Warhammer Anthology 07

by Way of the Dead

  Angelika looked to Franziskus. ‘Have you heard of this man?’

  Franziskus shrugged. ‘My tutors pressed many books of philosophy into my arms, but your name is unknown to me, sir.’

  ‘You are an individual of quality, then? In that case, I demand immediate release.’ Schreber stepped toward Franziskus, but Angelika stopped him short, grabbing him by the collar of his robe. He made an undignified choking noise.

  ‘Unfortunately for you, the individual of quality isn’t the one with the blade at your back. What’s in the bag?’

  Schreber pointed his long nose to the clouds and sniffed. ‘I merely collect samples for my scientific researches. Though of surpassing value to me, its contents are worthless to the non-specialist. See for yourself.’

  ‘Franziskus…’ Angelika ordered, indicating the bag with a shake of her head. Reluctantly, he made his way to it. He opened it up and immediately closed it, his face flushing with green revulsion. He gasped for air.

  ‘What is it?’ she asked him.

  ‘Heads,’ he said, eyes watering. ‘Human heads.’

  ‘Of course, human!’ Schreber exclaimed. ‘Why, the science of phrenology is at present in its barest infancy. We have barely scratched the surface of human physiognomy. It is much too early to even begin to contemplate the skulls of dwarfs, elves or halflings! Strict rigours must be observed!’

  He had turned toward her, without permission, but Angelika shrugged. He was well on the way to proving himself a harmless fool. ‘So you collect these heads as scientific specimens?’ she clarified.

  ‘Indeed, indeed!’

  ‘A ghastly and unwholesome practice!’ Franziskus said, fists tight.

  Schreber’s eyes swept from Angelika to Franziskus and back again, as if evaluating which of his captors posed the greater threat. ‘But good sir, it is vitally important to understand the mysteries of the human organism. By studying anatomy, we can one day perhaps cure deadly maladies. Or, by good breeding, wipe out idiocy and the propensity toward mutation.’

  Franziskus crossed his arms. ‘It is obscene and against the ways of Sigmar.’

  ‘I don’t know, Franziskus,’ Angelika said. ‘It strikes me as no more useless than any other form of scholarship.’

  ‘More than that!’ Schreber said, stooping down to pick up the bag. He rustled around in it, pulling out a bloodied globe of flesh. Franziskus recoiled; Angelika succeeded in maintaining her composure. ‘This, for example,’ Schreber continued, ‘represents a find of the rarest order. It is a Type Nine, with a notably prominent mandibular archway. Do you know what that means?’

  ‘Humour us with an explanation.’

  ‘A person of this type is known to be of a poetic bent, devoted more to feeling than to reason, and with tendencies towards pessimism and melancholy.’

  ‘Especially now.’

  The scholar ignored her jape. He reached into the bag for another sample. She held her palm out to stop him.

  ‘You needn’t trouble yourself any further, Dr. Schreber. The subtleties of your lecture are no doubt lost on us.’

  He stammered, directing his attention once more to the sharp point of Angelika’s dagger. ‘Ah, then. You will see, then, that I offer neither threat to you, nor competition to your looting efforts. It is specimens I seek, not coins or baubles.’

  Angelika looked meaningfully at his pouch, which was fat.

  ‘Ah yes. It is true, though, that I have picked up the occasional item of value, which lay on the ground in plain sight, in order to fund my researches, which can be expensive.’ His lips were flecked with spittle. ‘Sometimes, you see, I have call to commission the collection of certain specimens which are known to me, but which require the-I see that I bore you, however. You wish me to hand over to you the contents of my purse, is that not it?’ He handed it to her.

  She threw it back at him. It hit him in the chest and bounced to the muck at his feet.

  ‘What makes you think I’m some kind of common thief?’ she demanded.

  He gestured at the corpses all around them.

  ‘Those aren’t living victims, are they? I may take from those who no longer need their earthly goods, but I’m no back-alley robber!’

  Franziskus chuckled but realized too late that she truly meant it, that this distinction was no joke to her. She narrowed her eyes and glared at him. He felt his face burning.

  ‘Then I am free to go?’ Schreber asked her, bowing experimentally to pick up the purse and the head bag.

  ‘Leave the axe. I think I believe your words, but in these parts, trust can be a costly thing.’

