The Gravedigger’s Son and the Waif Girl 1

by Sam Feuerbach

  Emicho turned the poker over with his right hand and examined all sides as if he were looking at it for the first time. Then he stood up and hung it back with the other fireplace instruments. With a furrow over his bushy eyebrows he turned to face Farin. "I really don’t like your tone at all! But in view of the present circumstances, I’ll overlook it for now. Regarding your question – I never leave such inconveniences to my vassals. I hauled him up the tower myself and tossed him down."

  Farin could do nothing but close his eyes. He had refused until the very end to believe these misdeeds had taken place in spite of all the evidence, but now the knight had admitted it, willingly and audaciously – and clearly without a hint of a bad conscience. He seemed to be very sure of himself. Would Farin be his next victim?

  You truly are a bone reader. Now just calm down and bide your time.

  "Who else knows about your…deductions?" asked Emicho.

  "Nobody!" spat Farin into the room. With that he’d sealed his fate. The knight could get him out of the way just as he had Keimund, and no-one would be any the wiser.

  "So, the first person you’ve presented these deadly-serious allegations to is me?" He lowered his brows. "I don’t need to kill you myself – one word from me and you’ll be strung up. Just like that. Nobody in this castle will ask for a reason." Emicho’s voice grew sharper. "And unlike Keimund with his influential aristocratic family in the south, no cock will crow for you, either here or in Heap."

  Farin was becoming overwhelmed by emotions but he looked at Emicho fixedly. "I made you a promise. That’s the reason why I came to you. Nobody is aware of my line of reasoning. The only thing I told Plaudius, Drogdan and Stump was that I believed it was murder, nothing more."

  "And after all these…revelations, you really dare to come here? To the root of all evil, to the dastardly murderer and traitor? What a naïve, starry-eyed idealist you are."

  Was the knight mocking him now, or what was he up to? Farin lowered his head.

  Emicho asked: "What promise do you mean?"

  Farin lifted his head. "Loyalty, I promised you loyalty."

  The knight scratched his broad chin. "You are a remarkable young man. I feel justified in having chosen you to be my squire. One, who has an awful lot to learn, but who nevertheless brings extraordinary potential with him." His voice grew sharper. "Boy, before you accuse me any further, I’ll explain to you my version of the story." Emicho leaned back and folded his arms behind his head. "Didn’t you tell me yourself how much the raven already knows about me?"

  "All that about the second knight?"

  Emicho nodded. "How does information like that seep out? Quite obvious – the raven slipped a spy into my inner circle. A traitor who reported to him regularly about what was happening in Castle Stormwatch, and especially about all the things the lord of the castle was planning. This spy’s name was Keimund. He shamelessly exploited his trusted position as squire and betrayed his master at every possible opportunity." The knight slammed his large fist on his chest. "Me it was he betrayed! I have many good reasons why I couldn’t blow his cover and have him executed. I absolutely have to avoid a scandal involving his influential aristocratic family at this point in time. I had no option but to kill him and make his death seem like an accident. Do you now understand my desire to find a squire I can trust unreservedly?"

  Farin sat on the chair, stiff and silent although turmoil was churning inside him.

  "As to your snooping around in the catacombs, we’ll come to that later. I’ll only say this much: in contrast to the Necorers, I am not an idolater of devils. On the contrary, these people are my bitter enemies. I’ve been hunting them down ever since I learned to think and to fight. Because I hate the cult of the evil, because I hate daemons and devils, because I hate human sacrifice. My library and the newly set-up incantation chamber in the catacombs serve only one purpose: learn everything about your enemy. In order to fight it, I must know what charlatanry is, what phantasms are, what bloody reality is. I’m a daemon hunter, and my knowledge and my experience provide me with the necessary equipment."

  "Daemon hunter?" A deep, dry swallow followed. Farin didn’t know what was happening.

  Daemon hunter! He doesn’t really believe in daemons, does he? Tsk!

