[Marienburg 01] - A Murder in Marienburg

by David Bishop - (ebook by Undead)

  “Firstly, I want to thank you all for helping to reclaim this building for its rightful purpose. While we haven’t taken complete possession of it, we can once more say the Black Caps have a presence on Three Penny Bridge. A few hours ago I promised you all that before the end of the day this building would be a Watch Station once more. Some of you laughed then, some even jeered me—but I’ve been proven right. Take that as a lesson if you wish: I mean what I say and I say what I mean. I’ll never make you a promise I don’t intend to keep and I’ll never ask you to do something I’m not willing to do myself. Now, you’ve heard more than enough speeches from me for one day. Sergeant Woxholt will give you duty assignments for the next few days. If any of you wish to complain about the roster, take it up with him. If any of you wish to complain about Sergeant Woxholt, that’s tough. He’s the best sergeant in the watch and we’re lucky to have him here. Sergeant?”

  Jan stepped forward, a wry smile evident on his careworn features. “When I call out your name, step forward and respond by shouting back ‘Yes, sergeant!’ Is that clear?” A few of the recruits mumbled in response, but most said nothing. “I said is that clear?” Jan demanded, the volume of his voice ascending.

  “Yes, sergeant!” the recruits shouted back in unison.

  “That’s better. Now, on to the names: Scheusal, Bescheiden and Verletzung!” The trio all responded to being summoned. “You will be our night shift until the end of Geheimnistag. After that I’ll assess how well each shift is working as a team, and reassign individuals as necessary. Consider this a probationary period, a chance to prove your worth.” Bescheiden raised a meek hand. “Yes, what is it?”

  “I worked days at my last station—” he begun, before a glare from the sergeant cut him off.

  “Now you work the night shift, starting an hour before sundown each evening and remaining on duty until you’re relieved by the graveyard shift. Scheusal?”

  “Yes, sergeant?” the big Bretonnian responded, surprise in his voice.

  “You’ll be senior watchman on the night shift until I say otherwise. Bescheiden and Verletzung answer to you, you answer to me and I answer to the captain—that is our chain of command. Clear?” Scheusal nodded his agreement. “All three of you can get back into your lines.”

  Once the night shift had returned to their previous positions, another three names were called. Holismus, Raufbold and Narbig stepped forward, acknowledging the sergeant’s stern voice. “You three are the graveyard shift.” Raufbold immediately protested but a snarl of contempt from Woxholt silenced the vainglorious recruit. “You will take over from the night shift at midnight and remain on duty until the day shift relieves you, an hour before sunrise each morning. Holismus, you’ll be in charge of the graveyard shift.” Raufbold snorted derisively at this choice, but had learned enough to keep his mouth shut. Jan sent the graveyard shift back to their places before calling out Mutig and Faulheit. “You two will be on the day shift, along with another recruit, Belladonna Speer. I’ll take charge of the day shift, as it will be the longest stint and no doubt will see the most traffic through here. Make no mistake, every one of you will be pushed to your limits and beyond by this assignment. Anybody expecting an easy time as a Black Cap on Three Penny Bridge is a fool and a simpleton. A lot of people don’t want us here and a few will be determined to drive us out. That is their choice. It is our choice to stay. Any questions?”

  Bescheiden started to raise his hand but thought better of it, no doubt recalling the short shrift his previous question had gotten. “Good. Those of you on the night shift, come and see me afterwards. Day shift can go back to their homes, but I expect to see you all here before dawn tomorrow morning. Graveyard shift, there are cots in all the rooms upstairs. Form a detail and shift four of them into one room, that’ll be where you can sleep until your shift starts. Dismissed!”

  The assembly broke into groups as the newly formed trios gathered to introduce themselves to each other and discuss the situation. Jan looked to his captain for reassurance. “Happy?”

  “Good start,” Kurt said, nodding his approval. His eyes moved to the expectant faces of the night shift, lurking nearby. “I think they’re waiting for you.”

