl about it when he did his rounds at midday. Putting thoughts of the violent disturbances beyond the walls to the back of her mind, she set to her task.

  There were no flowers here in the prison, but using her fingernails, she scraped the red moss from out of the cracks between the stones of the building. When she had a handful, way into the old Sigmarite shrine. It was a small, low room, barely high enough for her to stand, no more than a few yards square. The room was dim, lit only by two smoking wicks in small bowls of animal fat. Lowl had laughed when she had presented her first dozen rats and asked that he use the proceeds to procure her the lamp wicks and tinderbox for the shrine. He had said that the protection of a blanket and a hot meal would serve her better than the protection of a distant god. She had replied that now was the time she needed Sigmar the most, to look after her when it seemed everyone else had forsaken her. He had been silent then and the next day had returned with the tinder and cheap lamps.

  Her cold, cramped fingers clumsily wove the strands of moss together into a wreath no larger than a bracelet. Kneeling in front of the far wall, she looked at the scrubbed walls and the chipped relief insignia of Sigmar's hammer. Clasping the moss token to her chest in both hands, she began her prayers. As she spoke the words, the cold flowed from her body as if the tiny flame of the lamps were a warm fire. She concentrated on the hammer, but her eye was drawn to the flickering flames as they danced fitfully in the chilling breeze. There was a brief moment of blazing flame and warmth in her eyes, shaking her and filling her nose with the imagined stench of burning flesh. Startled, she stood up quickly, banging her head on the ceiling, which set her ears ringing. Dazed for a second, she staggered and gave a shriek as someone grabbed her arm. Whirling around, her fingers clawed to rake the face of her assailant, she stopped herself just before she gouged at Dirk Lowl's eyes.

  'Easy there!' he exclaimed, letting go and stepping back. 'I'm sorry if I startled you.'

  'I... sorry, I banged my head,' she said lamely.

  'Yes, I saw,' admitted Lowl. He seemed distracted. 'There's someone here to see you.'

  'To see me?' Ursula replied quietly. Her heart skipped when she thought that perhaps Kurt had finally returned. 'Take me to him!'

  With a nod, Lowl led her back through the exercise yard, down the steps and along the corridor between the cells and back into the entrance hall at the bottom of the steps. Unlocking the gate, he ushered her through into the chamber.

  'In there.' the jailer told her, waving a hand towards his office. Ursula pushed open the door and darted into the small room, a smile creeping across her face, but the smile disappeared as soon as she saw that it was not Kurt waiting for her.

  The small room contained Dirk's desk and a couple of chairs. On a shelf on one wall was a row of empty bottles, the stubs of used candles protruding from their necks. Bent over Lowl's desk was a tall man, absently picking through the papers there. He was dressed in a long black leather cloak with a dark shirt and breeches underneath, and his greying hair was pulled back in a short ponytail. His face was scarred and weathered, his eyes dark and calculating as he looked over his shoulder at her. Next to him on the desk was a wide-brimmed hat from which a black feather protruded.

  HEARING URSULA ENTER, Marius van Diesl straightened and turned, giving her a cool look. She was young and very pretty, even with her scraggly hair and prison rags. She certainly did not look at all like the ugly hag of common folklore, but he knew better than to let appearances deceive him. Still, if his instinct was worth anything, it was telling him that this was a dead-end in his investigations. He had come to Badenhof searching for signs of skaven, and had been immediately greeted with hysterical accusations against this woman. He had spoken with the magistrate, the priest and other locals, and though the charges levelled were serious he had yet to hear or see any kind of evidence to support them.

  'Who are you?' the woman demanded. 'Why are you here?'

  He didn't reply immediately, taken aback slightly by her forthright manner. He marvelled at her spirit - here she was, locked in prison, taken to meet a complete stranger, all but defenceless, and yet somehow she had claimed the advantage and was questioning him! Such a strong mind might well be capable of the sort of deviant behaviour she was charged with.

  'I am Marius van Diesl.' he told her with a slight bow, hoping she did not take it as mockery.

