[Warhammer] - Zavant Read online

  Nevertheless, the odds were heavily against them. Even before he had run off to Altdorf to take up a life of thievery, Vido’s family back home in the Moot had often warned that he would come to a bad end—either swinging from the end of a gallows’ rope or stabbed to death in some back-alley brawl—and Vido was now forced to agree that they had apparently been right all along. He spin-flipped the dagger in his hand, throwing it up and smartly catching it by its blade point as he prepared to send it hurling hilt-deep into the body of one of the oncoming rogues. He drew his arm back, ready to throw.

  “Hold!”

  The angry, urgent shout made everything freeze in its tracks. There was a long, almost endless, moment of hesitation and then the Murder Hole patrons simply retreated and faded away into the murky gloom of the room. Vido’s throwing arm still seemed frozen in place, the blade held there still quivering in hungry anticipation, eager to fly into the unprotected back of one of those retreating figures. Again Vido felt his master’s reassuring grip on his shoulder, the touch relaxing the muscles of his arm, allowing him to at last lower his throwing arm. He breathed out for what seemed like the first time in an age, and realised then that the quivering of his throwing blade had been caused by a nervous trembling that gripped his entire body.

  “Stoutly played, Vido, but all that was mere theatrics designed to impress and intimidate us. Now that these tedious preliminaries are over, perhaps we can now get down to the night’s real business.”

  Vido followed Konniger’s gaze, seeing three men standing behind the bar, framed in an open doorway that Vido would have sworn had not been there last time he had looked. Two of them held lit firebrands, the flickering flames revealing behind them a set of worn stone steps heading down into darkness. They scanned the room with wary, dangerous eyes, and Vido recognised them for what they were: true denizens of this Street of Assassins. He recognised their companion too, and knew then why the other patrons of the place had been so quick to obey his shouted command. This third man grinned at Konniger and Vido, showing a mouthful of broken, rotted teeth, and stepped aside, mock-bowing to them as he gestured the way into the darkness below.

  “This way, gentlemen. Herr Klasst is waiting for you.”

  “Blindfolds, Zavant? No, I wouldn’t wish insult you with such a cheap ploy, especially since we both know that, even blindfolded, you would almost certainly have been able to memorize the route between the Murder Hole and my humble lair here. Besides, we’re old friends, aren’t we, and friends often show each other such small favours, do they not?”

  They were in some low-ceilinged, underground chamber, the walls of which were piled high with boxes, barrels and cases of different sorts. From the experience of his past life as a professional thief, Vido judged the place to be a storage point for loot and contraband in transit between any of Klasst’s many criminal enterprises. To get here, they had traversed various secretive paths both through and beneath the Reikerbahn, arriving at last at what was obviously merely a conveniently anonymous rendezvous point for this meeting rather than the Altdorf crimelord’s true hideout.

  Their guides on this journey had been Reichel Scholke and his two assassin escorts. Vido knew Scholke of old. Knew him, and rightfully feared him. It was Scholke who clipped off the fingers of cutpurses and pickpockets who operated without licence from Klasst; Scholke who took his blade to the faces of the street-girls who tried to deny Klasst his cut of their nightly earnings; Scholke who threw powdered lime into the eyes of the merchants and storekeepers who complained that the protection money sums they had to pay to Klasst’s collection agents were too high. Scholke was Klasst’s lieutenant and chief enforcer, the public face of the crimelord’s manifold illegal schemes and operations, and a figure of considerable fear and dread among Altdorf’s criminal fraternity.

  Still, Vido did not fear Scholke as much as he would have once. After all, he had seen Vaul Steiner in action, and, compared to the deadly and unwavering abilities of His Imperial Majesty’s personal assassin, Klasst’s lieutenant was little more than a common street thug.

  Scholke stood facing them, standing behind his master and grinning nastily at them, again displaying his mouthful of rotted teeth. Legend had it that Scholke carried a pair of rusty, blood-crusted pliers with him, to even up the balance whenever some poor unfortunate’s perfect, tooth-filled smile reminded him too much of his own failings in that department. Vido didn’t know the truth of that legend but, like many others, took care to keep his mouth closed and his teeth hidden now that he was in Scholke’s company.

