Tales of the Old World (58 page)

“You’re right,” he whispered to Mikhal. “He kept his promise to come back.”

Stefan’s fingers closed upon the silver icon clutched in his hand, but the
goddess had no comfort to offer him. He looked to the sky, the pitiless grey sky
stretching out above them, and said a silent prayer.

He looked again at death, and death looked back at him through his father’s
eyes.

Nothing in his life, not even the horror of that last, long night, had
prepared Stefan for this. He wanted to understand how this could be, how the
world that had kept him safe from harm through all his years could now have
dealt so savage a blow.

He wanted to howl with rage, to beat against the cruel earth like Mikhal had
done; but that belonged on the other side of the door that had closed behind
him. And he wanted revenge, desperate bloody revenge, upon the men, the
monsters, that had destroyed his life. But that lay beyond the door through
which he had yet to pass.

He lifted Mikhal gently to his feet. Gradually the convulsions racking his
brother’s body subsided.

“Stefan,” he said, his voice choked with tears. “Will things always be like
this?”

“No,” Stefan replied at last. He took his brother’s hand and held it tight
inside his own. His wound hurt, a burning, stabbing pain. But Stefan knew that
he must bear it, for pain would be his companion now.

“Things won’t always be like this,” he whispered. He held Mikhal within his
arms, rocking his little brother to and fro as their father used to do. “Nothing
lasts forever.”

“Where will we go now?” Mikhal demanded of him, his voice beseeching. Stefan
shook his head, slowly. He did not know where they would go, but he knew that he
alone would have to decide. Gently, he pulled his brother away from their
father’s body and started back towards what once had been their home. After only
a few moments he realised it was futile. Their home was gone; it lay with
childhood in a place that existed only in the past. Now they must walk the path
that led to the future. Now they must walk the path of warriors.

Stefan Kumansky stopped and looked around him. To the north lay the sea, and
the cruel lands from whence the tide of death had swept through their village.
That would not be their path; not yet, at least. He turned away from the sea,
away from the ruins of Odensk, and faced inland.

“Come on,” he said gently, taking Mikhal’s hand. “It’s time.”

Together the two boys took the first steps along the road that lead to the
place that Stefan still knew only as the World. The first steps along the long
road that would lead to vengeance.

Hoffman cut an impressive figure. His boots glowed with a deep polish and his
baggy trousers were of smoothly brushed moleskin. An embroidered tabard encased
the barrel of his chest, and although the sleeves of his shirt were fashionably
loose, there was no mistaking the slabbed muscle beneath.

As well as his tailor, the swordsman was obviously a friend to his barber
too. Only careful work could have made such a proud shape to his beard, and his
scalp was shaved as smooth as wax with barely a nick to be seen.

Yet, for all that, Hoffman was no fop. Far from it. His eyes were alive with
a restless intelligence and he wore his sword like a workman’s tool.

“Herr Hoffman?” Reinhard asked as he approached his table.

Hoffman looked up to study the newcomer. He wasn’t much to look at. Just one
of the thousand flabby merchants that thronged the streets of Nuln.

Hoffman took his pipe out of his mouth and blew a smoke ring. “And what if I
am Hoffman?” he asked as the smoke dissipated. His eyes had become cold,
evaluating, and it occurred to Reinhard this was a truly dangerous man.

At least, that was what he had been told.

“My name is Reinhard. Reinhard Bosse. Somebody said that I might find you
here and… Well, look, let’s have a drink, shall we?”

Hoffman nodded. He watched the merchant hail a serving wench, his features
smooth with disdain.

“Thank you,” Reinhard said as the girl brought over two flagons of wine. He
seized one and drank thirstily. When he had finished he banged it down and wiped
his mouth with a velvet sleeve.

“So,” Hoffman said, his own drink untouched before him. “To what do I owe the
honour, Herr Bosse?”

“Oh, call me Reinhard. Everybody does.”

Apart from me, Hoffman’s frown said.

