03 - Hour of the Daemon Read online

  Fortunately, he did not plan on staying long. Cannon fire marked the hour, a dull report that echoed across the city as Kleiber walked. He could see the local witch hunter headquarters ahead of him, and increased his pace as he crossed the broad courtyard and jogged up the wide, shallow steps. Guards stood to either side of the massive double doors, and they nodded at him as he approached, making the sign of their order, which he returned without slowing down.

  Entering the headquarters, Kleiber paused to let his eyes adjust to the sudden dimness. He was in a wide, low-ceilinged room, a fairly typical hall of their order. Tables and chairs were scattered about, many of them with other witch hunters seated, eating, writing, reading or sharpening blades. By the time he could see clearly again, Kleiber found someone before him, a middle-aged man slender as a rod with an air of quiet importance.

  “Sigmar be with you,” the man said, bowing, and Kleiber lipped his head in reply. “I am Herkov, Witch Hunter Captain of Nuln.”

  “Oswald Kleiber, witch hunter, late of Middenheim,” Kleiber answered, drawing the folded packet from inside his jacket. “The details of my current assignment.”

  Herkov nodded and took the packet, breaking the seal at once and stepping closer to a wall torch to read the contents. After a moment, he nodded and returned to Kleiber’s side. “I was warned you would be coming, of course,” the witch hunter captain said. He waved towards the back of the long room and a second man joined them. He was younger and larger than Herkov, but had the same quiet air about him, and a face that seemed to rarely smile, though his eyes twinkled with some private amusement.

  “Ingwald will accompany you,” Herkov explained. “He has handled the inquiries thus far. Anything you need, you have but to ask him.”

  Kleiber nodded to the other witch hunter, who bowed in return. “Oswald Kleiber, at your service.”

  “Hans Ingwald, at yours, sir,” Ingwald replied.

  “I will leave you to it, then,” Herkov said, nodding to both of them. “Good luck, Herr Kleiber. Sigmar be with you.”

  “You are investigating the stolen shipment of arms and black powder,” Ingwald stated as they exited the headquarters, squinting as they emerged into the bright daylight again.

  “Yes,” Kleiber agreed, although it had not been a question. “I would like to see the sailor who survived first.”

  “Of course.” Ingwald indicated a direction and began walking, trusting Kleiber to keep up with him. “His name is Klaus Boehm and he is still very weak. The beastmen left him for dead, buried beneath several of his fellows, and he was bleeding heavily and barely conscious by the time he was brought back here. I will take you to his shack.”

  “The boat is here as well?”

  “Oh yes,” Ingwald answered. “We sent a crew to retrieve it. We removed the bodies, of course, and gave them to their families for burial, but otherwise it has not been boarded since it was docked.”

  Kleiber nodded. “Good.” They walked in silence for a while.

  Klaus Boehm was a large, stocky man with a shock of red hair and thick features. He lay in his bed, heavy bandages around his middle, one leg, and his head, and even in the shuttered room Kleiber could see his pallor. This was not a well man.

  “I would know what occurred,” Kleiber told him, standing beside the bed and looking down at the sailor. The man was shaking, and Kleiber knew that it was not because of any sudden chill. His office had this effect on people, and at times he welcomed it. It could loosen tongues, and he hoped that would be the case here, though he kept his tone calm and non-threatening. This man was not the enemy, nor had he done anything wrong.

  “Of course, Herr Kleiber,” Klaus answered quickly. “We were sailing to Altdorf, our holds filled with blackpowder weapons, shot and powder. It was night time, only a few days out from the docks, and all was quiet. Most of us were asleep. Ernst was on watch.” He gulped, no doubt remembering his friend’s fate. “I don’t know how they came on board, only that we woke hearing a commotion. I think it was a splash, like something falling overboard. Pieter was the first up the ladder, and they killed him afore he could even set foot on the deck. Herwin suffered the same fate, and I was right behind them. One slashed me across the belly and another along the leg, then they struck me in the head as I fell. I thought I was dead.” He blinked and looked away. “When I woke they were gone. I had fallen back and Otfried, who had been coming up the ladder behind me, had fallen across me, and Lucius across him. I was buried in them.” Kleiber heard the sob in the man’s voice. To find yourself trapped beneath your friends’ corpses would make any man weep.

