by David Bishop
Holismus had been peering into the four rooms of the basement. “We can’t defend all of these spaces. We need to choose one and make our stand in there.”
Faulheit pointed at the cell where Cobbius was still chained to the wall, the rising water now around his thighs. “That one. We can always offer him as a bargaining chip.”
“That’s what the captain said,” Scheusal recalled. “Alright, you and Bescheiden gather all our weapons in there, while Holismus and I defend the doorway.” The sound of wood splintering and men screaming for blood upstairs suddenly got louder. “That’s it, they’re inside! Everybody move-now!”
Cobbius smirked as the terrified watchmen gathered in his cell. “Now you’ll pay for arresting me! I’m not any common criminal, you fools! I’m-” The prisoner’s arrogant boasts were cut short when Scheusal shoved his black cap into Cobbius’ open mouth, gagging him.
“If I have to die down here, I don’t want your voice to be the last thing I bloody hear!” The upper level barricades withstood the first onslaught of mercenaries to come up the stairs. Narbig, Deschamp and Gerta held their ground at one end of the hallway, while Belladonna and Kurt stood firm at the other. Soon the invaders brought up axes and started hacking at the wooden barricades, but it was slow work. Mercenaries tried to throw flaming torches over the top of the blockade at the Riddra end of the hallway, but Gerta was having none of that. She picked up all those that did get over and tossed them back again. Screams of anguish and the smell of burning flesh signalled the success of her response, and no more torches were flung into the hallway. After a while the attackers despaired of penetrating the blockades and went back down the stairs, searching for another way to reach their quarry.
Belladonna slid back down to the floor, her legs giving way beneath her. She’d no idea what the time was, whether it was still Konistag or a new day. If midnight had passed, that meant it was Angestag, the 32nd of Vorgeheim. She couldn’t help smiling at the thought of that. “What’s so amusing?” Kurt asked.
“I was wondering whether it’s my birthday yet,” she replied.
The captain sat beside her. “I stopped counting mine years ago. Things like that didn’t seem important anymore. Certainly nothing to celebrate.”
“Because you’re still alive and the people you love are dead?”
Anger flared in his eyes. “What do you know about-” He stopped himself. “Of course-you worked in the commander’s office. You read my file before volunteering for this station.”
“Wouldn’t you?”
He shrugged. “I suppose so.”
“What happened in Altdorf, what happened to your wife-it wasn’t your fault.”
“Try telling that to my father, the great general.” Kurt laughed, but there was bitterness in his voice. “I wonder what he’d make of my tactics here. Not much, I suspect.”
“What would Old Ironbeard have done differently?”
“Never start a fight you can’t finish, that’s his philosophy. He would have retreated, regrouped-come back with a stronger force and taken Suiddock by storm.”
“That would never work in Marienburg,” Belladonna observed. “But how can he blame you for Sara dying in childbirth? It happens all the time.”
“I don’t want to talk about this. Not here, not now,” Kurt insisted.
“Why not? Manann knows, we’ll probably be dead long before morning.”
“I don’t want to spend my last minutes alive explaining myself to you-”
“Maybe not,” she cut in. “But you still need to face what happened. Until you find some peace with that, it’ll keep haunting you, Kurt-in this life and the next.”
“You believe there’s another life after this one?”
“I hope so,” Belladonna said, a wry smile on her lips. “I’m feeling short-changed by this one.” Kurt turned away from her, tears welling up in his eyes. “What did I say?” He shook his head, overcome by emotion. She waited until he’d regained his composure. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to pry.”
“Yes, you did-but maybe you’re right. Maybe it’s time I faced up to what happened.” He took a deep breath. “My brother, Karl, he was always the baby of the family. I was so proud the day Karl joined the regiment, following in my footsteps. When Sara told me she was having a baby, it made my joy complete. Then Archaon’s Chaos army came, threatening to destroy everything we held dear. We were given orders to advance on Middenheim, but I didn’t want to go. I knew our child was due any day. Sara had lost babies before, stillbirths, and I didn’t want to risk her going through that again on her own. I went to my father, begged him for permission to stay behind-but the general wouldn’t allow that. He said my duty was at the front, making sure Karl didn’t get into trouble. It was Karl who talked my father round.”
