—oOo—
{INTO PART I - Townsfolk - Trouble with rats}
The cat struggled down the low stone step into the little kitchen with a huge rat clamped between its jaws. It’s prize, still very much alive, wriggled and squirmed and managed to get loose. The cat watched it for a second and sprung, pinning it with its mouth. It rearranged its grip and straddled its catch, and then stumbled across the polished flags as bow-legged as a saddle-sore pistolier.
Once it had reached the hearth the moggy released its prey and sat down, folding its tail neatly around its legs and casually washing a paw. The terrified rodent, panting in tiny gasps, lay in front of it.
Meow!
“What’s the matter with you?” said Granny Schmidt. She struggled up out of her rocking chair and took hold of her walking stick. She hobbled around the scrubbed table, blinking short-sightedly, and peered down.
“What’s that you’ve got there?”
Meow! The cat had a smug look on its face.
The old woman poked at the rat with her stick. It squeaked loudly and dashed away. She shrieked and jerked backwards, only just keeping her balance.
The cat, all claws and teeth and malign intent, pounced after the creature, snatching it up in its jaws. Horrified, the old lady wobbled after it, waving her stick. The cat, none too keen on receiving a good prodding, disappeared under the table.
Something caught her attention on the narrow windowsill. The rat!
“How did you get up there?”
She looked reproachfully towards the cat’s hiding place and smacked her gums. “Some mouser you are, if you let it go again.”
She propped her walking stick against the table, shuffled over to the corner by the hearth, and took a hold of her broom. She turned carefully and squinted at the little brown beast, which was sitting on its hind legs and preening its whiskers.
“Shoo!”
Granny Schmidt swung the brush at the creature and it leaped away, landing with a plop on the floor. She shrieked again as it darted towards her and scurried over her shoe. She flailed wildly with the broom, stumbled, and fell heavily against the dresser. Crockery tumbled and smashed on the stony ground.
The cat dispatched its catch with a flick of its head, breaking the little creature’s neck, then raced off in pursuit of the new target.
Another of the little monstrosities appeared, scrabbling towards the open door into the main room. Granny Schmidt cried out again and hopped about frantically as it scampered past her, treading heavily on one of the broken plates. Her foot skidded away and she fell to the ground, dropping her stick.
More and more of the rats were appearing, boiling out of the cracks in the walls.
The cat, seriously outnumbered, leaped onto the table, bounded across it and jumped onto the dresser’s counter. It came face to face with another of the huge rodents, thought better about a confrontation, and sprang up onto the top of the heavy sideboard. And there it sat, licking its lips nervously, its tail puffed and flicking.
She tried to get up but her legs refused to work. She moaned weakly, flailing her arms in front of her face as the verminous swarm engulfed her. Suddenly she tensed. Her eyes bulged and her tongue lolled, and a series of convulsions racked her spindly frame.
Mrs Lieber, Granny Schmidt’s next-door-neighbour, rushed from her house out onto the mist-shrouded track that led off of the Feldweg. She peered to the left and right but there was no one else in sight. Even the old woman’s cottage was an indistinct grey shadow in the murk.
Another crash rang out.
Heide, her little daughter, trotted to the door behind her. “Mama, what’s happening?”
“I don’t know, sweetheart. Come along now.”
She took hold of the girl’s hand and walked carefully along to the house. She tried the latch, but the door was bolted from the inside.
“Hello, Agi?” She hammered on the wood with her fist. There was no reply.
She knelt beside the little girl. “Heide, I need you to run to the square and find some men. Bring them back here as fast as you can, you understand?” The child nodded and dashed off as fast as her little legs could carry her.
“Hurry now”, called her mother after her, then turned back to the house, beating on the door again. “Agi!”
Very shortly afterwards the girl returned with three watchmen, who she had chanced across a little way down the road. Mrs Lieber, keen to be of assistance, quickly related all that she had heard. The watchmen nodded and their senior man drew his pistol.
“Right-ho,” he said, “stand back please.” He cocked the weapon, then squared himself up and charged the door. It burst inward and he stumbled through, only remaining on his feet because he collided with the heavy kitchen table.
“Oh, Gods…”
The place was alive with rats. The verminous creatures streamed through the ruined doorframe, spilling out onto the lane in a wave of brown fur. Everyone hopped and shouted as they surged past, Mrs Lieber snatching up her shrieking child before it could come to any harm. Within moments the mass had disappeared, with only one or two stragglers visible. Soon even these had vanished.
The other two watchmen cautiously entered and joined their companion, who was leaning over the body of the old lady. She was covered in bites and scratches, quite dead.
