[Blood on the Reik 02] - Death's City

by Sandy Mitchell - (ebook by Undead)

  “What about the rest?” Hanna asked, foreknowledge of the answer already in the tone of her voice.

  “We killed them,” Rudi said, feeling a cold space in the middle of his stomach as he articulated the words. Everything he’d tried not to think about, or rationalise away, rose up in his memory, vivid as if he was experiencing it for the first time. Even more so if that were possible, as details he hadn’t noticed at the time replayed themselves in his head: the expression of astonishment on the face of the man he’d shot and the way the blood had spread across the front of his tunic as he fell backwards. The way the light had faded from the eyes of the bandit he’d stabbed.

  “When you say ‘we’,” Hanna said slowly, “you mean…”

  “The two of us,” Rudi said hollowly. “I killed two. You stabbed another one in the throat.”

  “I remember that.” Hanna nodded, as though it was of little consequence. “I didn’t know I could throw that well.”

  “Is that all you can say?” Rudi asked and the girl looked surprised.

  “You know what they were going to do to me. Serve the bastard right, and the one you got too. I hope they’re screaming in hell now.” She shrugged. “They were no better than the skaven. Worse, if you ask me. At least the rat things weren’t preying on their own kind.”

  “I suppose not,” Rudi said. Hanna grinned, and pointed to the small bundle of possessions in the corner of the cart.

  “Picking up habits from Theo I see.”

  “They don’t need it anymore,” Rudi said, determined to match her apparent detachment. “Or their purses.”

  “Exactly.” Hanna leaned forwards, an incongruous expression of eager expectation on her face. “So, how much did we get?”

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  They divided the spoils evenly when they made camp for the night, following the example Rudi and Hanna had learned from Krieger’s company It seemed the fairest way since all of them had taken part in the fight with the bandits, even though Rudi felt Artemus had been more of a bystander for most of it. The scribe seemed pleasantly surprised by his generosity.

  “Most kind,” he said, nodding and smiling. “Equal shares all round is by far the soundest principle, I’ve found, but you could well have argued that I wasn’t a real part of your company. After all, we’ve known each other little more than a day, and though that has been more than sufficient for me to form a good opinion of your characters you might well continue to harbour reservations about mine.”

  “I don’t know about that,” Rudi said. “But you fought beside us and that’s what counts.” He divided the contents of the bandits’ purses as evenly as he could, astonished to find several gold coins, the first he’d ever seen, among them. “Which means you get two crowns, eight shillings and four pence ha’penny, the same as the rest of us.”

  “Eight crowns,” Hanna said, awestruck. “We’re rich.”

  “Hardly rich,” Artemus said. “But we have enough for passable lodging, for a while at least.”

  “I hate to break it to you,” Fritz said gloomily, “but we’ve only got three crowns. These others are forgeries.” He held up one of the coins from his own share, pointing out the mermaid embossed on the front where the emperor’s head should have been. “Unless Karl Franz has suddenly sprouted a tail and a pair of…”

  “They’re Marienburg guilders,” Artemus said. “Worth exactly the same as an Imperial crown.” A wide grin stretched across Fritz’s face. “Which won’t prevent a lot of helpful people offering to change your Imperial currency to guilders as soon as you reach the city, for a modest commission. I suggest if they do that you politely decline.”

  “I’ll do that all right,” Fritz said.

  The rest of the journey was surprisingly uneventful, despite Rudi’s constant apprehension about running into more bandits, or Gerhard suddenly appearing in pursuit. The only traffic they saw was as harmless and nondescript as the other travellers they’d encountered before, although it seemed to be increasing in volume and frequency as the city grew closer. Several times they passed or were passed by merchants and traders, their wagonloads of goods guarded by armed men, and riders on horseback becoming increasingly common.

  At length, the road met another, which looked almost identical to Rudi, who was sitting on the driver’s seat between Artemus and Fritz. Since their encounter with the bandits, he’d taken to riding up front more frequently, his bow close at hand, leaving Hanna to rest undisturbed in the back. Artemus sighed happily and pointed to a milestone set back from the carriageway.

