[Marienburg 01] - A Murder in Marienburg

by David Bishop - (ebook by Undead)

  Jan stepped forward. “Where do you want me, captain?”

  “The basement, I’m afraid. If my predecessor can find a way of infiltrating the station down there, we need to discover it and seal that off. Bescheiden, Raufbold and Faulheit will help you stand guard over Cobbius. The tide is rising and it looks like being a bad one, driven in hard from the sea by this storm, so you can expect things to get wet and wild down there. Hold on as best you can. If it gets too much, pull back to this level and we’ll block the staircases—but that’s a last resort. If we have to abandon the station, our best hope of getting out is via the basement. From there we can swim to safety, if necessary.”

  “Where do you want Lothar and me?” Scheusal asked.

  “You’ll be with me on this level,” Kurt replied. “We are going to block all the windows and barricade the doors, to secure the station from ground attacks. Everyone assigned to the basement will help with that for now. Those on the top floor can act as our eyes and ears until sunset.”

  “You can’t leave us in here,” one of the prisoners called out. “We aren’t part of your fight.”

  “Once the briefing is done, Sergeant Woxholt will let you go,” Kurt replied. “But there will be a record of your names, addresses and crimes sent to the nearest station, so don’t think of this as a reprieve. Consider it a respite.” Kurt turned to his former mentor. “What weapons have we got?”

  “The clubs and jacks issued to all watchmen, obviously—but they’re only good for close quarters combat. We confiscated plenty of daggers, short swords and the like when we reclaimed the station.”

  “That’s a start,” Kurt said. “Go next door to Molly’s place and you’ll find a chest near the back of the building. I’ve had a look inside and it’s loaded with crossbows, bolts, bows and arrows. Bring them into the station and divide the spoils evenly. Bescheiden can show you a secret passage that leads next door. Once you’ve got the chest in here, better barricade the passageway. We don’t want any unpleasant surprises once the fun starts. Right, any more questions?” He waited, but nobody spoke. “Good. You’ve all got your assignments, so get to them!” The Black Caps started to move, but Kurt halted them with a shout. “And hey! Let’s be careful in here. We watch each other’s backs and we can get through this—together!”

  A bolt of lightning stabbed down into the cobbles in front of the station, followed by a boom of thunder a split-second later. Everybody froze, transfixed by the spectacle outside. As the thunder died away, the rain began, lashing down on Suiddock. The storm had arrived, hitting the district with a vengeance. Kurt stamped his right boot down on the wooden floor with an almighty thud. “Move, people—move!”

  * * *

  Abram Cobbius woke with a start when somebody threw a bucket of seawater over him. He gasped and spluttered, his skin shocked by the coldness of the liquid and his eyes smarting at its saltiness. He tried to wipe his face dry but found his arms were immobile, chained by his side. Cobbius blinked and shook his head, trying to see what in the name of Sigmar was going on. Another bucket of seawater hit him full in the face, and he swallowed a mouthful, coughing and choking on the acrid taste. “Who dares? Tell me your name and I swear you’ll spend the rest of your days regretting—”

  A third bucket of seawater splashed into his face, silencing the rest of his threat. When Cobbius recovered and the last of the liquid had drained from his eyes, he was finally able to see who was dowsing him. “You!” he snarled.

  Facing him was Schnell, the watch captain who had broken his nose a few days ago. The Black Cap was standing in the middle of a cold, damp stone chamber, surrounded by wooden buckets, most of them filled with seawater. Beside him was a big, blond, bearded and burly Black Cap, bearing the insignia of a sergeant on his uniform. He was holding another bucket of seawater, ready to throw it.

  Cobbius craned his head round, trying to get a better idea of where he was. The sound of lapping water was near, so he must be close to one of the cuts or canals, probably in a basement or the lower level of a building. He was shackled to a wall with chains, and he—

  “You arrested me?”

  “Bravo!” Schnell replied, applauding the deduction with a mocking handclap.

  “My cousin will have your guts for this!”

  “Your cousin has disowned you, Abram. I went to see him a while ago. Apparently you were warned you would be on your own the moment you walked out of the guild’s headquarters. You staggered out of there not long before dawn this morning and that’s when we arrested you.”

