03 - Hour of the Daemon Read online

  “You’re exhausted,” Dietz reminded him, “and your head hurts. It’s hard to see anything clearly in the middle of all this.”

  That was certainly true. The day was heading towards dusk, the shadows lengthening, and that distorted images and even sounds. The buildings produced strange echoes, and all the costumes and masks—was he just imagining things? Letting his mind play tricks on him, taking those disguises and adding more fanciful touches from his own fears?

  “Perhaps you’re right,” he said, relieved that there was a rational explanation. “It would be simple enough to mistake one thing for another in all this smoke, and the imagery certainly makes one think of the macabre.” Yes, he thought, that made sense. “I’m already tired, so I’d be even more susceptible to seeing images that were not truly there.”

  Dietz nodded. Clearly he was not seeing anything out of the ordinary, but then Dietz never did. The man was a rock of common sense and practicality, which was one of the things Alaric valued about him. No matter what was going on around them, Dietz always saw clearly.

  “We should stop for the night,” Dietz suggested.

  “No.” That was one thing Alaric was certain about. “We’re too far behind them as it is. We need to close the distance, not increase it, else we’ve no chance of catching those men and regaining the mask.” Dietz’s resigned nod showed that he’d expected that response, and that he didn’t think they’d find much at this hour and in this crowd, but he didn’t argue, simply nudging his horse to a faster pace. Alaric matched him.

  For several minutes, Alaric was able to focus entirely upon following the strange trail only he could see. He ignored the people and other sights, sounds and smells as best he could, letting them slide past him, trusting his horse to pick its way through the crowd without his full attention. But slowly the festival crept back in upon him, stealing into his attention and distracting him from the search. Everywhere he turned, Alaric saw horrors, though only for the blink of an eye: people as animals, as beasts, as monsters; people bearing appalling wounds, or inflicting them upon themselves and each other; people committing acts he could not have imagined anyone would ever perform, even when drugged, intoxicated and caught up in mass hysteria. Each time, the strange image was gone before he could focus on it, leaving only a confused after-image in his mind.

  Alaric shook his head and rubbed at his eyes, but that didn’t help. The depraved images continued. People changed as they swam in and out of focus, their outlines and features distorting, growing monstrous. Odd scents assaulted him, all overlaid with the coppery tang of fresh blood. Actions that seemed benign at first proved too terrible to contemplate. A man and a woman were dancing beneath a lamppost, their hands at each other’s sides, but as he passed closer, Alaric saw that the woman was holding a long, thin blade in both hands, and the man was skewered upon it. His writhings were of pain, and his hands were desperately pushing against the woman, trying to loosen her hold upon the weapon that she had rammed through his torso, while she laughed and twisted the skewer to watch him shriek and squirm. They both glanced up at Alaric as he passed, and the man’s eyes were wide with pleading, while the woman licked her lips and grinned to reveal sharp, bloodstained teeth. Then they were merely dancing again, but the other image remained burned into Alaric’s brain, even after he had passed by and the crowd had swallowed them up.

  “Need to stop?” Dietz asked, watching him intently.

  Alaric shook his head, the movement making his temples throb. “No,” he replied hoarsely, wondering idly when he had last had a drink, and then trying not to retch at the thought of the different fluids he had seen imbibed this night. “Let’s keep going. The sooner we find their trail again the sooner we can recover the mask and leave this city behind.”

  “Fine by me.” He knew Dietz would be happy to see the back of Altdorf, though perhaps not so much as he would. Hopefully, once Geheimnistag ended and once they were back beyond the city walls these strange images would fade away. Otherwise Alaric was afraid he would go stark raving mad.

  CHAPTER THREE

  Dietz glanced over at Alaric again, hoping his employer wouldn’t notice. He was worried. Alaric had been tense and pale since they’d left Middenheim, and in the past hour his appearance had grown even worse. And all that talk about seeing things? It could be drugs, certainly, incense or herbs in the smoke that seemed to fill Altdorf today. It could be fatigue. Or it could be illness. Alaric’s voice was starting to sound scratchy, and once or twice Dietz had noticed his hand trembling. Had the long ride from Middenheim taken its toll on the young adventurer-scholar? Dietz vowed to keep a close eye on Alaric, even more so than usual.