“Yes, well. You see, it’s like this. My family are in the tanning business.
Maybe you’ve heard of us. The Bosses of Gunwald? No? Well, no matter. The thing
is, my sister has always been quite jumpy. You know, afraid of the dark,
screaming when one of the servants drops a pot, things like that. And servants
will break pots. It’s amazing how they get through them, really. You know, I
don’t think I’ve ever dropped a pot in my life. Although, to be fair, I don’t
suppose I’ve carried as many as…”

“Herr Bosse,” Hoffman’s voice was quiet. “Why have you come to see me?”

“Oh, yes. Right. Sorry. It’s just that I haven’t been sleeping very well
lately and… Right. So this is why I’ve come to see you.”

Reinhard broke off and took a long, gurgling swig of wine. He sighed as it
hit the spot. Then he saw the expression on Hoffman’s face, and quickly started
to explain.

“It all began about a month ago. My sister was in the courtyard, drawing up a
bucket of water from a well, when she dropped the bucket and started screaming.
I’d never heard anything like it. I mean, I told you she shrieks when she’s
surprised, but not like this. It was horrible.”

Reinhard broke off and finished his flagon of wine. His eyes slipped towards
Hoffman’s full one and the swordsman, curious in spite of himself, slid it
across the table.

“Thanks,” Reinhard said, a guilty look in his eyes.

“What,” Hoffman asked as his host drank again, “did she see?”

“Oh, it was nothing. Nothing. You know how women are. It must have just been
her reflection in the water at the bottom of the well. Maybe a mouse or
something. But what she thought she saw… well, it’s ridiculous.”

“What did she
think
she saw?” Hoffman’s tone had become as cold as the
steel he wore on his belt.

“Well,” Reinhard lowered his voice and looked embarrassed. “A monster.
Something from one of the nursery rhymes our grandma used to tell us. These
things, I can’t remember what she called them, they were like rats. Only as big
as men. And as cunning. Just stories to frighten us when we were naughty, you
know the kind of things.”

“Yes,” Hoffman said. He stared through the merchant and into the world of
memory. “Yes, I know the sort of things.”

“Of course it’s all ridiculous. We told her so, too. Mother even lost her
temper in the end, shouted at her to stop being so silly. So then she started
sobbing. It all gave me such a terrible headache. In fact I’ve still got one
now, a little. I can feel it right there, just between my eyes. It’s all too
much, really it is. I’ve got to think about prices, markets, wages. And now
this.”

Hoffman watched Reinhard pinch the bridge of his nose and blink back tears.
Pathetic. “So what did you do about this thing she thought she saw?”

“Do? Well, nothing. What can you do? Bertha’s just highly strung, that’s all.
We all are. Our late father’s artistic temperament coming out, I’m afraid.”

Reinhard smiled wanly.

Hoffman regarded him with ill-concealed contempt. “He was a tanner
and
an artist?” the swordsman asked.

“In a way,” Reinhard nodded. “In a way. You should have seen him in action,
Herr Hoffman. He could sell anything to anybody. I remember once, there was this
countess…”

“Is this relevant?”

“What? Oh. No. No, I suppose not. Anyway, where was I?”

Hoffman felt his patience beginning to crack.

“Oh yes, that was it. So anyway, Bertha wouldn’t listen to reason. So she
started living in her chambers, refusing to drink water out of the well, arguing
with mother. Terrible arguments. But then, as if that wasn’t bad enough, one of
our servants got the idea that she’d seen one of the things as well. Oh, Sigmar,
after that the whole household started to collapse. And now the men are refusing
to use the well to get the water for the tanning pits. Say they’re afraid of the
monsters. I told them, I said if there were human-sized rats with teeth like
chisels lurking in the shadows don’t you think somebody would have seen them by
now?”

“Were they reassured?” Hoffman wanted to know.

Reinhard shook his head miserably. “No. See, there were a couple of fellows
have gone off over the past month or so. Just upped and deserted us. The tanning
business isn’t for everyone. But all of a sudden everybody seems to have decided
that they were eaten by Bertha’s ratfolk. I tell you, I’ve reached my wits’ end.
Constant arguing in the house, nobody to cook the dinner or do the laundry, and
now even the business is in peril.”

Reinhard drained the last of Hoffman’s wine and signalled for more.

“I can see you’re upset,” Hoffman told him as a girl brought more drinks
over.

