by David Bishop
Raufbold stepped out from among the other men. “Why not do as he asks, and release Abram Cobbius? Is it worth going to war for one criminal in a district that’s teeming with criminals?”
“We could do that,” Kurt agreed. He held up a key on a metal chain hung round his neck. “I could take this downstairs and use it to unshackle Cobbius right now. But what would that achieve? How does letting a murderer back on the streets to spare our necks help the citizens of Suiddock? Cobbius deliberately drowned a halfling so he could turn the fish market next door into a drug distribution network. You all saw what happened to Mutig. Cobbius must have tortured him for hours, removing his limbs while Hans-Michael was still alive, making your colleague watch as he was being dismembered. Would you wish that on anyone else? Because that’s what you’d be doing by letting Cobbius go. That man deserves to rot for all the sins he’s committed, all the laws he’s broken. I intend to see he gets a taste of justice-but I have no intention of letting him go. I will never surrender this station, not to Cobbius or Henschmann or any other thug who thinks they can get whatever they want, whenever they want, by killing and lying and stealing and threatening those weaker than them. We don’t need to give in to people like that anymore. We have to stand up, we have to set an example. We have to do the right thing-here and now, today and tonight. We have to take a stand. That’s our job.” The captain took a step towards Raufbold, who backed away from the impassioned, wild-eyed Kurt. “Anybody that’s got a problem, come and see me. Otherwise, get back to your jobs. Dismissed!”
The priest studied the watchmen as they drifted away, muttering to each other and nodding seemingly swayed by the power of Kurt’s words. “When the gathering had dispersed, Otto approached the captain with Belladonna. You wanted to see me?”
“Yes. Thanks for coming so quickly,” Kurt said, his expression softening.
“You can thank Belladonna for that.”
The captain nodded his gratitude. “There’s something else you could do,” he said to her. “Sergeant Woxholt’s in the basement keeping watch over Cobbius. Take Faulheit down there to relieve Jan, then bring the sergeant up to my office.” She nodded before turning to go. “Oh, and Belladonna-I’m sorry about being short with you before. If my suspicions are right, Henschmann and his cronies could be the least of our troubles. But I didn’t mean to take my worries out on you. I’m sorry.”
“Apology accepted,” she replied, before hurrying away.
Otto watched her go. “Don’t tell me the son of Old Ironbeard is learning the art of diplomacy-”
Kurt grunted. “The only diplomacy my father believes in requires a blade, an arrow or a bolt. Kind words never won many favours in his army or his household.” He glanced at the other Black Caps but all were busy with their own concerns. “Come up to my office, I need to show you something.” Belladonna came down the stairs with Faulheit behind her, the reluctant watchman complaining bitterly about returning to the station’s basement. “I spent half a day down here, listening to dozens of citizens complaining about their neighbours and pretending they knew something about who murdered that elf,” he whined. “I don’t see why I should have been chosen to play nursemaid for Abram bloody Cobbius. Besides, it’ll be high tide soon and the floor down here floods every time that happens.”
She was about to suggest where the watchman could stick his complaints but a scent in the air stopped her. Belladonna could taste metal and smelled decay on the breeze. She motioned Faulheit to silence while retrieving the crossbow confiscated from Deschamp. It was slung over her back on a leather strap, along with a fistful of metal bolts in a makeshift cartridge, ready to be slotted into the weapon for quick firing. Belladonna brought the crossbow round to her chest, deftly moving the cartridge into position. Faulheit pulled a heavy club from its place on his right hip, also ready for action but not so eager to race towards it. The duo crept down the remaining stairs and along the narrow corridor that led into the basement. Ahead of them were four empty doorways, each leading to a different room.