  Fortunately, the crowds meant they had to ride close together, their legs brushing each other. He really did not want to lose Alaric in this mayhem, especially not with them heading towards twilight and with Alaric under the weather. Dietz told himself that if they didn’t find a clear sign of the cultists by dusk he would insist they find shelter for the night, mask or no mask, and the sign would have to be something he could see as well.

  Me was still thinking this when they rounded a corner, and stopped. Ahead of them, the street ran into another approaching from the west and widened into an irregular plaza that expanded to the east until it ran up against some massive building along the side. In front of them was a small cluster of buildings, and they were the first he’d seen unadorned since entering this city. They had no unusual decorations. Dietz did see one mark, and it explained a great deal about the plaza’s apparent exemption from the craziness that filled the rest of Altdorf. The mark was prominently displayed in blazing white upon a jet-black banner, hanging from the stout stone building in the middle of the cluster, and it was the twin-tailed comet of the witch hunters. Many of the zealots stood before the building, and a massive bonfire raged a stone’s throw away, between them and the plaza’s western edge. A group of men and women were being held near the fire, many of them still masked, and all of them bound and under guard.

  Of course, Dietz thought, the Day of Mystery was a time when many people cast aside civilised behaviour in favour of drunken revels, debauchery and violence. The witch hunters frowned upon any excesses, and were notoriously straight-laced. A night like this could provide more victims—sinners—than even the witch hunters could handle. Though judging from that fire and the prisoners, it looked like they were trying their best to keep pace.

  Alaric had noticed the banner as well, and Dietz saw the relief evident on his friend’s face. “Witch hunters,” Alaric said. “At least we won’t have to worry about revelry here.”

  “Might be a good place to stop and think what to do next,” Dietz suggested, and Alaric nodded. Together they nudged their horses into the plaza, coming to a halt as the nearest witch hunter approached and motioned for them to stop.

  “What do you want here?” The man demanded, glaring at them both. “Commit your foul celebrations somewhere else, or face the consequences of such sinful behaviour.”

  The man accosting them was short and stout, his features hidden by the broad-brimmed black hat of a witch hunter. His hands rested on the pistol and sword at his belt, but he had not drawn them, yet.

  “Our apologies, sir,” Alaric replied smoothly, sounding like his old self. “We are not revellers, but merely travellers from Middenheim. We were overwhelmed by the activities taking place throughout the city, and thought to take refuge here for a moment, where we would not be subject to such depravities.”

  The man grunted, but couldn’t find fault with Alaric’s statement. “You cannot stay here,” he said finally. “We must be ever vigilant, and cannot be distracted from our duty.”

  “Of course not, good sir,” Alaric answered. “Nor would we inconvenience you in such a way. We merely ask a moment or two to catch our breaths, and then we will be off.”

  The witch hunter started to reply, but was cut off as a second figure approached from the group near the building. This man was taller than the
first, with broad shoulders that made him seem taller still, and as he glanced up, Dietz recognised the angular features beneath his broad-brimmed hat.

  “Master von Jungfreud. Master Froebel,” the second witch hunter announced, his face splitting into a grim smile. “I thought I heard your voice. What brings you here, and on such a night?”

  “Herr Kleiber,” Alaric replied warmly, dismounting to grasp the witch hunter’s hand. Dietz did the same. Oswald Kleiber had travelled with them on their journey to find and destroy a set of Chaos tainted statues, and despite his zeal and religious fervour, the witch hunter had proved to be a good companion and a staunch ally. “A welcome encounter indeed. What brings you to Altdorf?”

  “Our affairs are none of your—” the first witch hunter snapped, but Kleiber cut him off with a wave.

