[Marienburg 02] - A Massacre in Marienburg

by David Bishop - (ebook by Undead)

  “What?” Auteuil gasped. “You can’t do that, he’s not—”

  “Do it!” Kurt commanded.

  Pushing the other militiaman aside, Ganz decapitated Willis before shoving both heads and the dead man’s body over the side of the boat.

  “You’re insane,” Auteuil spluttered. “You just murdered him!”

  “Better him than us,” Burke said, wiping clean his sword’s blade.

  “Denkers, Ganz—start rowing,” Kurt snapped. “The rest of you, weapons ready!” He stood up in the boat to see what was happening to the rest of the flotilla. Half the boats were gone, and most of the militiamen from the sunken craft were gone too. As he watched, two more boats tipped over, spilling everyone into the dark, murderous water. “Make for shore, fast as you can!” Kurt bellowed. “Don’t stop for anyone or anything!”

  Another encrusted creature burst out of the water. It arced through the air and smashed into Kurt’s back. He cried out in pain as his legs went numb, toppling the captain into the water. Down and down he plunged into the dark, bubbles racing by him. Kurt forced his eyes open underwater. What he saw was like some atrocity exhibition.

  Creatures as much fish as human were feasting on the fallen militiamen, ripping away chunks of skin and flesh and hair from still thrashing figures. The dark water was stained blacker still by the flood of blood from all the wounds and corpses. Bodies with half-eaten faces drifted in between those still dying, while monsters with both limbs and tentacles toyed with drowning men, mimicking their death throes. One of the monsters noticed Kurt and swam towards him, legs kicking as one like a fish’s tail.

  Kurt pulled his knees up into his chest, so he could grab the dagger hilts inside his boots. As the creature swam closer, the captain lashed out with both feet, kicking it in the head. He plunged first one dagger deep into the monster’s neck, then the other, before ripping the blades in opposite directions, severing the head. Blood burst from the open neck wound, creating an inky cloud around Kurt. He used that to hide himself as he swam back up to the surface, dragging the still-bleeding body with him. Only when he was certain fresh air was close did he abandon the corpse, letting it float away as another distraction in an underwater battlefield clogged with bodies and blood.

  One last kick of his legs and Kurt broke the surface, gasping in lungful after lungful of air, white dots dancing in front of his eyes. He looked round but couldn’t see any of the boats. Had the water currents been that strong below the river’s surface? Which way had the tide taken him? But the sound of Ganz barking orders in the distance changed Kurt’s mind. Squinting in the darkness, he could make out two boats rowing away from him, already close to the shoreline. No sooner had he seen the craft than something dragged him back down into the melee of corpses and creatures. Ganz and the other Black Caps had followed Kurt’s orders; they had left him to die.

  “You want us to secure a home for widows and orphans?” Scheusal stood in Sandler’s office at the Goudberg watch station, slack-jawed with astonishment. “You made Captain Schnell leave four of us here so we could stand guard over a charity headquarters—why?”

  “I didn’t make him do anything,” Sandler replied, waving at a roll of parchment bearing the watch commander’s seal of office. “The orders came direct from the top.”

  “Do they give any reason?” the sergeant persisted.

  “No. The instruction is simple: defend the Brotherhood of Purity’s building at any and all costs. You must be willing to sacrifice your lives for this cause, if needs be.”

  “What cause? I’ve no idea what we’re trying to protect. How can I explain to my men why this target is worth dying to protect, if you can’t explain it to me?”

  Sandler shrugged. “Sorry, I’m simply the messenger in this matter.”

  Scheusal snorted, disbelief getting the better of him. “I’m no fool, captain —and neither are you. We both know the Brotherhood of Purity’s charitable organisation is a facade, behind which lurks another group obsessed with purity.”

  The captain shot to his feet, all trace of nonchalance abandoned. “You’re making a serious allegation, sergeant. I hope you’ve the proof to back it up!”

  “Permission to speak freely, sir.”

  “Permission granted.”

  “Before transferring to Three Penny Bridge, I spent two years with the Watch in Rijkspoort, under the command of your good friend Titus Rottenrow.”