  ‘I quite understand,’ said Schreber, bending low, exposing his teeth in a courtier’s smile. He picked up his dropped items. He turned to go, then stopped. ‘But wait,’ he said. ‘Now that I know you both not to be miscreants, but honest scavengers, a thought occurs.’

  Angelika planted a foot on a large stone and crossed her arms. ‘Let me guess. You’re thinking of a specimen you’d like us to procure for you.’

  Schreber bobbed his head up and down. ‘Indeed, indeed. North of here, in the mouth of the pass, lies a village - a trading post, really - named Verldorf. Its people are redoubtable, surviving as they do in this terrible place without paying homage to Elector Count or Border Prince. Yet the anxieties of their precarious existence have clouded their judgment, so that they sometimes mistake friends for scoundrels.’

  ‘You’ve been there, I take it, and secured a hostile welcome for yourself?’

  Schreber’s nods became slow and pensive. ‘Aye. It was most distressing. They thought me some kind of ghoul.’

  ‘A shocking error.’

  This time the doctor’s thick eyebrows twitched, as if on the verge of detecting irony. ‘Indeed. I merely sought to relieve them of a burden, and at a generous price. Yet their hostility was such that I was forced to depart with haste, lest I submit myself to bodily harm.’

  Franziskus put his hand on his dagger’s hilt. ‘You wished to loot their graveyard, for the heads of their relations?’

  ‘No, no, not relatives - Potocki! Recently they caught and executed the dread and notorious murderer of that name, who for many years preyed upon the posts and fortresses hereabouts.’

  Angelika had heard the name before; the locals associated it with a succession of crimes, from brigandage to child murder. No one person could have committed them all. ‘You’re sure it was Potocki?’

  Schreber placed a thoughtful hand on the side of his face. ‘To be truthful, no. But this is immaterial - I seek his head, not in vengeance for his misdeeds, but because he exhibits the most pronounced triple occipital ridge I have ever had the pleasure to lay eyes upon. I simply must add it to my collection. They have no further use for it, and I will pay you two hundred schillings if you bring it to my cottage, inside the walls of the Castello del Dimenticato.’ Angelika knew the Castello; it was a fortress town to the south, lorded over by one of the self-styled border princes.

  ‘A tempting sum,’ said Angelika, turning so she couldn’t see Franziskus, who was pleadingly shaking his head. ‘Why so high?’

  The scholar tugged at his collar. ‘As I said, the villagers are a surly lot and no doubt they will seek to thwart you. Potocki’s corpse dangles in a cage, across from the village tavern. The best course is to sneak in at night, open the cage, and remove the head. Naturally this involves risk - hence the generosity of my offer.’

  Franziskus took a haughty pace in his direction. ‘We are not grave robbers!’

  Angelika stopped him, the back of her hand against his chest. She asked Schreber: ‘You can direct us to Verldorf?’

  The philosopher led them over a rise, where he’d tied a mule to a spindly beech tree. It was laden with packs; he rummaged in one until he found a quill, an inkpot, and a scrap of parchment. He scratched out a clumsy map to Verldorf, with the Castello del Dimenticato marked on it for reference. Their destination appeared to lie about eight leagues to the north, meaning a day’s trave
l through the valley, two days if they kept to the forested shelter of the ravine on either side. Then it would take another half-day to reach Schreber’s place and lay hands on his gold.

  ‘Anything else we need to know?’ Angelika asked him.

  ‘The salient facts have been well covered.’

  She walked away, waving farewell in the stiff-armed manner of a countess. ‘Then go home and prepare your schillings, doctor of philosophy.’

  ‘But wait,’ Schreber said, loping after them. He cradled something in his hands. Angelika stopped; he handed her an iron box, with a hinged lid. She opened it; it was lined with velvet.

  ‘We deal with no ordinary cranium,’ Schreber puffed, out of breath. ‘Not like the common ones I gather here, which I bang together in my carrying sack. Potocki’s skull has already been mistreated, and may be in fragile condition. Transport it in this, to ensure that it arrives intact. Be warned: a shattered skull earns you no pay.’ He took the liberty of wagging a finger at Angelika, but halted himself in mid-gesture when he saw her reaction. He turned and proceeded quickly back to his mule, muttering inaudible goodbyes. They stood and watched as he clambered up on the mule and guided it down to the valley.