Meow!
The watchmen near jumped out of their skin. It was the cat, still sat atop the dresser and watching them nervously.
—oOo—
{INTO PART I - Townsfolk - Nefarious activities}
KER-RASH! The door splintered under the weight of the militiaman’s shoulder and the noise echoed through the mist.
The squad charged into Willi Schwarz’s shutter-darkened cottage, closely followed by Brother Hans. Willi was sprawled face down on his squalid bed, still fully clothed except for one shoe, and smelled as though he had soiled himself. A half-empty bottle made of dark glass lay beside him.
The noise of the trooper’s entry had just filtered through to Willi’s addled brain, but he was finding it impossible to react.
One of the militia took a firm hold of the scruff of his neck and hauled him to his feet. He sagged and retched slightly, disorientated by the sudden movement, but he found his feet. He looked distinctly green and the early morning light filtering through the broken doorway made him squint.
“Don’t mind if we take a look around, do you?” asked Brother Hans.
“Ugh…” was the most comprehensive answer he could manage. He wobbled and steadied himself against a wall, fighting a wave of nausea.
The militiamen started opening the cupboards and rummaging around in the linen chest. One of them turned over the bed, revealing a sack that proved to contain no less than nine bottles, all filled with liquid.
“What have we got here then?” said Brother Hans, in a mock-surprised tone of voice. “You’ll coming with us.”
One of the troopers picked up the sack and he and his burly companions escorted Willi into the street. Brother Hans had one final check around, pulled the remains of the door closed, and joined them. A number of Willi’s neighbours had appeared at their windows, watching the early morning spectacle.
Willi suddenly doubled over and vomited, issuing a gush of filthy liquid. He coughed and spat, retched again, and wiped his face on his sleeve. “You done?” asked the trooper with the sack. Willi nodded and wobbled unsteadily to his feet.
They marched him to the square, to the horse trough outside the stables at the back of Die Silbermünze. When they reached it two of the militiamen picked Willi up and dunked him into the water.
He gasped and thrashed and came up for air but Brother Hans submerged him again. He surfaced once more and the soldiers lifted him out. He coughed and spluttered, streaming water and shivering violently from the cold.
Brother Hans sniffed him. “That’s better.”
They continued on to the chapel, entering through the side door that led into the vestry. Brother Franz was busy with his ablutions, stripped to the waist and shaving his head. His muscular frame was dark with hair and the skin on his back was laced with old scars. Brother Otto stood nearby, a towel draped over his arm and holding a mirror.
The Priest turned and stared darkly at the cowed and bedraggled figure in front of him. Brother Hans took the sack and nodded to the militiamen, who saluted him and left. He closed the door behind them.
“He had ten bottles,” said Brother Hans, “though he had drunk almost half of one of them. We found them under his bed. Looks like Marienberg geniver.”
The Priest shook his head. “Ten bottles of geniver. That’s a lot for someone of your position!” He waved his razor dangerously. “And where did you decide to hide them? Under your bed! The first place anyone would look!”
“I’m sorry…”
“Tell me,” Interrupted Brother Franz, “where did you get them?” Brother Otto handed the Priest the towel and he dabbed at his scalp and temples.
“Er, off of one of the sailors on that boat about two weeks back,” answered Willi, “when we was bringing in that load of cloth. Real bargain. Traded ‘em for my old pistol and a couple of blades.”
“You got them when you were in my employ?”
Willi nodded miserably.
“I will not have it,” growled the Priest. “Nothing comes through without me knowing about it. Would you like to know why?
Willi nodded again.
“Its because you aren’t smart enough to keep your mouth shut or cover your tracks, that’s why. How do you think we discovered what you were doing? Then, before you know it, there’s revenue officers all over, they ask you lots of difficult questions, it leads back to me, and then life gets harder for everyone.”
“I’m sorry…”
“Sorry, Mr Schwarz, is not going to be enough.”
Brother Hans picked up one of the bottles and eased the cork out with the dip of his dagger. He smelt the neck and recoiled. “Is this what you’ve been drinking?”
Willi nodded.
Brother Hans replaced the cork. “It’s a miracle you haven’t gone blind. This isn’t geniver, it’s rot-gut of the worst kind.”
The Priest looked across to Brother Hans. “Take him outside and teach him a lesson.”
