- Come in!
The door opened on Marius Weller. The sergeant, still dignified in his impeccable uniform, stood to attention.
- May Sigmar protect you, High Archivist.
- May Verena guide your steps, Sergeant.
Bianka noticed that the Human had shaved his chin, and sported a neatly trimmed moustache.
- What can I do for you, Sergeant?
- I come on the orders of Captain Klingmann. He ordered me to call on your acquaintances as part of an investigation.
- Did he? Right, come in, close the door, and have a seat.
The Human obeyed. Once settled, he coughed, and looked gravely at the ratgirl.
- Early this morning, I patrolled the Mousetrap. There's been more mayhem than usual lately, due to the Martial Law. In particular, there was hustle, and several murders.
Bianka tried to hide her smile. In truth, Walter had manoeuvred in such a way as to allow Weller to formalize the progress of the Steiner's secret investigation. It was now necessary to feign utter ignorance.
- It is regrettable, but what is surprising? The Mousetrap is the most disreputable district of the whole city, this kind of thing is commonplace.
- You're right, High Archivist, but this time, me and my guys noticed two very unusual things. First, an important character from the underworld has disappeared.
- A gang leader?
- Rather a smuggler. He owned an inn that served as a hub for many illegal activities, the Proud Sigmarite.
Here we are.
- Is he dead? the blonde Skaven asked with an innocent air.
- I don't know, High Archivist. He literally disappeared. We searched the whole place from the basement to the attic, and we found something suspicious.
- What is?
- Traces of blood in the cellar. They had been washed, but clumsily and partially, some remained. We are in the process of questioning the staff, but so far no one has revealed anything constructive.
- You think that Mast… my mastery of the laws could help you?
Watch it, silly girl!
The sergeant didn't seem to notice the sudden rush of sweat from the ratgirl who had nearly betrayed herself by revealing the name of the victim, a name she was not supposed to know.
- Perhaps, but I must first finish my explanation, if you allow me, High Archivist.
- Please, Sergeant.
And try not to interrupt him this time with your lousy questions! she ordered herself inwardly and angrily.
- As I told you, the owner of the Proud Sigmarite, Master Herbert Lorne, has disappeared, and his employees have not yet told me what happened to him.
- Do you think he was murdered?
- It's quite possible. His waitresses claim he just left. Maybe that's true, maybe not. The blood on the floor could be his, or that of someone else he killed before fleeing. I don't know yet.
- I'm sorry for you, but what can I do about it, Sergeant?
- Here I come, High Archivist. Looking better, we spotted a track apart. Someone left a bloody handprint on a barrel.
- Perhaps the victim or the assassin who would have received a spurt of blood, and leaned on this barrel?
- That's what I thought too, High Archivist, but there is the second amazing thing.
- What is it?
- Captain Klingmann asked me to investigate on the side of the Other Strygos. You know it?
- Vaguely... Isn't this a district where foreigners regularly circulate?
- It is. And so, he was told a fire burnt in that area, so I was ordered to investigate it. We explored the burnt building, and we found a corpse.
- Ah… Human or Skaven?
- Human. His name was Otto Rademacher. He was an army veteran whose pension had been taken away, due to his complicity in a scam. Rademacher had lost his right hand after a battle, hence his early retirement.
- What did he die of, Sergeant?
- Well… I would like to know, High Archivist. Something literally slaughtered him. An ordinary man could not have left this fellow in such a state.
- Verena have mercy, whispered the young ratgirl.
- And that's where the second element I was telling you about earlier appears, High Archivist: a disappearance, then a savage murder in the neighbouring district, but in both cases, we found a trace of a hand painted with blood nearby. As Rademacher no longer had a right hand, it was his assassin who left this imprint.
Again, Bianka had to restrain herself from giggling in satisfaction. Everything matched, her reasoning had justly preceded the army's. Perhaps she would be able to resume the hunt thanks to indications provided by the sergeant? But she had to stay calm and not rush anywhere.
- It may well be the assassin, but are you sure that he left such a mark intentionally? Maybe he wanted to wipe his hand?
- I don't think so, High Archivist. There are still more suitable materials for wiping yourself than a barrel or a beam covered in splinters. And then, the imprint is clear, as if the hand had been applied like a stamp. It didn't drip or leave a streak. And that's where you can help me, High Archivist.
- How?
Sergeant Weller smoothed his moustache, and put his fingers on the desk.