  “That’s Captain Rottenrow to you, sergeant.”

  Scheusal leaned forwards, resting his knuckles on the edge of Sandler’s desk. “Captain Rottenrow’s not a bad man, but he’s a bad drunk. Can’t hold his liquor to save his life. One night I drew the short straw of pouring him into bed, after he’d been visiting you here in Goudberg. Not only can’t Captain Rottenrow hold his drink, he’s not much better with secrets, either. Kept mumbling four words, over and over: pure knights, Gorgeous Georges. Took me a while to put the pieces together; it wasn’t long after I first came to Marienburg from Bretonnia. Months later someone told me about a vigilante cabal, men so obsessed with driving out mutations and the merest hint of Chaos, they’d happily burn whole districts to eradicate the taint of either. The Knights of Purity, they call themselves—rather a grand name for a gang of thugs so frightened of discovery they have to hide behind cloaks and hoods, widows and orphans. That’s what this is about, isn’t it, Captain Sandler? You brought us here to hide your dirty little secret, didn’t you?”

  “You can go about your duties now, sergeant.”

  “How long have you been one of the knights, sir? Is that how you rose so quickly through the ranks? Is that why you always get preferential treatment, while good men like Captain Schnell get the poison chalices and the suicide missions?”

  “Stand down, sergeant!”

  “No, sir, with all due respect, I won’t stand down—not until I’ve said my piece!”

  “You’ll stand down or face demotion. You’ll be cleaning privies the rest of your days unless you hold your tongue, Sergeant Scheusal!”

  “I’d rather be cleaning privies than doing your dirty work, sir!”

  Sandler turned away, his fists clenching and unclenching, his whole body shaking with rage. Scheusal waited, knowing the next few moments would determine his future, not daring to breathe. Finally, Sandler’s shoulders relaxed and his fists unclenched.

  “You’re quite right, sergeant,” he began. “I’ve no right to ask or expect you to undertake this task without knowing what’s at stake. I will tell you, on the condition you do not share this privileged information with others, even your more trusted brothers-in-arms. My life would be forfeit if my brethren knew I was telling you this, but that seems to matter less now all our lives could soon be forfeit.” Sandler swung back round to look at Scheusal. “Captain Rottenrow spoke the truth. I am a member of the Knights of Purity. We worship Solkan, lord of vengeance, and drive out those who offend him.”

  “You mean murder them.”

  “Yes, when it’s deemed necessary.”

  “And who makes that judgement—you?”

  Sandler nodded. “It is. For the past three years I’ve been commander of the cabal, as you describe it. I am the leader of the Knights of Purity.” Scheusal’s mind rebelled at this revelation, but that was nothing compared to the disbelief he felt when Sandler explained why the home for widows and orphans had to be protected.

  Two boats reached Noord Miragliano from the twelve that had left from Luigistad; one crewed by militia, the other by Black Caps. Burke and Auteuil helped the dazed and confused Potts off the boat, while Dretsky went ahead with the other militiamen, to the nearby temple where a welcoming light was visible through the stained-glass windows. Denkers waited until the other watchmen had all left the boat before grabbing the sole remaining oar. He used that to twist the craft round in the water, so its prow faced out into the Rijksweg. But when Denkers tried to paddle away from shore, the boat refused to do his bidding. “Where do you think you’re going?�
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  Denkers twisted round to see Ganz tying the boat to a mooring. “To help Captain Schnell, he’s still alive out there, I’m sure of it. Untie that rope and let me go.”

  “You heard what the captain said—”

  “He told us not to stop for anything or anyone, and we didn’t. We kept going, we got everyone else to shore. Now I’m going back for him.”

  Ganz stepped onto the boat. “Don’t be a fool. He’s dead by now. Go back out there and you’ll end up the same—eaten by those things, or becoming one of them.”

  Denkers stood up, the boat rocking unsteadily beneath both men. “You’re loving this, aren’t you? The chance to take over from Captain Schnell, that’s what you’ve always wanted. But the chance to leave him out there to die simply by following his orders—this must be your dream come true, Ganz!”

