A violent slam on the wood of the desk made him jump slightly. But he remained silent. Captain Walter Klingmann paced up and down the office, hands crossed behind his back. In a corner of the room, Kristofferson watched intently and anxiously, sat on a stool.
- Well, well… Initiate Rupert Kramer, from Verena's Temple, here you are in a rather embarrassing position.
Initiate Rupert Kramer, sweaty and ruddy, was in a nightgown, seated behind the desk, bound by handcuffs at the end of chains connected on either side of the chair to rings fixed to the floor.
- I demand to know why you sent your roughnecks to snatch me from my accommodation, without notice or any form of diplomacy. When the other priests in my temple see that I'm not at the service, they'll come find you!
- Oh, they won't need to, Initiate, we have already explained everything to them. We showed them evidence of your complicity with proven heretics.
- Ah, really? I would be curious to see these proofs!
Klingmann took a bundle of letters out of his waistcoat pocket, and put some of them on the table.
- Here's a nice correspondence! Of course, there is no explicit person or place name, but your handwriting has been recognized. Our agents have spotted you using special "mailboxes" to make your messages circulate, notably through the Proud Sigmarite who maintains this activity despite the tragic disappearance of its manager. Of course, there are other people to arrest, their turn will come, but you probably have your share of information to give us in order to help us, and at least lighten your sentence a little, which promises to be very heavy.
Leaning towards the Verenean, the spotted Skaven was only inches away from his suspect. The latter was not impressed.
- You're bluffing, Captain! You haven't shown anything to the Vereneans, for the simple reason your so-called proofs are fake. Worse, you risk a diplomatic incident with them by keeping me here against my will, and without their advice. They would never allow what you're doing to one of their novices.
- Yes, a "novice", not yet a fully-fledged priest, which means that you are not yet under their full protection. They would like to know moreover what you were doing in a den of bandits?
- You are the only one to claim to have seen me at the Proud Sigmarite, that does not prove anything.
- I have at least two reliable men who told me the same thing, Initiate. Two trustworthy men.
- That's what you're saying. If I want to go to the Proud Sigmarite, I go, and no one has a say until I break the law. And as for these letters, there is no evidence I wrote them, Captain. Someone has imitated my handwriting. Followers of Tzeentch are very good at this exercise.
- I've never spoken about Tzeentch, Initiate. You've just betrayed yourself.
- Oh, please, Captain! What do you believe? Everyone knows the Purple Hand is behind all of this!
The brown Skaven then got up from his chair.
- Initiate Kramer is right on all these points, but… I still can add a little something more irrefutable.
- What?
Kristofferson approached. His green eyes were just two slits from which flashes of anger escaped. This made Kramer lose some of his self-confidence, and he felt very uneasy.
- What are you going to do to me?
In response, Kristofferson drew his sword in one motion, and swept the air towards the prisoner, with two precise gestures. Kramer let out a short cry, and would have tipped over if the chair hadn't been secured to the floor.
- Look, Walter… Here is a proof!
The sharp point of the brown Skaven's blade had cut into the cotton of the nightgown, without scratching his skin. Kristofferson had thus revealed the left side of the chest of the initiate. Just at the level of the heart, there was a small tattoo. Klingmann recognized the sign of Tzeentch. His friend continued his explanation.
- When I started to inquire about Chaotese people, I learned they all sport this kind of thing somewhere. This location is rather common: near the heart, just to remind you where your feelings go.
Walter clenched his teeth in rage.
- How can you explain this, Initiate Kramer?
- I…
- It appeared on your skin this morning, when you woke up, right? Or did you decide to get a tattoo of this to look pretty, when you know that this kind of mark is prohibited in Vereinbarung? Oh, and then it doesn't matter. Your guilt is established, the Temple of Verena will be informed, but in the meantime, you shall spill the beans. And if it is necessary to use drastic means for that, it won't be a problem! Kit?
Kristofferson got up, slightly opened the door, and emitted a short but loud whistle.
- Captain Klingmann, you can't do what you want with me!
- Why not, Kramer? You are a heretic, your rights as a citizen became null and void the moment we officially took note of it.
