Bianka nervously wiggled her whiskers.
The two hours were up, it was time to confront Master Bert.
Once more, the ratgirl crossed the threshold of the Proud Sigmarite. No sooner had she passed the front door than she felt the ambient humidity sticking to her coat. In accordance with the fat manager's instructions, she descended into the auditorium. Once down the stairs, she narrowed her eyes in disgust.
Lamps painfully lighted a very large room with a low ceiling. The irritating smell of sweat mingled with the vapours of alcohol and the scent of natural waste. Numerous tables were arranged all over the worn flagstones, in front of a six feet high dais. Two scantily clad Human women were wiggling in the rhythm of a haunting music in front of an audience of screaming males, who clapped, hissed, and bellowed obscenities. In a corner, at the far end, opposite the entrance, customers could order at the counter. The waitress was the fat Human woman Bianka had given her bag of gold to. She called out to the ratgirl when she approached.
- Ah, it's you, little shrew!
- Is Master Bert still willing to do business?
- No doubt, but he will come when he wants, for the moment, he's busy in the cellar.
- He has to introduce me to someone. I came on time.
- Not my problem!
- Well, can I join him?
- I told you he's working in the cellar! When he's downstairs, no one should disturb him, he checks the stocks! So you wait very nicely, or you go fly a kite! And in both cases, you shut up!
The young blonde Skaven added nothing, aware that the following question would be certainly very badly perceived. She leaned on the wooden counter and waited.
- And order something, little missy! You never occupy a place for nothing! Consume, or go away!
Bianka placed a crown in front of the waitress.
- Serve me your smoothest beer in your smallest glass.
The fat woman grumbled angrily, but pocketed the coin, and served the ratgirl. Bianka waited, her tail wagging gently under her coat.
Long minutes passed, during which the High Archivist felt a little anxiety rising. What if Walter had been right? What if a trap was slowly but surely closing in on her?
The ambient din was beginning to hurt her ears. The lust of the customers at the feet of the two now completely naked dancers revolted her further.
She decided to take the initiative.
She watched the waitress out of the corner of her eye, waiting for an opportunity. Finally, when the fat woman left her post to reprimand a drinker who was a little too enterprising, she seized her chance. She slipped silently behind the counter, pushed open the door that led to the wine cellar, and closed it softly behind her.
She was at the top of a long, narrow staircase that plunged into the depths, lit by lamps hung at regular intervals. The noise from the performance hall was partially muffled by the door and the stone walls, but it was still noticeable.
Bianka took a deep breath, and descended slowly, step by step. Every step brought her closer to a deadly pitfall, she was sure of that. She thought with anguish of what was waiting for her. Would she find herself in front of half a dozen thugs who were going to put her in chains before abandoning her in a cell? Was Master Bert himself "enjoying" of one of his employees out of sight?
Come on, gal! Think about Kit who received a bullet in his ribs! Think about Siggy who risks death every day when he's not in jail! Be as strong as they use to be!
Finally, she arrived at the bottom of the stairs, facing another door. She opened it very slowly, and poked her nose through the gap.
She was about to enter a huge low cellar, the surface of which was similar to that of the performance hall. There were tens of barrels dispatched in a dozen aisles, and hundreds of bottles lined up on shelves.
At first glance, nobody in sight. Apart from the music and laughter coming from above, there was no noise either. At the same time, it was easy to hide behind a barrel.
Bianka then spotted a broom near the door. With a small smile on her lips, she walked through the door, and grabbed the tool firmly with her both hands. She removed the head of the broom, and felt less vulnerable. Still on tiptoe, she walked the length of the cellar. When she got near the back of the room, she stopped short.
The smell of blood suddenly attacked her delicate sense of smell.
Blood, a lot of blood, flowed between the flagstones, a few yards from her position, between two rows of barrels.
Immediately, her throat went dry with anguish.
Such a quantity of blood could not imply anything other than the presence of a corpse.
Sweat impregnated the corn-coloured fur of the ratgirl. But she decided not to be scared off. Bravely, and carefully, she walked down the aisle. When she arrived at the intersection, she gritted her teeth until her jaw hurt to keep from screaming.
It was a dead body right.
