Viktor's day off

The sun crept slowly up from the horizon, its autumn rays cresting first the sloping hills around Salzenmund, then the city walls. As it rose, the light climbed over the buildings in the square opposite the Witch Hunters guild, falling in through a window on the second floor, where they hit Viktors sleeping face, which began to twitch. As the glaring light continued its work, his eyes fluttered open. It was early, many hours yet until the bells of the great churches would start ringing the worshippers in to mass.

Viktor liked waking early. In fact, he’d placed his bed specifically so the morning sun would wake him at this hour. As he stretched, his eyes drifted across the room, taking in Eleanor, hanging from her scabbard by a hook on the wall, and the polished armour draped on the stand in the corner. Tools of the trade. But not the trade he’d be doing today, he thought with a smile. No, not today.

Wearing just some serviceable, rough workman’s clothes, with a small pack slung across one shoulder, he descended the stairs into the courtyard, where a small group of young witch hunter apprentices were gathered, practicing their weapons. As he crossed the yard, heading for the gate leading out of the compound, a young, redheaded would-be-hunter jogged over.

-Viktor!, she said, with an easy smile.

-Just the man I need!

Viktor nodded.

-Sigrun. Good morning to you too.

-We’re practicing the Heinzfeldt maneuver, but can’t seem to get the right swing into it. Could you show us once more how to do it?

-I could, yes.

Sigrun beamed, and waved the others to come over.

-But I won’t, not today, Viktor said.

Sigrun furrowed her eyebrows in puzzlement. Normally, there was nothing Viktor seemed to like better than to show the many ways to bend a blade to your will.

He patted her shoulder.

-It’s my day off.

Sigrun looked like she’d forgotten to feed the cows.

-I’m sorry! I totally forgot…

But Viktor had already turned, and was strolling out through the gate, into the waking city.

 

Sigrun was alright, Viktor mused as he made his way down the streets towards the shore of the lake. Sure, she was wet behind the ears, and he still hadn’t completely forgiven her for the monumental Hochhausen-fiasco. But at least she knew that she had a lot to learn. Which was more than could be said for some of the others. Ah well, plenty of room in Morr’s garden.

Viktor had always been a large man. The kind of man who could walk easily down a busy city street, because the crowd just parted, like tall grass giving way to a bull. He also found that, as long as he didn’t wear his official Witch hunter guard-uniform, few people recognized him for anything other than just another workman going about his business. Suited him just fine.

Gradually, as he neared the water, the crowd started to thin out. Few people came down here, and those who did were usually either desperate, desperately poor, or going about business they didn’t want others to poke their noses into. Soon enough the streets ended, and he saw the beach ahead. The beach was more or less empty, except for some fishing boats dragged on shore, some boathouses and some miserable small shacks. He headed towards one of them, all the way down towards the lapping murky shores of the Ormsdeep. There was little to distinguish it from some of the others, except maybe it was a bit better kept, and it sported a sizeable chimney. Pulling a large iron key from his pocket, he unlocked the door and stepped in.

Inside, he placed his pack on a small table, pulling his carefully packed tools out. The small saw, the files, the pliers and the small hammer. Opening a small cupboard, he lifted out the blow pipe, filling the bulb with pure alcohol from a small flask in his bag.

The kid wasn’t here yet, he mused. Usually, the kid would be here when he arrived, eager for another day of work and lessons in the delicate art of silversmithing. It’d been over a year now since he first allowed the kid to help out, while slowly teaching him the art of crafting small amulets and trinkets. The kid had just hung around his shack before that, bugging him with questions. Gods knew how he passed the rest of the time, apart from the two festtags a month Viktor spent here. Viktor wasn’t one to pry, but he’d got the sense that the kid was a runaway of some sort. He spoke with a lilt reminiscent of the better sort of people, and claimed to know how to read. But his clothes were ragged, and he didn’t have a pfenning to his name, except for the coins Viktor regularly slipped him, ostensibly for the help. Ah well, it wasn’t like he was a formal apprentice or anything, so Viktor wasn’t going to rib him when he eventually showed up. His life was his own.

