4 City of Strife

by William King

  Of course there were those who would say it was already corrupt. In the huge central space, in the shadow of the colossal painted pillars that supported the vaulted ceiling, priests went about the business of the church, selling indulgences, and relics, and blessed threads and inks and clothes, shards shaved from the bones of the saint which miraculously restored itself every high holy day.

  How was it possible that people were so credulous, he wondered? In his heart of hearts, he already knew the answer. They were not. They did not believe so much as want to believe. They hoped that the promises of salvation made to them were true, because what was the alternative?

  He told himself not to be so cynical. On many of the faces about him were written wonder and awe and reverence. And they belonged not only to the penitents and pilgrims. They belonged to the fraters and the priests as well. In the alcoves around the walls, men and women knelt in sincere prayer before the statues of saints, and the symbol of the Holy Sun.

  At the sight of it, he felt a faint stirring of his old, long-diminished faith, in the idea he had been entrusted with a sacred mission, that he had been sent out into the world to oppose evil and do good, that the oath he had taken still meant something. It was hard to reconcile that with the image of himself taking off a man’s hand in a street brawl.

  He smiled at the strange complex of emotions passing through his mind, a compound of guilt at his own doubts, hope that there was still a Light to be served, and disgust at his own naiveté and need to believe, in himself, in what he did. He had walked through darkness for so long, it was sometimes difficult to see the Light.

  After every night comes the dawn, he repeated the words of the old prayer to himself. He made his way through the Cathedral to the small shrine at the back, where the bones of the Saint Verma lay in their golden casket. A painted panel depicting her banishing the rat demon Murnath was in place above the door.

  Kormak made the Elder Sign over his heart as he entered the shrine, ducking his head as he went through the door, joining the long line of pilgrims as they trudged towards the altar, mouths working in prayer, eyes fixed ahead on the sacred object.

  Eventually he found himself in front of the relic, hoping for some sign from the Sun, some feeling of holiness, some touch of eternity. All he saw were small white objects, lying on a cushion of velvet within a casket of gold. Outside it was winter, inside the presence of the Light was not to be felt.

  After every night comes the dawn. But after every day comes the night.

  Afterwards, he pushed the thought of his own sinfulness aside and walked through the huge structure until he came to a small doorway, to the place where he had been directed to seek his penance. He knocked upon it.

  “Enter,” said a cracked-sounding voice.

  Kormak entered the counting house. Behind a small table, a tall, thin monk sat, tallying numbers on an abacus and making records on a wax slate. He was garbed as a monk of the Order of Saint Verma. Parchment and ink lay close at hand, indicating that when he finished the complex calculations he was working on, the final results were committed to paper. The monk did not look up. “What can I do for you, my child? Speak.”

  “Blessings of the Light be upon you, Frater Lucian,” Kormak said. The monk looked up suddenly, eyes widening in shock. His hand moved to his mouth to cover it. There was something like fear there and a nervousness that had not been there five years before. After a minute of simply staring, he indicated that Kormak should close the door and lock it. Frater Lucian might have been garbed as a monk of Saint Verma, but many years ago he had sworn an oath of service to the Order of the Dawn.

  “Sir Kormak,” he said. “I never thought to see you again.”

  Kormak leaned back against the door. He could hear nothing from outside. “I need information.”

  “Of course,” said Frater Lucian. “I didn’t think they would send you back. Not after what happened the last time . . .”

  Kormak considered his words. “Nonetheless I am here.”

  “And I am glad of it, of course.” The monk laid down his pen and rubbed his face with a bony hand. He glanced around again as if afraid they were being eavesdropped upon. Kormak did not remember Lucian being such a nervous man.

  “I was sent for,” Kormak said. “Someone requested my presence.”

  Lucian coughed. Phlegm gurgled within his chest. “It was me. I sent a message by raven asking that a Guardian be sent to Vermstadt.”

  “Why you? Where is the fat man?”

  Lucian shivered. “Frater Ambrose? Vanished. Dead, most likely, though no body has showed up.”

  “When?”

  “Two moons ago.” Kormak did the calculations in his head. It would have taken that long for the message to reach the Order, for the Order to summon him and for him to get here.

  “I take it he did not abscond with the silver or with one of the nuns.” There was some possibility of the latter. Ambrose had been fond of the pleasures of the flesh.

  Lucian shook his head. “He went out one night. Never came back. I reported it to the Abbot and he informed the watch but no one knows anything. Most think he hopped on a boat downriver. That’s the story going around.”

  “You don’t think he did.”

  “You know what Ambrose was—what do you think?”

  “I wasn’t there. You were.”

  “He was looking into something. Bodies were going missing from the mortuary carts. He was investigating. He was frightened.”

  “He was not a man who scared easily. What was it frightened him?”

  “His people were going missing.”

  Kormak tilted his head to one side and just stared until Lucian continued.

  “His agents. One by one, they stopped reporting.”

  “You think they were killed.”

  “Killed or fled. If they were sensible.”

  “Are any of them left?”