  “I managed to shove them aside and crawl clear,” Klaus continued. “I tore my shirt apart and wrapped it around my middle. I knew I could not sail the boat by myself, so I ran it aground instead. I think I passed out then. Some villagers found me the next morning, bandaged my wound, and then helped me send word back here.”

  “You did well,” Kleiber assured him. “Sigmar truly blessed you and guided you.” He frowned as he considered what the sailor had told him. “You were only a few days out, you say?” The man nodded, and Kleiber glanced back at Ingwald, who was standing near the door, behind him. “You sent a crew to retrieve the barge. Was there anything distinctive about the location? Any way to find it again?”

  To his surprise, Klaus nodded. “Oh yes, Herr Kleiber,” he said. “I can tell you exactly where it was. Between here and Maselhof there is a large tree, a river elm, which hangs out far over the east bank. It is a massive thing, as thick around as a wagon, and its branches brush the water at their tips. It was right there. The villagers told me I all but ran the barge into it when I struck the shore.”

  Kleiber almost clapped the sailor on the shoulder before he remembered the man’s injuries. “Excellent, Herr Boehm,” he announced. “Your memory is truly a gift from Sigmar, and I thank you for it. You must purify yourself as soon as you are able, for your spirit has been tainted by contact with these foul creatures, but once you are rid of their stench Sigmar will smile upon your loyalty.” He bowed and turned, motioning Ingwald to accompany him out.

  “We will need a boat,” he told the other witch hunter after they’d exited the sailor’s small shack. “It is too late to venture forth today, if we want enough light to see whatever may be seen, but we will go at first light tomorrow.”

  Ingwald nodded and hurried towards the docks, saying he would take care of it. Kleiber turned his steps back towards the local headquarters. He would need his rest if he wanted to be sharp on the morrow.

  “There,” one of Kleiber’s men called out from the boat’s starboard rail, gesturing towards a heavy tree with thick, drooping branches. “That one.” Ingwald had found them a fast, sturdy boat and they had set out from Nuln a few days earlier, the men rowing hard to cover the distance quickly. Now they had reached the stretch where Ingwald said the barge had been found, and they were moving more slowly and searching for the tree that Klaus had described.

  They poled the boat carefully where he indicated, and Kleiber saw it. Several branches were missing their bark and one had been splintered close to the tree trunk. A deep furrow had been cut into the bank right beside the tree’s gnarled roots. Something large and heavy had struck the tree and then been driven deep into the shore, something like a barge.

  “Now we know where the boat was after it was attacked,” Kleiber said, mostly to himself. “We must somehow determine its previous location from this information.”

  “How in the name of Sigmar are we to do that?” Wilcreitz demanded. “All we know is that the barge was here, assuming it made that mark and not some other boat. How does that help us?” The first morning in Nuln had not found the short witch hunter in a better mood, and the days of rowing upriver to reach this location hadn’t helped.

  “It would have kept to the centre of the river,” the boatman Ingwald had found offered. “It’s safer and quicker.”

  “Yes, the centre,” Kleiber agreed, “and the attack did
not last long. From what that sailor said, and what I know of beastmen, they could have dispatched everyone in seconds. Nor does the Battered Eye have sails. Like many river barges, it relies on the current and oars for its propulsion, and the river was quiet that night, with all but a few sailors asleep below. So the barge had not travelled far before Klaus ran it aground.” He glanced behind them on the river, estimating speeds in his head. “There. It was there.”

  “Fine, it was there,” Wilcreitz said sharply. “What does that matter?”

  “It matters because beastmen do not like water,” Kleiber replied, his tone sharpening as his irritation with his subordinate increased. “They would have stayed in the river as briefly as possible, which means they swam directly to the barge from one bank or the other.” He glanced at the spot he had selected, and then across to the bank they were already beside. “We will start on this side and search a short stretch near that mark. If we find nothing we will examine the other side.” He gestured, and the men began rowing again.

