VIII: The Hunter pt. I

Kenny

It was early morning and banks of mist shrouded Mitras in a white haze. Night had come heavy with rain, leaving the roads slick with moisture.

Kenny pulled his shoulders up, hands stuck deep into his pockets against the cold. He peered out from underneath the brim of his hat and saw the von Rohr estate's tall iron fences rising out of the mist.

"Perhaps I should be the one to speak to Lady von Rohr. She might not receive us kindly, considering what happened last time," said the doc.

"Sure, why don't ya."

"That boy." Laurens paused, thinking, or perhaps just trying to catch his breath. He was labouring beneath the weight of something that looked like a woollen greatcoat, too great for the man wearing it. Its sleeves came down to the tips of his fingers, the wide, stiff shoulders sagging like there wasn't much underneath to hold it up, his pale, strained face hovering just above the wide lapels.

"What boy?" Kenny said and saw the crowned gate emerge out of the mist.

"I think you know very well which boy—the grey-eyed, scrawny one that bears a slight resemblance to you."

Here's to hopin' that he doesn't.

"Ah, that one. Just some pup my sister popped a few years before she died."

"I beg your pardon? The boy is your nephew, and yet you let him linger in such squalor? Now that the persecution of your clan has ended, our gracious king would no doubt be happy to arrange better living conditions for them."

"There was just Kuchel and her pup down there. Rest of 'em are dead."

He supposed there were still one or two Ackermans out there, but what of it? They were nothing to him. Uri's father or grandfather had all but wiped them out after the Ackermans were dumb enough to rise up. Why they'd done that Kenny would never know, because Ol' Paw hadn't known. He'd just blathered on like he did, the old windbag. Prattling all the way into his grave over history done and dead.

"Have you taken another life, Kenny? Don't even trouble to deny it, I see it in your eyes. We raised you better than this, but all you're given you throw away. All those high hopes, gone to dust. Will this be your legacy, grief and woe? Why, when you were such a bright boy once? Why this horror? Now you venture nowhere but to an early grave, and our future dies with you."

They weren't all dead though, not yet. There was that one who'd taken the black-haired oriental woman for a wife before he moved them out into the woods to live as poor peasants. And there was the pup. Kuchel's quiet little pup.

The doc stared at him like he'd said something stupid, though Kenny couldn't recall saying anything after that bit about Kuchel and the boy.

"By the walls! Why in Fritz's name is the boy still down there? Children need to be nurtured, they need food and shelter and proper tutelage. Did you not see the wretched state of him?"

"Well, whaddya want me to do about it? Should I've let Kuchel saddle me with her bastard for life?" Kenny spat off to the side. "Li'l Ripperino, how does that sound to ya— half as fun but twice as deadly. That'd make all the MPs shit themselves with fear I bet."

He laughed, but the doc did not. You might even say he looked a bit judgemental.

"Hey now," Kenny continued as the thin little man stared down his nose at him. "I did right by that kid. Fed and clothed the little runt, didn't I, though I never had any proof he really was Kuchel's brat."

Aside from what all men with eyes could see.

He had tried talking to the boy too, for all the good it'd done. That kid sure knew how to treat idle chatter like it was the enemy. Kenny had even tried getting him to lighten up a bit, but most of the time it'd been like tickling a stone; which to be fair, he might have had better luck getting a giggle out of.

"Taught him everything I knew, though it was little enough," he muttered, "Then I sent him on his way."

"I suppose it is not my place to judge," Laurens said as they passed under the gilded arch and through the gates, "but you strike me as a man who likes it when people speak plainly. I feel it is ill-done to make use of the child when it suits you, only to discard him when it does not."

Maybe Kenny ought to argue the point, but what's the point in arguing against the truth? He turned his back to Laurens, climbed the stairs and beat his fist against one of the black lacquered doors.

The widow, Traute von Rohr, seemed both dismayed to find them in her house once more, and deeply committed to the attempt of hiding it. Her face kept perfectly blank while her gaze was rigidly fixed on a point somewhere behind them as if her eyes were a lance she hoped to skewer them on. She had armed herself for the occasion in a painfully high-necked dress, wielding a dainty cup filled with aromatic brown water.

