Necromancer (6 page)

However, despite his unabashed resentment and bitterness,
which he made no effort to hide in front of Dieter, his roommate’s passion for
physick did seem to be rubbing off on Herr Karlsen, who began attending the
guild on a more regular basis. Or it might just have been a result of the
warning he received following Panceus’ latest complaint to Theodrus, Dieter was
of course prepared to admit.

But perhaps Dieter’s passion intrigued him. Perhaps it was
just the challenge—the mutual competition—he needed to buck his ideas up and
make an effort once again. However, Dieter soon learnt that part of the reason
for Erich’s apathy had been because no matter how hard he tried, he simply did
not have the natural aptitude for the subject that the country boy from
Hangenholz did. So it was that Erich also harboured a growing jealously towards
Dieter.

“I like you, Herr Heydrich,” he had said once as they shared
another bottle of Reikland Hock that Erich had procured, “but that doesn’t mean
I don’t envy you and hate you with a passion. You’re a simple country boy, naive
and innocent and no mistake, but you have an intellect as sharp as a Carroburg
broadsword and an ability that could rival that of Theodrus himself.”

Erich emptied his glass and poured himself another half
glass. Dieter had hardly touched his wine. He had discovered that it went to his
head too quickly if he wasn’t careful. Erich, on the other hand, seemed to be
able to down a bottle by himself and not show any ill effects at all.

“I don’t think you realise how talented you are,” Erich went
on, “but others do, including Theodrus. That could go either way for you. It
could make you his rival, in his eyes, and have him put you down at every
opportunity. But I think he’s too arrogant for that. So it could mean he’ll look
on you with favour. And either reason could be why he has you apprenticed under
him now; it could be to nurture you, or to keep you in your place. I might not
have the ability to become a renowned healer but I know people.”

Throughout the weeks of diligent study, Dieter also received
regular missives from his sister Katarina back in Hangenholz. They would come in
whenever there was a delivery with a coach running from Karltenschloss, the
nearest settlement on the major routes through the Empire, the letters having
been taken that far initially by any willing farmer taking his wares to the town
to trade.

And amongst all this hustle and bustle of Dieter’s new life,
he was still reminded of the life he had left behind whenever he received a
letter from his devoted and loyal sister. Katarina’s letters kept him up-to-date
with all that was happening in Hangenholz and let him know that his sister was
coping there without him, caring for their father, seeing to his needs. They
were a comforting reminder to him of home. There were never any letters from his
father.

To begin with, Dieter dutifully replied to each and every one
of Katarina’s missives, as he had resolved to do, sending them back via the Four
Seasons Coach Company, operating out of the Reisehauschen inn. But as time went
on and Dieter’s waking hours became more full by the day—preparing medicinal
compounds, studying the treasured texts in the guild library and spending time
shadowing Professor Theodrus as he went about his doctorial business amongst the
rich and titled members of Bögenhafen’s population—he found that resolution
starting to slip.

At first his replies became more concise. In contrast, his
sister’s epistles were as detailed as ever, telling Dieter all that was
happening at home and roundabout with the changing of the seasons, and
expressing pride and love in equal great measure for her noble brother the
scholar.

But it was only when another such missive arrived on the
second Angestag of Jahrdrung that Dieter realised that not only had he not
replied to his sister’s previous communiqué, he had not even finished reading it
yet. He truly had become less conscientious about replying to them, so caught up
was he in his studies.

Looking at the half-finished essay on common diseases of the
Reikland—their causes, prevention and cure—that he had been in the middle of
composing before the urchin delivering the letter on behalf of the coach company
interrupted him, Dieter pushed the parchment to one side with a sigh.

He took up the unread letter that had been sitting on his
desk under a pile of books for a week and read it through, poring over every
last phrase and syllable, enjoying his sister’s cursive hand and the patterns
the words made on the page, feeling a forgotten warmth growing within his heart
again. His own handwriting had become little more than a scrawl now, as he tried
to jot down everything he wanted to as quickly as possible, so that he might
fill his mind with yet more knowledge.