  “Yes yes, Wilcreitz,” Kleiber said, not bothering to glance at the shorter man. “Thank you. Perhaps you had best see to the prisoners?” The other witch hunter retreated towards the bonfire, although not without a glare at Dietz and Alaric. “Do not mind him,” Kleiber assured them. “Wilcreitz is a good man, a true servant of the Empire. He perhaps takes his orders too much to heart, that is all.”

  Dietz glanced at Alaric. Kleiber had also been a stickler for details and rules when they’d first met, although their adventures had forced him to appreciate the ability to improvise when necessary.

  “So why are you here?” Dietz asked, accepting the wineskin that Kleiber offered them, taking a quick gulp, and then handing it to Alaric.

  “We are tracking a stolen shipment,” the witch hunter replied, his expression turning grave. “And not just any goods, either: blackpowder weapons, both the rifles and the shot, and the powder necessary for their use.”

  Alaric whistled. “A valuable shipment indeed.”

  Dietz nodded, thinking the same. He’d had experience of such weapons before, and knew how much such a cargo would be worth.

  “Indeed,” Kleiber agreed, “but it would be a matter for the local authorities, normally. This theft, however, earned the attention of my superiors, who have tasked me to investigate.”

  That was unusual. The witch hunters were normally only involved with matters of religion, or with anything involving Chaos.

  “What happened?” Alaric asked.

  “The shipment was sent by barge,” Kleiber explained, accepting the wineskin back and taking a drink before continuing. “It came from Nuln, and was heading here, but it never arrived, nor did most of its crew. They were slaughtered by beastmen.”

  “Beastmen?” Dietz frowned. “On the river?” He’d never heard of such a thing.

  “We were sceptical as well,” Kleiber admitted, “but one crew member survived the attack, although he was badly wounded. He managed to ground the barge, where local villagers discovered it the next morning. They sent word back to Nuln, and a boat collected him and returned him there, where he was able to tell the authorities what had happened.” The witch hunter’s frown deepened. “The beastmen set upon them during the night. They climbed onboard, slaughtered the crew, took the cargo, and then disappeared.”

  “That doesn’t sound like beastmen,” Alaric commented. “Normally they attack for food or to defend their territory. They wouldn’t leave the bodies behind like that, and they wouldn’t target a particular ship.”

  “Unless they had help,” Dietz pointed out. All three of them remembered the beastmen they’d encountered in the Howling Hills, who had found one of the Chaos statues and were worshipping it. He and Alaric also knew that not all beastmen were stupid and savage; the beastmen they’d faced in Ind had been a different breed altogether.

  “That is what I must discover,” Kleiber assured them. “I have hired a band of mercenaries to accompany me, and Wilcreitz will assist me as well. We leave for Nuln in the morning, to question the wounded sailor. We will examine the barge, the Battered Eye, and search the river where he says they were attacked. If possible, I am to retrieve the weapons and punish those responsible for their theft.”

  “Good luck,” Alaric said sincerely, “but be careful. The thought of beastmen with blackpowder weapons is not something I like to consider.”

  “Nor do I,” Kleiber agreed, “but I shall indeed be wary. Fortunately I doubt the brutes are capable of operating such weapons. Although that does not explain why the creatures would take the weapons, in such a case.” He nodded at them. “Now, what do you in this foul city? And on such an inauspicious night?”

  “A friend was attacked in Middenheim,” Alaric answered honestly. “The thieves took something from him, and we have reason to believe they came this way. We’re hoping to find them and retrieve it.”

  “I see.” Kleiber rubbed his narrow chin absently. “What did these men look like?”

  “Rough,” Dietz replied, remembering Hralif’s description. “Ragged clothes, unkempt beards. At least four of them, one with a nasty scar across his nose and right cheek, one with a strange bent-nail earring. They had a wagon.”

  The witch hunter shook his head. “I have not seen any with such marks,” he admitted, “though with so many here they could easily escape notice. Nor will you find them tonight, I fear, when everyone wanders the streets like madmen, indulging in all manner of filthy behaviour. I would suggest searching for them in the morning, when the city has returned to what passes for normality.”

