“Worry not no, you not no die - not yet,” and he pushed him over the edge.
Dupont fell to the floor with a dull, wet thud, Seequar leaping nimbly after him, but although badly bruised and heavily winded, the Burghermeister was not seriously hurt. Yanking him to his feet by the hair, Seequar slung him over his shoulders and set off, his captive hanging off him like a hog’s carcass. He sent another dart into one more guard before vanishing into the wet and howling night.
*
Both men finally slumped to the floor, the heavily drugged beer having done its work. Upon hearing the thunks as they fell, Maxwell Weisselsbloed opened his door and peeped out.
Were they both unconscious, properly under? Yes. Good.
Stealing out of his room, he padded the ten yards of carpeted corridor over to the senseless men. Both snoring heavily. Nevertheless, he still moved with caution as he drew each soldier’s sword from its scabbard. Creeping over to the staircase at the end of the hall, he paused there and listened intently. He was quite sure nobody else was here, but quite was not good enough in this situation. For what he was about to do, it would not do to be disturbed.
Seequar had explained it all to him when Max had handed over the false documents he’d drawn up for him, backdated and stamped with the Burghermeister’s personal seal. It was to be made to look like one of the guards was involved in the cult and had freed Dupont, with both soldiers killing each other in the struggle.
Rumours, rumours and counter rumours. When Max had respectfully asked Seequar if he was sure about this course of action, his Handler had told him yes, that he believed it to be a propitious time to leak word out into the Stad about the Half Tail, but he did not want them fully exposed, not just yet. It was all about timing, he had said, and while Max was not privy to the overall plan of the Vit-vit Grand Masters, he trusted them to know what was best.
The highly structured society these Rat-men had built up was always looking towards the long term or as they called it, the Greater Good. Absolutely everything they did was based on furthering the Greater Good, and looking at what they had achieved for themselves with their own society, what little he knew of it, Max had complete trust that they knew what they were doing, even if his own vision was not so far sighted to see it.
So for now it must still be made to look as if it had all been effected by humans. Seequar had not been at all concerned - even interested - when he had told him about the impending arrival of the Holy Order; that was Weisselsbloed’s concern, not his. That was a slight worry for Max, but he accepted it, of course.
Stepping back over to the recumbent guards, he plunged the swords deep into their bodies, piercing organs and innards in a detached manner, like a butcher dealing with a carcass. Having first made sure they were dead, Max then slashed and cut into the bodies at depths and angles he could only guess might realistically have been made in a fight, splattering the walls and carpet with blood from random swings of the fouled swords.
He retrieved the empty bottles and also unbuckled one of the sentry’s long daggers, taking the lot back into his room, where he placed the beers on an occasional table as if he had drunk them through the course of the night. He held the blade of the dagger in the flames of his fire for a full two minutes, then returned to the corridor and marked one of the guards as he had been instructed, to leave a vivid rat’s head in the man’s flesh.
Max carefully daubed a viscous lotion over the mark, something Seequar had given him to stop any blistering and to age the skin of the wound to make it seem as though it had been there for years. Taking a deep breath, he then pulled down his shirt, revealing his own brand made many, many years ago. The sign of the Half Tail.
Gritting his teeth, he stabbed the dagger into the muscle of his shoulder and deliberately worked the tip of the blade up and down, backwards and forwards, making a painful and messy wound, and totally obfuscating the Vit-vit’s mark.
He had almost been caught by a Jaeger over two decades ago and he wanted to avoid that now as much as he wanted to then - more so in fact, now that they had built up so much! Things had been picking up pace these last few months; Max sensed something big was brewing and he needed to be there to try to guide events as best he could, for the good of Humanity. Although he had devoted more than forty years to the service of the Vit-vit, he was still a human and had Humanity’s best interests at heart.
No, he must not fail now, for the love of the Empire. He had come too far to be brought down by that idiot Dupont. He needed to be here, to steer things however and wherever he could when the plans for his Stad finally came to a head.