—oOo—
{INTO PART II - Townsfolk - Trouble with rats}
Despite the isolated nature of communities along the northern coast news travelled with surprising speed, oft carried by the hunters and watermen who worked the marshes and fens. Word of Granny Schmidt’s unusual death had reached her granddaughter, Berdina Breitermann, who resided in Trockener, the same day as it had occurred. By that evening she and her husband had made the trip to Schlammigerdorf to see to the arrangements.
They were taken in at once by Mrs Starkleiter. She sat them down in her wood-panelled drawing room and once they were replete with warm cordials and cold meat she told them the circumstances of the old woman’s passing. Berdina blanched.
Mrs Starkleiter was able to tell them that preparations were already underway. Before his own untimely death Granny Schmidt’s husband had seen to it that certain monies had been deposited to pay for the expenses of funerals for both himself and his wife, the cash being left in trust with the Church. And morbid though it was the chapel kept a supply of coffins, storing them in the attic of one of the barns they owned. An appropriate casket had already been chosen.
The next morning the chapel bell tolled, it’s slow peal echoing across the mist-shrouded fields and meadows.
Brother Franz and Brother Otto, dressed in all their ceremonial finery, met and greeted people at the door. Presently the entire congregation was gathered.
The signal was given and the pallbearers made their appearance. Brother Franz walked at their head, bearing before him the ceremonial hammer, and following him was Brother Otto, carrying a single lit candle. Behind them were the pallbearers, four stout militiamen who bore on their shoulders the linen-covered coffin. Finally came Berdina and her husband.
As the cortege passed through the doors and moved towards the altar the assembled congregation sang a solemn hymn. The coffin was laid on the ground, feet facing towards the altar, and the candle was placed at the head.
Brother Franz spent a few moments in contemplation, his eyes closed and his head bowed, and then he began. “Sigmar makes us a promise,” he said. “‘Because I live, so shall you live too’…”
And so began the liturgy of the Burial of the Dead.
The Priest, an eloquent orator, spoke with clarity and power, telling of the balance between life and death, and urging the bereaved to accept their loss and from it to take hope in the promise of the life still to come. Another hymn was sung, and prayers and blessings were offered.
Next he summed up the life of Agathe, telling of her good deeds, remembering her husband, a fine soldier, and her three children, all of whom she had outlived. Finally he turned to Berdina, her granddaughter, and encouraged the community to support and aid her as she returned to the duties of her life.
A further blessing was said, and Brother Franz concluded with a prayer, raising his arms and looking towards the heavens.
“And now our dear sister dwells at the great hall of Sigmar Heldenhammer. Within, death is destroyed, disgrace is removed, and joy is unending. There will be prepared a rich banquet for all peoples, of aged wine and the best of meats and the whitest of bread. There will be soft fleeces on which to lie, the company of all of those who are dear to us, and nought to pursue but that which is our heart’s true desire. This our Lord hath spoken and told us, and in Him we trust. Let us rejoice and be glad in His salvation. Amen.”
The congregation filed slowly out of the church, leaving behind only the priests and the pallbearers. Overhead the bell tolled mournfully.
The plot where her husband and two sons were buried lay close to the wall in the little square of consecrated ground behind the chapel. The sexton had opened the grave, the grass and brambles had been trimmed back, and the aged board that marked its position had been replaced with a new marker that now included Granny’s name.
The mourners had gathered by the graveside, among them Mrs Starkleiter and Mother Kessel. All were dressed in their best church clothes.
The cortege, led by Brother Franz, made its way out of the chapel and into the graveyard. The bearers lowered the coffin to the ground, resting it across a long pair of leather straps, then lowered their heads respectfully. The congregation, as is the custom, stood for a few moments in silent contemplation.
Everyone gradually became aware of noises – little scratches and scrapes that were difficult to pinpoint.
“Down there!” One of the militiamen was pointing into the grave.
A large clod of damp clay fell from about halfway up the wall of the excavation, and a whiskered nose protruded from the hole. A huge rat, apparently quite unaware of its audience, squeezed through the gap and dropped down onto the floor of the grave.
It suddenly caught a scent of the people around it and scuttled about, trying to find an escape. Berdina shrieked in horror.
“They killed her, the filthy little beasts,” she sobbed. “Will they not now let her rest in peace?”
Hobard Schaufell, the sexton, who had been standing a respectful distance away, dashed forward. He leaped into the hole and brought down his shovel with a solid thud, cutting short a squeak as the wretched creature darted hither and thither to escape. He picked the little corpse up by the tail and clambered out again, dangling his prize before him, and hurried away to dispose of it.
Berdina’s husband, a strapping fisherman with a full beard, put his arm around her and pulled her to his chest while she wept. A slow, steady rain had started.
