Tales of the Old World (45 page)

“Dinners?” Sam said, trying to ignore the growling of his stomach. Alten
nodded.

“Luther was going up in the world. He’d been asked to join this dining dub.”
An expression of puzzlement crossed his face for a moment.

“Ranald knows why, they didn’t seem like his sort of people at all. Guild
masters, aldermen, people from the university; maybe one of them owed him money,
and put him up for membership to pay off the debt. But they all seemed to like
him.”

“When did they meet?” Sam asked. Alten shrugged.

“Couldn’t tell you. It seemed to change from month to month. They never had a
fixed date for it that I could see.”

“Did the venue change too?” Sam asked. Alten shook his head.

“They met at some house in Zweibrugstraat. That’s all I know.”

“Thank you.” Sam nodded, and dropped a shilling on the counter. “I’ll take a
couple of your mackerel on my way out.”

As he’d expected, Karin van Meeren was no more happy to see him than her
business rival had been, but greeted him anyway with the practiced smile of a
professional hostess.

“Sam, my dear. This is an unexpected pleasure.” She gestured to the nearest
of the blank-eyed young women lounging around the over-decorated parlour with an
air of apprehensive boredom. “Liserle, get some refreshment for our guest.” Then
she turned back to Sam. “I assume you want to talk in private?”

“I assume you do,” Sam said, following her through a door into a more
comfortably appointed room. After a moment Liserle appeared with a decanter of
indifferent wine and a plate of pastries which looked a couple of days old at
least. At a look from Karin she put them down hastily on an occasional table and
fled, closing the door behind her.

“Luther van Groot,” Sam said, as the wooden panel clicked into its frame. “I
hear he used to dine out in the Zweibrugstraat from time to time.”

“Then you’ll have heard he used to take one of the girls with him,” Karin
said, draping herself across an overstuffed chaise, which brought her
overstuffed bodice down to the halfling’s eye level.

Sam blinked, and tried to concentrate. “The same one every time?”

Karin shook her head. “No, just whoever happened to be around. I could have
done without it, to be honest.”

“Why’s that?” Sam asked.

Karin shrugged. “I’ve got a business to run. All right, it was his at the
time, but I was the one taking care of everything. The customers expert things
to be nice around here. It doesn’t help if the girls are getting upset.”

“Upset?” Sam took a small bite from the nearest pastry, and replaced it
hastily on the plate. “I’d have thought they’d enjoy an evening out.”

“So would I,” said Karin. “But they came back spooked. They thought some of
the guests were a bit strange. I mean, you get all sorts in a place like this,
don’t get me wrong, but this was something else. And then one of them never came
back at all. Luther said she’d hit it off with some rich merchant from the
Oudgeldwijk and gone off with him, but she never sent for her stuff.”

“When was this?” Sam asked. Karin shrugged again.

“A couple of days before he died.”

“I see.” Sam considered trying the wine for a moment, then decided against
it. “Do you know where this dining club met?”

Karin nodded. “I can give you the address if you like.”

“I’d appreciate it. And a list of the dates too, if that’s no trouble.”

“I can remember a few,” Karin said, dipping a quill into an inkstand carved
to resemble a pair of feminine buttocks. She scribbled for a moment, and handed
Sam a slip of paper. “Those nights, I think. And that’s the address.”

Sam scanned it briefly. “Thanks,” he said. “That’s all I needed to know.”

“You were right,” Kris said, glancing up from the slip of paper. “These were
all nights when Morrslieb was in the ascendant.” He tapped the last date
speculatively. “And it was full the night the girl disappeared.” His chubby face
seemed unusually pale, even in the shaft of sunlight striking through the
shutters of the Dancing Pirate. “You think she was sacrificed by a Chaos cult?”
Sam nodded grimly.

“It’s possible,” he said. “The man who attacked me last night was using dark
magic, you said so yourself. And where there’s one witch there’s often a whole
coven of them.” Kris nodded too. “Got any leads on who he might be?”

“I might.” The portly young mage said. “There’s a research student at the
university who’s got a reputation for unorthodox theories. Nothing to get the
Temple Court excited, he’s too discreet for that, but rumour has it he’s been
looking into things better left alone.” He looked narrowly at Sam. “And no one’s
seen him since last night.”