Cobbius had been shackled to the wall in a room on the station’s south side. It had empty, barred windows close to floor level. When the tide was at its peak, the water in the cut often rose high enough to spill into the basement via these windows, soaking the feet of anyone inside. That made incarceration down there particularly unpleasant, a useful deterrent for any prisoners who objected to being kept in the holding cells on public display. Belladonna edged towards the room where Cobbius was, grateful the tide had not yet reached its apogee for the day. Splashing through ankle-deep water was no way to conceal your presence. She leaned against the wall by the doorway, the crossbow gripped tightly, mentally preparing to burst into the cell. Faulheit lurked beside her, weighing the club in his hand, taking deep breaths. Belladonna nodded to him before throwing herself into the cell, yelling for everyone inside to freeze. What she saw made her recoil in horror. Otto examined the tiny brooch of silver and jade, admiring the delicately crafted setting and jewels. “Look at the gemstone in the centre of it,” Kurt prompted. He was standing by the window in his office, watching the deserted span of Three Penny Bridge. It was the middle of the day, though the bleak clouds gathering over Marienburg had blotted out the sun. By rights the bridge should be experiencing one of its busiest times of the day. Instead the span outside it resembled a dwarf settlement the morning after Keg End, with barely a soul stirring in any direction. “What does that look like to you?”
The priest frowned. “I am an acolyte of Morr, not a dealer in gems.”
“Look closer,” Kurt urged.
Otto squinted at the stone in the brooch’s centrepiece. It was tiny, little more than a shard. The gemstone itself appeared emerald at first glance, but it was raw and unrefined, making a true assessment of its hue difficult. Gradually, as the priest’s eyes looked deeper into the fragment, his hands started to tremble. “This is… Where did you get this?”
“Gerta the Blurter bought it from Fingers Blake. I’m guessing he found it near the body of Arullen Silvermoon. How the brooch came to be in Silvermoon’s possession, I have little idea. We know he’d been down in the sewers, possibly even the catacombs-maybe he found it there, I don’t know. I believe the monsters that murdered him were looking for that brooch, the power it contains.” Otto put the brooch down on the captain’s desk as if afraid of being infected by it.
“The unpolished gem in the centre is warpstone,” he said, his voice grave. “No mortal can look upon it or possess it for long without surrendering himself to the power of Chaos.”
Kurt pointed at the brooch. “I’ve been carrying that around in my tunic pocket, little realising what it was doing to me. I’m fortunate to have had only a slight exposure, but still it went to work on my mind, pushing me to lash out at anyone and everyone. I’ve felt these self-destructive urges almost since setting foot inside this station and I couldn’t understand why. I believe that brooch is the cause.”
Otto’s brow furrowed. “You said monsters murdered Arullen Silvermoon. What monsters?”
“Ratmen.”
“Morr protect us,” the priest muttered. “You’re certain of this?”
“As certain as I can be,” Kurt replied. “That tiny shard of warpstone has special significance to them. They have been leaving their lairs in the catacombs to search for it, edging closer and closer to the surface. They have risked discovery and detection in an effort to claim that small fragment held in the centre of that brooch. I suspect it belongs to some larger piece, a block of warpstone that requires the shard to become complete. Perhaps it is a rare kind of warpstone, with a power many times greater than any other warpstone mortal men have encountered. I don’t know the truth of the matter, maybe I never will, but I do know this: while that shard of warpstone remains here on Suiddock, we’re all in danger.”
“Then destroy it.”
The captain shook his head. “I wish I could, but I don’t believe that’s possible. Perhaps it is fate or destiny,
but I have been sent to this place and time, to deal with this. It is my duty.”
Otto stood up. “If you’re right, keeping the brooch here invites the ratmen to attack this place.”
“For the moment, they’d have to get in line.”
“So what do you intend to do?”
Kurt smiled at the priest. “Funny you should ask me that.”
***
The hunched figure was holding a blade to the throat of Abram Cobbius. Fortunately, the prisoner was still asleep, otherwise his life could well have been forfeit by this point. Sergeant Woxholt was sprawled on the basement floor, blood oozing from a gash on his forehead. “Drop the knife,” Belladonna said, surprised how authoritative her voice sounded. She kept the confiscated crossbow aimed at the intruder’s head.
“Tooth and claw, claw and tooth,” the figure hissed, a hooded cloak hiding their face from view.