When he was satisfied the tools were ready, he went over to the chest in the corner. Pushing it out of the way, he grasped the loose floorboards under it, lifting them to reveal the small hideyhole underneath, where he kept the silver ingots and the finished trinkets. Except all the finished trinkets were gone.

For a short moment, rage bubbled up, drowning out the world. Robbed! He wanted to smash something, anything. Sitting down, he breathed in and out, slowly. It wasn’t even about the money, that was easy enough to replace. It was the invasion of it all that galled him. This was supposed to be his own little space, and now someone had violated it. But who even knew about it?

That was when he saw the note. In the corner of the small hidey-hole was a crumpled piece of paper. Picking it up, he looked at it quizzically. Yep, that was some sort of written message all right, made out in some sort of fancy scrawl. Given where he found it, it must be connected to the thievery in some way.

Viktor sighed. This meant he’d have to seek help, from someone who could read. But who? It had to be someone who could be trusted. That excluded most of Salzenmund. Sunniva was out of the question. Even given that he could track her down at whatever fancy-pants place she bunked these days, she’d be all up in his business, wanting to know more. That was not going to happen. Johanna was likewise not an option. No, she would have Questions. And Opinions. And, worst of all, probably Advice and Sympathy. He considered asking Johann. But if he was unlucky the people behind this worked for him, and that was a chestnut he didn’t want to have to rake out of the fire.

Viktor knew where he had to go. Sighing deeply, he replaced the loose boards, pushed the chest back into place, and exited the cottage.

 

The massive orrery loomed over the square, casting strange shadows as the sun crossed the sky. It looked more or less as it had done when it was the pride of the astromancers, except for several ill-fitting pipes which had been added, with black smoke belching forth at all hours. The massive mechanism at the top was quiet now, though. Eldur had muttered something about “weak sky-magic”, but seemed unable to get it working again. Getting in usually wasn’t a big issue though. Most commoners gave the building a wide berth, and there were no guards posted. The reputation of the inhabitants was enough. That, and the charred remains of small birds and stray dogs that had braved the wards on windows and hatches.

Viktor strode up and knocked on the front door. After a short while, he heard the locks and bolts being opened, and the door slid back. Inside in the torchlit corridor was a slight, redhaired woman in slightly too large red robes with gold trim. She was precariously balancing a tray containing what looked like glass containers with various fluids in different stages of smoking and bubbling.

-Viktor! she exclaimed with a smile.

Viktor nodded.

-Good day, Mia. Is El… is your master in?

-Of course. He’s in his study as usual. You can find your way?

She didn’t wait for an answer, but turned and went back in and through a doorway.

Viktor traversed the corridor, ascended a large staircase and carefully opened the massive oak door at the landing.

Inside was a huge vaulted room. Several large tables were strewn with different glasses, books and weird mechanisms. Strange glyphs were etched into the floor and on several of the walls. From across the room, Eldur spotted him.

-Ha! Just the man I need! he exclaimed, and strode over, red robes flowing.

His massive red beard and flowing, wild red mane seemed somewhat singed, and there was soot on his face. Grasping Viktor’s hand, he pressed a foot-long brass tube into it.

-Hold this! he ordered, and stepped back.

-Why… Viktor began, but the wizard cut him off.

-Now point it over there, and whatever you do, don’t look directly at the tip! he said, pointing at one of the three huge fireplaces in the room.

Before Viktor had time to protest, Eldur started waving his hands in weird patterns, and shouting in that strange tongue he used, mostly before everything started blowing up. Viktor held the metal tube at arms length, and pointed it where directed. Squinting, he tried to not look directly at it. Eldur’s voice reached a fever pitch, and with a dramatic flourish, he pointed at the tube in Viktor’s hand. The end started to spark, then sent off a flurry of small lights, before sputtering out with a slight whine.

Annoyed, Eldur walked over and roughly grabbed the tube, jabbing at it with his finger.

