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

by Sandy Mitchell - (ebook by Undead)

  “His masters?” Rudi asked. “You mean he was part of a gang?” He remembered the confederates who’d seemed ready to back the man up. They didn’t look as though they’d been all that formidable either.

  “Oh, undoubtedly,” Artemus said. “But I meant his superiors in the guild.”

  “Thieves have a guild?” Fitz asked, astonished.

  “Of course they do. Every occupation in Marienburg does, even if they’re not always visible. Even the beggars.” Rudi looked for some sign that the scribe was joking, but he appeared completely earnest. “I really do advise you not to contemplate practising whatever occupation you habitually go about without going through proper channels first. That’s the best way to avoid any misunderstandings and concomitant unpleasantness.”

  “What sort of unpleasantness?” Hanna asked.

  “That would depend on the guild in question and how much they felt slighted. I’m sure you’ll find gainful employment before long, but it’s best to be sure you’re not treading on any toes while you look, if you get my drift.”

  “I think I’m beginning to,” Rudi said. Any further comment he might have been going to make was driven from his head as the road crested a small rise and he stopped moving, stunned into immobility by sheer astonishment.

  “There she is!” Artemus proclaimed. “Marienburg, the greatest city in the known world, and for all I know the realms beyond.” He gestured proudly at the vista laid out before them.

  “It’s very big,” Hanna said, an uncharacteristic edge of uncertainty creeping into her voice. Rudi nodded, dumbstruck.

  Contrary to what he’d expected, it wasn’t the city itself which first caught his eye, but the sea beyond. It glittered like silver, stretching further than he would ever have dreamed possible, until it seemed to merge seamlessly with the blue dome of the sky. The Reik had been impressive enough, but this was something else, something beyond huge, and he felt the breath still in his chest with the sheer magnitude of it.

  The city lay between them and the sea, a dark mass of buildings still too distant to distinguish, so that it seemed to spread like a bruise across the landscape. Reflections struck back from a scattering of domes and towers large enough to stand out in their own right, and Rudi felt his head begin to reel as he took in the scale of it. Thin veins of sparkling water threaded their way through the acres of densely packed masonry, making the whole vista shimmer against the back of his eye. Kohlstadt had seemed bustling and crowded enough, but the entire village could have been put down in the valley ahead of them and seem no more substantial than a cluster of chicken coops.

  “Look at the ships!” Fritz pointed excitedly out to sea, where dozens of sails dotted the ocean, coming and going from the harbour as ceaselessly as ants from their hills. “Are any of them elves?”

  “That one there, unless I miss my guess.” Artemus pointed to one sleeker and more elegant than the others, just rounding the outer wall of the harbour. Rudi squinted, unable to make out any detail at all at this distance, but he was prepared to take the scribe’s word for it. Fritz seemed happy enough at any event.

  “Come on,” he said at last, conscious of the curious and amused glances the little group was beginning to draw. “We’ll never get there at this rate.”

  CHAPTER TEN

  They entered the city by the Westenpoort gate, the walls rising above them to a height Rudi had never before conceived that stone could reach. The long grey bulk, like a lowering thunderhead, had loomed steadily larger as they approached it along a causeway constructed across a dreary expanse of marsh, which seemed to recede to the horizon on both sides of the raised road, as if the boundary between land and sea was blurring into a viscid soup of almost liquid mud. Mindful of their experiences in the bogs bordering the Reik, Rudi kept well away from the edge of the carriageway. To his jaundiced eye it seemed that a single incautious step would mean a messy and unpleasant death, sucked down irretrievably into the heart of the marsh.

  “It’s not quite as bad as that,” Artemus assured him. “Some people actually make a living out there. But I wouldn’t venture off the road without a guide, I must admit, and even then not without some pressing reason.” By this point the wall seemed even larger than Rudi had first imagined, its very bulk making it seem to recede as they approached, forcing him to reassess the perspective.