The room was surprisingly small, with heavy drapes diffusing the already dim morning light. Books lined the shelves from floor to ceiling on all sides, their dark leather spines flashing a glint of gold where words were imprinted in tiny letters.

"I suppose I ought to ask you to join me for tea," Lady Traute said with a twist to her mouth.

"Oh," said the doc, "thank you, that would be-"

"Though under the present circumstances I am sure you will not hold it against me if I do not."

"Ah, no. Of course not." Laurens' eyes fell to the spot where the toes of his shoes poked out from underneath his truly great greatcoat. "Please pardon our intrusion, my lady. And if you can find it in your heart to forgive my partner's previous conduct, we would be truly grateful."

"Offer your empty words to someone who cares for them, Mr. Theil, although it is sweet that you take it upon yourself to apologise for the barbarian. I trust you did not come here to inspect my carpet. Might I suggest you get to it, and then begone from my sight." She took a sip of her brown water.

"Very well. We need to um, that is to say, I would be very grateful if you were to give us an account of all persons present on the day of your husband's murder."

"There is a complete list of our staff on that sideboard behind you. Beneath it you'll find copies of my etchings by Mr. Glissner, expert work, you may keep them if it helps you in your inquiry. We have all members of staff sit for Mr. Glissner every year, it helps from a management perspective. I have instructed everyone to wait for you in the servant's quarters. The names of my guests are not on the list, as they did not leave my sight until—you know. Until Joachim was found."

"Very good." Laurens gestured for Kenny to pick up the papers. "But first—have you noticed any peculiar behaviour from any member of staff lately?"

"I do not know about you, Mr. Theil, but I find that I have other things to concern myself with. Good staff go unnoticed, they go about their business quietly and stay out of sight. If they do not, why should I keep them on?"

"So you would have noticed if anyone had seemed nervous of late?"

"I imagine I would have. Are you saying there's a chance that one of our own staff did this?"

"I think it unlikely, but we must not rule it out at this stage," the doc said.

"They all been' with ya long?" Kenny asked. He picked up something that might be a vase and turned it in his hand. Heavy, decorated with hand-painted flowers and swirls of bright blue.

That shiny coat on it is called enamel, ain't it?

"I advise you to take your hands off that priceless heirloom, dog, for it is worth more than you," said the woman.

"Figures." He put the ugly bauble down. "So, the staff. Old or new?

She gave him a contemptuous look. "All but the cook and one of the maids have been in our employ since the day of our wedding. Most have served our respective families many a year before that, and the others came with good recommendations from previous employers."

"Even the two ya mentioned?"

"I- Of course."

"Ya sure that's the right answer?"

"Are you questioning my honesty? You?" Her nostrils flared. "Joachim would never have hired someone who fell short of excellence, in character or performance. The cook serves up the most exquisite dishes, and the girl served Joachim well—or I would have heard of it... I suppose I will have to let her go if I cannot find another task for her now, the poor girl."

"Thank you, my lady," said the doc. "I believe that will be all for now. We better get to the questioning, or your household might go to pieces waiting."

A manservant awaited them outside the study, and they were shown through a narrow doorway, hidden behind a section of wooden panelling. The cramped passage beyond was dark and hot, and a smell of mothballs and sawdust wafted towards them as they proceeded through.

"You really ought to be more courteous in the presence of nobility," said the doc, pushing his glasses up.

"And you're bound to get dirt up your nose, bowin' and scraping to 'em like that," Kenny replied. "Besides, ain't ya supposed to be one of them?"

"That I am, although there are some unfortunate circumstances regarding my lineage that uh, complicate things. You see, my grandfather… how to put it. He loved unwisely, marrying a peasant girl of no note."

"And half a century later ya still payin' the price for his folly. Seems reasonable."