- I need to know what this blood hand symbol could mean. You should have some written document on this subject?
- Oh, I guess so. Don't you have that at the barracks?
- No, we have reports, but nothing on this symbol. We already had to face bands of thugs rallied under a sign like this before, but this is the first time this hand has appeared.
Bianka got up quickly.
- All right, Sergeant, let's go check it out.
- I'm following you, High Archivist.
The Skaven girl and the Human strolled through the corridors. During the march, Bianka explained:
- We're not going directly to the reading room, Sergeant. There are plenty of books, and we can save time by knowing exactly where to look.
- What are you planning to do?
- You'll see.
They were now in the refectory. Several clerics and priestesses were having their meal. Bianka spotted two of them, sitting face to face. She approached their table.
- Hello, High Archivist.
- Hello, Brother Sander. Hello Samuel.
- Hello, Bianka.
Seeing Sergeant Weller's surprised expression, Bianka consented to explain:
- The initiate Heifetz was in the service of my grandfather from his arrival in Steinerburg until last spring. I have always known him. And he focuses his studies on organized crime. He therefore knows a lot about the bands and their symbols.
- I see. My brothers, I greet you. I'm Sergeant Marius Weller, and I'm investigating several sordid disappearance and murder cases.
The sergeant repeated in a few words the course of his morning. The two men listened intently. Weller spoke more quietly when he arrived just as he was exploring the Proud Sigmarite's wine cellar.
- On the crime scene, I discovered a print. It was that of the whole palm of a bloody hand, with all the fingers.
- Perhaps the victim himself who would have held the wound, then leaned on the barrel?
- No way to know, I remind you that there was no body. And then there was this second victim, much more concrete. A former, one-armed war cripple. Now, on the wall, above him, there was the same imprint, of the right hand, the one he had lost.
- This confirms that it is someone else who voluntarily leaves an imprint, resumed the ratgirl. Does a bloodstain in the shape of a hand means anything to you, Brother Sander? Samuel?
The two men looked at each other without saying a word, then the initiate Samuel murmured:
- I may have the explanation, Bianka, but if that's what I'm thinking about, you absolutely have to talk to your grandfather.
- Certainly not! Bianka exclaimed nervously.
Such a start surprised the three men. The ratgirl realized what she had just done. She wanted to temper things.
- Well… I mean… Right now, with all the business he has to manage, between the death of my father, the child abductions, and diplomatic relationships, I think he will listen to me more willingly if it is I who transmits the information to him. What do you think about it, Sergeant?
- Hmm… You're probably right, High Archivist.
A few hours later, Bianka closed the heavy volume of the Excidium Ordinis Milia Capitum. She clutched her head in both hands, and felt tears well up in her eyes, as a terrible feeling of fear twisted her stomach. She had just swallowed pages and pages compiling rumours, reports, legends and testimonies illustrated with numerous engravings, each more appalling than the last. Ordinarily, such reading was not at all pleasant to her. But the idea of thinking that a threat of this ilk was hovering over the country put her in a state of nervousness that she didn't think she would reach so quickly.
Sergeant Weller had returned to the barracks as soon as the conversation with Sander and Samuel was over. She had to face this tragic reality alone. She wanted more than anything to find Kristofferson. She got up hastily, the book under her arm, and left her office.
She entered the reading room nervously. She almost ran to the shelf where she had taken the book. But as she tried to put it back in place, her hands began to shake, and she let the thick book slip out. The shock was so loud that it echoed under the vault.
- Crap! Bianka spat between her teeth.
She bent nervously to pick up the Excidium Ordinis Milia Capitum. As she put it back on the shelf, a voice asked from behind her:
- High Archivist? Is something wrong?
She jumped with a yelp, and turned on her heels. Before her, Bernhardt the librarian was standing. Far from his usual good nature, he seemed taken aback to the point of worry.
- I'm fine, Bernhardt, just a wrong move. Everything is fine.
- Are you sure? You're looking bad, High Archivist.
Bianka scratched behind her ear, and gazed with surprise and annoyance at her interlocutor.
- I told you everything is fine, Bernhardt!
- You've spent hours locked in your office. Maybe you should rest a bit? In the current circumstances, it would be good for you, wouldn't it?
The young ratgirl didn't know what to answer, taken by surprise by an idea which seemed to her more than aberrant.
- How does my state of health concern you, exactly?