-Power of a sun my foot! he spat, shaking his head.

For a few seconds he stood there, muttering to himself. Then he seemed to notice Viktor standing there again.

-Viktor! What an unexpected visit! This can only mean one thing. We have business together, again. Come on man, spit it out!

Viktor tugged at his beard.

-As a matter of fact, I could use your help with something, he stated.

-Of course! Anything! Do you need me to burn out a nest of chaos worshippers? Are the undead on the move again?

-Actually, I was wondering if you could read this for me, Viktor said, producing the crumpled note from his pocket.

Eldur snatched it from him and scanned the writing.

-Ah yes, I see. This is most interesting!

-What does it say?

-It is clearly a secret missive of some sort, I sense nefarious goings on!

Viktor sighed audibly.

-Could you just please read it to me?

-Why of course! Ahem. Mr. Andreas Gänsenblüm, he began.

-That is the one the letter is addressed to, Eldur said.

-Yes, yes, I understood as much. I’m not an idiot.

-Very well, no need to get testy! Hm, well… I refer you to our previous discussion, and the business proposition I made at that time. If you are interested, bring the materials and items to the Leaping Salmon next Angestag at suppertime. It would be prudent not to discuss this with your partner before we have had a chance to come to an agreement. Signed Gustav.

Eldur seemed excited.

-Yes, yes, clearly a secret conspiracy of some sort. Involving materials and items no less. We should go to this “Leaping Salmon” at once, and root out this horrid cabal!

Small flames leapt from his fingers.

-No no, this isn’t…that sort of thing, Viktor said.

-It’s just someone I know who have gotten into some trouble, probably with some lowlife scum.

Eldur looked slightly disappointed, but then brightened up.

-But I know JUST the thing to clear away…SCUM!

It might have been Viktor’s imagination, but he felt the room getting hotter.

-That won’t be…necessary, he said.

-Are you sure? It would be my distinct…PLEASURE to clear away whatever FILTH your friend is involved with.

-No, I’m sure. But thank you anyway!

Eldur patted him on the shoulder.

-Very well. Should you change your mind, you know where to find me.

Then he turned around, and bent over his workbench, fingering the brass tube and tutting to himself.

For a moment, Viktor stood there, thinking.

-I…guess I’d better go deal with this thing then, he said.

Eldur didn’t look up.

-Hmmm? Ah yes, best of luck and all that, he said, without a glance as Viktor exited.

 

The Leaping Salmon was a fairly dingy tavern in a street neighbouring the lakeside dock district. The kind with many different nooks, crannies and tables around corners and behind screens. Perfect for anyone with business best conducted away from prying eyes. Viktor walked over to the bar. The barkeep, a portly, slightly balding fellow with a dirty apron, looked up.

-What’ll it be, friend?

-A pint of dark, and some directions, Viktor said, laying a silver coin on the bar.

The barkeep snatched the coin from the bar, quickly pocketing it, and began drawing ale into a large tankard.

-Anywhere in particular? he asked.

-I’m looking for a man called Gustav. Supposed to meet him here somewhere about some kind of business.

-I’m afraid I don’t know anyone by that name, the barkeep said, while glancing meaningfully towards a table in the corner, where four men sat.

He gave Viktor the full tankard.

-Sorry I couldn’t be of more help, he said with a grin.

-No worries, Viktor said.

Grabbing the tankard, he walked over towards the group, and sat down with his back to them at the next table.

The group was deep in a discussion about the merits of different barmaids, apparently. Viktor took a long draught of the ale, which was passable, and settled in. He was used to waiting.

A while later, the conversation behind him turned from the banal to more interesting matters.

-So, Gustav, any more information on the mystery silversmith?

-Not yet. But give it time, that kid won’t hold out forever. I’ve got a feeling this is a juicy mark.

-Really? a different voice chimed in.

-Didn’t he just have some trinkets, Ulric amulets and the like?

-Sure. But the silver was top grade, and more importantly, there’s no guild mark on them. And you know what that means…

A knowing chuckle spread around the table.