  Konniger stood beside Vido, radiating assurance and confidence, and still apparently not at all intimidated by their surroundings. If you had been to some of the places that Konniger claimed to have visited—walked the sand-buried streets of the desert-drowned cities of the Land of the Dead or stood on the slopes of the World’s Edge Mountains and stared out at the vast and dismal Dark-claimed wastelands beyond—then Vido imagined that the underground hideout of a common-or-garden crimelord, even one of Vesper Klasst’s fearsome reputation, must pale somewhat in comparison.

  There were others in the room, more bodyguards, lieutenants and lackeys, but Konniger had eyes only for Klasst himself. Drawing himself to his full, imposing height, Konniger glared haughtily down at the surprisingly slight figure sitting at the makeshift casket-desk in front of him.

  In truth, Altdorf’s much-feared emperor of all things illicit and illegal was something of a disappointment in the flesh, an opinion which Vido wisely kept to himself at that moment. Like Konniger, it was difficult to determine how old the crimelord was, although Vido would hazard a guess that he was much the same age as his master, being somewhere in what humans would term their middle years.

  Klasst’s clothes were a surprising mixture of the opulent and the threadbare. Small and balding, he might have passed for just another modestly successful merchant trader or some minor, provincial nobleman from an aristocratic clan whose fortunes had gone to seed, had it not been for the look of sharp, cold intelligence in the set of his face. It was his eyes in particular which gave the impression of the harsh and clinically ruthless mind lurking beyond that otherwise disingenuous exterior appearance. He had the same eyes, the same piercing gaze that Konniger had, Vido realised. Or would have, he amended himself, had his master’s formidable mental processes ever been untroubled by any matters relating to conscience, morality and basic human decency.

  Konniger looked unswervingly into those eyes now, locking gazes with the man who was in so many ways his matching equal and yet at the same time his mirror-image opposite.

  “Friends?” he spat angrily. “Did I miss something, Vesper? Did the Chaos Moon fall from the sky and unleash a new age of Dark-spawned evil upon the world? Did the World’s Edge Mountains crumble to dust and leave the lands of mankind defenceless against the legions of greenskin savages that lie in wait behind them? I’m sure that some such event must have occurred, for surely the world itself would have to come to an end before I would ever acknowledge such as you as a friend.”

  The crimelord laughed: a dry, unpleasantly bitter sound. “Zavant, always so proud, even back in the days when we might truly have been friends, before our lives took such different paths. Have you ever wondered why you profess to hate me so much?”

  “I hate you because of what you are, Vesper,” answered Konniger, clearly and coldly, “because of what you have chosen to be. I hate you because you deliberately choose to use your Sigmar-given gifts and intellect for your own petty, ill-starred ambitions. You talk of our lives taking different paths as if what we do in life is a matter of fate rather than free will. I do not agree. There is good and there is evil, Vesper, and we have both of us chosen our differing sides in that equation.”

  The crimelord smiled again, but it was the kind of smile that served merely to hide a snarl, and his eyes flashed with bright, cold fury at what Konniger had said.

  “Good and evil, you say? Take a look around you, Zavant. We are
no longer in that old fool von Lattmann’s draughty study, arguing over the finer points of all those worthless philosophies. Oh, I know that you do indeed hate me, but only because you cannot admit to yourself that we are so alike, you and I. I freely admit to seeing much of you within myself, but you dare not turn that famously acute vision inwards, into your own soul, for fear of what you may find. What are you afraid of, Zavant? That the face you see there may not wholly resemble your own?”

  A silence settled in the chamber. Vido and the other bystanders shifted uneasily, unnerved by the clash of intellects being played out before them.

  Klasst settled back into his chair, his fingers forming self-satisfied steeple shapes. Clearly, he felt that he had landed a direct hit on his opponent’s sensibilities. He paused, savouring the moment, before continuing.