Brother Franz cleared his throat and indicated to the militiamen. They each took a hold of one end of a strap, and together they gently raised the casket and lowered it down into the hole. When they were done the straps were pulled out and they stepped back.
“In the sure and certain hope of our eternal place amongst the honoured dead who sit in the great hall of Sigmar Heldenhammer, I commend to the protection of Our Lord our sister Agathe Berit Schmidt, nee Fische. And so we commit her empty body to the ground; earth to earth; ashes to ashes; dust to dust;…”
Each of the mourners threw a handful of damp soil down onto the coffin.
“… Sigmar watch her and keep her and grant her rest and peace. Amen.”
“Amen” echoed the congregation.
—oOo—
{INTO PART ?? - Townsfolk - Local colour}
Otylia Tischler shook her husband’s shoulder until he woke up.
“What is it?” he grumbled groggily, peering around the dark room.
She drew breath sharply and cradled her swollen belly. “I think the baby’s coming.”
Rald was out of bed in an instant, grabbing his breeches and trying to pull them on. He tripped over the chamber pot and stubbed his toe on the leg of the bed. “Dammit” he mumbled.
Otylia found a strikelight and used it to light a candle.
Rald had managed to dress himself and was struggling with his shoes. “I’m going to fetch Mrs Heuscher from next door,” he gasped. “Will you be alright without me?”
His wife smiled and nodded, then winced as a contraction took her.
Rald made for the door, turned, and hurried back to the bed. He took her hand and kissed it tenderly, then made his way into the little kitchen. There was a crash and a muttered curse as he collided with another unseen obstacle.
Within a few minutes he had come back. Mrs Heuscher followed him into the bedroom.
“There, there, dear,” she said comfortingly. “I’ve sent my daughter to fetch Mrs Libehilfe. She’ll be here shortly.”
Otylia nodded, then screwed up her face and grunted as another contraction racked her body. She had Rald’s hand in her own and near crushed it.
There was a brisk rap on the front door. Rald extracted his aching paw and headed to greet the guests, leaving his wife in his neighbour’s care.
It was Mrs Heuscher’s daughter, newly returned with Mrs Libehilfe, the midwife. She was a grave and modest woman, dressed in a plain brown dress, a clean white apron, and a prim bonnet. In her left hand she carried a basket with a cloth cover, and in her right was a small hatchet.
Rald invited her in. “What’s that for?” he asked, pointing to the cleaver.
“It is to be placed under her bed, to cut the pain and length of the labour,” replied Mrs Libehilfe. Superstition, she new, but it made the women that she helped feel better, and that was a good thing. She set her basket on the table and began to remove the contents. It held the various implements that might be needed, and bottled tinctures and jars of unctions of her own devising.
Ralf turned to head back into the bedroom but Mrs Libehilfe shooed him away. “The birthing bed is no place for a man,” she said curtly. “You can light the fire and set the kettle and the pots to boil. And when you’ve done that go and fetch all of the clean linen that you have. And make sure there is enough cut wood to keep the fire going.”
And that was what he did. Once the fire was blazing and the water was hot there was little to occupy him except pacing up and down. Occasionally his wife cried out, and when she did it was all he could do to stop himself entering the bedroom. Common sense won through, though; she was in the best care, and besides, what could he do anyway? Eventually Mrs Heuscher emerged with her sleeves rolled up and collected one of the pots of hot water.
“How is she?” Rald asked anxiously.
“Her confinement is almost done”
“When may I see her?”
The midwife appeared at the door. “Go and attend to your duties with the militia, or something like that,” she ordered. “You will be sent for when you are needed.”
Rald had no choice but to wait. Better in company, he thought to himself. He donned his heavy cape and with a last long glance at the bedroom door he headed off.
He found himself at the watchtower on the Nordküstestraße, where a few militiamen were standing sentry-go, warming themselves at a metal brazier. He told them what was happening and they were immediately forthcoming with that unique blend of crudity and sympathy at which soldiers excel. A big jug of spirit was produced and passed round “to wet the baby’s head”. Rald gratefully accepted.
And so the hours passed. Just before first light Brother Hans made his appearance and the corporal of the watch gave his report.
“And what are you doing here, Mr Tischler?” enquired the Priest.
Rald, tired and worried and just a little drunk, told of his imminent fatherhood. Brother Hans at once performed a blessing, but when he was asked to undertake the same service for the mother and child he declined.
