Easy Money 839

Otto

839

It is evening and the rain splatters against the tinted windows of von Erzberger's coffee house. Located in the Bankbezirk, it is one of the favourite resorts of the middle class burghers and prosperous craftsmen of Altdorf. Paintings of hunting and pastoral scenes line the aged oak walls, along with portraits of Altdorf's most prominent citizens. The air is pungent with tobacco smoke.

Otto is seated with Aldo Lorenz, his brother-in-law's former business partner, and three others at a table in an alcove set by the blazing fire. The others, all three merchants, two men and a woman sit across from Otto and Aldo and eye them uncertainly. Aldo has introduced them in a discreet monotone and both sides of the table are aware of their reason for being there -these three merchants are, in Aldo's opinion, the best and most reliable people to take on the roles of opium dealers among their community.

A silent, smoothly efficient waiter in a dark apron appears and lays a tray on the table, holding five cups and two steaming carafes. Otto recognises the refreshing smell coming from one -it is coffee, to which he was introduced in al Khary's rooms. The other is frothy and dark brown and smells bitter.

"Chocolate", whispers Aldo, "It's the latest thing from the Lustrian colonies"

The three seated at the opposite side look expectantly to Otto while Aldo pours their drinks, waiting for him to make his case.

842

As Otto entered the coffee house and saw the merchants he finalised his plan. The four boys outside would be looking to cover his trail and to follow the people he spoke to once this was over. But first he needed to get them where he wanted them. If all went well, he’d have them begging to give him money in the name of all that was Holy. He’ll not be recruiting dealers, but folk who think they are doing the best from The Empire. But then, perhaps they will be. The smuggler has seated himself and introduces himself as Dietrich Hammersen, a good Sigmarite name. He was wearing his best clothes, but still looked a little shabby for the establishment. He exchanges pleasantries and partakes of their latest affectations from afar; being surprised by the sweetness of the chocolate, but acquiring more of a taste for the coffee.

After a few minutes discussing the closest he has to pleasantries (most revolving around taxes), he pulls Aldo to one side. “Can I have a word in private?”

He stands and moves only one table away, such that Aldo can join him with their backs to the three merchants. He speaks in what to most would be a hushed tone, but his voice is deliberately hash so that is carries back to the others, “This isn’t going to work. These are good folk, I can see that. I’m sure they serve Sigmar in their way. I’m sure they put gold on the plate as it passes among the pews. But this is His real work and it ain’t pretty. They have hands softer even than yours. This may not be hammer swingin’ in the Storm, but His enemies are the vermin that attack the underbelly. I’ll find others to help me wage this war.”

Otto has laid a bet with himself as to which of the three will object first to the ‘accidently’ overheard statements. He picks his tricorn from the table as though to leave and counts out seconds awaiting the interruption. There’ll be an argument and then he will relent and they will think that they will have won.

845

Otto has not reached the count of six before the expected outraged interruption.

"Herr Hammersen!"

It is the woman, Frau Schtottle.

"I'll have you know that I have two of my sons died honourably fighting in the Storm, and a third is a notary of the cult of Sigmar! My devotion to Sigmar has never been questioned and I am perfectly aware that His service is demanding and often unpleasant. I insist that we be informed of the details of your proposal"

She sniffs.

849

Otto prepares himself for a moment before answering; putting an anger into his still hushed voice that he does not genuinely feel. The words come through part gritted teeth.

"You insist?"

"You insist?"

"You insist?"

"A knight may insist to be told where he will be fighting. However, this is not some war where a man will be killed by being slower with spear or fewer in number than goblins or beastmen. This is a war where knowing too much gets you killed. This is a war where loose tongues are the main weapons." With the emphasised words he looks at Aldo, knowing what reaction that will get.

He continues, "You will know that Chaos comes from the East. It does not travel in warbands. The horde it comes in is white and powdery. Its weapon is the needle. If I were a priest I would lead a Crusade. I would preach and I would say that all the merchants of Altdorf should shun their habits. I would fail and things would Warp through the blood of the citizens regardless."

"So, there is another plan. The citizens can have their habits. They can fill their blood with pleasure, but free of stuff from the East. But clean White is expensive, more than I can afford and the kind of people that need to be dealt with do not consider credit an option."

"So, if you must insist on something then so be it, insist on keeping quiet, insist on keeping my name out of it and I will be your servant."

He gives them their opportunity, "What would you have me do? And how much Clean would your fellows need?"

852

The reference to Eberhard's murder disquiets them, then makes them more anxious to prove their mettle than before. They are also pleased at Otto's tactful avoidance of the word 'opium' to describe his product. Frau Schtottle nods eagerly, shuddering.

"Those dreadful easterners are dealing the stuff everywhere. Father Fritz says they worship a devil called the Benevolent Emperor of Pleasure. The Emperor should never let foreigners into the..."

Aldo, of Tilean origins, clears his throat noisily but Frau Schtottle brushes past this.

"We would be able to use all the... ah, Clean you could get us, Herr Hammersen"

855

Otto sighs, "This is where the problem lies. I can only get about six twists a month at the moment. And it don't come cheap..."

The smuggler attempts an expression that shows embarrassment rather then greed in the figure that he is quoting. "This will cost little more than two Crowns each for now. My costs on top of that, the boys that run an' such like, I can cover myself. I can afford to be a few schillings out of pocket, to know that there'll be a corner of the Capital that'll not be corrupted."

He pulls a threadbare handkerchief from one of his many pockets and wipes a chocolate smudge from his upper lip, in an attempt to demonstrate that sparing a few silvers is a hardship to him.

"Can you cover the twelve between you?"

858

The trio go into a huddle, from which they finally emerge in agreement.

"We believe we can. It will take some adjustment of our companies' claims but Herr Schliefer here", indicating a small, nervous man, "Is a lawyer. When do you need your first instalment?"

Bad Wili has entered the coffee-house, drawing disfavourable attention from the waiters, one of whom approaches to throw him out. He signals to Otto, requesting his attention.

865

Otto gives a simple answer, "When do I want it? I will only be supplied with the goods the day after I can pay. The sooner we get this started, the sooner we can get your friends safe from the Corruption." Getting Wili's signal, he adds, "It would appear that the City needs me elsewhere, when should I call on you again?" Once he has his answer, he gives a deep bow and leaves with Wili, "Gentlemen, m'lady."