Herbert Lorne's.
"Master Bert" had definitely ended his career.
This hardly surprised the High Archivist. A man in his position had many enemies and rivals, and sooner or later such an end was only logical. What was more surprising and terrifying was how the end point of his existence had been rounded off.
Indeed, Master Bert had been literally cut in two.
Something had drawn a straight line between his right hip and his left armpit, and sliced through the flesh, muscle and bone along that line. The two halves lay next to each other.
Bianka felt her guts gurgling in disgust. Fortunately, she had nothing to vomit. She made a consequent effort of concentration in order to look a little better at the corpse. The edges of the wound weren't sharp as if the innkeeper had been sheared with a single, precise blow. On the contrary, multiple fragments of flesh spurted from the gaping wound.
Looks like he was sawed off? Was he still alive?
Hard to say, the ratgirl was not a specialist. But her conviction increased when she saw Bert's face. Far from his ironic and honeyed assurance, he displayed a hideous grimace that mixed an unimaginable terror and a pain to make you lose your reason. His skin was whitish now, but no sign of poison at first glance.
Bianka shook her head. She forced herself out of the daze she was in. Above all, there was no need to linger. It was pretty obvious that if someone caught her near Bert's remains, all the bandits of the district would chase her down!
Do not panic! Find a clue before you run!
She then saw that the innkeeper's right hand was clutching something. She approached cautiously, avoiding stepping in the puddle of blood, seized Bert's big paw in her delicate hands, and spread his pudgy fingers. She had to try twice before completely relaxing the hand. She then found a small item.
What is that?
It was a kind of small folding in coloured fabric. Specifically, a cloth flower attached to a copper brooch, at the end of which was attached a small fragment of torn cloth.
Bianka didn't think for more than a second. The brooch was already in her pocket. She raised her nose up, and suddenly spotted something else in front of her.
On one of the barrels, just above Bert's head, there was a scarlet mark. Looking better, the blonde Skaven girl understood it was a hand-shaped stain. Specifically, it was a right handprint.
She looked again at the corpse.
No, his hand is not smeared with blood. Perhaps that of his murderer?
With all the blood that had splattered on the barrels, the ceiling and the paving, the murderer had to lean against the wall. Bert had perhaps defended himself? But another detail puzzled her: there were no footprints on the floor. Now, the killer must have left footprints, a red trail, something like that, even if he had killed the innkeeper by surprise. Did he have the precaution of taking off his shoes? Had he jumped over the barrels? Had he only had the idea of erasing the evidence of his passage? And then, after such a butchery, how had no one heard anything?
Still, that can be explained: a guy all alone at the bottom of a cellar under a show room, little chance for him to be heard!
It was time for the young ratgirl to decamp. She felt her pocket to make sure she still had the brooch, then she got up, walked away from Bert, still being careful where she put her toes, then she ran towards the stairs, which she climbed two at a time.
Once at the top, she opened the door. Luckily, the waitress was not behind the counter. She wedged her staff under her cape, slipped to the show room, moved most naturally to the grand staircase, her heart beating. Then when she was at the top, she was going to leave the place, but she stopped short. A small intuition had just germinated in her mind.
Better leave by the backdoor!
She slipped into the kitchen, spotted the small door reserved for staff, which she walked through without hesitation. Her heart raced when she heard someone shout at her.
- Hey, you! What are you doing there?
Without taking the time to turn around, she started to run, and found herself outside. She was in a sort of back yard where the garbage cans were stored. Ahead of her, a narrow alley stretched for a few yards before turning left. She rushed into the passage, and hastened to hide behind the corner.
Finally, she allowed herself to breathe. She leaned against the wall, lowered her head, took a deep breath, and had a small satisfied smile. Which froze when she heard:
- So, did you get lost, kiddo?
Bianka looked up. A very large Human, with a bald head marked by a long scar hardly hidden by a hat, was leaning against one of the barrels in a long row stored near the wall. He smelled a strong odour of cheap wine. The Skaven woman took a casual attitude.
- No, everything is fine, I just want to get some fresh air.
- Really? You look rather out of breath... Wouldn't you be on the run, would you?
The Human smirked. Bianka decided to change her tone.