"Not quite. Unfortunately for me, my father inherited Grandfather's um, obstinacy of mind. He chose to marry a lady of middling birth and uh, questionable virtues. Thus my blood is noble, although as diluted as dishwater according to some people. Were we not a house of considerable means and influence, I daresay we would be shunned by nobility and gentry alike, but alas we prevail. I would be wise to marry well though, for I doubt this magnanimity will last indefinitely," he said as if constancy and magnanimity had ever seen eye to eye.

Loud voices could be heard through the door up ahead; talking, or shouting, about something important. The man escorting them paused before the door and seemed uncertain whether he should interrupt the man and woman, or wait out the storm.

Deciding for him, Kenny pushed past and brought his ear close, listening.

"Did my part, aye that I did, and none can say otherwise!" a man's voice said.

"Did your part, you say? Then how come you bloody failed to notice this until now?" a woman's voice replied.

"Well, the mistress never said to count 'em, did she? If she'd said, I would 'ave done it and no mistake."

"You bloody oaf, do you need to be told everything? Use that rotten pumpkin you call a head and imagine the trouble you'll be in when the mistress hears about this."

"Me? Didn't hear any o' you say a word of it until now either."

Kenny straightened.

Since they weren't doing anything except yacking anyway, he swung his foot and gave the door a good kick. It cracked with a sound like a pistol going off, flying off its hinges and crashing into the opposite wall. Someone inside screamed in a high shrill voice. Kenny stepped inside, and men and women fell over themselves in their haste to take cover. Dust fell like rain, and through the gloom he saw a stout man ducking low, covering his head with his hands. The back of the man's trousers split with a loud ripping sound, exposing two fat pink cheeks and a crack bristling with dark hair. The remnants of the door toppled onto the floor with a bang , and all became still.

One person remained standing.

She stood with her hands on her hips, feet set wide as if she was ready to send whatever had come through the door to bed without dinner.

"Just what in the name of Fritz do you imagine that you are doing?" she said and gave Kenny a look that would sour milk. "The mistress will hear of this, mark my words! This sort of boorish behaviour will not be tolerated. She stabbed a finger at Kenny's face. "You there! What is the meaning of this? Explain yourself."

He shrugged. "If I'd known that damned plank ya called a door was such a flimsy piece of shit, I'd have saved myself the trouble. Did y'all a favour anyhow—stripped away the illusion of-" He thought of the blood soaking into the wood grain on the second floor and the maid who would spend countless hours on her knees, scrubbing. "-of safety."

"And who in the name of Fritz are you?" She aimed her finger-gun at the doc, who'd come creeping in behind him. Laurens eyed the bare stone walls, which were hung with cobwebs below the high ceiling, wooden beams jutting out between brick and mortar like blackened bones.

"I have the honour to be First Medicar Laurens Theil, madam, and this here is…" He gestured vaguely to Kenny.

"Hunter," said Kenny.

"As in 'The Hunter', proper noun and all?" She said as if he had professed to be Karl Fritz come again. "If so, I am afraid you've been turned around. This is not the King's Wood or that dreadful place outside Wall Rose—you know the one, with the very big trees standing all together. I suppose some vile cretins prowl around women like they are prey too, but you don't have the look of them. Not greasy enough, although you do try with that hair. So, hunter, you say. Hunter of what, exactly?"

"Men, mostly."

Maybe he could have come up with a better name for himself, but let's face it, 'The Ripper' really hadn't set the bar high.

"Well, you do have an ill look about you, and that door never was so ramshackle as to fly to pieces by itself. It'd take a horse to kick it all to splinters the way you did. Never saw anything like it, no sir. I suppose it's you who's come about the poor master."

She turned to the other servants skulking behind her, eleven to Kenny's count, and motioned them forward. Most were women, except for one man whose stained clothes suggested he might be the cook and two boys about to sprout their first chin hairs. The cook's boys, or possibly valets. And lastly, there was that shapeless heap of hair, blubbering on the floor.

The woman, who was clearly in charge of this household, turned her ire on him now. "Eckel, you tuck that hairy arse away before I plant my foot in it. Hurry now, or the poor girlies might never recover."