- Does it give you all the rights? Only fanatics want to punish again and again without thinking! Don't forget the Rat Kingdom was built on the concept of trust, respect for others. If you torture me, you won't get a straight answer, I'll say what you want to hear, it won't have any value anyway. And at the same time, you will be no better than all the Humans of the Empire who consider your race as good-to-be-cleaned parasites! No one will ever trust you again, your career will be destroyed, and shame will touch on your parents. Think about it, Captain Klingmann.
Walter lowered his head, and grumbled. It was then that a clear voice echoed in the small room.
- You are absolutely right, Initiate Kramer. Brave Captain Klingmann must not get his hands dirty on such a pathetic character. This is unworthy to him.
The door swung open to reveal a small figure waiting in the doorway. Kramer could make out a Halfling in the darkness, staring at him with an evil smile.
- On the other hand, me… I threw away in latrines my respectability a long time ago. In other words, as the Prince's unofficial agent, I can do whatever I want to you. As long as I get a concrete result, I don't give a damn about public opinion concerning my methods.
- Who are you? the initiate stuttered.
Nedland Barnrooster took his place at the table, facing the mad. His smile became crueller.
- Such a question should not be among your concerns at the present time, Initiate Kramer. You should rather ask yourself about your ability to endure.
He turned to the two Skaven.
- Gentlemen, please leave us between people of bad company.
Kristofferson and Walter left without a word. The spotted Skaven closed the door behind him.
- There you are!
Kristofferson jerked awake at the sound of the Halfling's voice. Exhausted from the last few days, he had dozed off on the bench. Nedland was standing in front of him, his raised hands covered in blood.
- Pals, I think he's mature.
Frightened, Walter jumped to his feet and rushed into the interrogation room. Kristofferson felt his hair stand on end when he heard his friend yelp:
- Oh! By the Sword of Verena!
Immediately, the brown Skaven joined his friend, expecting the worst.
Kramer was still chained to the floor in front of the table. His face was nothing but a huge puffiness. His nose and lips were bleeding profusely. Kristofferson nervously swallowed his saliva when he saw the state of the initiate's hands, especially his fingers and fingernails. His breathing was gasping, and his eyes bulging. The area of skin tattooed with the symbol of Tzeentch bore traces of wax burns.
The unfortunate groaned desperately when the Halfling entered again.
- So, my little Rupert… you want to make me happy?
- Y… Yes, Master Barnrooster!
- Perfect! So, you shall repeat out loud and intelligible what you said to me a minute ago, for my friends. We are listening to you?
Kramer spat a glut of blood on the table, and stammered:
- I've never seen their faces, but I know they're somewhere in town. They're planning a big ceremony. They call it "the Call to the New World".
- All right. You also gave me names earlier. What were they, again?
The heretic bowed his head. Barnrooster approached slowly, and gripped his jaw between his thumb and forefinger. He exerted more and more pressure. Kramer groaned in pain.
- I haven't heard well… Who is at the head of this band of the Purple Hand?
- Ya… Yavandir Palebough!
Kristofferson felt his stomach constrict at the name.
- The entertainer?
- Yes, sir! He is one of three members of the Steinerburg Purple Hand Triumvirate!
Stunned by this revelation, the brown Skaven stepped back, and shook his head vigorously. Walter wouldn't let the heretic have a break. He took over.
- A triumvirate, so two other leaders? Who are they? Speak, Kramer, and we won't kill you right away!
- I... I don't...
Barnrooster dug his nails into the renegade initiate's cheeks.
- You already told these names, my little Kramer, you can do it again, can't you?
- Ouch! Stop!
The Halfling clapped his other hand on the back of Kramer's neck, and smashed his face against the table, before grabbing his hair, and pulling him up.
- Who are the other two members of the triumvirate, Kramer?
- Cazarras! Brother Cazarras!
- "Brother" Cazarras? This gentleman is a priest, then?
- He is! He's the one who speaks directly to Tzeentch, and gives us his orders!
- Good! What about the third one?
- Sir Alcibiades, the armed wing of our group! He's a formidable fighter, no one can stand up to him!