“Haven’t they?” Sam drained his ale tankard thoughtfully, and pushed aside
the plate which had once held a fish stew. “Is that unusual?”

“Not really. He often disappears for a day or two, especially if he’s been to
some dining club he belongs to.” Kris looked narrowly at the halfling. “What?
What have I just said?”

“What exactly are we doing here?” de Wit asked, huddling a little more deeply
inside the doorway where he and Sam had taken refuge from the thin blanket of
drizzle enveloping the Zweibrugstraat. Sam shrugged.

“Waiting for the show to begin.” Dusk was falling, and so far he’d counted
twelve people entering the house Karin had named. De Wit made a small sound of
exasperation as a trickle of water slithered from the brim of his hat down the
neck of his shirt.

“If you’ve got nothing new to tell me, I’m going home.”

“The note was sent by Karin van Meeren,” Sam said. “I got another sample of
her handwriting earlier today, and the match was perfect.”

“Van Meeren?” De Wit shook his head slowly. “How does she fit into all this?”

“Because she was waiting for van Groot outside your shop the night he died,”
Sam said. “She wanted answers about one of her girls who’d disappeared, and she
knew he was going there to threaten you in person. He had to. If one man stood
up to him, everybody would, and his whole protection racket would crumble.” He
glanced up at the white-faced alderman. “The only thing I don’t understand is
why you’d take a risk like that. No offence, Alfons, but you never struck me as
the heroic type before.”

“I wasn’t,” De Wit nodded sombrely. “I was terrified. But I just didn’t have
the money. Business had been so bad the past few months I was on the verge of
going bankrupt.”

“So let me guess. You saw him coming, and slipped out the back.”

De Wit nodded. “That’s exactly what happened. But I wasn’t quick enough.” De
Wit paled a little in the flickering torchlight, the memory of his old terror
still uncomfortably fresh. “He came after me, and cornered me in the blind alley
behind the slaughterhouse. I thought I was done for, then he suddenly dropped.
Someone else had stabbed him from behind.”

“But you didn’t see who,” Sam said flatly.

De Wit shook his head. “No, just a flicker of movement in the shadows.”

The halfling nodded, and de Wit went on. “I went over to make sure he was
dead, and the next thing I know I’m surrounded by people, all cheering and
calling me a hero.” He looked beseechingly at Sam. “I couldn’t just turn my back
on that. It’s the sort of opportunity that only comes along once in a lifetime.”

“Unfortunately van Meeren knows the truth,” Sam said. “She must have seen you
checking the body, and realised that someone else killed him.”

De Wit nodded, and made a valiant attempt to match Sam’s businesslike tone.
“Any idea of what she wants?”

Sam nodded. “She’s been eyeing Jan Alten’s little empire for some time, my
guess is she’ll want you to keep official attention looking the other way when
she decides to make her move. Once you get your seat in the Burgerhof, though,
she’ll start to get more ambitious, you can bet on that.”

“I see.” De Wit took a deep breath. “And if I don’t agree to her demands,
she’ll denounce me as a fraud. It’ll all be over.”

“Maybe not,” Sam said. “Who are people going to believe, a hero like you or a
lowlife like her?”

A flicker of hope appeared in de Wit’s eyes as he considered this.
“Especially after your reputation gets another boost. By this time tomorrow
you’ll be feted throughout the city, not just the Winkelmarkt.”

“How do you mean?” de Wit asked, clearly out of his depth again. Sam gestured
in the direction of a party of grim-faced men approaching them, all armed. Most
wore the floppy black hats which marked them out as members of the city watch,
and the exceptions were clad in the blue tunics of templar marines.

“Luther van Groot was a member of a Chaos cult, which meets in that house
over there under the guise of an innocent dining club. When they heard I was
investigating van Groot’s affairs for you they tried to kill me, which wasn’t
the brightest thing they could have done, all they did was bring themselves to
my attention.” He shrugged, and indicated the men leading the group as they
approached. “May I introduce Brother Josephus from the Temple Court? Sergeant
Rijgen I’m sure you already know.”

“Alderman de Wit,” Rijgen said. “It seems we owe you our thanks again.”