“It is not proper for me to do so until the child is safely delivered and has lived for one full day,” he said gravely. “Besides, Mrs Libehilfe will carry out all of those ceremonies and rituals proper for Shallya, which are required during childbirth. And she’ll be with you for a few days yet.”
“How so?” asked Rald.
“Do you think poor Otylia will be recovered enough to do all of her chores? It is normal for the midwife to remain in the household for a few days to allow the mother to gain back her strength, you know.”
A few of the older militiamen grinned. They had children of their own and knew what Rald could expect.
“She’s a stern one is old Hedwig,” ventured one of the troopers. “You’re going to have to make sure your boots are clean and your neck is washed, that’s for sure!”
“And for the sake of Sigmar don’t call her Hedwig,” chimed in another, “or your first child will most definitely be your last!”
And just at that moment Mrs Heuscher’s daughter appeared. “Please Mr Tischler, Sir,” she panted, “but Mrs Libehilfe says that you are to return now.”
Brother Hans slapped Rald on the back and shook him firmly by the hand. “It is time to find out what your good wife has produced,” he said, grinning from ear to ear. The young man cast him a panicked stare and rushed off down the road.
He came to a halt outside of his house. From within came a choked squawking, the unmistakable wailing of an infant who has just found what its lungs are for. With his heart pounding he pushed open the door and peered anxiously into the kitchen. Mrs Libehilfe was there, preparing to do some washing.
She glanced up at him and smiled. “Congratulations,” she said, “you have a beautiful baby son. Both mother and child are doing well. You can go and see them now.”
—oOo—
{START - INSERT INTO TOWN MEETING}
“But what about old Granny Schmidt? Did these rat-men kill her?” called out someone from the crowd. There was a burst of chatter as opinions were exchanged.
Hedwig Libehilfe stood up and looked around her. Gradually the room quieted.
“I have examined the body,” announced the midwife. “What killed Mrs Schmidt, may the Gods grant her rest, was a seizure of the brain. It was not the rats themselves, at least not directly.”
“You’re sure of this?” asked Mr Starkleiter.
“It is beyond a doubt. As I said, I examined the body myself; all of the signs were there.” She paused for a moment, considering her words carefully. “But she might very well have been alive today had those creatures not terrorised her so.”
She sat down.
Brother Franz took the floor again. “It is clear,” he said in his deep voice, “that Mrs Schmidt was plagued by an unnatural number of vermin. The militia who broke down her door also reported seeing someone lurking nearby. We don’t yet know who it was…”
The room exploded into a cacophony of argument and accusation and suspicion. Mr Starkleiter beat his gavel on the table but to no avail.
“PEOPLE, PLEASE!” Brother Franz’s shout was loud even above the din, and order quickly returned. “Thankyou.”
“Yes, indeed,” said Mr Starkleiter, clearing his throat. “Terrible and tragic though all of this is, we really should move on to other business.”
{END - INSERT INTO TOWN MEETING}
—oOo—
{INTO PART ?? - Sailors - Mysterious Stranger - Before the State soldiers arrive}
A dense, soaking mist had settled, shrouding the Bösewicht in an ethereal blanket of white.
Ernst paced back and forth across the quarterdeck. Old Sepp was on the waist, close to the door into the forecastle cabin, playing with his knife. Captain Fuchs and the rest of the crew were off surveying along the river.
“I reckon they’ll be back soon. The Captain won’t get much done when it’s like this.”
Sepp shrugged by way of a reply, sniffed, and wiped his nose on the sleeve of his doublet.
“I mean, how much can they see? Tens of yards?”
He strolled over to the larboard rail and leaned on it, looking out across the still water. From somewhere overhead a gull cried and a breath of damp wind played across him. He shivered, huddling deeper into his thick cloak.
The mists thinned a little, and for a moment he was able to see all the way across to the reed-studded mudflats. Something on the foreshore caught his eye. He leaned forward a little and squinted at it, but couldn’t make it out.
“Oy, Sepp,” he called, “come take a look at this.”
Sepp wearily pulled himself to his feet and went over to the rail at the waist. “What?”
“Over there,” said the cook, pointing towards the distant, indistinct shapes at the margin of the water. “I reckon it’s a person.”
“I can’t see nothing.”
Ernst clambered down the companion ladder and trotted through the wardroom to the Captain’s cabin. He retrieved the spare perspective glass from its rack on the bulkhead wall and rejoined Sepp out on the deck. He extended the glass, then scanned the shore until he could make out the shapes.
It was a figure, swathed from head to toe in grubby brown rags, sitting hunched close to a little outcrop of hardy grass.
“My turn now.”
