The Boarding House

Jerod awoke in the musty heat of his room and knew this was going to be a better day; he might even get as far as the boarding house's front door. Not that he could go much further nor wanted to, the sounds of Altdorf crept dully through his closed shutters; crazed doomslayers and flagellants bellowing their devotions whilst the scared citizens gossiped about the war in the north. I could open the shutters, Jerod thought, but it's too hot to bother with all that blather.

Slowly climbing out of his ripe bed, he slowly dressed himself, making little effort to find clean clothing. Even in the near dark of the small room, lightened solely by cracks of light squeezing through gaps in the shutters, Jerod knew where the little he owned was. Seventeen years on the streets of Altdorf, trading blows with scum and capturing the occasional heretic or mutant and all the man had were three pairs of trousers, four tunics, an odd number of socks and undergarments, the only memento his sword dutifully carried down through the years. Even the plate, cutlery, bowl and chamber pot had been given to him by the landlady.

Not that Jerod needed much. Whatever had gotten inside of him, shaken his insides around and left it difficult to breathe, some days was getting worse. The days when he felt strong enough to leave the little room and sit on the doorstep were getting rarer, maybe two days out of every seven now and Jerod couldn't do much once there except sit quietly, watch the city move past and cough up blood every so often. It was that lameness he hated, that feeling of being useless, more so in these dark times when word of the fighting in the north seemed all terrible. Middenheim seemed set to fall any day now, the Emperor's army was vastly outnumbered and it was only a matter of time before Archaon's eyes wandered south. That was the way for a man to go, a noble death fighting for a cause, not dying with every breath, all strength withered and blighted. Jerod had begged, pleaded to go north, but he knew whatever he had wouldn't let him reach the end of the street without needing further bed rest. Leaving Altdorf was an impossible dream.

So he sat that day, the sun in his face and heat squeezing the air, watching the merchants, the mummers, the mad, the malevolent and the mundane pass him by without a second glance, only his bloodstained rag for company. A year before Jerod had been healthy and fit before what started as a dry throat soaked through him, becoming breathlessness and coughing fits, then the vomiting of blood and a shaking in his hands. By the turn of the year, Jerod found himself unable to run or hold a weapon for any length of time. A visit to a Shallayan priestess told him all he wanted to know - a wasting disease of the lungs with no cure. She offered him a bed in a hospice, a small room in a temple to make his last months bearable. He left the priestess and the guard to live in the small room he had now. If Jerod was going to die slowly in bed, it would be his own.

The large form of Hengist came up the street, pushing through the people with clumsy ease, his arms overburdened with baskets of food and wares, trying to shrink and blend in with the crowd and not drop his cargo; only in the way a large and indelicate man can be. It was a balancing act and Hengist wasn't very good at it, but nothing had been dropped so far. He was very happy to see Jerod sat in the doorway.

Eight years before, Hengist had been a smart, ambitious guard, certainly the more intelligent of the two even with his sheer size. Back then he hadn't been the dumb one, it took a dark night and a cosh to the back of the head to change that and Jerod had helped pick him up and back together, though not all the pieces were there now. From a man who could read and write to a ham fisted oaf who sometimes forgot how to do his own shoelaces up, it made Jerod want to cry for the loss, especially those times when he could see Hengist remembering the way he had once been.

"Ullo Jer, sittin' inna dur?" Hengist looked down at him with a beaming grin.

Jerod nodded. He couldn't find the strength in him for a long conversation and the heat was making him tired.

"Kin ah git bah?" The large man was already pushing through the frame without waiting for an answer, amply filling it.

Jerod backed himself and the stool out of the doorway as quickly as he could, but Hengist was quicker and more clumsy, leaving his sick friend pinned against the wall, the baskets smacking into Jerod's face. One of them tipped over, dropping a heavy bundle on to his lap, bringing on a coughing fit. He wiped his mouth with the rag and looked at the heavy bundle, which felt as heavy as stone and was as large as a man's arm from elbow to fingers.

Hengist rearranged the baskets now that he was inside and saw Jerod had the package. "I's fer Frau Hersengir, frum 'er n'ece inna Corronney. Tha's inna Brettony, tha' is." He smiled at knowing that small fact.

"Yeah Hen, it is." Jerod lifted it up uneasily. Six months ago he wouldn't have had any trouble lifting it, now it felt as if he was trying to pick up the whole of the boarding house.

"Yuh al rit, Jer?" He knew Hengist was always worried about him.

"Fine, Hen, fine. Just... tired." What worried Jerod about Hengist was what the big lug would do once he was dead. The guard had only kept Hengist on the rolls whilst Jerod had been there because he could control Hengist, keep the man from doing something dangerous or stupid. They'd been tossed out together and now Hengist was the one taking care of them, but you had to make sure he got clean water to drink or wash in, put out his candle at night, little things. Frau Hersengir had promised to look after Hengist once Jerod was dead, though Jerod knew she was pretty old and not that far from the grave herself.

"Gut stuff fer ere'one 'ere. Wanna 'elp muh drub 'em uff, Jer?"

He didn't have the strength to go up all the stairs, yet Jerod was curious to see the contents of the large package dumped in his lap. It would be a struggle to get upstairs so it was good that Frau Hersengir was on the first floor. He felt that he could get up to her and let Hengist drop off the other purchases on the upper floors.

"Tell yer what, Hen, you go ahead and i'll meet yer at Frau Hersengirs when yer done."

"Al rit, Jer, sez yuh dere."

The big man turned and walked to the stairs at the end of the hall, leaving Jerod to hear his indelicate footsteps hurry up them and only wish that he was able to move so quickly.

There were only two-dozen steps between each floor in that building, only now, to Jerod, did they seem a mile each. The package weighed him down heavily so that just reaching the bottom of the stairs took minutes and forced him to sit on the bottom ones long enough to catch his breath, cursing his weak body when he was able.

