Jon and the Witch Hunter Buchman must investigate the rumours of Ratmen in the sewers. This leads them to a pair of unlikely allies who will help them in the days to come, all the while the chittering horde moves beneath their feet, hoping to bring low the jewel of the south.
Thank you for your patience, I recently started my new job and life has been hectic, so I'll have to take this a tad slower, but I hope you enjoy it; kindly leave a review.
Jon glowered at the man. Ingfried had told him enough about witch hunters—rogue vigilantes and fanatics who would burn a village to the ground rather than risk letting one guilty man go unpunished. To them, it wasn't a question of innocence but of how guilty one was, and nothing he had heard about them since suggested this man would treat him any differently. Still, as far as Jon knew, this man had not been involved, and he doubted that he could simply kill a witch hunter without consequences. Besides, the man might know something, and it would hardly be the first time he had worked with murderers. So, after a moment, he released the man and put his knife away. Buchman, for his part, put his pistol away. Now he was certain he wouldn't be shot, Jon could get a better look at the man.
Buchman stood a head taller than him, his craggy, weathered face etched with the lines of countless hardships. His dull grey eyes, haunted and hollow, spoke of a lifetime of horrors that would have driven lesser men to madness. He was clad in a worn leather coat that seemed thick enough to turn a blade. A heavy rapier hung at his waist and his pistol was of, as far as Jon could tell, of superior make. His boots were also of fine make. Looking closer at his features, Jon thought that there was the look of an aristocrat about him. Jon guessed him to be highborn, like some of the Watch who had joined either out of duty or to avoid some scandal at home.
"If you're done examining me," Buchman said, his voice dripping with suspicion, "you'll now answer my questions." Jon recognised the type of man who commanded obedience through sheer force of arrogance. But Jon had faced worse than a pompous nobleman.
"Why were you following me?" he snapped. Buchman's eyes narrowed, clearly not accustomed to being challenged. For a moment, Jon thought the man might refuse outright. But then, with a reluctant nod, he began to speak.
"Fritz von Halstadt was murdered by mutants, that much I am sure you know. However, I do not believe that the murder was a random act of violence. He was too important and too well-guarded for a mere group of gibbering creatures to kill.
"Von Halstadt was famous for his meritorious zeal in the hunting of mutants, and I can only assume that the scum is planning something truly vile, and they had to silence him before he could uncover their plans, whatever they may be." Jon stared at him for a moment, not sure what to say.
He had heard von Halstadt had been killed by the Skaven, yet it seemed that Buchman did not know of them. Margaery had told him that many within the Empire did not believe in the Skaven, thinking them to be mere children's stories, but Buchman was a witch hunter; surely someone in his position would know of them. Why, then, was he acting as if he did not know of them? His attention was brought back to Buchman as the older man resumed speaking.
"My informants at Court informed me that you were looking into his death, and I want to know why." For a moment, Jon tried to marshal his thoughts and decide what to say. He decided to probe the witch hunter and see how he would react.
"Mutants, I heard that he was killed by Skaven." The older man made a derisive sound.
"Skaven?!" The older man gave a derisive snort.
"The rat-men do not exist. They are merely mutants, no different from the goat and ox-headed creatures in the forests, and it is only in the minds of the ignorant and the foolish that they become something more." Jon saw that Buchman was not lying; he genuinely believed that what he was saying was the truth, and from his expression, Jon knew it would do him little good to try to convince him otherwise, even if he wanted to. The man might not be as openly violent as his brothers in Marienburg, but he was just as narrow-minded and firm in his beliefs as they had been. So, instead, he chose a different route.
"They may be only mutants, but I have fought their kind before and want to know what they are planning." Buchman looked as if he approved yet was somehow suspicious.
"A commendable attitude. But why?
"You are a foreigner from the south; why should you care about what happens in the Empire?" Jon was not offended by the question.
He often dealt with those who did not care about a matter until it affected them directly.
"As I said, I have fought them before, and I know the threat that they pose." Buchman still looked slightly sceptical.
"Besides, I am pledged to protect Lady Margaery Tyrell, the ambassador to the countess's court, by fighting the creatures I protect her." His words seemed to have the desired effect on the other man, for he nodded in agreement. The witch hunter was silent for several heartbeats, but then he seemed to come to a decision and spoke again.
"Very well, we shall work together.