- Be nice, and mind your own fat butt, or else, I'll kick it! she replied, determined not to be intimidated.
The fat man took a step forward, raising his hands. Bianka raised her club.
- Come closer, and I'll smash your skull.
- Oh, she's so mean! a voice behind her quipped.
Bianka yelped slightly and turned on her heels. Two individuals she had spotted in the Proud Sigmarite were advancing quietly in her direction: another Human, very tall and very thin, and a grey-haired Skaven, who had an incisor missing.
The confrontation seemed inevitable. The High Archivist tried:
- Come on, guys, let me go, I don't want any trouble.
- Do you imagine the boss shall let you clear off like that? asked the fat man.
- Hey, I made a deal with Master Bert!
- Yeah, but this deal has no longer any value, announced the tall skinny guy.
- It never had, by the way, sneered the Skaven.
- Enough chatter! Give us your gold! the fat man ordered.
The three individuals were now around Bianka.
- Leave me alone, the three of you, or you'll be very sorry!
- Oh, I'm so scared, help! crooned the tall, thin man.
- You should know it, little girl: it's dangerous for virgins to walk around the Mousetrap alone.
- You poor fool. Do you really think I don't?
The fat man was only a few feet away from her. She brandished her weapon, and whirled around with a graceful sweep. The tip of her club hit the Skaven's head with a dry crack. He rolled on the cobblestones and curled up, moaning in pain.
- You bitch!
The tall, skinny man pulled a cutlass from his belt, and ran towards her. She was about to receive him, but the big one, closer, threw himself on her. Bianka had the reflex to push her club into his stomach, without looking back. The Human fell to his knees, gasping. Then she threw her weapon forward, and made a first movement, then a second, immediately followed by a third. The tall, thin Human was successively struck in the armed arm, then in his flank, and he fell backwards, his legs swept away by the improvised weapon.
Bianka raised her club again, ready to use it.
- Go away, good-for-nothing!
The three bandits no longer displayed the slightest arrogance. They got up painfully. The Skaven helped his friend to get up, the fat man dragged himself near them without taking his eyes off Bianka, and all three hobbled to the Proud Sigmarite.
Bianka sighed, lowered her weapon, and had a little smile. Suddenly, she realized that, in the fight, she had perfectly executed the sequence Sigmund had taught her. The result had been more than convincing. She jumped in joy.
- Yippee, hooray! I did it!
She wanted to go back on her way, and passed without attention near the row of barrels. Suddenly, a fourth villain burst out from inside one of the barrels behind her, grabbed her with one hand, and put his knife on her throat.
- And now, mighty warrior princess, what do you do?
Bianka didn't answer. She just saw that the hold was held by Human hands. The individual grumbled:
- You still have quite the nerve to come alone, little slut.
The ratgirl smiled wryly.
- Who said I came alone?
A few yards above, a voice ordered:
- Bite him!
By reflex, the bandit looked up. Bianka took the opportunity to grab his arm, and sank her teeth into his wrist with all her might. The Human yelped in pain and dropped his dagger. Bianka nudged him in his ribs. Kristofferson dropped from the top of the roof of one of the houses right on the bandit. He forced him down, twisted his arms, and sat on him. Then he leaned forward and whispered in his ear:
- Call my sister "slut" again, and I smash your head on the cobblestones!
- Have mercy!
- You didn't see anything, you don't know who we are, or where we come from, and you'll never be able to recognize us. Is it understood?
The brown Skaven tightened his grip even more.
- Ouch! Yes, I understand! I won't say a word!
- Fine!
Kristofferson whipped out his rapier and slammed the pommel on the head of the ruffian, who no longer moved, stunned. The brown Skaven got up. Bianka nodded to the exit.
- We shouldn't stay here, Bert's goons will probably be somewhat upset when they find out that their boss is no longer able to pay their wages.
- What? What are you talking about?
- Didn't I speak clearly, Kit? Someone slaughtered the innkeeper, and they'll think I did!
- By Sigmar's Hammer!
- Let's go!
The two Steiners came out of the alley and left the Pot-bellied Lamb Square at a rapid pace without looking back.
They only allow themselves a stop after half an hour of walking, and after checking for the seventh time they had not been followed.
