by Warhammer
If the College of Engineering was big, the Imperial Gunnery School was enormous, a vast complex of workshops, firing ranges, forges, and dormitories surrounding the soaring black granite majesty of the school building itself, which rose above the city like an unimaginably large engine of war, all spires and spikes and saw-toothed crenellations. Fearsome soot-blackened gargoyles jutted from every corner and cornice. Tall, narrow, red-glassed windows gleamed between towering buttresses like the vents in the iron door of some infernal furnace.
Lord Julianus Groot did not look like he should be in charge of such a forbidding place. A thick, cheerful, pot-bellied man with greying mutton chops and a few wisps of hair trailing across his round, bald head, Groot looked more like a village smith than the High Chancellor of the Imperial Gunnery School, which was his official title. He wore a singed leather apron over his black brocade robes of office, and had his trailing sleeves tucked into heavy leather gloves.
‘Any friend of Malakai Makaisson’s is a friend of mine,’ he said, crushing Felix’s hand in a powerful grip. ‘A better ally the Empire could not have.’
Felix and Gotrek stood with Lord Groot and Malakai in a sweltering forge room where ranks of sweating smiths pounded and shaped steel on regimented rows of anvils as overseers moved among them, observing and criticising. It did nothing for Felix’s headache.
Felix was surprised to hear the chancellor speaking with the flat, common accent of the Handelbezirk – the mercantile neighbourhood that was the heart of Nuln’s ever-spreading network of trade. He would have expected a man with a title to speak in the more refined and cultured speech of the nobility. Perhaps Groot had bought his way into his title. Rumour had it that the Countess had done stranger things for money.
‘It’ll be good to have seasoned warriors escorting our guns,’ he said, gripping Gotrek’s hand. ‘When you’re up against the Ruinous Powers even a flying ship isn’t safe. Some of them beasties have wings. You’ll have some sorcerous help too, Makaisson.’
‘Oh?’ said Malakai, squinting suspiciously. ‘And jist who might that be?’
Groot turned and called back into the haze of smoke that veiled the room. ‘Magus Lichtmann, come meet your travelling companions!’
Gotrek, Felix and Malakai looked up. Felix wasn’t sure what he expected. Some malefic figure striding out of the smoke with glowing eyes? A wizened old man in a pointy hat? What he saw was a tall, beardless man of middle age, bent over an anvil, observing intently as a smith shaped a cannon fitting. He glanced up and firelight winked off his spectacles. ‘Hmmm? Oh. Terribly sorry, my dear Groot.’
The magus picked his way through the forges to the chancellor. He was thin to the point of being skeletal, with a prominent throat apple, a weak chin, and a beaked nose beneath a mushroom cap of reddish brown hair. He wore the orange and red robes of the Bright College, and like Groot, he protected his attire with a sooty leather apron. His spectacles were made of delicate steel wire, and his eyes, behind them, were green with flecks of gold.
‘Terribly sorry,’ he said again in a clear, educated voice as he nodded around at them all. ‘Julianus and I have been attempting to develop a new alloy, using magical flame to smelt together metals at temperatures impossible to achieve with mundane fire alone. I was just observing how our latest sample behaved under the hammer.’ He smiled at Groot. ‘Very malleable, Julianus, but not yet as strong as it could be, I believe.’
‘I’ll have a look in a moment, Waldemar,’ said Groot. He turned to the others. ‘Professor Makaisson, Slayer Gurnisson, Herr Jaeger, may I present Magus Waldemar Lichtmann, a Magister of the Bright College, and also an engineer of great renown.’
Magus Lichtmann bowed and extended his left hand, and it was only then that Felix noticed that the magus didn’t have a right hand. His right sleeve was pinned up just below the elbow. ‘A distinct pleasure, professor,’ he said, shaking Malakai’s hand. ‘Your advances in engineering are well known to me.’
He grinned sheepishly as he turned to shake Gotrek’s hand and then Felix’s. ‘Apologies for the left-handed handshake,’ he said. ‘People often find it a bit unnerving. I lost the right in a fire. Highly embarrassing for a bright wizard, but I was young then, and hadn’t yet learned control.’