  ‘We aren’t even sure,’ said Franziskus, pushing damp hair out of his face, ‘that he’ll reach the Castello alive.’

  ‘Maybe not,’ said Angelika, ‘but he seems to know his way around. And for two hundred schillings, I’ll risk the waste of a day or two.’ She handed the iron box to him. Its heft surprised him; he nearly dropped it. ‘You have room in your pack for this,’ she said, ‘don’t you?’

  Attitude stoic, he slipped his pack from his shoulders. ‘And why such a cumbersome container?’

  ‘You heard him: he wants the head in one piece.’

  ‘Then why this?’ He opened the box to show her: resting on its velvet lining was a key and a padlock.

  VERLDORF SMELLED OF sheep dung and burning wood. The place consisted of cottages, a stable and a tavern. The buildings were made of mud-daub, with sagging, thatched roofs. Bleating livestock filled large corrals; animals warranted more space than people in this part of the world.

  A wooden palisade, its pointed timbers grey and deteriorating, served as the village’s main defence. Its gate was flimsy and its gateman drunken. In the event of a serious assault, the place would be pounded to matchsticks. The locals, it was clear, relied on the fact that the orc armies rarely got this far up into the pass. And when they did, Angelika surmised, they’d be too eager to smash through the Imperial borderlands to bother with this blemish of a settlement. The gateman hadn’t even challenged them on their way in.

  As the scholar had suggested, Potocki was not hard to find. A cage swung from a freshly built gibbet in the irregular expanse of muddy ground that played the role of village square. Inside, propped standing against the cage’s bars, stood a mangled corpse. Its head lolled off to one side. Its lower leg was bent in two. The body’s entire surface was blackened by fire. Angelika looked around, and, seeing no one, stepped closer to the cage. One of Potocki’s hands was crushed to an unrecognisable pulp. His downturned face was frozen into a hostile grimace; lips, burned away, bared long and yellowy teeth.

  Franziskus cleared his throat: a man had appeared on the porch of a shop across the way. From a rickety awning hung a painted sign, depicting a sheep’s head and a flagon. This would be the tavern; the man wore an apron and a worried look, and had to be its proprietor. He had bushy eyebrows and a swaddle of fat around his chin, though the rest of him seemed lean enough. Angelika made her examination of Potocki less conspicuous.

  ‘Welcome to our poor, benighted village,’ the barkeep said. His voice was soft; his speech, halting. ‘My name is Ralf. We offer only poor shelter, but this is, after all, the Blackfire Pass, and I hope you will find my bunks better than none.’

  ‘Greetings, Ralf,’ said Angelika. ‘It is refreshing to find an innkeep who does not over-praise his amenities.’

  The taverner’s anxious demeanour did not lift. ‘Travellers in this part of the world can be quick to seek violent remedy, so I have found it prudent to prepare my guests for disappointment. Please, step inside, and relieve yourself of the weight of your packs.’

  Angelika and Franziskus clomped up onto Ralf’s wooden porch, which creaked loudly under them. Angelika adopted her blandest posture and hiked a thumb back at the caged corpse. ‘Your display there - the impression it creates is unwelcoming.’

  Ralf beckoned them into the tavern’s darkness. He spoke in a lowered tone. ‘It is an accursed thing. Do not speak of it.’

  Angelika remained in the doorway. She watched Ralf’s eyes flutter nervously over her shoulder, to the gibbet. ‘But, Ralf, it’s hard to concentrate on anything else.’

  He put his hand on her elbow and gently guided her inside. He slid shut a canvas curtain, erasing the cage from view. ‘I do not speak colourfully. We are forced to labour under its curse, but if you pay it no mind, it can have no hold on you. I know it is difficult, with such a thing, but I urge you to dampen all curiosity, leave early tomorrow, and expunge it utterly from all your thoughts.’ He clapped his hands together. ‘We have no private rooms, I am afraid, just a small sleeping hall with cots. It is unsuitable to a person of the tender sex, madam, but there is no better choice.’ He gestured to the room’s few tables, only one of which was occupied, by a woman who lay snoring on it, head in hands. ‘Tonight we have gravy soup, and ale.’