He withdrew the knife from his shoulder with a gasp, and, still gritting his teeth from the pain, methodically slashed his shirt and hands to look like he had struggled with his attacker. As far as this little scene was concerned he was not actually worried by the Jaeger so much as he was by Kreigel. Any member of the Holy Order could be relied upon to be a slobbering, bigoted psychopath, totally blinded by his bloodlust at the thought of nailing up a host of supposed heretics. Whether they were guilty or not never seemed to matter to the Jaegers, and they could quite easily be led off-track with a little thought and planning. Karl Kreigel was another matter though, and Weisselsbloed had to be sure to cover every possible angle.
Cursing himself for almost having forgotten, he opened the door to the Burghermeister’s chambers, empty by now of course. Then he made sure his own door was sufficiently open to make it look as though he had come out to investigate the disturbance and had promptly been caught up in it.
His work thus done, Weisselsbloed lay down near his door and bled, the pain in his shoulder real enough to make him fade into unconsciousness. That, at least, he did not have to fake.
*
Having evaded all the patrolling humans easily en route back to his hideaway, Seequar led Dupont down the narrow confines of Zwart Laan, the smaller street running down the side of the Burghermeister’s house. Ahead of them lay the window he had first fired from - and missed - four nights ago, and four yards after that the alley opened out onto the broad expanse of the brightly lit Amaaz Avenue. There was a street lamp at the corner, but its circle of light died long before it reached them here, at the back end of the Laan.
He kicked Dupont savagely in the knee without any warning, hearing the shattering of the joint as his leg broke painfully around it. The human dropped to the street in muffled agony. Seequar could hear the screams, muted by the gag, as he crept down the dark lane, but he doubted the humans standing sentry would. With this rain, from such a distance and from around the corner? No, they were only humans after all; he was certain they were still unheard.
Unsheathing his knives from his belt, he pricked his ears up and listened, making sure there were still only two humans guarding the door. Satisfied that was the case, he shot around the corner in a blur of speed and hacked them both brutally down, his tail flicking with each blow. Quickly throwing open the door, he heaved the bodies inside and went back for the crippled Dupont, having to drag him bodily across the cobblestones, slick with rain.
Hurling the writhing Burghermeister inside, angry at the human’s total lack of will, he locked and bolted the door. Seequar realised that he had as good as killed him four nights ago, even though his dart had gone wide. Pathetic! He snarled and kicked him savagely again in disgust as he walked past him into the room.
Dupont continued to sob behind his gag as the pain and fear coursed through him. His mind was already at the very edge of breaking point; it would not take much to push him just that little bit further, and Seequar did not want that. He must know that he was going to die, to be fully aware of it even as the final cut was made. And he must be told. He already knew why, but still he must be told.
Seequar went over to his other captive, still slumped over in his chair, comatose. Withdrawing a small vial of noxious smelling liquid from a hidden pouch, he waved it under his nose and the human started groggily to come around. Taking Dupont by his
torn shirt collar he hauled him across the room and dumped him up against the wall next to the man bound to the wooden chair. He took out his knives, still glistening with the guardsmen’s blood, and laid them on the floor in front of him. Squatting on his haunches, he rekindled the fire in the grate and then looked from one man to the other.
“So here we are, yes? You knew this was yes coming ‘Rik, no? Your yes pact with us was not no made to be broken,” he told him, tapping at his shoulder where the Burghermeister’s brand showed above the ropes through his ragged shirt. “You think you can yes choose and no choose which instructions to follow? You think it up to you, yes?”
Dupont simply stared at him in pain and horror, totally struck dumb.
“You get your yes orders, and you not no obey. You say you have not no the stomach anymore, but yes you do. You have very fat yes stomach, right here.” Seequar picked up one of his knives and tapped Dupont’s belly with the tip. “But yes stomach or no stomach, you obey! For the Greater Good, you obey! You say you try to save people, yes?” he pointed to the human tied to the chair, but continued to speak to Dupont, “This man’s friends now yes dead, and he too, soon, so you not save no one, yes.
