Heading south, towards the richer district that encircled the Castle, Raffy began to feel decidedly out of place. These were streets he had never seen as a child, cobbled and clean – at least, compared to the rest of the town. As they reached Manor Street, old houses that spoke of wealth and breeding rose up around them, liveried servants and shuttered carriages plying to and fro along the broad street.
Stopping once or twice to hesitantly ask directions to Samtzunge House, they came to one of the largest of the houses, on the other side of the road from the castle mound – its stone facade seemed relatively new, a carved coat of arms bearing a trotting fox on an emerald field standing guard over the imposing front door. Remembering Maria’s advice of the previous night, Raffy led the way down the cobbled alley at the side of the house, looking for the servant’s entrance. Sure enough, a lower wall extended from the back of the manor, pierced by a broad wooden gate – a man-sized door was set in one half of the gate itself, painted a faded green. Tugging on the black iron bell-pull, Raffy waited.
After perhaps a minute, his hand was straying back to the bell when he heard a faint voice from within – certainly not Maria’s, it was reedy and cracked, a steady, indistinct grumbling growing closer. There was a rattle of bolts from within, and the green door opened – an old man stood before them. A tangled mess of white hair adhered to the lower slopes of his gleaming skull – his dusty green doublet and reddened, slightly bulbous nose would have made him seem almost like a clown from an Altdorf stage play, were it not for the milky cast to his eyes. From the way he peered at the party on his doorstep, he had to be nearly blind.
“Yerrrsss?” he said, managing to combine snobbery, scorn and suspicion into one drawn-out syllable.
“We’re here to see Maria?” said Raffy, hesitantly. “I spoke to her yesterday...”
Seemingly offended at this familiarity, the man drew himself up, glaring down his nose at Raffy.
“Hname?”
“Rafale. And friends.”
“Hwait here, please,” he drawled, shutting the door again. The muffled muttering resumed, receding away into silence – Raffy looked at Seth and shrugged. After a couple of minutes, the man’s footsteps returned – he opened the door, grudgingly gesturing for them to enter.
Stepping over the threshold, they found themselves in a narrow yard. A pair of superb black horses watched the party with wide, curious eyes over the doors of their stables – a padlocked gate to the left of the cramped stable presumably held the carriage they would draw, abutting a turret of the house behind. In that bulge of the stone wall, a heavy wooden door stood open.
“Please follow me, gentlemen,” said the old man, shutting the bolts on the gate behind them – hobbling out in front of them, he led them inside.
The room they found themselves in was nothing Raffy or Lothar had ever seen – elegant, stuffed chairs and a large chaise-longue occupied the centre of the room, an ornately-decorated harpsichord standing in one corner. Packed book-cases stood against three of the four walls, the fourth being occupied by a small fireplace and a tall portrait of a severe-looking man, perhaps in his early fifties: Raffy thought his green eyes bore a certain family resemblance to Maria.
“The lady will be down presently,” said the old man. Seemingly relieved to have discharged his duty, he shuffled away, another door banging behind him.
“Ulric’s teeth,” murmured Lothar, whistling through his teeth. He grinned. “This lady friend of yours must be worth a mint, Raffy my lad.”
The door clicked, and the lady in question swept into the room, a broad smile on her face. “Rafale! You brought your friends.” She paused, noticing who was absent. “Illiiya couldn’t come?”
“I’m afraid not.”
“A pity.” Shrugging her shoulders, she turned to Lothar and Seth, extending a hand to each of them in turn – the soldier had to do his best not to stare. He had seen his fair share of pretty girls, but this noblewoman was really something else.
“I do hope Alfons didn’t give you any trouble,” she said, extending a hand to Lothar and Seth in turn. “My father’s old valet; I’m afraid he can be a little difficult at times. Maria Samtzunge, at your service – I don’t believe we’ve been introduced?”
Spoiler
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OOC: Do you tell her your real names?
“I hear we have you gentlemen to thank for the destruction of the Beastmen on the north road.” She gave an odd little smile. “Which is more than the Hounds could manage, at least. It’s good to see Marius employing someone competent to look into things.”
She gestured towards the chairs that were artfully strewn about the drawing-room.
“Please, take a seat. No doubt Mr Rafale has told you why I wanted to speak to you.”
“You said you had something you wanted to tell us – about our investigation for Captain von Brucker.”
“Quite,” said Maria. She took a seat herself, looking down at her hand in a moment’s pause – turning her eyes back to her guests, she began, speaking in an articulate, assured manner.
“No doubt Rafale has told you about the Society. You might have gathered from our talk of Magda’s pamphlet,” she said, looking towards Raffy, “that its influence extends a little way beyond the talking-shop in the Tongs. Going back to before the destruction of the old temple, the Society kept contacts with people who were... closer to the ground, so to speak. Men and women among the common people who share the same convictions.”
“Some time before the old temple collapsed, a man calling himself Henrik Puderbrand approached Klaus and his friends, looking for the same kind of work. He had a gaggle of like-minded followers, and claimed he had served as an artilleryman in the Imperial army – which was where he said he’d got the burn down the side of his face. He had no love for the Emperor, and less for the Church of Sigmar, and said he wanted to help.”
“Naturally, I was suspicious – the Spring Driving was just beginning in Kislev, so why would the army be turning away trained cannon-crew? It seemed likely to me that the man was a mercenary, or worse. You understand how fatal it would be for an organisation like Klaus’ to be linked back to violence. This was a violent man... so I made it a condition of my continued support that Klaus turned Henrik Puderbrand away.”
“He was angry, as I’d expected he would be, but that was the last we saw of him. When the temple went up a couple of weeks later, a plot of fire and powder... well, I thought of him, but by then the witch-hunt was at its height. You understand - I couldn’t report my suspicions without exposing the Society to danger.” She flushed a little. “I’m taking a risk even telling you – but I believe you can be trusted with keeping the Society out of the public eye. If Marius has hired you to investigate out of von Kemperbad’s sight, that may be the only chance we have to end this hysteria.”
“I don’t know if he’s still in Delberz, but I know Puderbrand’s old address, and the names of a few of his cronies.” She hesitated. “I’m afraid I kept an eye on him for a while after Klaus turned him away. I suppose I was hoping he would turn out to be some dreadful criminal or something, so that he could be safely put away... unfortunately, there was nothing of the sort, at least that I could find. If you don’t believe my imagination’s running away with me, I can give you the names and places.”