Dieter broke the seal on the more recent missive and read
that through too, noting with only a cursory concern that their father had taken
to his bed of late and his curate, one Engels Lothair from the nearby hamlet of
Gabelbrucke, had been fulfilling more and more of his priestly duties. The son
wondered how long the father would, or even could, continue in his work.

Then, both letters read, Dieter took a fresh piece of
parchment from the sheaf on his desk, picked up the quill with which he had been
writing his essay, and dipping it in the ink well, with a contrite heart
began.

My dearest Katarina,

I must confess that your brother has been lax in his filial
duties, so inspired and preoccupied have I been by my studies at the guild here
in Bögenhafen. I know I have told you before what a wonderful place it is. So
much more than a mere market town, it is a veritable seat of learning. It would
seem that all the secrets of nature and the spheres are here to be uncovered
among the myriad precious volumes that array the shelves of the guild libraries
of this town. I can hardly believe that anywhere can have more knowledge
contained within its bounds, not even noble Nuln or Altdorf.

I was pleased to hear that you are not finding the work of
caring for our father too onerous and that Josef Wohlreich has been helping keep
the garden.

As your brother it is my duty, however, to tell you to
beware of Josef’s advances. He is more than twenty years your senior and although
I remember him to be a man of some standing in the village, when your duties to
our father are complete, do you want to be forever keeping another old man? Do
not make the same mistake our mother did.

The world beyond Hangenholz has so much more to offer a young
woman such as you. Do not throw your life away, trapped forever within the
village of our birth. I believe that we are meant for something more than that.

Please give my regards to our father. I remain ever your
devoted, loving brother,

Dieter

There, he was done. The letter was a fraction of the length
of anything he had received from Katarina but his new life was full enough as it
was. He was rising at dawn to commence his studies and would then spend a full
day at the guild, learning all he could from the senior members there, not just
his apprentice-master Professor Theodrus.

Most days Dieter would leave after dusk had taken hold of the
town and make his way back to his lodgings in Dunst Strasse, joining the
labourers, traders and artisans returning to their homes for the night, passing
watch patrols and evening revellers as they made their way through the streets
of Bögenhafen. The streets were as full of hustle and bustle as they were during
the day at this hour. Soon the revellers would be ensconced within their
favourite drinking establishments and stews on the Hagenstrasse, the
lamplighters work would be done until the morning snuffings, and those exhausted
by a day’s work would be safely at rest at home. The streets then would only be
home to the night watchmen, schilling and farthing whores and those who had no
business being about at all.

Most nights Dieter would take his evening meal at the Pestle
and Mortar, and sometimes Erich would join him and spend the time berating
Doktor Panceus, mocking the boy Georg and their fellow students, or lamenting
the state of his life in general. Erich was a talented and heartless mimic, and
Dieter had to admit that he had the various characters from the guild down pat.

The meal was always modest fare—a hunk of bread, a slab of
hard cheese, cold meats—and once it was done he would politely excuse himself
from Erich’s company and return to the garret room they shared where he would
work into the night by candlelight, filling his notebooks with all that he had
learnt and continuing to peruse the works of other practitioners in the field
that he had borrowed from the library.

Sometimes Dieter would hear Erich return to their lodgings as
he was settling down to sleep but just as often he would be disturbed later in
the night by his roommate’s drunken shushing, or then again, not at all.

Apart from Erich’s growing, self-pitying jealousy and
resentment, life really couldn’t be better for Dieter at that time.

At least, that was, until Brother-Captain Krieger of the
Templar Order of Sigmar arrived in Bögenhafen.

Dieter was unsurprisingly studying at the guild at the time.
He was firmly ensconced within his favourite musty haunt of the library within
one of the enclosed, heavy oak study stalls that stood in the centre of the
high-ceilinged space between the groaning teak bookcases, studying the
Il
Corpo Umano,
by the eminent and long-dead Tilean physician-philosopher
Umberto Casale. His first awareness of a disturbance was when he thought he
heard shouting and pounding footsteps in the corridor outside the draughty,
two-storey hall of the library.