  Later, as they finished the meagre meal Ralf served them, the tavern filled with locals, eager for the soup. Angelika eavesdropped but heard no mention of Potocki, just talk of sheep and troop movements. More Imperial forces were said to be venturing into the pass, to disperse the massing orcs down south. Franziskus’s pallor deepened; he’d been part of that campaign, but had since made no effort to return to his superiors for reassignment. Angelika was tempted to tweak him on the subject, but couldn’t summon up the required cruelty. With a turn of her head, she informed him that she was heading into the bunk room. They were tired from the trail, and a few hours of sleep would better prepare them for their robbery.

  ANGELIKA’S EYES OPENED. She rose from her stinking cot. Franziskus already sat up on the edge of his. She peered into the long, dark room to see if any other guests had joined them. She stood and checked each bed; there was no one. The village was quiet. All they heard were croaking frogs. She crept out to the open archway that led back to the tavern room. A gaunt villager, lightly wheezing, slept in a sitting position, propped up near the exit. Angelika winced. She retreated into the bunk hall, motioning Franziskus over to a small window mounted about a yard off the floor. It was shuttered. Gently, she tested it. It wouldn’t open. She peered through the crack between the shutters; they had been tied tightly shut, from the outside, by a cord of some kind.

  ‘Hold both of them, so they don’t rattle in the frame,’ she told Franziskus, her mouth close to his ear. She drew her knife from her boot and sawed at the cord. It was tough and springy, like leather. Angelika heard a faint sound, of metal hitting metal, and stopped. ‘There’s something dangling from the cord.’ She thought for a moment, shrugged, and started up again. ‘When I nod my head, open both shutters, quick as you can. But keep hold of them, so they don’t slam into the wall.’ She kept sawing; finally the cord snapped through. Franziskus opened the shutters and Angelika shot her hand out and caught the cord. She held it in her outstretched hand. Suspended from it were half a dozen pieces of scrap iron, tied on with short lengths of twine. Franziskus looked puzzled. She craned her head out of the window, pointing to the ground below. A sheet of tin, pounded flat, waited beneath. Franziskus nodded his comprehension: it was a makeshift alarm, intended to send a clattering noise echoing around the town if any of Ralf’s guests chose to exit through the window.

  ‘Making sure we don’t sneak off without paying?’ he asked her.

  ‘We paid in advance,’ she noted.

  Angelika crawled headfirst through t
he window, eyes alert for additional traps. She hit the ground palms-first and rolled to a soft landing. She got to her feet, reached out for Franziskus, and helped him wiggle through. They stepped lightly across the muddy square to the gibbet. The wind had picked up, and hissed its cold way through Verldorf’s thatched cottages. Angelika put her hands behind her back and stood thinking of the best way to get the head out of the cage. A large padlock hung from the cage bottom, keeping its hinged door securely in place. She was no lockpick, so it would remain shut. But the bars of the cage were widely spaced: if she could get the head off the corpse’s shoulders, she could then probably work it through the bars and be off with it. She inspected the gibbet, pulling on its central post to test it for give. Stony concrete had been poured around it; it was not a pretty job, but the gibbet would take her weight, which was nothing compared to that of the iron cage.

  ‘Boost me up,’ she told Franziskus. She handed him her blade. He got down on one knee for her, and she used him as her step-stool. She wrapped slim hands around the bars of the cage, right behind the body’s head. The gibbet gave off a wooden groan as it swung on its chain and Franziskus steadied it with his shoulder. Hanging one-handed from the cage, Angelika reached out for her knife; Franziskus moved to place it in her palm.

  Then Potocki’s corpse jolted into action. It lunged at Angelika, clawing at her throat with its one intact hand. Franziskus dropped the dagger; he dove to the ground to recover it. Angelika let go of the cage, but the creature seized her jacket and yanked on it, sending her head pitching into the metal bars. She got her elbow between her face and the cage, cushioning the blow. With jagged fingernails, the undead beast raked at her arm. He tore open the fabric of her jacket. He seized it; she struggled free. The cage swung violently, clipping a kneeling Franziskus on the back and sending him sprawling into the mud. Angelika hung from the cage like a marionette; she got her free arm out of its jacket sleeve, and now worked to wrench herself out of the one the monster held. She jerked and twisted as the creature snapped at her with its teeth. Finally she dropped free, crashing to the ground.