The two sailors squabbled for the glass. Sepp grabbed it out of the cook’s hands and trained it on the shore.
“Oh yeah!” He watched for a few moments longer. “I wonder what he’s doing?”
He caught a flicker of movement. The shabby individual had been joined by two skinny figures. They were hard to make out, even with the instrument. Suddenly Sepp lowered the glass. He looked at Ernst with an astonished stare, then raised it again.
“Gods, but they’re nasty-looking,” he mumbled.
“Let me see!”
Ernst wrestled the glass from his companion and adjusted the length so that he could see. The two new arrivals were rat-men, very like the pair that had come aboard the ship. And as he watched, the ragged figure handed something to one of the creatures.
A bank of mist rolled in, carried on a rain-laden zephyr. It obscured everything.
Ernst lowered the glass. “I can’t see a thing now. What should we do?”
Sepp rubbed his chin in thought. “Nothing, keep watching I suppose. What else can we do?”
“We could give the alert. Do you think we should?”
“No, we’re not under attack.” Sepp settled himself back into his spot by the forecastle cabin door and rearranged his cloak. “We’ll make a report when the Captain returns.”
Ernst grunted and raised the telescope to his eye again, scanning the pallid brume. There was nothing to see.
—oOo—
{INTO PART ?? - Sailors - Mysterious Stranger - Before the State Soldiers arrive}
Despite the ungodly hour and the bone-chilling damp the square was filled with stands and stalls, and people from all walks of life were there buying the victuals and supplies they needed to see them through the next couple of days. The air rang with the calls of the retailers and the raucous squawking of gulls.
“Mackerel, get ‘em while they’re fresh!”
“Winkles by the pint!”
Buyers lingered over trestles laden with provisions, they queued for steaming bowls of soup vended by greasy-faced sutlers, and they perused a fine range of cloths and fabrics housed in a gaudy pavilion watched by a skeletally thin trader. The fishwives offered fresh hake and cod and herring, other more mysterious denizens of the deep, shellfish both big and small, and smoked fish, dark and aromatic.
“Lovely carrots, only a pfennig a pound!”
Suppliers of leather goods hung fine examples of boots and belts and pouches to attract custom, and cobblers, lips gripping spiked hobnails, repaired shoes. Goats bleated and geese honked from within hurdle pens. Tinkers and peddlers of trinkets vied to out-shout one another, and children stared in fascination as bright sparks flew from the knife-grinder’s wheel.
“Honey! Fresh from the hives! Only a few pots left!”
The party from the Bösewicht stood on the quayside.
“They’ve been there since first light,” said Captain Fuchs, peering at the market-goers and huddling into his coat. “If we don’t hurry there won’t be anything left that’s worth having.” He reached into his pocket, produced a purse full of coins, and handed it to Lukas.
“Ernst knows what we need,” he said to the young man. “You and Max go with him. Use the money to pay for the purchases, and when you have all that is needed load them into the boat and ferry them back to the Bösewicht. When that is done return to the shore and wait for me. I have duties that I must be about this morning.”
The Captain strode off, heading for Die Silbermünze, and the cook made a beeline for the line of stalls where the Farmer’s wives were selling their produce.
Some vended ripe wheels of goats-milk cheese and eggs of varying sizes and colours, others sides of bacon, cured hams, and long strings of sausages. Still others sold sacks of cereal, fruit preserves and pickles, root vegetables and leafy greens, and all manner of other foodstuffs. Soon Max’s arms were considerably fuller and Fuchs’ purse somewhat lighter.
“What next?” asked Lukas.
“Well, I was considering getting some new rush matting in for the Captain’s cabin,” said Ernst, rubbing his chin. “The stuff that he’s got down in there is getting pretty ropy.”
The little group headed off, Lukas pacing ahead and Max, laden like a packhorse, trailing behind. The boy had spotted an elderly woman selling baskets woven from dried reeds.
“Look!” The cook had stopped and was pointing to a figure on the other side of the square. “It’s the person what me and Sepp saw talking to the rat-creature!”
Lukas squinted towards where Ernst was indicating. “Who?”
“There! The one in brown rags!”
The figure Ernst had pointed out was squatting down on his haunches, his back against the wall of one of the warehouses on the far side of the square. He wore a heavy cloak with a hood that completely covered his head.
Lukas sucked his teeth. “That’s just some beggar.”
“Since I’ve been in this place I ain’t seen a single vagrant of any kind. I’m telling you, that’s the person who was talking to the rat-thing.”