  “None I can find.”

  “You looked.”

  Lucian let out a long breath. “Yes. I looked—at least to begin with.”

  “You stopped though . . .”

  “It seemed pointless. None of them were there, at least the ones I knew about.”

  “And?”

  “And I thought I was being watched.”

  “You were afraid you would be next.”

  “There’s just me here now. I don’t leave the Cathedral quarter. I sleep within the cloister walls under the Elder Signs”

  “You sent the message though. You asked for a Guardian to be sent.”

  “Yes. I thought if whatever got the rest of them got me then you would at least avenge me. Avenge us.”

  Kormak wondered whether Lucian was having some sort of breakdown. He had seen it happen before. In the service of the Order of the Dawn, men saw many strange things and were privy to many dark and terrible secrets. Some men could not take the strain. Lucian’s long fingers crawled up his face, like a pale, five-legged spider. He tapped himself on the forehead, put his hand back on the table and pressed down on his wrist with his left hand, as if he was trying to trap his right hand down there.

  “There is much to alarm happening in Vermstadt. The Shadow is at work here. Lots of things point to it.”

  “Tell me one.”

  “Cats are being killed in the most unspeakable ways.” Kormak thought about Bounce and his mother. He thought about what Lila and her cook had said. “You think someone is making offerings?”

  Lucian nodded slowly and licked his lips. “I thought you cleaned out the nest of Shadow worshippers on your last visit but now I am not so sure . . .”

  “I killed five men. I cut out a patch of cancre cancer, not the whole blight. Or so it seems. What else has made you so nervous?”

  “The city is a powder keg, the situation is very unstable and becoming more so.”

  “The cause?”

  “Two of the great merchant houses have brought us to the verge of civil war.”

  “The Oldbergs and the Kru
gmans?”

  “You have just got here and you’ve already heard. That’s how bad things have become. It gets worse—the Krugmans are sorcerers.”

  “You think they are using dark magic?”

  “They were given a license permitting them to study magic by the Prelate Benedict so they could help in his wars. It seems they have been abusing the privilege. Magic has been used in their struggle with the Oldbergs. The Oldbergs have hired a wizard and clearly intend to respond in kind.”

  “Why are they fighting?”

  “Each house supports a different candidate for the Prelate’s throne. They’ve been rivals for decades but this is the last straw. Benedict is on his death bed and both houses want to make sure their man occupies his holy seat. The Oldbergs support Marius, who is brother to the head of their house. The Krugmans support a distant cousin of theirs.”

  “Anything else I should know about?”

  “There are all sorts of tales doing the rounds. Of mortuaries being raided, of corpses going missing, of graves being dug up, of body snatchers prowling the streets. Of monsters in the night at full moon.”

  “It certainly sounds like there’s enough for me to be looking into.”

  “They are not just stories.”

  “Oh?”

  “I went to the mortuary. Bodies have gone missing. And something nasty is killing people in the Maze. Something with claws and very sharp teeth.”

  “It could be a big dog.”

  “Dogs rarely pull people’s hearts out.”

  “There’s that.”

  “You will stay then and investigate?”

  “Yes.”

  “Where will you start?”

  “The Maze probably. The moon will be full the day after tomorrow.”

  “If you need any help, let me know.”

  “That I will.”

  “It is good to have you back, Sir Kormak.” This time he really sounded sincere.

  “I wish I could say it’s good to be back,” Kormak said. He headed for the door. “I will be in touch.”

  He headed back towards the Gilded Lion. The day had given him much to think about.

  Chapter Five

  LILA DID NOT look too pleased as she showed the angry man into the room. Kormak looked up. He had been half-expecting this since he got back to the Gilded Lion.

  “Sir Kormak,” Lila said. “This is Sergeant Altman of the City Watch. He would like a word with you.”

  The Sergeant stamped forward into the room. He was about medium height and very broad. His features were swarthy and there was stubble on his chin. His eyes were very blue and very bright. Two more members of the Watch were with him.

  “What can I do for you, Sergeant?” Kormak asked.

  “Smooth bastard, aren’t you?” said the Sergeant.

  “Am I?”

  “You know why I am here. You almost killed two men in the Wineberg Close today.”

  “I wounded a man who attacked me. Did he die?”

  “No,” said the Sergeant. “Or I would not be being so nice to you. I don’t care how rich your Oldberg bosses are. This won’t stand.”

  “I don’t work for the Oldbergs, Sergeant. I am a pilgrim. I came here to see the shrine of Saint Verma and look upon her blessed finger-bones.”

  The Sergeant looked ostentatiously around Lila’s bedchamber then he looked at Lila. “I can see you are a very holy man.”

  “Did you come here to insult me and this good lady? Or do you actually have some questions?” There was something in Kormak’s tone that made the Sergeant flinch but he recovered quickly.

  “You don’t deny you took off Lemy Birke’s hand?”

  “I didn’t know if his name was Lemy Birke but I took a man’s hand off today. It was holding a sword that was intended to split my skull. Is it against the law to defend yourself in Vermstadt now?”

