1st of Vorhexen: Altdorf OR maybe midsummer in Middenheim!
“Bierbele TWO! Woo… he must be going up in the world”, Gele murmured more to herself than anyone else. Salundra was close enough to hear. “Who?”, she enquired. “Oh”, Gele pulled her gaze from the other boat, “Josef. Thomlen used to work the Reik with him. I have’s seen him in six or seven years. A good sort. The last time I saw him his boat was the Bierbele… ‘One’… I guess. Its successor is much larger.” Her gaze returned to the boat. “This one looks like it’s designed for cattle….”, she drifted silent. Salundra left the captain to her thoughts.
Adelhard was clearly delighted that anyone had shown an interest in Gerella. “Oh… it must be 10 days since she disappeared”, he said as he emerged from a back room with some weak beers. Gunnar hopped to sit on a foot rest; it creaked , but bore his weight. Like everything else in this meagre home, there was a faded elegance to it all. An elegance not fitting with the house itself. Adlehard took a painting from a shelf best where he sat. He leaned forward and passed it to Ferdinand, “I commissioned this on her 16th birthday. Just before the hard times after the riot. She’s twenty-one now.” Ferdinand studied the simple beauty of the face that looked from the small portrait and then handed to Gunnar. “Tell us what happened?”, Gunnar asked. “I don’t rightly know. She went to her room to read… she loves to read you see. She can’t save a pfennig from the tavern. Every penny goes on books. She’d been studying literature at the university before money became tight”, he said, his voice becoming increasingly wistful and forlorn. “Her room you say. Let’s start there”, Gunnar suggested… the fact he was already out of his seat and moving towards the stairs indicating it wasn’t really a suggestion.
The climbed the narrow stairs, Adelhard pointing them into a simple room. It was sparse; a half dozen books on a shelf, a few simple dresses hanging from a pole serving as a wardrobe, a bright scarf the only thing giving the room any colour. “She doesn’t keep many books, reselling them on as soon as they’re read”, he said, a hint of shame in his voice. Nothing in the room particularly interested Gunnar. The sole window too small to permit anyone in or out. He was about leave when a shape under the bed caught is eye. Ferdinand followed the Dwarf’s look and reached to pluck what turned out to be another book from under the bed. “‘A Little Help from my Friends’ by Agatja Krestynik”, he read motioning to open the cover of the third or fourth hand book. “Noooo…”, Gunnar blurted, but it was too late…
The summer Sol had barely cleared the horizon, but already there was heat in it. Birds sang as Gunnar, Ferdinand and the familiar, albeit displaced, figure of Sigismunda Bloombury stood together in what could only be the Great Park of Middenheim. “I bloody hate bloody books”, Gunnar grumbled. He’d no sooner gotten the words out than a diminutive (for Ferdinand anyway) figure in a hooded cloak sidled up to them. “Ah… you got zee message. Come mon ami”, he said and led the way. Sigi, Ferdinand and Gunnar exchanged bemused looks and followed the hooded person with the thick Bretonnian accent. He clearly knew where he was going, as he moved in and out of shade through narrow and wide streets, every so often glancing back to make sure they were still following. They followed though each was as confused as the other as to what was going on. “I had just sat down to enjoy a good book and a port”, Sigi whispered, as though he didn’t want the stranger to hear. Ferdinand looked to him as he took small steps to keep pace with what could only be a Halfling. “A book? What book?”, he queried. Sigi started, “‘A Little Help …”. “… from my Friends’”, Ferdinand finished. Sigi’s eyes widened. Gunnar’s eyes rolled.
Their path led them to the Templars’ Arms. Their small guide marched straight through the aged doorway, striding directly to a table in the back as though he expected it to be free. The others tarried slightly, taking in the storied decor. Armour and weapons of all sorts adorned the walls. By the time they joined the guide he had removed his cloak, revealing a rather dapper Halfling with an impressive pencil moustache. “Alphonse Hercules de Gascoigne iz ma name, az you probably know”, he said with a broad smile. Ferdinand and Sigi shared a puzzled look, but said nothing. Gunnar had no clue who this was. “I ‘erd you were de kind of people ‘ho can get things done”, he continued as he waved to a bartender and showed four fingers. “I ‘ave been employed to ensure ze safety of ze son of Ludwig Orteli — a young girl named Gerella — who ‘as been abducted and ees being ‘eld for ransom. Ze kidnappers demand 500 gold crowns for ze daughter’s safe return, and quel disaster! Ze father ‘as not the funds! If zey do not receive ze money by midnight, three days from now, ze villains ‘ave promised to return Gerella in — ‘ow you say — tiny little bits. So, Alphonse will rescue ‘im before zen!”, he said, four drinks arriving to the table just as he’d finished. He took a deep drink. “What do you say? Will you ‘elp?”, he continued, wiping foam from his moustache and looking to each of the three in turn. Gunnar looked set to answer, but Ferdinand cut in, “Oh yes… of course we will help. A chance to assist in a case being pursued by the great Alphonse Hercules de Gascoigne would be an honour!”. Gunnar looked confused, but opted to take a drink rather than interject. There was something going on here he didn’t understand. Some nonsense magicks no doubt.