-No mark, no protection, the first voice said.

-Not until WE offer it, of course, said Gustav.

Viktor had to grip his tankard with both hands to avoid slamming it into the face of the nearest of the quartet. So that was what it was? A simple protection racket? And that little fool Andreas had gotten roped in somehow. Damn it! He’d specifically told the kid not to talk about the smithwork with anyone.

Downing the rest of the ale, he slammed the tankard down and stood up. He needed to think, find out where the kid was, and who this Gustav and his crew were working for. Tempting as it was to just beat them to a pulp here, that could lead to all sorts of attention and trouble he did not want. Fuming, he walked outside.

 

He hadn’t got very far down the streets towards the lakeside cottage when he felt the familiar pricking on the back of his neck, telling him he was being followed. He pretended to stumble, and knelt down, fiddling with his boot as if it was loose. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw them. It was the group from the tavern, and they’d picked up a couple of friends along the way. Somehow, they’d clocked him as suspicious. Or maybe the barkeep was in their pocket. Yeah, that was probably it.

This was a problem. The streets around here were mostly deserted, and he didn’t have a weapon to hand. If the gang wanted to jump him, and his gut told him they did, it could get messy. Standing up again, he quickened his pace. Sure enough, his shadows did as well, creeping gradually closer. Yeah, they planned on jumping him.

By now, most of the residences had given way to warehouses and the like. Few people were around. If he wanted to assault someone in broad daylight, he’d do it in a place like this. He could see the group were now holding various weapons – cudgels, cutlasses and even an axe. He needed to level the playing field. Rounding a corner, he ran for a large warehouse a bit down the road. Stepping inside, he slammed the door shut after him.

Damn it, he wished he had Eleanor now. And his armour. Looking around, he saw boxes, crates and ropes. He needed a sturdy plank, or a tool of some kind. His pursuers would be there soon. As he picked up a small piece of wood, wincing at how soggy and rotten it felt, his eyes saw, leaning against the wall in a corner, a huge, crude sledgehammer.

-Why hello there! he muttered to himself, tossing the wood aside and grabbing the long handle of the mallet.

A smile spread across his lips as he felt the solid weight of the hammer.

-Eleanor may be busy, but perhaps…Mathilda can step in in her stead?

Hmm, no Mathilda didn’t sound right. This one had more…heft. It felt solid. Heavy. Unyielding.

-Not Mathilda. Karl! Viktor said with a grin.

-Let’s greet our new friends, shall we, Karl?

 

The first two of the gang were stupid, slamming the door open and rushing in. Karl’s heavy head smashed into the first one’s chest, tossing him aside like a rag doll. Viktor let the weight of the hammer pull him along, spinning on his left heel with the momentum. As he came around he brought the butt of the handle up in a direct blow to the second man’s face. He heard a satisfying crack, and felt the man crumpling like a sack.

The third man to enter wasn’t as reckless as the first two, but that did him little good. Viktor used the blow to the second man as preamble to lift Karl into an overhead blow. The third man held a cutlass in his right hand, and brought it up in a futile ploy to parry. The cutlass caught Karl’s handle below the head. The blow tore the sword straight out of his hand, and Karl’s heavy head smashed straight into his face, which imploded like a ripe melon on a warm summer day. The fourth man dodged nimbly around his compatriot, and stabbed swiftly with a long dirk. Viktor managed to twist, and felt the blade slip along the right side of his chest, leaving a wet sting.

Letting go of Karl’s handle with his right hand, he reached forward and grabbed hold of the man’s curly beard and pulled hard down. The man’s chin connected squarely with Viktor’s right knee. As he went limp, Viktor tossed him straight at the fifth man, who was charging forward with a rapier raised. The blade of the rapier ruptured out through the bearded fellow’s guts. As the fifth man stepped back, trying to dislodge his blade, Viktor swung the mallet in a wide arc, catching him in the hip with a crushing sound.

Standing in the doorway was the man Viktor recognized as Gustav, with a shocked expression. As he turned to run, Viktor caught him on the back of his head with Karl’s handle. He went down with a sigh.