“Indeed.” Josephus echoed the gesture. “Master Warble told us it was you who
pointed him in the direction of these heretic scum.” He drew his sword, while a
couple of the burlier Black Caps kicked open the door of the house. With a final
nod of acknowledgement he led the templars inside, most of the watchmen
perfectly happy to let them go first.

“Why did you give me the credit?” de Wit asked, his face bewildered, as
hoarse shouts and the sound of clashing blades began to echo through the street.

Sam shrugged. “Because you’re an honest man, at least by the standards of
this place, and you just might do some good with the influence you’ve gained. If
Karin’s still stupid enough to try blackmailing you now, all you have to do is
point out that she’s a known associate of a Chaos cultist, and you have the ear
of the witch hunters.”

“That ought to keep her mouth shut.” A bemused smile spread across the
alderman’s face. “There’s only one thing I still don’t understand. Who did kill
Luther van Groot?”

Sam shrugged, remembering the expression of shock and surprise on the
racketeer’s face as he’d died. The man had been stupid as well as brutal, the
city authorities would turn a blind eye to a certain amount of smuggling, so
long as the appropriate bribes were paid, but attempting to deal directly with
agents of the Empire intent on breaking Marienburg’s stranglehold on foreign
trade had been tantamount to suicide. Given de Wit’s known defiance of van
Groot’s protection racket, all Sam had needed to do to collect a generous bounty
on the traitor’s head was find a dark alley near the baker’s shop and wait.
Joining the gathering crowd of onlookers had been easy, and getting them to
applaud the accidental hero had been the perfect cover for a neat and profitable
assassination.

“Some things are best left a mystery,” he suggested, his attention suddenly
shifting to the house across the road. A number of cowed and battered cultists
were being escorted from the building, and he’d just recognised the second man
who’d tried to kill him the night before. “If you’ll excuse me, that fellow
still has his purse, and the son of a goblin owes me a new shirt.”

The sky was filled with the beating of black wings and the screeches of
ravens, crows and buzzards. The odour of decay was strong in the air as the
flock circled in the warm thermals that rippled above the burning Kislevite
town. Brought from many miles around by the rotting scent of food, the huge
black birds circled lower, seeking the source.

Below them, Gorlensk was a scene of carnage and wanton destruction. Many of
the buildings were little more than heaps of smoking ash, and all of those that
still stood bore signs of the slaughter that had occurred. Bodies were piled
haphazardly where clusters of men, women and children had been cut down where
they cowered by their psychopathic attackers. However, the flickering flames and
billowing smoke deterred the hungry scavengers, until the chill wind brought a
much stronger scent of death. The flock moved onwards and downwards, seeking out
the larger feast it promised.

The scene outside the town walls was no better than inside. The shadowy
shapes of the scavengers skimmed low, using the trail of dismembered bodies to
trace a gory path to the main battlefield, a mile or so north of Gorlensk.

The flock’s excitement grew as the rotting stench of death grew stronger.
Their cries becoming more raucous, the hungry birds scattered into smaller
groups that flapped low over the battlefield, each picking out a tasty-looking
target. Here the potential banquet would sate the hunger of even this massive
flock. The armoured bodies of knights lay next to the gouged and hacked corpses
of their steeds. The blocks of infantry had been run down as they fled, and the
piles of their carcasses blocked the road and the scattered farmsteads they had
tried to defend.

There were more than human bodies littering the field. The feasters of the
dead cawed in alarm and avoided the unnatural corpses of Chaos warriors and
half-animal beastmen which lay heaped by the dozen in some areas, their armour
rent by massive blows. The ground was red with drying blood, a crimson testament
to the ferocity of the battle. Rats scurried everywhere, their sleek bodies
matted with dried gore, as they weaved through the carnage, disturbing lazy
clouds of fat, blue flies. The heavy, bloated sun was perhaps an hour from dusk,
giving the scene of death and decay an even bloodier cast.

Picking out the pile where the press of corpses was greatest, the birds
plunged down amid raucous skrawks and the heavy beating of wings. The bulk of
the flock had just settled down to picking at the body of a brilliant white
horse and the tangle of bodies around it when something stirred next to them
from the midst of the dead. One of the corpses, clad in what was once a white
robe now stained with swathes of dried blood, shivered slightly and an arm shot
upwards to grip thin air. A plaintive cry wailed across the field, sending the
scavengers flapping into the air again.