The Problem of Three-Toll Bridge Josh Reynolds ‘Look closely, Vido,’ Zavant Konniger said, his breath pooling around his head in a foggy halo. The ice-house was as cold as the Reik in winter. ‘Tell me what you see.’ The halfling shivered and stamped a hairy foot, trying to keep his blood flowing. Beneath his soles, Vido could feel the thrum of the Reik. He scrubbed his hands together and blew into them as he stepped up to the plank table on which the body lay. It had only been a day or so, but outside the ice-house it was summer-time and a man as dead as Wolfgang Krassner was would spoil all too quickly. The family was travelling down from Talabheim to collect him, or what was left of him, and the authorities had decided to wait a day or so before packing him in salt for the trip back, at Konniger’s request. They’d made room for the body by pushing aside the chain-hung pig carcasses and the baskets of fish waiting to be salted. Krassner had been one half of a duel held on the Three-Toll Bridge, and had come off the worse despite a reputation for blade-work. The other half, a wet noodle named Jaeger, was considered a fairly good swordsman, but Krassner should have made a dog’s breakfast of him according to those public-spirited individuals who watched the duel play out. Since duels were now illegal thanks to the newly elected Emperor Karl Franz’s distaste for the practice, and the two had been stupid enough to have it in full view of the watch-house, Jaeger was arrested. Fortunately for Jaeger his father was Gustav Jaeger, of Jaeger and Sons, a merchant house of some distinction and no little fiduciary influence. Unfortunately, Krassner’s family had influence as well, and Jaeger was still rotting in the cells and bound for the crow-jig, unless Konniger could prove he hadn’t murdered the man more than a dozen witnesses said he had. ‘R-rich,’ Vido said, trying to stop his teeth from chattering. Despite the cold, Konniger gave no sign of discomfort. The lean, ascetic shape of the Great Sage of Altdorf neither trembled nor twitched in his thin robe. Vido suspected that Konniger’s internal temperature was far colder than any Reik-side ice-house. ‘He was rich,’ he said, picking at the frost-stiffened clothes. ‘Mm, obviously, otherwise our client’s son would not be facing the gallows. Continue,’ Konniger said, gesturing sharply. Vido grimaced and leaned in. He could smell the body despite the cold. Queasily, he lifted one of the corpse’s hands. ‘He’s a swordsman, and he practised regularly, judging by the calluses.’ He looked at Konniger, and the sage motioned for him to continue. Vido gestured to the wound on Krassner’s belly. ‘Not good enough, I guess.’ ‘What else?’ ‘What else do we need to know?’ Vido said. ‘It seems fairly clear to me, Master. He was stabbed in a duel.’ He shrugged. It wasn’t his business if potty aristos wanted to go around stabbing one another in duels. Frankly, Vido thought that there were too many of them as it was and that their propensity for duelling was some form of natural selection, like you saw in rats or goblins. Hanging Jaeger would likely only improve the breed. Konniger grunted. ‘Your powers of observation are, as ever, startlingly lacking, Vido.’ He tapped two fingers against Krassner’s blue lips. ‘Do not look to the obvious, Vido. If you do, you will only see what you expect to see. Always look for what shouldn’t be there.’ ‘Like the hole in his guts?’ Vido asked. Konniger didn’t answer. Instead he leaned over the corpse. His fingers traced the contours of the forearms, the shoulders, the scalp, the jaw and finally the neck, pausing at certain junctures before moving on. ‘Ha,’ Konniger said. Vido winced as the sage forced the corpse’s head to the side. ‘There.’ Vido peered around Konniger. ‘What is that?’ The indicated spot was a small plum-coloured bruise on the corpse’s neck that put Vido in mind of a snake or rat bite. ‘As I said, that is what shouldn’t be here.’ Konniger waved a hand in Vido’s face and snapped his fingers. ‘Knife,’ he said. Vido extracted one of the half-dozen blades he carried concealed about his person and handed it, hilt first, to Konniger. The sage took it without looking and jabbed it expertly into the corpse’s neck, just above the bruise. Not for the first time, Vido thought that his master would have made an excellent assassin, had not ratiocination been his driving obsession. Konniger swiftly turned the blade and with a few flicks of his wrist had excised the wound completely. Balancing the tatter of flesh on the end of the knife, he peered at it. ‘Slide,’ he said. Vido hastily unwound the leather roll he had slung across his chest. He carefully unlaced the straps and gently unrolled it, revealing a length of tools and instruments safely ensconced in thin pockets within. With shaking fingers he extracted a glass disc, ringed with brass and intricately hinged, from a padded pouch. Popping it open, he held it up so that Konniger could deposit the lump into it. ‘Careful with that,’ Konniger said as he wiped the knife blade on Vido’s sleeve. ‘It’s likely poisonous.’ Vido froze. Konniger handed him the knife back. ‘Do hurry up, Vido,’ he said, moving past Vido towards the door. ‘We have a murderer to visit.’ Hurriedly, Vido closed the disc, sealing the sample between two panes of sturdy glass. Outside, the Luitpolsstrasse district of Altdorf spread wild in all of its urban glory. Crooked roofs and slumping chimneys marked the horizon and high brick buildings slouched together in neighbourhoods like antagonistic wolf packs, bristling for a fight. There were crows on the gutters and rats ambled bold as day across the cobbles. ‘See anything of interest, Herr Konniger?’ the watchman stationed outside of the ice-house said, leaning against the wall and bouncing an apple on his palm. ‘Did the dead man give you an alibi for the killer, perhaps?’ He took a bite of the apple as Konniger peered down his nose at him. ‘Corporal… Grygsson, is it?’ Konniger said. ‘A Nordlander, I believe, late of Salzenmund, given the way your belt is knotted. Said belt is bear leather, unless I miss my guess. The Salzenmund watch are known colloquially as the ‘Bear-Baiters’. Make note of his hands, Vido. See how they are fat and square, despite the leanness of his frame, indicative of a particularly strong grip. Strangler’s hands, the Arabyans call them. That apple, by the by, has been soaked in horse urine in order to keep its shine. I wouldn’t take a second bite.’ Grygsson had acquired the slightly stunned look that many got when they first encountered Konniger in the flesh. He looked at the apple in his hand and then back at the sage. ‘What?’ ‘You bought, or, more likely, simply took that apple from the stall of Hamhock Shivers, late of Marienburg, formerly of the Moot, currently of Pinchpenny Street,’ Konniger said. ‘Hamhock has discovered that watchmen only take the shiniest apples for their unofficial street tax, and thus soaks certain apples in horse urine in order to enliven the shine. No, the dead man gave no alibi, but he was most helpful regardless.’ Grygsson dropped the apple. His face had taken on an unhealthy cast. His mouth worked wordlessly and then, with what Vido thought was commendable fortitude, he regained control of himself. ‘The captain said you might want to see our duellist,’ he croaked. ‘I’m here to escort you to Three-Toll House.’ ‘You’re here to see if I found anything, if I’m any judge of Captain Stotlmeyer,’ Konniger said. ‘But lead on, corporal, by all means.’ Vido felt some sympathy for the watchman, though he wasn’t a fan of the watch in general. Between one of Hamhock’s piss-apples and the figurative blunt-force trauma of meeting Konniger, it was shaping up to be a bad day for Corporal Grygsson. The ice-house wasn’t far from the Three-Toll watch-house, which Vido figured meant that Konniger was right. ‘Old Stall’, Captain Stotlmeyer when he was at home, was infamous for wanting to know everything and acting on nothing. He ruled the Luitpolsstrasse with a light touch, taking money with both hands from either side. Vido had frequented the Luitpolsstrasse in his former life; it was a home for all sorts, not just criminals. He kept one hand on his purse and the other on his knife as they walked. Beggars, many of whom were known to Vido and all of whom were sensible enough to stay away from Konniger, skulked on the riverbank, scavenging whatever bounty the Reik chose to disgorge. There were dozens of little docks and jetties striking out in all directions from a handful of wharfs. Altdorf had a peculiar quality to it, like something grown rather than built, especially on this side of the river. A shout caught his attention. Vido’s eyes widened as he saw the parade of placard-waving figures squeezing out of one of the area’s crooked, winding streets. ‘Master,’ he said urgently, as the warm air began to become close with bellowed slogans and off-key singing. ‘Mock-beggars,’ Grygsson spat, one hand on his sword. ‘They’ve been acting up of late.’ Altdorf had its fair share of dangers, but recently, the Luitpolsstrasse had become the hunting ground of a particularly aggressive breed of political agitator. The mock-beggars were mostly made up of the unrulier elements of the lower classes, with mobs of over-excited students from the University and the usual anti-imperialist, anti-provincial, freistadt types making up the hard core. Their number had begun to swell in recent months, since the election of Karl Franz to the Imperial Seat and the usual flurry of new taxes a new Emperor brought with him. Konniger smiled placidly. ‘Indeed. Calm yourself, Vido, corporal. We are not the target. I believe they’re heading for the Fish Wharf.’ ‘Stotlmeyer should let us at them,’ Grygsson grumbled, half to himself. ‘And then what?’ Konniger said. ‘There are more of them than you, and they know all of the best hiding places. Let us not forget the mess that the rabble-rouser Yevgeny Yefimovich caused during the Great Fog, eh?’ ‘I was in Salzenmund then,’ Grygsson said. ‘I wasn’t,’ Konniger said blithely. ‘I should like to talk to my client before dark, corporal.’ Grygsson made a face, but didn’t protest Konniger’s chiding tone. Vido had figured him for a quick learner. Three-Toll Bridge was visible in the near distance and the smell of the river seemed to cling to every cobble and corner. It wasn’t an unpleasant smell, if you were used to it. The watch-house, on the other hand, smelled like, well, a watch-house. Vido’s nose wrinkled as Grygsson led them in. Watchmen were coming in and out, some looking the worse for wear. If the mock-beggars were out, that meant the Committee for Vigilance was as well. Not to mention the Hooks and the Fishes and the Crab Street Claws and every other two-bit gang with a grudge. They’d be brawling in the streets before dark and likely after dark as well. ‘Jaeger’s in the cells,’ Grygsson said, leading Konniger and Vido deeper into the watch-house. It had been built in the wake of the Great Fog Riot, right onto one of the bridge’s pylons, making use of the ancient dwarfen stonework. The pylon was in reality a thick tower of stone, connecting the street to the bridge and built to defend the latter from an incursion from either direction. The cells were, of course, at the bottom, with the bilges and the rats. They moved down damp stairs soft with moss and mould and Vido shuddered, mentally thanking Ranald, patron of thieves and luck, for never having ended up in a place such as this. Grygsson stopped at a cell – more an alcove, really – just above the water line at the bottom of the curving stairs. ‘Here we are,’ he said, unlocking the door and slamming it inwards with the instinctive ferocity of a man who’d been thumped by more than one prisoner in his career. Jaeger flinched at the noise, and at first glance Vido didn’t think he was much capable of thumping anyone, let alone Grygsson. He was young and lean, with a mop of now-filthy straw-coloured hair obscuring his features. There were no chains in the cells, but he was shin deep in river water. ‘I–I demand to see the watch-captain!’ he said, voice cracking. ‘As singularly useless a demand as it is a foolish one,’ Konniger said as he gazed at Jaeger. ‘Your father said that you were possessed of an academic turn of mind, Herr Jaeger.’ ‘My father,’ Jaeger repeated dumbly. He blinked. ‘He sent you to purchase my freedom then?’ he asked, his shoulders stiffening. ‘I’ll not have it! I’ll not use his wealth to buy my peace of mind while other poor souls languish in these torturer’s dungeons.’ ‘The only other poor soul down here is Mad Harry, who’s mad and eats faces when he’s not talking to his pet rat,’ Grygsson said, leaning against the door frame, his arms crossed. ‘Even so, I refuse. I shall suffer as the common man suffers,’ Jaeger said, turning away. If he’d had a cloak, he’d have swept it around him majestically, Vido knew. Instead, he wrapped his thin arms around himself and shivered, looking like a half-drowned alley cat. Konniger cocked his head, his hands clasped behind his back. ‘But you are not the common man, are you, Herr Jaeger? Felix Jaeger, eight and ten years as of last solstice, son of Gustav and Renata Jaeger, middle brother of three, the ‘sons’ of the firm Jaeger and Sons. Your father is one of the wealthiest men in Altdorf and as such is easily capable of affording the set fees for my not inconsiderable services. Mutual friends supposedly recommended said services to Gustav and thus, here I am.’ ‘And who are you, then?’ Jaeger snapped, glaring at Konniger over his shoulder. ‘I am the man who is going to keep you from doing the crow-jig on the gallows,’ Konniger said. He turned and, before Grygsson could react, yanked the latter’s sword from its sheath and flung it to Jaeger, who caught it instinctively and with more skill than Vido had expected. Konniger stepped into the cell, heedless of the filthy water slopping around his robe. ‘Try and get past me, Herr Jaeger. Show me the skills with which you bested Krassner.’ Jaeger looked at the sword in his hand and then at Konniger as if the latter had gone mad. Vido might have thought the same had he not long ago grown used to Konniger’s methods. Grygsson made to bull into the cell, but Konniger flung up a hand. ‘Hold, corporal. I assure you that Jaeger is no threat to me or indeed to anyone, sword or no. He is, quite simply, too incompetent to be dangerous.’ ‘I say,’ Jaeger spluttered. ‘You are a poet, Jaeger, and not a very good one. While your skills with a blade are highly ranked, you have, as yet, never fought an opponent outside of the chalk ring of the University arms-master. I believe you lack the necessary ruthlessness to draw blood.’ ‘I drew Krassner’s blood well enough,’ Jaeger said. But his eyes were wide and white and Vido knew he was afraid. ‘Did you?’ Konniger said, spreading his arms. ‘Show me, poet.’ Jaeger’s face flushed. With a splash, he lunged. Konniger’s hand moved so quickly that Vido missed it, seeing only the sparks scraped from the wall of the cell as the sage’s palm struck the side of the blade and gently diverted it from its intended path. Jaeger scrambled back, mouth working but no sound coming out. ‘You are quick, but obvious,’ Konniger lectured. Jaeger lunged again and Konniger repeated his earlier gesture with the opposite hand. The sage frowned. ‘A passable lunge, better, but still obvious to an experienced swordsman, which Krassner was, by all accounts,’ he said. ‘What did he say to you, Jaeger? Did you truly think you could defeat him?’ ‘Of course I did!’ Jaeger huffed and darted forwards. Konniger caught the blade between his palms and frowned. ‘Then you were more foolish than my initial observations attested. Krassner was implicated in no less than fifteen deaths, all from duels. His family’s influence was enough to keep him from the gallows. He was a trained killer, Jaeger. He should have killed you.’ Jaeger grunted and tried a fancy strike that even Vido saw coming. Konniger’s arms moved like strips of silk in a breeze and then somehow Jaeger was upside down against the far wall and the sword was in Konniger’s hand. The sage passed it back to the astonished Grygsson. ‘But he didn’t, did he?’ Konniger said as Jaeger righted himself, water streaming from him. ‘He baited you and you fell for it, but he’s the one who wound up dead. Intriguing…’ Konniger nodded sharply and turned. ‘Wait – what about me?’ Jaeger coughed. ‘I suggest prayer, if you wish to contribute,’ Konniger said without turning around. He stepped out of the cell and Grygsson slammed the door with far too much relish for Vido’s liking. Konniger glanced at the halfling. ‘Come, Vido, I wish to examine that sample we collected before we proceed any further with this investigation.’ ‘Better hurry, Konniger,’ Grygsson said nastily. ‘Those with the say want this over and done with. Jaeger’s due for the high jump as soon as Krassner’s relatives arrive.’ Konniger ignored the watchman and started up the stairs. Vido scrambled to keep up. ‘Master, do you truly think that bit of flesh holds the answer?’ ‘Quite the opposite,’ Konniger said. ‘I believe it will only lead to more questions.’ As they left the watch-house, Vido breathed a sigh of relief. He could hear the sounds of the mock-beggars’ protest echoing over the wharf, and saw watchmen heading towards the noise. He wondered whether the Hooks and Fishes would get involved. The wharfs of the Luitpolsstrasse were their territory. Or worse, someone like Vesper Klasst, Altdorf’s premier criminal, could become entangled in the affairs of the mob. ‘He won’t,’ Konniger said, not looking at Vido. The halfling blinked, startled. ‘I didn’t–’ ‘Your features are as easy to read as a Nehekharan papyrus, Vido,’ Konniger said, hands behind his back. ‘No, Klasst will stay out of this. As will the rest of Altdorf’s more larcenous citizens. The mock-beggars are the purveyors of a less stable form of mischief than men like Klasst prefer. Signs and chants and heretical pamphlets are nastier weapons than coshes and knives.’ ‘It’s not like Altdorf hasn’t seen its share of loudmouths,’ Vido said, shrugging. Something on the wharf exploded. It wasn’t an unexpected occurrence these days, given the state of things. Revolutionaries liked setting fires and sometimes those fires set off a store room full of flour or an illicit black powder shipment. Vido nearly fell, though Konniger didn’t as much as twitch. Vido wondered whether he’d been expecting it. ‘Mm, yes, but is it only confined to Altdorf?’ the sage said, stroking his chin, the distant fire reflected in his eyes. He extended his arm and snapped his fingers. ‘Give me my instrument roll. You will not need it where you’re going.’ ‘Whuh–where am I going?’ Vido said hesitantly. He heard the sounds of fighting on the wharf. Someone was ringing a fire bell and the halfling was filled with the sudden, urgent need to be anywhere other than where he was. Konniger gestured. ‘Into the Luitpolsstrasse, of course,’ he said. ‘I want to know everything there is to know about that duel, Vido. I want to know why, where, when, how and who and you will find all of that out for me, while I attend to other matters.’ ‘But–’ Vido began. ‘I would hurry, were I you,’ Konniger said, beginning to walk away. ‘Things are only going to grow more difficult as night draws closer.’ ‘But–’ Vido said, watching his master leave. ‘Hurry, Vido,’ Konniger called out, without either turning or slowing. ‘The game is afoot!’ On the wharfs, something else exploded. Vido flinched and began making his way towards the cramped streets and alleys of Altdorf’s slums, leaving the river behind as quickly as possible. The Luitpolsstrasse curled up in the eastern quarter of Altdorf like a rat in a nest, nestled between two branches of the Reik. It was a jungle of wrong-angled buildings and narrow streets that curled back on one another like worm tunnels in soil. It was also more active than Vido recalled, fairly humming with life and movement. Twice he had to dodge into side-streets to avoid protest parades. People flung things from windows and doorways at the protesters and the latter, true to form, responded by breaking from the march to either throw things back or charge doorways. The air was heavy, as if a storm were squatting overhead. Something, somewhere, was burning. To Vido, it seemed that the Luitpolsstrasse was a bomb and its fuse was fast dwindling. He dodged groups engaged in impromptu street-brawls and sought safety in his old haunts. Several were closed, but the Scalded Cat was open and doing fair business. The tavern was a slouching beast of a building, a wooden boil encrusting a section of the city wall. Vido felt right at home within the foul-smelling structure. Coins changed hands for all sorts of reasons in places like this, and no one batted an eye at Vido’s questions so long as they were accompanied by a round of watered-down ale or wine. He left the Scalded Cat after buying three rounds of the house bilge, his purse lighter by half, but his head full of information. Everybody knew Krassner, if not personally then by reputation. He duelled so often that most privately thought that he was being paid to do so. That wasn’t unusual in and of itself. Being a paid duellist was practically a respected career in Marienburg, and they weren’t thin on the ground in Altdorf despite the new Emperor’s distaste for it. But Krassner was only a youth, though his taste for the fleshpots and his undeniable streak of savagery separated him from the usual run of University boys. When the latter entered the Luitpolsstrasse it was usually on a dare or to prove their manhood. Most were lucky to see the next dawn. But Krassner had found a home with the mock-beggars, as, somewhat surprisingly, had Jaeger. Those two hadn’t been the only University students in the mock-beggars, but they were the loudest. Krassner was a proponent of the Yefimovich method – violent revolution, hanging the aristocracy and instituting a