"As you have been listening to the court gossip that I also have been informed of, you know of the two who claimed to have fought them. They have taken work in some den of vice called the Blind Pig. We can find them there. We shall question them and learn what, if anything, of value which they know." Buchman seemed to simply assume that he would agree, which he supposed made sense as, from what he had seen, not many were inclined to disagree with Witch hunters. With that, the man turned on his heel and set off, and Jon had to hurry to catch up.
Whatever else could be said of him, he made good time. It was almost comical to see how people hurled themselves out of the way of the approaching witch hunter. For his part, Buchman did not even acknowledge the frightened deference people were showing him. As Jon drew level with him, he saw that he was mistaken. The older man's eyes darted back and forth with a keen watchfulness as if he were a hawk carefully studying its surroundings for likely prey.
At last, they arrived at their destination, a tavern with a signboard of an eyeless pig hanging over the door. Buchman did not hesitate longer than it took to confirm that this was the place they sought and proceeded in. As he entered, it took his eyes a moment to adjust to the dimness of the tavern. Stepping over the threshold, the stink of stale sweat, and cheap perfume slapped him in the face; the long, low hall was packed. Every beer-stained table was crowded. On one, a semi-naked Estalian dancing girl whirled and pranced while a group of drunken halberdiers threw silver and encouraged her to remove the rest of her clothes. Street-girls led staggering soldiers to dark alcoves in the far wall. The commotion from the bar drowned out the gasps and moans and the clink of gold changing hands. One whole long table was taken up by a group of strange-looking men who appeared to be men-at-arms of some sort. They roared out drinking songs concerning nothing but horses and women and sometimes an obscene combination of both while downing huge quantities of some pungent clear liquor.
It went deathly quiet as they took notice of the witch hunter. For a moment, he was aware that all the eyes in the place were on them of rather Buchman. He paid them no mind as he strode to the bar, his eyes fixed on the man standing behind it. The man held the tankard up to the light, making sure he had removed every last speck of dust from the thing. He set it down on the mantelpiece. Jon noticed the way the light gleamed on the old man's bald head. His hands trembled ever so slightly as he turned to greet them.
"What's your pleasure, milord?" said the man.
"I am looking for the two ex-sewer jacks. I am told they are employed here."
The man frowned and gave Buchman a long look before seemingly ignoring the witch hunter. He grabbed another mug and began scrubbing it clean.
"You would do well to tell me what I wished to know," Buchman growled, grasping the hilt of his sabre.
"I'm right here, Umgi," said a deep voice that grated like stone crushed against stone. Buchman turned sharply toward the voice, his eyes narrowing as he began pushing through the throng, Jon close at his heels. They carved a path through the bustling room, weaving between patrons, until they reached a table at the back where two individuals were seated.
The first was a man who looked to be in his early twenties. He was taller than Buchman, and the scars on his face showed that he had fought several duels in his time. He seemed shabby and well-travelled if the worn red cloak around his shoulders was any hint, but his eyes were soon drawn to the other person at the table. Jon had seen Dwarves since his arrival, but none like the one before him.
He was only the height of a boy, but he was muscled like two strong men. The candles illuminated the strange tattoos that covered his half-naked body, while every movement revealed the bulging muscles in his arms. His head was shaved bare, save for a huge crest of orange-dyed hair that came level to Buchman's chest. He stopped and turned his head to stare at them with a truly fearsome scowl.
A patch covered one eye, and a gold chain extended from his nostril to his ear. When he opened his mouth to take a bite of sausage, revealing a mouth full of broken, blackened teeth, he chewed his food slowly, paying them no mind. At last, he swallowed and belched loudly. Not appearing overly impressed by either of them.
"Who are you?" He grunted, taking a drink of his ale. Buchman, clearly not used to being spoken to in such a manner, nevertheless quickly recovered and began to talk.
"I greet you, scion of our ancient allies," the words rumbled forth, bearing a respect that surprised Jon. In the time he'd spent alongside the witch hunter, he'd not seen the man speak thusly to anyone.
"I am Karl Buchman, ordained Witch Hunter of Sigmar," he declared, pausing for a moment before turning to him.
"This is Sir Jon il Cuor di Lupo, the bodyguard of the ambassador from Tilea who is currently aiding me. I am investigating the reports of mutant activity, and I have reason to believe that you may have information that might be useful in my investigation." At the witch hunter's words, the man looked slightly nervous, though whether this was over something particular, or he had earned the attention of a witch hunter, Jon did not know. The dwarf, on the other hand, appeared to be completely unimpressed. He took another drink and then began speaking again.
