by Nathan Long
‘He will not see our faces,’ said Reiner. ‘We have our own way into the manor, and will be masked when we meet you inside. You may tell Scharnholt that we are servants from the manor that dare not show our faces.’
Danziger nodded. ‘Very well. Slaanesh is a welcoming god, and rewards loyalty and bravery. Help me bring down Talabheim and destroy Scharnholt, and you will find me generous. Betray me…’ He looked into Reiner’s eyes and Reiner flinched from his cold, lizard stare, ‘and nothing you learned at the clawed feet of Tzeentch will prepare you for the exquisite agony a follower of Slaanesh can bestow with a single touch.’ He sat back and waved a hand. ‘Now go. We enter the manor at midnight.’
Reiner stood and bowed as the guards let go of his arms and returned his sword. ‘Very good, m’lord.’
He nearly sank to his knees as he stepped down from the coach. His heart was pounding like an orc wardrum. He had done it. He had tricked Danziger into allowing him to ride his coat-tails through the dungeon gate, and hopefully into the vault as well. Now all he had to do was work out a way to sneak into the castle and back out again carrying a half-tonne rock. He laughed bitterly. Was that all?
SIXTEEN
I Will Not Betray My City
‘BROTHERS!’ CRIED REINER, stepping out of an alley and falling in with seven priests of Morr who walked a plain casket through the rubble of the merchant district toward the Manor district gate. ‘Do your labours take you to the Grand Manor this night?’ He was dressed in black robes too, the Blackhearts having just relieved a Morrist corpse-burning detail of them not an hour ago.
‘Aye, we do, brother,’ said the lead priest. ‘A sergeant of the guard has succumbed to the plague and his superiors wish him removed without anyone seeing his, er malformations.’
‘Naturally,’ said Reiner, his heart surging. At last! This was the fourth such procession he had asked this question, and the midnight hour was fast approaching. He signalled surreptitiously behind him.
‘Why do you ask?’ asked the priest.
‘Er, we go the same way,’ said Reiner. ‘We thought we might travel together for safety.’
‘We?’ said the priest looking around. He shrieked as eight looming figures surged out of the alley and descended upon his fellows.
‘ONE MOMENT, FATHER,’ said a guard at the Hardtgelt gate. ‘Where are you bound?’ ‘For the Grand Manor, my son.’ Reiner said as the black-robed Blackhearts came to a halt, their stolen casket held between them. ‘A sergeant of the guard awaits Morr’s gate.’
‘You have the order of removal?’ asked the guard. He didn’t seem eager to stand too close to the casket.
‘One moment,’ said Reiner. He withdrew a rolled parchment from his voluminous sleeve. He held it out, but the guard didn’t take it.
‘Open it, father. No offence meant,’ he said.
‘None taken,’ said Reiner, and unrolled the scroll, pleased. The more disinclined the guards were to approach servants of Morr the better the Blackhearts’ chances.
The guard gave the order a cursory glance. ‘And the casket.’
‘Certainly,’ said Reiner. He lifted the lid so the guard could see in.
The guard stood on tiptoe so he didn’t have to step nearer the casket, then waved them in. ‘Carry on, father.’
‘Bless you, my son,’ said Reiner.
The Blackhearts started into the Manor district, Gert and Pavel and Hals moaning and weaving in the throes of savage hangovers. Behind them Reiner heard the guard mutter, ‘They even stink of death.’
Reiner smiled, for there was a reason for the smell.
AS THEY APPROACHED the Grand Manor, Reiner saw Scharnholt and his men entering through the gate. The gate guards saluted them. Reiner held back until they had entered, then approached. There was no sign of Danziger. Reiner hoped he was already within. It was almost midnight.
The scene at the Manor district gate was repeated with minor variations here, though the inspection was more thorough, and rather than passing them through, the chief guard assigned them an escort to take them where they were to go—a storeroom near a guardroom in the lower levels of the old barrel keep. Their escort was a sturdy young guard who seemed less than happy with his duty and hurried ahead of the Blackhearts as if he were trying to lose them.
Reiner did his best to memorise their route, and looked for stairs leading down. Their guide took them away from public areas of the manor, where the nobles might be offended by their presence, and into a maze of service corridors and back stairs.