“Your family-clan also yes dead, and yehra others, seven, with them, and many, many more underground - should not no have disturbed me, no. Anjcha - five - at your Stadhuis tonight, and these renda,” he waved an arm behind him at the corpses of the two soldiers dumped by the door. “All your yes fault, see? You save not no one.”
The human in the chair tried to yell something down at the Burghermeister, but there was no way of knowing what it was and besides, it was questionable whether Dupont even knew he was there. He was transfixed like a mouse in the eyes of a snake. Eventually the man’s screams stopped and he began heaving great sobs instead, although he never stopped struggling against his bonds. Seequar nodded approvingly; at least this one was trying.
“We ask too much, you yes think?” he chittered, his tail twitching occasionally against the floor. “You yes want explanations?” He leaned in close to Dupont’s face. “This is for the Greater Good,” he hissed. “Human eyes not no see so far; your yes job is to obey, not no question!
“A traveller lost on the road, money yes sent here, goods yes taken there - Max directs you, but you think you yes know better?” Seequar shook his head.
“You yes send stupid message. Too much, can’t do, won’t do, yes? Stupid. Very stupid. You remember? A pact is yes made, no? No breaking.” He folded his arms across his knees. “It was yes good before, why not no now? We yes make you Burghermeister!” The Vit-vit sneered and shook his head. “I have no stomach...
“So now Seequar plant yes seeds. Seeds of yes fear. Left the mark with clan dead, and now here yes too.” Casually he dangled the knife in the fire. “Not too long no, not no too much damage - then looks too new. Must look old, yes.”
Walking over to the human in the chair, Seequar pulled the man’s shirt down over his shoulder, exposing the flesh. The human screamed into his gag and struggled violently, but Seequar held him firm as he drew the smoking blade lightly across his skin. Six well-practised strokes left a small rat’s head imprinted into the human’s shoulder in red, curving lines. He smeared an oily unguent into the skin over and around the burn which immediately made the mark less vivid, and then he squatted down again and fixed Dupont with a burning hot stare, his eyes glowing as red as the embers in the grate.
“I kill you now, yes dead. You, who thinks he yes better, yes bigger than the Half Tail?” he smashed him brutally across the face, snarling viciously. “You were lucky to yes serve, honoured, but you not no know it!” He hit him again. “But this yes good. I kill you, I kill him. Both yes dead, but they yes think you kill each other. They see sign,” he pointed a claw at the seated human’s shoulder, “and also on you, yes.”
He then flourished an arm at a scattering of documents lying on the table. “They find papers that yes show you cheat him and his organisation.” Seequar chittered with laugher. “You yes think yourself most important servant in Stad? Only servant maybe? Not no so!” He stood and picked up his knives. “They don’t no find ropes, they don’t no find Seequar.” He waved a knife at the guards just inside the door. “Just one dead, two dead, three dead,” and he plunged one of his knives up to the hilt into Orson Kamps, the unfortunate caravaneer, deep in the belly.
Dupont vomited as the man’s blood fountained out, splattering all over him, but the gag stopped it and he began to choke. Seequar leaned in close and watched his agonies with a hard and hateful face, nodding at the noises he made as he began to suffocate horribly, peering at the blood vessels popping in his eyes.
“Four dead,” and with two slow, deliberate strokes of his knives he killed Heinrich Dupont where he sat, struggling against the wall.
Seequar took a little time arranging the room how he wanted it. He untied the bodies, rubbing the same oil around the marks made by the ropes, and then fetched two broad bladed knives from the kitchen. Daubing them both with blood, he laid one on the floor near the corpses and sunk the other deep into Dupont’s gut, leaving it there. He smeared the wagoneer’s hand in blood and used it to draw the same rat’s head design out on the flagstones.