867

The trio confer among themselves and agree that the earliest they can raise the money is in three days' time. They bid Otto a rather cold farewell -they clearly consider him a necessary evil.

Wili whistles softly under his breath as he and Otto leave the coffeehouse.

"Nice place. Moving up in the world, aren't we? Alejo's boys say the Shade has arrived from Bogenhafen. They want to meet you and Zweigler at Elsa Kaltenbach's place"

Wili's plump face darkens slightly. There is a long-running feud between his boys and the urchins whom the priestess of Ranald employs. Alejo's request is not unusual, although it indicates a certain amount of suspicion -it is common for criminals outside their own territory to arrange meetings in the local Ranaldian shrines, relying on the underworld truce that exists in such places.

910

Otto strolls in the direction that most quickly takes him out of the district.

"Did they say when they wanted to meet?

"And now it is time for you to make a decision. Are you just a ex-Sigmarite choirboy or are you a leader on the street now? If you are going anywhere on the streets of Altdorf then you'd best learn to cross your fingers.

"Care to join me at Elsa's?"

The smuggler stops and turns to the teenager looking him in the eye with respect. The question may have been an invite to a chat, but his look makes it clear that this is a life decision for the youngster.

Manny

840

The dwarf Kagnar Ulisson lives in a decrepit warehouse on an island in the Reik. Manny reaches it that evening by crossing a series of wet, half-rotten plank bridges. Although he is said to be one of the wealthiest individuals in Altdorf, he chooses to live in virtual poverty and squalor.

His ragged court of beggars, mandrake men and knife-men lounge around the ruined walls, warming their hands by fires of driftwood and trash. They eye Manny lazily, not bothering to stir. The three guards at the entrance to the only covered area of the warehouse watch him more vigilantly. They are tall, blond-haired and muscular Norsemen, wearing tattoos similar to those adorning Eckhart's face and arms, and they carry swords. It is said that these three men are the only people in the world whom Ulisson trusts. Their leader nods, allowing Manny to approach.

As Manny watches, an oddly familiar figure emerges from the doorway -a slender young man with long dark hair and a wistful, hangdog expression. His right eye has been swollen and discoloured and he walks with a slight limp. Manny realises what is familiar about the young man -he is wearing Gottfried's dark coat and hat. This must be Josef Vadassy -the Border Princes apprentice who lost so much money at the card game and whom Gottfried suspects of being Johannes de Silentio in disguise.

843

Manny tries not to gape as the realization dawns on him. He eyes the young man up and down, feigning amused disinterest.

"Rough night, friend?"

Manny grins sympathetically, and looks to the door. "My name's Kaltenbach," he tells the leader of the Norsemen. "I'm here to see your boss-- He's expecting me."

844

"I lost all my master's money, I got beaten up and now I have to put my tools down as security for a loan", the young man says miserably, trailing out of the warehouse.

The guards nod and allow Manny to pass. Inside, it takes a few moments for his eyes to adjust to the darkness inside. The only light is a shaft of dim daylight from a crack high overhead. A voice, raspy and with a heavy touch of the Khazalid accent, greets him.

"You must be Herr Kaltenbach. I am sorry about this gloom. Please come no closer"

The source of the voice becomes visible -a very old dwarf, seated on a pile of rubble at the far end of the room.

"Are you a man of ambition, Herr Kaltenbach? Do you desire to advance yourself? I wish to know these things of you"

847

Manny removes his hat, coughing a bit at the dust and squinting as his eyes adjust.

"A man of ambition? Yeah, I think that's me, Herr Ulisson. Way I figure it, some men are content to keep to their place, not make a stir, and die in no better condition than what they was born squallin' into. Not for me, Herr Ulisson -- not anymore. I've seen how a man with skill, strength, and ambition may go far in this world, whether he's born princeling or kitchen-boy, and I aim to be one of 'em."

851

"Mm. As I remember, your father was of the first kind you describe. I should tell you this now: I was the one who had him killed. If this will provide a bar to our working together, Herr Kaltenbach, please leave now. He owed me money and he could not pay"

Ulisson does not move throughout the conversation. Manny has only ever known dwarfs be capable of sitting so still for so long.

853

Manny meets the dwarf's gaze as he speaks, and spits on the ground at the mention of his father.

"Can't say it bothers me at all, Herr Ullison. I hardly knew the bastard. He stuck around just long enough to get me mum with brats, and the times he was around, he was too pissed to see to our upbringin' anyway. If you hadn't done for him, someone else would have soon enough. Anyone that knew him better'n I did said that's the sort he was. I don't owe that shitbag nothing 'cept the seed he planted in mum, and that could've just as well come from a proper man."

851

"They say dwarfs are greedy because we seem to care so much about money. They do not understand the concept of a grudge -they do not live long enough. Did you know there's no word for 'forgiveness' in Khazalid? And those with ambitions such as yourself in the dwarf keeps must follow a very winding path to power. We live too long. Sometimes those with ambition cannot wait for their superiors to die, and take matters into their own hands"

He pauses.

"Forgive me. Sometimes I ramble"

Ullison looks straight at Manny.

"There is a man currently in my employment -taxing the southern half of the Street, who has displeased me, but it is important to me that the work he does will continue. Is the relevance of everything I have said clear?"

853

"As crystal, sir. Please continue."

857 "His name is Pieter Kromme. He has the right to tax the von Neuwald Arms, Frau Ritterbach's brothel, the Wolf and Sheep and Astrid's eating house. He makes five gold crowns a month from this, two of which he sends to me. Lately, he has displeased me by trying to squeeze more from his holdings and keeping back the profits"

The dwarf continues to look straight at Manny.

"I believe he is in the habit of drinking with his friends in the von Neuwald Arms almost every evening. An execution there would simultaneously emphasise my displeasure and secure the reputation of his replacement. That will be all, Herr Kaltenbach"

859

"Understood, Mein Herr."

Manny nods to Ullison (the closest he can come to a bow), and turns on his heel, making his way out of Ullison's squalid lodgings.