Malakai raised an uneasy eyebrow. ‘I hope ye have noo. Airships are a wee bit flammable.’
The Bright Wizard laughed, a loud, horsy bray. ‘Oh yes, I’ve gotten a bit better since then, thank you. I can keep my flames to myself.’
‘Magus Lichtmann is going to Middenheim to help in the fighting,’ said Groot.
‘I am very much looking forward to it,’ said Lichtmann. ‘It has been a long time since I have been in battle, and never anything on this scale. But a man of conscience cannot, at a time like this, continue to hide in the halls of academia. He must act. He must do his part for his homeland and his people. And I am hoping to put some of the new ideas that Groot and I have been developing to the test of war.’
‘Weel, yer welcome aboard, magister,’ said Malakai. ‘Ah’ll be happy to hiv someone tae blether wae. This alloy sounds interestin’.’
‘It certainly is,’ said Lichtmann, his eyes brightening. ‘It’s a simple idea really, but hard to execute without a Bright Wizard’s ability to control the temperature of fire. You see…’
As Lichtmann began to explain – and Felix’s eyes began to glaze over – a young man in the colours of the college poked his head through the door of the workshop, saw Groot, and hurried to his side, his face tight with tension. ‘My lord,’ he murmured in the chancellor’s ear. ‘Might I speak with you?’
Groot nodded and turned to the others. ‘Would you excuse me a moment?’
He stepped away and listened as the student whispered urgently in his ear. Felix and Gotrek waited, sweating in the heat, while Magus Lichtmann continued to babble to Malakai about melting temperatures and tensile strength, whatever that was.
After a moment Groot nodded and said, ‘Aye, that’s bad,’ then rattled off a rapid series of orders and sent the youth running back the way he had come.
The chancellor sighed and returned to his guests. ‘Sorry about the interruption. There’s been a theft. I’m afraid your flight might be delayed, Malakai.’
‘What?’ barked Gotrek. His single eye blazed.
‘Whit happened?’ asked the engineer.
‘A barge full of gunpowder was stolen during the night,’ said Groot. ‘Gunpowder meant for the cannons you will be carrying. The Dwarf Black Powder Guild delivered it yesterday to our landing near Glory Bridge in preparation for loading it onto the Spirit of Grungni tomorrow. It was under heavy guard all night, but by morning the guards had vanished along with the barge and the powder.’ He shrugged and scratched his bald head violently. ‘Wish they’d told me sooner, but they wasted two hours running about seeing if someone from the City Council had ordered the barge moved.’
‘You can’t leave without the powder?’ asked Felix.
‘The cannon are useless wi’ no powder tae fire them, lad,’ growled Malakai. ‘Wi’out it they’re jus’ pretty pieces of iron, an’ no reason tae take ’em to Middenheim.’
‘Sabotage,’ said Magus Lichtmann. ‘This is vile. Someone has done this to weaken the defences of the Fauschlag.’
‘It’s worse than that,’ said Groot. ‘The fiends could have done that by setting fire to the barge and blowing up the powder. Instead they’ve stolen it. That means that, whoever they are, they plan to use the powder for their own purposes.’
‘And I’m guessin’ it won’ be tae make fireworks,’ said Malakai, grimly.
CHAPTER THREE
A strong wind knocked cold spray off the oily waves of the Reik and blew the pungent stinks of the Industrielplatz across the water. Felix wrinkled his nose and fought down nausea. He smelled burning oil, sulphur, tanning hides, rendering fat, dead fish, and other odours he couldn’t name and didn’t care to learn the source of. Out in the centre of the river where the current w
as swift, long, flat barges and high-prowed merchantmen manoeuvred to and from the main docks, further west. Gulls screamed overhead, much too loud for a man in his condition.
Lord Groot had asked Malakai and Magus Lichtmann to accompany him to the river to view the site where the theft had occurred, and Gotrek and Felix had tagged along for want of anything better to do. Now they were waiting while Groot and Malakai and Lichtmann and a few other members of the Gunnery School argued with a gaggle of city officials and a representative of the Dwarf Black Powder Guild on the embankment above the stone landing from which the barge had been stolen the night before.
Felix leaned dully on a piling off to one side, still suffering from his hangover, and watched Gotrek prowl restlessly about on the landing below him, looking down into the water and examining the pilings intently.
