The room was small. Jegg was staring at a dark green patch of mould which had taken hold in the upper right corner of the room.
"It did it." Thought Jegg. "It killed her."
Jegg started his normal rounds. He went behind the fish monger and hooked up his cart and harness. The cart was meant to be pulled by a mule or a pony but Jegg would pull the cart himself.
Jegg was big. Really big. Pulling the cart empty for a short period would be a task for any normal man. Pulling a cart fully loaded through the streets and alleyways of Nuln would be close to impossible. Except for Jegg, or Jammy Jegg as he was known for his fondness of marmalade, this was his routine. From sunrise to sunset Jegg would pull his cart through the streets filling it up again and again. Jegg had never been busier since the plague hit Nuln for his business was death and there was plenty of it.
It wasn't the plague that killed old Auntie Bin though. Jegg believed it was the damp and the mould of his room. The sweet, sickly, stale damp had taken her and Jegg was glad.
Jegg loathed her. His earliest memories to his most recent were filled with her constant taunts and torments.
"Your whore of a mother…Sigmar take her…'Watch my littlun.' She says. 'He's special.' She says! Well, let me tell you. There is 'special' and there's special and you can't cast a candle light on the good or the bad!"
She was always on about the damp and the mould as well.
"Tuck in my blanket boy! The damp will get me yet with all the care I get from you! Is that mould in the corner or a cob web?"
Now she was dead and Jegg was glad.
Every night curled up on the floor he would hope for her death. He did not know who to ask. He couldn't ask Sigmar for she asked him to take her every day and he never did. Instead he begged and pleaded for the one thing she feared, the one thing she believed would end her miserable existence; The mould and the damp.
The small room was always damp. Before it was purchased by his Aunt Binnie some twenty years ago it had served as a cellar for a small tavern. The tavern had burned and a fishmonger had purchased the land to set up shop. He had no need for the cellar and sold it to Aunt Binnie for a tidy profit. She then 'converted' it, crawled in and waited to die. Which she did…Thanks to the mould.
One morning Jegg saw it. Small and high in a corner of the small room sat a small little dot. It was green and fuzzy and was the most beautiful thing Jegg had ever seen. It was mould. What made this mould extra special was the fact that his Aunt couldn't see it from where she lay.
The dot of mould slowly grew. Jegg came home excited every night. He would happily cater to every need of the old woman, constantly stealing glances at the fuzzy green patch willing it to grow just a little bit larger.
"What are you grinning at you stupid bull? You just keep getting thicker and thicker by the day don't you?" His Aunt screamed. Suspicious of any behaviour that differed from her own.
Then one night when he returned from his grizzly work his world was shattered.
Aunt Binnie was in a frenzy. Her eyes were bulging from her head as she lay huddled in her blankets screaming at the top of her lungs, spittle flying from her mouth.
"There!" She screamed. "There! You see! How could you miss it?" Her pale bony finger pointed accusingly at the patch of mould, now the size of a human head. "Get it! Get it or Sigmar help me!"
For the first time in his life Jegg ignored the old Woman. He said one word before curling up on the ground with his hands over his ears to block out her furious protests. "Tomorrow."
The morning did eventually come and with it silence.
Not a rustle or peep. For a moment Jegg thought he was dead. That she had somehow murdered him in his sleep. He concentrated on the feel of the cold, hard floor against his face to convince himself that he was indeed alive. All he had to do now was open his eyes…
He slowly opened one eye. His Aunt was staring right at him, eyes bulging. Jegg leapt up pushing against the wall waiting to hear the furious condemnation damning him to a lifetime of misery and shame.
Nothing. She just continued to stare at him with her blood shot eyes, mouth hanging open with a blue tinge to her thin wrinkled lips. She was dead. The mould took her and he had let it happen. Jegg stole a quick glance at the patch on the wall. It appeared to be smiling. A large, green, fuzzy, mouldy smile.
A deep gurgling sound began to come from Jegg. This rich low noise gradually increased in volume until his mouth could no longer contain it and it came bursting forth like a gravely spring.
It was laughter.
For the first time in his life Jegg felt true joy as he relished in the sound of his own laugh.
He laughed and laughed until tears sprang from his eyes. He laughed at his Aunt's corpse pointing and cackling at the private joke he and the mould now shared.
Later that day while making his rounds Jegg continued to giggle to himself. This brought dark glances from those dragging out his grim parcels.
Jegg didn't care. If this was madness his only regret was that his mind had not slipped sooner.
The day went by in a wonderful haze. Jegg parked his cart behind the mongers and headed for the local tavern. Today he would drink two or three ales. He would savour each one in turn, not hastily gulping a single drink to avoid her wrath. 'No more.' He thought.
Jegg did not mover her for two weeks. The smell of rot was thick in the room. Jegg was afraid to touch her. He was certain that touching her would wake her up as is she was in some sort of deep smelly slumber. He was finally convinced it was safe when the flies and maggots arrived crawling in and out and over her swollen leaking face.