The man pushed himself up and removed himself from the scene in a sideways shuffle, the whites of his eyes shining spitefully out of a face turned red as a beetroot. The woman, if she hadn't already done so before, had made an enemy today. Kenny might never have been too clear on things like right and wrong, but he knew an adversary when he saw one.

"So you're the boss here?" he said to the bosslady.

"The correct term is housekeeper, Mr. Hunter, or do I look like a tradesman to you, sir?" she retorted. "You may address me as Mrs Schulz."

That was probably the first time someone had called him "sir" without adding "it's time for you to leave". Kenny nodded in the general direction the blushing, hairy-arsed wardrobe malfunction had taken.

"Uhu, and who's he?"

"That… odious pheasant is supposed to be our footman, although 'Head Dunce' hits closer to the mark if you ask me." Her mouth made a disapproving downwards curve.

"Pardon me, but might I ask the name of your steward, and inquire as to the reason for his absence?" the doc cut in. He swivelled his gaze around the room as if hoping the man might crawl out from one of its deep, dark crevices.

"I am sure that dear Fritzl did his utmost to appear among us today. Seen less reliable clockwork in my time, that I have. But alas, things don't always go our way, no matter what we do."

"Oh dear me, is he ill?"

"Worse—he's dead. Going on two years now. You don't replace a man such as our Fritzl with ease I tell you, straight as a spear he was, and never forgot a thing. They tried to find someone, aye that they did. Far and wide the bright-eyed ponces came, puffed up as you won't believe. I'll say this for the damned things—a crow might look all fine in its glossy black suit, and it might squawk all prettily, but in the end, it's just a talking bird, much like those twittering fools. They nattered their way up the steps, through the door and across the hall, and out the back again, every single one. These days we get by on our own, and not half bad at it either. I have taken over the accounts and we all do our part." She pursed her lips. "Or most of us do, at least."

The woman had finally stopped talking, but Fritz knew when she might unleash another oral salvo.

"Oi lady," Kenny said before she had the chance to. "Ya seem to be mistakin' me for someone who gives a shit about any of that. See, what I'd like to know is what you and mister buttcheeks were yellin' about just now?"

"Oh, that. Well, I suppose it's your business, considering why you're here." The woman heaved a sigh, her tone softening as she continued. "Eckel was supposed to notify the members of staff that someone would be coming round to ask about master von Rohr. The oaf did this, 'tis true, but he failed to notice that one of the maids wasn't in her usual place. Lucie isn't big I grant you, but considering how much time the wretch usually spends ogling the poor girl, you'd think he would notice his eyes sitting firmly in their sockets for once. 'Never said to count them,' he says, but what does a man need his head for if he doesn't use it every once in a while I ask you? Ought to be-"

"Ya sayin' she's flown the coop?" Kenny interrupted.

"How am I supposed to know? I only noticed just now. Think we sit around here all day, twiddling our thumbs while the household sorts itself out? I've been completely swamped since the poor master was—well, you know. All I know about Lucie is that she isn't here, and no one seems to know where she's gone off to."

"Is that unusual?" the doc asked. He pushed his glasses up and his eyes were bright with interest.

"Of course it is! We have duties to attend to, and someone who isn't doing their bit won't be around for long. Where would she have gone anyway? Doesn't know anyone around here, the way she tells it. Got a mother somewhere outside Wall Rose and that's about it; famine got the rest of them like it got so many other folk. And she wouldn't have gotten herself another job, not without a reference from me."

"So yeah, she's done a runner. When was the last time ya saw her?" Kenny made a spinning wheel motion with his hand. Kind of like he wished he could speed up this conversation.

"Now I know what you'll be thinking when you hear this, but that girl wouldn't hurt a fly I tell you. Maybe you've heard that a hundred times before about all sorts of troublesome wenches, but Lucie isn't like that. Hardship does for us in different ways, and Lucie's way is that whenever someone falls down, she'll try to pick them back up."

"Didn't realise ya couldn't hear me right. I asked when ya last saw her, not her damn life story."

"I saw her that same morning before the master was found. Most of us did. But no one claims to have seen her after."