When he was ready, Jerod started his ascent, crawling up them on his hands and knees, lifting the package up four steps at a time, then climbing to reach the new level where he would stop for breath, the heat and exertion turning him sticky and damp, gasping for a breath. By the halfway point, Jerod had his rag almost permanently on his mouth, coughing fresh flecks of blood into it.

Hours seemed to have passed by the time he pushed the package to the top step on the first floor, pulling himself up next to it, then falling on to his back on the floor beside it, fighting for breath between coughing fits, the tunic drenched in sweat and clammy on his skin. Jerod hated feeling so wretched, especially where someone could see him.

Hengist knelt down next to his friend and Jerod didn't want to know how long he had been there watching. "Yuh al rit, Jer?" He did sound worried.

"More tired than i thought, Hen." He gasped out in reply.

He felt Hengist pick him carefully off of the floor, an arm under Jerod's back, propping him on to his feet, whilst keeping all the weight firmly on Hengist. The big man then reached back down to pick up the bundle, almost dropping Jerod back down the stairs in the process. With both precious items in his arms, Hengist carried them along the landing and through the only door.

"Ah guts Jer ta sez yuh, Frau."

This room was no larger than Jerods, but where his was sparse, this one was filled with trinkets, amulets, artefacts, icons and knick-knacks devoted to Sigmar, Morr and Shallya, reaching the point where every surface was covered and there were paths linking the door to the important areas of the room. Frau Hersengir was a widow, her husband dead three summers, who rented the four rooms and cellar to those people she considered of goodly nature and then charged what they could afford; she looked old, being mildly hunched over, grey of hair and needing to squint to see properly, but age had made no dent in her mental faculties and she liked her tenants, even the crotchety Herr Venderin on the fourth (and top-most) floor.

"The poor man looks exhausted, Herr Menna, pop him in the rocking chair and let him rest."

Jerod was gently put down in said chair and willingly stayed as still as he could. The late afternoon sunlight came through her open windows, even dragging a small cool breeze with it and that felt nice against his drying wet skin.

"Ah guts dis fer yuh, Frau." Hengist handed the parcel over, until Frau Hersengir pointed to a gap on the table for him to lay it down.

"Just there, dearie. You shouldn't have."

Hengist went a little red and embarrassed at her thanks. "Ah dids nuffin', 'cos Her Bruecher, 'e sez 'e guts it frum a truvellera comin' ub frum Corronney. tha's in Brettony. An' tha' truvellera brung alla way fer yuh." He stopped talking to make sure in his own head that he gotten it right.

"Well that's very nice of them. I wonder what it could be?"

"Herr Bruecher sez i's 'eavy, soz i's guld, bu' 'e sez tha' truvellera tul 'im tha' yuh dowter sunds itta yuh."

"My daughter sent this to me. That is so lovely of her." The old woman started opening the paper wrapped tightly around the object, carefully tearing it off, slowly revealing the item within, until she could only sigh. "It's marvellous."

Jerod couldn't see what it was, but Hengist looked at it. "Wor is it?"

Frau Hersengir was a little taken aback at the question. "Herr Menna, do you not recognise a statuette of Our Devoted Lady?"

"Who?"

"The goddess Shallya. It's beautiful and to think she sent it to me."

"Surry, Frau Hersengir, ah ain't ne'er seed Sallyann befur."

"That's all right, Herr Menna, i forgive you. Now where can i put this?" The woman looked around the room for a large enough space to put the statue, and after much to-ing and fro-ing about the place, pushed some of the ornaments on the mantel above the fire along. "Could you please lift her up there for me, Herr Menna?"

"Al rit, Frau Hersengir." It took him no effort to move the heavy statue up so that it looked over the whole room. "She's bootifull."

Jerod looked up at it; an attractive woman, her arms raised up with hands open and head raised towards the heavens, as if basking in sunlight, the loose folds of her robes falling along the voluptuous contours of her body, covering it as much as accentuating her lusciousness, until you got to her bare feet. Unadorned of jewels, there was a suggestion of riches contained therein. Looking at her made Jerod feel a little better.

The long hot summer wore on and the news from the north grew graver as the days passed, yet Jerod started to feel better and even happier. Maybe all the humid air was clearing out the fug in his lungs or maybe it was the sound of Frau Hersengir's prayers to her new statue having an effect. Whatever the reason, Jerod was just grateful to be spending less time lying bed.

Not that it gave him anything more to do with his days. Whilst Hengist sat on the doorstep idly scratching his chest, Jerod sat on the stool, continuing to watch the daily parade of life. They'd say hello to passing guards, the candle-maker's apprentice, Herr Teesham who lived on the second floor above Frau Hersengir and muttered about her chanting, Herr Verdeulaut, the fat rat-catcher who lived on the third floor, and anyone who noticed them. Occasionally some preacher would stop to berate them for not fighting in the north, giving Jerod a chance to show off his bloody rag and sob story. In truth, as he started to feel better, the thought of the two of them joining the fighting grew in his mind and Jerod started holding his blade in the privacy of his own room to get some measure of his renewed strength.

At first he could barely hold it when picking up, slowly rebuilding his stamina till he could draw, stand and hold it at arm's length, even if the tip flashed and twitched involuntarily all over the place and his legs were weak. Jerod saw this as a chance to better himself and he grasped it tightly.

He started climbing the stairs, telling Hengist that he was just checking if Frau Hersengir was fine, and though these times were nowhere near as bad as the last one, it was exhausting enough to ask Hengist to help him back down. The frau was greatly happy to see them both and attributed Jerod's improvement to the statue, which had an asssortment of candles and incense around it. He was worried she was spending too much time kneeling and praying to it, for the frau seemed slightly more bowed than normal.

"If you are worried, Herr Fassbauer, then i shall do it from my rocking chair. The Fair Lady will understand my needs and your compassion both."