  As soon as they were near the place he thought most likely, Kleiber had the men bring the boat right up against the bank and told the tracker to look for signs of beastmen. The man nodded and leapt to shore without a word. They had hired him in Altdorf, and he had impressed both Kleiber and Wilcreitz with his quiet, competent air. He examined the bank carefully, his hands brushing the dirt and grass lightly, his face mere inches from the ground. Kleiber and the others waited, watching, but after half an hour or more the tracker shook his head.

  “They weren’t here,” he said. “A few tracks, but strictly human and nothing recent.”

  Kleiber nodded. “Then we will try the other side.” The tracker climbed back onto the boat and they rowed directly across, where he repeated the process. This time he found more favourable results.

  “I have them,” the tracker announced after only a few minutes. Kleiber jumped from the boat at once, bridging the distance easily, and two quick strides brought him to where the tracker was on his knees. “Right here,” the tracker said, indicating a trampled path through the grass and dirt. “Beastmen, and not just a few of them; I’d say twenty, perhaps twenty-five, plus a man.”

  That made Kleiber frown. “A man?”

  The tracker nodded. “These are boot marks,” he pointed out, indicating an impression with his forefinger, “definitely human, and probably male. He’s travelling with the beastmen, at the head of the pack. You can only see the marks in a few places, where the beastmen’s hooves did not obscure them afterwards.” The tracker rose, idly dusting off his legs, and paced, studying the terrain and edging closer to the water. Finally he nodded. “They disappear right here, at the edge of the bank, and then reappear there, a few feet away.” The tracker stepped over to the second spot he had indicated, and Kleiber joined him. “You can see that the boots and hooves were wet when they returned, because the ground has been moistened around the prints and nowhere else.”

  Kleiber rubbed his chin, thinking. The inclusion of boot prints troubled him. “Could the man be a prisoner?” he asked the tracker.

  “Could be,” the other man agreed. “His stride seems normal, not constrained, which means his legs aren’t shackled close together. Not how I’d keep a prisoner, but then I’m not a beastman.”

  “Can you tell anything else?” Kleiber asked.

  “They were weighed down when they returned,” the tracker answered. “Their prints are much heavier.”

  “So they are carrying the weapons,” Wilcreitz pointed out, having joined them on the bank, “but what would beastmen want with blackpowder weapons?” He sneered. “Those creatures can’t even light a fire!” He was wrong about that, but Kleiber did not bother to correct him. If they found their quarry, Wilcreitz might learn just how canny and capable beastmen could be.

  The question of the weapons was valid, however. “It may be this man with them,” Kleiber pointed out. “We do not know. If we find them, perhaps we will ask them. In the meantime,” he turned back to the tracker, “can you follow their trail?”

  The man nodded. “They haven’t bothered to hide.” He stood and walked slowly, carefully forward, then peered at the ground again. “They’re heading south and west,” he explained, “and judging by these prints, that’s the way they came.”

  “So they are retracing their steps, the hunters carrying back the spoils,” Kleiber mused. “Good. We will follow them on foot, so that we many not lose the trail.” He turned to Wilcreitz. “Get the men off the boat and ready to travel.” Fortunately Ingwald had found a large enough craft to accommodate all of Kleiber’s mercenaries, and he had instructed them to bring all their gear, for just such a circumstance. He glanced at Ingwald, who had remained in the boat beside the boatman. “Your help was greatly appreciated,” Kleiber told the other witch hunter. “May Sigmar guide you and grant you happiness and success.”

  Ingwald bowed. “It has been a pleasure, Herr Kleiber. May Sigmar guide you as well. Good luck pursuing these savage creatures.”

  That made Kleiber laugh. “We do not need luck,” he assured Ingwald as the rest of the men began to leap ashore, carrying their gear and the other supplies. “We have Sigmar’s blessing, and Herr Lankdorf to guide us.”