 

As he came to, Gustav became aware of three things. One, his head hurt like it was caught in a vice. Two, he seemed to be stuck fast. He quickly realized that he seemed to be tied to a wooden post. And three, standing a few feet away was the large man they’d been trailing, wrapping some torn cloth around his own torso. Blood matted the right side of his chest.

The large man glanced over at him, and finished off the wrap with a small knot.

-Good, you’re awake.

Gustav felt his mouth go dry. In a corner, he saw his mates crumpled in a heap. Five heavy hitters, feared men in the neighbourhood, and the man didn’t even seem to be breathing hard.

The man walked over. Standing just a couple of feet away, he loomed over Gustav.

-Now, my boss is quite fond of talking, he said.

-If she was here now, she’d have this long speech ready, all about what kind of trouble you’re in and why it would be in your best interest to start talking. And by the time she was done, you probably would, just to stop the assault of words. She’s really good at that bit, you know.

Gustav was confused.

-Your…boss?

-Yes. But she’s not here, is she? So you’re left with just me.

The man studied his hands, brushing away some rust-coloured specks.

-And I’m not a talker. Just not very good with the words. So I’m not going to try.

-You’re not?

-No. I’m just going to ask you two questions.

Gustav gulped. Maybe he had a way out of this. He could feed this rabid giant some stupid story, and he could make it out of here. And come back better prepared.

-One: Who is your boss, and two: Where’s the kid?

-The kid?

The man’s fist slammed into his midriff with such force that Gustav retched and the world went black for a couple of seconds. As he drew gasping breaths, the man crossed his arms.

-Yes. The kid. The kid you’re trying to squeeze. On the orders of your boss, I guess.

Gustav shook his head. Spit drooled down his chest.

-I don’t… I don’t have a boss.

-Wrong, shithead.

There was a crack, and Gustav screamed in pain. One of his fingers was now sticking out at a very strange angle.

-Lowlives like you have bosses. Now, let’s try again. Who’s your boss? And where’s the kid?

 

Dusk was setting in as Viktor crept around the corner, looking down at the large dockside warehouse. It had taken some time, but he finally had the information he wanted. Gustav and his loser friends worked for the man in the office on the third floor in the warehouse. Not affiliated with any of the known crews in the city, they were an up and coming little band, vicious but clever. They specialized in racketeering, demanding protection money from craftsmen who didn’t have guild memberships, and hadn’t got the attention of any of the larger mobs yet. They’d probably grabbed the kid to find him. Damn it, Andreas had probably had the bright idea of selling some of the trinkets. Attention always brought trouble.

He could just walk away. Gustav and his men weren’t an issue any more. But the kid was in trouble. And sooner or later, others would come creeping. Maybe not as stupidly as Gustav. Maybe more prepared, and better armed. And maybe when he wasn’t ready.

For a moment, he considered getting help from some of the others. But no. That would lead to Questions. And Discussions. And Official Statements. Sod that. This was his business. And his day off. Grabbing Karl by the heavy, reassuring handle, he made his way down to the massive door.

 

Heinrich Gierkern took a sip of wine from the crystal goblet. As he looked through his ledger, a satisfied smile played on his lips. Things were definitely looking up. The operations were expanding, but not at a pace which would bring unwanted attention. It was astounding how much money they were able to squeeze out of these nobodies. More money meant more men, and with more men, came more money. In a year or two, maybe he could strike a deal with the established gangs, get settled. Carve out his own little fiefdom.

As he grabbed his pen, he heard some shouting and crashing from down below. Damn it, were the men getting drunk and fighting again? He’d told them time and again that violence should be reserved for the marks. Broken bones and cuts were a nuisance at best, and bad for business at worst.

Sighing, he put down his pen.

-Marcus! he shouted to the man lounging in the opulent sofa by the door.

-Make yourself useful and go down and tell them to knock it off!

Grunting, Marcus got up from the sofa.

-Sure thing boss.