The blessings seemed to help as Jerod got better and well enough to go further and further up the sets of stairs, right to the fourth floor, treading gently so as not to awake Herr Venderin, whose work was a study of the night sky and thus slept through the day. In all his days at the boarding house, Jerod had yet to see the man, though he had heard the man's numerous complaints through the windows, floor and door, usually at passers-by making too much noise. Even the coming down got easier.

Now certain that the disease was in retreat, he now went for walks in Altdorf. These did not go so well and by the end of the street, Jerod was fighting for breath and feeling weak again, returning as best as he could. For all these expeditions, Jerod had gone alone, leaving Hengist to his own devices, even to the point where he saw the big man once a week when he went for the building's shopping. If Hengist was missing Jerod, he wasn't showing it, happy and smiling as ever, glad to see his friend getting better. Hengist was staying in the basement a lot, but that was because the big man found it a lot cooler down there. Still they were both happy and Jerod was prepared to ask Hengist if he wanted to get a cart or something to take them north in, something that would save both their strengths for the fighting ahead.

This little plan warmed his heart as the heat warmed his skin.

A long, hot summer night blazed, as if the sun were sitting atop Altdorf's very roofs, blotted out by Mannslieb to allow for darkness, though in these foul times and with so much evil abroad, it was more likely to be eclipsed by Morrslieb instead.

The bed was damp and uncomfortable, the air stifling and filled with the occasional sound of mumbled prayers from above, Jerod sweated it out and clenched his eyes, hoping that the elusive sleep he sought would find him instead, sucking him down and away. Even after much tossing and turning, Jerod would still not bring himself to get out of bed and give up.

His hands felt itchy and sweaty, wiping them on the bed sheets made no difference now, for they would come away no dryer. Scratching the palms brought no relief, just enflamed the itch to the point where he was digging his nails into the skin and felt it tear. The release of blood brought some easing and, with some reluctance, he scratched open his other itching palm and enjoyed the soothing feel.

Not that it brought him any sleep and the relief wasn't permanent. He scratched again, slightly deeper this time; rubbing the scabbing off. As the night passed and still he couldn't sleep, Jerod scratched away absent-mindedly as the itching returned, always mild and never enough to make him worry other than to remember to wash the sheets the next day and check for fleas or bed bugs.

As the first rays of sunlight passed through the cracks in the shutters, Jerod gave up the pretence of sleep and decided to start his day. Soaked in a night's sweat, he got up and wandered to the table, splashing a handful of water from a bowl over his brow, then cupping his hands and drinking from it. Tired and cramped, Jerod turned back to the bed to get the chamber pot.

Even with what little light crept in, the bed was clearly wiped with blood and bloody handprints, the linen stained crimson. Jerod couldn't believe how smudged his sheets were and looked at his hands to see how badly torn up they must have been to have oozed so much. No trace of wounding, let alone any blood; clean and as normal as ever. The water he had dipped them in was equally as clean, no traces of blood.

It made no sense to him. Jerod could clearly remember scratching them and they must have bled on the sheets, his hands fitted the prints easily when matched up, but there was no sign that his hands had been the cause. Checking every line on his palm, it was as if the wounding had been an extension of the folds; it was clear there were no wounds. He couldn't explain it and that made him uneasy. Perhaps this truly is the End Times, he thought.

The linen and blankets were pulled of and left in a heap to wash later that day. All Jerod could do at that moment was wonder what had happened, how it happened and why was it happening to him?

It happened again the next night and this time Jerod noticed that he was asleep for most of it. Clean sheets on a hot night and no itching, bloodied sheets on a hot morning and no scars. This happened night after night for the better part of a week with Jerod trying to understand it. He was feeling almost like his old self again and kept trying to walk further and further, still the end of the street seemed to be his limit.

Hengist seemed to have disappeared completely. Four times Jerod knocked on his door or went down the basement stairs, the dry cool air down there playing merry havoc with his throat, each time finding the big man gone., He couldn't have been out shipping each time, Jerod reasoned, but where else could he be? The one time he really wanted Hengist's help and the big man was nowhere to be seen.

Nothing seemed normal now that he was fit and active. Herr Verdeulaut started coming back from work with a different whore every night, Jerod hearing them giggling and cavorting as they came through the front door. This was only matched by the growing temper of Herr Teesham, who told Jerod about the noises and groans coming through his ceiling from Herr Verdeulauts every night. Squeals of ecstasy that seemed to go on all night long, between lovemaking above and praying below, Herr Teesham wasn't getting much sleep and he told Jerod that if Herr Verdeulaut didn't curb his desires, then Herr Teesham wouldn't be repsonisble for his actions. All Jerod could think about was that if Herr Teesham was driven to distraction below the rat-catcher, then Herr Venderin above him must be apoplectic, but there was never any sight or sound of the man.

Still Jerod did make a point to stick his head out of his room when he next heard Herr Verdeulaut come in and warn the man, only to find he had a whore on the end of both arms and a big smile. The warning was given, the response a hearty laugh and naughty giggles from the ladies and left Jerod with the thought that Herr Teesham wasn't getting another wink of sleep that night. Maybe he should get Hengist to intervene in some way before it was too late, assuming he could find the man.

That night the itching was so powerful that Jerod couldn't sleep. By candlelight he sat at the table and watched himself scratch, watched as he bled and bled uncontrollably over the table. The wounds wept and were light to start with, drying and scabbing quickly, the itching coming back as fiercely as before. His hands moved towards themselves to renew scratching automatically, leaving Jerod to fight his own hands, pushing them as firmly flat on the table top as he could manage, only to start rubbing the rough surface to ease the itch. Afterwards he checked the wounds, could see the dried blood smeared over his palm, smell it, before the itch returned.

In mild despair, he blew the candle out and went to bed. Nothing he could do stopped the itching, the bleeding and as it would continue whether he was awake or not Jerod decided to let sleep take him. The bloodstained sheets would be a problem, but one that a little water could cure. As for the scratching, what cure could there possible be?