  "I’ve good reasons for that." Emicho’s eyes blazed angrily. The most important is this one: my father was double-crossed by a daemon and killed. I’m going to avenge him."

  Uhhh?

  The knight slammed the flat of his hand on the desk. "The raven is after the same miscreant. But they don’t want to kill him but use him for themselves. He can give them and their followers power. This daemon is as evil as he is mighty. He can determine the fate of whole nations."

  Ehhh!?

  Farin didn’t understand a single word anymore, especially as the chimera’s disconcerting reactions were confusing things further. Stinker usually knew everything beforehand, and better.

  "What can the daemon do?"

  "Let’s start with the simple things: make a principal knight unbeatable."

  The gravedigger’s son needed to digest the new information first. To win time, he asked: "What exactly happened to your father?"

  "I never got to know him. The daemon killed him when my mother, Orelia, was pregnant with me."

  Zorrghorozza and Bofghezzza! I’m getting a faint but flimsy flicker of understanding. Don’t say the wrong thing now.

  The chimera had never sounded like that before. What was happening here? The latest developments were really beginning to wear Farin out. He was dizzy – it felt as if his brain was hanging from a piece of string and someone was swinging it from side to side. Stinker had left him alone with all his doubts the whole time, and now he was rattling around and cursing in his head in a rather unhelpful manner.

  "Have I answered my squire to his satisfaction? Now for my questions!" He leaned forward. "How did you gain access to the ice hall? After all, the gate of bars is blocking the way."

  "I persuaded Stump to show me the dead squire. Because I wanted to help."

  The knight nodded. "And then?"

  The gravedigger’s son eagerly told of his solo action during the night, of how he had forced his way below the bars and discovered the secret in the lower recess, because a passageway had been drawn in the map from the library.

  "That’s where I came out then." Farin pointed at the wall beside the fireplace – no door was visible from this side.

  The knight’s eyebrows wandered higher and higher as he listened. "There are few people that idiotic as to wander down there all alone. You are an unusual fellow, Farin. I accept you intended well."

  The knight stood up, placed both hands on the writing desk and leaned forward. His brows dropped like the executioner’s axe, and his voice sounded just as sharp. "The crucial question is this: Do you believe me? Because your further loyalty depends on the answer."

  Only now did Farin notice that a heavy weight had been lifted from his shoulders. The knight’s explanations, simple as they were, sounded plausible. He raised his eyes and looked Emicho straight in the eyes. "Yes! Forgive me…I’m sorry that I doubted you."

  "I’m sorry too, squire! But you redeemed yourself by coming to me straight away." The lord of the castle sat down again.

  You’re so sweet, the two of you. A smacking kissing sound in Farin’s head. But suddenly Stinker’s head sounded urgent. Now ask him who his father was.

  "Farin, I demand that you come to me first next time – before you turn everything upside down in my castle."

  "Yes, sir!" It was the first time that the knight had addressed him as Farin. "Who…who was your father, sir?"

  "You should distinguish yourself through unfailing loyalty to me, not through unfailing curiosity."

  "I…uh, I’m sorry, but the double-crossing of your father still bothers me."

  Emicho thrust his chin a little forward. Just as the gravedigger’s son thought the knight wasn’t going to answer the question,
he spoke: "It happened over thirty years ago. His name was Vigo. He was by profession principal knight and made the mistake of trusting his king, King Ekarius of the house of the stone dragons. And he counted on the daemon in his body."

  Borghezza and Zorrghorozza! Now I know why the knight seemed so familiar to me from the start. He’s part of me. Stinker even sounded a little proud.

  "And the daemon betrayed him in the end. I’ll get my revenge", thundered the knight with furious determination.

  Farin suppressed a swallow. "And how exactly are you going to get your revenge on the daemon?

  "As soon as I’ve found him, I’ll kill him. He’s looking for a human to be his host, like a parasite. There are suitable rituals that will destroy him for ever."

  "And what happens to the host?"

  "He dies, while the daemon is being driven out. Nobody survives such torture."

  Right, then!

  Oh well, tough luck, little fella.