"We tried to warn you lot about the Skaven, and we were laughed out of the sewer jacks for our troubles and now some manling woman-burner comes demanding our help." Buchman's face twisted into a scowl, and the man beside him looked even more uneasy. Yet, the dwarf's response was not what Jon expected. It was, in truth, a blend of disregard and wicked mirth.
"Have a care, Herr Dwarf," Buchman said, and the earlier respect was gone from his voice; "While I respect the ancient alliance between our peoples, my order is charged with the protection of the souls of the people of the Empire from all which would threaten them, and I will be addressed with the respect due to my post." The dwarf turned his attention to Buchman, and all humour faded from his face.
"Tell me, manling, what would you know of horror? You and yours chase down charlatans and frightened midwives. I have faced perils that would make you and your beardling whelp here soil yourselves at the mere thought. Why should I respect you?"
Buchman's face was now red, and Jon felt his temper rising. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw that the people around them had been following their conversation and were now hastily getting as far away as possible from what they believed to be an imminent brawl.
Jon was unsure what he should do if it came to violence. He had just met Buchman, and they were hardly what could be called friends; indeed, they were barely allies. True, the dwarf had insulted him, but he was hardly the first, and he had long ago learned not to try to fight everyone who offended him. Still, the dwarf struck him as someone who would attack regardless, and he didn't know if he would come out the better duelling this dwarf.
Fortunately, the dwarf's blonde companion moved to interpose himself between the dwarf and themselves.
"Now, now, Gotrek, no need for that," he said placidly, glancing at his companion.
Though he was careful not to touch the dwarf, whose hand had ominously dropped to his axe, "Let us be reasonable." The dwarf, Gotrek, looked as if he might turn his fury towards the man, who, sensing the peril, hastily continued speaking.
"The Skaven are still out there, and if Herr Buchman has seen them, he can alert people, who are far more likely to listen to him than to us."
"Bloody stupid of them if they do," Gotrek muttered to himself angrily, not sounding entirely convinced. The man clearly saw this and pressed on.
"Besides," he said, looking at Jon and Buchman and looking slightly worried," if we go hunting with them, then perhaps you can get a chance to settle matters with the one who got away."
Gotrek bit back what Jon guessed to be another sardonic comment and became thoughtful. He brooded, clearly deep in thought, for some time before he seemed to decide; shoving the remainder of his food into his mouth and finishing his enormous stein of ale, he gave another belch and rose to his feet, axe in hand.
"Very well, come manlings, let's hunt some Rat-men!"
Jon was taken off guard by this, not having expected to go hunting the Skaven at once. He did not even have his armour! Buchman clearly had not expected this turn of events either, but he did not have a chance to protest. Gotrek had already shoved past them and was headed towards the door. His companion, grumbling under his breath, followed a few paces behind, careful to keep his distance from Buchman. As he passed Jon, he gave him a sympathetic glance before hurrying to catch up with the Slayer.
Jon glanced at Buchman before following after them, unaware of where they were going. Once out on the street, he paused for a moment, trying to spot them in the throne of people until he spotted them. He was surprised at how swiftly Gotrek was moving, considering his short legs, and the human with him was trying his best to keep pace with the dwarf. Jon hurried until he caught up with them and fell into step beside him. Apparently remembering they had not been formally introduced, the man turned to him, looking slightly abashed.
"Forgive me for not introducing myself back at the Pig; I am Felix Jaeger."
Jon found himself smiling back at the man in a friendly manner. "Greetings, Herr Jaeger, and please, call me Jon. I was only recently knighted, and it still feels slightly strange to be addressed as sir."
"Very well, S… Jon, and feel free to call me Felix."
As they weaved through the crowded streets, he noticed Felix glancing at him occasionally as if he had some burning question.
"You will forgive me, Jon, but you do not look and sound much like a Tilean."
"True, I am not of that land. It is a rather long story, and I fear we do not have time for it now." The last part was said to avoid trying to explain all that had happened to him, not the least reason being that he still did not know himself and did not wish for them to think him mad. Fortunately, Felix seemed to agree with him.
"Where are we going exactly?"