So to a background of quiet prayer and multiple lovemaking coming from above, Jerod scratched himsefl to fitful slumber.

The atmosphere in the house was tense now. Verdeulaut's liaisons were becoming more numerous and loud, the fat rat-catcher bringing more whores back every night, sometimes as many as four and once Jerod was certain one wasn't even a proper woman. Their noise drowned out Frau Hersengir's nightly prayers, which worried Jerod more. The frau did allow women in the house, provided it was discreet and quiet; Verdeulaut's encounters were neither and if the frau wasn't doing something about it, then she couldn't be well.

Jerod resolved to check on her, more so after seeing Teesham leave one morning very pale, with a countenance of thunder and large smile. It was the sign of not enough sleep and so hard to tell if the man was sick, angry or lost in his mind.

Frau Hersengir was in the rockng chair when Jerod called on her. She didn't open the door herself, just bade him enter. The room stank of incense.

"Would you mind opening my windows for me please, Herr Fassbauer? My back is giving me some trouble at the moment." She gently pulled herself from the chair, so as to make some tea for them both. "Normally i ask Herr Menna, but i see so little of him now."

"Yes, frau, so do i." Jerod noticed that her bed showed no sign of having been slept in. "Yer aren't sleeping in yer chair all the time, frau?" He looked at the old woman, who was bent almost double.

"I'm afraid i am, Herr Fassbauer. i nod off at odd times now and again and my bed isn't that comfortable with my back. One of the problems of growing old i'm afraid. Still you are a lot healthier in yourself."

Thank you, frau." The two sat and talked for some time, Jerod noticing occasionally she'd lose her train of thought or mix words up. All the praying was having was having an effect on the elderly lady and for every improvement he felt, she seemed to slip away a notch. Even as he tried to explain the situation between Herrs Teesham, Verdeulaut and the whores, Frau Hersengir's attention moved off. If she heard the noises, Frau Hersengir was ignoring them intensely it seemed.

Deciding he had taken up enough of her hospitality, Jerod made some excuses, shut the windows and prepared to leave, when she stopped him.

"Could you please go and see Herr Venderin for me? The poor dear hasn't come down to pay his rent this month and i can't help thinking he's gone moon-wandering again. He spends so long looking up, he forgets to look down."

"I'll go now, Frau Hersengir, sooners done."

Jerod relished being able to stride up all the stairs, his previously diminished strength and stamina forgot, to breathe free and clean, he rarely coughed blood now and hadn't vomited in a good few weeks. With the two intervening occupants out (though Jerod thought he caught the faint sound of panting behind Herr Verdeulaut's door), he moved to the top floor and knocked.

In all his brief residency at the boarding house, Jerod had not met the top tenant. The man never seemed to leave his room, letting Hengist get his food and supplies for him. The big man couldn't be relied up to provide a good description of anyone past 'man, woman, old or young'. Jerod envisioned the astronomer as an old man, long of bear and hair, short on patience given the regularity of his daytime ranting out of the windows of his room.

What he got was a man probably no older than thirty, unshaven and balding, who slowly opened the door to stare out at Jerod with wide trembling eyes. Possibly the man had just woken up, but he seemed terrified to be opening the door to someone.

"Who are you? Why are you here?" His voice was quiet and jittery.

"I'm Herr Fassbauer, i live on the bottom floor here. Frau Hersengir asked me to come up and check on yer. She says yer haven't paid this month's rent."

The astronomer started shaking and tried to look over his shoulder at the same time as he watched Jerod.

"Are yer all right, Herr Venderin?"

The astronomer jumped as if Jerod had surprised his suddenly, then threw the door open and almost dragged him in. "Please sit down over there. I can get the rent for you, but i can't watch both of you at once." He pushed Jerod towards a chair near the open windows. The whole roof seemed to have windows instead of tiles and most of these were shuttered up, leaving a single one open with the sun beaming in.

A large tube on stilts stood near the wall, which was pinned with layer upon layer of paper, all connected points of lines scrawled on them, with lots of tiny notes penned. There was no bed, just a lot of blankets and cushions piled into a corner. The whole room smelled of sweat, evidence that it's occupant rarely left its confines.

Said occupant was rummaging through an open trunk as well as glaring in Jerod's direction, though he felt the astronomer wasn't actually looking at him, more through the window instead. Jerod wanted to turn around and stand up to look out for himself, he was getting the idea that this strange man wouldn't like him to do that.

"Er, Herr Venderin, is everything all right?"

"NO, i mean, yes, i have the rent, i can pay." For a moment he focussed solely on Jerod. "I can pay, don't throw me out, not under that blazing watcher."

"Er, all right." The man was obviously crazy. "Who's watching yer?"

"That. That." He shrieked, then slapped his hand over his mouth as if he had said something he shouldn't have.

"What that?" Jerod really wanted to turn around, if only to stop the sun burning his neck any more, but was worried the loony might try to murder him.

"In the sky. It knows." Venderin hissed quietly, before slamming the chest shut.

"The sun?"

"Yes." He hissed again, now struggling to open a small money pouch.

"What? I mean, what does it know?" He was feeling scared. If the man had been raving about his neighbours that would be normal.

"Everything. When we watch and what we watch. I have to watch it now, to stop it watching." He dropped a small pile of coins into one hand and started sorting through them.

"Ur, how does it watch?" Jerod wasn't certain he was yet strong enough to push past Herr Venderin and escape.

The man pulled a number of coins out and counted them again, before closing the pouch and then hesitantly stepping towards Jerod and the open window. Jerod noticed the astronomer was trying not to step into the sunbeam through the window. "It's one giant eye, twinned with Morrslieb. I have proof. Lots of proof." Herr Venderin waved an arm towards some scrolls on the table.