“So you stayed in Altdorf?”
Kurt nodded. “All seemed well. Sara had a boy, and we called him Luc. I left as soon as I could, but a day too late. Karl died on the battlefield, because I wasn’t there to protect him. My father, the mighty General Schnell, had me dishonourably discharged from the regiment. When I got home, I discovered there had been complications after I left and Sara had died while I was away. My father had me banished from Altdorf and took my son away. I haven’t seen Luc since.” He grimaced, fighting back tears. “I was damned, no matter what I did. That’s why I hope there is no next life. How could I ever face my wife or my brother, knowing how I let them down?”
Belladonna took Kurt’s face in her hands and stared into his ice-blue eyes. “You’ve got to listen to me. Everything that happened would have happened, even if you had done things differently. You can’t know you’d have been able to save your brother. Your wife’s death was a tragedy, but it couldn’t have been helped. Even if you’d been there, you couldn’t have saved her.”
“But I would have been there with her, at the end,” Kurt whispered. “That’s all we can do for each other, when the end comes for us-and I failed her.”
“Even if you couldn’t be by her side, you were with her in spirit. She had to know that. You can’t keep punishing yourself for things you can’t change,” Belladonna whispered to him. “What’s past is passed. Remember that-otherwise you’re a dead man walking, waiting for the end.”
Kurt smiled, despite his grief. “You sound like Jan.”
“I’ll take that as a compliment.”
“That’s how it was meant.” The captain got back to his feet. “I hope he’s alright down there.” In the basement the four surviving watchmen were fighting for their lives. Scheusal and Holismus had taken station inside the empty doorway of the cell, using their weapons and the narrowness of the entrance to keep the mercenaries at bay. Scheusal hacked his way through half a dozen of the enemy with his axe, cleaving their heads with mighty swings of the double-edged blade, while Holismus wielded his two short swords with deadly efficiency. But no matter how well they fought or how many of the intruders they slaughtered, still more kept coming.
Eventually their luck ran out and Scheusal was sliced through the forearm by a mercenary’s blade, cutting right to the bone. He staggered backwards, shouting at Faulheit to take his place. The obese watchman waddled forward in the waist-deep water, using Scheusal’s discarded mace as his weapon of choice. He caved in three heads with it before losing his balance and tumbling backwards into the water. Bescheiden leapt into his place, firing the last bolts from his crossbow before using it as a bludgeon.
But he withstood only a few moments before succumbing to his fear and retreating to cower by Cobbius.
Faulheit recovered enough to take Bescheiden’s place in the doorway. An enemy blade stabbed Holismus in the side and blood gushed from the wound, staining the seawater around him crimson. He collapsed, leaving just Faulheit to stand guard. “Now you shall all die!” a mercenary hissed, victory in his eyes.
“Not on my watch,” Faulheit retorted, burying the mace in his opponent’s skull. The Black Cap fought like a daemon, swiping his weapon back
and forth, taking out one mercenary after another, until he had accounted for half a dozen. “This isn’t so hard,” he shouted back over his shoulder to the others.
“Martin, look out!” Scheusal shouted, but the warning came too late. A mercenary threw a dagger and it stabbed deep into Faulheit’s abdomen, burying itself in his rolls of fat. He sank into the water, disappearing beneath the surface, his arms flailing wildly. All the watchmen were down, wounded and unable to defend themselves. The battle for the basement was lost.
The mercenary who had felled Faulheit waded into the cell, a short sword in both hands. He had a goatee and cruel smile, his delight at their defeat all too evident. “You fought well, but to no avail. We have our orders. None of you is to-” His words were cut short by a word from one of his men. They leaned closer and whispered in his ear. He listened, brow furrowing. “You’re certain of this?” The other man nodded and withdrew. The mercenary with the goatee folded his arms, still clutching his short swords.