That was what the murdered elf had said to her, Belladonna remembered. She peered at the blade pressing against Cobbius’ skin. The tip had been broken off, but she could see the handle bore markings typical of an elf’s knife. “You stole that blade from Arullen Silvermoon, didn’t you? Didn’t you?”
“Gave it to us,” the intruder hissed in a sibilant tone. The accent was pure Suiddock, gruffer and less cultured than other Marienburg voices, so the intruder was local. “Gave us his blood, too.”
“You stabbed the elf with his own weapon,” she realised.
“We had to feed it, to find salvation.” The intruder pressed the blade deeper into Cobbius’ neck. “This is the one. He made us tell, he made us say where the little stone was. The House of Silvermoon was my friend, when I was still just a man. Joost…” Belladonna knew it couldn’t be long before Cobbius’ skin was broken and his life’s blood poured out. “We need to feed the big stone again.”
“Turn around,” Belladonna commanded. “Let me see your face!”
The hunched figure twisted its head to glare at her. The contorted visage was that of a man, but with features so warped and twisted they were all but unrecognisable. Ruptured lips twisted into something resembling a smile, a suppurating black tongue slithering in and out the black, sickly mouth. “Happy now?”
She fought the urge to retch, swallowing back down the bile rising from her gut. Belladonna sensed movement behind her in the hallway. Faulheit was still out there, his presence so far unnoticed by the intruder. “Get help,” she hissed out the corner of her mouth. “Get help!”
“What did you say?” the intruder demanded, his voice the snarl of an animal.
“Get help – I can get help for you,” Belladonna replied, relieved to hear Faulheit slip away, heading back upstairs. Now all she needed to do was stop this madman killing again. “What’s your name?”
“Joost Holismus,” the intruder replied, before gesturing around himself. “This was my domain!” Kurt and Otto were descending the stairs as Faulheit came racing up from the basement. The breathless Black Cap gasped out an explanation of what was happening below. The captain and Otto hurried down to the basement, going as quietly as they could. The sound of a man’s shouting helped mask their approach, though his ranted words offered little hope of a bloodless resolution. “I ruled this place once! It was mine, my domain, my kingdom. Then I looked deep into the stone and I saw the true way, the true light-the path to Chaos is the path of righteousness!
“I gave in to that, surrendered my soul to its glory-and the Chaos took my face, took my humanity. It shall take yours too, all of you here, if you stay. Let that be a warning!”
“Tell me more about the stone,” Belladonna’s voice urged, gently coaxing.
“There isn’t time anymore-they are coming!”
Kurt and the priest paused, fearful their approach had been detected.
“Who’s coming?” Belladonna asked. “Who are ‘they’?”
“They are legion, an army, a horde of ravening vermin, coming to feast upon your bodies and your souls. They shall devour you like carrion, sate themselves upon your flesh and blood!”
“You mean-the ratmen?”
A man screamed, his cry like that of a wounded animal, shrieking in horror. “Say not their name out loud, lest you summon them! I have walked in their shadow all these years, eluding them. But they come now and none may hide from their wrath. Your lives are forfeit. But first my blade must drink blood!”
“Joost, no!” By the time the captain and Otto had burst into the cell, Kurt’s predecessor was pinned to the wall by a crossbow bolt, the metal shaft puncturing his abdomen. Black blood wept from the wound onto the floor, and Holismus shrieked in pain, hurling vile abuse at Belladonna. She was crouched on the floor, cradling Jan in her arms, the crossbow discarded to one side. Cobbius remained chained to the wall, unconscious and oblivious, a red line across his neck the only mark of how close he had been to death. “What took you so long?” Belladonna asked with a weary smile.
“You know how it is,” Kurt said, kneeling beside her and Jan. “Paperwork always gets in the way of the real law enforcement. How’s the sergeant?”