Not knowing what to say, Jerod kept a smile on his face and raised his hand to take the money. He had to get up of the stool and slowly approach the man, the hot sun baking on the back of his neck. Once he was out of the sunglight, Herr Venderin dropped the coins into the outstretched hand. "Thank you, i'll show myself out and leave you to your watching." He moved as quickly as he dared to the door, but not so fast as to worry the man. Even before he opened the door, Jerod could hear muted mutterings and whimperings coming from the astronomer and Jerod didn't turn around to look, preferring to flee.

The worried sweating didn't stop till he was two floors down.

That night Herr Verdeulaut's lovemaking was immensely noisy to the point where Jerod tried to count how many different voices he could hear up there. When he ran out of fingers, Jerod stopped counting and assumed he was maybe mixing cries coming from Herr Teesham's room. Perhaps the faint ones were poor mad Venderins. Jerod welcomed the distraction his palms brought that night.

The heat was getting worse. Altdorf seemed on the point of melting, tempers were short and fear walked. Sitting on the doorstep, Jerod watched the people go by and watched them eyeing each other, wondering if their neighbours, the passers-by, were in league with the armies of the damned. Every old woman was a hag, a young woman a witch and who knew who hid what disfigurement under their clothes, some mark to seal their soul's damnation. Bands of naked flagellants wandered the streets to prove their purity before Sigmar.

Herr Teesham left early and Jerod was surprised to see him so calm and composed, almost smiling, after all the racket the previous night from what must have been directly above him. Teesham just said that he had had a good night's sleep. There was no sign of Herr Verdeulaut at all, and it would be a couple of hours before Jerod went to check if he was all right; the sound of snoring, mulitple snores, came through the door.

Three times Jerod knocked on Hengist's door to see him and got no reply. On the fourth, he went down into the cellar, worried the big man might not be able to reply or be dead, yet the cellar was empty and Jerod wondered exactly where he was; Hengist had usually made a point of saying when he was going out shopping for anyone. This absence was unusual.

So he spent the day on the doorstep, wallowing in the heat and boredom. Occasionally an old guard comrade would pass and chat awhile. Time ticked away and Jerod wonder whether it was time to leave the boarding house and go north. Hengist could stay and look after Frau Hersengir and Jerod could leave. Maybe he wouldn't get far, but the waiting was killing him as much as the lung disease was.

The sound of something smashing on the floor he heard suddenly. It seemed to come from the cellar. Jerod wondered what it meant and was surprised to see Hengist picking up a broken jug from a pool of water on the floor.

"Hen? Is that yer?"

"'ull, Jer. Drup't a jug."

"Where have yer been all day?"

The big man stopped picking up the pieces and looked at Jerod, his eyes in thought and his lips moving silently, until he said slowly, "been 'ere."

"All day?"

"Yuh." He smiled in small triumph at that, proud to be getting something right.

"OK, Hen." Jerod said slowly, keeping his face neutral. He watched Hengist pick up the rest of the pieces. "Go and ask Frau Hersengir for another jug. Leave it till tomorrow, it's late. She might want yer to do some shopping too."

"Al rit, Jer."

"Yer be careful picking those bits up, Hen, don't cut yerself."

"Al rit, Jer."

Jerod watched the small pool of water run to the edge of a large stone in the floor and disappear down a crack. He couldn't keep his eyes off of it.

The stinking sweaty heat of the day didn't end when the sun went down and the closeness of the dark made it worse. The itching felt terrible and didn't bring the relief of sleep, leaving Jerod to the grunts and moans from three floors above, not to mention the occasional scream. He wonder if Herr Verdeulaut and guests had left the room since arrival, the only tread on the stairs he had heard had been Herr Teesham returning and even whistling quite happily. Perhaps he had been invited to join in; Jerod didn't want to think about it.

Instead he thought about Hengist and what must lie under the stone. Probably the sewers, Hengist's childlike thrill of wandering around would be satisifed, there was always the chance he had lucked upon some older part of the building. Whatever it was, Jerod wanted to make sure it was all right and nothing to worry about so that he could get on with his plan.

The only problem was likely to be lifting the stone. Jerod wasn't certain his strength could manage it in the best of health and he hadn't been that for months, even in his improved recent state. He had to get Hengsit to lift it for him and that would mean that Jerod knew his secret; there was no alternative.

What little sleep did come proved no release and it was a drowsing Jerod that heard footsteps coming down the stairs and woke in a flash, fearing it was Hengist with a new jug and about to go back into the cellar for another jaunt. Instead he surprised Herr Teesham, who still seemed in a good mood, if a little clumsily shaved, spatters of blood on his chin and collar. He bade the apprentice a good morning and went back to bed.

Time passed and Jerod grew worried that Hengist wasn't going to show himself again that day, till at a point where the sounds outside were lively enough to suggest mid-morning, the sound of the cellar door opening and footsteps going upstairs occurred. Jerod pulled on a tunic and dressed as quickly as he could. Hengist's heavy footsteps came through the ceiling, as did voices, though not the words. He even took his sword, not completely strong enough to wield it as he had done, but knowing that it was the sort of thing to take when delving into the unknown.

Jerod ducked out of his room and slipped through the open cellar door, the sound of Hengist leaving Frau Hersengir's room coming down the first floor as Jerod moved quickly down the cellar steps and then into a corner to wait. The cellar was only lit by a single candle so it was plenty dark enough to hide down there, even if it wasn't a large room. Hengist certainly didn't notice him as the big man came down and put the jug next to the candle on the table beside the bed, before going to the stone in the dloor and heaving it up with difficulty by his fingertips till he got a better grip, then it came out quickly and easily, leaving a hole big enough for Hengist to squeeze through. No smell or sound came from the hole, so it didn't seem to lead to the sewers as Jerod had thought.

Hengist turned to pick up the candle and seemed to be checking his pockets as well, when Jerod stepped out of the corner to surprise him.

"Going somewhere, Hen?"