The students of the guild had already heard of the arrival of
Brother-Captain Krieger in Bögenhafen, his name being linked as it was with that
of the Corpse Taker. Rumour spread like an unchecked flood through the
laboratories and common room of the guild. The word amongst the students was
that Krieger had been sent from the headquarters of the order’s temple in that
centre of Sigmar worship, Altdorf. Word was that he had come riding into the
town on a midnight black stallion, arriving as the clock struck midnight on the
twenty-third day of Jahrdrung, to put the Bögenhafen chapter house in order.
Word was that he was in the town to discover the identity of the Corpse Taker
and hunt the macabre felon down.

In fact it had been all anyone was talking about in the
Pestle and Mortar two nights earlier. Erich was finishing off his second flagon
of ale far too quickly, whilst Dieter was still supping at his first of the
evening. “I’d pay anything to see their faces down at the guild when this
Krieger gets round to investigating them,” Erich was chuckling cruelly. “And he
will. There’s always been a deep distrust between the Order of Sigmar and the
physicians’ guild.” Dieter had even smiled at the thought too. But that had been
two days ago and things were about to take a very serious turn for the worse as
far as Dieter was concerned.

With a crash, the heavy oak door of the library opened,
shattering the scholarly, musty silence of the place. The library usually had an
almost sacred stillness to it, like a holy sanctuary, but now that had been
banished by the arrival of the witch hunter.

He had the bearing of a man used to having to get what he
wanted by force, and who was happy to do so. And certainly no feeble physician’s
apprentice was going to stand in his way.

The man stood over six feet tall in his leather riding boots
and although he looked to have already reached middle age, rather than making
him appear past his prime he simply looked all the stronger for it. Dieter could
see cords of muscle tightening at the man’s neck as he laid eyes on him.

Krieger’s profile was one of chiselled nobility, his jaw
jutting and distinguished, his grey hair and neatly trimmed beard close-cropped.
His eyes were sharp, piercing points of brilliant sapphire blue and his bared
teeth were set in a snarling canine grimace. He had the unmistakable look of a
killer about him, even to one as naive and inexperienced of life as Dieter.

The witch hunter did not favour the wide-brimmed buckled
black hat worn by so many of his kind, nor did he sport a whole array of
talismans and holy symbols of his faith. He was simply dressed as a warrior, in
leather armour sewn with metal rings. A sheathed sword hung from his belt, as
did the various other tools of his trade, including a coil of rope and a set of
thumbscrews. He did not need to dress to intimidate or prove his holy worth.
There was an almost intangible air about him that suggested his actions and his
deeds would be proof enough that he was the best man for the job.

“Herr Heydrich!” the witch hunter captain boomed.

Dieter felt cold shock at hearing the witch hunter call his
name. But the commanding tone demanded respect and Dieter found himself slowly
rising to his feet. “Yes, sir?”

“With me, now, heretic!”

Dieter noticed Friedrick Koss, a fellow apprentice in his
first year of study at the guild, standing at the witch hunter’s shoulder. Koss,
a whole head shorter than Krieger, was looking at Dieter with undisguised
detestation. Dieter knew that many of the other apprentices were jealous of his
ability and position within the guild, just as amidst the petty politicking of
the guild some of the more senior physicians were envious of Professor
Theodrus’ position. It was one of the reasons why Theodrus surrounded himself
with an entourage of like-minded guild members and wide-eyed idolising students.

Dieter knew that Friedrick was apprenticed to Benedict
Vergis, the renowned herbalist, who was known to be one of the strongest rivals
to the professor’s position, even though he publicly paid fealty to Theodrus. If
Theodrus’ most favoured pupil was to be handed over to the witch hunters then
the guild master’s own position would be brought into question and put into
jeopardy, and Vergis would be able to take subtle steps to wrest control of the
guild’s interests from Theodrus. And if Koss were the one to provide Vergis with
that opportunity, it would do his own advancement within the guild no harm at
all.