4 City of Strife by William King Page B

a bully-boy, one whose business it would be better not to get in the way of.
    He saw a few youths eying him as if considering putting a knife in his back, but as soon as they saw he had noticed them, they withdrew into their doorways and alley mouths.
    People were clad in layers of rags. Many had their feet bound in cloth. Folks scratched and coughed. There were few children in the street, most were indoors, huddling together for warmth, or scouring the streets of the wealthier parts of town, looking for alms, work or scraps of food.
    All around Kormak sensed the scuttling of small forms, moving through the middens and trash-heaps, disappearing into tiny holes in walls. He felt as if he was being watched by scores of tiny glittering eyes. So many rats. It was not a good omen.
    The day was starting to fade, the low clouds of the winter sky blocking out the Sun’s feeble light. This was the time of year when the forces of darkness were at their strongest and the Light was at its weakest. It was a time for conspiracy in darkened rooms, for wicked sorcerers to perform their rituals, for men to be about the work of the Shadow. He thought about what Sergeant Altman had said about people disappearing.
    Deaths and disappearances were to be expected in a city as vast and chaotic as Vermstadt, but Altman had thought it worth mentioning. He had associated it with Jurgen Krugman. That priestly man looked an unlikely dark magician but Kormak had long ago learned that appearance counted for little in such matters. The most evil sorcerer he had ever encountered looked like everyone’s favourite uncle.
    He was as concerned by the disappearance of the cats as he was by the war between the merchant houses. If evil magic was being worked here, it was a matter of far greater concern to him personally. It was the sort of work the Holy Sun had really intended him to perform. Saint Verma was supposed to have banished the Old One, Murnath the Rat King, from this place but one of his brood might have returned to work mischief. Such creatures had long memories. Or maybe it was only humans who remembered the old rites and sought to call upon the Rat King once more.
    As these thoughts worked their way through his mind, his feet carried him deeper into the Maze, A familiar face gazed at him from the mouth of an alley. “Sir. I am pleased to see you,” said the boy Jan. “What brings you to the Maze? You looking for girls? Bloodroot? Or something else?”
    Kormak was going to tell him it was none of his business, but thought the better of it. “What do you mean by that?” he asked quietly.
    “There are merchants here who sell all sorts of stuff cheaper than you can get it elsewhere in the city.”
    “Stuff that falls off the back of a cart you mean . . .”
    Jan touched the side of his nose. “Weapons, armour, all sorts of things a man like yourself might be interested in. Other stuff too—good stuff, from a long way away, comes in on the boats.”
    “And gets lost on the docks?”
    “That’s not for me to say, sir.” It came to Kormak that someone like Jan might have their uses if he wanted to find out what was going on. And he needed a place to settle down until moonrise. Kormak said, “Let’s just say I was looking for a good meal. You think you would know where to find that?”
    Jan looked at him almost contemptuously. “Of course I would, sir.”
    “Lead on then,” said Kormak. The boy strode cockily along beside him, chest puffed out, pointing out interesting sights as they walked. Kormak asked him the question he really had on his mind. “Bors called you a cat-eater the other day. What did he mean by that?”
    “There’s folks here as do eat cats, sir, but I ain’t one of them. Truth to tell there’s been less and less of them about this past year anyway. I heard old Pip the storyteller say they’ve all gone to the Moon for the winter but I don’t think it’s that myself.”
    “What do you think it is?”
    “There’s