  Lankdorf nodded. “I’ve got their trail,” he assured Kleiber. “Wherever they go, we’ll be right behind them.”

  “Good.” Kleiber adjusted his cloak and made sure his pistol and sword were at his side. “Then let us be off. Soon these creatures will know the folly of crossing the Empire, and they will learn the wrath of the witch hunters against their tainted breed.”

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  “So this is Nuln?” Dietz looked around as the boat docked, studying the contrast of airy towers and squat grubby warehouses. “Hm.”

  “I know,” Alaric said, leaning against the rail beside him. “I’ve never much cared for it either; too big and too regimented for my tastes.” He frowned. “Plus any city that survives by producing weaponry… I don’t know, it just seems to cast a pall over the place, at least in my mind.”

  Dietz nodded. Parts of the city they’d glimpsed from the distance had been impressive, as was the fact that Nuln was built over not one but two rivers that flowed right through it. But it was hard to ignore the massive stone buildings that loomed along the banks, or the thick smoke the city’s many forges sent swirling up into the sky. It was a sunny day, but Nuln laboured under a constant gloom. A deep boom split the air, followed by another and another, and Dietz tensed until he remembered Alaric telling him that they used cannon fire to mark the time of day. It was a clear reminder of the city’s proudest achievements.

  “Still,” Alaric added, banging one hand on the railing, “we’re not here to sightsee, eh? Let’s just locate the villains and reclaim the mask, and we can be off towards home again.” He had been in better spirits since they’d left Altdorf, although whether that was because he had finally conquered whatever illness had stricken him, or as a result of the conversation with his brother, Dietz didn’t know. He’d decided not to ask. Alaric was open about most things, but he was extremely close-mouthed about his family, and Dietz wasn’t about to pry. He was just glad to see his employer cheerful, and hoped his optimism would be rewarded. This chase had gone on long enough. He wanted to be back home in Middenheim.

  A man was waiting on the dock as their boat was tied up, carrying several papers. He and the captain greeted each other and spoke for a moment. Then the captain pointed towards Dietz and Alaric. The man immediately approached them, offering them a hand to disembark.

  He was neither old nor young, heavy nor slender, tall nor short. His hair was a dull brown, his features soft and his face bland, as were his clothes. Only his eyes, blue-grey, were sharp, and took in every detail of their appearances.

  “Welcome to Nuln, gentlemen,” the man said, offering them his hand. “I work for the harbourmaster, overseeing this particular dock.”

  “We do not need any assistance, thank you,” Alaric sai
d casually, his noble upbringing rising to the fore again.

  “I will need your names and your purpose here,” the man explained, not at all fazed by Alaric’s attitude, “for our records.”

  “Alaric von Jungfreud,” Alaric replied with a hint of impatience, “and Dietrich Froebel. We are here on business, private business.”

  “Understood.” The dockworker nodded slightly, simultaneously scribbling on a paper with a quill he pulled from his pocket. “The countess simply likes to know who visits our fair city and why. Will you be staying long?”

  “Only a day or two, I suspect,” Alaric said, walking past the man. “Dietz, bring our things, would you? Good day to you, sir.” And with that he was striding down the dock and into the city proper. Dietz suspected his friend was already looking for new traces of those same strange blood marks he had been following; the marks that Dietz had never been able to see.

  “Sorry,” he told the dockworker, making sure Glouste was secure inside his jacket, and reaching down to gather their things. “He can be testy at times.”

  “No one likes to be questioned about their activities,” the dockworker replied with a shrug. He turned back towards the captain, and Dietz headed off after Alaric, slightly embarrassed by his friend’s behaviour.

  Alaric had stopped a short distance from the docks, and was still standing there, glancing around, when Dietz caught up with him.

  “That was rude,” his friend said, surprising Alaric from his thoughts.

  “Was it? I’m sorry. I just wanted to get off that dock and find the trail again as soon as possible.”

  The older man nodded, accepting his apology, and Alaric forgot the matter immediately. Both of them studied their surroundings.