- This Bert was quite a scoundrel! If this is the way he used to treat all his customers, I wonder how he could gather such a clientele!
- You took risks, I warned you.
- You did, but anyway, maybe everything would have been fine if he hadn't been slayed by a wild beast!
- A what?
Bianka put her hand on her forehead. She leaned over Kristofferson, and spoke quietly.
- Master Bert was downright torn and cut in half, as if a huge creature had attacked him!
- Damn!
- And no trace of this beast! Nothing! No marks, no hairs, no fangs or claws, just the guy's blood. Oh, yes! Also a handprint on the wall, which was not his.
- Are you sure of that?
- It was a trace of a right hand, and Bert had no blood on his right hand. Still, he was holding this.
With a triumphant smile, the High Archivist picked out of her pocket the brooch adorned with a small fabric flower.
- What is that?
- I have my own idea, I just have to check quietly. Let's go back to the hideout.
The two Skaven set off again. Kristofferson wanted to compliment his sister.
- Hey, you did well in front of these three jackasses, I admit it. But be careful, I won't always be there to save your ass if you get caught.
Bianka sighed annoyed.
- Of course, I guess a woman "can't manage on her own in this dangerous world"?
- Of course she can. And if you continue to exercise, you will know how to anticipate and neutralize this kind of poor guy. Already, you have mastered the first three sequences well, it is a very good thing; Siggy trained you well!
The Skaven girl wanted to change the subject. She adjusted her belt.
- How you men can feel good in this kind of clothes? It squeezes your legs!
- Matter of habit.
- I look grotesque in this outfit!
- No, I assure you, you are fine. As much as women can wear men's clothes without it being ridiculous, the reverse seems difficult. Do you see me with a dress? Worse: can you imagine Siggy with a dress?
Bianka finally allowed herself to release the pressure. She burst out laughing.
The Trickster Squig sign depicted a Goblin being dragged by a Squig down a rocky path with his ankle stuck in the stirrup. Squigs were utterly unpredictable creatures of flesh and fangs which the Orcs encouraged in their own way the "bravest" Goblins to ride. They could pose a serious threat on a battlefield, and anyone who had fought them could confirm that they were not to be underestimated. Others saw Squigs as sources of amusement, especially when they imagined their hapless riders tossed about or eaten by their mount.
It was in this state of mind that the owner had baptized and decorated his establishment. This had made the Sigmarites cringe, who deemed such flippancy to be disrespectful to fallen fighters against the Greenskins, but they hadn't estimated it worth a punishment.
Night had fallen, and the few customers in the dining room were not particularly noisy. Humans and Skaven mixed together without too much difficulty, all united as they were in mediocrity. Martial Law had significantly reduced the number of customers, so the manager was not careful about quality.
The bedrooms were lined up on the second floor. Bianka and Kristofferson had settled into one of them. The room had, all in all, a double bed, a table and two stools. Bianka was installed at the table, and looked attentively from all angles at the small fabric flower.
- Have you ever seen this kind of fabric?
- No, but I think I know what it is, and where it comes from; I spoke with Miranda Schmidt for a long time during Fritz's wedding.
The brown Skaven could not repress a small twinge in his heart at this name. The blonde ratgirl didn't spot it.
- She told me, in particular, about the craftsmanship of Sylvania.
- The land of the Vampires?
- This one. If I refer to the descriptions and the samples she showed me, this kind of fabric, these colours and this finish of the brooch itself suggest that this object comes from this corner of the Empire.
- Someone came from afar to assassinate this innkeeper.
- Not necessarily, Kit. Sylvania may very well be here, in a way.
- What do you mean?
Bianka gave her brother the victorious little stare she particularly liked when she shared her knowledge with those around her.
- I specify that this brooch comes from Strigany craftsmanship.
- What craft?
- Strigany. It is a community of people coming from Sylvania, but who have their own customs, history, and laws. They are itinerant, and go from one country to another with their trailer caravans. They generally live on petty theft, petty trafficking, or craft trade. Some even practice palmistry, the art of reading the lines of the hand. They never stay in the same place for very long, generally the "respectable citizens" only tolerate them on their land for a limited time before sending them away, if they have not already forbidden their stay.