"Well, Manny old son," he thinks to himself. "You're finally coming up in the world. It won't be long now till you're a man of substance and respect. True, you're still in another's service, but this is just the beginning. Soon, the collar will come off, and you'll truly come into your own. And when I do, I'll be fucked if I'm living in a rat-hole like this. Now to see about Herr Kromme..."

863

Manny makes his way out of the docks and picks his way through the Niederhafen in a shower of rain. This is familiar territory to the protagonist and he receives many cautious nods from friends and acquaintances loitering about the quays. News of his trip to the dwarf moneylender seems to have spread rapidly, along with speculation as to the visit's significance. One trio -a group of longshore men known to frequent the Wolf and Sheep and to have a longstanding grudge against Kromme, seem to have guessed the truth. They are grinning broadly, and give Manny a loose-armed salute as he passes by.

The Street of a Hundred Taverns is lively as well and once again, the speed of Altdorf gossip reveals itself. Pedro the Estalian peddler is by his stand as usual, and he calls out to Manny as he passes by: "Ho! Kaltenbach! Sharpen your knife? Clean your sword?"

Wulf, the mad Ulricite who earns a precarious living as a street-thief, also stops in midstride in the middle of the Street, sniffing the air and grins at Manny, exposing the teeth he has filed into points.

"Good hunting tonight. Hahaha!"

At last, Manny arrives at the von Neuwald Arms. There is the familiar clatter of dice from the interior. As he steps inside, he can see the owner -a heavyset, broad shouldered man berating a halfling who is clearly hung-over.

"Why!? Why do I pay you, Hubert? My only doorman, and you're drunk half the week!"

"Sorry... boss..."

Manny's eye is, however, instantly drawn to Kromme himself. He is playing cards with a group of cronies in the sunken centre of the gaming house's floor. He is a pudgy, though muscular man with a short, neat dark beard and an elaborately plumed hat to match Manny's own. Everyone around him, including the waitress who he has seated on his lap with an arm clasped about her waist, is clearly terrified of him. He is wearing a short Tilean sword and a wicked looking knife on either side of his belt.

Manny can't quite shake the feeling that he has seen something significant on his walk, something that is even now nagging at his memory, but he is not certain what it might be.

873

Manny makes his way over to the owner, patiently waiting until he's finished berating the halfling.

"Excuse me, mein Herr, he says in a tone low enough not to be overheard by Kromme and his entourage. "Perhaps I might have a word with you. It concerns the gent over at the card table, and his ex-employer. My current employer. I understand that, at the beginning of your relationship, Herr Kromme and yourself had a certain *arrangement.* Taxes, and so forth. And my employer has come to understand that Herr Kromme has in fact been...er... what's the word? Overzealous in his collection of payment lately. This is why I am here tonight, and why I have about me implements for the carrying out of violent and brutal acts. Am I right in thinking you would favour a change in your current arrangement? Say, a lowering of taxation to the level you previously enjoyed? And am I also right in thinking that, as much as one might have cause to fear Herr Kromme, one might have cause to fear Herr Ullison even more? Just nod if you agree, and I'll take care of the rest. All I ask is your cooperation, and that of your staff."

875

Terrified, the man's eyes go to the oblivious Kromme, then back to Manny. He nods once, sharply and says, in a whisper:

"Aye. What do you need, sir?"

881

"I need you to close this place down for tonight. The reason's not important-- just find one. There's nasty work ahead, and I want the punters to feel like this is a safe, comfortable place where they can drink, talk, and lose their money in peace."

882

The manager immediately moves out, waving his arms, with his halfling doorman following him.

"All right, people. We've just had word! The Watch are staging a raid..."

At this, several of the tavern's rougher-looking patrons immediately slip quietly out. Others protest half-heartedly but eventually leave. The Von Neuwald Arms is one of Altdorf's licensed gambling establishments, but the license is prone to be revoked whenever Captain Pannenberg feels a demonstration of public morality is in order.

The owner reaches Kromme's table, which he has carefully left until near the end. A couple of Kromme's cronies stand up to go, but he waves them back down again, keeping his arm tight around the barmaid in his lap.

"I don't feel like moving", he says. His voice is oddly soft and almost melodious. He squints uncertainly at Manny, leaning against the door in the background. "What's going on?"

885

Straightening up from his position against the bar, Manny carefully removes his hat, resting it gently on the nearest barstool. Once the other patrons are out, he signals to the nearest employee to bar the door. He begins walking, slowly and purposefully, toward the table.

"What's going on, Mein Herr, is a bit of house-cleaning. Herr Ullison is displeased with the way you've been going about his business. My name is Manfred Kaltenbach, and I am here as Ullison's proxy. You fucked up, Kromme. You got too greedy and too stupid to hide that greed properly, and now you're in the shit." Manny looks to Kromme's entourage.

"Lads, it's too late to save your boss. His fate has been sealed and his death's been paid for. Should you manage to kill me, you will have to deal with Herr Ullison's next agent, and the one after that, should it come to that. There will be nowhere in Altdorf for you to hide, and it will be only a matter of time before someone tracks you down and lets your throats out for you. I'd advise you to take this opportunity to make your loyalties clear. If you make the wrong decision, you will not get a second chance."

Still advancing toward the table, Manny shrugs off his cloak and whips out his sword and dagger with a satisfying *SHING!* noise.

"Choose now, boys."

886

"Don't listen to him, lads", Kromme says, "He's lying. I'm still in good with Ullison. I'm still..."

His cronies are not listening to him. Their eyes go from Manny to Kromme and back and then, almost unconsciously, go to the hilts of their knives. Kromme, seeing which way things are going, wastes no more time but pushes the tavern-maid off his lap and kicks the table over in a single fluid movement. The lantern shatters on the floor, silver and copper slide mingled to the floor, and most of his former friends are temporarily caught underneath the upturned table.

Kromme reverses his hands to draw his sword and knife in a movement identical to Manny's own. He steps away from the table, staring straight at the taller man.

"So you think you can take my place, boy? Come on. I'll show you how we do it on the Street"

893

With steady stride, Manny makes his way toward the depression in the gaming floor, stopping at the edge. His arms held out in a fighting stance, he paces around the edge of the "pit."

Manny chuckles as he gazes down on Kromme and his entourage.