  “Let them wait a minute longer. That’s what most of this job is, waiting for something bad to happen, waiting for a robbery or a murder, waiting for some drunk to stagger home from the docks or the tavern and take a violent dislike to his family.”

  “I doubt we’ll have to wait until closing time for our first case,” Kurt agreed. “Speaking of which, I’d better go talk with Gerta the Blurter, before she tires of Molly’s conversational skills.”

  No sooner had the captain gone upstairs than a cadre of stone-faced elves marched into the station, all armed with sword, bow and arrow. Their leader had long, blond hair swept back from his face, piercing black eyes and a cruel mouth. He brought his brethren to a halt with a single gesture and they snapped to attention with icy precision. Jan and the watchmen were stunned into silence by the sudden arrival, exchanging baffled looks at this visitation.

  Elves were rarely found outside their quarter, and were certainly never seen in Suiddock, let alone on Three Penny Bridge. For them to appear like this, armed for combat and bristling with murderous aggression, did not bode well.

  The leader of the elves put his fists on his hips and scowled, his delicate nostrils sniffing the torpid air inside the station disdainfully. “Who is in charge of this hovel?” he demanded. Everyone looked at Jan, who sighed and took a step forwards.

  “Our captain is upstairs, talking with a witness to a serious crime. Until he returns, I’m in charge.”

  “What is your name?”

  Jan folded his arms. “You can call me Sergeant Woxholt. By what name do men know you?”

  “You can call me Tyramin Silvermoon. I have come to claim the body of my brother, Arullen.”

  Jan bowed his head to show his sympathy. “We are sorry for your loss, Tyramin Silvermoon, brother of Arullen. But the body of the fallen one is not to be found here.”

  Silvermoon’s scowl deepened, and his right hand shifted to the hilt of his sword. “I was told my brother was found not two hundred strides from this place. Are you not the bringers of the law, the enforcers of justice for this part of the city?”

  “We are, but the station in which we stand was until a few hours ago home to drunkenness and debauchery—no fit resting place for a fallen one, let alone a son from the House of Silvermoon.”

  The elf let his gaze pass around the former taproom, disgust lingering his eyes. “I see you speak true, Sergeant Woxholt. It does you credit, even if the company you keep and the place where you keep it does not.” Jan inclined his head slightly, acknowledging the compliment, barbed as it was. Meanwhile his mind was racing. The House of Silvermoon was among the most powerful and important of the elf clans. For one of their sons to perish near here was a calamity for the city. If the culprit or culprits was not found and soon, the consequences could be ruinous for everyone involved. He had to do whatever he could to assuage the dead elf’s brother, otherwise it would only create more trouble for the station in the days to come. Jan dropped to one knee, bowing his head.

  “I believe the body of your brother may be found at the Temple of Morr, not far from here. When you wish, I will lead you there personally, to make certain Arullen is returned to you without further delay.”

  Silvermoon nodded his approval. “You will take us there now, Sergeant Woxholt. Our parents and all the families grieve for the loss of my brother. The sooner he returns to the halls of our father, the better.”

  “Of course,” Jan agreed. “Give me a moment to consult with my men.”

  “My brethren and I will wait outside on the bridge, where the sea air is more to our liking.” With that, Silvermoon led his cadre from the station, leaving the stunned watchmen in silence.

  Once they had gone, Jan muttered a curse and got back to his feet. “Bescheiden, I want you to run to the
Temple of Morr on Stoessel. The priest there is called Otto. Tell him I’m bringing a company of angry elves to take possession of the body. I can take them round the houses for a minute or two, but any longer than that and they’ll know I’m stalling. Otto needs to get the dead elf ready for collection. If he’s gathered any evidence from the body, he’s got to hide it before I arrive with the elves.”

  “Yes, sergeant!” The diminutive Bescheiden made as if to go out the front doors.

