Brunner the Bounty Hunter (Blood Money) by Warhammer

Author:Warhammer
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: General Fiction
Published: 2011-09-13T04:00:00+00:00

HONOUR AMONG VERMIN

I left the city of Miragliano as I had quit the Imperial city of Altdorf a frightened cur with its tail tucked between its legs. I had terror in my soul, and prayed fervently to Sigmar that I might pass unnoticed by the powers of the Old Night.

It happened late one evening. I had been speaking with Brunner for many hours. We were situated in a small wine shop near my own rooms. The hour was late when the bounty hunter at last declared that I would have to question him further some other time. We left the wine shop, the light of Mannsleib bathing the filthy streets in a pale silvery light. My companion, as was usual for such a predatory nature, carefully considered the night streets, his piercing gaze covering the entire street at a glance. He did not linger over any one person, nor upon any window, doorway or darkened alley mouth. Yet I had the feeling that he saw as much with his quick glance as I would in an hour of close examination his keen mind picked out every detail. Brunner had, as I have mentioned, an amazing memory and a craftsman's eye for detail.

Abruptly, Brunner asked if there were any free rooms at the boarding house where I lodged, for we were quite close by. I replied that I believed that there were, and the matter was settled. The bounty hunter led me through the dark streets, saying that he would see for himself what manner of luxury his recollections furnished me with.

We reached the boarding house and Brunner secured a room quite close to my own, at a price considerably lower than my own. Once more, I reflected that the best champion of honesty is fear. I followed the bounty hunter up to the room the landlord had allocated to him. He gave the room a glance, then settled in, taking his leave of me without a word. Feeling for all the world like a dismissed servant, I made my way to my own chamber. However, I had only just begun to tug off my boots when the door opened. The bounty hunter gestured with a thumb at his room.

'It ill suits my level of comfort,' he hissed. 'You sleep there, I'll take your room.' I sputtered out a protest but Brunner reminded me that it was his stories that elevated my livelihood. Like a scolded dog, I gathered up my boots and nightclothes and left the room, hoping that the landlord's daughter Maria did not think to pay me a visit this night. The bounty hunter was capable of most anything. With his ruthless impulses and lightning-fast reflexes, he might kill the girl before he was even aware who had stolen into the room. Or he might welcome the company. I was not sure which scenario troubled me more.

So it was that I woke in the small hours, a foul stench filling my lungs. I did not rise from my

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