"I've got all the time in the world, old man. You just climb out of your hole any time you like, and give me that demonstration."

With that, Manny kicks the nearest object (a pewter mug, etc.) in Kromme's general direction.

896

The pewter mug flies past Kromme, shattering against the wall and leaving a trail of ale dripping down it. Kromme bares his teeth and suddenly breaks into a run. Despite his pudgy build, he moves with startling speed, reaching the edge of the pit in seconds, then climbing on to a table and lunging at Manny.

Kromme's thrust at Manny's head is viper-swift but at the last second, the protagonist manages to pull his dagger up and catch Kromme's blade on the hilt. Sparks flies from the metal. Manny now cuts back with two rapid blows. Kromme manages to avoid the first of Manny's cuts by throwing himself backwards off the table, simultaneously kicking it over in Manny's direction. Manny easily sidesteps the falling table and performs a follow-up blow, which Kromme only just manages to hold on his own knife-hilt. He pushes Manny's blade away from his shoulder with a grimace of effort. The two warily circle each other again.

"You know", Kromme says, regaining his breath. "I went to see that dwarf bastard just the other day. Smiled at me, told me everything was fine, that I was doing good work. Bastard"

He suddenly launches another attack, trying to draw Manny's dagger away.

Manny's dagger moves reflexively to cover Kromme's movement, but the protagonist has been in far too many brawls throughout the Niederhafen not to recognise a feint. Disappointed, Kromme simply drops his blade down and thrusts it straight at Manny.

Manny is easily able to avoid Kromme's blow. They have now moved full circle around the overturned table and their feet crunch in the shattered pottery and spilled oil from the broken lantern.

897

Manny shakes his head. "Fucking typical, if you ask me. In a month or so, some bastard will be coming for me, I shouldn't wonder. Makes you question the very nature of the job, really."

For a moment, Manny seems to consider this.

"Oh well- There's the coin in my purse and the cunny in my bed, and no point in speculatin' on what next week'll bring. I might end up in silks and velvets, and I might end up under the crust of some halfling cocksucker's meat pie. Either way, mein Herr, you've got an appointment with Morr tonight."

With that, Manny begins a lunge with his dagger, trying to throw off his opponent's defences in time to slash at him with his sword.

898

Similarly acquainted with the tricks of the street-fight, Kromme's blade barely flicks up in response to Manny's feint, and is quickly back in place to guard him when Manny launches his real attack.

Kromme tries to raise his sword in time to intercept Manny's thrust but he is not quick enough and the protagonist drives a deep red furrow through Kromme's right arm, tearing the finely ruffled black and yellow sleeve as well as the leather underneath. Kromme's eyes widen with pain and he lunges desperately at Manny, stabbing twice in quick succession.

Manny manages to sidestep Kromme's first blow and the second he takes on the blade of his poignard. Kromme is now slipping in a puddle of spilled ale. Over his shoulder, Manny can see that one of his henchmen has freed himself from the overturned table down in the pit, and is now creeping forward, a knife in his hands and his eyes intent on his former boss' turned back.

899

With a snarl, Manny shifts his stance as he moves to press his advantage, thrusting viciously with his sword as he edges forward...

902

In a series of vicious strokes and thrusts, Manny drives Kromme backwards several paces, down the couple of stone steps into the gaming house's pit. Kromme, desperate to defend himself, has no time to look behind and almost stumbles on the steps. Once at the bottom, however, a frown crosses his face and he studies Manny's face intently for some clue to his intentions.

The slightest shift In Manny's eyes reveals the danger behind him to Kromme and he turns on his heel, keeping both of his enemies in sight -holding his sword at Manny and his knife at the newcomer.

"Fritz, you dog!", he calls out. "I didn't think you'd have the nerve"

Fritz -a lanky, sandy-haired man wearing a cap several sizes too big, hesitates. He clearly doesn't dare enter the fray now that Kromme is aware of him. Instead, he picks up a lantern from a nearby table and hurls it at the racketeer.

Kromme easily ducks the missile and it crashes against the bar in the far corner, spraying shattered glass and sizzling lantern oil across it. The ancient, damp wood fails to catch however, and the blaze quickly dies out. Kromme, meanwhile, takes advantage of the momentary distraction to aim a terrific blow at Manny, standing above him on the steps.

Manny recovers in time to easily twist aside from Kromme's wild stroke.

903

Gritting his teeth, Manny answers Kromme's attack with one of his own, bringing his arm back around and unleashing a flurry of blows at the racketeer.

"Sigmar's balls, Fritz! Are you going to do something with that knife, or hang back tossing things about like a little girl?!"

905

Kromme throws back his head, laughing and baring his teeth.

"Yeah, come on, Fritz. Show us what you've got"

Fritz, equally goaded by both Manny and Kromme, now rushes forward, flailing with his knife. Meanwhile, Kromme is meeting Manny's hammering blows.

Gasping for breath, Kromme manages to deflect all but one of Manny's strokes, but he raises his dagger just a little too slowly for the last and Manny's blade rips open the leather bracer on his wrist and gouges a light wound on his arm.

Fritz has little technique as a fighter, but a combination of panicked enthusiasm and Kromme's distraction allow him to score a glancing hit on Kromme's right arm, just above the much deeper wound Manny managed to land earlier. Kromme is moving more slowly now, and sweat trickles down his brow.

"See the scum you'll have to work with?", he asks Manny, looking for the next opening in the protagonist's defence.

"They've no stomach, they can't fight and they have no sense of... style"

The last word is punctuated by a vicious thrust at Manny, followed by a sweeping blow.

Manny manages to knock Kromme's blade aside but that leaves him open for a tremendous cut at the inside of his right arm with the racketeer's dagger. The blade scores a thin hot line of pain to just above Manny's elbow, and he can tell it's just missed rupturing a muscle. It stings agonisingly. It's an effort to simply remaining holding on to his sword. Kromme grins in satisfaction.

Fritz's face goes ashen -he's clearly worried that the fight is going against Manny.

907

Manny grits his teeth in pain as Kromme's blow strikes home. Hot tears stream down his face as he struggles to keep a grip on his sword.

Keeping his dagger up to ward off Kromme's attacks, Manny tightens his grip on the sword's handle and tries another lunge.