  'The witch hunter?' she asked, not at all perturbed.

  'Some call me that, yes,' he admitted, shutting the door. He was uncomfortable with the title and many of its connotations amongst the suspicious people of the Empire. 'I prefer to think myself a defender of purity and a seeker of truth.'

  'Do you think I am a witch?' Ursula said bluntly, seeming to have ignored his reply. 'Is that why you are here?'

  'I have not decided yet what you are,' he told her truthfully. Certainly witchcraft was becoming more prevalent, but for every one true witch he had burned, there had been ten innocent men and women accused who he had set free. 'I am here to divine the truth of this matter.'

  'And just how do you propose to do that?' asked Ursula with an accusing tone in her voice, wary perhaps of torture or other violent interrogation.

  'I am simply going to talk to you,' Marius replied calmly, indicating the chair in the corner of the room with a wave of his hand. Ursula sat down hesitantly, and in a moment of self-consciousness patted ineffectively at her bedraggled hair and attempted to smooth the creases in her tattered skirt.

  'Among other crimes, you were sent to this gaol on a charge of witchcraft,' stated Marius, sitting on the edge of the study table.

  'It's all nonsense, just the bile of a twisted woman,' interjected Ursula hotly.

  'But why make such an unfounded accusation?' asked Marius, putting emphasis on the word 'unfounded'.

  'Because she is bitter that I am in love with a man she thinks should be wedding her daughter,' Ursula replied coldly. 'For two months I have been in this prison because of her scorn, and the conspiracies of her brother-in-law!'

  'Conspiracies?' repeated Marius, jumping on the word like a hunting dog. 'Such a word is not to be used lightly.'

  'Yes, conspiracy, that's what it is,' Ursula affirmed. 'He's the magistrate and almost told me to my face that he was locking me up so that he could be spared from his wife's nagging.'

  'That seems such a frivolous cause of action, what makes you think I'll believe it?' Marius inquired, gazing around the room as if distracted, although his ears were intent on Ursula's reply for any hint of falsehood or hesitation.

  'I can do nothing but tell the truth.' Ursula stated flatly.

  'Is that your only defence?' Marius snorted in mock derision, testing the girl. 'In a court of law that would hold very little weight. The magistrate has told me all about you, and the crimes you have committed. Breach of the peace, disorderly behaviour, these are not to be taken lightly.'

  'I can do nothing but tell the truth.' Ursula repeated slowly. 'I trust that Sigmar will guide my judges' thoughts, as he does mine. I may not be as pure as some, but I am no heretic or witch.'

  'Trust in Sigmar is a rare commodity in these times. Perhaps you would prefer to place yourself in the protection of Shallya, or perhaps the old wolf himself, Ulric?' suggested Marius. He had heard from Lowl about her attention to the gaol shrine, but he had known some cunning people in his time, himself included, and would not put it past a resourceful woman to have constructed a tangle of deceits and lies concerning her affairs and
beliefs.

  'Old, barbaric gods.' Ursula dismissed Marius's suggestion. 'Where were they when the orcs killed our forefathers and the northmen ravaged the lands and sacrificed our ancestors to their bloodthirsty masters? No, it was Sigmar who triumphed over these evils, and it is Sigmar who will triumph over the evil that currently attacks me. Can you not see I am a victim of jealousy, and local spite?'

  'In time I will see what is what and who is who.' Marius replied enigmatically, using one of his favourite lines.

  'And what does that mean?' snapped Ursula testily. 'What gives you the right to judge me any more than the superstitious peasants and gossiping hags in this town?'

  Marius smiled grimly in response, though inside he was impressed by the girl's forthright nature. She wasn't defensive at all, but not aggressive either. Either of the two would have set his suspicions running, because they were a good sign that the other person was trying to hide something with evasion or bluster. But with this girl, it was something else. There was a fiery confidence in her that was quite refreshing, and it made her all the more attractive. Turning his mind from such thoughts, he stood and walked around the table to sit in the chair behind it, buying himself a few moments of time to think.