Alphonse outlined what he had discovered so far… the nature of the paper the ransom note was written on had led him to a stall merchant in Altmarkt; with an ‘inducement’ the merchant gave a description of the woman who’d written it; by examining maps of the local area and deducing the best area for a hideout, Alphonse found the woman and tailed her to the hideout, though it has an unknown number of abductors inside; finally he rented a house across the street and sent word to the trio to meet him, expecting their varied skills might be of use in rescuing Gerella.
“So… shall we ‘ed to ze ‘ouse?”, he said, downing the remainder of his drink and placing a coin to pay while putting the hooded cloak back on. He didn’t wait for a response and was already on the move. They glanced at each other, shrugged and set off following him.
The plan was simple. The adventurers were to stake out the suspect house, noting the comings and goings, and then Alphonse would use his expertise to defuse a plan of action… not the kind of plan that suited Gunnar at all! They snuck into the rented house so as not to draw attention and Alphonse led them to the top floor where a telescope was set up, back from the window, to allow for observations. However, this only covered the front of the house. Sensing the opportunity to do something… anything other than sit around… Gunnar volunteered to seek out a vantage point to observe the back of the house. He snuck across the street and along the back gardens of a few houses until he had a view of the target. The kitchen door was open and he could make out voices.
From the telescope Sigi could see some movement on the top floor, catching a glimpse of a woman with long dark hair and at least two men. He could also just about make out the sound of a barking dog. The barking intensified when a woman, carrying a dog of her own, left the house next to the target. Her dog nearly leapt from her arms, but she managed to hold it tight. Not long after a woman left the house. She returned with a basket that seemed to contain hot food and enough tankards on a wooden tray for five or six people. Meanwhile Gunnar observed a man leave through the back door and go to the outhouse. There was mumbling when he returned and he could discern the sound of cutlery against plates.
Ferdinand was feeling underutilised and decided he’d establish an outside surveillance too. He stayed on the same side of the street as the rented house and moved to a shaded position almost opposite the front door of the target.
Then things went sideways. Another member of the ‘gang’ used the outhouse and Gunnar seized the initiative. He introduced the man to his axe and dumped the body down the latrine. He then took up a position behind the outhouse, waiting for others to investigate. It took them about ten minutes to realise one of their number was missing, when they did Gunnar heard some come out of the house. He was poised, ready to take them on. He sprung against two, the downswing of his axe taking out one and the upswing another. He hadn’t spotted the third, who flanked him around the outhouse. That man’s blade dug deep into Gunnar’s shoulder, causing a roar of anger and a gush of blood to pour from the wound. A backhanded swing took the man out, but the sword strike had hurt the Slayer.
The yell from Gunnar spurred Sigi and Ferdinand into action. The mage sprinted across the street, aiming for the side passage towards the back of the target house. Sigi ran down the stairs and straight out the front door. The door of the target opened, the dark-haired woman appearing with the hostage, a knife to her throat. A Tilean Manhound by her side snarled at them. Gerella ‘Oretlli’ looked just like the girl from Adelhard’s painting, though she looked sickly and pale.
A grin appeared across the woman’s face as Sigi skidded to a stop in front of her. Ferdinand redirected and stopped beside the Halfling. “You ‘aven’t figured it out yet”, she said with a strong Tilean accent. She dropped her knife to the ground and plunged her teeth into poor Gerella’s neck.
Sigi lunged, but found himself toppling from his armchair, spilling the book and his port onto the ground. He seized the book and threw it into his fire.
Gunnar and Ferdinand found themselves back in Gerella’s meagre bedroom. The Tilean had aged in the transition, her features impossibly old and gaunt. Blood trickled from her protruding canines, as she thrust the weakened girl towards them. “Maybe next time!”, she said and seemed to dissolve back into the book on the floor. Ferdinand immediately tended to the girl. Gunnar saw to the book… with his axe.
Until next time,
Owen