908

Kromme manages to knock Manny's cautious lunge aside. Fritz, who is now desperately anxious, simply launches into a wild series of blows, forcing Kromme to spend his energy ducking and weaving away.

Kromme manages to sidestep Fritz's energetic but ineffective assault, and he is now standing next to one of the pit's tables, on which a jug of ale sits. He seizes the jug by the handle and flings its contents in Manny's face before launching his own furious onslaught of thrusts and cuts. He is clearly gambling on the chance of taking Manny down, since he is leaving himself entirely open to a riposte.

Manny manages to turn away just before the ale hits his face, and instead it simply spatters across his face and shirt. He immediately looks back just in time to catch Kromme's first blow on his sword and take advantage of Kromme's openness to lock his dagger with Manny's own at the hilt. A vicious twist of his left hand forces Kromme's knife arm down and knocks the pudgy racketeer backwards on to the table, sending a handful of cups crashing to the floor. His knife-arm still pinned down, he will not be able to raise it in time to block Manny's next attack.

909

Cursing horrifically and spitting the contents of the beer mug back in Kromme's face, Manny raises his aching sword arm, takes careful aim, and thrusts down at the pudgy racketeer, hoping to skewer him to the table.

"Die, gods damn you, DIE!!!!!"

Eckhart

841

Eckhart limps through the rainy streets south of the river to the exclusive district housing the Emperor's Griffin clubhouse. The lamplighters are just now setting about their evening's task, moving from place to place with their long tapers set across their shoulders and leaving a dull, red-yellow glow in the iron braziers behind them.

This time, he finds the Emperor's Griffin estate without difficulty. The same guards are on duty, holding their pikes negligently. The one whom Eckhart was forced to bribe the week before grins at him.

"See? Coming back, aren'tcha, Norseman? Worth the clink you put my way, aren't I?"

Eckhart is feeling in little shape for tonight's performance. His leg is a constant, dull pain, which increases to agony every time he puts his left foot down. His head is confused and full of whispers and aches. He hasn't had an undisturbed rest since his visit to the Grey College four days ago. Every time he falls asleep, he wakes from troubled dreams to find himself walking the streets of Altdorf again, making his way towards the grim hill on which the Grey College rests, his injured leg protesting in agony.

848

Eckhart smiles and nods wearily "Aye, it would be seeming so. Ja? How is it looking for tonight busy I am be thinking?"

850

The guard nods.

"You'd never guess who's shown up, though", he says, "Only the most miserable blind old bastard in Altdorf, that Lector Benedict..."

"Quite", says a voice from behind him. Hardly daring to breath, the guard turns around as the speaker emerges from the shadows. He is a tall, gaunt man with the clouded unseeing eyes of the blind, dressed in plain grey robes and leaning on the arm of a burly man at arms in the bright insignia of the Order of the Fiery Heart.

"Your Grace, I...", splutters the guard. Von Logau raises a hand in ambiguous blessing. "Go with Sigmar, my son. And the one you are addressing, the Norse skald...?"

Axel gestures Eckhart to fall in alongside the lector as he begins to walk back across the rain slick paths of the garden.

"A week ago, I gave your friend Johann a task for all of you", the lector says. "I would like to know how you are faring in this task"

854

Eckhart avoids looking at the man as he speaks hoping that the Lector does not see the fear in his eyes.

"Y-your grace, we are be making some progress jag, but these things are difficult for understanding and it seems that something is acting against us. When we are be finding out something, people disappear or strange goings on are occurring."

856

Von Logau considers this.

"Sigmar's servants walk a thorny path. Nevertheless, results are expected, Herr Olafson and failure will not be tolerated. Have you made any progress in finding the confessions of Wilhelm Braun?"

860

"It as you say your grace, we are be making progress we do not be have the confessions yet. But we are be thinking that we are close, we are working hard to gain what has been asked of us."

861

"The Grand Theogonist himself has taken an interest in this investigation. Make no mistake, the House itself is just the worst symptom of the disease afflicting Altdorf. In... pleasure-gardens like these, the nobles gamble and drink and debauch while the poor starve in the slums"

The Lector's voice trembles with anger.

"Everyone, from the highest to the lowest, chases after luxury, dissipation and sensual pleasures. Even the shepherds of Sigmar's flock turn to vice!"

He brings himself back under cold control.

"I will not accompany you into the clubhouse. I do not find such places congenial. Go with Sigmar and remember, if you fail Him, His punishment will make you will envy those poor souls in the House"

862

Eckhart listens to the Lectors words, he can hear the faith and belief in his voice. He then turns and bows in the Lectors direction.

"I am being sure we will succeed with Sigmar’s aid. I am wondering if it is not being wrong could I ask for your blessing. It has been troubling times Ja? and I am feeling things will not be improving before we are done with out task."

864

Von Logau smiles, a rare occurrence.

"Your request is pious. Kneel before me"

Axel guides the Lector's right hand on to Eckhart's forehead. His touch is cold and dry, but not unpleasant.

"May Sigmar guide you, as He once did me when I was lost and alone in this city. May you walk with Him until you can walk no more, and then may He carry you"

866

Eckhart accepts the blessing waiting until he is sure that the Lector has finished.

"Many thanks your grace, With your leave. I have a living to be earning."

When he has been dismissed he turns and enters the Tavern, his step is lighter the blessing having eased his worried mind slightly. As he enters he feels the warmth of fires and the general buzz of busy establishment, he moves slowly through the crowd keeping an open ear as he does so listening for rumours and trying to build a sense of the crowds feelings. It is an ingrained habit and one that has served him well in earning meals and avoiding trouble in the past.

868

The Griffin is glowing with warmth and light. Everywhere, richly-dressed noblemen and women laugh and talk, or play at cards and dice. Eckhart sees more silver and gold thrown carelessly on to the tables of the gaming saloon than he has earns in a month's work in the Niederhafen. His own commoner's garb, along with his Norse tattoos, draw some puzzled glances -although most of the guests simply take him for a servant.

Eckhart is experienced in the art of simply blending in and, after a few minutes, most of the tavern's patrons return to their conversations, failing to pay him so much as another glance. He moves from group to group, eavesdropping on snippets of conversation and gauging the feel of the crowd. There is an air of slightly desperate merriment. Eckhart gets the distinct impression that many are overindulging in wine and gaming because the future holds certain vague, overpowering fears for them.