She was on the bottom. As Jegg did his rounds that day he felt great joy with every corpse he piled on top of her. Half way through his rounds she was completely covered. At the end of the day when he dumped her in the mass ditches outside the town with the rest of them he laughed and did a little jig. He shovelled large scoops of lime from the pile next to the ditch until he could no longer see her staring eyes. The bodies wouldn't be covered with dirt for several days, after which a new pit would be dug. The thought of several more corpses being piled on top of his dead Aunt made Jegg happy. 'Here's your new bed.' Jegg thought.
Jegg went back to his room. He pulled out her filthy bed and put it in his cart. He would dump it in the rag pickers pile in the morning. Jegg's eye was drawn to the mould once again. The mouth had become a crooked line but now there were two large circles of mould that sat just above the mouth at an angle. It seemed to be…looking at him. Jegg's concentration was broken as a loud banging erupted from the cellar door. With an annoyed growl Jegg started the long slow trek up the stairs.
When Jegg opened the door he stepped back involuntarily. There stood before him was the strangest man he had ever seen. The visitor was of average height and quite fat. He was dressed in a green and black tunic. He wore a cloak of pressed black velvet trimmed with the greasy fur of some unidentifiable creature. He wore a large moss green porkpie hat. His face however, was what shocked Jegg. He had several prominent chins which seemed to dribble onto a bone white ruff. His skin had a yellow cast with small purple spider like veins covering his bulbous, porous nose. The small veins spilled over onto his ruddy cheeks. Two , deep set, bloodshot eyes peered from beneath a pair of bushy blonde brows. He wore a huge smile with crooked yellow teeth gamely displayed between thin, ruby red lips. When he spoke his voice sounded like the grate of cartwheels on a muddy road.
"Greetings, are you the one who collects them? The dead ones?" Jegg nodded. "I have a task for you." The strange man continued. "At the end of your rounds, before you unload, I need you to come to my home. It is not out of your way and you will be well compensated for your trouble. My home is just before the tanners on the left. It is the Van Der Gout estate and I am Nettor Van Der Gout. And you are called…?"
"Jegg."
"Well met…Jegg. Pull up to my gate and you will be let in. Until tonight then." Jegg gave a slight nod and watched the man waddle away. Extra money meant more evening ale and Jegg liked ale."
The stench of the tanner's creek signalled to Jegg that he was near his destination. As he approached the tanner's huts along the bank he was peering into the night looking for the estate.
A bit further down Jegg saw a faint light just off a side road. Jegg pulled onto an overgrown cart path which had seen little use. As he approached Jegg could see a large gate. The faint light turned out to be a lantern hanging on a makeshift yardarm attached to a small guard house. Sitting on a tiny stool just in front was a man. He was pale with little, red boils dotting his face. He wore a dirty cloak and a patchwork leather cap sat on his head. As he saw Jegg approach he slowly got up, trundled to the gate and opened it. He stood glaring at Jegg as he passed covering his mouth and resting his other hand on a wicked looking mace, seeking protection from the cartload of death Jegg was pulling.
The Van Der Gout home appeared to be a small castle. Green moss and vines clung to the main stone structure. Three stories in all with two oddly shaped attached at either end, one slightly taller than the other. Jegg pulled the cart up to the door, just as he was about to remove his harness to go and knock the door opened.
Nettor Van Der Gout stood in the entrance of the main house. He was wearing a white dressing gown with greasy light grey sweat stains at the collar and under arms. He was eating what appeared to be a cow tongue skewered on a two pronged fork. His straw blonde hair was in disarray and he was scratching his prominent belly which strained against the fabric of his gown.
"Good! Good man." He rasped, spraying bits of chewed tongue as he spoke. "Let's have a look then shall we?" Nettor waddled down to the cart making appreciative 'hmms' as he chewed.
"Yes…yes…very nice. Follow me boy. This way."
Nettor shuffled towards his left. Jegg followed behind reluctantly. The smell of the meat was making him hungry. He wanted to make his pick up and be on his way.
Jegg followed the man around the tallest tower to a dirt plot. Several ancient tombstones dotted the ground. Nettor stopped at a large pit which had been dug in the centre of the yard.
"Bring the cart here lad." Nettor wheezed. Jegg trundled the cart to the edge of the pit. He felt no danger as he could easily kill this man should things turn ugly. He gave a quick look behind to make sure the guard had not followed their grim procession.
"Dump them here please." Jegg gave the man a blank look but did not move.
"Come now…" Said Nettor, motioning to the cart with the half eaten tongue. "You will be paid well and it matters not whether this lot is buried here or outside. They will not complain I assure you."
Jegg gave a shrug and dumped his cargo into the pit. The pit was not very deep and Nettor immediately clambored onto the corpses inspecting each one in turn, all the while contentedly chomping on his dinner. After several minutes he spoke to Jegg still inspecting the bodies closely.
"Go on inside boy. There is food and drink on the table. I will be with you shortly money in hand."
Jegg did not have to be told twice. He was hungry and thirsty. He began heading to the house before the strange man had finished speaking.
As he entered the front door his breath caught in his throat. The size of the front room was immense. A round table was in the centre with a large stone vase sitting on it. A dozen yellow roses poked out of the vase. Two enormous stair case wound up. One on the left and one too the right. The left staircase was newer and seemed put together in a hurry. The door it lead to was large and heavily reinforced with wrought iron bracers and studs. The right staircase was old and grand and led to an open stone archway.