  'I am actually an ordained priest of Sigmar.' he told her, completely truthfully. He had actually passed his Holy Orders in the great cathedral of Nuln when he was a young man, some twenty-five years ago. 'Perhaps with that knowledge, you will trust me.'

  Ursula remained quiet, which perplexed Marius. He had expected some kind of retort challenging his legitimacy or another accusation against his aims, but nothing was forthcoming. Looking at her, he saw that Ursula's eyes were cast down at the floor, and she began to fidget with her skirt. For a moment, he thought that this was the sign of guilt he was waiting to see. As he watched her, he changed his mind; this was not fear, it was acquiescence. Well, perhaps not acquiescence, but it was certainly devout obedience. He had simply claimed to have been a priest and her entire manner had changed.

  'Does it frighten you?' he asked her gently. 'The fact that I am a priest?'

  'No.' she replied looking up and meeting his gaze. 'If you are a brother of Sigmar as you say you are, then you will know that He protects those who love Him, and so I have nothing to fear from you or anyone.'

  'I spoke to Brother Theobald.' Marius told her, keenly watching her reaction, but there was nothing to speak of, no furtive glance, and no avoidance of his gaze. 'He told me of your little morning ritual, and the warder here informs me that you've been doing the same since your arrival.'

  'I have made no secret of it.' she said levelly. 'It is nothing wrong, merely a practice that I picked up when I was a child.'

  'Yes, I have seen versions of it before, but not within many miles of Badenhof.' he admitted. 'You must have travelled far in your short life.'

  'Yes.' Ursula concurred, and for the first time there was hesitation, the timbre of her voice had changed slightly.

  'You're holding something back!' he shouted, slapping his hand on the table and startling Ursula. Changing his approach, he strode round the table and confronted her. 'What is it? What are you not telling me?'

  'Nothing.' she replied, her gaze dropping immediately to the floor again. 'I'm an orphan; I spent many years wandering, looking for happiness. I thought I had found it here, but it seems what little I had has been taken away from me.'

  Marius half expected a tear to roll down her cheeks, or similar theatrics, but there was nothing else, just a bland statement of fact. Relentlessly, he pushed her further.

  'And that is all?' he demanded, grabbing her chin between two fingers and forcing her to look into his eyes. 'You have never secretly cursed someone, never perhaps offered up prayers to proscribed powers in the hope that they might deliver you when Sigmar seems to have deserted you.'

  'Sigmar has not deserted me!' she replied, snatching his hand away and standing up. 'Priests are supposed to offer succour, but you taunt me with the failures of my life and accuse me of terrible things of which I know nothing. What kind of priest are you?'

  Now tears did gather in her eyes; tears of sadness and frustration. In a moment of weakness he almost reached out a hand to hold her close, so strong and yet vulnerable she looked. But Marius steeled himself, feeling he was getting close to the truth.

  'And have you ever wished harm on anyone?' he asked harshly. Ursula scowled at him.

  'Of course I have, who hasn't?' she admitted, still crying. 'When my parents died and my grandfather beat me for the first time I went to my bed praying to Sigmar that a great twin-tailed comet would crash into his head. When I was poor and starving and wandering the roads, I wished ruin and poverty on the heads of the rich nobles who clattered past in their carriages and splashed me with mud. Yes, I have wished ill for other people, but only in anger and misery, not out of genuine desire to see them hurt. If you believe that is evil, then you can do what you like to me.'

  It was a fine answer, and if he thought himself any judge of the truth, Marius believed her. But there was one final test he would make to be sure. He plucked the hammer symbol of Sigmar from under his shirt, where it hung on a silver chain. It was small, no larger than his thumb, and as he hooked it over his head he saw Ursula's eyes flickering between the symbol and his face, trying to tell what would happen next.