  “I think that might be our only option,” Alaric agreed, though he clearly was not happy about it. He was also obviously exhausted. “We’ll find some place to sleep and resume our search in the morning.”

  Kleiber nodded. “I would offer you shelter,” he said, “but our guest quarters are currently at capacity. Even the mercenaries and the tracker I have hired are quartered elsewhere. They are at the Golden Hare, a decent enough place just along the river, between the two bridges.”

  “It’s all right,” Alaric assured him. “We understand. Thank you for the thought, however, and for the recommendation.” Such consideration was rare in a witch hunter.

  Kleiber bowed and clasped their hands in turn. “I wish you good hunting, my friends,” he told them, “and may we meet again at a happier moment, when both our missions have met with success. May Sigmar watch over you.”

  “And you as well,” Alaric agreed, and Dietz echoed the sentiment. They mounted and rode across the plaza, with Kleiber watching them go.

  Then the street began again, and the plaza vanished into shadow behind them. Night had fallen and Geheimnistag had given way to Geheimnisnacht, the Night of Mystery, which was even worse in its excesses, as people felt more comfortable acting out their wildest notions under darkness than they had in broad daylight.

  A wave of people washed over them as they passed beyond the witch hunters’ protection, and Alaric visibly wilted beneath the onslaught of sights, sounds, and smells. Dietz worried that his friend was having more strange visions, until he realised that Alaric’s eyes were barely open at all. The nobleman had slumped forward in his saddle, only half-conscious, and was staying on his horse as much by reflex as by conscious effort.

  “Alaric!” Dietz nudged his horse close again and reached out to grasp the younger man by the shoulder. He managed to grab him just before Alaric, jostled by a trio of giggling older women, began to slide off his horse. “Wake up!”

  Alaric glanced around blearily, saw Dietz, and nodded. “Sorry. I must have dozed off.” But his words were slurred, and Dietz could feel the heat rising from him even through his jacket. A quick check of his forehead confirmed it: Alaric was burning with a fever.

  “We need to find shelter for the night,” Dietz declared. He spotted an inn on the next street and urged his horse forward, keeping a firm grip on Alaric, and dragging him and his mount along in his wake. They pushed and shoved their way through the crowd, many of whom responded belligerently, but Dietz had no time to argue with drunkards and fools. He ignored all of them beyond a quick glare and a hand on his axe, which was enough to silence each one long
enough for them to disappear back into the throng.

  Upon reaching the inn, however, Dietz discovered bad news. “We’re full up,” the innkeeper shouted up at him when he answered the door. “Sorry. Try somewhere else.” Then he slammed the door shut, and refused to respond to Dietz’s continued banging.

  The next inn was the same, and the next… and the next. Dietz tried the inn that Kleiber had recommended, but it was no better. The city was packed with visitors as well as locals, and all the inns were full. Many refused to answer their doors, and those who did greeted Dietz with weapons drawn and an absolute refusal to allow them in, not for any sum of money.

  Alaric was looking worse by the minute. He was almost unconscious, and Dietz had to pause long enough to tie the younger man to his horse, because he could no longer prop him up and navigate effectively.

  Finally, Dietz reined in against a building, with Alaric between him and the wall, and paused to think. He had tried almost a dozen inns, and all gave him the same answer. There was no reason to think the others in the city would be any different, but he had to get Alaric off the streets and find him some medical attention. Where could they go?

  They were too far into the city to turn around. It would take hours to reach the city gates with the crowds this thick, and he wasn’t sure Alaric would survive that long without some form of rest and medical treatment. They were also too far from the warehouse district and the docks; if he remembered Altdorf’s layout correctly, those were two places where he might have found shelter for them, even if it meant breaking into a warehouse for the night, but that was out.

  So what was left?

  Dietz glanced around, looking beyond the revellers and studying the city. The houses were getting bigger and nicer as they moved farther into the city. The palace would be at its centre, and beyond that the houses of…