“That was my son,” Kurt told the watchmen as they closed in, clubs raised. “You’ve got to let me see him, talk to him!”
The sergeant shook his head. “You heard the commander; two life sentences, beginning immediately. That means now.”
“You don’t understand! I haven’t seen my son since—” A deluge of blows rained down on Kurt and darkness took him, bludgeoning away that last lingering glimpse of his only son.
The watch commander returned to his office, a satisfied smirk playing about his thin, cruel lips. The charges against Schnell were trumped up, unable to withstand close scrutiny, but they’d served their purpose. Having the disgraced captain’s father and son present to witness the abject humiliation—that had been needlessly harsh, even by the commander’s standards. But he’d enjoyed every moment of Kurt’s abasement.
His happiness was short-lived. Belladonna was waiting in the commander’s office, her body language making it plain she was spoiling for a fight. “Is it true?”
“How did you get in here?” the commander demanded, ignoring her question.
“I worked as your adjutant long enough to know every secret passageway and hidden entrance in this building,” Belladonna hissed. “Is it true that you’ve convicted Captain Schnell of treason, cowardice and mutiny? That you’ve sent him to Rijker’s?”
“Two consecutive life sentences.”
“You know he’s innocent!”
“Nobody is innocent,” the commander said.
“You know what I mean,” Belladonna insisted.
“I’ve no doubt the Stadsraad will give him a full pardon once it’s reconstituted—services to Marienburg and all that. I doubt he’ll serve more than a year in total.”
“Kurt has sent dozens of dangerous criminals to that prison. He’ll be lucky to survive more than a week inside that place.”
“I find your lack of faith in our penal system disturbing,” the commander said.
Belladonna suggested where her superior could shove his disturbance, ideally accompanied by a few links of seagull and sweet potato sausages.
“I’ll forget you said that,” he replied. “Leave now and you might still retain your place in the Black Caps. If not, I’ll send you to join Schnell on Rijker’s—understand?”
EPILOGUE
Kurt came to as the prison barge approached Rijker’s Isle, a forbidding fist of clenched rock outside the mouth of the Rijksweg. The setting sun cast a warm orange hue across the bleak walls of stone, but the former watch captain had few illusions about the warmth of the welcome that awaited him there. Kurt found himself one of half a dozen prisoners, all manacled together. Two of the men wept as the vessel drew near their new home. They would be dead before dawn, if the reputation of Rijker’s Isle was true.
Kurt had no illusions about his life expectancy once incarcerated on the island. Too many old enemies languished inside these walls, many of them banished to this purgatory for the rest of their years. The chance to get vengeance upon the man responsible for their plight would be irresistible, especially as killing Kurt would add nothing to their sentences. There’d be no friends waiting for him inside, so he’d need all the allies he could get to survive. One thing was certain—if he wanted to stay alive, he would have to win an appeal and pardon in record time, or else escape.
Of course, the latter course of action brought its own challenges. Nobody had ever escaped Rijker’s Isle and lived to tell the tale. Any sane escapee would keep their success to themselves, but escape attempts were next to non-existent, such were the odds against success. Better to die on the forsaken rock that attempt the impossible; that was the inmates’ motto. But nobody had ever fought the necromancer Farrak and lived to tell the tale—Kurt had. There had to be a first time for everything.
Kurt cursed the commander for having General Schnell and Luc at the sentencing. I could have borne the humiliation, the lies, the callous disregard for the truth, Kurt thought as the barge tied up alongside a set of stone steps cut into the side of Rijker’s Isle. But making me suffer all that in front of my son… There will be a reckoning when I get back to Marienburg, Kurt vowed. The commander’s scheming had cost Kurt any chance of knowing his own son. For that the duplicitous creature would pay dearly.
A rasping, venom-drenched voice ripped Kurt from his plotting.
“Welcome to Rijker’s Isle, worms!” All the prisoners looked up to see a swarthy figure with dark, malevolent eyes glaring at them from atop the staircase. “My name is Herman Prost, and I’m deputy governor of this prison. From the moment you set foot on this rock, I own you—body and soul. You have no rights, you have no hope and you have no future. You live and die at my whim. You stand or fall at my will. Forget whatever life you once had, whatever love you once knew, whatever pleasure you once felt. From this day forth, you are nothing but worms, waiting to be crushed under the heel of my boot!”
Gimlet eyes watched from windows by the water line as the barge’s human cargo was unloaded. The ratmen had abandoned their home beneath Suiddock to escape the arrival of Farrak, having smelled his sorcery on the wind. But they had found a new lair beneath the prison, a labyrinthine mass of old sewers and tunnels to make their own. The ratmen had a new home, and they had unspeakable plans for the inhabitants of Rijker’s Isle.
Scanning and basic
proofing by Red Dwarf,
formatting and additional
proofing by Undead.
[Marienburg 02] - A Massacre in Marienburg Page 33