  'Take this in your hand.' he said, thrusting the miniature hammer towards Ursula. She did so with trembling fingers while he watched her face intently. There was no reaction, no sign of pain or anguish, just nervousness. He took the holy talisman back and put it back on, turning away from the girl. There was nothing here for her to answer for, except perhaps a slight freeness of spirit and lack of manners brought about by a life of little social contact. If he was fit at all for this calling, she was no witch. But his intuition told him there was something more to this than first seemed. Why was she, of all the town's inhabitants, the one picked out for this persecution? And why had this only come to light now, just a matter of weeks before he arrived? Perhaps he was right to come here to Badenhof, maybe there was more to this parochial town than met the eye. Looking at Ursula, he saw she was shaking, a tear rolling down her cheek.

  'Is it over?' she asked hesitantly, her eyes fearful.

  'Yes, you have nothing more to prove to me.' he said, and she stepped in towards him.

  'Thank you, thank you.' she said, burrowing her head in his chest. He let himself relax, and put an arm around her shoulder. She sobbed for only a few moments before she stepped back and wiped the moisture from her cheeks.

  'Sigmar protects.' Marius muttered, remembering the massive gold-inlaid words carved above the main gates to the Nuln cathedral. This was not some random incident, he decided. He would keep the girl close, gain her confidence and see what happened. While he was doing that, he would do well to keep her safe from whomever was trying to distract him from his real task. He had a feeling that Badenhof could be a key to unlocking the skaven mystery.

  A COLD WIND blew in through the door of the house as Marius stepped inside, kicking slushy snow from his riding boots. He hung his hat and cloak on a hook on the wall and slammed shut the ill-fitting door with a bang. Ursula looked over at him and smiled, before spooning hot broth into a cup from the pot hanging in the fireplace. She took the steaming soup over to the table whilst the witch hunter pulled off his boots with a groan. She heard the heavy footsteps of Ruprecht coming down the stairs and hurried back to the pot to ladle out another serving. The two of them sat down and ate in silence while Ursula busied herself fetching bread and cheese.

  For ten days now she had acted as housekeeper to the pair after Marius had arranged her release from the gaol, in a small abandoned cottage just a little further out from the shrine along the Sigmarstrasse. The rest of the witch hunter's men were berthed in inns and homes throughout Badenhof, while they continued searching for the conspirators within the town. She had heard the whispers when she had gone shopping for food, and seen the je
alous glances of the other townsfolk, yet so far the protection of the intimidating Marius seemed to have kept her from further harm. Every day she had gone to the shrine to pray, for Kurt's safe return and speedy end to the town's woes, and she had been met with frosty stares and silent derision from Frau Linde, who waited for Ursula by her door every morning.

  When he had finished, Ruprecht pushed away his dish, belched loudly and leaned his chair back on its legs.

  'Darius found the body of Herr Stein,' he reported, with a glance at Ursula, who bustled back to the kitchen to leave them in some privacy. As she clattered with the pans, she caught snippets of their conversation.

  'Where was it?' Marius asked.

  'That's the thing, it was on the other side of town from his warehouse.' Ruprecht said. 'And it was not a pretty sight. We kept it covered up and the watch don't know, but it was plague-ridden.'

  'But he died of a heart failure. How in Sigmar's name did he get plague after he was dead?' said Marius.

  'I haven't any idea,' muttered Ruprecht, slurping the remnants of his soup. 'Perhaps he wasn't dead at first.'

  'Not dead?' said Marius. 'I suppose if you want your activities to remain hidden, there's little better alibi than being in your grave, but why bring this to everyone's attention by having that grave dug up?'

  'I don't have all the answers,' Ruprecht said.

  'No, of course you don't, neither of us do,' admitted Marius. 'Two weeks we've been here and hardly a sniff of any skaven activity other than my suspicions and some odd events. Any other successes today?'

  'Still nothing to be found in the south district,' the big man complained as Ursula returned with a plate of baked potatoes and turnips. 'It's like a horde of orcs have been through there, one building in five is a smouldering ruin. The whole Suidenstrasse is a pile of rubble. When the townsfolk heard plague victims were living there they put the whole street to the torch before the watch turned up. Even the grave diggers are complaining there's too much work at the moment.'