Closing the door quietly behind him, Seequar slipped his hood up over his head and skittered through the shadows and the rain to the culvert two streets away, on Kleinekaas Straat where he had emerged four nights before. Leaving the body of the human supposedly guarding it lying dead where it fell, he wiped his knives clean and then, with a final look to the left and right, disappeared into the sewers once more.
***
The story continues in The Greater Good
Available now from your favourite ebook store.
For Paperback, see author website: https://www.thestephenbrown.co.uk
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About the Author
Painter, photographer, Reiki healer, traveller and horse trainer, Stephen Brown is a lover of Creativity in all its guises. His writing is varied, from fantasy, sci-fi and other novels to poetry and haiku. He tries to be both deep and thought-provoking as well as humorous and nonsensical at the same time. In no way does he see these things as contradictory. Feel free to drop by and take a look at what he’s up to, his contact details are just below
Website: https://www.thestephenbrown.co.uk/
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Twitter: https://twitter.com/Dizzylemming
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Other Works Currently Available
The Greater Good
An assassination attempt on the Burghermeister of Werpenstad sets in motion a disastrous chain of events that threatens to engulf the entire Stad in a horrifying wave of blood and violence.
As rumours of inhuman monsters and the tell-tale signs of a bloodthirsty cult emerge, Vice-mayor Karl Kreigel is left but one option - to send for the Jaegers of the Holy Order.
When they arrive however, the Stad is plunged into a living nightmare as their brutal practices threaten to tear the city apart. Forced to tread a dangerous tightrope between cooperating with the Jaegers and reining in the worst of their excesses, Karl must also somehow attempt to uncover the roots of the sinister Cult of the Half Tail, whose tendrils appear to grow disturbingly close to home.
With events fast spiralling out of his control, Karl knows he is in a race against time not only to catch the assassin and root out the insidious cult, but also to put a stop to the insanely-dangerous Jaegers from pulling his Stad apart or else burning it to the ground...
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For a print version, coming soon, please check my website: https://www.thestephenbrown.co.uk
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The Cripplesby Diaries Trilogy
Bread – now a FREE ebook!
One man’s obsession with Scotland. One Shamanic detective. One twelfth century monk catapulted through time to present day England.
A demon, a megalomaniac maths lecturer and the world on the brink of economic collapse. It sounds like a convoluted tale, but it all fits together - honest!
And what’s more, while it doesn’t actually explain how time travel is possible, it does at least prove that it does exist. Irrefutably.
That is, of course, if you believe the word of a man whose business card contains no contact details, who smokes mushrooms through a pipe and who talks to Mooses.
And just what does any of this have to do with Scotland?
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For a print version, please visit my website: https://www.thestephenbrown.co.uk
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McRoots
Elliot and Geeza are thrown together once more, travelling through Africa in a race against time to stop a mysterious, but hideously evil entity. As ancient as the Earth itself, it has remained dormant for millennia, but is now shaking free.
Together with a maverick scholar, an expert in archaic forms of writing, they discover that the fate of the World somehow revolves around the three Great Pyramids of Egypt which were actually built by… Scotsmen?
Discover a host of earth-shattering revelations such as the real truth behind the origins of Man as Elliot & Geeza are forced to fight desperately against their malevolent foe, avoid being over-run by hairy, black caterpillars and try to stop the authorities from opening a tiny door set deep within an air shaft of the Great Pyramid itself!
The Da Vinci Code meets Fear & Loathing in Las Vegas, McRoots takes you on a wild and totally weird ride - can you hold on long enough to save the world?
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For a print version, please visit my website: https://www.thestephenbrown.co.uk
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Corazon
Geeza Vermies, Shamanic Detective is hot on the heels of a gang of poachers. Bumping into his old friend Elliot, they join forces and follow the trail to Mexico, but their investigation quickly uncovers a far deeper plot, and once again they find themselves in a race against time to save the World!