- You think our criminal would be a Strigany?
- Not necessarily. He could very well have bought or received this little jewel.
- Between here and Sylvania, that makes some opportunities!
- On the way, I can't say, but here, it's another story. Have you ever heard of the Other Strygos?
- Hum… This name reminds me vaguely something. I think I heard it during a patrol with Wally.
- To tell the whole truth, "Strygos" is the name of the ancient kingdom from which the ancestors of the current Strigany probably emerged. As for the "Other Strygos", it is the nickname of the district of Steinerburg where the Strigany take refuge when they are passing through.
- Oh-ho! And where is this district?
- Right next to the Mousetrap, Kit. I think we should check it out.
- Oh yes, I can spot it now. Yeah, I came in just once, it's the worst place of the whole city. We shall go there tomorrow morning. It will be less dangerous, and I'm getting sleepy.
- So, let's take some rest, we'll need all our means.
The ratgirl got up, and stretched. The brown Skaven put the stools against the wall.
- Take the bed. I'll take my precautions.
Kristofferson pulled out the table and wedged it in front of the door. He slipped between the legs of the furniture, and lay down on his coat. Bianka was a bit embarrassed.
- There are enough sheets so that we can share the mattress without touching each other.
- In that case, give me one, I'll be fine. I have known worse.
With a small resigned sigh, the young blonde Skaven girl pulled out one of the sheets, and passed it to her brother. Then she lay down fully dressed on the mattress stuffed with straw, and soon fell asleep.
The sun was already high when the two Steiners approached the outskirts of Other Strygos. Bianka had adopted a commoner outfit, more feminine and comfortable. On her brother's advice, she still had a dagger hidden under her cloak.
- I saw a few grievances circulating in the temple. This district does not have much to envy to the Mousetrap, from the point of view of crime. But I understand that there is a more important community spirit. It is mainly inhabited by Sylvanians who have come to try their luck. Curiously, these are the ones that tolerate Strigany the best.
- Why is it curious? They come from the same country, right?
- Certainly, but paradoxically, Sylvania is the country where they are least welcome. Here, the Sylvanians are as uprooted as the Strigany, I imagine that creates bonds of solidarity.
- What do you think they came to do so far from home?
Bianka glanced apologetically at Kristofferson.
- Like you, I never left the Rat Kingdom. But I've talked to people who went to Sylvania. It is not for nothing that these lands are nicknamed the "Land of the Vampires". Life there is desperate, fatalistic people are crushed by the local Lords, who are either Vampires or puppets under the influence of the Vampires. The less "worn out" people sometimes get together and leave the country to try their luck elsewhere. The bulk of the inhabitants of Other Strygos are descendants of immigrants who came decades ago. They lived in a few scattered towns, and decided to congregate here when Steinerburg was founded.
Before the arrival of Ludwig Steiner and his children, the parcel of the Renegade Crowns which would become Vereinbarung was not completely deserted. Not all of the cities in the Rat Kingdom had been formed in six years. The hill where Steinerburg had been built already supported a few buildings erected by a previous Prince, but the city then looked more like a fort where the desperate took refuge. The glory days of that Kingdom had been gone for decades. The main problem was the lack of running water: after a few natural disasters and acts of sabotage, water was no longer arriving in sufficient quantity in this part of the Renegade Crowns. There were a few big towns on the borders, near rivers and forests, but not enough to live a dream life.
Ludwig Steiner had bought this plot of land from the neighbouring Princes, none of them wanted to risk losing a fortune to revive it, or to exploit its hidden resources. The audacious merchant of Talabheim had this audacity. The starting point for the birth of Vereinbarung had been the construction of the aqueduct. The return of the water had allowed the flowering of this capital, and the inhabitants of the small towns had quickly approached, then settled. And among those arrivals, there had been several dozen of Sylvanians, who had since established their quarters.
Bianka had the feeling of entering a neighbourhood with its aesthetics and its rules. The new buildings were clearly of a different architecture from the rest of the city, built of wood painted with bright colours. The inhabitants were stocky, dark-skinned, wore coarse fabrics, and spoke in a language of rolling consonants and guttural vowels.
