Editing Easy Money 839 (section)

==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.