[WFRP] The Lord of Lost Heart (II)

[LCP]

Pieter & Ithelus

Esther said nothing, but watched as the elf disarmed himself. Lowering her veil back over her face, she walked over to the wall and tugged on a frayed bell-pull. From somewhere deeper in the house, there was a faint clong, and soon enough the servant who had opened the door reappeared.

"Gundred," said Esther, "watch over these." She motioned to the weapons. "These gentlemen are going to speak to the doctor."

Unbuckling his sword-belt somewhat reluctantly, Leopold added his own blade to Ithelus' small pile. The miller's son seemed more concerned about being left unarmed with Ithelus than the man they were going to see.

OOC:

Spoiler

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I assume Pieter is fine with leaving his weapons behind. If he isn't, just let me know and we'll resolve it retroactively.

~

At the foot of the tower stair, the spiral staircase continued one turn further down. The steps were old and worn, their stone surface pitted in the centre where generations of feet had worn them smooth.

Esther had accompanied them this far. She paused, looking for something on a blunt iron hook that protruded from the wall, but whatever it was was missing. Throwing a quick glance back over her shoulder at Ithelus, she led the way down.

At the very bottom of the winding stair, the door of the crypt waited. A lighted lantern had been set down on the floor nearby, casting long shadows over the stonework: over the lintel, the carved hourglass motif of the Verloren family jumped and flickered in the lamplight.

The men who had stood watch before were gone - Mathias, of course, was dead. Instead, dozing on a stool beside the lantern, the small figure of Rodrik the boot-boy leaned with his back against the wall. His head was titled sideways at an angle that looked like it was saving up a painful crick in the neck for when he woke.

Coming to a stop in front of the old door, Esther coughed discreetly. Rodrik's head snapped back upright, his eyes opening wide in startled, blinking confusion. Seeing the lady and her guests standing before him, he jumped clumsily to his feet, fumbling a salute with the old spear he had been given from the manor's armoury. A large, painful-looking bruise still discoloured half the youth's forehead where Ribault had knocked him out.

"These men are here to see the doctor, Rodrik," said Esther, turning away for a moment so her voice was muffled. When she turned back, she had produced a large iron key. "They will not be long."

The last sentence seemed to be delivered in a particularly pointed fashion. Nodding mutely, Rodrik passed the lantern up to whichever of the newcomers would take it. The key turned in the lock, and the door opened with a heavy groan.

Inside the crypt, the doctor was waiting. He had been made a little more comfortable than he had seemed during their last visit: a tatty, moth-eaten chair had been brought down for him to sit on, along with an old walking stick and a wooden footstool for his leg. He had arranged this tiny selection of furniture in one corner of the damp vault, facing the side of one of the stone sarcophagi like an artist taking brass-rubbings in an Altdorf catacomb. Still wearing his coat, he had a hunk of tough, half-eaten bread in one hand.

He had evidently been sitting in darkness: the light of the lamp made him blink hard, his eyes adjusting only slowly. When they had done so, a look of recognition dawned across his long face.

"Mr Hagen," he said, laconically. "And friends."

Adjusting the spectacles that still sat on his nose - now rather grimy from his recent treatment - he made no effort to rise.

"No crossbow, I see," he said, looking Ithelus up and down. "I can't say that's not an improvement from our last encounter."