  “We play our games together, do we not? How many chess games have we played together over the years, and how many have ended in stalemate? Most, I think. We play other games across the larger game board of the city, and there, I’ll grant you, you have had your successes against me. Many times I’ve been on the verge of bringing our grand game to an end by removing you as an opponent.”

  He broke off, gesturing at the grinning figure of the assassin standing behind him. “Scholke here has always been keen on the idea of doing away with you once and for all. He does not understand why I never sanctioned him to do so. I’ll admit that, at times, the idea has been tempting, Zavant, but do you know why I have never acted upon it?”

  “I’ll assume that it has little to do with mercy, or friendship for old times’ sake,” replied Konniger, in a withering tone. His response only provoked a further smile of malicious pleasure from Klasst.

  “You assume correctly. No, my dear Zavant, it is because I always knew that one day I might actually need your help.”

  “And that day is now, I suppose,” said Konniger, stiffly. “There is little in this world that would give me more satisfaction than the knowledge of your destruction, and an end to the evil that you bring to this city. Why then should I give you this aid that you now require?”

  Klasst leaned forward, all trace of wry, wicked amusement now gone from him. He looked deadly earnest, his voice taking on a low, frighteningly stern tone, and at this moment Vido could indeed see much of Konniger in the crimelord’s aspect and demeanour.

  “Because I am under attack,” Klasst whispered harshly, “from an enemy that even I fear and cannot fight alone. Because for once we fight on the same side, you and I, against an evil far greater than anything even you could ever accuse me of being capable of.”

  Now it was Konniger’s turn to laugh dismissively. “You disappoint me, Vesper. I know that you have suffered recent losses amongst the ranks of your organisation, but do you really expect me to intervene in some petty alley war squabble with one of your criminal rivals?”

  Klasst, however, refused to be provoked. “The time for game playing is over, Zavant. You know that I can more than adequately look after my own affairs in such matters, just as we both know that you would not have come here tonight if you truly believed that the reason for my asking you was as trivial a matter as that.”

  He paused, waiting for Konniger’s expected retort. When none was forthcoming, the crimelord looked at his old opponent for a moment, seeking to gauge an insight into the thoughts going on behind the sage-detective’s carefully neutral expression. “I see that you still have your doubts,” Klasst decided at last. “No doubt you require proof of what I have told you. Very well—”

  Klasst rose from his seat, and gestured towards one of his unseen minions at the back of the chamber. In response to his command, there was the sound of heavy bolts being drawn open. A current of shockingly chill air rushed into the chamber as a door was pulled open, the icy current carrying with it the distinct and ominous scent of spoiled and rotten meat.

  “Show them,” ordered the crimelord.

  The rough-hewn stone walls of the chamber sparkled with diamond beads of ice. Konniger’s frozen breath billowed out in small, condensed clouds as he bent over to inspect the bodies.

  There were seven of them, stripped naked and laid out on crude wooden pallets, each of them blanketed with a thin patina of frost. Vido recognised two of them from his days in the thieves’ guild and knew them to be villains and gallows-scum of long standing. He might perhaps have recognised several more, but three of the corpses had little left in the way of recognisable faces. The flesh of all seven was torn and ravaged in terrible ways, not cut or crushed by any man-made weapon but instead seemingly slashed and ripped apart by something far more sinister. Konniger tutted in disapproval when he saw that the head of each body had been neatly severed, and that makeshift wooden stakes had been hammered into the chests of each cadaver.

  “Inflicted post-mortem, I assume?” he asked Klasst, who nodded in reluctant acknowledgement.

  “It was the only way I could get my men to handle the corpses in order to bring them here. They fear they already know the nature of the enemy that is striking at my organisation and they required—certain assurances, shall we say?—that these lifeless bodies would be of no further danger.”

  Konniger continued his inspection of the corpses as he carried on with his conversation with Klasst. Their exchanges now were exact and to the point, all trace of the enmity between them forgotten as they busied themselves with the task at hand.