After a while the hallways became tight passages of undressed stone, and Reiner knew they had entered the old keep. At the bottom of a twisting stair they passed a guardroom full of guards, talking and playing cards, then stopped just around a corner at a bolted wooden door with a sleepy guard before it.
‘Jaffenberg,’ said their guide. ‘You’re dismissed. They’ve come.’
‘About time,’ said the guard as he took a key from his pouch. ‘Never done a duller watch.’ He handed the key to the guide and saluted. ‘See you at Elsa’s later?’
‘Aye, I suppose.’
Jaffenberg hurried off as their guide turned the key in the lock and pushed open the door, revealing a narrow storeroom filled with blankets and cakes of soap and jars of lamp oil. Lying on the floor was a dead guard with a second head, small as a baby’s fist, peeking out of his collar next to the first.
The guide shivered at the sight. ‘Poor beggar. Treat him well. He was a good man.’
‘Better than we’ll treat you,’ said Reiner.
‘Eh?’ The boy turned and flinched as Reiner put his dagger against his jugular. ‘What are you…?’
Gert covered the boy’s mouth from behind with one big hand and pinned his sword arm with the other. He walked him backwards into the store room as Reiner kept the blade at his throat.
The others pushed in behind them. Ten people and a casket made it very crowded inside. Franka could barely close the door.
‘Now, lad,’ said Reiner, flashing the dagger in their guide’s frightened eyes. ‘Where are the stairs to the lower levels? And know that if you try to scream, you will die as you draw your breath.’ He nodded to Gert. ‘Let him speak.’
The boy took a breath. He was trembling. ‘I… I won’t tell you. I’d rather die.’
Reiner smiled kindly. ‘Very brave, lad. But are you brave enough to not die?’
‘To… to not die?’ asked the boy, confused.
‘Aye,’ said Reiner. ‘Dying is easy. It is over in a second. But Gert can break a man’s neck so that he loses all movement in his limbs and yet doesn’t die. Can you imagine it? Alive in the limp sack of your body, unable to move, or feed yourself, or wipe your own arse, or make love to your sweetheart, for the next fifty years? Are you brave enough to face that?’
‘I will not betray the countess!’ gabbled the boy. ‘I will not betray my city—’
Gert twisted the boys head, steadily increasing the pressure.
‘Are you certain?’ asked Reiner.
The boy’s eyes were rimmed with white. His face was bright red. Gert twisted harder.
‘To the right!’ squeaked the boy. Gert relaxed the pressure. ‘To the right until you pass the laundry, then left past the kitchens and down. It’s below the store rooms, may Sigmar forgive me.’
‘And may you forgive me,’ said Reiner, and cracked the boy in the temple with the pommel of his dagger. He sagged in Gert’s arms.
‘Right,’ Reiner said. ‘Tie him up and give me his key. Then get out of these robes.’
Gert chuckled. ‘Break his neck so he can’t move?’ He bent to bind the boy’s wrists. ‘How do you invent these things, captain?’
Reiner shrugged. ‘Desperation.’
‘Bad business,’ Augustus growled. ‘Hurting an innocent boy.’
‘He stood in our way,’ said Reiner, coldly. ‘We had no choice.’
‘No choice but to die,’ said Augustus.
‘That isn’t a
choice.’
There followed a few moments of bumping elbows and muffled curses as the Blackhearts struggled out of their robes in the tight space.
‘Put ‘em in the casket,’ said Reiner. ‘The arm too. And leave the masks off for now. We’ll look more suspicious with ‘em on than off.’
Darius, looking queasy, took a long, lumpy, triple-wrapped parcel from a deep pocket in his robe, and dropped it with a thud into the casket.
‘Good riddance,’ he said.
When they were ready, Reiner squeezed to the door. A mask like a crow’s beak hung from a ribbon around his belt. The others had similar masks. Reiner had bought them from a huckster who claimed they would protect them from the madness.
‘Right,’ he said, grinding out his torch. ‘Dieter, on point. Jergen, at the rear. To the right.’ He opened the door a crack and looked out as Dieter joined him. A clatter of boots made him close it right back up. He waited until the sounds had faded away, then cracked the door again. Raised voices and reflected torchlight came from the guardroom around the left-hand corner, but the hall to the right was clear.
