Sword of Justice by Warhammer

Author:Warhammer [Warhammer]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 0101-01-01T00:00:00+00:00

128

Achendorfer looked around the chamber, confused. The youths still crept around

in their agonised state. “I don’t understand.”

“There’s someone in the building,” she said, licking her lips. “A new companion

for my pets, perhaps. We’ll see.”

Verstohlen felt his heart jump. He had to get out of the chamber. Suddenly,

something kept him frozen in place. A heavy reluctance to leave came over him. He

gripped the railing of the balcony, heart hammering.

“Free yourselves, children,” said Natassja indulgently, looking at the miserable

wretches crawling on the floor around her. “Just for the moment, I’ll let you go. But

you know what you have to do. You know the rules. Stand!”

As one, the mirror-eyed youths stood up. Their limbs seemed to snap into action,

though the movements were strangely jerky. It was as if a puppet master had

suddenly picked up the strings.

Their mirrors went dark. Then, one by one, a purple light kindled in them. The

youths started to smile. Their lips pulled round in ugly, tooth-filled grins. It stretched

their faces horribly. Verstohlen guessed it wasn’t really them smiling.

That sight helped break the spell. He pulled his hands from the railing and drew

back from the edge. He left the package where it lay, going as quietly as he could.

His fear was mounting. He had to keep under control. Every muscle in his body was

screaming to run.

“Bring him to me!” cried Natassja. From below, her slaves started hissing, and

there was the sound of doors slamming open.

Verstohlen felt panic overtake him. He gave up on stealth and turned to speed. He

burst from the antechamber and careered down the stairs. The sound of the oncoming

slaves echoed along the corridor. They were coming for him. The double doors had

slammed open. His route back was blocked.

Hoping there was a way out somewhere at the rear of the townhouse, Verstohlen

turned to his right, back into the depths of the building and broke into a sprint. From

behind, he could hear the noise of his pursuers. They’d lost their immobility. They

were able to move. Like spiders.

He gritted his teeth, tried to quell the panic within him. He tore down the curving

corridor. As he went, he pulled the flintlock from its holster. His fingers felt clumsy.

He cocked the hammer, feeling the cool metal respond instantly. Two shots, then

he’d be back to knife-work. The blade in his favoured left hand, pistol in his right, he

ploughed on.

The corridor ended in another set of double doors. Without pausing, Verstohlen

barged into them. He could hear the rattling pursuit behind him, metal against stone.

The doors were unlocked, and slammed open. There was a large chamber

beyond, lit by more of the jasmine torches. He had the vague impression of long

tables, all covered with joyroot. Further back, giant vials boiled with liquid. They

were refining it. There were six copper kettles. Naturally.

As he burst into the chamber, the figures within turned slowly to face him. They

were clearly Natassja’s creations. They’d all been altered. Most had no mouths or

nostrils left. How they breathed was a mystery, but it must have kept them from

sampling the stock. They stared at him with hopeless, empty eyes.

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