  “Liar!” Cobbius snarled and got another dowsing.

  “Name calling won’t get you anywhere,” the captain replied. “Your employer, the dishonourable Adalbert Henschmann, seems to think you’re worth a lot of effort to get back. Why is that, Abram?”

  “I’ll never tell you!” The sergeant threw a fresh bucketful into Cobbius’ face.

  “We can keep this up all night if we have to,” Schnell said, no trace of emotion in his voice. “Why are you so important to Casanova, hmm? What knowledge do you have that he’s afraid of?”

  Cobbius made several obscene suggestions about what the two Black Caps could do to each other and got two buckets of seawater in the face. “You kiss your mother with that mouth?” the sergeant asked.

  “No, I kiss your mother with it—and not on the mouth, either!” Cobbius retorted.

  The captain waited until after the next dowsing before resuming his interrogation. “Tell me what you know about the ratmen.” Cobbius flinched at the name, unable to stop himself.

  “Never heard of them,” he lied.

  “Everybody’s heard of the ratmen,” the captain said. “But most people think they are a myth, a legend. I doubt there’s one in ten people alive in Marienburg who believe in the ratmen. I doubt there’s one in a thousand who’s ever seen these monsters—but you have.”

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Cobbius maintained.

  “You’ve met with them, haven’t you? You’re the one who organised the human sacrifices, hoping it would satisfy them. You’re the one who’s been doing their dirty work, as well as Casanova’s, aren’t you? The ratmen told you about a fragment of warpstone they craved, they sent you to find it. Nobody realised how ambitious you were, did they? Nobody grasped how far you would go to prove yourself, how much you’re willing to sacrifice to become more important, more powerful than your cousin Lea-Jan. It’s all down to you, isn’t it, Abram?”

  “You can’t prove I’m responsible for any of that,” Cobbius sneered.

  “I don’t need to prove anything. I just wanted to hear you deny it,” Schnell replied.

  Cobbius spat at the captain and got a fresh bucket of seawater in the face as his reward. The sergeant was ready to fling another at the prisoner but Schnell stopped him. “Enough, Jan. Henschmann doesn’t want the rest of the city to know he made a pact with the ratmen. If word got out, it would destroy him. That’s why he needs to stop our friend here from talking—to us, to anyone.” The captain looked at Cobbius and shook his head. “You want the bad news, Abram? If we lose this battle, Henschmann is going to have you murdered. He’ll probably feed your body to the ratmen as his own kind of poetic justice. If we win through, Manann knows how, you’ll go to Rijker’s and Henschmann will have you killed there instead. Either way, I don’t rate your chances of seeing Geheimnistag.”

  As the captain finished talking, the first wave of sea-water spilled in through the empty, barred windows that looked out on the cut. The rising tide had reached the floor of the dungeon and flooding was about to begin. “How high does the water normally get down here?” Schnell asked his sergeant.

  “I heard it was waist high once, but that was exceptional. Don’t worry, we’ll be fine down here.”

  Schnell shook his sergeant’s hand. “Remember what I said, Jan. If the flooding gets too bad, pull back to the ground floor and we’ll defend the staircases as best we can.”

  The sergeant saluted him.
“Good luck, Kurt.”

  “Good luck, old friend. I’ll see you when this is over, one way or another.” The captain strode from the chamber, leaving Cobbius alone with his sergeant.

  “What about me?” the prisoner shouted. “What happens if the flood tide gets too high for me?”

  “You’ll probably drown,” the sergeant smiled at him. “Act accordingly.”

  Kurt had left orders for the station entrance to remain open as long as possible. All the ground floor windows were boarded up, while most of the upper level windows were barricaded from the inside. Outside the rainstorm continued to lash Three Penny Bridge, driving any last, lingering bystanders away. When the captain came up from the basement, he found Scheusal and Holismus waiting for him. Lothar had recovered from the shock of seeing his brother dragged away by the witch hunters, but his hands were still trembling. Kurt looked at his own palms and realised they, too, were shaking. Not much of a surprise there. “Should we barricade the entrance?” Scheusal asked, saluting briskly.