  “How many other deaths have there been before these?”

  “It began a week ago,” answered Klasst. “Five of my men slaughtered in an attack on one of my smuggling operations at the docks. Another six men two nights later at a gambling den just off the Ostmark Parade. There was plenty of coin there for the taking, but the killer left all of it lying there along with the bodies of my men. Three more two nights hence—one of Scholke’s lieutenants and two of his associates, dangerous and wary men all three of them, not easily surprised by any ordinary killer—just across the street from the Murder Hole, and then these seven some time before dawn yesterday.”

  Konniger digested all this without emotion, never once looking up from his work. “It would have been better for the purposes of my examinations to have left these ones intact at the scene where they were found. Still, you did well to have them preserved in this manner for my inspection. The minor conjuring spell that has been used here to alter the temperature should not unduly interfere with some of the more unusual divining procedures that I may need to employ. I assume, of course, that you have kept the bloodied clothing and any other such items belonging to the deceased ready for my attention, should I wish to examine them?”

  Klasst nodded in assent, a quiet smile of satisfaction on his face. “Then you are agreeing to help me, old friend?”

  Konniger predictably declined any direct reply to the crimelord’s question. “I must return to my residence. There are certain items and materials I require before I can—”

  “Tell me what you need,” asked Klasst, eagerly. “Whatever it is, I assure you that I can provide it and have it here with you within the hour.”

  “Very well,” agreed Konniger. “Vido here will provide you with the full list of the items I require.”

  They waited outside as Konniger conducted his examination of the cadavers. Occasionally, there would come a curt, shouted summons which would bring Vido scurrying into the room to help his master. Mostly, this involved detailed note taking of everything Konniger said as he poked around amongst the ravaged flesh of the seven bodies. Once Vido was required to heat up a small glass tube of clear liquid over an ingenious fire-making device of dwarf manufacture while Konniger carefully scraped some dried flakes of a noxious-looking, black slime substance from out of one of the corpse’s wounds. This substance, when added to the contents of the heated glass tube, transformed the clear liquid into a clouded, reddish-black mixture and filled the room with a near unbearable stench. Konniger merely murmured to himself in private satisfaction, whatever hypothesis he had formulated no
w having obviously been proven correct.

  There were other rituals and tests to be conducted, some of them far more esoteric than these simple alchemical procedures, and these Konniger carried out behind closed doors. So Vido mostly sat outside, feeling distinctly uncomfortable in the company of Vesper Klasst and his crimelord court of rogues, thieves, spies and assassins.

  Occasionally, messengers would come and go, delivering cryptic notes or urgent, whispered communications to the lord of the Altdorf underworld. Whatever these messages were, they did not seem to concern the murderous events that had brought him and Konniger here, and Vido assumed them to be part of the crimelord’s normal, nightly routine. For it was while the ordinary, honest, Sigmar-fearing citizens of the Imperial capital slept that Klasst and his minions went about their illicit business, and Klasst styled himself not merely as emperor of the city’s underworld, but also ruler of the Altdorf night.

  Or so it had seemed up until now, thought Vido, for now it seemed that there was another rival claimant to the title.

  Wisely, Vido kept such thoughts to himself. Whatever the details of Klasst’s business affairs were, Vido wanted no part of any of it, and he made a studied show of finding something—anything—else to engage his attention whenever one of these messengers was delivering word to Klasst.

  Klasst had scarcely given Vido a second glance since the moment he and Konniger had been ushered into the crimelord’s presence, and most of Klasst’s men showed a similar, complete disinterest in the halfling’s existence, a fact for which Vido was heartily glad of. Humans rarely showed much interest in his kind, he knew. Halflings seemed to exist at some point beneath the attention level of many of their larger, clumsier human cousins, who often considered them to be at best amusing and hapless child-like halfwits and, at worst, some annoying type of over-sized, two-legged vermin. Many halflings played up to the former role, and Vido had too, on more than one occasion; being considered harmless or even near-invisible was too much of a gift for any thief worthy of the name to easily pass up on.