- Well… it bothers me to see you in this state.
- So what? It's not my problem! Well, I mean, it's your problem! Well, no, I...
Suddenly, Bianka decided she wouldn't start guessing with a subordinate. She decided to cut short the dialogue.
- Anyway, I don't have to justify myself! Mind your work instead!
The violence of this response made the light grey Skaven take a step back. Bianka sensed his fear. He was shaking, the scent of fear emanating from every pore of his skin. And yet he ventured to stammer:
- I wish I could help you, High Archivist.
- I don't need your help, Bernhardt! I need you to leave me alone! Alone! Do you understand that?
The anger had given a violent boost to the nervous system of the blonde Skaven. Her cheeks and forehead had become hot, her tail was scraping the ground, her breathing was wheezing. Suddenly, she realized how she was looking like at that exact moment. She thought back to what her mother had advised her. The image of Okapia popped back into her mind.
I have to stop kicking over the traces like a frightened mare!
She raised her hand, and slowly turned around.
- I... I... don't...
For a moment, she hoped to hear the librarian shouting back louder. She really deserved to be yelled at. And yet, he contented himself with looking at her, trembling, ready to receive everything.
How can he support me?
She couldn't ask herself the question any longer, and suddenly burst into loud sobs. Modesty prompted her to flee and run out of the temple. Bernhardt didn't dare follow her.
Two Humans, Paulus and Rutger, had witnessed the scene. They advanced towards the pot-bellied Skaven, who was still staring at the door, completely bewildered. Paulus quipped:
- Well! Looks like the scarlet river is overflowing!
- It makes you wonder how the carpet remained clean under her feet, added Rutger.
Bernhardt growled:
- Hey, don't say that kind of filth, it's not nice!
- "Not nice"? Paulus repeated. Wait, this High Archivist of my balls is treating you like shit in front of everyone when you just wanted to support her, and we're the ones who are "not nice"?
- She's better than that, the pot-bellied Skaven defended himself a little limply. Honestly, she… well, don't blame her. The pressure on her family is very strong, between the disappearance of her father and the arrival of the Bretonnians. Don't you think, Rutger?
The grizzled Human cocked his head to the side, with a weary sigh.
- Listen, mate: for your own good, stop making excuses for that bitch. It's true, right now, she's living hard days. But does it make a difference?
- It does, she's even worse than before, Paulus answered.
- So, does she have the right to treat you this way? No more than usual! You don't think so?
- Uh… Maybe, yes.
Paulus grimaced.
- You didn't put much conviction in this "yes".
- So what?
- So that means you don't mean what you're saying. And that leaves two possibilities: either you're too scared to dare to answer her, or you're in love with her. In both cases, for the good of everyone, I invite you to go up to the end. I see three ways out of this problem: either you run away from this fury, or you present a report to the Mother Superior that Rutger and I will confirm explaining that her attitude is not acceptable.
- Oh. Yes, right. And… the third way out?
This time, Paulus allowed himself an evil smile.
- Shag her.
The two Humans laughed together when they saw their comrade choke.
Bianka had returned to the Steiner Estate. It was late afternoon, the sun was slowly approaching the horizon line. Sat on a park bench, she desperately tried to clear her mind, to relax. But she couldn't.
Was she losing her mind? Like her big brother, now she was the victim of mood swings. Unlike him, there was no presence of Black Hunger in her blood to explain it.
She saw again and again the scene she had made at Bernhardt. It wasn't the first time in last days that other people had suffered such emotional outbursts. And if people like the Bright Mage and his colleague got what they deserved, could the same be said about the librarian?
A tear tickled her muzzle.
She didn't know what to think anymore. For an indefinable time she remained motionless, only moving to rub her nose or scratch under her arm. It was not possible for her to measure completely and precisely the content of the danger. This threat had ramifications wherever it raged. Its members could belong to all social categories. Maybe she had even crossed one or the other of its damned souls without knowing it?
Suddenly, her ear twitched. Something had caught her attention. It was her mother's voice. Too far to understand the words, but her mood was noticeable.
Bianka opened her eyes and turned her head. She couldn't see Heike, she was walking along the path behind the bushes. Her words became clearer as she approached.
- I'm exhausted, Prior. Like my father, like my children... I can't take it anymore.
- I understand your distress, my child, answered Romulus's voice. It's thoroughly…
- No, you don't understand! suddenly snapped the ratmother with an uncharacteristic aggressiveness.