  "Now that we’ve answered the most important questions, I have to turn to other matters. I’ll deal with Stump later. How could he possibly use his key to give some obscure squire a guided tour of the catacombs?"

  "Please, sir, be angry at me, not at Stump. When it comes down to it, it was the lord of the castle’s squire that put the pressure on. He could see that I was only trying to help."

  Emicho pulled a face. With a lot of imagination, you could interpret it as a smile.

  "Scram now, squire!"

  "I’ll be practising swordsmanship with Drogdan this afternoon. Please let me know if there’s anything I can do for you." Farin bowed.

  Emicho nodded and turned to the stack of papers on his desk.

  It was incredible. All the cares that had been persecuting him before he entered the scriptorium had vanished into thin air. In their stead other burdens had jumped spectacularly on his shoulders and were weighing him down like a saddle with lead weights attached. A daemon hunter was after none other than Stinker. The damned chimera was putting his life in danger. It owed him an explanation.

  jumping for joy

  A ross had returned to her little cove south of Hubstone with a full stomach and a rare feeling of contentment. She stood on the sand between the cliffs and watched the setting sun. She had just bathed and was wearing her new long-sleeved dress with its inner pocket in which the tooth snugly rested. How were things to continue? The town watch was on her heels. The mendacious Grim would be looking for her too, she could even imagine he might know one or two of her favourite spots and could become a danger to her. After all, they’d been living in close proximity to each other all these years. That bastard was to blame for everything – how could he stab poor Wolf to death and then claim it had been Aross?

  And now he wants to turn me in. Well, he’ll have to catch me first. He’s going to live to regret that he made an enemy out of me.

  The girl reached into her dress and pulled out the tooth. Lost in thought she held it between her thumb and forefinger and turned it over and back. What was its significance? What was it good for? Whatever its purpose, it was a memento of the woman whose incredible rat-magic had saved her life. Pictures from her past flashed before her eyes. A jumble, colourful and grey, sparkling and dull, loud and quiet. A crazy world. She thought of the orphanage, the barn, the hayloft. The things that had happened there.

  Her eyes moved away from her hands and up to the heavens above. And another picture presented itself to her. First befogged, then it gradually cleared. A perception – more than a conjecture, more than a daydream – a veritable nightmare. Grim was lying on top of her and holding her in his iron grip until the archbishop’s men arrived and took her away. That couldn’t be! Her dread transformed into determination.

  As the sun sank behind the horizon, she made her way to the orphanage – she wanted to finally collect her coppers. She kept an eye out for the town watch as she went along and also for a place where she could watch the orphanage from a distance before daylight disappeared completely. It didn’t take long to find a suitable spot, and the girl trudged up some steps. She didn’t get up very far as the building had collapsed two years earlier. Not to worry, the view was just right. No soldiers, no town watch, nothing out of the ordinary around the orphanage, she saw to her satisfaction.

  She waited until midnight, then slipped through the old town to her one-time home. She quietly opened the barn door, crept inside and closed it behind her. The hens were either sleeping or ignoring her. The girl saw the broken rungs of the ladder. A pity – it would have been just fine if the rotten bishop had broken his neck. She yawned. Poor as she was, she couldn’t afford to be tired – she still had work to do.

  Exhausted, Aross clambered up the ladder. She knew exactly which rungs would hold firm. She gently opened the trapdoor, scrabbled through and closed it behind her. On her knees, she pushed the straw aside and prised up the board under which the coins were hidden. The nails didn’t hold properly anymore, but the wood still squeaked pitifully when she lifted the board.

  Oh wow, she’d never noticed it being that loud before.

  For a moment she listened intently to the night, as she used to do with the big shells on the beach, but nobody in the vicinity seemed to have heard anything. Reassured, she stuck the coins in her pocket, spread out the straw and lay down. That was good. Her legs were stretched out over the trapdoor, so she would wake up if anyone tried to open it.