Scheusal glared at the victor. “What are you waiting for? If you’re going to finish us, do it!”
“I have my orders,” the mercenary replied. “Your fates are being decided elsewhere.” Everything had fallen silent on the station’s upper level. All the mercenaries had withdrawn and even the rainstorm outside had stopped, as if pausing for breath. Kurt stood with his ear to the barricade, listening intently. “Can you hear that?” he asked.
“I can’t hear anything,” Belladonna replied.
“Listen!” he urged. From the silence a new sound was approaching, wooden wheels on the cobbles outside, coming closer. Kurt strode to the nearest window overlooking Three Penny Bridge. It was dark outside with storm clouds hiding the moon’s light, but the bridge was lit by two lines of mercenaries, all holding blazing torches. An ornate coach rolled to a stop outside the station and its driver jumped down to the street, before hurrying round to open the passenger door. He unfolded a set of steps and moved aside, allowing the occupant to emerge. Henschmann climbed down from the coach, the burning torches throwing cruel shadows across his unhappy face. He looked round, taking in the battle-scarred mercenaries standing to attention, the piles of dead and dying men littering the span, and the beleaguered station. Henschmann cleared his throat before calling out: “I would speak with Captain Schnell, if he’s still alive!”
“Alive and kicking,” Kurt replied. “What do you want?”
“I wish to talk with you, captain.”
“I’m listening.”
“It would be easier if you came down here, on to the bridge.”
“Thanks, but no. You’ll forgive my suspicious nature, but last time I set foot outside to talk with one your thugs I was fortunate to make it back inside alive.”
“You need not fear. I am a man of my word, and I promise your safety. None shall harm you while I am present,” Henschmann vowed.
“Thanks for the promise, but I’m staying put.”
“Very well. I come to offer you and your Black Caps safe passage.”
“Really?”
“Agree to my terms and you may all walk out of that station, away from Suiddock unharmed and unmolested. I give my word on that.”
“And what are these terms?” Kurt asked.
“Firstly, release Abram Cobbius into my custody.”
“Assuming he’s still alive.”
“Indeed.”
“What else?”
“The Watch will withdraw from Suiddock, permanently. Your commander will make a guarantee that no more Black Caps shall be garrisoned within this district- ever.”
“Alas, I have little sway with the commander,” Kurt commented, “so I cannot be certain he would give such a guarantee, either now or in the future.”
“It would be enough for now if you were to make such a guarantee. I’m sure the commander can be persuaded to endorse your decision in this matter,” Henschmann said with a smile.
“Yes. I’ve heard you two are close, Casanova,” the captain retorted.
“You would be wise not to try my patience with insults! I give you one minute to consult with your recruits. Since their lives are at stake, they should have some say in the matter, don’t you agree?”
“Since when did you become an advocate of democracy?”
“You have one minute, Schnell. Use it wisely, otherwise it will certainly be your last.”
“I don’t need a minute to think about the offer, and neither do my Black Caps. We’re staying put.”
“And that is your last word on the subject?”
“You heard me the first time. Now get off my bridge, before I have you thrown off it.”
“How regrettable,” Henschmann said. “Someone so brave, so resourceful and yet so headstrong. Very well, it shall be as you ask. I leave now. I am not responsible for what happens next. Remember that.” He turned to get back into his carriage, but the door had swung shut. Henschmann cleared his throat, to prompt the driver into opening the door for him, but nothing happened. “I wish to leave!” he announced in a voice that made it clear trouble was imminent. Still the driver didn’t move. “Did you hear me? I said I-”
The driver slumped to his knees before falling on to the cobbles. Something was embedded in his back. It looked like the hilt of a knife, suggesting the blade was buried deep inside the driver. A series of whistling sounds cut through the air, accompanied by flashes of silver. Nine of the mercenaries cried out in pain, before collapsing, all clutching at their chests or necks. One directly below Kurt’s window had been holding a burning torch. It fell beside him on the cobbles, illuminating his fate. A star protruded from his neck, green liquid on it seeping into the wound. No, not seeping in, Kurt realised-eating into the wound.