‘Off we go.’
The Blackhearts followed Dieter into the unlit hall as quietly as they could. Reiner locked the door behind them and took up the rear. After a moment of feeling blindly along the stone walls, Dieter’s silhouette became visible again and they heard women’s voices and sloshing water ahead. On the left-hand wall an open door glowed with yellow light. There was a smell of steam and soap.
‘He ain’t my sweetheart,’ said a shrill voice.
‘Now don’t lie, Gerdie,’ cackled another. ‘We saw ye makin’ eyes at him. And he do look quite fetching in ‘is uniform, don’t he?’
Dieter edged forward until he could see into the door. He held up a palm. The others waited.
‘So you fancy him, yerself, do ye?’ said the first voice. ‘Well, he don’t like fat old… oh now look, this will never come out. That’s blood, that is.’
Dieter beckoned Reiner across, and he tiptoed past the door, catching a glimpse of a handful of women stirring dirty clothes into boiling iron cauldrons with long wooden paddles. Another darned stockings in a corner.
Dieter pointed to the rest of the Blackhearts in turn, and they slipped across the opening one by one. The women never looked up from their gossiping.
Just beyond the laundry was the kitchen corridor. Dieter and Reiner looked down it. It was well lit, and voices came from it, rising over the clatter and hiss of a busy kitchen. As they watched, five footmen with large trays on their shoulders walked from a right-hand door and hurried toward a shadowy stair at the far end. A scullery maid crossed the hall, struggling with a huge skillet.
Dieter frowned, rubbing his chin. ‘Bit more difficult, this. If we had one of them ratty smoke grenades…’
Reiner shook his head. ‘I think this calls for brass, not stealth.’
‘Brass?’ asked Dieter.
‘Aye.’ Reiner turned to the others. ‘Right lads, two abreast, weapons on shoulders. Dieter, Darius, er… do your best.’
The Blackhearts formed up, Hals and Pavel in front.
‘Now,’ said Reiner. ‘Like you belong here. March.’
He plucked a torch from the wall and started forward with a brisk step. The Blackhearts tramped in unison behind him as if they were on an important duty.
Reiner waved back a footman carrying a platter. ‘Stand clear, fellow.’
The man let them by with a look of surly patience, then followed after them. Cooks and kitchen assistants glanced up as they passed, but didn’t give them a second look. When they reached the stairwell, Reiner led the Blackhearts down while the footman went up. Reiner breathed a sigh of relief. No one had sensed anything amiss.
As the noises of the kitchen faded behind them faint sounds came from below, growing louder with each step.
‘That’s a fight,’ said Hals.
‘Aye,’ said Pavel. ‘I hear it.’
‘On your guard,’ said Reiner, drawing his sword. ‘But no need to hurry. Let Danziger and Scharnholt do the dirty work.’
They continued down the stairs, listening to the melee below as they descended past the storeroom level. Turning down the last flight, they saw shadows fighting in the light cast from a wide archway.
Reiner raised a hand, and the Blackhearts halted.
‘Masks on,’ he whispered.
The Blackhearts slipped their black crow-beaks on. Reiner hoped they wouldn’t have to fight in them. He had no peripheral vision through the eyeholes.
As they started down again, a body flew backwards through the archway, spilling blood. A man in a black breastplate followed him in and stabbed him in the chest, finishing him off. The killer looked up, and jumped as he saw the men on the stairs. It was Danziger.
‘Who?’ he gasped, then relaxed. ‘Ah, it’s you. You’re late. Come. We’re in.’
They followed him into a low, square room with a stout, iron bound door in one wall. The place was crowded with Danziger’s and Scharnholt’s men, busy killing the twelve guards who manned the door. Scharnholt stood in the centre, directing with a casual hand and mopping his round face with a white linen handkerchief. Reiner noticed that men in both Scharnholt’s and Danziger’s companies had short poles strapped to their backs for carrying the waystone.
‘Pedermann, the door,’ Scharnholt said. ‘Dortig, cut every throat. These men know us. We can have no survivors.’ He frowned as Danziger approached him with the Blackhearts. ‘Who are these?’
‘More of ours,’ said Danziger. ‘Servants who dare not show their faces.’
Reiner smiled to himself. Danziger was repeating his words to the letter.