Felix sighed, his expression a blend of frustration and unwillingness. "If I had to guess, I'd say we're on the trail of the Skaven."
The way he said it left no question about his lack of enthusiasm for the chance. Jon, recalling his last hunt of the vile ratmen through the tunnels beneath Remas, found himself sharing Felix's lack of enthusiasm.
Just then, Buchman caught up with them, a sour expression on his face. "Where in the name of Sigmar are we going!" he demanded.
Jon noticed Felix glaring at Buchman, and for a moment, he marvelled at how witch hunters could inspire such scorn among the citizens of the Empire. Then he recalled what they had done to Ingfried and understood all too well. His dislike for the man flared up again, but he knew that it would be foolish to pick a fight with the Witchunter, especially when they were on the trail of the Skaven.
They followed Gotrek for some time, moving through what appeared to be the poorer part of the city, until at last they came to a sewer grate which Gotrek pried open. The dwarf did not even hesitate and dropped down into the fetid sewers. Jon looked down at inky blackness, not at all eager to venture into it. Felix glanced at him and then to the hole, seemingly sharing his thoughts. Buchman glared at them and swiftly followed after the dwarf. Not seeing any other option, the two men dropped down after the first two.
The first thing that struck Jon was the reek; it clung to the air like a curse, assaulting his senses with the foul stench of decay. It was as if they had fallen into the bowels of some forgotten bog, surrounded by the filth and refuse of mankind. Maester Luwin had spoken of how King Jaehaerys had begun the construction of the sewers of King's Landing. He had made it seem truly magnificent, but now, looking at it, he did not see anything magnificent about it, for there was no magnificence to be found in this mire of waste.
As they ventured deeper into the darkness, Jon's eyes strained against the blackness, seeking solace in the feeble light filtering down from the grate above. But relief came in the form of Buchman's torches, their flames casting flickering shadows upon the slimy walls of the tunnel.
Gotrek, as always, led the way with an unwavering confidence that bordered on arrogance. Jon couldn't help but marvel at the dwarf's ease in this grim underworld.
"Come, manlings," Gotrek growled. "We've no time to waste."
Jon turned to Felix. "How does he see in this damned gloom?" he whispered.
"I am of the elder race, manling," Gotrek replied; the dwarf had keen hearing. "We dwarfs are born of darkness, unlike your kind, always seeking the false comfort of light."
With that, Gotrek fell silent, and Jon found himself following suit. In the oppressive darkness, words seemed futile, and silence became their only companion as they pressed onward through the sewers, the only light coming from their torches and patches of light coming down from other sewer grates. Jon found these comforting as they reminded him, they were not deep beneath the earth like the last time he had hunted Skaven, and escape was not far away. Less welcome were the occasional deluges of water and other, less pleasant substances, which came down the grates and threatened to either soak them or cause them to fall into the sewage. Though they walked and walked for what seemed like an hour at least, they did not appear to be getting anywhere. At last, he turned to Felix.
"Where are we going?" He asked. Before Felix could answer, Gotrek did so for him.
"We are returning to where we first met them, manling. We have found the furry fiends there twice before. They seem to like the place and if we go there, we are bound to find more of them." Jon was unsure if the plan was well thought out or likely to succeed. However, he could think of nothing better and doubted he could find his way out of the sewers alone.
The dwarf moved swiftly, seemingly untroubled by the darkness around them. On the other hand, Jon had to watch his step to avoid falling into the liquid mass, which Felix had told him the sewerjacks called the stew. Jon hated the dark, wishing he possessed the dwarf's keen senses; Jon hadn't given a second thought to the number of rats in the sewers, they scuttled away from the lights as the watchmen approached, and he could hear the pitter-patter of their feet behind them after they had gone. Their eyes caught the reflection of the torches and glittered like tiny stars far off in the darkness of the undercity.
He wondered if there was any connection between the rats and the Skaven. He started to imagine the little ones as spies for their larger brethren. It was a madman's fantasy, he knew, one straight out of the tales Old Nan had read to him as a boy, but the more he thought of it, the more terrifying the prospect became. Rats were everywhere in the great cities of man, living amid the garbage and refuse of civilisation. They could see much and overhear much and go, if not unnoticed, at least unsuspected.