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about. We can’t risk taking this boat back out on the river tonight, not for one man who’s almost certainly already dead. We’re going to need both these boats to get back across the Rijksweg if they blow up the Hoogbrug.”

  “You’ve hated the captain from the moment you arrived at Three Penny Bridge—”

  “Wrong! I hated Kurt Schnell long before I got assigned to Suiddock, long before I even came to Marienburg. But that doesn’t make any difference to this, here and now. I won’t sacrifice another life on a hopeless search for a dead man.”

  “Listen to him, Denkers, he’s making a lot of sense,” a familiar voice said. Kurt swam out of the darkness and into view, his face scratched and bleeding but showing no other signs of his ordeal. He reached the prow of the boat. “Now, will one of you help me out of this bloody river? I’m not sure I’ve got the strength left to climb out myself.”

  * * *

  At times like these, Zachirias Wout appreciated being captain of the watch station with the best fortifications in all of Marienburg. Tempelwijk was not considered a prestigious posting by most reckonings. Home to Baron Hemyk’s College and many of the students learning there, the temple district suffered from having something of a split personality. Half the citizens were Tempelwijk natives, a surly people who scraped a living from providing various services to the college, its tutors and students. The other half was made up of students and teachers, most having little to do with the locals. Few people born in Tempelwijk ever got the chance to study at the college, creating a simmering resentment about having to wait on those with the opportunities of learning.

  Maintaining law and order in Tempelwijk was all about keeping the two halves of the district’s citizenry apart, wherever possible. When they did collide, the consequences often involved violence and retribution. Resentment and snobbery were not a happy mix, so Wout’s watchmen spent most of their time punishing troublemakers and negotiating truces. When the college was closed for one of its frequent holidays, the population of Tempelwijk plummeted while students and teachers went elsewhere, and life became much easier for the Black Caps. For a brief spell, the district became like other parts of the city, where drink and domestic conflict provoked much of the public disorder.

  The intercalary holiday of Geheimnistag should have heralded just such a period of relative peace and quiet, the college having been shut for a week beforehand and not due to reopen until a week after the day of mystery. But this Geheimnistag was different. Tempelwijk was flooded with refugees from Suiddock and the rest of Marienburg’s southern archipelago. They’d been pouring into the district for hours, some carrying their life’s possessions on their backs, others dragging carts and sledges across the cobbles. The population of Tempelwijk doubled in a few hours, and doubled again by nightfall, putting a massive strain on the district’s boarding houses, inn and taverns.

  Wout and his watchmen were overwhelmed by the problems this created, with more incidents of violence and theft in a single day than the district had experienced in total since Sommerzeit. Understaffed and unable to cope with the demands on his time and his men, Wout took an executive decision at sunset. He ordered his men to close the front doors of the station and barricade the entrance. Let all those outside cope with their own problems, the captain thought. The temple district was Marienburg’s most westerly region, it was always first to face the extremes of weather that swept in from the sea. Wout knew Tempelwijk citizens were a hardy lot—they could survive anything. The evacuees choking the streets and passageways would have to fend for themselves.

  Refugees were hammering on the sturdy wooden doors of the station long into the night, but Wout ordered his watchmen to pay no heed to the cries for help. The station was built into Tempelwijk’s powerful sea defences, where the stone was so thick it had withstood wars and every kind of weather imaginable. Nothing was bringing that wall down anytime before eternity. The rest of the building was made from similar material, strong and resolute, designed to withstand any attack. None of the other stations could match the defences at Tempelwijk, not even Goudberg or Paleisbuurt.

  So Wout was not worried when word reached him of the necromancer’s atrocities in Suiddock, not even as the taint of dark magic seeped into Doodkanaal and out across the Rijksweg towards Marienburg’s northern archipelago. The captain felt so confident, he called together his watchmen and told them not to worry. Wout stood on a balcony overlooking the cobbled courtyard that was the station’s heart. Painfully thin with waspish features, his patrician aspect made him authoritative, if not widely liked. He held fingers together in a steeple shape in front of his chest, as if musing.