"... well, this is charming, isn't it? They say the owner, that Heyergriek fellow, is a bit of a bounder and even that he has dealings with... you know... the wrong sort. But I think that's exciting..."

"... war with Bretonnia. If it comes down to it, we all stand to lose a lot of money. I have a factor in Marienburg; he tells me the Council are doing everything they can to stop..."

"My dear! I quite understand your choosing to paste on that divine make-up so thickly -it accentuates and yet conceals..."

"It's all the fault of those Sigmar-be-damned Ostlanders, I say! They do nothing but complain and talk sedition and, frankly, Ostland's loyalty during the ah northern unpleasantries was often highly questionable. I've heard that new play will be telling all..."

"Why, thank you. Might I ask you where you purchased your scent, my dear? It can hardly have been easy to find a sufficiently strong perfume..."

"Yes, I was surprised too, but you know, for a foreigner, Doktor Fan Lung is most agreeable. Just imagine, they say he can read the future! Angelika has been throwing the most wonderful parties since she began consulting him"

"I... I think I'm going to be sick"

"Olafson!"

Moving through the crowd, Eckhart suddenly comes face to face with the dark-eyed Gerda Heyergriek, Stefan's daughter and secretary.

"There you are. Come with me. Mingling with the guests is not permitted"

Gerda whisks Eckhart through a narrow door into the servant's quarters. In a small room entering on to the stage where he performed earlier, she looks him over briefly.

"I hope you are ready to perform immediately. We...", she looks closer and frowns. "Are you all right, Olafson? You look unwell. Here. Drink this"

A jug of steaming, clear liquid sits nearby, emitting a smell of stewed peaches and unfamiliar spices. Gerda pours a small draught into a cup and holds it up to Eckhart.

Eckhart does not recognise the brew, but it smells delicious.

869

Eckhart eyes the cup dubiously for a moment before taking it.

"My thanks Frau Heyergriek," He drinks the contents slowly savouring the taste. "I am feeling slightly the worse for wear, But I am being ready to perform still." He nods back in the direction of the main room. "Things appear to be going well ja?"

He finishes the cup returning it too the bench where it came from. "I am right in thinking that the request is still the same? Old enemies return?"

870

The warm drink tastes wonderful -it has the bite of brandy with a hint of something sweeter underneath. It runs through Eckhart, warming him inside. He suddenly feels energy run through his body. He feels almost drunk on it. He wants to let it out -in an endless stream of words and laughter. He knows that he can hold the audience outside captivated -he knows he will find exactly the right things to say to hold their attention, to make them laugh and cry.

At the same time, he feels almost too warm, and his thoughts run in circle. He constantly picks up on rhymes and wordplay in them, but he can never seem to follow them any deeper than that. The world around him seems slightly blurred.

Gerda observes Eckhart's reaction.

"It's called Kiss of the Courtier", she says. "Don't worry -it's not addictive and it will wear off after a few hours. Our request does indeed remain the same. Please begin" She indicates the door to the wings.

871

Eckhart nods and quickly strips of his shirt underneath is a sleeveless tunic. He favours the top for certain events, it bares his arms where his intricate Norscan tattoos are clearly visible.

He carefully puts the shirt down on a chair and walks through the wing door onto the stage as he does so a voice calls out to crowd. "And now for your entertainment from the lands of the North." As the announcer is speaking, Eckhart walks towards the front of the stage, his cloak is pulled tight around him casting his face into shadow. "The Norseman, Herr Olafson the Skald."

As the voice dies away he throws back the cloak revealing his tattoos. He looks out into the crowd waiting for a moment, before he speaks.

"Ladies and Gentlemen." His accent is notably thicker than normal, the accent warring with his polite style of speech.

"Tonight I will entertain you with a story, it is an old tale about ancient feuds and the bonds of blood."

Again he stops before continuing changing into the chant of the story teller, using the power of words to bring the characters to life, and transport the crowd to the past.

"Once their lived to brothers strong and hale where each, and well renowned where they. The First the oldest was known as Eric, broad shouldered with a golden main of hair, eyes that where the blue of the sky at noon. The younger was Ulrich, head and shoulders he stood above other men. His hair was as dark as night, his eyes the colour of ripe wheat.

The brothers where well known as hard workers, good hunters. Whenever the people of the clansfolk need help they had but to ask and they would lend their arm. This their fortunes waxed and the clan prospered. Yet, even as times where good trouble grew for others less fortunate looked on with Jealous eyes, and grasping hands. Among these was one know as Ragnar, his epithas where many but chief among them was Kinslayer. For on the day of his adulthood he slew his brothers and cast out from the clan, once before he had raised his hand against his clans brothers, but had been banished. Still he harboured a grudge and planned his revenge.

It was during the harvest season that the first raid came, out of the darkness came the warriors more demon that human, screaming oaths to their foul masters they attacked without mercy all who had the misfortune to come across their path where slain. The men folk of the town rallied to fight the raiders, at the head of the men stood the brothers ready to buy the freedom of the town with their lives.

Fierce was the battle and many a good man and foul raider fell during the battle, it came to ahead when the two brothers met the leader of the dark spawn that attacked the town. Taller than even Ulrich and broader than Eric the Dark Warlord stood. For a moment the three warriors regard each other, and then by some un spoken agreement the battle was joined.

Great was the duel and long did it last for neither the brothers nor the Dark Warlord could gain the upper hand. Such was the ferocity of the fight and the skill of the combatants that the battle was forgotten and the men on both sides stood and watched the combat in awe.

The Duel continued until dawn when cruel fate decided to take a hand, eric foot caught on a stone and he tripped the Dark Warlord seized his chance and stuck with his blade. Ulrich let out a great cry of hate and fury and leapt up the Warlord his blade bit deep into the dark one's armour, again and again he struck. The Warlord was forced back the ferocity of the blows. Seizing his chance Ulrich took his blade in both hands and struck a mighty blow the Warlords helmet was smote from his shoulders and the body slowly tumbled back. Yet even as Morr should have claimed the Warlord something happened a dark mist enveloped the body and a voice called out I will have my vengeance.