  “The Vloedmuur,” Artemus said proudly, noticing his expression. “A miracle of engineering, sufficient to keep even the mighty ocean at bay in times of need.” He pointed to thin plumes of smoke, rising at intervals along the ramparts. “Great pumping engines, the finest ever created by dwarven artisans, are kept ready to begin their work at a moment’s notice.”

  “Are they needed often?” Hanna asked.

  “Often enough, Marienburg lives by the sea and we’ve learned to respect it. Manann sends us the odd flood from time to time, just to make sure we’re not getting complacent.”

  “But the city stays dry?” Fritz asked, with an air of vague apprehension.

  “Most of it,” Artemus assured him. “They have a hard time of it on the flats and a couple of the other low-lying districts, but they’re mostly fishermen down there so at least they have boats.”

  “No doubt a great comfort to them,” Hanna said dryly. By now the road was disappearing into a gateway higher and more impressive than Rudi had ever seen, fully five times the height of a man and wide enough for four wagons to pass one another without hindrance. Even so it was choked with traffic and armed men were bustling about trying to keep order. Their weapons and clothing varied, but all wore distinctive hats, black and voluminous.

  “The Honourable Company of Lamplighters and Watchmen,” Artemus said, when Rudi pointed them out. “Better known as the Black Caps. They’re supposed to keep order and apprehend criminals.”

  “Supposed to?” Rudi asked.

  “Some are more zealous than others,” Artemus said. “And those are the ones best avoided, if you see what I mean.”

  “I think so.” Fritz nodded thoughtfully. “Like throwing their weight about, do they?”

  “That’s one way of putting it,” Artemus said.

  Rudi shivered as the shadow of the gate fell across him and the babble of sound around them suddenly rose in volume, echoing and folding back on itself in the confined space. The air felt damp and chill, with a faint odour of decay, and he hurried his pace a little, eager to regain the comparative warmth of the evening sun.

  In this he was to be disappointed however, as the lowering walls above him cast their shadow across the rest of the narrow strip of shoreline that they enclosed. Desolate salt marsh spread out on either side of the cobbled road, thin tidal pools and patches of slick mud interspersed with tenacious grasses and other plants which clung grimly to life on the margins of the sea. Great masses of seabirds wheeled and screeched overhead, like malevolent clouds, and flocks of them darted about on the mud flats, scrabbling Taal knew what from the treacherous surface with eager stabs of their beaks.

  And they weren’t the only ones; to his astonishment he could make out the unmistakable shapes of crude hovels dotted around the desolate landscape and a few flat-bottomed boats grounded on the mud from which the smoke of cooking fires rose lazily against the sky.

  “People actually live out here?” he asked in astonishment.

  “People live anywhere they can,” Artemus said. “The whole city’s built on a chain of islands, don’t forget.”

  “I know, you told us,” Rudi replied, but only now did the full implications of the scribe’s stories begin to sink in. The road was rising by this time, towards a bridge across a wide channel, along which a number of boats were moving. Some were under sail, but most were being rowed or poled along and all were packed with goods, people, or both. Beyond the span the city itself began, a jumble of buildings higher and narrower than any he’d ever seen, jostling for space like the people swarming around them, without a single patch of open land to be seen. Some seemed to be tottering on
the brink of the waterway and a few were even built out over it on pilings, as though their owners had roofed over a wharf.

  “That’s incredible,” Fritz said, his jaw dropping. “I’ve never seen so many people in my life!”

  “We’re entering the Winkelmarkt,” Artemus told him. “It’s one of the more salubrious wards on the southern side, though not what it was.” He paused in the middle of the bridge, in a narrow space between two tiny houses which had been built partly on the roadway and partly hanging over the edge. There were several similar structures choking the thoroughfare, a mixture of shops, homes and some makeshift wooden stalls between them. Rudi began to appreciate just how much of a premium space of any kind must be at in a place like this. He crowded in closer to the scribe, already feeling nervous from the constant press of bodies around them, and noted with relief that Hanna and Fritz were still in sight. If they ever got separated in this maelstrom of people they’d never find one another again.

  “Stick close together,” he said and Hanna nodded, her face drawn, evidently coming to the same conclusion that he had.