Hengist went bright red. "Jer, wot yuh doin' 'ere?"

"Seeing where yer going."

"Dun 'ere."

"I can see that. Why?"

Hengist looked at the floor and mumbled something.

"What, Hen?"

"Ah guts shum f'iends dun 'ere." He repeated quietly.

"Friends? Down there?"

"Yuh."

Jerod tried to think about what sort of people might be living under the streets of Altdorf and the answer wasn't good. Of course it was equally likely Hengist had found some animals. This was Jerod's chance to prove his worth, to prove his illness didn't hold him back; the only trouble might be what the big man would do.

"Do yer think i could meet them?" He said with a fake smile.

Hengist looked up and beamed widely at Jerod. "Al rit, Jer."

Hengist dropped down first and helped Jerod down, before reaching back up and pulling the stone back into the hole. In the light of the candle, there wasn't much to be seen except that they were in a bricked corridor that stretched into darkness, dry mud and silt on the floor. It was part of the sewers, one of the excess water sections for winter flooding, which meant that somewhere it did connect to the normal sewers. They couldn't hear the sound of water.

"Dis way." Hengist pointed and started walking, taking the candle from Jerod. the big man was forced to bend slightly to move, which also slowed him enough for Jerod to stay apace. Yet as they walked, he could feel his breath catchng in his throat, the familiar cough at the back of his mouth. The further they walked, the worse Jerod began to feel, exhausted, out of breath, lethargic. He made Hengist wait more and more often as he breathed, using the time to get some idea about the 'friends' that Hengist had made.

"Yuh, ah woz sittin' o' meuh bed. I's woz lubbly an' cooel. Den ah 'eard diz noze frum de flur an' dat stun goz up. Ah fowt ah woz dremmin' wen a 'ead comes ub an' lowks a' muh, l'il bedy eyes. 'E sez dey ar 'ungary an' 'urt, soz ah gits sum fud fer 'em. Den dey be axin' fer udder stuff an' 'elp. Dey nice."

Jerod was finding it more and more difficult to breathe properly, as well as wondering what sort of help they had had Hengist provide. The big lug could be too trusting and swayed. An ideal minion.

"Nearlee der nah, Jer." Hengist said.

Should they go cautiously forward now or just plough straight in. Jerod wasn't sure he was up to this now, feeling so weak the sword felt like an anvil hung at his side. He decided to go for surprise, hoping the rush would boost his strength and that with Hengist caught off-guard, he might have a fighting chance. He fumbled with the blade, alarmed at how limp his arms were. There was almost no fight left in him.

"Hen, go first and introduce me. I'll just catch my breath." He wasn't joking about that, the air was cool and hard to breathe.

"Just rund dis cerner. Ah'll sez 'ullo ta 'em." Hengist went around the corner, the candle with him. Jerod leant against the wall, steeling his nerves and fighting for breath, the sword hanging at his side in a weak grip, no fit shape for a fight that might await. He craned his head to look around the corner and saw Hengist's friends.

Almost half his height and crouching over, hidden under tattered and torn clothes, stood three ratmen, their little red eyes reflecting the candle light. Long snouts sniffing the air, tails coiling and flexing with dark menace. They had crude bandages wrapped around their arms and legs. Jerod couldn't hear what they were saying, his heart beating too loud, but that didn't matter, these mutants were a threat, especially if they were caught by some of the tunnel guards that patrolled the sewers. Jerod didn't want to see Hengist die at the end of a rope or in the flames.

He moved listlessly around the corner and staggered at the nearest mutant, wanting to scream and yell in combative fury, only able to emit a tired sigh and push the sword forward in a weak stab. Caught by surprise, the blade past through the leg of a mutant, making the giant rat squeak in agony and fall away holding the wound; Jerod just about managed to retain a grip on the pommel and withdraw it as the ratman fell back. The next rat was armed and ready, sensing Jerod's weakness as the man staggered to regain balance and breath. The ratman slashed at his chest, forcing Jerod into a parry and back a couple of steps, right up to the wall. Pushing it's advantages, the rat stepped forward for another slice, but Jerod could brace himself against the wall and pushed himself into this opponent, knocking both of them off balance and giving Jerod time to bring his sword up and then cut down the rat with a puny drive. The ratman dropped its blade and tried to hold the skin together to stop the flow of blood and organ. It didn't have to worry long as Jerod stabbed it and pushed the blade as deep as he could, till the two seemed to be leaning against each other. Jerod could hear his first target still scrabbling around on the floor and felt too exhausted to do anything, his resolve all that was keeping him on his feet. It took effort to push the impaled mutant off of the sword and more to face the fallen. It lay squealing at him, perhaps begging for mercy or cursing him; Jerod didn't care, he just swiped the blade at it, then pushed the blade into it's chest, dropping to his knees astride the corpse in total sweaty exhaustion, his breathing hard and fast.

It was some minutes before he caught his breath and realised that someone was crying. Using the sword as a prop to stand up with, Jerod was back on his feet and looking around. Hengist was on his knees, cradlng the body of the thrid ratman to his chest, weeping and rocking slowly back and forth.

"Ah dun brok 'im, Jer." He blubbered.

Jerod convinced Hengist to leave the body with the others, retrieved his sword from the body and together they slowy walked back along the tunnels, Hengist crying all the way over his dead friends. At first Jerod tried to consol his friend, telling him it was all right, that he had done the right thing, but Jerod hadn't the breathe or energy to talk and talk, so they lapsed into silence and sobbing, retracing their steps.

Hengist opened the hole and helped Jerod climb out. Now they were out of the tunnel, Jerod's breath and strength were coming back and he sat on Hengist's bed feeling better, looking at the blood smears on the sword and hearing the stone go back into the hole.

"Hen, yer can't go back down there." He said softly. The big man was kneeling on the floor next to the stone, still sobbing to himself. "Hen, did yer hear me? Yer can't go back down ever again." He repeated louder.