  “No, you fool,” Jan hissed. “If Silvermoon sees you running out that way, he’ll suspect what we’re doing in a moment. You’ll have to climb out the broken window and edge your way along to the abandoned temple next door.” Bescheiden did as he was told, grumbling all the way about his not being a mountain goat. Jan glared at the others, before selecting one he thought he could trust. “Mutig, go upstairs and tell the captain what’s happening. Best if he doesn’t meet the elves for now, that way he keeps a clean pair of hands. Well, go on!” Mutig hurried to the stairs, taking them two at a time. “The rest of you already have your assignments. Faulheit, you can head home. Scheusal, I’m leaving you in charge until I get back from the temple. Graveyard shift, go and assemble your sleeping quarters upstairs—and no fraternising with Molly and her girls. Anyone caught visiting them will spend a week in the basement, sweeping the floor during high tide.”

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  Otto prayed beside the body of Arullen Silvermoon while Belladonna watched impatiently from the other side of the stone slab. “Oh, mighty Morr, Lord of Dreams, Protector of the Dead, watch over this soul and keep him safe so that he may know happiness until he finds his way to the next life that awaits us all.” Belladonna nodded her agreement and was about to undo the corpse’s clothing when Otto resumed his invocation, halting her progress. “Look upon this elf as you would look upon any of us. Grant him your favour and your wisdom, that he may not struggle against the dying of the light, but embrace the path to death and beyond. Let all those present bow their heads in silent prayer for the day when we too shall know your glory, and sleep forever in the realm of dreams and death.” The bald priest glared at the woman standing opposite him until she complied, dipping her head and mumbling a few words under her breath. Satisfied, Otto continued his prayers: “Verily it is spoken, that on the last day shall you return to us, oh wondrous Morr, and show us—”

  “Oh, give it a rest!” Belladonna protested. “You’ve been saying a lament over this dead elf for the best part of an afternoon, Otto. Enough is enough. Besides, the elves have their own gods—what good does praying to Morr do for our dead friend here?”

  “It is my way, the way of my kind. Besides, I know a little of the elf rituals involving the dead and my prayers will do no harm, and may even do some good.”

  She rolled her eyes. “I studied with one of your brethren and he could get the rituals of death completed in the time it took you to finish the first sacrament.”

  “Haste is indecent when it comes to the ways of Morr,” the priest murmured. “Besides, souls that have been wrongly sundered from their mortal bodies before the proper time have been known to return, seeking justice for the ills done to them. In the circumstances, I thought—”

  “You thought Morr might guide this elf’s spirit back to his body so we could ask him a few questions,” she interjected, walking round the slab to stand beside him. Belladonna peered at the lifeless face. “Sorry, Otto, but it doesn’t look like there’s anybody home. Now, are you going to let me have a proper look at his clothes, or should I go back to the station and do something useful?”

  “You will not touch the body, otherwise I must begin at the beginning once more—”

  Belladonna silenced him with a gesture. “Don’t let’s start that again. Trust me, I won’t touch your precious corpse. The dead and the dying are your speciality. I’m looking for evidence of the living.”

  Reluctantly, Otto stood aside, but he remained in the side chapel with her, watching every movement as she delicately moved aside each tattered garment. Belladonna studied the garb in minute detail, looking in the lining, inspecting the folds for anything that might offer a clue to the killer’s identity. Her hands shivered in the cold stone chamber, a row of lit candles suspended from casings on the walls providing the only illumination. No windows offered a glimpse of the outside world, and no sunlight crept beneath the thick wooden door that separated the side chapel from the rest of the temple. “Does it have to be cold as the grave in here?” Belladonna asked, blowing hot air into her hands to warm the fingers.

  “You get used to it,” Otto said. “We keep the bodies here for three days before they go to whatever final resting place awaits them. Friends and families sometimes have to come many miles to see their loved ones. All temples of Morr are designed to be as cold as possible, to preserve the body and keep the smell of decay to a minimum. That is why temples are sited in the shadows, away from direct sun.”

  “I remember now. It was one of the reasons I stopped coming to temple, simply too cold for me.” Belladonna paused as she was unbuttoning the dead elf’s dark green tunic. A single, short hair was caught behind the button, held in place by dried blood. Using nimble fingers, she removed the hair and carried it over to the nearest candle, holding it in front of the flame to examine her find. “Definitely human, and it’s from somebody who’s going grey. The hair has been crudely cut, probably did that themselves. But there’s no root at the other end, suggesting it fell out rather than being torn out. The person who stabbed our victim is in their forties and going bald—almost certainly male.”