He began to feel their cold eyes staring malevolently at him even as he walked. The walls of the sewer seemed to close in about him threateningly, and he imagined himself caught in a vast warren. Thinking of the Skaven out there, it suddenly seemed possible to him that he was in a vast burrow, that he and the others had been shrunk to the size of mice and that the Skaven were ordinary rats, walking upright and dressed in a fashion that aped man.
The fantasy became so vivid and compelling that he began to wonder whether the fumes of the stew were going to his head. He shuddered, wishing that Ghost was with him, but he doubted his old friend would do well in such a horrid place.
They didn't know how long they had been until suddenly Gotrek halted, and they stopped wondering what the dwarf had seen; he turned to them, smiling.
"Douse your torches, manlings", he said. "We've company."
They swiftly did, and everything went dark as the torches went out. It was like being caught in a nightmare. He couldn't see, not a sound save for the bumbling offal of the stew, and then he smelled something familiar, a combined scent of musk and wet fur. Then he saw it in the gloom: a faint glow of greenish, sickly light illuminated the corridor ahead. In the half-light, Jon saw Gotrek grip his axe. For a moment, he wondered if this was truly wise; they had no way of knowing how many of the Skaven there were, but looking into the dwarf's alien eye, Jon saw the madness there, the inhuman molten violence waiting to erupt, he knew there was no turning back now. He heard a faint click as Buchman cocked his pistol. Jon's hand went to his sword and saw Felix doing the same. Moments later, the Skaven tramped in, seemingly unaware they had been discovered.
Jon guessed that was an entire company of the vermin, though he was pleased to see that they were not the formidable creatures he had faced in Tilea; they were frail, with the gaunt, feral look of winter wolves, their swords nicked and rusty. Still, they were outnumbered, and he knew firsthand that Skaven could be deadly in large numbers. The long-frozen moment ended. Gotrek bellowed a guttural cry in the tongue of his people and charged forward, with the others swiftly following behind. The rat-men dropped what they were carrying, drawing their crusted weapons, but it was hopeless. Gotrek struck them like a bolt of thunder, his axe rising and falling in great sweeping arcs, hewing through Skaven flesh and bone as if it were matchwood. As he did so, Buchman lit several torches at once, and with a swift motion, he hurled the fiery bundle at the oncoming Skaven. The torches landed amidst the rat men, igniting their ragged fur and sending plumes of acrid smoke into the chamber. The stench of burnt fur and excrement filled the air as the Skaven chittered in fear, knowing they were going to die.
Buchman brought down another with a well-placed shot while the others surged forward. Jon lashed out at the nearest Skaven warrior. Swift as a serpent, it turned to face him, a cruel madness in its eyes. But he would give the rat no mercy; he lashed out with his fist, catching the Skaven warrior on the side of its snout. The sickening crack told him he had broken its jaw as several rotten fangs flew out of the creature's mouth, skittering across the dirty floor. It screeched at him evilly, but he didn't care. Shifting his weight, he sent the rat toppling to the floor before bringing his boot down on the creature's throat, killing it. He turned and saw Felix had dispatched several more, and it seemed the Skaven were losing heart. Some of the Skaven did not even attempt to defend themselves, and almost as soon as the battle began, the remaining Skaven turned and fled, their high-pitched chittering echoing into the darkness. Even knowing of the Skavens' proclivity for cravenness, Jon was surprised at how quickly they had broken. Gotrek let out a disgusted grunt, his axe still dripping with the blood of their foes.
"Raki." Gotrek spat. "Each generation weaker than the last. They would have stood their ground twice as long in my father's time." Jon was quite happy with them running away instead of standing and fighting, but he also had to agree that they had given up far too quickly.
Turning, Jon saw that Felix had lit one of the torches and was bending over to examine the bodies, a frown on his face; curiously, Jon walked over and looked down at the dead Skaven, then up to meet Felix's gaze. At first glance, they seemed like any other Skaven he had fought before, and he couldn't see what had upset Felix. He looked down again, giving the bodies a second look, and found himself frowning. Something was wrong; there were more Skaven than he had first thought, at least a dozen or so, but that was not causing the disquiet he felt growing within him.
Many of the Skaven were unarmed. Instead, most of them were carrying large sacks. Several of these had broken open when they had been dropped, and Buchman, who had joined them, leaned in close with his torch to examine the spilt contents. After a moment, he rose, and a scowl was on his face.
"Wheat." He declared grimly.
"Wheat?" Jon asked.