“He’ll be fine, nothing fatal,” she replied, before looking to Otto. “You’d best check Holismus, see how bad his wound is. I tried to stop him without killing him, but…”
The priest moved closer to the intruder, but remained outside the reach of Holismus’ flailing arms and legs. “He won’t die today. Chaos has perverted his body so badly it would take much more than a single crossbow bolt to kill him. Consider yourself fortunate the shot pinned him to the wall.”
Jan stirred, wincing in pain as his senses returned. “Sigmar’s sausage, what hit me?”
“Joost Holismus,” Kurt replied, indicating the angry intruder. “Any idea how he got in?”
The sergeant shook his head. “Never heard him coming either.”
“This used to be his station,” Belladonna pointed out. “He probably knows more about it than anyone else alive.”
“Something tells me he’s not in the mood to share,” Kurt observed. “Otto, you should be going.”
“Indeed. I wish you well in the trial to come.” The priest bowed to them before leaving the cell.
“If you see Faulheit upstairs, send him down to me,” the captain called after him.
“You’re letting him leave?” Belladonna asked, her face filled with bewilderment.
“I can’t expect him to stay here, not with what faces us,” Kurt replied.
She hurried out into the corridor and caught hold of Otto as he reached the stairs. “You can’t leave us like this. For the love of Morr, we need your help here!”
The priest shook his head. “My duty takes me elsewhere.”
“So, that’s it? You’re running back to your precious temple to hide? Everyone in this station could be supping with Morr by nightfall and you’re leaving us to that fate!”
“You don’t understand. I go in search of help-if there’s anyone who can help you.” Otto strode up the stairs, ignoring her cries for him to come back. Moments later an apprehensive Faulheit appeared.
“The captain wants to see you,” Belladonna said, her voice close to breaking. She listened as Kurt told the watchman to go out and find a witch hunter called Brother Nathaniel.
“He’s probably in the nearest Temple of Sigmar, praying up a storm. Tell him we’ve captured his Chaos-loving heretic. If he wants Joost Holismus, he should come down here. And you might suggest he bring some friends, assuming Nathaniel has any. It’ll take at least four to get the madman out of here.” Faulheit hurried past Belladonna to the stairs. She returned to the cell, unable to understand Kurt’s actions.
“Why hand him over to the witch hunters? He may have useful intelligence about the ratmen.”
“Brother Nathaniel made it clear he would destroy this place if I withheld Holismus from him,” Kurt replied. “The witch hunters have the power to do that, power unchecked by any authority in this city. If we do get through the next day or two, I’d like this station to
have a future. Manann knows, neither the commander nor any members of the Stadsraad are going to stand up to the witch hunters on our behalf.”
“Besides,” the sergeant added, “I doubt we’ll get much sense out of Joost.”
Holismus was spitting mouthfuls of black blood at them, snarling and cursing, his eyes rolling back into his head. As he thrashed about, his hood fell backwards, revealing his grey, receding hair. Belladonna approached him carefully, picking up the elf blade from the basement floor. “You stabbed Arullen Silvermoon, didn’t you? Why?”
The Chaos-addled creature thrust his forked tongue out at her, flicking it back and forth in a grotesque lapping motion. When she turned away, a quiet, almost childlike voice escaped from him. “He had the heart of the stone, the last shard of it with him. I took his blood and fed it to the stone, as payment.”
Joost’s younger brother ran into the cell, breathless and wild-eyed. When Lothar saw his sibling, he cried out in anguish, sinking to his knees on the floor. “I told you! I told you I saw him, but none of you would believe me. Why? Why didn’t you trust me?”
Kurt rested a comforting hand on the grief-stricken watchman’s shoulder. “I’m sorry, Lothar.”
Joost’s head twitched and spasmed.
“Lothar? Is that you, little brother?”
The other Holismus looked up, amazement on his features. “Joost? You know me?”
“How could I forget my own brother?” Lothar got to his feet, moving closer to the Chaos-stricken creature pinned to the wall. Belladonna put herself between the siblings, to stop Lothar getting too close. “Lothar, I need you to do something for me,” Joost whispered, his voice that of a normal man, not the rasping screech of horror and hatred it had been before.
