Felix wondered how he could smell anything over his own stench. Gotrek never washed and his hair was matted with animal fat to keep his red-dyed crest in place.

“They’ll have locked themselves in. Nobody goes abroad on Geheimnisnacht. Unless they’re witches or daemon-lovers.”

“The black coach was abroad,” Gotrek said.

“Its occupants were up to no good. The windows were curtained and the coach bore no crest of arms.”

“My throat is too dry to discuss such details. Come on, open up in there or I’ll take my axe to the door!”

Felix thought he heard movement within. He pressed an ear to the door. He could make out the mutter of voices and what sounded like weeping.

“Unless you want me to chop through your head, manling, I suggest you stand aside,” Gotrek said to Felix.

“Just a moment. I say: you inside! Open up! My friend has a very large axe and a very short temper. I suggest you do as he says or lose your door.”

“What was that about ‘short’?” Gotrek said touchily.

From behind the door came a thin, quavering cry. “In the name of Sigmar, begone, you daemons of the pit!”

“Right, that’s it,” Gotrek snapped. “I’ve had enough.”

He drew his axe back in a huge arc. Felix saw the runes on its blade gleam in the Morrslieb light. He leapt aside.

“In the name of Sigmar!” Felix shouted. “You cannot exorcise us. We are simple, weary travellers.”

The axe bit into the door with a chunking sound. Splinters of wood flew from it. Gotrek turned to Felix and grinned evilly up at him. Felix noted the missing teeth.

“Shoddily made, these manling doors,” Gotrek said.

“I suggest you open up while you still have a door,” Felix called.

“Wait,” the quavering voice said. “That door cost me five crowns from Jurgen the carpenter.”

The door was unlatched. It opened. A tall, thin man with a sad face framed by lank, white hair stood there. He had a stout club in one hand. Behind him stood an old woman who held a saucer that contained a guttering candle.

“You will not need your weapon, sir. We require only a bed for the night,” Felix said.

“And ale,” the dwarf grunted.

“And ale,” Felix agreed.

“Lots of ale,” Gotrek said. Felix looked at the old man and shrugged helplessly.

Inside, the inn had a low common room. The bar was made of planks stretched across two barrels. From the corner, three armed men who looked like travelling peddlers watched them warily. They each had daggers drawn. The shadows hid their faces but they seemed worried.

The innkeeper hustled the pair inside and slid the bars back into place.