Kristofferson observed:
- There are no Skaven here. I guess discretion is out of game.
- Too bad. Make it quick.
The young ratgirl hurried towards a kind of public square. Artists, jugglers, musicians and acrobats practiced their art, while many small traders offered a variety of goods on their shelves.
- There!
One of the sellers, an old woman with grey hair protected by a headscarf, seated in an armchair, presented small jewels on her trestle: rings, necklaces, earrings, and brooches, some of which were made in wrought and folded fabric. Several were indeed flower-shaped.
The old Human understood that someone was interested in her merchandise. She stood up and leaned on her cane. She spoke decent Reikspiel with a heavy accent.
- Hello, young people! So, something you like?
- Greetings, my Lady, Kristofferson replied. In fact, we… how to say…
- It's a nice collection of brooches you got there! cut Bianka.
- Ah yes, it is my specialty, my little miss. My mother taught me this art, so she had been herself from her own mother, and so on for four generations. Want one?
- Actually, I already have one. I'd like to be sure this is real Strigany craftsmanship, and not a scam.
- Let me see, my child, will you?
The blonde Skaven took the brooch found on Bert out of her pocket, and placed it in the outstretched hand of the old woman. She stuck the jewel to her tired eye, pouted, and handed it back to Bianka.
- It is quite one of mine. Look at the initials engraved on the small plate. You will find the same on my other articles.
- Do you remember to whom you sold this brooch, my Lady?
- Well, young man, it's difficult. This is my best selling item.
Bianka felt disappointment rising in her heart. Once again, the only lead they had was about to vanish. The old woman saw it.
- Oh, I'm sorry if I disappoint you, dear. Is it so important to you?
- I… I can't…
Bianka leaned against the brown Skaven's shoulder, and stifled a sob. Kristofferson attempted:
- Someone has caused great harm to our family, and everything indicates this someone owned this brooch. We don't want to cause you any trouble, my Lady. We want to stop this person before more damage to be done.
- I understand. I would like to help you, if only… oh! Wait!
The merchant grabbed Bianka's wrist.
- Don't cry, I remember there was something!
- What? she asked, raising her head, her eyes misty with tears.
- Recently, I welcomed a client who seemed rather strange. I think he was the one who bought me this brooch.
- What was remarkable about him?
The old Human raised her finger.
- We were in broad daylight, the weather was fine, and yet he was masked. He wore a dark cape with a hood, and even a headband with eye holes. I could only see his chin and mouth.
- Did he have a scar or something else? asked the young blonde Skaven.
- No, and that's what was remarkable: he was beardless, not a hair on his chin. And his teeth were splendid. When he smiled, it sparkled. He also had a very beautiful voice, and he could speak like a scholar.
- A scholar with an artist's voice and diamond teeth, indeed, that is rather unusual.
- He was not Human, young fellow. He was an Elf.
- An Elf? repeated Bianka.
- Yes. I saw a few of them, on the roads, especially near Athel Loren. When I was young, my family went up to this place. I'm able to recognize an Elf when I see one. This client was indeed an Elf. Besides, now that I think about it, he said he was a… how did he say that? Oh yes! A "passing traveller". He wanted a souvenir, and chose this brooch. Hope this helps you, children.
- More than I expected, my Lady, answered the blonde Skaven.
Bianka reached into her pocket, and gave the old woman a golden crown. A straw for the young girl-rate, a month's salary for the craftswoman. Her eye twinkled, and a chuckle erupted from her toothless mouth.
- Thank you for your generosity, darling!
- I do what I can.
- No, I swear, you seem like a good girl, and I like you, even if you're not from the neighbourhood. It's not like the guards, who never miss an opportunity to put us down. Especially after the fire...
An incandescent needle stung Kristofferson's stomach.
- What fire?
- Of course, sir, you are not aware; a shack caught fire last night. There was a hell of a panic! Fortunately, we managed to extinguish the flames fairly quickly, but it was not thanks to the patrol! They didn't even want to see if there were any victims!
- So where did it happen?
- In the big common house, over there, Sir.
The brother and sister exchanged a look. Neither of them needed to say a word to the other. The brown Skaven thanked the craftswoman again, and both of them headed for the building at a good pace.