Bianka didn't move, she didn't dare to breathe either. Her nerves tense, her mouth parched, she was on the lookout for the smallest syllable.
- You don't know what it is to live what I'm living by now. What it inflicts on the child I am carrying, who may already be scared and sad to death barely born. You don't know what it is to see your children wither and then destroy themselves by facing such a big problem!
- Heike, your children are like mine. If there's anything I can do to help you, just say so.
- Very well. So bring back my poor Psody, now!
- Oh, you know it's impossible.
This assertion gave way to a dead silence. Suddenly torn apart by Heike's cry.
- It's all your fault, Romulus! You and your past threw us into a hell of a mess, my poor Psody the first!
- My child, I assure you that I am sincerely sorry for…
- I don't care, you hear me? I-do-not-care! I cannot stand it anymore! I'm done with all of this!
Bianka guessed the Human remaining mute in front of such a surge of rage. Which didn't stop.
- Now, if you want to help someone, go back to your temple, and pray Shallya to protect your soul! And above all, leave me alone! Leave us all alone!
The blonde ratgirl was literally petrified by what she had just heard. She guessed the footsteps of Romulus' sandals, walking away. Then she heard Heike again, who stammered between her tears:
- My love… I miss you so much! Our children miss you so much! Shallya, Goddess of Compassion, please ease the pain of us all!
Bianka was tempted to reach out to her mother to comfort her, but she didn't. Somewhere, deep in her heart, she felt that if she moved, this argument would inevitably come up in the conversation, which would embarrass the ratmother on the one hand, and possibly put her in danger!
Romulus has something to do with it? What could be the "past" that cost my father's life? Would he be… No, not him! Not possible!
Her ear twirled when she heard her mother sigh. Heike resumed her way home, her daughter still hidden.
Just before heading to supper, Bianka had asked Kristofferson to join her for an update. Once the meal was over, the eldest of the siblings went to his apartments, accompanied by his youngest brother. Gabriel quickly got into bed.
- So, good night.
- You… you don't go to bed?
- Not right away, I still have a few things to do. Don't worry, I'm not even leaving the floor. Sleep well.
- T… Thank you.
Kristofferson leaned over to his little brother. Gabriel almost threw himself on his neck, with a stifled sob. The brown Skaven hugged him, and left the bedroom. He walked through his apartment, and found himself in the hallway. He turned right and headed for the door to Bianka's apartments. The young blonde Skaven was lodged between Kristofferson and Gabriel, who usually lived closest to the staircase.
Bianka was dreamily gazing at Mannslieb through the open window. The silvery moonlight was more soothing than the greenish reflections of Morrslieb. She had spent the last fifteen minutes ordering her ideas, to be able to present them as well as possible, without forgetting anything or mixing them up.
She turned around when she heard a knock on the door.
- Come in.
The door opened on Kristofferson.
- Oh, there you are. Sit down.
The brown Skaven sat down in an armchair, and joined the tips of his fingers.
- Walter and I have interrogated all the suspects of the Proud Sigmarite. I even recognized the four robbers who wanted to put you in the casserole pot. I can tell you that they were a lot less swaggering.
- Did they recognize you?
- They did, but Wally can be very persuasive to get people to take it easy. Anyway, none of them had the nerves to brag. As we expected, they did find the body, they quickly dumped it in the sewers. But no one could tell us how Bert ended up like that. His assistant, Bessie, was really scared. She was the one who discovered hum.
- Is it fear that prevents them from speaking? They're protecting the killer to avoid reprisals?
- No, it's not fear, it's ignorance. Bessie said her boss regularly had run-ins with rivals, of course, but it never ended in such a violent way. The fact he was torn to pieces so badly, without the slightest claim, is completely unprecedented in the history of the Mousetrap. All Bert's employees believe that it was a beast that made mincemeat of it, probably a trained beast. Or else, a raging madman like never seen before. In any case, they all told me the same thing: they don't cover the killer. This killer frightens them so much that they absolutely want us to stop it, even if it means allowing themselves to be put in prison so that they are safe until we find it. Besides, they have no idea who it is, nor where it is hiding.
- How miser…
- And you, what about your research?
A slight creak sounded outside. Bianka paid no attention to it, and exclaimed:
- I won't beat around the bush, Kit: we're in deep trouble!
- No kidding.