“Well then, lets go and find out,” said Lukas. “Max, you take all that stuff to the boat and wait for us there. We won’t be more than a few minutes.”
The big sailor nodded and stomped off towards the quayside. Ernst and Lukas continued among the stalls, pausing every now and again to inspect the wares that were being offered. Soon they had worked their way near to their quarry.
The beggar, or whatever he was, seemed to have noticed their approach. He got to his feet, though he stayed against the wall. Lukas, in an effort to remain unseen, busied himself at a table laden with sacks of goose down, but Ernst stared right at the stranger. The cabin boy fussed the ruddy-cheeked cook’s attention onto the feathers in an effort not to give away their advance.
But it was too late. The beggar turned and shuffled off towards the Nordküstestraße. Lukas broke into a run and sprinted across the square, dodging in and out of the people about their business in the market. Ernst set off after him.
Wallop! Lukas ran headlong into a watchman, sending him flying onto his backside. The boy bounced off of the fellow, skidded on the slick cobbles and almost fell, but somehow he found his balance and dashed off again.
“Oy, you rascal, come back ‘ere!” yelled the soldier, shaking his fist indignantly. Ernst, wheezing heavily, came to a halt beside the sprawling man. He offered his hand and dragged the fellow to his feet, and then the pair of them trotted off after the lad.
The beggar dived into an alley between two of the warehouse buildings and Lukas, in hot pursuit, followed. He slithered to a halt and gasped in astonishment; it was a dead end, and it was empty. He looked around to try and see where the man had gone.
A few moments later the watchman shambled into the passageway and clapped his hand onto Lukas’s shoulder. Ernst was right behind and puffing fit to collapse.
“Got you, you young scallywag! You’re coming with me!”
Lukas was staring upwards and pointing and the soldier’s gaze followed his finger. He looked up just in time to see a figure in filthy brown rags disappearing over a wall, some three yards above their heads. Behind it thrashed a sinuous and hairless tail.
“Well, I’ll be…” he mumbled, and released his grip on the boy.
—oOo—
{INTO PART ?? - Townsfolk - Trouble with rats - Following the State soldier’s arrival}
Now that Granny’s cottage was vacant the tenancy reverted back to the Church. Soon after the burial her granddaughter had hired a cart, and the militia had helped load the old lady’s meagre possessions onto it. After thanking her hosts for their kindness she and her husband departed back to Trockener.
Johann Jaeger and his wife had expressed an interest in taking the place on, the young couple putting on brave faces with regard to the previous tenant’s demise - there was no saying when they’d have the chance of their own house again. “We’ve imposed on my parents for long enough,” he declared, “and we have to make our own way in the world, no matter what the dangers.”
Brother Otto, who administered such things, announced that the property would be theirs, upon receipt of a deposit in addition to the first quarter’s rent. Johann had been working hard and saving his earnings; his income was not great, however, and he was only just able to make the payment.
When he enquired about the possibility of having the problem of the rats looked into, he was told that such a service would him cost extra. He had no money left to cover such an expense.
When Mrs Starkleiter found out about the arrangement she wasn’t at all happy. She stormed off to the chapel and entered like a thundercloud, sending the gruff militiamen who were assembled there scurrying away like frightened children. Once she was alone with Brother Franz she told him exactly what she thought of the church’s attitude towards those who were supposedly under its care.
Once he had established the cause of her fury Brother Franz retreated to the defence of church doctrine, but Mrs Starkleiter tore a very large strip off of those who would carry out such faceless bureaucracy. She insisted that the cottage should go to the new tenants in a habitable condition, and as the building was part of the church’s property, it fell to the church to ensure that the place was in a decent state of repair.
And so it was that Hobard Schaufell, the sexton, came to be preparing to lift the stones below the kitchen floor, and all at the church’s expense. With him he had young Sigfrid Ausmann, his assistant, along with Trude, a little terrier with a reputation as a ratter.
“Right then, Sigfrid, when I get this bar under that slab I’ll lift it, and you push in that bit of wood to hold it up. Understand?”
The lad nodded and took hold of the indicated timber.
Hobard slid the flattened end of the bar between two of the stones and got the feel of the balance. He braced himself and put his weight behind it, and the edge of the polished slab lifted. The gap he had created was just enough for Sigfrid to wedge in the beam.
“Good lad!” said Hobard, red faced from his exertions. “Now, ready…”
The pair of them got their fingers under the edge of the flagstone and together they pulled it upright. Below it was a tunnel, roughly the diameter of a man’s leg. It appeared to run from the front door towards the back wall. Trude got her nose in and began whining, then set off sniffing all around the kitchen.