  Sounds woke her. The beech tree was rustling, or rather, whoever was climbing the tree. Getting up there wasn’t easy as the lower branches were quite high up. Aross quietly opened the trapdoor and placed her feet on the top rung. She hesitated and listened to the roof area. The wind was blowing, but apart from that, nothing but silence. Had she only dreamed it? No, careful steps on the shingles told her a different story. The roof beams groaned, and a shadow appeared in the hole above her head. The face that belonged to it peered down at her.

  "Hello, Aross," said Grim quietly. "You shouldn’t have come here. But you’re stupid and easy to predict. They’ll give me a reward if I take you to the town watch. They promised me five silverlings." He bared his teeth. "But first I want to hurt you – really hard."

  Aross held onto the rails of the ladder anxiously. "Think about it carefully, Grim. Do you really want to cross swords with Aross Slimefoot?"

  The boy gave an amused snort. "Yes, sure. I’m bigger, stronger and faster than you. You won’t get away from me."

  "You’re just meaner than me."

  "Hee-hee." Grim accepted the praise. Then he tilted his head. "The soldiers arrested and threatened me because of you. I’m going to beat you up just for that. Tell me why the captain fancies you so much."

  "No idea. Tell me how you could stab the poor old dog to death and then spread lies about me."

  "It was very easy and lots of fun. And I’d do it again." He gave a smug smile.

  "You’re aware, aren’t you, somewhere deep inside yourself, that you really are a disgusting pig," said Aross.

  "You don’t say. Pity my plan didn’t work. The matron would have beaten you to death…" His voice groaned with barely suppressed rage, "…if the rats hadn’t turned up."

  "And it was so horrible that little Grim fainted." Aross chuckled gleefully. An adult chuckle.

  "Now you’re going to pay for it." Grim’s mouth and eyes became sadistic looking.

  "I could have done something to you while you were helplessly lying there. I didn’t, though."

  "Exactly. You didn’t. Because you’re stupid."

  "Then do the clever thing yourself and leave me in peace."

  "I’m going to show you!" Like a predator he darted through the hole and onto the floor of the loft. He landed on all fours, ready to spring on his victim.

  At that same moment Aross pushed herself powerfully off the ladder and took an enormous jump. She had pushed herself too far in her hurry and so only one leg landed on the soft hay, the other on the hard ground. A stab of pain went through her foot. Grim�
��s filthy, victorious laugh pained her even more. She pulled herself up with a groan.

  "I have you, rat", he hissed.

  She had to hand it to Grim, she’d underestimated him – he was almost as limber and agile as she was. He sprang through the trapdoor in an elegant movement and jumped down to her. It reminded her of their last fight, only this time Aross was standing below and Grim was flying down from above. Even if the girl could make it to the door, she’d never have the time to open it.

  Grim landed on the haystack. A dreadful crunching sound followed by an even more dreadful groan as the prongs of the pitchfork dug into his chest. Skewered like a sausage, he jutted out over the hay with his feet jerking.

  He looked at Aross in disbelief. "You…put…the fork…in…here?"

  Aross nodded at him. "And, because I’m stupid, the wrong way around."

  She had warned him. She’d given the little shit another chance even after everything. She’d worked at it for over an hour during the night, making sure the prongs of the pitchfork faced upwards like a candlestick, before covering it over with the hay.

  Grim wheezed, blood came streaming out of his mouth. He looked down at his chest in disbelief, the prongs had probably broken his spine. His eyeballs were bulging in their sockets.

  She said matter-of-factly: "The manure fork for the shithead. Our fight ends here, Grim. You’ve lost. My war goes on."

  No answer.

  Aross felt nothing. She knew she ought to be feeling rage or horror because this person had forced her to take such extreme measures. And because of his monstrous villainy, and because she hated the bishop’s and Chain Dog’s guts. But she felt nothing. Her mind and her heart were cold, cold as the water in the north, which was hard as iron if what the girl had said was true.

  Chain Dog, I’m going to bite you next, thought Aross. Maybe tomorrow, maybe in a week, maybe in a year. But I’m going to get you.