Tilean Republic-style government, which had clashed with Jaeger’s outspoken opinions on civil disobedience. In fact, Jaeger had been the pen behind the last round of tracts and pamphlets that the mock-beggars had disseminated, the ones that favoured public discourse, non-violent resistance to aristocratic repression and an immediate cessation to the Buckle-Tax as well as the Pigeon-Tax and a subsequent refund for those afflicted. Vido had gathered a handful of the tracts and he read them as he moved towards the next tavern. Konniger had been wrong for once; Jaeger had the makings of a fine poet and Vido felt his tiny, corrupt heart stir as he read both The Call to (Metaphorical) Arms and The Summons to (Literal) Action, though he felt that Jaeger’s representation of the Moot’s system of benign local tyranny as an agrarian utopia could have done with Jaeger actually having been to the Moot at some point. This was mostly because Vido didn’t think ‘utopia’ when he thought of the Moot, so much as he thought ‘vast quantities of goat dung’. Still, there were flashes of brilliance amidst the purple prose. Jaeger’s lack of familiarity with agricultural realities aside, Vido was quite proud of himself. He’d ferreted out more than just the connection between the two. He’d learned that Krassner challenging Jaeger to a duel hadn’t been simply a fit of murderous whimsy. So absorbed was he in the texts and the information he’d learned that he didn’t notice that he was being shadowed until well after the third tavern. He caught sight of them as he left the Cuckolded Rooster. There were at least four of them, and they were bigger than he liked. Vido darted away from the main street, leaving a trail of pamphlets in his wake. His shadows followed quickly. He scurried through alleys and backstreets, aiming himself back towards the river, cursing himself for having been so free with his coin. If he could get back to Three-Toll Bridge, they’d fade away sure enough. That was, if they were just common bashers looking to investigate his depressingly light coin purse. The thought that they might be something else lent him speed. Konniger had made a number of enemies, and by extension of his status, they were Vido’s enemies as well. The men pursuing him could easily have worked for Klasst or some other criminal that Konniger had discomfited. Vido’s heart began to thump faster. The Luitpolsstrasse seemed to contract and expand around him as he ran. There were people everywhere and slogans and chants filled the air. The boiling point was drawing close and Vido had no intention of being in the area when it exploded. He clambered up a wooden fence that split an alley in two. Behind him, feet splashed through puddles and one of his pursuers cursed and Vido suddenly realised that he wasn’t going to reach the bridge. Vido dropped down, groping for a knife. One of the men hit the fence, splintering it and nearly causing it to collapse on Vido, who danced back against the wall. The fence-breaker groped for the halfling. Vido yanked a knife free of its sheath and pinned the groper’s hand to a section of fallen fencing, eliciting a howl of pain. Then he snatched up a length of jagged wood and walloped the pinned man upside the head, silencing him. The others forced their way through the remains of the fence as Vido drew another knife and skipped back into the darkness of the alley. ‘Come on then lads, one at a time, one at a time, plenty of me to go around,’ he said with more bravado than he felt. The men approached warily. Blades glinted in their hands. Vido tensed, ready to move. He never got the chance. A slim, dark shape detached itself from the alley wall like a spider and a thin, solid fist caught one of the men across the jaw with a satisfying crunch. The others reacted with surprise and Vido threw his own punch, south of the closest belt buckle, eliciting a shrill scream. As the man crumpled, clutching his crotch, the last turned to flee, only to have his legs swept out from under him by Vido’s rescuer. His head bounced off the cobbles and he stared up at the darkening sky blankly. ‘Vido, my disappointment is exceeded only by my frustration,’ Konniger said, rising to his feet. He had exchanged his robes for a darkly-dyed outfit that resembled something a burglar would wear. ‘If you cannot handle a quartet of street-trash on your own, what good are you?’ ‘I was handling it fine,’ Vido protested. ‘I beg to differ. You lack even the most basic facility in regards to thwarting pursuit.’ Konniger sank to his haunches beside the man he’d slugged and grabbed his chin. He twisted the man’s head aside and said, ‘Ha. There, as I thought.’ ‘What?’ Vido looked and saw what looked like new-made scars on the man’s neck. ‘There were similar scars on Krassner’s wrists and inner arms.’ ‘He was a duellist,’ Vido said. ‘Are you blind as well as obtuse?’ Konniger said. ‘Can you not tell the difference between marks made by blades and those made by teeth?’ Vido swallowed and said, ‘T-teeth?’ ‘Fangs, Vido,’ Konniger said. He peered at the others. ‘Each of these men will have similar marks, though likely in different places. I’m told it is akin to imbibing the more potent varieties of alcohol, with similar long-term effects on those of weak character.’ ‘You aren’t saying what I think you’re saying, are you?’ Vido asked as a shiver ran through him. ‘The evidence speaks for itself, Vido. Come, I wish to examine the scene of the crime before things come to a head, as they must.’ Konniger rose smoothly. ‘What were you even doing out here, master?’ Vido said. He blinked. ‘Were you following me?’ ‘For a time, yes,’ Konniger said, striding out of the alleyway. ‘I used you as a stalking goat, Vido, a career for which you are singularly qualified.’ ‘You knew!’ Vido said accusingly. ‘You knew someone would come after me!’ ‘I suspected, yes.’ ‘So what was that about examining that sample – was that all just for my benefit?’ Vido wanted to yell and scream at Konniger, though he knew it’d be like yelling at a wall. ‘Hardly, though I was quite aware of what I was looking at in the ice-house. Further examination was required for confirmation of my initial assessment. Remember, Vido, theories are not proof, in and of themselves.’ Konniger glanced at the fuming halfling. ‘Too, I needed facts, which I assume you gathered, given the resulting pursuit.’ Konniger stopped and cocked his head. ‘Tell me what you learned.’ ‘Why? Likely you already know it!’ Konniger smacked the side of Vido’s head. ‘What did I just say about theories and proof? Sometimes I despair of ever planting the seeds of my methodology within that thick skull of yours.’ Vido rubbed his head ruefully and prepared to respond when Konniger turned away. ‘Tell me as we walk. Our time is limited.’ Konniger remained silent as Vido told him everything he’d learned. Around them, people hurried to and fro, as if preparing for a siege. Vido wondered whether the rest of Altdorf was aware of what was going on, or whether they even cared. How long before the temple bells began to ring and the aristos set their hired mercenaries on anyone who crossed the bridges from the eastern quarter? It’d be the Great Fog all over again. ‘You’re certain?’ Konniger said, as they stepped around a growing brawl between pamphleteers. ‘Krassner was set on Jaeger?’ ‘That’s the word,’ Vido said, hopping aside as a tangle of gouging fingers, jabbing knees and virulent cursing rolled past him. ‘Krassner and Jaeger were on opposite factions, and Krassner’s lot wanted Jaeger to shut up about all that peaceful resistance nonsense.’ ‘Mm.’ Konniger’s eyes narrowed and Vido was reminded of a falcon on the hunt. ‘And now, with the voice of the moderates locked in the cells, Krassner’s supporters have free rein, despite Krassner himself being dead.’ ‘That’s just it,’ Vido said. ‘They’re howling about Jaeger being a tool of Imperial Oppression and Krassner being a Martyr of the People. Half the mobs out here are baying for Jaeger’s blood. The other half want to storm the Emperor’s Palace.’ He cursed as a falling body splashed mud on him. The streets were getting dangerous, and fire bells were ringing steadily. Vido looked at the sage. ‘Did he do it, master? Did Jaeger kill Krassner?’ ‘In a manner of speaking, Krassner killed himself,’ Konniger said. ‘The wound on his neck contained traces of a dart crafted from bone, as I suspected. The dart itself had been smeared in the venom of the hixa, a nasty little insect native to the Great Desert, long thought extinct. The venom itself would not have been enough to kill a man of Krassner’s endurance, but it would have slowed him, made him awkward.’ ‘So… someone shot Krassner so that Jaeger could kill him?’ Vido said, scratching his head. Konniger said nothing. The bridge was in sight and he hurried towards it. There were mobs on the wharfs, some of whom were throwing things at the boats and barques which still slid down the Reik in the gloaming of eventide. On the other side of the bridge in the temple district, Vido saw improvised barricades being set up. ‘We’re going to be caught right in the thick of it,’ he muttered. ‘Some storms look worse than they truly are,’ Konniger said. There were watchmen on the bridge, clutching spears and shields that likely hadn’t seen use since the last riots. They made to block Konniger’s way, but a shouted command caused them to step aside. Vido hurried past them, practically stepping on the sage’s heels. Grygsson was waiting on them, his face sour. He glared over the rail of the bridge at the mobs and muttered a curse. ‘They’re closing the river-gates,’ he said, looking at Konniger as if it were the sage’s fault. ‘As I hoped,’ Konniger said. ‘The Emperor is an intelligent man, despite his youth. I assume you have orders to hold the bridge?’ Grygsson spat and nodded. ‘Stotlmeyer is hiding in the watch-house, so I’m in charge. Captain Kleindeinst is seeing to the bridges leading into the Konigsplatz and the University, and the docks as well. Filthy Harald will keep the Hooks and Fishes from getting too excited and trying to join in.’ ‘I’m sure he will,’ Konniger said smoothly. ‘Kleindeinst’s methods are infamously effective.’ Vido shuddered. Filthy Harald wasn’t a man to cross. They said he’d killed the Countess of Wissenland’s brother in a duel with nothing but a knife. ‘I need to examine the spot where Krassner was killed.’ ‘What? Why?’ Grygsson said. ‘It’s not like that matters now… the whole city is a barrel of black powder just waiting for the torch to fall.’ ‘That is your concern, corporal, not mine. I have my duty, even as you do,’ Konniger said, stepping past Grygsson. Grygsson growled wordlessly, but waved Konniger past. ‘Maybe we should be concerned about it, master,’ Vido said, following Konniger towards the centre of the bridge. ‘I mean, getting caught in a riot…’ ‘That is not a riot, Vido. That is a carefully orchestrated mummer’s play,’ Konniger said dismissively. ‘What?’ ‘Coincidence is just that,’ Konniger said, stopping. ‘It rarely occurs, and never with such frequency and precision. The duel was merely the second act in a play that I have seen before, at length. Middenheim, Marienburg, Copher, Miragliano, the setting changes, but the lines are the same.’ Konniger spread his arms. ‘The scene does not change, though it might take place on an Altdorf bridge or a plaza in Magritta. Two men stand facing one another, one the voice of caution and common sense, the other of upheaval and anarchy. The crowd bays for blood and swords or knives or what have you flash and a man dies. The mob follows the victor in baring its fangs at the authorities. Nothing of consequence occurs, save that the solid foundation of the authority is undermined ever so slightly, and cracks form in the stone of control.’ ‘I thought it was just a duel,’ Vido said hesitantly. Konniger wasn’t listening. He turned in place, eyes closed. ‘It is a constant process, like the lapping of the river at the roots of the mountain. The end result is the same. The mountain is replaced by the river. In time, a new mountain rises and it begins again.’ Vido swallowed. There were fires on the wharf and in the river a boat was burning as it sank. The purple of evening was lit up by the light of the fires. The bridge trembled beneath his feet. He thought of the marks on his attacker’s throat earlier. He saw Konniger looking at him. The sage had lowered his arms and held his hands clasped before his face, his index fingers pressed to his thin lips. ‘It is monstrous in its enormity, is it not?’ he said softly. He pointed. ‘The duel took place here. Krassner and Jaeger circled one another, the former confidently, the latter hesitantly. Despite my earlier assertions, Jaeger is a fine swordsman, if unsure of his own skill. That skill is likely why Krassner’s… patron decided not to take any chances. Krassner’s previous opponents had been out of shape, old, or simply unable to defend themselves against a trained killer. Coincidentally, they were all leaders of the non-violent factions of the disorganised organisation known colloquially as ‘mock-beggars’. But Jaeger… Jaeger had a chance.’ Konniger turned, sweeping a hand out. ‘The crowd pressed close, providing the perfect camouflage.’ He turned. ‘Depending on where Krassner was standing, the assassin was likely positioned nearby. But Jaeger was too quick, or perhaps he did something unexpected. Regardless, the dart meant for him pierced Krassner’s neck. Krassner staggered… right onto the point of Jaeger’s sword.’ Konniger smiled thinly. ‘Jaeger was arrested, which proved to be a blessing in disguise, both for him and those who’d sought his death.’ ‘I don’t see how it’s much of a blessing that he’s locked up and gallows bound,’ Vido said. ‘Oh but it is, Vido,’ Konniger said. ‘Otherwise he’d almost certainly be dead. But, locked up, there’s no need to kill him, not until the time comes to clean up any loose ends.’ ‘You’re saying someone planned all of this?’ Vido said, trying to process it all. He gestured wildly towards the wharf and the fires. ‘All of this, for what?’ ‘That is what I intend to find out,’ Konniger said. ‘And how are we going to do that?’ ‘Simple. We are going to wait for whoever comes to kill Jaeger and confront them,’ Konniger said, starting towards the watch-house. ‘What?’ Vido fairly shrieked. ‘You can’t be serious!’ ‘Indeed I am,’ Konniger said. ‘But – but master, the marks! You know what that means!’ Vido hurried after him. ‘You know what will likely be coming for him.’ ‘Yes,’ Konniger said, peering at the last strip of sunlight as it slid over the horizon. ‘I do indeed know who will be coming for him.’ Vido stopped. What had he heard there in Konniger’s normally icy tones; fear, or something else? The halfling thought of an incident several years before, and of the steadily growing pile of vellum scrolls that occupied an expanding territory within Konniger’s study. And he wondered whether or not his master had been taken by the madness that sent rats charging into the jaws of cats. ‘Come along, Vido,’ Konniger called over his shoulder. He strode along the bridge as if he were out for an evening stroll, rather than walking towards what looked to Vido to be an unpleasant situation. Drums beat along the river. The mock-beggars were out in force, carrying torches and lanterns and dressed for revolution. They surged towards the Three-Toll Bridge, as their leaders shouted about ousting the money-changers, tearing the gilt off the temples and other, altogether less comprehensible things. Grygsson and the watch were there to meet them, shields raised and spears outthrust. The mob struck the line with a roar and clubs and knives chopped into painted wood. Grygsson stood just behind the line, bellowing orders, his sword in hand. As he and Konniger drew closer to the brawl, Vido heard a chant of ‘kill the aristo spy!’ and he tugged on Konniger’s sleeve. ‘Master, I think they’re going for Jaeger,’ he said urgently. ‘Why do you think we’re heading in this direction?’ Konniger snapped. ‘Grygsson, we need to get into the watch-house!’ The corporal paused in his exhortations only long enough to shout a curse at Konniger and then he turned back to the fight at hand. Konniger spat his own curse. ‘Lout; he’s so focused on defending the bridge, he’ll lose the watch-house.’ Vido saw that the sage was correct. The watch had formed up at the narrowest point of the bridge, rather than close to the watch-house. The side and rear elements of the mob were heading for the watch-house, trying to use an improvised battering ram to take out the sturdy doors. ‘Is that a ship’s mast?’ Vido said. Konniger didn’t reply. Instead, he seemed focused on the crowd of waiting revolutionaries behind the battering ram. His keen gaze swept the angry, excited, ecstatic faces there as if memorising them. Vido knew who he was looking for and said a silent prayer to Ranald that Konniger was wrong. They’d barely survived the first time they’d tangled with her. Their luck might not hold a second time. ‘What are we going to do?’ Vido said. ‘We’re going to get to Jaeger first,’ Konniger said grimly. ‘And how’re we going to do that? There’s too many of them,’ Vido said. ‘Simple,’ Konniger said. ‘We shall take the back way.’ ‘Back – what?’ Vido said, confused. Konniger started towards the side of the bridge and Vido got a sinking sensation in his belly. ‘Oh. Oh no, no, no, that’s not good at all.’ Despite his misgivings, he joined Konniger at the side of the bridge. The sage leaned over the rail, looking down at the river. He grabbed Vido by the shoulder with talon-like fingers and pointed into the darkness below. ‘There! What do you see, Vido?’ Trying to ignore the sound of the battering ram striking the door and the clash of weapons, Vido peered in the direction Konniger had indicated. His eyes narrowed and he saw that there was a small jetty there, where the bridge pylon met the water. ‘Is that a door?’ he said. ‘Of course it’s a door,’ Konniger said. ‘And it’s how we’re going to get to Jaeger before the mob.’ ‘And how are you expecting to do that? It’s not like either of us can fly,’ Vido said, but he already knew the answer. Konniger stretched and cracked his knuckles. ‘You were quite the thief in your day, Vido. Let’s see if the old saw about halfling memories is true, eh?’ With that, Konniger hopped up onto the rail and swung himself over the side of the bridge. Vido looked up at the sky and made the sign of Ranald. ‘Patron of fools, thieves and foolish thieves, please look after me,’ Vido muttered, climbing over the rail with a resigned whimper. It wasn’t that he wasn’t confident in his abilities in that regard. It was simply that they were ill-equipped for what was likely awaiting them at their destination. That didn’t seem to concern Konniger, however, which meant he either had a plan, or he was coming up with one as they climbed. Whichever it turned out to be, Vido hoped it was enough. Konniger climbed like a spider, which didn’t surprise Vido one bit. The sage looked like a bag of bones, but looks could be deceiving. He was far stronger than many bashers of Vido’s acquaintance, and quicker than a rat. Without his robes, there was an odd sort of grace to his movements, a jittery agility that saw him creep along the ledge of the rail and then slip down and climb hand over hand towards the plinth. Vido took a breath and followed him. The stone was slippery and the going was slow, but as Vido dug his fingers and toes into the spaces between stones, he felt the old skills and instincts, never far below the surface, coming back to him. The Reik yawned hungrily below him, black and swift. Vido looked down and swallowed. He’d seen bodies, and not-quite bodies, sink into those waters before, and vanish with nary a blip to mark their presence. There were still boats on the river, despite the fires on the wharfs and what was likely fighting on the docks, going by the sound of bells coming from the latter. More bells sounded from the temple district and then from the quarter where the University sprawled. The whole of Altdorf seemed to be singing out in alarm and for a moment, the world spun around Vido. With a jerk, he stopped himself from sliding from his perch, his heart thudding in his chest. What was going on in the city? Was it really as bad as it seemed, or was Konniger right and it was all just a smokescreen? Gritting the question between his teeth, the halfling began to climb along the ledge. Konniger was already halfway to the plinth, scrambling like a cat. Vido quickened his pace. The plinth was a solid column of brick and broad stone long ago uprooted from the deep places of the river by dwarfen ingenuity. Each of the six plinths was hollow, constructed to be a fortress in and of itself, capable of standing off an enemy force for months if not years. There was a rumour that the dwarf King Ironbeard, far back in Sigmar’s time, had hidden a fabulous treasure in one of the plinths as well, though Vido had never put much credence in it. Only the one plinth was in use now, and it was certainly under siege. The crowd around it had grown as Grygsson and his men had been pushed back along the bridge. The sheer weight of numbers was their undoing. Konniger had been right. There weren’t enough watchmen. Konniger had swung himself from the bridge to the plinth, his thin fingers finding holds invisible to Vido’s eye. Despite the sage’s apparent lack of effort, Vido could see the sheen of sweat on his master’s face and the tremble in his limbs. He knew how Konniger felt himself, for his muscles were already aching with the strain of not falling. He could feel the stones beneath him tremble as the mob’s makeshift battering ram struck the door again. The sooner he got down, the better. He swung out from the rail, reaching for the plinth. His fingers found purchase and he slapped himself to it as quickly as he could. ‘Hurry, Vido,’ Konniger called up from below. ‘Time is our enemy!’ Vido grunted and began to descend. It seemed to take an eternity, and when he was finally able to drop to the stone jetty, he was shaking and shivering with fatigue. Puffing, he leaned forwards, trying to control his breathing. Konniger didn’t seem to be out of breath. Instead, he was inspecting the door. ‘They locked it?’ Vido wheezed in disbelief. ‘Not locked. Merely warped and ancient.’ Konniger stepped back and sent a sharp kick into the door. It groaned as it popped inwards in a cloud of mould and soft splinters. ‘Let’s go. Stay close to me.’ ‘No fear there,’ Vido gulped. He kept his hand on his knife as he followed the sage into the darkness of the hollow plinth. There was a recursive coil of flat, uneven stone stairs leading downwards to the level above where the cells were. Water clung in fat droplets to the walls and stairs and there was a creeping moss growing in the corners. Vido’s fingers tapped nervously on the pommel of his knife, and even with his better-than-human vision, the darkness was almost solid. He traced the wall with his free hand as they moved downwards. How Konniger was finding his way, Vido couldn’t say. The sage had his tricks and he didn’t always share them. From above them came the crash of the battering ram as it finally beat the watch-house door down. There were muffled shouts, and the sound of steel meeting steel slithered down. ‘Master, what are we going to do when we get to Jaeger’s cell?’ Vido whispered. For a moment, he thought Konniger hadn’t heard him. He saw the dim shape of Konniger pause and turn. ‘We must get there first, Vido, before we start worrying about what to do. Hurry up and stay close.’ Torchlight from the landing below stretched towards them, but Vido felt no relief. In fact, he felt quite the opposite. A fear grew in him, hard and primal, the fear of a mouse which knows that it is being watched by an unseen cat. There was a strange smell in the air, like far away desert blossoms and rotting orchids, and beneath those, the harsh tang of old blood. Jaeger’s cell door was off its hinges and broken against the wall. The fight upstairs was still going on, but it was a sideshow, even as Konniger had claimed. ‘Hello, Zavant,’ a woman’s voice purred, only it wasn’t a woman’s voice in the same way that a tiger’s growl wasn’t that of an alley cat. Konniger froze and then visibly forced himself to relax, closing his eyes and sighing. ‘Lady Khemalla,’ he said, and Vido felt his bowels clench. Khemalla of Lahmia, the ancient and monstrous vampire they had crossed swords with some years earlier, during the so-called Case of the Tilean Widow. Konniger had been forced to make common cause with Vesper Klasst in hunting the creature, and even then they’d only just barely escaped with their lives. And now, here she was again and even worse, they didn’t have Klasst’s hardened killers to run interference. A hand, at once dusky and pale, extended from the open cell and gestured languidly for them to approach. Konniger waved Vido back against the wall and stepped forwards, his hands clasped tightly behind his back. ‘Your heart pounds like a drum, Zavant,’ Khemalla said. Vido couldn’t see her, but he recognised the blackly syrupy tones from his nightmares well enough. ‘It beats so fiercely, like the wings of a dove in a cage of bone.’ ‘Anticipation,’ Konniger said curtly. Khemalla let loose a throaty chuckle. ‘Have you composed any more poetry for me, my sage?’ Vido blinked, not liking that one bit. He hadn’t thought Konniger had responded to any of the scrolls. Why would he, after all? But… what if he had? Konniger had done many things that Vido considered the worst type of foolishness in the name of knowledge, from taking wyrdstone powder in his pipe to translating the peculiarly predatory works of the mad poet Abashim of Copher. ‘It lacks the joyous decadence of Volpaire, but…’ Khemalla trailed off. Vido could imagine the look on her face. It made him shudder. ‘A momentary diversion, nothing more,’ Konniger said. ‘A game within a game, something you know quite a bit about.’ ‘Yes, quite.’ Vido heard a rustle of skirts. ‘You knew it was me, and yet you came anyway?’ ‘I thought it best to confront you directly,’ Konniger said. ‘Or perhaps, you simply desired to look upon my face once more?’ From a normal woman, the words would have been flirtatious. From a creature like Khemalla, they were terrifying in their implications. ‘In a way,’ Konniger said. ‘I wished to tell you that I knew your scheme. For two years, we have exchanged pleasantries – jabs and ripostes done in ink and hints. You teased and I thought. Once, you told me that Altdorf was one of many battlefields upon which you manoeuvred. I have come to block those manoeuvres.’ ‘Have you?’ Khemalla said. Cloth rustled and Konniger stepped back. Vido heard something heavy suddenly thump to the floor. ‘How disappointing; wherever shall I get a new opponent of your calibre?’ ‘I am hoping to provide you with entertainment for many years to come, my lady,’ Konniger said smoothly. Vido heard neither tremble nor hesitation in his master’s voice. ‘Release the boy.’ Khemalla laughed, low and long. ‘Now why would I do that, when I have engineered a city-wide rebellion to reach him?’ ‘Because you want to know what I know, and I will not tell you unless you release him.’ ‘I could simply pry the secrets from your mind, Zavant,’ Khemalla said. She stepped closer, and Konniger’s back was pressed to the wall, his hands knotted into fists. She stepped out of the cell, one arm half-extended before her, talon-tipped fingers spread and bent, her terrible, beautiful face twisted into a mask of gloating anticipation. Her other hand was wrapped around the scalp of the unconscious Jaeger, and rivulets of blood ran down his face and neck from where her claws pierced his flesh. ‘You can try,’ Konniger said, not flinching as she reached for him. His eyes flickered in Vido’s direction and the halfling’s heart nearly stopped. ‘Now, Vido,’ the sage said loudly. Khemalla whirled, quicker than a serpent, fangs bared in a bestial hiss. Vido froze, but only for a moment. Instinctively, he drew his knife and hurled it with every ounce of skill and strength he possessed, knowing even as it left his hand that unless Ranald himself was on the stairs, it would do no good. Khemalla snarled and batted the blade from the air, her eyes flashing an ugly crimson through the veil of her night-black hair. This is it, thought Vido, and he closed his eyes. Khemalla screamed. Vido’s eyes sprang open and he saw the vampire release Jaeger and reel back into the cell, flailing blindly. Konniger had stepped forwards, hands cupped before him, and blown a cloud of… something into her face. The smell of burning pork and bone filled the narrow confines of the landing and Vido gagged. ‘What did you do? What was that?’ he said, too relieved to be angry that his master had once again used him as bait. ‘Powdered silver,’ Konniger said, clapping his hands. ‘And I have more where that came from, Lady Khemalla.’ From inside the cell came a snarl in reply. There was nothing human in that sound and it held the promise of hours of agony for anyone listening. Konniger gestured to Jaeger, who was unconscious. Vido envied him a bit. ‘Make yourself useful, Vido. Pull him aside.’ Vido did as he bade and Konniger stepped over the youth’s body and into the cell. Vido pulled Jaeger up against the opposite wall and watched as his master confronted death made flesh. Khemalla’s beauty had been distorted by an angry red rash of suppurating blisters that cut a scar across her porcelain features. Her hands too were blistered and she hissed through a barrier of fingers. ‘I’m going to twist your head off, meat,’ she growled. ‘No, you won’t,’ Konniger said. Vido heard the tension in his voice. ‘I did not come unprepared, Lady Khemalla.’ Konniger extended one hand to his side and drew two fingers across the door frame in a complicated gesture. Khemalla shrilled and sank back, like a she-wolf confronted by a flaming brand. ‘Despite my expulsion from the temple, I am still quite versed in the methods of the divine.’ ‘Prayers won’t save you,’ Khemalla spat, lowering her hands. Her muscles tensed in an altogether inhuman fashion and Vido drew a second knife. ‘No, but they will hold you at bay long enough for us to come to an understanding,’ Konniger said quickly. ‘I am no sorcerer or necromancer, Khemalla, but I am sage enough to know how to trap a creature such as you for long enough for the proper authorities to deal with you.’ Konniger’s eyes narrowed. ‘And trap you I will. I will bind you to this cell and my binding will hold until the Grand Theogonist himself can make it permanent. Is that how you wish this to end? Do you wish to live out the remainder of your eternity sealed away here, in this cell?’ ‘You will be locked in here with me,’ Khemalla said, flexing her talons. ‘A price I am quite willing to pay, I assure you,’ Konniger snarled. He flung up a hand. ‘What is it to be, Khemalla? Do we live, or do we die?’ The vampire hesitated. ‘Speak,’ she said after a moment that lasted for an eternity to Vido’s fear-drenched perceptions. ‘I know everything. I know that recent, periodic uprisings in Imperial provinces and beyond were due to your influence. I even suspect I know why, but I have one question… why did the boy need to die? Why did he need to die by your hand?’ Khemalla’s burnt features twisted into a smile. ‘Who said anything about death? If I had wanted him dead, I could have let the mob I accompanied here have him, no?’ ‘Then why did you come here?’ Khemalla straightened, once again every inch the noblewoman, despite the fading red marks on her face and hands. ‘Destiny, Zavant. It is a plague which afflicts all men, some more than others. It clings like grave mould to some, heaping upon them, making them burn bright to our eyes. You burn, but not quite so brightly as young Felix. I hoped to sever that destiny, for my Sisterhood’s seers have foreseen that it will be inimical to us in certain ways, in years to come. When it resisted my shears, I decided to possess what I could not destroy. Perhaps he could become a replacement for poor, unlucky Wolfgang. Or perhaps I shall simply dash out his brains on the wall.’ ‘Perhaps you will do nothing with him at all,’ Konniger said. ‘He is too dangerous. He has too much influence with the mob for our liking.’ Khemalla shook her head. Konniger grunted. ‘So I was right. These outbreaks of violence… you are weakening the authority of the Emperor. You are seeking to undermine the stability of the Empire.’ Khemalla’s eyes flashed. ‘Your empire only has the stability we allow it, Zavant. It is built on our shoulders, by our grace and mercy. We have but to shrug and your petty kingdom will shiver to flinders.’ ‘But Jaeger is a danger to that,’ Konniger said. Khemalla sniffed. ‘Poets always are. Look at that fool Detlef Sierck or the minstrel Orfeo. Stories are the only thing which last longer than the Sisterhood, and have more power. What sort of stories will he write, do you think?’ ‘None any will read,’ Konniger said softly. Khemalla cocked her head. ‘Destiny says otherwise.’ ‘Destiny, like a river, can be diverted. As it stands, if he is exonerated, he will sway the mob to non-violence. No more riots. A new game begins, and it’d be one you would have to scramble to learn. But there are ways other than death or enslavement to keep him from doing so,’ Konniger said. Khemalla’s eyes glittered, but she said nothing. Vido held his breath. ‘My investigation will reveal that Jaeger did indeed kill Krassner, and that he did so as an impetuous young man confronting an agent provocateur. He will be released because he agreed to tell the watch everything he knew about the mock-beggars. My influence is enough to get certain parties to provide evidence to back up my findings. Jaeger will be released, and the ‘truth’ behind the affair leaked. Krassner’s reputation for violence and depravity will ensure the silence of his family and that Jaeger is borne no particular ill-will for his death by the mob, but he will never be trusted again. Too, having met his father, I can say that revealing the full extent of his son’s dealings to him will ensure that Jaeger is cut off from his family as well. He will be isolated from influence.’ ‘Yes, Gustav is quite touchy about propriety,’ Khemalla murmured. She tapped her lip. ‘And what are you offering me in return, Zavant?’ Konniger tensed. ‘A favour,’ he said. ‘A favour,’ Khemalla repeated. ‘You offer me a single favour, in return for sparing Jaeger and yourself and your ridiculous little servant?’ She stared at Konniger like a tigress at tethered goat and Vido imagined that in other circumstances, she might have licked her lips. ‘One… single… favour, from Zavant Konniger,’ she said throatily. ‘One favour,’ Konniger said again. ‘Done,’ Khemalla said, clapping her hands together like a young girl. She cocked her head and gestured. ‘It seems my mob has been dispersed. I must be going.’ She stepped past Konniger, her fingers stretching out to caress his cheek before he could dodge aside. Vido realised that she could have been on the sage before he blinked, let alone incanted a binding spell. ‘I look forward to your next poem, my sweet Zavant,’ she purred. And then she was gone, leaving behind only the echoes of taunting laughter. Konniger seemed to deflate, and he staggered out of the cell, sweat dripping down his face. Vido swallowed. ‘Master, are you–’ Konniger waved a hand, but did not reply. Instead, he peered at the stairs, his face set like stone. Then, with a shiver, he closed his eyes and said, simply, ‘Damnation.’ ‘What is it master?’ Vido said. ‘She beat me, Vido.’ Konniger straightened and chuckled bitterly. ‘I was so worried about the tiger in front of me that I backed into the pit behind me.’ He clapped his hands together and a sharp, savage bark of laughter escaped him. ‘If it were not her, if she were anyone else, I would not contemplate it, but she…’ Vido looked at him blankly. Konniger sighed. ‘Gustav, Vido. She mentioned Jaeger’s father by name. And he was recommended to me by a mutual friend, whose identity I did not bother to inquire after, like a fool.’ He looked at Vido. ‘You are the gambler here, Vido. What are the odds that she arranged this entire matter in order to put me into the position of offering her such a prize?’ Vido gaped for a moment and then shook his head and looked down at Jaeger, who groaned softly and began to stir. ‘No odds I’d take, I can tell you that.’ ‘Yes,’ Konniger said, leaning against the wall. He closed his eyes and smiled crookedly. ‘Still, it’s quite flattering, don’t you think?’