He stepped back from the window, his mind racing. Kurt’s mind rebelled against the reality of what was happening outside. It wasn’t possible, it couldn’t be happening. These monsters always stayed in their catacombs, deep beneath the Empire, plotting and planning. Could they now be rising up, ready to storm the battlements and alleyways of Suiddock? No, he realised, it was not simply Suiddock that was under threat. The fate of all Marienburg was now at stake-and nobody else had realised the terrifying truth of what was happening. The ratmen had risen.
CHAPTER NINETEEN
All those in the basement, both watchmen and mercenaries, heard the terrifying sound of men screaming before they saw what was responsible for inducing such a fearful cacophony. Grown men were weeping and howling above, begging for mercy, crying out in abject horror. Those below listened incredulously, unable to believe what they were hearing. “Sweet Shallya,” Scheusal muttered, tying a makeshift bandage round the wound on his left arm. “What is happening upstairs?”
The mercenary with the goatee sent one of his men to the ground floor to find out. The hired killer returned moments later, but now his face was ashen and he was wringing his hands like a frightened old woman. “Monsters,” he gasped to the mercenary leader. “Hoffman, the others are being torn apart by them!”
“Nonsense!” Hoffman retorted. “What do these monsters look like?”
“Imagine rats the size of men,” Scheusal interjected, “but standing on their hind legs. Walking vermin clad in armour, wielding swords and daggers stained with some diabolical poison. Creatures ripped from your darkest nightmares, made flesh and blood, their eyes glittering like black diamonds.”
“Y-Yes, that’s them,” the petrified mercenary whimpered. “H-How did you know?”
“They’re called the ratmen,” the watchman replied. “I saw them once, when I was a boy in Bretonnia, and they’ve haunted my dreams ever since. Besides, there’s a cadre of them behind Hoffman.”
The mercenary leader spun round to find a half a dozen ratmen emerging from the other cell on the station’s south side. They were a blur of movement in the darkness, offering mere glimpses of their fearsome appearance-armour and fangs, hissing snouts and malevolent eyes, blades clasped in blackened fists and claws. They were vermin that s
tood on their hind legs like men, creatures of hunger and fury. They were evil personified, fear and loathing made flesh. They were every worst nightmare, brought to life. “Taal’s teeth!” He flashed his short swords through the air, decapitating the first two ratmen and taking the arms from two more. The crippled monsters squealed in anguish, while the severed heads plopped into the waist-high water, jaws and teeth still gnashing hungrily.
Scheusal leapt forward to help Hoffman, slicing his axe clean through the next ratman before burying the double-headed blade deep inside the final monster.
He ripped it free, the creature’s armour shattering outwards, unable to withstand such ferocity. Meanwhile Hoffman had dealt with the armless ratmen, cutting off their hairy, sinister snouts and stabbing them through the heart. Even when they were dead, the mercenary leader kept hacking at them, cutting the creatures to pieces. “Save your energy,” Scheusal said. “We’re going to need it to get out of here alive.”
Hoffman stopped, panting and gasping for breath. “Where did they come from?”
“The catacombs,” Holismus replied. He staggered over to them, one hand clutching at his wounded side, the other gripping the hilt of a short sword still stained with mercenary blood. “Look at their feet.” The others followed the line of his arm, pointing at the body of a ratman floating in the murky floodwater. There was webbing between its toes, evidence of generation upon generation spent in the water tunnels and flooded chambers deep beneath Marienburg. “They must have swum up, rising with the tide, waiting for their chance to attack under cover of darkness.”
Scheusal tilted his head, listening to the sound of men screaming above. “They must be up on the bridge too. If we’re lucky, this was simply an isolated unit, sent here to secure the lower level.”
Hoffman wiped a hand across his face, fear all too evident in his eyes. “And if we’re not lucky?”