The Dark Ones raised a great cry and fled as their leaders body vanished in the mist"

Eckhart pauses for a moment surveying the crowds reaction to the tale so far.

Ulrich turned from where the Warlords armour lay know devoid of the body and went to find his brothers broken form, yet when he reached the place where fate had played its hand, the site was empty no sign of his brothers body existed and none could find him far and wide did they search. Eventually even Ulrich was forced to stop his search and tend to the clans needs again. The seasons came and went and again the clan found peace, but it was not meant to be. One cold winters night as the world lay in a blanket of snow the dark one returned to have their vengeance. Leading these Dark warriors where two the likes of which could only be dreamed off in the darkest nightmares. They moved through the battle swiftly and with ease striking down many fine warriors as a man would reap the harvests wheat. Yet still the brave clansmen fought on to defend their land and the clansfolk. Eventually they where driven back when Ulrich met the first of warleaders, the sound of their blades crashing was like thunder. Feint, parry, reposte the warriors circled each other trying to find a weakness in the others defence. Even matched the fight went on, it was then that Ulrich realized that the other Warlord watched on with cruel eyes seeming savouring every blow and counter of the fight.

With a great cry Ulrich pushed himself to his limits finally finding a weakness in his foes defence, yet even as the warrior fell a hollow laugh filled Ulrich’s ears. And now Vengeance is mine.. The voice hissed in his ears with a growing dread Ulrich lifted the helm from his foes head and at the sight of his face a howl of despair and hate escaped from his lips. Now we are the same, the voice hissed again. We are kinslayers both. With scant thought and growing bloodlust Ulrich picked up his brothers blade and charged the Dark Warlord. It was said that such a battle as was fought between Ulrich and the Dark Warlord has seldom be seen. Ulrich’s blood fury allowed him to fight as ten men, the Dark Warlords patrons had given him the strength of demons.

For a full day they fought without quarter or mercy, mighty where the wounds both gave and took. Yet still they fought on. Yet as the moons rose high in the night the Dark Warlord stuck Ulrich and left him in the snow. If you want your revenge come then, follow me and seek it. I will be waiting for you. With the warlords sibilant hiss filling his ear Ulrich fell into darkness.

It was a week before Ulrich regained awoke, then without a word he took up his blade and headed north to seek vengeance.

Eckhart bowed low as he finished his tale. "And that is the tale of the brothers, and the tale of the tragedy that befell them."

872

Eckhart has little time to think about the audience while he relates his saga but he can still tell that he has completely enthralled them. Conversations have all but ceased throughout all the hall and patrons from other rooms have come in to listen. Some stand with wineglasses or tarts frozen halfway to their mouths, waiting to learn what will happen next. There is palpable tension during the battle scenes, and a sigh of mingled satisfaction and anxiety at the ambiguous conclusion to the story. This is followed by rapturous applause, which only swells as Eckhart takes repeated bows.

Gerda is waiting for him as he returns, and offers him a cup of wine, doing him the signal courtesy of pouring it herself.

"That was acceptable, Herr Olafson. Everything for which we were looking. Your payment is on the table"

A corded pouch lies next to the wine.

"Would you like to earn more?"

874

Eckhart considers the offer thinking over the trouble that they have had so far.

"I may be interested depending on what it is being for?"

875

"You have heard of the play my father is promoting? Last Days in Ostland? There has been one part we've been unable to fill -a small one, but hugely significant. We know you are not a formally trained actor, Herr Olafson, but we've had ample evidence of your talents as a performer, and the part will be tailored to your particular skills"

She pauses.

"The part is that of Archaon, Warlord of the North"

877

Eckhart can not help but take a sharp breath at the mention of the name of the scourge that so recently brought the empire to the brink of destruction. "That is being a dangerous name ja? I am thinking that the Sigmarites would not be being very favourable to such a thing. I am thinking that many have not been wanting to be risking themselves on such an part." He pauses for a moment gauging Gerda's reaction to his words.

878

Gerda frowns. "Maybe so, Herr Olafson. But the cult of Sigmar support our play. It is a celebration of the Sigmarite tradition and a... condemnation of certain heresies"

877

"But I am often not being popular anyway Ja." He indicates his tattoos. "I would be thinking that such a part would command a good wage."

878

"You'll earn three times what you did tonight -fifteen gold crowns for three days' performances"

879

Eckhart nods as if confirming something.

"If you are be having the consent of Sigmarites. Then I am thinking that I am being interested. It is good to learn new skills. There is being one slight problem."

Eckhart looks distinctly uncomfortable for a moment, before leaning slightly closer and continuing in a low voice. "I am not being able to read Imperial or Norse for that matter. My understanding is being that plays have their lines to be learning ja?"

880

Gerda shakes her head.

"Half the actors in Altdorf can't read. You'll be able to learn your lines like you learned your stories -repetition and memory. The play is written mostly in verse -it isn't hard to learn to recite"

883

Eckhart simply nods.

"When would we be starting then?"

884

"Rehearsals will start a week from now. If you have someone to read it to you, I can have the script sent to you before then"

887

Eckhart nods. "I am thinking I may be able to be having some help in that regards."

He moves over to where his tunic lays and puts it back on. "I am thinking then that it is time I am be going ja? would the Rehearsals be being held here?"

889

"No, Herr Olafson. Rehearsal will take place in the Vagr Brueghel Memorial Theatre. Goodnight, Herr Olafson"

Eckhart picks up the pouch, feeling the reassuring weight of four thick gold crowns within. He makes his way out by the back door and threads his way through the garden, through which patrons are gradually making their way out. His head is still blurred and swimming -he can barely acknowledge the occasional words of approbation for his performance that are thrown his way by passing revellers. He somehow finds his way to the gate and walks out on to the street. Only one of the guards is still on duty -the one he bribed, and he is talking to a pair of hardfaced men instantly recognisable as Niederhafen toughs.

Despite his sharp hearing, Eckhart can't make out what the three are saying but he notes that as he moves down the street, the two are now following him. Their view of him is blocked for a moment as a heavy black carriage rumbles out the gate and down the street between them, the driver a motionless hooded form on the box in front.