‘I see,’ said Scharnholt, curling his lip. ‘I hope they can fight as well as serve.’
‘I assure you, m’lord,’ said Danziger. ‘They are most capable.’
‘I will leave ten men here,’ said Scharnholt as his men opened the door. ‘With the story that they came upon some cultists slaughtering the guards and chased them off, then took it upon themselves to guard the door until more guards could be summoned.’
Danziger paused, shooting a knowing look at Reiner before smiling at Scharnholt. ‘An admirable plan, brother. But let our men share this dangerous duty. I would feel remiss if you took the risk entirely upon yourself.’
Scharnholt raised an eyebrow. ‘Do I sense mistrust, brother? Are we not united as one in this?’
‘Indeed we are united,’ said Danziger, indignant. ‘It is why I offered to share the dangers with you. Perhaps it is you who are mistrustful. Or do you mistake concern for mistrust because you plan some treachery?’
‘He speaks of treachery who betrayed my followers to Valdenheim and Teclis when we already had the stone?’ asked Scharnholt, putting a hand on his hilt.
Danziger did the same.
Reiner stepped forward. ‘M’lords,’ he said, aping a slurring Talabheim accent to disguise his voice. ‘Please. Remember our purpose here.’ He wanted the two lords fighting, but not yet. Not before they opened the vault for him.
Scharnholt let go of his sword. ‘Your man speaks wisdom. This is not the place to argue. Very well, we will share the duty.’ He turned to the door. ‘The dungeon is on the same level as the vault, and has its own guards. I will make it so that the noise of our battle does not carry, but you must not let the men we fight escape to warn the dungeon guards. Now let us go.’
SEVENTEEN
Kill Them
AS THE COMPANIES lined up to enter the door, Reiner heard Augustus mutter ‘Only doing their job,’ under his breath as he looked around at the dead guards. His fists were balled at his sides, knuckles white.
Scharnholt and Danziger both left ten men behind to hold the door and led the rest down the steps. The Blackhearts marched in behind them, and started into the depths. The big door boomed closed above them. Reiner swallowed. No turning back now.
At the second landing, Scharnholt began muttering and waving his
podgy fingers. The air around Reiner seemed to thicken and there was a pressure on his eardrums as if he had dived into deep water. The cultists and the Blackhearts were opening their mouths and wiggling their fingers in their ears, trying to clear the pressure, but it wouldn’t go.
‘What is it?’ asked Franka, wincing.
Reiner could barely hear her. It sounded like she spoke from behind a thick pane of glass. All the noise around him was damped. The jingle and creak of the men around him was almost inaudible. The men followed. Their marching made as much noise as a cat walking through grass. It was as if the air had become a jelly and the sounds caught in it.
Three flights down, the stairs ended at a wide corridor that stretched away into darkness, other passages intersecting it at wide intervals. Were they still within the walls of the barrel keep, Reiner wondered? Surely the corridor carried on further than that. He shook his head. It was a wonder all of Talabheim didn’t cave in, considering how much of it was riddled with tunnels.
Danziger pointed to a right-hand passage and the men filed in. It ended in an iron gate, through which they could see torchlight.
Scharnholt handed the key ring to Danziger without missing a beat in his mumbling. Danziger turned to the company and gave an order no one could hear. He rolled his eyes in annoyance and brandished his sword with an exaggerated motion.
The cultists and the Blackhearts drew their weapons as Danziger turned the key in the lock. It made no noise. Nor did the swinging of the gate. Danziger waved forward, and the men rushed into the room, as silent as a breeze.
Reiner took in the room as he ran. It was a vaulted rectangular chamber, longer than it was wide, with archways to the left and right, and ten guards standing in a line against a massive stone door at the far end, which was bound with iron bands.
The guards shouted in surprise as they saw the cultists. Their voices barely sounded in Scharnholt’s bubble. They drew their weapons and met the charge valiantly, but they were too few. Danziger’s and Scharnholt’s men quickly chopped them to pieces in a horrible, silent bloodbath. Reiner and the Blackhearts hung back and took no part. Reiner felt ashamed nonetheless. Was standing aside to let good men be killed less villainous than swinging the sword oneself? Augustus was swearing out loud. Fortunately none could hear him.