  “The Gisoreux road, highway to Bretonnia.” He gestured to the right. “And Marienburg lies that way. Tomorrow we reach our destination.”

  “Good.” Rudi nodded and gestured to the westering sun. The weather had improved again over the last couple of days and the afternoon had been bright, but chilly in the wind. “We’ll need to find somewhere to camp soon.”

  “Camp? Nonsense.” Artemus seemed in fine spirits, no doubt at the prospect of seeing his home again the next day “I have gold in my purse, and if I remember correctly there’s a charming rural tavern not far from here. I insist on repaying your generosity with a little of my own. A warm bed, a hot meal and far from least, hot water to wash in!”

  “I don’t know…” Rudi began, mindful of their unfortunate experience at the Jolly Friar the night they’d met Krieger and his band. Inns seemed like trouble to him, especially if they wanted to avoid attracting attention. “Perhaps we should save our money for later…”

  “Later we might be dead,” Fritz said, sparking a good-natured laugh from Artemus. Hanna poked her head out from under the tarpaulin and caught Rudi’s eye. She’d recovered slowly from the effects of the seizure she’d had, but seemed almost her old self again now.

  “Hot water,” she said wistfully.

  Rudi sighed. “All right,” he said at last. “I know when I’m outvoted.”

  “Good lad.” Artemus flicked the reins, getting Willem moving again, and the horse began plodding in the direction of Marienburg. As the evening wore, on the unvarying desolation Rudi had grown used to on either side of the road began to change, isolated pockets of habitation beginning to appear around them. For the most part these were unimpressive enough, being little more than patches of tilled earth walled off from the highway, but now and again a shack or a more substantial cottage would appear, smoke rising from the chimney.

  “Have we reached the outskirts already?” he asked, and the scribe laughed.

  “Goodness me no, we’ve another day’s travelling yet. But there are a few hamlets and villages scattered around the wasteland, and if memory serves we pass through one before long.” Rudi nodded, reminded of the occasional clusters of habitation, too small to be considered villages in their own right, along the road to Dreibrucken. He’d passed through a couple running his messages for Magnus, back when the narrow valley containing Kohlstadt and its surroundings had been his entire world, and he knew what to expect: a handful of houses, three or four perhaps and possibly a farm nearby where the inhabitants worked.

  His guess proved accurate. As dusk fell the unmistakable outline of a small group of buildings began to appear through the murk, so familiar in appearance that had it not been for the wide road skirting them he might almost have fancied himself home again. Only one thing stood out as unfamiliar, a long, low building, which might have been a barn had it not been for the number of windows along its length and the large, fenced-off yard surrounding the place. Artemus beamed.

  “Just as I remembered,” he said.

  “That’s an inn?” Fritz asked, disbelief colouring his voice. Rudi had described the Jolly Friar to him and he was clearly expecting something a little more elaborate.

  The scribe nodded. “Most assuredly so. Not up to the standard of a coaching inn, I’ll grant you, but welcome enough.” Rudi nodded. Clearly whoever lived here had realised they could make more from the travellers passing their door than from scrabbling in the fields and
had converted one of the outbuildings for the purpose. “The beds will be soft enough and the food good, I can vouch for that.”

  “You’ve stayed here before?” Rudi asked, and the scribe nodded.

  “Some years ago, it’s true, but it doesn’t seem to have changed much.” He steered the horse off the road, through a wooden gate which seemed to be propped permanently open judging by the way it sagged on its hinges, and drew up outside the building. A stable stood off to one side and a lad of about Rudi’s age hurried across to them.

  “Take care of your horse, sir?”

  Fritz scowled at him. “You’d better,” he said.

  Rudi shook his head. The last thing they needed was Fritz reverting to type and antagonising everybody. He dug a couple of pennies out of his purse, reflecting wryly that once he would have considered that a small fortune, and handed them to the lad.

  “My friend’s rather fond of it,” he explained.