891

Eckhart braces himself as the carriage rolls between himself and the thugs, looking desperately for an escape route. Just as he is about to give up hope and run, he notices the handle low on the side of the carriage. he crouches then leaps onto the side of the carriage, as quietly as he can, the effort makes him wince as his bad leg takes some of the strain.

As soon as he is up on the carriage he flattens himself against trying to stay hidden from both his pursers, the motionless driver and the occupants of coach.

892

Eckhart manages to clamber on to the slowly-moving coach, and avoids notice from the driver and passengers. The two thieves look around them in confusion, but they quickly realise what their quarry has done and hurry after the coach. Eckhart can see the lamplight glittering on the knives held in their hands.

The coach is beginning to pick up speed by now, and the thieves break into a run. For a moment, it looks as though it's going to outpace them but then the lead thief takes a leap, hands outstretched, and manages to catch on to the end of the coach. Clinging on grimly there, he begins peering around the edge of the coach, looking straight at Eckhart.

The impact of his landing has shaken the coach and alerted the driver. He slides a heavy blunderbuss out from underneath his seat, keeping one hand still on the reins while looking behind for the source of the noise.

894

Eckhart flattens himself against the coach praying to Sigmar and any other god he thinks will listen to him that he will get away without another fight. For a moment he feels he might have done it. The sudden cry of chagrin and noise that follows dash the faint hope. Sigmar’s balls how do I get into these things. He peers into the darkness trying to catch sight of his pursuer. The sudden thumps against the back of the coach confirms his worse fear. Eckhart looks back at the coachmen and barley stifles a groan of despair as he spots the man picking up a blunderbuss. Morr's withered manhood what next.. Even as he considers his next action a face leers round the backend of the coach. A low voice follows it. "Got you now, you Northern bastard."

Eckhart’s hand reaches down for a throwing knife as he does so he gently rubs the crest engraved on the handle. There is a moment of hesitation and prang of regret as he remembers the day he was gifted the knives. It must have been what? 4 years ago? Down in Stirland or maybe Wissenland.. It had been a big event for the young skald, invited to entertain at a remembrance service for the local lord. Even now the dark eyes of the lords widow send shivers down his spine. "Here young Skald was it? A gift to one who has brought a moment of colour and interest to my life."

His hand tightens on the hilt of the knife. Damn these bastards for this He brings the knife up enjoying the look of surprise on the Thugs face. Then with a flick of his wrist he sends the knife at the thugs face, the throw is more about making the thug flinch back behind the rear of the coach than hitting him.

As soon as the thug drops back out of sight Eckhart moves quickly. Hooking his foot over the running board he leans down and out from the carriage taking care not to let the coachmen seeing him. He down till he nearly can grip the edge of the coach, then lets go of the handle, and tries to grab the edge of the coach and flip himself underneath.

895

The thug's triumphant grin quickly disappears as he sees Eckhart's hand go inside his coat and emerge with a knife, which a flick of the wrist sends flying straight at him.

The thief pulls his head back just in time and the knife whistles past, becoming lost in the Altdorf night. Eckhart uses the opportunity this affords to bring himself downwards and then perform a flip to place himself underneath the coach.

For a terrifying moment, Eckhart flies through the air, then he manages to grab on to the underside of the coach. The coach continues to roar over the cobbles, inches away from his back. Then it comes to a sudden halt. He can hear the driver moving overhead, gruffly challenging the thief. There is a brief pause, then the roar of a blunderbuss.

A dark shape, evidently his luckless pursuer's body, falls on to the ground just at the edge of Eckhart's vision. A querulous female voice calls out:

"Driver? What was that shot? Why have we stopped?"

"A thief, m'lady. No cause for alarm now. Must have been trying to rob you, m'lady..."

900

Eckhart keeps quite fearing to make to much noise and attract the attention of the coachmen or the owner of the carriage. He tenses against the underside of the carriage waiting for the coachmen to get back on again, the pain of his leg begins to make his vision blur.

901

Eckhart lies underneath the coach for what feels like an eternity, while the driver and his mistress discuss what they take to be an attempted robbery. He has time to consider the attack on himself and to reach the conclusion that it was in fact a robbery itself. The corrupt guard must have alerted two of his old Niederhafen friends to the fact that Heyergriek was paying his entertainers well, and the three of them came up with the plan of robbing them after each night's performance.

The driver eventually, at his mistress' repeated insistence, agrees to go away in search of a town guard to report the robbery and the death, and she closes her door once again as he leaves, fortunately without glancing underneath the coach. The coast is clear for Eckhart to slip away and make his way home.

904

Eckhart tenses as the Coachmen confers with his mistress.

Finally the man leaves the seems to leave the area. Eckhart waits a few more minutes to make sure the coachman has left before he carefully lowers himself to the ground. He moves slowly crawling away from the carriage, when he is a short distance away he stands and begins to move down the street carefully observing the shadows as he does so.

906

Eckhart limps the rest of his way home without further incident, crossing the great bridge where the tarred heads and body parts of traitors adorn the spikes overlooking the Reik. After the rain stops, the night air is crisp and cold, and there is a certain metallic tang to it. It seems that the winter's first snowfall cannot be far away. He reaches his lodgings in a side street off the Street and painfully climbs the stairs up to his room.

911

Eckhart nearly collapses when he finally reaches his room. What a day... He lays on the bed for a short while going over the day’s events. I need to get a few new knives I think... Good ones. Eventually he drifts off into a fitful sleep.

Gottfried

846

It is late evening but Gottfried is still asleep, after another night of fruitless inquiry after Anna and her mysterious last job. The noise of the downstairs front door of his lodgings wakes him up, and he then hears the creak of footsteps on the stairs.

His room is a tiny garret looking out to a blind alley, with only the bed and a single chest for his clothes for furnishings. There are three flights of stairs up to it from the front door, but he'd be visible to the intruders if he started to descend them now.

888

Gottfried hops out of bed as quietly as he can manage, and draws his blade, raising it high and aimed towards the door, as he sinks back to the side of the entryway. He waits and listens, trying to get an idea of who or how many may be approaching up the steps.

890

Judging by the sound of approaching footsteps, there are three intruders and they are all big men. The aging stairs of Gottfried's lodgings creak alarmingly under their weight. The first is now at the door, and there is a moment of silence. He must be standing right outside.