- I'm not joking; this all goes much further than I thought. You were talking about Mutants yesterday, and now about beasts trained to kill… Alas, you may be right, Kit.
- What do you mean?
Bianka bit her lower lip. How to present such a thing?
- I found the meaning of the handprint in a book on secret societies.
- Did you? So?
- So… Kit, I don't know how else to tell you… here it is: the whole country is threatened by a Chaos sect.
- Huh?
- This hand is the sign of recognition of the Sect of the Purple Hand, one of the worst sects affiliated with Tzeentch, the Chaos God of Change!
- Are you serious?
- Do I look like I'm kidding, Kit? I just spent hours reading articles and reports on this topic. It is a sect reputed to be very dangerous, all the more formidable as it finds its members both in the most disreputable neighbourhoods and among the greatest, wealthiest families!
- Like most sects. What does this one have more than the others?
- We're not talking about just any sect, Kit. We are talking about worshipers of Tzeentch.
- I have never faced Chaos slaves. The mere fact of pronouncing the name of these Gods is forbidden, because it brings bad luck. What is different about worshipers of Tzeentch that makes them so dangerous?
The blonde Skaven coughed.
- They serve the God of Change, this means that they seek to evolve through transformations. Mutations are gifts from their God. They use warpstone in their ceremonies, even if it will eventually reduce them to shapeless heaps of flesh. I read a copy of a report where a well in a district of a major city had been affected by corruption. Tzeentch cultists had poured a bag of warpstone powder into. It was necessary to isolate the district, and burn everything that was inside.
- By the Libra of Verena…
- That's for the field. But the danger they represent on a societal level is much worse: when they decide to settle somewhere, they undermine everything that is linked to the power already in place in order to be able to establish anarchy. Tzeentch is fond of conspiracies and other complicated manoeuvres intended to overthrow the established order. Cutting a government to pieces is the best way to curry his favours.
Kristofferson clapped his hands.
- That's what they're looking for! They killed Father because they knew it would trigger a monstrous mess!
- A mess fuelled with the kidnapping of children by the Feral Skaven and the declaration of war by the Bretonnians!
- By the Hammer of Sigmar… Opa must be warned!
- Not yet, Kit! We first need enough elements to confuse our suspect! Meanwhile…
She didn't talk about Romulus though, preferring to deal with one issue at a time.
- We must keep our eyes and ears wide open.
- What will be the next stage of the investigation?
- I don't know exactly. Now that we know roughly what kind of people our target is hanging out with, I guess we should look for concrete elements to prove its culpability.
- Do you think your target has contact with the Bretonnians and the Feral Skaven?
- I do not know. Personally, I don't think so, but with the minions of Tzeentch, the most twisted situations are to be expected.
Kristofferson sat down against the windowsill, crossed his arms, and looked at the blonde Skaven gravely.
- It's a dangerous game, sis. I hope you're realizing that.
- We know it for the beginning, Kit. And what we saw today confirms it. But we must continue! No question of letting the corpses pile up, even less of seeing the Rat Kingdom catch fire and its inhabitants turn into putrid Mutants!
The big brown Skaven allowed himself to yawn.
- You're right, Kit. Let's go to bed, I hope to have inspiration tomorrow morning.
- I'm sure you will, sis.
The eldest child Steiner got up and left the room, his head full of questions and worries. He hoped a good night's sleep would help them figure out where to go.
He entered his room on tiptoe. His Skaven eyes, inherited by dozens of generations spent in the dark caverns, could clearly distinguish the interior of the room with the only light of the moon. He glanced over to the corner where Gabriel's bed was placed, and was pleasantly surprised to see that the little light grey Skaven was dozing. Kristofferson approached slowly, and smiled tenderly. Gabriel was snoring lightly. He must have fallen asleep suddenly, given his position: lying on his back, the blanket and the sheets at his feet, his nightgown rolled up over his chest, he was laid arms and legs spread like a frog drying out on a pebble.
With great care, Kristofferson repositioned Gabriel more comfortably, straightened his clothes, and tucked him in. He squatted beside the bed and muttered in his ear:
- I wish I could do more… It's not easy for me either, you know.
The young light grey Skaven only answered with a louder snore. Kristofferson whispered again:
- I love you, little brother.
He kissed his forehead, got up, changed quickly, then closed the shutters and the window before lying down in his own bed.
He hadn't noticed the little tear that slipped down the little ratboy's fluffy cheek.