"Jer, wha'?"

"I'm serious, Hen, yer can't go back there. Or tell anyone." Jerod didn't want to think about what would happen.

"Why, Jer?"

He couldn't think how to explain it to the simple man. "Yer just can't."

The big man sat on the floor, still crying gently, and Jerod knew that something inside Hengist was broken and could never be fixed again, flapping aroud loose. He would never be able to look at Jerod without seeing a man who had killed his friends, not that Hengist would realise that.

It put paid to Jerod's plans as well. If he left Hengist behind, chances were good the big man would say or do something similar again and without Jerod there, he'd end up as crow food. As sorry as Jerod felt for his friend at that moment and had always seemed to feel since the mugging, the sense that they had reached an end there and then came over Jerod. Hengist was his responsiblity and all that that meant.

He stood up wearily, keeping the sword down. "Hen, do yer want a drink of water?"

"Yuh, Jer." He rubbed his eyes to dry them.

Jerod poured some water into a mug and handed it down to Hengist, who drank it quickly and put the empty mug on the floor.

"Ah brok 'im, Jer."

"I know. I'm sorry Hen." Jerod stayed behind him and gently patted the big man on the shoulder.

"Ah bruk muh f'iend."

"I know. Would yer like another mug of water?"

"Yuh pluz." Hengist pased the mug up and Jerod refilled it, all the way to the top this time, before passing it back. Hengist started drinking it.

"I know a way to make the pain go away."

"Yuh?"

"Yeah. Put the mug down and close yer eyes."

"Al rit, Jer." The big man put the mug down and Jerod wasn't sure if his eyes were shut or not, but knew Hengist trusted him.

"Ready, Hen?"

"Yuh, Jer."

Jerod nodded to himself, took a deep breath and impaled Hengist through the back with the blade, putting his whole weight on the end, until the hilt stopped it going in further and he was leaning on Hengist's back. He couldn't hear the man's breathing.

"Goodbye Hen." He whispered in the near dark.

Finding the strength to lift himself off of his dead friend's body, Jerod felt empty inside. The sword had gone all the way through, leaving the blade poking far enough out of Hengist's chest that the slumped-forward body could lean on it, his eyes still closed in quiet death. Jerod didn't feel strong enough to remove the weapon, didn't feel much of anything, just the dank of the cellar. He took the candle and started up the stairs, to the warmth. There was a loud thump making him freeze and turn around, praying quietly that Hengist wasn't still alive. In fact, his body had just fallen to the floor having finally over-balanced on the sword.

Jerod fled up the last few staris and to his room, lying down on the sweat-and-blood encrusted sheets and tried not to think, to rest. The sounds of the people outside living normal lives, seperated from him by an inch of wood, kept distracting him, mocking him. He could hear an old woman crying and slowly realised that the sound was coming from above him, from the frau.

Checking that he wasn't covered in blood, Jerod got up and started up the stairs. His strength was coming back, the summer heat providing relief for weary flesh, still the stairs were a challenge and he was again out-of-breath and sweaty at the top. The sounds of crying were stronger up here and he found out why.

Letting himself in, Jerod could see Frau Hersengir bent over in her rocking chair crying into her handkerchief. "Frau, is everything all right? I could hear yer crying..."

She turned her head and squinted hard at him. "Who's there? Herr Menna?"

Jerod couldn't believe she didn't recognise his face or voice. The windows were streaming light in and he was scant yards from her. "It's me, Herr Fassbauer." Said loudly. "What has happened?" He came to the side of her rocking chair and knelt down by her. Frau Hersengir seemed aged now, lightly shrivelled and slumped in her chair, a mildly foul stench coming from her. How long had she been in the rocking chair, Jerod wondered.

"My statue, the Beautiful Lady, some when in the night, she fell off the mantle. I tried to reach down and pick her up, but my back, oh, my back." She cried gently.

Patting her hand, Jerod soothed her nerves and offered to pick it up and return the statue to it's rightful place, hoping he had the strength left to lift the heavy statue. It was lying on the floor in front of the fire, which was now little more than embers. The fall had damaged the statue, chipping some of the surface off to reveal a purple-black stone that twinkled darkly. Picking it up, the statue felt as heavy as he remembered it to be, yet similiarly gave him the strength he needed to lift it. The itching in his palms started suddenly and swells of blood spontaneously flowed around his fingers, possbly where the stone was cutting into him (not that Jerod had felt any pain from a cut). The itch was so bad Jerod wanted to drop the statue and just scratch until he had relief. He forced himself to finish and let go once it was back on the mantle.

He had expected to have to clean the statue of blood from the cuts, but there was no sign of any smears on either it or his hands, which had stopped itching the moment they had left the figure. Jerod had clearly seen the blood oozing between his fingers and now that he looked closely at the carving he wasn't convinced that the look of it was as beautiful as he remembered; the smile a little too wide, the eyes slitted and calculating, a feeling of knowing voluptuousness as opposed to innocence.

Returning to Frau Hersengir's side, Jerod said, "i've put her back for yer, a little bruised, but all right."

She patted his hand weakly. "May she bless and keep you, Herr Menna."

He winced at that and noticed how little she was moving in the chair. The old woman was leaning forward, not back. The part of her back in contact with the chair seemed odd and he leaned in for a closer look. No wonder she had a bad back, the clothing had started to melt into the wood, so that Jerod couldn't see where one became the other and that line was blended all along the parts of her body in contact with the chair. Slowly woman and chair were merging together.

He didn't know what to say to her, how to explain it. It made no sense to him and Frau Hersengir's mental faculties seemed so far depleted she wouldn't understand. All Jerod could find in himself to say was "do you need any more help, frau?"

"No thank you, Herr Menna."