They followed the run, raising another stone, and then another, until they had uncovered a complex network of passages. A few led into cracks in the walls, evidently the routes that the little horrors had used to enter the kitchen, while others led into the garden.
The pair made their way out to the little vegetable plot, their breath misting in the dank air. Trude followed them, sniffing around the door and along the bottom of the wall. She continued along the fence, heading for a huge compost heap at end of the garden. It was steaming slightly in the chill.
“You found a scent, girl? Sigfrid, be a good lad and go and fetch some shovels.”
The little dog set to digging, excavating a spray of rotting vegetation that filled the air with the pungent, earthy smell of humus. Almost at once she came down onto a tunnel and began sniffing and growling. She began digging again with almost frantic haste.
A rat suddenly broke from cover and galloped along beside the rickety fence that marked the end of the garden. Trude bounded after it and snatched it up in her jaws, biting and shaking the little beast to death. She dropped the carcass and trotted proudly back to the compost heap.
“Good lass,” mumbled Hobard.
Sigfrid returned with the shovels and handed one of them to the older man. They began to excavate down through the decaying layers while Trude stood with her tongue out, watching intensely. Soon they hit a tunnel and another rat, a huge brown monster of a creature, dashed out and away. Trude was after it in an instant.
The men watched her for a moment then returned to their work. Soon they came down onto a hollow, lined with fur and feathers and full of fragments of dirt and debris. A whole swarm of rats issued forth, and for a few frantic moments Hobard and Sigfrid laid about them with their shovels while Trude dashed joyfully around, thrashing her kills from side to side.
Panting, the two men looked about them then exchanged glances. Something was still moving inside of the hollow.
“What is that?”
It was a bizarre thing, no less than eight albino rats whose tails had somehow become knotted together. Each of the rats was roughly the same size, and all hissed and gaped evilly at their discoverers.
“I dunno,” said Hobard. “See if you can lay your hands on a bucket, would you?”
Sigfrid found one and put it on the ground. The pair took hold of their shovels, Hobard lying his flat next to the monstrosity while Sigfrid used his to slide the thing onto it. When it was aboard Hobard picked it up and gently slid it into the pail. It squirmed and wriggled appallingly. He covered the bucket over with a bit of sacking.
“Right, we’re getting this off to the Priest. Lock this place up and then join me at the chapel.” He departed, the bucket in one hand and his shovel in the other, just in case the monster tried anything.
He trotted through the square, glancing at the drilling militiamen and soldiers, then made his way along the Südlichestraße towards the chapel. Brother Franz was standing in the doorway talking with Captain Langer, and, unusually, Doctor Ungerade was there too. The sexton made his way towards the group, waiting respectfully a little way off.
Soon enough the soldier departed, and when he did so Hobard coughed to get the Priest’s attention. “Excuse me, Sir, but I think you ought to take a look at this.”
“Inside, if you please,” said Brother Franz brusquely, glancing at the bucket. “We don’t need everyone knowing the church’s business.”
The sexton followed him into the narthex, gently put the pail on the ground, and lifted back the sacking. The Priest frowned darkly at what he saw. “Doctor, maybe you should see too.”
“Now, what have we got in here?” The Doctor peered into the bucket and his eyes lit up. “A rat-king! Oh, to see such a thing! I have only ever read of them, and even then only in the worst kind of broadsheet!”
“How did you come by it?” asked the Priest of Hobart. The sexton quickly related the details of its discovery in Granny Schmidt’s garden.
“It is clearly a thing of Chaos,” growled Brother Franz. “It has been warped and corrupted by those dark forces. Why, its very shape mimics the eight-pointed symbol of Chaos.”
“That is not necessarily so, my dear fellow,” chimed in the Doctor. “Remember, that symbol is most closely associated with magic, be it good or evil.”
“So it is, Doctor,” rumbled the Priest. “So it is.” He looked across to Hobard. “Thankyou, Mr Schaufell. You may be about your duties.”
The sexton touched his cap deferentially and stepped through the doors. He very near collided with Sigfrid, who was just entering. The older man fussed his associate away.
Doctor Ungerade had squatted down and was peering at the creature. “I would very much like to add such a curiosity to my collection,” he said, “if you were agreeable to such a thing. I wish to study it to determine how these creatures came to be joined.”
Brother Franz pondered for a few moments.
“I will pay the church for the expense,” ventured the Doctor.
“How much?”
“Ten silver schillings?”
“Done!” said Brother Franz. “Take it away at once.”
—oOo—