- We could put this epitaph on half the graves of people who tried to piss us off. And what is this "Call to the New World"?
- I don't know! I just know they're going to get a huge supply of warpstone for this, but I don't know anything more, I swear!
Nedland shoved the heretic away.
- It is very good. So, you see? When you are reasonable, you always find a solution. All right, Wally, I think we can get him back to his cell.
The two Skaven seized Kramer each by an arm, and dragged him more than they led him to one of the cages, located at the end of the corridor at the barracks cells. They left him on the rudimentary bunk.
- Meditate on the consequences of your actions, heretic! Walter spat.
The wind through the ventilator whistled in Kristofferson's ears, who nervously lowered his flags. The two Skaven returned to the interrogation room, where Nedland was waiting. Walter scratched his head.
- I wonder what we have to fear? These people must be really dangerous! I mean, how can Yavandir Palebough, a simple jester, represent any danger?
- You forget he was sworn to Tzeentch, son. His God must have granted him a couple of disgusting Mutations already. Brother Cazarras must be able to summon Chaos magic. As for the last, Alcibiades, I will only form a definitive opinion by seeing it.
It was then that the treasurer noticed Kristofferson. The brown Skaven looked at him angrily. Nedland supported his gaze.
- What do you want me to tell you, Kit? "Oh, I'm sorry for him, but he had to"? "It will haunt me until the end of my days, I will have to do penance"? You know it as well as me; if we had to do battle with ordinary Orcs or common bandits, I'd agree with you. However, we're facing Demons of Tzeentch! In other words, the most devious, the most vicious and the most insidious of all that inhabits this world! Their leaders are not Humans, nor Skaven, nor Dwarves, nor anything that belongs to this reality. They are entities whose moral concepts are definitively foreign to ours. And so, there are no scruples to be had against them. Never. We now have names, and therefore new trails to follow. Against creatures who want to turn our country into a gigantic freak show, all means are good, and none is to be regretted. And I won't pretend to feel guilty or make excuses for your beautiful eyes, Kit, especially when I know you will reject them outright! I did what I had to do, and I have no regrets.
- With this kind of method, you lower yourself to their level, Nedland Barnrooster.
- And that's precisely how we'll pull the rug out from under them, Kristofferson Steiner! Anyway, it is useless to talk to me about "lowering myself", I have been at my lowest for a long time.
Captain Klingmann growled.
- Don't you have any self-respect, Master Barnrooster?
- Of course I have, kid, and this self-respect tells me to protect my booty and that of the few people I really care about. If I had no self-respect, I could get my ass out of here and go back to spend my old days like a prince in the Small Steps organization of Altdorf, leaving the Rat Kingdom fall into Tzeentch's multi-coloured dunghill, but I won't, because the Princely Family is my family, and Vereinbarung is my home. I defend both by any means possible. With the Chaotese, there are no grain of salt to take with. Someone has to do the dirty work, I am that someone. You can remain an honourable captain. What happened to this heretic is solely my doing. Now, I suggest you go together to make our report to the Prince.
- Right, Kristofferson replied.
- Go ahead, I have to check if we have any news from the Pourseille front.
- See you at the Prince's office, then.
One hour later, Ludwig Steiner finished listening to the report, his daughter at his side. He turned to the Skaven.
- I can understand your reservations about Master Barnrooster's methods, unfortunately, he only followed my orders. We no longer have time for ethical questions, let alone if we're facing Chaos. The main thing is to have the information. I really wonder what is Palebough doing in this story?
Heike looked doubly pained.
- It's true, he was always very nice to me, and fought alongside Master Steadyhand and Captain Ludviksson to make our ideals triumph.
- We'll ask him when we get our hands on him. In the meantime, as soon as I leave your mansion, I will issue wanted notices on him, as well as on Cazarras and Alcibiades. With one of their accomplices getting caught and talking, they're most likely going to panic and make a mistake.
- Unless they had already planned to abandon Kramer, the Prince muttered.
Heike was still with her head down, both in disbelief and heartbroken to the utmost degree. The Halfling realized this.
- Cheer up, little mouse! For a change, I have good news: it's about the battalion that went to Pourseille.