“I am, Herr Hoffman, I am. Anyway, that’s why I’ve come to see you. Schilburg
the baker said that you helped him out once when he had a problem. Something
about some merchant who he had a disagreement with?”

“Ah yes,” Hoffman smiled. “Him.”

For the first time the mercenary picked up his drink. Somehow Reinhard knew
that it wasn’t to celebrate anyone’s good health.

“Well then,” Reinhard continued. “What I was thinking was that, if you were
to come back and climb down into the well, you could reassure everybody that
there are no monsters down there. No tunnels leading away from the well shaft or
anything.”

Hoffman put his tankard back down and looked into it thoughtfully. “That’s
all?”

“Yes. Oh yes. I’m sure that that will be enough to put everyone’s mind at
rest. It will be a quick and easy job for you, too. Just pop down a rope ladder
with a lantern, then come back up again.”

“If it’s so easy, why ask me?” the swordsman wanted to know. “Why not do it
yourself?”

“Oh, well. You know.” Reinhard looked shifty, and fiddled with his goblet.
“I’m not as fit as I was. And anyway, if there was something down there, not
that there is, I mean, but if there was…” He trailed off and hid his
embarrassment behind a swig of wine.

Hoffman looked at him with the easy contempt of the strong for the weak.

“I see,” he said. “Very well, I think that I can accept this contract.
However, it will cost you. Monsters or no, my clothes will have to be replaced
after splashing around in a well. And as well as that, of course, we will have
to agree on a bounty for anything that I do find down there.”

“Yes, of course,” Reinhard said, relief lightening his face. “Of course.
We’ll pay you a fair wage for popping down and having a look. In fact, I doubt
if even twelve coppers would be too generous.”

“Ha!” Hoffman barked with false laughter. “Twelve crowns, more like.”

The two men ordered more wine and settled down to haggle.

The next morning Hoffman rose with the sun. Blinking in the light that
flooded his attic room, he pulled on his breeches, and staggered down into the
courtyard of the inn. He plunged his head into a barrel of icy water to clear
his hangover, then looked around the yard.

To his surprise, Reinhard was already there. The merchant stood by the
stables, nervously wringing his felt hat.

“Good morning,” he said when he caught the swordsman’s eye.

Hoffman just grunted. “Got the money?” he asked.

“Oh yes. It’s all here.” The merchant lifted up a leather purse. It clinked
reassuringly. “Shall we make a start now, Menheer Hoffman?”

“You’re keen.”

“Sooner this is over with the better,” Reinhard said.

Hoffman shrugged. He had intended to call on a couple of friends of his, men
with whom he’d worked in the past. But now that he thought about it, why bother?
In the clear light of day all this talk of fairy tale monsters seemed even more
ridiculous. Better just to do this coward’s work for him, take the money, and
find a decent cookhouse for breakfast.

“Wait here,” he told Reinhard. “I’ll get my weapons and be down in a moment.”

The merchant nodded and shifted from foot to foot as the swordsmen went to
fetch his gear. When he returned he was armed with half a dozen scabbarded
blades, the belts fastened over a sleeveless leather jerkin.

“Come on then,” he told Reinhard. “Let’s go.”

The merchant looked impressed as he set off, leading the mercenary through
the twisting streets and gathering crowds of Nuln. In the distance the first
series of booms from the gunnery school started to drift through the chill
morning air, and the smells of frying sausage and freshly baked bread began to
weave through the stink of the night soil. Then the smell changed, growing acrid
as the two men entered the tanners’ quarter.

“What is that stuff you use?” Hoffman asked, his nose wrinkling.

“Oh, all sorts,” Reinhard said. “Mainly bark and fermented urine.”

Hoffman adjusted his leather jerkin and wished he hadn’t asked.

The smell grew stronger until they reached the merchant’s workshops. They
went through a door that led off the street and into a courtyard beyond. Sheds
stood on three sides, and on the fourth a wood-beamed house rose up above the
complex. Between it and the gate stood the well.

“So this is it?” Hoffman asked as he prowled towards the circle of masonry. A
timber frame stood above it, and the winch for the sunken bucket was fastened on
one side. The swordsman peered cautiously into the depths of the well. There
seemed to be nothing down there but cold and the faint glitter of water.

Reinhard joined him, looking nervously over his shoulder.