  “Not yet,” Kurt replied. “I imagine our friends in the League will want to give us one last chance to cave in before they attack. Brinksmanship has certain traditions, I find.”

  “Schnell!” A stern voice bellowed from outside. “We want to talk.”

  “Right on time,” the captain smiled, moving over to the entrance. He looked out across Three Penny Bridge, squinting to see through the torrential downpour. Dozens of men were waiting on the other side, sheltering from the rain in the shadow of the homes opposite the station. A heavyset, hatchet-faced man marched into the centre of the span and stood, waiting for a reply. Kurt peered at his face. The beard was new, as was the eye-patch, but the personality was unmistakable. “Gunther Gross.”

  “The mercenary?” Scheusal asked. “What’s he doing here?”

  “Henschmann only hires the best—the most vicious, the most brutal, the most successful of thugs. Gross was Marienburg’s deadliest mercenary until he lost his eye in a fight and get sent to Rijker’s.”

  “Who sent him there?”

  “The same person that took his eye,” Kurt replied. “Me.”

  “Schnell!” the mercenary raged outside in the rain. “Come out and face me, coward!”

  The captain moved to go out but Holismus stopped him. “They’ll kill you if you do!”

  “Not yet. We have to parley first. Then they’ll try to kill me.”

  “You can’t be sure of that,” the watchman insisted.

  “I told you, brinksmanship has its traditions—this is one of them. Get the barricade for this door ready. When I come back, we’ll be lucky to have a few moments before they attack, probably less.” Holismus stepped aside to help Scheusal prepare the last barricade, built from the former tavern’s tables and chairs. The two men could shove it into place within moments. The captain took a deep breath and marched out into the rainstorm, one hand behind his back, one finger of that hand clasped around the trigger of a pistol shoved into his waist belt. Kurt stopped a pace shy of Gross and the two men regarded each other, not bothering to conceal their hatred. “How’s the eye, Gunther?”

  “It hurts when rain comes and it hurts when I’m cold,” the mercenary snarled.

  “You must be loving this weather then.”

  “Spare me your attempts at wit, coward!”

  Kurt laughed. “Straight to business, as usual. You should learn to appreciate life more, Gunther—you never know when it’s going to end, especially in your line of business.” He stroked his chin. “Funny thing is, I thought I sent you to Rijker’s for life. Until you rot, I believe that was the sentence you got.”

  “I got out early,” Gross replied. “My reward for good behaviour.”

  “No prizes for guessing who arranged your reward, hmm?”

  “Where’s Abram Cobbius?”

  “In a safe place.”

  “Send him out. Now. Dead or alive, my employer doesn’t mind.”

  “I’ll bet he doesn’t. Sigmar forbid anybody should find out what Casanova’s been using him for.”

  “I couldn’t care less about that. Send out Cobbius or die. That’s as simple as it gets.”

  Kurt looked past Gross at the other mercenaries lurking on the bridge. “How many men have you brought? Twenty? Thirty? I almost feel insulted. You’ll need more than that, you know.”

  “This lot? They’re the welcoming committee. Most of my troops are waiting over there, on Stoessel.” Kurt looked to his right and saw another thirty men standing in the rain, murder in their eyes. “Oh, and there’s more over there, on Riddra.” The captain twisted round and witnessed the truth of what was being said. At least thirty more mercenaries were at the other end of the bridge, swords and axes clutched in their hands, hatred etched into their faces. Gross smiled. “I wouldn’t want to insult you.”

  “Perish the thought,” Kurt agreed. “Where’d you find them all?”

  “The war against Chaos might have hurt the fresh meat trade, but it’s left Marienburg awash in deserters and ex-soldiers, all looking for gainful employment.”

  “Mercenary scum, in other words—just like you.”

  Gross’ expression soured. “There’s no need for name-calling. We’re just making a living.”

  “By killing my Black Caps.”

  “One man’s living is another man’s death.”

  “Then you won’t be disappointed to hear we’ve decided not to hand over Cobbius,” Kurt replied.

  “Suits me.”

  “Wouldn’t want you to have made all this effort for nothing.”

  “Very considerate.”