He got up and backed away, wondering what he should be doing with her. She couldn't simply be killed and who knew what would happen to her eventually. Everything seemed to be going wrong. Jerod wanted to talk to someone, ask for advice, and that left the other three tenants. Perhaps they could help, assuming he could coax Herr Verdeulaut away from his whores and Herr Venderin out of madness.

The prospect of all the stairs seemed dauting, yet Jerod felt full of strength now, even his breathing was normal. He bounded up the stars to Herr Teesham's room and knocked on the door. Jerod wasn't certain of the time and it was possible the candle-maker's apprentice wasn't yet home. After knocking a couple more times, Jerod opened the door to peer through, in case Herr Teesham was asleep.

A stygian mess of an abattoir awaited him. Bodies and parts lay strewn on the floor, severed limbs hung in front of the fireplace, pools of blood making one long trench under them. There were bite marks on some. The bed was covered in smeared sheets, far worse than any of Jerods, and a naked torso lay in the centre, legs, arms and head all removed from the woman; bloody hand prints impressed on her tiny breasts. On the top of a table stood a head, kept upright in a bowl. She had been a pretty woman once, but now the top of her skull had been cracked open and a spoon stuck in it. the unholy stench and heat nauseated Jerod and he shut the door, leaning against the wall gagging for air. No wonder Herr Teesham had been so happy lately, he'd lost his mind and who was the woman?

This was a bigger mess than Frau Hersengir. the guard would have to know. If he could get the other lodgers to see this, there was a good chance they could restrain Herr Teesham long enough to get the guard. He finally kept his stomach down and went up the next flight of stairs. Herr Verdeulaut was in, the sounds of moans and sighs came from behind the door, the rat-catcher must have brought more women back and earlier in the day than usual. The room below would cool his ardour.

"Herr Verdeulaut." Jerod knocked. "May i come n? I need some help with Herr Teesham." He wasn't going to wait for pleasantries from the lodger and Jerod considered himself a man of the world.

The sheer mass of moving flesh was a surprise. Arms and legs stroking and entwined bodies in an orgiastic embrace that writhed over the bed and floor, bodies in motion, clinging together and all featureless. A dozen or more bodies, mainly women's, coupling rhythmically, automatically, with no sign of ecstasy in the actions. The more he saw, the more Jerod felt repelled. The arms and legs were not entwined, but fused together and stretched into one central mass of corpulent flesh, from which all the noises came, a dozen voices grunting and groaning with shared passion, each rising and falling in it's own time. In the dark of the room, Jerod could make out more details, such as the fat face of Herr Verdeulaut now spread across the girth of the copulating, corpulent centre, tongue lolling out in panting breaths, emitting all the different voices. Their eyes met and, deep inside himself, Jerod knew Herr Verdeulaut was asking him to join in with them.

Jerod slammed the door and ran up the last set of stairs, no long thinking about what he should do about Frau Hersengir or Herr Teesham. He needed to find someone, anyone, who would be normal. Herr Venderin might be mad, but that was still more normal than what Jerod had seen. At the top door he didn't even bother to knock, bursting straight in.

"Herr Venderin. Herr Venderin." He panted.

"What do you want?" A shaky voice replied.

"Please, are yer all right? Tell me."

The astronomer was buried amongst his cushions and blankets. "I am. I know it all now."

"We, I, Herr Verdeulaut, he's... become something, something, i can't, i don't know..."

"He doesn't matter."

Jerod came over to the pile. "All those women, the men, i don't know what i was looking at. And what Herr Teeshams done... Dear Sigmar..."

"They don't matter. You don't matter. None of this matters. I have seen it." The astronomer struggled to his feet and looked around, before stumbling forward, till he walked into his stilted tube. "The time is here. The rise of the Twin Sun."

"Herr Venderin..." Jerod was getting a bad feeling.

"The time is at hand. I have seen the rise of the Twin Sun and it will eclipse our own, leaving everything shattered. I have seen it. I have seen it." He lurched forward, walked into the edge of the table and then over to the wall, turning around to look manically around the room. Jerod could see the man's eyes were totally white. "I have seen it. I have seen it." He kept repeating loudly.

Jerod moved silently and swiftly out of the room, closing the door as quietly as he could behind him, then started down the stairs, ignoring the panting rising behind Herr Verdeulaut's door and continuing onwards. He didn't know what to do; everything had spun out of control. A house full of mad, bad and mutated perversions - none of them would be allowed to live, but he was fine. Not mad, not bad, not a mutant, just sick, he'd be all right.

A woman's voice came from downstairs, she sounded young and Jerod could hear Herr Teesham's voice replying to what she had said, the sound of their footsteps coming up to meet him and they mustn't have heard him coming down. Herr Teesham was taking her to his room and that meant she was in for a shcok. Jerod knew he had to save her, run down, knock Teesham over and save her, make her run away as he fought the sick butcher. He wanted to do this, but his legs were jelly, he was shaking, terrified and all Jerod could do was hear them reach the second floor and go to Teesham's room. There was a short scream and a sickening thud to cut it short, before the door closed. Eventually Jerod forced himself to tiptoe past and down to his room.

He should have stopped it, could have stopped it. He was terrified, frightened, too scared to act. Sitting on the edge of his bed, Jerod tried to stop thinking about what he'd seen, he didn't want to know what Teesham would be doing to the woman, but the sound of Herr Verdeulaut came through the ceiling, louder than ever. He had to stop them all, he just didn't know how.

The night didn't feel as warm as before, a chill in summer, perhaps that meant it was the end. Jerod shivered and went to the fire, raking the embers and relighting it, adding wood till it was blazing. Still cold, Jerod looked for more things to burn; his sheets and clothes went on the fire, so that he lay on his bed shivering. All that was left was the wood in the ceiling, the stairs and the windows, so he pulled a log from the fire and held it to each in turn till they started burning. It was long, cold, tiring work, but Jerod was finally feeling warm enough to sleep now the whole room was ablaze around him. He would sleep well.