He walked to the door, opened it and started down the stairs.

-Hey you, what are you doWHOOF.

Heinrich heard a crash and a sickening thud, then Marcus came flying into the room, landing in a broken heap on the expensive Tilean rug.

Behind him, in the doorway, hulked a huge man. He was bearded, and wore what looked like fairly cheap workman’s clothes, but they were spattered with blood. He seemed covered in small cuts and bruises. One of his eyes was gummed shut by a huge black eye. But what really drew Heinrichs gaze was the massive mallet dangling from his huge right hand.

The man spat on the floor.

-You Heinrich? he growled.

-Yes. What’s the meaning of this? Do you have any idea who I am.

-Yes. Yes I do.

He lifted the hammer.

-This here is Karl, he said, grabbing it with both hands.

A grim smile spread on his lips.

-Karl’s been dying to meet the head of this operation.

 

Viktor found the kid tied up in a side room. He seemed battered and bruised, but otherwise fine.

-Viktor! he said, when the gag was pulled out of his mouth.

-I’m so sorry! I didn’t mean to get in trouble. I thought I’d help you sell some stuff.

Viktor looked down at him. As he cut the rope binding Andreas’ legs, he sighed.

-I know. But you were bloody stupid. You know that, right?

The boy looked crestfallen.

-Yes…yes, I know.

-What were you thinking? You could have been killed. Or gotten me killed. Or both! And then I’d have to find you in Morr’s realm and kick the shit out of you.

-How did you, where are the… You’re hurt! Andreas shouted anxiously.

Viktor just shook his head.

-Never you mind that. We should get out of here, before the whole thing burns down.

He helped the boy up.

-I may have set fire to the building on the way up.

 

As they hurried up the alley outside, the flames were already licking out of windows and doorways. The whole warehouse would be just a pile of ashes before morning. Eldur would have been proud.

People were rushing down with buckets of water to stop the fire spreading. Noone paid Viktor and Andreas much heed as they made their way towards the beach.

-I found the trinkets you’d brought to them, by the way, Viktor said, handing a large sack to Andreas.

The kid opened the binding. Inside were, indeed, the dozen or so small silver Ulric-amulets Viktor had made. Along with many, many other small lockets, amulets, chains, rings and trinkets, in gold and silver.

-But, but whose stuff is this?

-Oh, I don’t think anyone’s going to come looking for any of that.

They stopped outside the cottage. The sun was just a small halfdisc on the horizon, the lake awash in the pink and gold of the sunset.

-I have a favor to ask, Viktor said.

-Of course, sir. Anything.

-Could you hang on to that for me a while?

Viktor pointed to the sack of jewellry. Andreas’ eyes went wide.

-Tomorrow, you sell one of the smaller ones. But not to hoodlums at the docks. You go to Jeweller’s street, and sell it to a dwarf. He’ll swindle you on the price, but it’ll be safe. Use the silver you get to find a room somewhere safe.

Andreas gnawed his lower lip.

-Are you sure, I mean this is yours…

-Yes. I am sure. And in two weeks, you meet me here again. And we discuss how we go forward.

He squinted down at Andreas with a stern look.

-Deal?

Andreas drew a shaking breath, then looked him straight in the eye.

-Deal.

 

Sigrun shivered in the chill air, and stamped her feet. God, she hated night guard duty at the gate to the compound. But someone had to do it, and tonight her name was up.

Usually, nothing happened, aside from the occasional lost drunkard. But as she settled into the small guardstation nook, she heard heavy steps approaching. Looking up the street, she saw a large shadow, carrying what looked like a huge sledgehammer, walking straight towards the witch hunter compound.

-Halt, who goes…oh, Viktor? she said, as the light from a window struck the approaching man.

His clothes were ragged, he had rags tied around his chest, and lots of bruises on his face.

-By the gods, what happened to you? Sigrun said.

Viktor just walked straight by her, a slight grin playing on his lips.

-Oh, relax, Sigrun.

He slung the hammer across his shoulder and made his way inside.

-Just another day off.