- We're listening to you, Barnrooster.
- To begin with, your Highness, I warned them about the Feral Skaven; as I'm speaking to you, they already are on their way.
- How did you do?
- They stopped at the Golden Fish; it is the most important coaching inn of the whole area, a place as big as a small village. They had to stop there, which is why I sent a message to their attention to invite them to go directly to the Forest of the White Wolf, with a small map drawn by me. Romulus answered me through a Lorekeepers carrier pigeon. He summarized for me the outcome of the Vaucanson problem.
The little man turned his head towards Heike and his son, and gave them a smile that relaxed them.
- They won, with minimal damage. Our casualties weren't very high, and the Bretonnians weren't too reluctant to surrender when the boom-boom moles shattered the ramparts. But above all, Siggy is alive. He just had a few scratches. And you want to know the best? He managed to contain himself. When they left Pourseille, Horace de Vaucanson was still alive.
- Shallya be thanked.
Heike heaved a sigh of relief, and snuggled up to his eldest son. She addressed the brown Skaven.
- Kit, go and tell your sister.
- With pleasure, Mother!
Without waiting, Kristofferson left the office in a hurry pace. He entered a small, narrow hallway. As he was about to cross the opposite door, it opened without warning, and the young ratman crashed into a Human.
- Oh, Master Bäsenhau!
- Well, young man, are you pursued by a Troll?
- Please accept my apologies, I...
Vladimir Bäsenhau smiled benevolently.
- Come on, don't worry, I've had worse. Oh Wally! There you are!
The spotted Skaven had come out in turn. He bowed to the Human.
- So, is there anything new?
- Our business is a success, Father. Thanks to our guest, we should be able to trace this poisonous source, and dry it up for good!
- Glad to hear that.
Bäsenhau's face wrinkled nervously.
- Excuse me, young people, I have a message for His Majesty.
The steward took leave of the two ratmen, entered the corridor in his turn, knocked on the door, announced himself, and entered.
- What's going on, Bäsenhau?
- Indeed, your Highness, it is a little tricky to say.
- Speak, please, answered Steiner with an impatience that was hard to suppress.
- It's Master Barisson. He seeks an audience with you, Prince Ludwig. Lady Heike, I think you should listen to him, too.
The ratmother felt her eyebrows rise with surprise.
- Are you serious, Master Barisson?
For the first time in many years, the Dwarf Engineer seemed genuinely embarrassed. He was sweating profusely, and his voice was trembling.
- My Lady, by Grungni's beard, I swear to you I have never been so serious.
- I don't understand; you are an engineer, you are an expert in construction! So what's the problem?
- Alas, the problem is I am a builder, not a mechanic! If I have the plans, I can coordinate my guys to build this thing, but I wouldn't know how it works! Well, vaguely, but I couldn't handle it!
- You are a Dwarf, however, Master Barisson!
- I am, but that's not why I know how to do absolutely everything! Do you believe all Elves are capable of hunting, practicing magic and talking to animals? Of course not! Well, for us Dwarves, it's the same. You can't expect to see a famous builder capable of making such a kind of invention work properly! For that, I need the brain that imagined it.
- Don't speak of my son as a common tool, would be kindly, Master Barisson. There's no way I'm letting him go with you to the Forest of the White Wolf! Do you realize the danger it represents for him?
- Normally, he will be safe, my Lady. He risks nothing.
- Could you swear to me? The Feral Skaven also have their own war machines! What if they had something to counter ours?
Master Barisson rubbed his chin.
- I'm not the only one who thinks that, my Lady. Your son wants to leave, too.
- I don't believe you, answered Heike categorically.
- He absolutely wants… how he said… "to make up for his fault".
- Perhaps I will believe him when he tells me, but in your mouth, this argument doesn't hold water, Master Barisson.
The Dwarf ended up being more annoyed than sympathetic.
- Listen, victory and defeat hang in the balance, my Lady! He will stay safe, I promise you. If anything happens to him, I undertake before you, before your father the Prince, to pronounce the Slayer's Oath.