‘I find it very suspicious,’ a trim man in the colours of the city watch was saying. ‘The barge was tied up here, in the open, and yet there were no witnesses to its theft, and the crew and the guards have not been found.’ He sniffed. ‘They were Gunnery School guards, yes?’
Lord Groot drew himself up. ‘Surely you can’t be suggesting that our guards stole the barge.’
‘Not at all,’ said the man, in a tone that made it clear that he was indeed suggesting that. ‘I just find it peculiar, is all.’ His name was apparently Adelbert Wissen, the Ward Captain of the Neuestadt, a position that gave him authority over every watch station north of the river and south of the Altestadt wall. He held himself like he thought he had authority over the winds, the tides and the movement of the sun – a handsome, black-haired dandy in an immaculately tailored uniform and polished steel breastplate, with the haughty, damn-your-eyes look of one noble born. Felix was sorely tempted to splash mud on his perfectly polished boots. ‘What need for guards if the powder had been unloaded at once? Then the theft would not have occurred.’
‘Didn’t I just tell you that we are forbidden by edict of the Countess to store so much in the school?’ asked Groot, exasperated. ‘Would you have me break the law? And why are you wasting time talking to me? Why aren’t you looking for the barge? Surely it can’t have vanished.’
‘I have men looking for it on both sides of the river,’ said Wissen. ‘The situation is well in hand.’
‘What I want to know is, will I have to pay twice for the same powder,’ said a pinch-mouthed older man in chocolate velvet and a mink cloak. ‘I only agreed to finance these guns once. If there is more outlay now I will have to charge Middenheim more interest.’
‘If you think we’re going to give you free powder when you’ve gone and lost what we’ve just sold you, you’ve got another thing coming!’ barked a stout red-bearded dwarf in green doublet and brown boots. ‘Carelessness, I call it.’
‘What patriotism, Lord Pfaltz-Kappel,’ said Magus Lichtmann, gesturing with his single hand. ‘And such a spirit of cooperation, Guildmaster Firgigsson. It is so heartening to see the peoples of the Empire putting aside their petty grievances and coming together to help fight our common enemy in this time of war.’
Neither the noble or the dwarf seemed to note the sarcasm in his voice.
‘I’ve done my part,’ said Lord Pfaltz-Kappel. ‘You’d have no cannons at all were it not for me. It would be just like the dwarfs to steal the powder back and make us buy it twice. Gold-hungry little misers.’
‘Who are you calling miser, you tightfisted old penny pincher?’ retorted Firgigsson. ‘I marked down my price almost to half because it was going to the aid of Middenheim. Most like you stole it so you could get two barges for the price of one!’
‘Why dinna ye leave the name callin’ fur later?’ said Malakai, dryly. ‘Shouldnae ye be decidin’ what yer goin’ tae dae about findin’ the powder and them what stole it?’
‘Agitators stole it,’ said Ward Captain Wissen. ‘And I do not doubt they mean to use it. I have sent to the Countess and the High Constable to ask that men be placed around the granaries and the palace. And judging by events, perhaps some men should be assigned to the Gunnery School as well, since they don’t seem able to mount their own defence.’
Felix saw Gotrek’s shoulders tense as the argument got louder and louder. Finally he stomped up the stairs and glared at them. ‘Shut up!’ he bellowed.
The men all turned to him, looks of surprise and outrage on their faces. Malakai grinned.
Ward Captain Wissen put a hand to his polished breastplate. ‘You dare speak to a commander of the watch in such a–’
Gotrek cut him off. ‘What colour was this barge?’
The men looked at each other, confused.
Guildmaster Firgigsson raised a shaggy eyebrow. ‘It was red and blue, Slayer,’ he said. ‘With a stripe of gold between. Our guild colours, if it’s any business of yours.’
‘You interrupted us for that?’ sneered Lord Pfaltz-Kappel. ‘Groot, is this person a guest of yours?’
Gotrek ignored them as their babbling erupted anew and stumped back down the stairs. Felix followed him, curious. The Slayer began looking at the pilings again, muttering ‘red gold blue, red gold blue,’ over and over.
