Watching.
Waiting.
The knight hurried on. A few hundred yards past the broken wall he stopped, turning to his left and following a narrow brick-lined tunnel. When the dwarfs had first built the sewers for Emperor Sigismund, they had burrowed into many natural cavities and passageways under the city. Rather than go around such fissures, the dwarfs had simply incorporated them into the construction, leaving occasional cross-tunnels opening onto the main culverts. Over time, as the cellars and vaults of the city above became ever more extensive, many of the old tunnels were breached. Often such openings were sealed up again, but sometimes, when it suited the purposes of the builder’s patron, these hidden tunnels were allowed to remain connected.
The refuge Erich had withdrawn to after the Bread Massacre possessed such a cellar. For several years he had enjoyed the companionship of Lady Mirella von Wittmarr, a ravishing beauty much favoured by Prince Sigdan. The lavish townhouse she inhabited was maintained by the prince’s generosity. Lady Mirella was quite happy to return that generosity, though Prince Sigdan was liberal enough not to mind if she had her own entanglements outside their affair.
Erich had to suck in his breath to fit through the narrow fissure opening into Lady Mirella’s cellar. It still amazed him that he had been able to squeeze Aldinger’s bulk through such a tight passageway.
A torch was burning in the stone-walled cellar. Erich saw one of Lady Mirella’s servants, an old retainer named Gustav, sitting beside the pallet where Aldinger lay. The peasant was applying some sort of compress to the knight’s injured hand. His brow rose in surprise at the sight, unaware that Gustav knew anything about medicine and even more surprised that Lady Mirella had failed to mention such an important fact.
Then a frightful thought occurred to him. Perhaps, moved by pity, Mirella had sent Gustav to a herbalist or a barber-surgeon. If she had, then there might be a platoon of Kaiserjaeger even now surrounding the townhouse.
‘Why the long face, captain?’
Erich’s hand dropped to his sword as he spun around to face the speaker. He hadn’t been aware of the men sitting there in the shadow of a wine rack. He was about to call out a challenge when one of the men leaned forwards into the light. He relaxed his hold on his sword as he recognised a fellow knight — Othmar, the Grand Master’s standard bearer. The man beside him was another knight, a grizzled veteran named Konreid.
Erich bounded over to the knights, clapping his arms about them in a fierce embrace. ‘How did you blackguards escape the Kaiserjaeger?’
Othmar grinned at the question. ‘Konreid here jumped the caltrops. I always said his horse was part pegasus.’
‘This idiot tried to fight his way out,’ Konreid groaned. ‘He looked like a hedgehog with all those arrows caught in his mail! Eventually even he realised the Kaisers were going to keep shooting him until one of their arrows did for him.’
‘So I turned my horse around and charged right through a wall,’ Othmar continued. ‘Smashed right through a kitchen, a sitting room and most of a vestibule before my horse went through the front wall. There was a whole squad of Kaisers waiting on the other side, but they were so shocked when I came busting through, by Ranald’s purse, they’re probably still standing there with their mouths hanging open!’
Erich laughed at the knight’s daring escape. ‘By Sigmar, it’s amazing to see you two, but how did you ever find us?’
‘You can thank your lady for that,’ Konreid said. ‘You know the Kaisers took the Reikschloss?’ Erich nodded, aware that the fortress had been captured by the Emperor’s forces only a few hours after the Bread Massacre. ‘Well, without the castle to fall back on, a few of us decided to try for Prince Sigdan’s manor. The prince was always a keen supporter of the Reiksknecht, but not so vocal about Goldgather’s policies as to be someone Kreyssig would be watching.’
‘There are ten of us staying with Prince Sigdan,’ Othmar said. ‘Including Seneschal Boelter. There’s a physician too, a doktor named Grau who got caught up in the Bread Massacre. He’s been tending Ernst Kahlenberg.’
‘Ernst was pretty bad,’ Konreid interjected. ‘If not for Grau, he would have died.’
‘Grau is who gave us the medicine and herbs for Aldinger,’ Othmar said.
‘Then we all owe him a great debt,’ Erich declared.
Othmar shook his head grimly. ‘The good doktor doesn’t seem too keen on our gratitude. In fact, he’s pretty eager to clear out of Altdorf. Says he will as soon as Ernst is out of danger.’
Konreid shot the other knight a look of disapproval. ‘I think it is the talk not the company that bothers him.’
‘What do you mean?’ Erich asked.
‘You know the Kaiserjaeger captured the Grand Master,’ Othmar said. His voice dropped to a whisper. ‘The Emperor has ordered his execution. They’re keeping him in the Imperial Courthouse.’
‘Tell him the rest,’ Konreid prompted.
Othmar’s face split in a broad smile. ‘Prince Sigdan has a plan.
‘We’re going to rescue the Grand Master!’
Bylorhof
Ulriczeit, 1111
A white shroud was wound about the little body when Frederick van Hal next set foot in his brother’s house. The priest placed a black rose upon Johan’s breast, a ritual intended to protect the young spirit from daemons and witches until the departed soul could be guided into the keeping of Morr. It was an expensive gesture; black roses were always rare and the plague had driven demand for them to unprecedented levels. They could only be used once. The flower would be burned when Frederick conducted Johan’s last rites, the boy’s spirit freed with the smoke, freed to be gathered by the ravens of Morr.
Frederick looked up from the body of his nephew, staring at the parents who survived him. Rutger’s face was a piteous display of anguished guilt, the face of a father who blamed himself for not doing enough. The pain carved upon the man’s features would never be erased, it was a brand he would carry with him always, a token of the black spot in his heart.
Aysha had an even more tragic appearance. Her pretty features were collected and refined, her lips pursed in a staid expression. She might be patiently listening to the latest of Guildmaster Patrascu’s long-winded speeches, or watching her husband haggle with a shepherd over the quality of his wool. There was no emotion in her face, only a terrible resignation. Frederick shuddered when he looked at her eyes, for the emptiness he saw there was so absolute there wasn’t even a place for sorrow. The eyes of a corpse had more life in them.
‘Thank you for coming, Frederick,’ Rutger said, each word quivering as it left him.
‘How could I not come?’ the priest said. He placed a hand upon the grieving father’s shoulder. ‘I would not leave him for the corpse collectors, to be dumped into their cart like a slab of meat. While it is in my power, Johan will have all the dignity a van Hal deserves.’
‘And when the time comes, will you do the same for us?’ Aysha’s voice was as careful and precise as the rigid poise of her face.
Frederick bowed his hooded head. He didn’t want to discuss such things. He had just lost one member of his family. He didn’t want to talk about losing the others. Rutger and Aysha were all he had now. He didn’t want to think about them being gone.
Yet he knew he must. He knew they must. The Black Plague was merciless and rapacious, a prowling wolf that glutted itself not with a single victim but with an entire household. Where the plague struck once, it soon reared its monstrous face again.
Frederick placed his hand upon Johan’s head, feeling the cold flesh of the boy through the shroud. For all of Dr Havemann’s vaunted knowledge and skill, the plague doktor had failed to save his patient. The barbaric treatments Johan had suffered had been for nothing.