  “How can you tell all that from a single hair?” Otto asked, disbelief in his voice.

  She returned to the body and pointed at two different bloodstains on the clothing. “This elf was attacked twice. Blood stains change colour as they dry. The wounds to the stomach were made first, and that blood is darker, like the bloodstain in which I found the short hair. All the other wounds were made later, anything up to an hour later—the bloodstains from the second attack are that much lighter.” She pointed to dark areas around the tunic’s collar, below where the neck had been torn apart. “See?”

  Otto leaned closer, his eyes peering intently at the fabric. “There’s another hair, embedded in the material there—but it’s much longer than the other one you found.” He moved aside to let her see it. But before Belladonna got close enough, the sound of a fist pounding on wood echoed through the temple.

  “Is anyone in there?” a nasal voice called from outside. “It’s Willy Bescheiden, from Three Penny Bridge. Sergeant Woxholt sent me!”

  Belladonna let go of the priest’s arm and drew a dagger from a sheath hidden beneath her cloak. “I’ll come with you. For all we know, Bescheiden could have been involved with the elf’s murder.”

  “Doubtful,” Otto said. “I’ve met this man before, he has the courage of a sausage seller.” The priest strode out of the side chapel, followed by Belladonna. They went to the front door of the temple, where Otto pulled back a small shutter in the broad wooden door to look outside. The top of Bescheiden’s head was visible, his greasy hair slicked across a balding pate. “What do you want?”

  “The elves are coming for the corpse! The sergeant is taking them the long way round from the station, but he sent me to warn you. They’ll be here any—” Bescheiden’s voice stopped abruptly.

  “What is it? What’s wrong?” Otto hissed.

  “They’re coming—I’ve got to go!” Bescheiden fled, his footfalls quickly fading away into the distance, replaced by the steady stomping of an approaching company. Otto slid the shutter back into place, thought furrowing his brow.

  “Get back to the body and redress it,” he urged Belladonna after a moment. “If the elves suspect you’ve been interfering with it, there’ll be every kind of trouble imaginable.”

  “But I haven’t interfered with it,” she protested.

  “You’ve been in close, physical contact with a dead elf. That doesn’t happen often,
and certainly not with human women. As far as they are concerned, your mere presence here is an affront to dignity.”

  “Charming,” Belladonna said. “I’m trying to determine who or what killed that poor soul and they’re going to find a way of blaming me for shaming his corpse.”

  “Many are the ways of death, Belladonna Speer—don’t let yours be in this place,” Otto urged.

  “Fine, I’ll put him back the way we found him,” she agreed. “But I’m not hiding when they come into the side chapel. I’m a member of the watch and I’ve got a legitimate reason to be there.” She hurried back to the corpse while Otto listened to the sound of the elves approaching. Moments later, the stomping of feet halted outside the temple and a heavy fist banged on the wooden doors.

  “We both know you didn’t pick the pocket of an elf. Nobody believes that, not even you,” Kurt insisted. “But you did see something involving the elf that was found dead today, didn’t you? Now either you saw him being murdered, or saw the body being dumped on the steps between the Stevedores and Teamsters Guild building and the Marienburg Gentlemen’s Club. So, which is it?”

  Gerta Gestehen poked her tongue out at the captain.

  Kurt rolled up the sleeves of his tunic. He’d been locked in this room with the city’s most frequent confessor for more than an hour and she hadn’t spoken a word in that time. Gerta was sat by the window, looking out at Three Penny Bridge below. Lamplighters were going about their business, providing meagre illumination for those brave enough or foolish enough to pass over the notorious cobbled span after dark. An occasional wooden stall was dragged past by a weary merchant, heading home after a long day selling his wares in a more prosperous part of Suiddock. The cobbles were an unforgiving surface, making it that much harder to pull a cart, especially if it was still heavily laden after a bad day of few sales.