Tzarkual steeled himself to face the foe. He, at least, was not afraid to face the dwarf’s hatchet or the man’s sword. He was a hostleader. He knew no fear.

It was simply excitement that made his tail twitch and his muskglands swell as the dwarf painted the sewer wall with blood with a flick of the small axe. Tzarkual knew he could take any man-thing, but he decided to hang back as Clawleader Gazat tackled the dwarf. He wanted to study his foe’s fighting style to best advantage.

It was certainly impressive the way that the dwarf caught the flying skaven by the throat and dashed his brains out against the ledge floor.

It definitely wasn’t terror that made Tzarkual fling himself into the sewage when he confronted the foaming-mouthed berserker. It was just that he knew that this was not the correct time to fight. It would be more elegant to take the foe off guard, by surprise, say, when they were asleep. Less wasteful of skaven lives too. He would tell Thanquol this as soon as he had finished his swim.


“They were after us, weren’t they?” Felix said, glancing around worriedly. He dabbed at some of the blood on his face and inspected the tips of his fingers distastefully. He was not surprised to learn that skaven blood was black.

“Don’t be foolish, manling. Why would they be after us?”

Felix was getting annoyed at people telling him not to be foolish. “Well, doesn’t it seem odd that we managed to go for two weeks without meeting a single thing down here, then barely two days after you kill that skaven we’re ambushed? Come to think of it, it’s only one day after I saw von Halstadt at the Golden Hammer. Perhaps he recognised me.”

Gotrek flicked his hatchet forward. Black blood speckled the ledge where the droplets fell. “Manling, he couldn’t recognise you. For a start you were dressed differently. And you were behind the lantern that Gant shone on him — all he could make out would be your outline. That’s if he saw anything at all. Most likely he was too busy running.”

It slowly sank in what Gotrek had said. Or rather what he hadn’t said. He hadn’t questioned the fact that Felix had seen von Halstadt at the Golden Hammer.

The other sewerjacks came back from inspecting the bodies. “Good work, you two,” said Hef. “You can certainly fight.”

“Might have left us some, though? I thought there was some coming up behind us but they seemed to stop when you two got stuck in.”

“Probably scared them away.”

“Well, let’s take a body and show it to the watch captain. Maybe they’ll believe us this time.”

“Right-o, young Felix. You going to carry it?”

Felix kept his mouth shut as he bent to lift the smelly, furry carcass. Even amid the stink of the sewers the smell of the corpse was offensive. Felix was quite pleased when, halfway back to the watch station exit, Hef offered to take a turn carrying it.


“And you say that there are rat-men below the city, brother? In the sewers even?”

Looking around the dining chamber of Otto’s house, Felix found it easy to understand his brother’s incredulity, Everything here seemed solid and safe and unthreatening. The expensive brocade curtains shut out the night just as effectively as the high walls enclosing the garden shut out the city.