  “Don’t you worry, sir.” The stable boy grinned widely, as though they were the best customers he’d had all year, and began unfastening the traces with skill and care enough to mollify the muscular simpleton. “He’ll get the best care in the wasteland.”

  “I’m sure he will.” Artemus jumped down from the seat with surprising athleticism for a man of his years and raised a hand to help Hanna down from the bed of the cart. Rudi and Fritz retrieved their packs, the bedrolls and the small bundle of possessions they’d taken from the dead bandits. Fighting a strange sense of déjà vu, Rudi followed his companions into the inn.

  His first impression had been right. The building had clearly once been a barn, the roof timbers arching overhead so far above him that he had to tilt his head back to look at them properly. The wide space had been broken up with tables and benches, not unlike the ones he’d seen in the Jolly Friar, but all much older and showing signs of hard wear. A rickety staircase at one end of the cavernous hall gave way onto a mezzanine floor, probably once the hayloft, which had been partitioned off into a number of rooms, no doubt where the customers slept.

  The biggest surprise was that the place was almost deserted. A handful of folk at a couple of the tables glanced up as they entered, then returned to their conversations, clearly uninterested. By their clothes, Rudi gathered that they were local farm workers rather than travellers like themselves.

  “It’s a bit quiet,” he said. The thought disturbed him; he’d been counting on the anonymity they would have had as part of a crowd.

  “It’ll liven up later, young sir, no doubt about that.” A middle-aged woman looked up from behind a bar counter made from a plank of timber balanced on a couple of upended barrels and smiled a professional welcome at him. “Once the sun goes down, no one with any sense passes the Drayman’s Rest.”

  “I don’t doubt it,” Artemus said, dropping a gold coin and a scattering of silver on the counter. The woman’s smile became wider and more genuine. “I have very pleasant memories of a previous night’s lodging in your establishment and I’m sure I’ll leave tomorrow with them freshly burnished. We’d like two rooms, one for the young lady and one for the rest of us.” He paused and glanced at the others. “Unless of course you’d like some privacy too?”

  “No, that would be fine,” Rudi said, conscious that Artemus had already spent more than half the money he’d handed to him that afternoon. He could afford a room of his own, of course, but a small voice of caution urged him to keep his purse untouched for as long as possible.

  Fritz nodded too. “Fine by me,” he said. Artemus looked faintly relieved. “We’d like to clean up a little too,” he said, and the woman nodded.

  “That won’t be a problem. I’ll get the kitchen heating the water now. Would you care for something to eat while you’re waiting?”

  “We certainly would,” Fritz said, with an enthusiasm which amused everybody.

  “There’s enough here to take care of that too,” the landlady assured them, scooping up the coins and plucking a quartet of tankards from a shelf behind her. “And no doubt you’ll be wanting something to wash it down?” She drew four mugs of ale from the barrel next to them and placed them on the counter. “Any table you like.”

  Rudi picked one in the corner, which looked as though it might be relatively quiet when the tavern got fuller, and sat where he could keep an eye on the door. A part of him was mildly surprised that he was beginning to take such precautions instinctively now, but he supposed it was no bad thing. The world, he was discovering, was a far more dangerous place than it had first appeared and it only made sense to be cautious.

  The food, when it arrived, was simple but well prepared and everyone dived into it with enthusiasm. Fritz and Artemus called for more ale, but Rudi and Hanna drank a little more cautiously, each recalling the aftermath of their night of overindulgence with Krieger and his friends. Nevertheless they were both beginning to relax, feeling warm, full and comfortable, when the door banged open to admit a trio of men whose dress marked them out as carters. In the last few days Rudi had begun to be able to distinguish the different types of people they’d been passing, with a little help from Artemus. Their clothes were too well made for them to be peasants and protected by linen aprons, while one was carrying a cart driver’s whip. He didn’t take much notice of them at first, as, true to the landlady’s promise, the tavern had filled steadily with passing travellers as the evening wore on.