  “Everyone here? Good.” Artemus nodded and gestured over the parapet to the flotilla of watercraft passing to and fro below. “See those skiffs?” He pointed out a small boat, in which a couple of passengers sat, being rowed along by a taciturn oarsman. “They’re for hire. If anyone gets lost, head for the water and hail one. Tell the boatman you want to get to the Dancing Pirate tavern in Winkelmarkt and they’ll take you to the nearest wharf Up the steps, turn left, third alley on the right, about halfway down. Try to remember that.”

  “We will,” Hanna assured him fervently.

  “Good. I’m probably being a little over-cautious, but none of you are used to large crowds and it’s best to be sure of these things.”

  “Quite.” Rudi nodded, suddenly aware that a city this size could swallow you whole and never leave a trace of your passing. As he watched, one of the skiffs Artemus had indicated turned suddenly, vanishing up a side channel so narrow the boat barely made it through, and he became aware that the far bank was riddled with narrow inlets and canals. He pointed it out and Artemus nodded.

  “There are thousands of them,” he said. “Most only go a little way inland, but some are back channels between the main canals.”

  “Is that one of the main ones?” Fritz asked, glancing down at the wide expanse of water beneath them.

  “Yes and no,” he said slowly. “There’s a lot of traffic at this end, but it doesn’t go much further upstream.” He pointed into the distance, where a wider tributary marked the break between this island and the next. The buildings beyond it were shabbier, showing unmistakable signs of dereliction, and a couple of wharves sagged visibly on their pilings, on the verge of sliding into the canal. “That’s Doodkanal, and it’s well named, let me tell you. No one goes there if they can avoid it. Even the watch give it a wide berth if they can.”

  “That’s hard to believe,” Rudi said. “If space is so valuable, why would it just be left to rot?”

  “Because clearing it out would be more trouble than it’s worth,” Artemus replied, in a tone which clearly implied that the subject was closed.

  “Well it’s a big enough city,” Hanna said. “I’m sure we won’t need to go there.”

  “Quite,” Artemus said, changing the subject with evident relief. “Now if we should pass a hot sausage stall, you really must try one. The Winkelmarkt sausages are widely renowned as the finest in Marienburg, which makes them the finest in the world, and there’s nothing like eating one in a bun with a smear of Bretonnian mustard. In all my wanderings, that’s the thing I’ve missed the most.”

  In truth the sausages Artemus persuaded them to try, purchased from a street trader in a small courtyard surrounded by ramshackle buildings, were little different from any others Rudi could recall having eaten. Nevertheless, not wanting to disappoint his host, whose expression as he bit into the snack was almost ecstatic, he nodded his head appreciatively as he chewed. Perhaps his palate was simply less sophisticated than a city dweller’s would have been, he thought. At least the food was welcome after the day’s long walk and their circuitous progress through the narrow streets, which seemed to have been going on for an awfully long time. By now he could have walked through Kohlstadt from end to end three or four times, and they were still only part of the way through a single ward of the vast metropolis.

  “Is it much further?” Hanna asked, swallowing her last mouthful.

  “Just a couple of streets away,” Artemus assured her. Fritz looked hopefully back at the sausage stall, then shrugged, seeing that no one else intended repeating the experiment.

  “Then let’s go,” he suggested, striding out in the scribe’s wake with every sign of outward confidence. Rudi had just begun to resign himself to another long walk when, almost without warning, Artemus turned at the mouth of a narrow passageway he had taken for nothing more than the back entrance to a house and gestured along it.

  “Just down here,” he said.

  The alleyway Artemus had indicated was dark, even at this hour, hemmed in with the tall, narrow buildings Rudi was beginning to realise were characteristic of the local architecture. Torches flared at intervals and enough light leaked from the windows lining the passageway for him to make out their surroundings in rather more detail than he felt entirely comfortable with. A steady stream of people were passing up and down it, chattering and laughing, and several times he had to step hastily out of the way, avoiding as much of the detritus underfoot as possible. A surprising number of them appeared to be remarkably plump children, just as they had been in the last few streets they’d passed through, and he mentioned the fact to Artemus, who laughed.