"Why would they be carrying wheat?" Felix asked. Gotrek laughed harshly.
"Well, manling, there are usually a lot of the furry buggers, and they eat a lot as well."
"Where are they getting it all from?" Jon asked as he glanced at the large amounts of grain. Buchman pointed to one of the sacks that hadn't been torn, where a small symbol had been painted on the corner.
"That is the mark of the Nuln Bakers' Guild."
"They are stealing from the Guild, then?" Jon asked. He supposed it made sense, but the witch hunter shook his head.
"I think not," he said, "as I have a dozen or so informants in the watch, and they would've told me of such a theft; no, I believe these were sold or given to them by members of the Guild."
"Manlings." Gotrek gave a low, angry growl and spat on the ground. "Worse than Grobi when someone, or something, jangles coin in front of them." Jon wanted to argue, but he remembered Craster and his dealings with the Other and thought better of it. Buchman was not surprised by the dwarf's words, though he was disgusted by them.
"We must return to the surface at once." He declared.
"I will go to the Guild house and learn who the traitors are." Jon did not doubt it, and the way the man spoke made it clear how he was going to get the information. Jon found that he was not bothered by it. The men in question had betrayed their city and people; Buchman was only doing to them what Jon wished to do to Craster. The others did not argue, and they made their way to the nearest entrance and exited the sewer. Jon took a deep breath, pleased to be not breathing in the smells of the sewers, though they still clung to his skin and clothing. He turned back to his companions and found that the witch hunter was looking directly at him.
"When I have learned more, I will contact you at the palace." Jon did not care for the presumptive manner in which the man spoke to him, but he was an ally against the Skaven, and Jon knew that if the rat-men were gathering in such numbers, he would need all the allies he could afford.
"You know where to find us," Felix said as he and Gotrek made their way back to the Blind Pig.
After parting from Buchman, Jon made his way back to the palace. It took him a while to find his way back, having become somewhat turned around in the sewers, but at last, he found his way back shortly after mid-day. The guards at the gates wrinkled their noses at his smell and noted the blood on his clothing, but they were men clearly used to bedraggled nobles coming to and from the palace and allowed him in without comment. Feeling slightly self-conscious of his state, Jon hurried to his quarters and had Gunther draw him a near-scalding hot bath and scrubbed himself clean. That done, he went in search of Margaery. Fortunately, for once, she was in her quarters, playing a game of chess, something like cyvasse, though less complicated, with Sbaraglia while Taraborrelli looked on, and while he appeared calm, his body was coiled and ready to spring into action at a moment's notice, and his eyes were alert. Margaery had become very fond of the game and after her councillor had taught her the rules she played it with him as often as circumstances allowed. As the servant announced Jon, she looked up and smiled.
"Sir Lupo, how pleasant to see you. I trust that your sojourn into the city was profitable?" Jon accepted a glass of wine from a servant and sat down.
"It was certainly an eventful one, perhaps best discussed in private." This last was said with a glance at the servants who were skulking about.
Before his departure, he and Margaery had agreed to take Sbaraglia and Taraborrelli into their confidence about their plans and efforts, and they immediately understood what Jon meant. Taraborrelli turned to look at the servants. A single command sent them hurrying away. Once they were gone, Ghost trotted to the door to ensure they would not dare to eavesdrop. Satisfied, Jon began to recount the events. He spoke of the corruption within the Bakers' Guild and the sinister dealings he had uncovered. Fortunately, Taraborrelli and Sbaraglia believed in the Skaven and seemed to accept that men would work with them.
"That, unfortunately, adds validity to what I have heard," Margaery said.
"What do you mean, My Lady?" Jon asked, being more formal as they were in company.
"I have heard rumours that there may be a food shortage; one of the nobles suggested that there is, in fact, no shortage and that the bakers are trying to gouge prices or avoid taxes, though it would seem that isn't true."
"What do you think that they will do now?" It was Sbaraglia who answered.
"From what we know of them, they will seek to cause chaos in the city, perhaps stirring up conflicts between the nobles and commoners. They will certainly use the food shortage they are causing against the city's people to weaken the inhabitants and cause unrest."
"So what do we do," Margaery asked; "Do we inform the Countess?" The way she asked the question showed her doubts as to the likelihood of that course of action being effective. Personally, Jon was inclined to share those doubts. He doubted that the countess would believe that the Skaven existed or that they were a true threat. No, nothing would come of attempting to gain her aid. Then, a thought occurred to him.