Heike moved forward, and positioned herself in front of the Dwarf. She leaned towards him. Her green eyes sparkled with anger. She whispered in a flat voice:
- I definitively do not care about your oaths, Master Barisson. I am his mother, Gabriel is still a child, it is not for him to decide, nor for you.
The engineer looked away and sighed. He looked up at the Prince, and begged him silently.
- Darling, I understand you. I would have a hard time letting you go if it was necessary. But I would anyway. He is right. Gabriel is the key to victory in the battle that awaits our army.
Heike's ear then swivelled. She closed her eyes, slowed the pace of her breathing, and said in a more assured voice:
- All right, Father. You have won, Master Barisson. Gabriel shall go, but he won't leave the stronghold.
- I promise he won't.
- You don't have to, Master Barisson. He will stay safe, I will check it personally, because I go with you.
The Dwarf jumped. Steiner suddenly found himself out of breath.
- Heike! Are you losing your mind?
- This is madness, Excellency!
- Sending my youngest son close to the battlefront is madness, too! If you need Gabriel so badly, he'll come with me, or not at all!
- My Lady, it embarrasses me… A woman in your condition should not…
- Enough! cut the ratmother. My two big boys and my eldest daughter have all put their lives on the line for me and for the Rat Kingdom, if Gabriel has to go through it, so do I!
Then she turned to her father, and challenged him with her gaze.
- So, you let me go, since it is necessary?
The tall man's face was bloodless.
- It… it is not reasonable, daughter.
- No more than sending Gabriel to the front, all alone!
- Come on, he won't be alone!
- Without his mother or any of his siblings, you know what that means to him. Either I go with him, or no one goes!
Ludwig Steiner passed a hand over his face. He nodded, and raised his index finger to the ratmother.
- Neither you nor Gabriel will even put a toe outside the shelter.
- You have my word, Father.
- Master Barisson, your crew will stay away from the fights once their task is completed. If ever something should happen because of your recklessness, I will tear you limb by limb myself. Have I been clear?
The Dwarf swallowed his saliva.
- Crystal, Your Majesty.
- It makes no sense to me, Kit…
Kristofferson felt his heart clench so hard he was afraid he would pass out because of the pain. The corridor was infected by an atrocious mixture of smells, all more disgusting than each other, all more or less overshadowed by the strongest, the most acrid, the most coppery of all: the smell of blood.
And there was plenty of blood. Everywhere, from the floor to the ceiling, on the walls, on the bunk, on the bars of the cell. Rupert Kramer was now nothing more than a gigantic gaping wound. All his blood had spurted out in all directions. His organs lay on the cold stone floor.
The brown Skaven had to try several times to manage to breathe his words:
- Any idea how it happened?
- It happened right after the four o'clock guard tour. The guards had just left the corridor. The man on duty in front of the door to the corridor to the cells didn't see or hear anything suspicious. I say… not before "that". A few minutes after the soldiers came out, there was a terrible, frightening roar, and Kramer began to howl like a donkey. By the time the faction guard opened the door and rushed down the hall... Kramer was already in that state. The cage door was still locked, and of course, no one else was inside. Or in the hallway.
- And the prisoners? What do they say?
- Given the layout of the premises, the only cell of which the occupant could have seen anything is empty. Everyone else couldn't see. On the other hand, no doubt on it, they heard everything.
Distracted by the smells of the mass grave, Kristofferson had paid no attention to the other occupants when he arrived. However, looking around, he quickly realized that all the prisoners were scared to death. No one dared look him in the eye, and everyone was curled up in their cell.
Kristofferson spotted a prisoner who didn't look very recalcitrant. He walked to the bars of the cage.
- You, on this bunk, tell me what happened.
The individual didn't respond. The brown Skaven insisted:
- If you give us something that could help this investigation, Captain Klingmann could lighten your sentence. You have everything to gain by confiding in us.
- I… I don't want to be next!
- No one will be next. We're going to stop this, and you can help us.
- Seen nothing… but heard… laughter.
Kristofferson had another heartbeat.
- You say you heard someone laugh?
- Before… the roars… and the cries of this guy.
- Was that a gruff laugh? A frightening laugh? A monstrous big voice?