  “Those aren’t children. We’re near the Kleinmoot,” he said, as though that explained everything. Rudi frowned. “The halfling quarter. Most of them live down that way, on the eastern fringe of the ward.” He gestured in the direction of the slums he’d pointed at from the bridge. “Next to the Doodkanal, but it doesn’t seem to bother them too much. I suppose compared to the neighbours they’ve got at home, even that’s an improvement.”

  That meant nothing to Rudi, but Fritz nodded in agreement.

  “You mean the Sylvanians. I’ve read about them.”

  “Far better read about than encountered in person, let me assure you,” Artemus said.

  Rudi felt a flush of embarrassment. Even Fritz could read, it seemed, and he had all the intellect of a squirrel. It couldn’t be as hard as he’d assumed after all, then. Perhaps if he asked Hanna nicely she might show him the basics—he’d cut his own throat rather than ask Fritz.

  “Here we are,” Artemus said at last, pointing to a narrow doorway. “The Dancing Pirate. Hasn’t changed a bit!” Rudi wondered if that was quite such a cause for celebration as the scribe appeared to believe, but was prepared to take his word for it. After all, he knew the city well and he hadn’t let them down yet.

  “Oh, I get it,” Fritz said, snickering. “Dancing Pirate, very good.” Rudi wondered what he meant at first, until the smudges on a slab of timber fastened insecurely to the wall above the door resolved themselves into a crude image of a sailor with an eye patch twisting at the end of a hangman’s rope. Artemus pushed the door open, stepped through, and beckoned them inside.

  To Rudi’s surprise the taproom beyond was warm, comfortable and relatively clean. It was larger than he’d expected too, the narrow frontage of the building stretching some way back, with a scattering of tables and chairs between the door and the bar. A couple of the customers were eating and the appetising smells emanating from a door at the back of the room, presumably leading to the kitchen, made him regret the sausage he’d already eaten.

  Several of the tables were occupied, although to his relief no one seemed to notice their arrival, and Hanna nudged him surreptitiously in the ribs.

  “Look over there,” she murmured. “The table in the corner.” Rudi glanced across in the direction s
he indicated, unsure of what she’d spotted, involuntarily tensing in anticipation of seeing Gerhard. But the table was occupied by two people he’d never seen before; a halfling with watchful eyes, who glanced up and seemed to take in every detail of his appearance as he looked in that direction, and a slightly overweight young man, swathed in robes. Embarrassed at being caught staring at them, Rudi averted his gaze hastily.

  “What about them?” he asked.

  “A mage,” Hanna said, too quietly for either of their companions to overhear. “He might know something about… you know.” She lifted a hand to adjust her headscarf.

  “How can you tell?” Rudi asked dubiously.

  Hanna looked at him scornfully. “Oh for Shallya’s sake, look how he’s dressed.” Then she shrugged. “Besides, I just know. Like that night we met Alwyn and the others, I had this feeling about her, even before we spoke. And she could tell…” She broke off uncomfortably.

  “So maybe this fellow can tell too,” Rudi said, a stab of unease running through him at the thought. If that were the case there was no telling how he might react.

  “It’s possible,” Hanna said. Before either of them could pursue the topic, Artemus waved to them from the bar.

  “Hurry up, you two. Can’t let good ale go to waste.” Rudi and Hanna resumed their progress to the polished wooden counter, where their companions were waiting for them, tankards already in their hands. Fritz tilted his and swallowed gratefully.

  “Gods, I needed that,” he said with an appreciative sigh.

  “Artemus says you need rooms,” the man behind the counter said. He was short and stout, though still tall enough to tower over the small knot of halfling customers reaching up to take their drinks from the counter top, and Rudi glanced down onto a shining pate surrounded by thinning brown hair.

  The scribe nodded. “Two, I think.” He glanced at Hanna. “Assuming you’d prefer the same arrangement as last time?”