  “So you’re saying Lemy attacked you?”

  “I think I just did.”

  “That’s not what his friends say?”

  “What do they say? That I made an unprovoked attack upon a man with twelve armed comrades beside him? Or did I perhaps challenge all thirteen of them and then spare their lives?”

  “Are you being sarcastic?”

  “No. I am just curious as to exactly how crazy you think I am.”

  “It seems yesterday you intervened on behalf of an Oldberg partisan.”

  “There was a boy being picked on in the street. The thugs doing it decided to add me to the list of people they were bullying.”

  “And you didn’t let them?”

  “Do I look like a man who would?”

  “No. You look like a professional duellist. Like exactly the sort of man the Oldbergs would hire to help them with their Krugman problem.”

  “You know a lot of professional duellists, do you, Sergeant?”

  “I don’t like your tone.”

  “I’m not sure I like yours either.”

  “Maybe you’d like to do something about it?”

  “Tell me, Sergeant, do you think if I really worked for the Oldbergs we would be having this conversation? Or I would be staying here?”

  “The people you’ve hurt all work for the Krugmans.”

  “The people I hurt put themselves in the way of harm.”

  “Doesn’t it bother you that you might have put yourself in the way of harm? Jurgen Krugman is not likely to look kindly on a man who takes down his pet bully boys.”

  “I’d tell him the same thing I am telling you, Sergeant. I am not looking for trouble but if somebody comes at me with a blade in his hand I won’t stand still either.”

  The watchman looked thoughtful. Kormak could not tell whether it was because Altman believed what he had said or because another idea was forcing its way into his head. “Krugman has more than blades at his beck and call.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “They’re a family that dabble in dark magic.”

  “Then I am surprised you are not visiting them or reporting them to the church authorities.”

  “I would if I thought it might do any good,” said the Sergeant, then seemed to realise what he was saying to a stranger. “You’d best be careful, Sir Kormak,” he said. “Indeed it might be better for you if you left Vermstadt altogether. Or I might end up fishing your body out of the river. If I can find it at all.”

  “I’ll be on my way when I finish my business here,” said Kormak. Altman shrugged and said, “Don’t say I didn’t warn you. You may soon have a visit from the Silent Man.”

  “Who is this Silent Man people keep talking about?”

  “You’ll find out for yourself soon enough if you keep this up.” He stormed out of the room as aggressively as he entered it.

  “You did not go out of your way to make any friends there,” said Lila after he left.

  “What was I supposed to say? The man attacked me.”

  “A lot of people seem to be making that mistake,” Lila said. She tilted her head to one side as she considered him. “And they all seemed to be working for the Krugmans.”

  “Believe me, Lila, I could live without the attention. All I did was try and save a boy from a beating or maybe something worse.”

  “It’s true then, is it?”

  “What?”

  “No good deed goes unpunished.”

  “It certainly looks that way in Vermstadt.” There was silence for a moment.

  “Who is the Silent Man?” Kormak asked.

  Lila looked troubled. “He’s the Krugman’s enforcer or so they say. The toughest man in the city. Or maybe he’s not a man. People keep saying he’s been killed but he keeps coming back.”

  “Something supernatural about him?”

  “I’m just telling you what little I’ve heard. But if he’s half as bad as they say you’ll want to keep away from him.”

  “Maybe so,” said Kormak.

  They lay on the bed once more. The shutters were closed. Thick curtains kept out the winter d
raught. Lila poured a goblet of wine, and when Kormak refused it, took a sip herself. He leaned back on the pillow and watched her drink. She noticed him studying her.

  “You must have been pretty sure you would find me waiting when you came back,” Lila said. She tilted her head to one side, clearly curious as to what he would say. As with so many of these conversations Kormak sensed the trap.

  He jabbed a thumb backwards at his naked chest. “How could you resist all this?” he said. She laughed.

  “You’re an arrogant man,” she said. “But you do have a certain rough and ready appeal. You still haven’t answered my question though.”

  “I knew you would be on your own,” Kormak said.

  She jabbed him in the ribs with her elbow, unaware of quite how dangerous that was. He quashed his instinctive response to block the blow and strike back. “You think I was pining away waiting for you?”

  “No. But I remember the conversation we had the last time. You told me you would never marry again, that you liked being your own boss and running the Lion. I could tell that was true when you said it.”

  She looked at him silently. “You have a good memory,” she said eventually. She looked thoughtful, obviously remembering the context of that conversation. “You ever been married?”

  Kormak shook his head. “My order forbids it. At least while I am a Guardian.” He was still not sure he had done the right think admitting he was a member of the order to her, but then she had already figured it out for herself, and he found himself wanting to be honest, for once in his life, with her at least.

  “You ever consider giving it up?”

  “No.”

  “You love it so much?”

  “It’s not that.”

  “Do other Guardians retire?”

  “A few, the ones who survive their terms, the ones who are crippled. My old master, Malan, did.”

  “You look thoughtful all of a sudden.”