The prisoner raised his head. His eyes reflected an unhealthy mix of fear and incomprehension.
- No… A soft, magnificent laugh. A prince laugh, or an Angel's.
- Thank you, my friend.
Young Steiner spun on his heels and walked back to the cell Walter continued to examine.
- Looks like that famous "Angel Voiced Beast" has struck again.
- Up into my barracks? This crap really has some nerve!
In turn, Kristofferson looked around more carefully, looking for any clues. He suddenly reached for a corner of the wall.
- Did you see that?
- You bet I did!
On the dark bricks stood out clearly the imprint of a five-fingered right hand, a distinct stain of blood amidst the red spurts that spangled the wall. There was no doubt to be had, at the foot of the wall, the two Skaven could see the shredded at the shoulder arm of the unfortunate initiate, its palm soaked in blood, like a grotesque tampon.
- He was arrested the night before yesterday, the news must have travelled really fast for the Purple Hand to know where to find him?
- If they have other eyes and ears among the Vereneans, it makes sense.
Kristofferson grimaced.
- Wally, why did you wait until eight in the morning to warn me?
- Because your family is shaken enough without adding another layer before sunrise. Either way, whether you're here now or four hours ago, it doesn't matter. We searched what we could, we found nothing.
- Alright, alright. Let's get out of here, all of this is making me sick.
The two Skaven stepped back, and walked slowly towards the exit. Kristofferson saw out of the corner of his eye to his left a cell with several parchments waxed on the stones surrounding the bars and the door. Kristofferson stopped, and looked over. He saw the lanky figure of Brisingr Steadyhand, sitting on his bunk, in the dark. His wrists were tightly chained one behind the other, and his ankles chained together. The scrolls were covered with prayers to Sigmar, thus forbidding any wind of magic from entering the cell.
This was not enough to lessen Kristofferson's anger. He was exhausted to see the situation slip away from him like this. Furious, he squeaked through the bars.
- I bet you're having fun with all this, Steadyhand! Even with the gag and that canvas bag on your face, you're smiling. I feel it!
Suddenly he had an idea. He hastened to catch up with Walter, quickly asked him for the keys to the cell, and returned to the door of the Elf's cage. He opened it and entered. But when he saw the spotted Skaven following him, he motioned for him to stay out of the cage.
He planted himself firmly in front of the Elf, his fists on his hips.
- You know you're doomed, anyway. However, we can still leave you the choice between a clean, quick and painless execution, or an ordeal that will last so long that you will curse your grotesque and foolish God for allowing you to experience such sensations. To do this, all you have to do is speak, Steadyhand. You probably know a lot. A guy like you can't be ignorant about Chaos matters.
He watched for the slightest movement from the Elf: a shrug, a nod, maybe even a grunt… but nothing came. Kristofferson felt his hair stand on end.
- You're going to mock me until the end, right? Hell, if you want me to take your gag off, do something! Anything!
Still no reaction. Suddenly, the brown Skaven felt his instinct warning him.
Something is wrong...
Kristofferson crouched down, and positioned himself directly in front of the Elf. He stared at him... and realized that the hooded magister was so still he wasn't even breathing!
The brown Skaven had heard of meditative sessions where the breath could be controlled, but such stiffness seemed suspicious to him. Without taking his eyes off the prisoner, he ordered his friend:
- Wally, get ready.
Captain Klingmann had already grabbed his hammer. Kristofferson slowly reached forward and placed his hand on Brisingr's chest. He jerked it back with a start. He had felt under the fabric of the shirt a hard and cold at the same time contact. Incredulous, he tapped the Elf's shoulder several times, and very clearly heard a hollow, dry sound. The Elf rolled over onto his left side, and fell from the bunk with a noise like a pile of fagots dropped off by a lumberjack.
- In the name of…
Kristofferson hastily lifted the body, and tore off the hood in a single gesture. Instead of seeing the slender, mockingly smiling face of the bright Elf, he made out a wooden head.
The "prisoner" was a life-size puppet, dressed with the clothes of the magister.
No longer possible for the brown Skaven to hold back. His cries of frustration and panic echoed throughout the building.