  “That’s what I thought.” In a flash Kurt had shoved the end of his pistol into the mercenary leader’s good eye. “Now, Gunther, you’re going to help me get back inside my station in one piece. Tell your men to hold their fire, or else I’ll make sure you never see anything again.”

  “Curse you, Schnell!”

  “Is that your final answer?”

  “Kill him!” Gross bellowed to his men.

  “Have it your own way,” Kurt sighed. He pulled the trigger but the pistol misfired, disabled by the torrential downpour. Kurt grabbed Gross round the throat and twisted him round, turning the mercenary into a human shield. The captain walked backwards towards the station, while his prisoner kept shouting at the other mercenaries to fire. “How sweet,” Kurt hissed. “I don’t think they want to hurt you.”

  “Open fire! Now!” Gross shouted. His men did as they were told, but Kurt had already ducked down and taken cover behind his prisoner. The human shield jerked and twitched as shot peppered his body. Kurt increased the speed of his retreat, still using Gross as a barrier. Finally, when the captain was close enough to the station entrance, he shoved Gross back into the street and dived to safety.

  The moment Kurt was inside, Scheusal and Holismus rammed the barricade into position. Kurt joined them, holding it in place while they used hammers and nails to secure the barrier, completely blocking the entrance. “Well, at least now they can’t get in,” the captain said when the job was done.

  “And we can’t get out!” Scheusal replied, shaking his head.

  “Details, details,” Kurt said, examining his pistol. “Ahh, the rain must have soaked my gunpowder—no wonder it wouldn’t fire. Probably just as well. I’ll have to reload it for later.”

  “Now what do we do?” Holismus asked. “When will they attack?”

  The captain held up a hand for silence. He was answered by the roars of an angry mob outside the station, as a hundred men raced at the building intent on penetrating it. “Right about now.”

  Narbig claimed first blood, firing a crossbow down into the rampaging horde of mercenaries from his vantage point in the captain’s office. The street below was choked with targets, all of them trying to batter their way into the station. “Like shooting fish in a barrel,” he snorted, loading a fresh cartridge of bolts into his weapon. Deschamp was still chained to the captain’s desk, now pushed into a corner
away from the window. He’d been offered the chance to leave but opted to stay.

  “Give me a crossbow, I can help you,” the prisoner said.

  “Your kind of help we can do without,” Narbig snarled at him between shots. “You murdered Verletzung. He was the closest thing I had to a friend in this place. Remember that.”

  Belladonna came in, also wielding a crossbow. “I need bolts, I’m almost out already,” she said. Narbig gestured to a pile in the corner. Belladonna grabbed two armfuls. “Is Didier giving you trouble?”

  “Nothing I can’t handle,” Narbig said, never taking his eyes off the mass of mercenaries below.

  Belladonna went into the kitchen to see how Gerta was coping. The station’s cook was preparing a huge cauldron of soup, tears streaming down her face. “Are you alright?”

  “Onions,” Gerta gasped, nodding towards a freshly chopped pile. “They always make me cry.”

  “Let’s hope that’s all we have to cry about,” Belladonna said. She realised the other woman was looking over her shoulder, wide-eyed and terrified. Belladonna twisted round in time to see two men in the mess room and a third climbing in through the window. She shot the first mercenary with her crossbow, but was too hasty when slotting a second cartridge of bolts into place and the mechanism jammed. “Damn it!” Belladonna bashed the crossbow’s stock on the floor, trying to jar the cartridge free.

  By now the intruders were running towards her, daggers in their hands and bloodlust in their eyes. One of them stopped dead as a carving knife buried itself in his throat. Belladonna looked up to see Gerta standing over her, the cook’s face filled with amazement at her own reflex action. But the third intruder was still coming, undeterred by the sudden deaths of his brethren. Belladonna gave up on trying to fix her crossbow and used it as a bludgeon instead, smacking the stock hard into the mercenary’s face as he dived at her. His head snapped sideways, bones inside the neck breaking like dry twigs in a forest. His momentum carried him into Belladonna, pinning her to the ground, but the intruder’s daggers stabbed the wooden floor instead of their intended target.