Straight past the large flower display there was another open door. Jegg caught a whiff of food emanating from within. Stomach grumbling, he made his way to the back.
The spread was impressive. Plates of meats cheeses and loafs of bread were laid out on a long oak table. A large candelabra sitting in the centre illuminated the feast.
Jegg went right for the massive beef tongues. It was succulent and tender having sat in its own juices. The cheeses smelled strong but tasted wonderful. Jegg mashed a particularly large and smelly hunk of cheese onto a piece of bread taking a large bite. Jegg felt something move within his mouth. This only prompted him to casually glance at the bread and cheese. Little tiny maggots were squirming throughout the cheese. He stared in fascination at the fat little grubs.
"That's how it is made." Nettor's voice startled Jegg and he dropped the bread and cheese with a damp thud. "The rounds are left to sit out for some time. Flies are encouraged to lay their eggs. The maggots help to ripen the cheese. Some scrape them off before eating but I think they bring a depth of flavour and texture."
Nettor tore a piece of bread and began to smear on some maggot cheese as he spoke. "You're a big strong lad and smarter than you look I imagine. I have need of you. There are many tasks to do around this place and the few servants I have are rather…small."
At that moment Jegg heard what he thought was a high pitched burp followed by a low chuckle from under the table. Jegg looked down and noticed the bread and cheese he had dropped earlier were gone.
"Are you listening to me?" Nettor said angrily. Jegg looked up and nodded once. "Good." Said Nettor as he finished his cheese and bread. "So what say you?"
Jegg chewed slowly looking at the short fat man. Then, he gave a long hard look at the vast array of food on the table. After a moment a huge grin began to spread on Jeggs face. He looked back at Nettor who was wearing a grin of his own.
"I'll take that as a yes then. Now eat your fill. When you're done I will show you to your quarters. Tomorrow you can collect what you like from your basement. When you have what you need be sure to lock it behind you as we may have need for it later."
Jegg stared at Nettor with a mouthful of fowl but said nothing.
"Now, I know you speak very little, a trait I admire on the whole. However, when I address you I expect some sort of acknowledgement…A Grunt or a nod will suffice. Understand?"
Jegg nodded.
"Good. Now come up to my study when you're finished."
Jegg watched as Nettor slowly made his way up the newer but poorly constructed stairs. Jegg made a note of this and continued to eat with gusto.
Sometime later Jegg found himself slowly stomping up the stairs. The door at the top was thick iron bound oak. Jegg gave the door a slight push and it opened easily.
"Come in, close and bar the door behind you." Said Nettor who seemed to be leaning over what appeared to be a severed human arm.
Jegg did as he was asked and turned back to the strange man.
Nettor was holding a round piece of thick glass to his eye. Through this he was peering at an open sore surrounded by a deep purple ring. He was breathing heavily as he inspected the pale appendage, seemingly oblivious to the fact that he had just asked Jegg to come in.
Jegg stood staring at the man for several minutes. Nettor seemed engrossed in the arm and was poking and prodding the appendage with his free hand.
"Come in boy, come in." Said Nettor, who continued to study the arm intently. "This is the place I spend most of my time. My work is very important to me and your primary function is to ensure that I am not disturbed. Is that clear?" Jegg nodded.
"I suppose you are wondering how you will ensure my privacy? Well…that lesson begins tomorrow. For now you may rest. There is a cot and blanket near the door." Jegg looked over his shoulder and viewed a sturdy cot a pillow and a grey woollen blanket neatly folded at the foot. At the head of the bed leaning against the wall was a large wooden club with two rows of thick black spikes circling the top. Jegg turned back to the man a puzzled expression etched clearly on his face.
"Ahh…You have seen my 'gift.' Go pick it up and bring it here."
Jegg walked slowly towards the weapon. He leaned over and picked it up. The smooth worn wood felt warm in his hands. The club was solid and with a weight and heft that just felt 'right' to Jegg. The spikes at the end were an inch thick round at the base and high. They seemed to be made from a dark rough iron, crude and brutal. They circled the thick part of the club in two wicked rows like the black rotting grin of an old sailor.
"That is my first gift to you Jegg. There will be more to follow if you serve me well. Speaking of which, your first task is simply to use your new 'gift ' to bash anything that comes through that door. I rarely receive guests so this task will always be expected unless I say otherwise, understood?"
Jegg nodded.
"Good." Said Nettor, putting his glass eye down before continuing. "Now, get some sleep my large friend and do not worry, if something tries to come through that door you will know."
Jegg looked at the cot and back at his strange benefactor uncertainly. He sat on the cot which made little sound in protest. He covered himself with the wool blanket. It was rough but warm and the pillow was unlike anything he had ever experienced. Soft and cool, the pillow was filled with the hair of some unknown animal.
"Yes that's right." Nettor purred as Jegg started to drift off. "She cannot reach you now boy…Not anymore."
'She.' . But before Jegg could grasp this thought it had slipped from his mind as sleep took hold.
End of Chapter One.