  “No doubt you’ve all heard about what’s been happening elsewhere in the city —the dead rising from their final resting places to attack the living, deadly fogs that choke the breath from your body and drive all reason from your mind. You’ve probably heard whispers about a powerful necromancer invading Suiddock. Some of those stories may be true, but most of them are lurid exaggerations, whispers built upon whispers until there’s precious little truth in any of them. I can’t offer much more about what’s happening beyond our district, because my sources of communication were cut off when those in charge elsewhere chose to quarantine Suiddock. Typical of those in other parts of the city to put their own safety ahead of us, but we’re used to that, aren’t we?”

  There were murmurs of agreement from among his men, and their families. When the troubles elsewhere became apparent, Wout had told his men to bring their relatives into the station, use it as a sanctuary from harm. Such gestures earned him strong loyalty from those at his command. Blaming the troubles of Tempelwijk on Marienburg’s richer northern districts was also a guaranteed crowd-pleaser. Wout held up a hand for silence.

  “We have enough food and water within the station to remain sequestered here until Erntezeit, if needs be. But we will not cower inside this keep. Once morning comes, we will go out into the district and offer assistance to all those who need it. Until dawn, we will remain within the safety of these walls. There may be those outside the district who will accuse us of cowardice for waiting until sunrise to venture outside, but I see no value in sacrificing the district’s only stronghold to the enemy. Our mission as watchmen is to maintain the peace by helping the citizens, and that will be better served by waiting until morning to go forth and reclaim the streets of Tempelwijk.

  “For tonight, we shall maintain our guard and wait to see what the dawn brings. In what remains of the night you may well hear people outside these walls pleading for our help, begging to be allowed inside. All such entreaties must be ignored, for the sake and safety of those within this station and its fortifications. We dare not let them in during the hours of darkness, lest they bring the taint of dark magic with them. Be certain of this: right now, you’re in what may well be the safest place in all of Marienburg. So go and get a good night’s sleep. We’ve many long days and nights ahead of us. Savour this respite while you can. Tomorrow the fight back begins in earnest. Dismissed!”

  Wout watched the men, women and children gathered inside the station disperse. Some we
re shaking their heads, unhappy at the thought of abandoning those outside the thick walls of stone. Let them mutter all they want, Wout thought, it won’t change my mind. He believed in his decision, no matter how craven it might be. He didn’t realise his station’s peerless defences were already in jeopardy. He didn’t know about the acidic slime seeping into the sea wall, eating steps and footholds into the most impregnable part of the fortress. The captain couldn’t imagine the security of his station at Tempelwijk, the very thing that made it the safest of places, would turn it into a killing jar.

  Like Molly and her girls, like Holismus and the other watchmen, Kurt and all those who’d survived crossing the Rijksweg were drawn to the temple of Manann in Noord Miragliano. Coloured light shone from the temple’s stained-glass windows, inviting all those who could see it to come closer. The front doors were closed but voices inside made it obvious the building was occupied. Dretsky and his fellow militiamen were first to reach the temple. They hammered on the doors until a surly figure answered, peering out through a tiny spy-hole. “What do you want?” a suspicious voice demanded.

  “Sanctuary!” Kurt demanded as he approached the temple entrance. “And some dry clothes wouldn’t go amiss either.”

  “Captain, is that you?”

  “Yes, Bescheiden, it is. Now open these doors before I put you on report.” Bolts and barriers were moved aside, allowing the Black Caps and militiamen into the temple. No sooner were they inside than Bescheiden was securing the entrance once more.

  There was a happy reunion within the temple, as those left behind in the southern half of the city compared notes with Kurt and his watchmen. Introductions were made between the Black Caps and militiamen, while Molly and her girls brought food and drink prepared by the friendly priest. Kurt borrowed clerical robes to wear while his own clothes were drying. He got changed while talking with Holismus, apart from the others. Counting themselves, they had a fighting force of nineteen men. There were ten militia, including Dretsky and Auteuil, and nine watchmen. Acco, Ormston, Bescheiden and Holismus were the sole survivors from the group that had been guarding the Draaienbrug, while Kurt still had Ganz, Denkers, Burke and the dazed Potts at his side.