"What of her brother, the Viscount?" The others looked at him curiously.
"Do you think he would be more likely to believe us than his sister?" Sbaraglia asked. Jon's response was to shrug.
"In truth, I do not think it matters much if he believes us about the Skaven or not."
He remembered Buchman's refusal to believe that the Skaven themselves existed and yet had been more than willing to fight against what he thought were merely mutants. He also remembered the Viscount's desire to go on the expedition against the goblins. Leos von Liebowitz was a young man eager for battle and glory, and Jon suspected that he would be thrilled to learn that the opportunity to do so had been delivered to his doorstep, meaning that there was no chance that the countess could forbid him to act. No, Jon did not think there would be much difficulty in getting the Viscount to aid them, and if he could be convinced, he could help persuade his sister. Even if he could not, his own rank would be of aid in their efforts.
"I will go and speak to him at once." Jon declared, rising to his feet.
"That will not be possible," Margaery informed him.
"This morning, they departed on a hunting expedition shortly after you left and will be gone for several days." Even as she spoke, Taraborrelli gave a derisive snort.
"Though, if what people is true, the only thing she is truly hunting are the several comely courtiers she invited along." Jon resisted the urge to curse; when he needed her, the Countess and Viscount were beyond his reach and would be for days, days which might prove critical in thwarting whatever it was that the Skaven had planned, plans which they did not even know yet, which made the delay even worse. Margaery seemed to sense his mood, for she swiftly spoke again.
"While the situation is far from ideal, we shall have to make do until the Countess returns." Jon had to agree with her.
Unfortunately, there was not much that they could do. While they were officially honoured guests, that did not confer any authority on them. It was decided that all they could do was gather what information they could and present it to the Countess or the Viscount. If they did not believe, the countess would believe them. To this end, Jon would continue his impromptu alliance with Buchman. He still remembered how Ingfried had been treated and was not inclined towards the witch hunter, but the fact remained that he at least acknowledged that a threat existed. Also, his words might prove harder to dismiss. Jon was not sure if that last was true, but he was willing to try any avenue of approach. As they could think of nothing else to do, their meeting came to an end, and Jon returned to his quarters. As soon as he arrived at his quarters, he instructed Gunther to fetch his armour.
"Finally provoked some nob for the countess's c…" Gunther began before Jon cut him off with a sharp hand gesture.
"The Skaven are here." He declared in a low voice so as not to be overheard. At his words, Gunther went pale.
"Ranald's balls! Not again!" He exclaimed loudly.
"Keep your voice down!" Jon hissed at him and the boy, who quieted immediately.
"You are not going crawling around in tunnels again, are you?" The boy asked in a much quieter tone.
"Why do you think I smell like a horse's arse? Though I hope I shall not be doing more of that." Jon replied, shuddering as he remembered the expedition back in Estalia.
"I have a task for you."
"You don't want me to go down there, do you?" Gunther asked, a horrified expression on his face.
"No," Jon growled. "Be silent and listen to me.
"I want you to move amongst the servants; they will talk freely around you. I want to know if they have seen anything unusual or if any of the nobles have begun to act differently. Is there anything else that you think I might want to know? Do you understand?" Gunther nodded his silent understanding.
"Good, you will begin first thing in the morning." After that, though he was still tired from the morning's activities, he could not relax, and he found himself pacing about his quarters.
He hated times like these when all preparations that could be made had been made, and all that remained was to wait for something to happen so that they, too, could act. He was sure that they were as prepared as they could be at the moment, but the Skaven might very well take advantage of that to attack before they were prepared. It all came down to what would happen next. Some of those possibilities were favourable to Jon and the other, while others favoured the Skaven.
The Skaven might enact whatever their plan was before the Countess and Viscount returned.
She might return in time, and preparations made to thwart the monsters.
Buchman might uncover the traitors in the Bakers' Guild and gain insight into the Skavens' plan. This might enable them to convince the countess of the danger and shape their plans to better counter the threat.
On the other hand, his efforts might alert the Skaven that their presence was known, and they might act to either bring those plans to fruition or to end Buchman's investigation.
The witch hunter might find nothing at all, leaving them no better off than they were now.