  “Evening, Beatrice.” The man with the whip greeted the landlady in the relaxed manner of a regular customer and picked up the ale she’d drawn for him without being asked. “Got a room for us tonight?”

  “I can always find you a bed, Norbert.” The joke was evidently an old one, because everyone laughed and began chatting as though they were picking up a conversation they’d abandoned shortly before.

  Norbert looked round the taproom, frowning in bemusement. “Where’s Bardold?”

  “Haven’t seen him in two, three weeks now. Been hauling supplies for the Imperial army up by Gutter’s Wharf.” She shrugged. “Seemed a long way to go to me, but the pay was good and he’s got family there, so he jumped at it.”

  Norbert’s expression of puzzlement increased. “His horse is in the stable and his cart’s outside. Are you sure he hasn’t been in?”

  The landlady shook her head. “The only folks with a horse and cart are the ones over there.” She gestured to Rudi and his companions, and Rudi felt a chill run down his spine. “You must have been mistaken.”

  “I sold him that horse myself,” Norbert said. “I’d know it like my own. And it’s his cart all right, you can see where that plank was replaced last autumn.” He began to pick his way through the crowd towards them.

  Rudi nudged Fritz under the table. “I think we’re in trouble,” he murmured.

  Fritz nodded and balled his fists. “Not for long,” he said. Artemus and Hanna exchanged worried glances.

  “Is that your horse and cart outside?” Norbert asked, leaning over the table. His arms were heavily muscled and he held the whip in a casual manner which didn’t fool Rudi for a moment. His companions were a pace or two behind him, hanging back for the moment with elaborately feigned disinterest. As the other customers noticed the incipient entertainment, the murmur of background conversation died away and attention became focussed on the table in the corner.

  So much for keeping a low profile, Rudi thought ruefully, trying desperately to come up with an answer which would pacify the man.

  “Not as such, no.” Artemus moved along the bench, making room for Norbert to sit down, and gestured for him to join them. Taken aback, the man hesitated. Whatever response he’d been anticipating, this clearly wasn’t it. “It’s a fascinating story and one well worth hearing over an ale or two if you have the time.” He gestured to the landlady for refills. “A few days ago we had an encounter with some ruffians on the road, intent on depriving us of our worldly goods and this poor innocent lass of far worse. Suffice to say that they found us rather more difficult to subdue
than they expected, and when the dust settled we found ourselves in possession of a horse and cart.”

  “That’s right,” Rudi said, hiding his astonishment as best he could. Nothing Artemus had said was actually untrue, but he’d contrived to give the impression that the bandits had stolen the cart from its rightful owner before they’d even laid eyes on it. “There were six of them, so they obviously thought we wouldn’t give them any trouble.”

  “You fought off six bandits?” Norbert sounded sceptical, but the arrival of a tankard of ale in front of him seemed to incline him to listen, and he sat on the bench.

  Fritz nodded eagerly. “Rudi killed two of them himself.” He looked a bit crestfallen. “I tackled a couple as well, but they ran away.”

  “Staggered away,” Hanna corrected. “Just barely. Following their leader, who ran off snivelling like a mummy’s boy as soon as he got a good kick where it really hurts.” Appreciative laughter rippled around the carters and some of the nearby tables.

  “You killed two of them?” Norbert sounded sceptical.

  Rudi nodded. “Dropped one with the bow before he got too close and took the other one with the sword.” He took a deep draught of his own drink, uncomfortable with the memories and not sure quite what to say to make the account sound convincing. Somehow, though, his reticence seemed to carry more weight than any amount of boasting could have done.

  “He was magnificent,” Artemus put in. “I’ve never seen swordplay like it. Countering every strike and against two opponents into the bargain.”

  “Two?” Norbert began to look sceptical again. “What happened to the other one?”

  “He was the leader,” Hanna explained. “Kick, ran off, remember?” She sipped at her ale, apparently enjoying the renewed laughter around the room. “Rudi must have got lucky, it seemed like a small enough target.”

  “That only accounts for five of them,” one of the carters put in, moving closer to listen to the story. “What happened to the sixth?”