Felix stared at him, concerned. Was the Slayer still drunk? Had he gone mad at last?
‘Ha!’ Gotrek raised his head, grinning. ‘Red gold blue!’ He turned to Felix. ‘Look here, manling. The paint from the barge has scraped off onto the pilings.’
Felix leaned out over the water and looked at the river side of the rough wooden posts. They were covered in faint streaks of paint – layer upon layer of red, green, white, black, blue, yellow, grey and brown. ‘Uh, I see red, gold and blue. But I see other colours too. How can you…?’
‘Humans are blind,’ growled Gotrek. He stabbed his blunt fingers at three points on the post. ‘Here, here and here. The red, gold and blue are over the other colours, and much fresher.’
Felix shrugged. ‘I’ll take your word for it. But what good does it do us?’
‘Blind and thick-skulled,’ Gotrek snorted. He pointed to the white-capped water. ‘Look at that chop. I’ll wager its been that way since the wind freshened last night. No matter where the thieves tied up the powder barge, it will have left its mark.’ He looked west. ‘Now all we have to do is check every dock and tie-up down the river until we find red, gold and blue again.’
Felix laughed. ‘Is that all? That could take days.’
‘It better not,’ Gotrek grunted.
‘Why don’t we tell Ward Captain Wissen,’ said Felix. ‘It’ll take less time if we have the watch looking.’
Gotrek spat into the water. ‘Do you think they see any better than you? I want to be away tonight, not a month from now. Besides…’ he shot a glare up at Captain Wissen. ‘I don’t care for that one’s manners.’
The Slayer stomped up the stairs and started off down the embankment without a word or gesture to Malakai or Groot, his head down like a bloodhound’s. Felix sighed and started after him. Gotrek was one to talk about manners.
Five hours later they were still looking at pilings. Gotrek had examined every inch of the riverside; every landing and tie-up, every side branch and canal, and the underside of every bridge, and they were only just now reaching the official commercial docks that bordered Shantytown. Felix would not have believed there were so many nooks and crannies and hidden backwaters branching from the Reik’s stone banks. His back ached from bending over docksides. His eyes hurt. He was hungry and he needed a drink.
‘This is impossible. We’ll never find it,’ he said.
‘That’s the trouble with humans,’ muttered Gotrek. ‘They’re not thorough. No patience.’
‘That’s because we don’t live for five hundred years.’
The commercial docks stuck out into the river like cracked grey fingers. The weathered wood boomed hollowly under their heels as they paced each one, out and back, checking both sides. Felix didn’t see any red, gold and blue paint, but he saw another crudely drawn torch symbol scrawled on a piling. He had s
een scores of them during their search, as well as the symbols of the other agitator groups. They were all over the waterfront.
Longshoremen and carters stepped around Gotrek and Felix as they lugged goods from ship to wagon and from wagon to ship. Cargo guards glared at them as if expecting them to steal something or try to stow away. Felix felt foolish and in the way. This was a bad plan. It wouldn’t work. The sun was setting behind the looming ranks of brick warehouses that fronted the river. Soon it would be too dark to see. Felix’s aching eyes were already having difficulty distinguishing between the faint streaks of paint. That one, for instance. Was it red or orange? And that one, gold or green? And the one below it, blue or black?
‘Red, gold and blue!’ rasped Gotrek. He got down on one knee and leaned forward, sniffing like a bloodhound. After a moment he ran a stubby finger down a crack between two warped planks. Grains of black stuck to his fingertip. He sniffed them. ‘Black powder,’ he said. He lifted his head and looked around, taking in the ships, the warehouses, the sawtooth silhouettes of Shantytown tenements rising behind them.
Felix groaned. If the barrels had been offloaded here they could be anywhere by now. And if Gotrek was going to be ‘thorough’, it could be a very long night.
‘You,’ said Gotrek, to a passing longshoreman. ‘Did you see someone unloading barrels from a red and blue barge here this morning?’
‘This morning?’ said the man, without breaking stride. ‘I was asleep. I start at sunset.’
Gotrek cursed and strode towards the warehouses, glaring speculatively at the men they passed.
Felix followed. ‘Let me try,’ he said, afraid Gotrek’s brusqueness was going to land them in a fight.