Any of these could happen, and much more could happen, and at present, there was nothing that Jon could do to influence events. Something had to happen before he could act. He felt helpless, and he did not like it. He noticed that Ghost seemed to sense his mood and was acting tense, clearly making. Seeing this, he forced himself to try and relax.
"It is always like this, is it not?" He said as he stroked the Direwolf and forced himself to smile. He was not sure how convincing he sounded, but Ghost seemed to relax and so did Gunther.
Fortunately, Jon did not have to wait long for his wish for things to start happening to be granted.
Gunther moved amongst the servants and other squires, and as predicted, many of them were willing to gossip with Gunther, and the boy seemed to have a knack for gathering information. Jon took him when he met with Margaery and the others. He deemed that they, especially Margaery and Sbaraglia, were more used to plotting and conspiracies. As several days passed, they scrutinised and discounted much as unrelated to what they were interested in. Several facts, however, did attract their interest and which they deemed worthy of further investigation.
Several servants had disappeared, and many of the disappearances had occurred after they had been sent down to lower cellars. There were claims of strange noises and mysterious shadows that vanished as soon as the servants tried to investigate. Even worse, it seemed that some of the servants who had reported seeing these shadows had been amongst the ones who had vanished in the cellars, and now the others who had went about in terror of sharing their fate, made worse by not knowing what exactly that fate was, but which all were sure was terrible. Several names were mentioned, and their behaviour was suspicious or at least odder than usual for nobles.
Diethard Gehring, an officer in the countess's guard, had recently been spending a great deal of money, more money than he could have earned honestly. It also seemed that, as he had got his position and rank after a successful career in the city watch, it had been to him that many of the servants went to report the sights and sounds and, due to his past in the Watch, it had been he who was placed in performing the investigations into their disappearances. It did not appear that he had been putting much effort into finding out what happened to them. While it was true that none of the nobles cared about what happened to mere servants, his behaviour was at odds with his reputation.
Next, there was Wilfried Loosli, a scribe in the employ of Ortwin Stüber, the countess's private secretary. Another scribe had recently taken ill and died, and Loosli had been promoted to take his place. This was odd as several scribes had served Stüber far longer, and at least two of them were known to do better work than Loosli. Usually, his promotion would just be put down to family influence, but he had no significant family to push his career, making his elevation puzzling.
Then, there was Lady Gilberta von Tendler, who had recently inherited her titles and land from her late father. The mysterious part was that she had had several siblings who were ahead of her in the line of succession. All of these, however, had all died suddenly under mysterious circumstances. While the authorities had not acted against her, it was widely believed by many that she had been complicit, if not directly responsible for their deaths.
The final one they considered was another new addition to the court, and one of the few non-nobles present was Father Hoffman, the Countesses confessor. Hoffman's predecessor, Father Strauss, had been a firm man and was said to have lectured the countess on more than one occasion regarding her lifestyle. Strauss had died suddenly of fever, though he had apparently been a hearty man and was known for his robust health. Hoffman's appointment had been a surprising choice, being newly ordained and lacking any standing in the church hierarchy. Nevertheless, he had received the appointment and had proven well-liked by the countess; mostly, it seemed he was too busy joining in the court's activities to scold her for them.
"Well," Jon said after they had focused on these individuals, "What are we going to do now?" This was addressed to Margaery, leading their efforts due to her greater experience with such matters. She thought for a moment and then spoke again.
"I believe it would be best to divide our efforts." She had been addressing all four of them, but she now turned her full attention to Jon.
"I believe, Sir Lupo, that you should approach this Gehring; a warrior will be less suspicious. Tell him that the recent rumours have made you concerned about my safety. Probe him and see how he reacts to your questions. You might also hint that you are looking into the matter yourself." She then turned to Sbaraglia.
"You shall speak to Loosli. He will doubtless be flattered to have the attention of such a distinguished scholar as yourself.
"For my part, I will seek out Lady von Tendler. She has been shunned by many of the court and will be grateful for any willing to speak to her." It went unsaid that as Margaery was one of the most popular ladies of the court, her acceptance of Lady von Tendler would open many doors for the woman. Jon saw the logic of her thinking, but he was still concerned.
If Lady von Tendler was in league with the Skaven, then some of them might be nearby, or Lady Tendler might be able to call for them. However, from the look on her face, he knew that any efforts to dissuade her would be doomed to failure, though she insisted that Taraborrelli always be with her. Their plans were thus laid, and it was time to thwart the Skaven.