by David Bishop
“Severed to stop him crying out,” Kurt interjected.
“Very good,” Belladonna said admiringly.
“Otto told me.”
“Ahh.” She pointed at the abdomen. “There’s two sets of wounds there. The major damage was done by something jagged and savage. But the underlying wounds look like they were done by a blade, not expertly handled either. Someone hacked about for a while in there.”
“So the second wounds were designed to conceal the first attack?”
“It’s possible,” she conceded.
Kurt’s brow furrowed. “Were the initial wounds fatal?”
“They were mortal wounds-but not necessarily fatal. I’d need to know more about the bodies of elves before I could give a definitive answer on that. It’s Otto’s area of speciality, not mine. To be honest, I’m more interested in what’s around the body, what that tells us.”
“And the pointing finger?”
“Someone is sending a message to the Guild or the League-or possibly both. Whoever put this body here knew the presence of those organisations so close by meant the corpse would not be found straight away. They also knew we wouldn’t have the benefit of any witnesses to help us.”
“Well, they were wrong about that much, at least,” Kurt muttered to himself. He gestured at the body. “Are you done here? I’d like Otto to have a closer look at the remains, see what else he can find.”
“It’s best if he takes it to his temple for that. Once news reaches the elf quarter about what’s happened here, this case will be taken out of your hands and so will the body.”
“You know your politics,” Kurt said appreciatively.
“Three years working under the commander, you pick up a thing or two. I can help Otto transport the body, if you wish. Priests of Morr are stronger than they look, but even he would struggle to shift a dead elf across to Stoessel without anyone noticing.”
“Agreed. I’ll send him down.” Kurt started back up the steps, taking them three at a time.
“Where are you going, in case we run into trouble?” Belladonna shouted after him.
“To pay a social visit on an important local resident.”
“Who?”
“I think it’s about time I introduced myself to Adalbert Henschmann!” Getting Abram Cobbius and his drunken thugs out of the Abandon Hope Tavern was relatively simple, once they’d been beaten unconscious. Persuading the women who plied their trade from the upper level was proving more problematic for Jan. All six of the women had barricaded themselves into the middle room at the front of the building, the side that faced out on to Three Penny Bridge. “You can’t stay in there forever,” Jan shouted through the heavy wooden door. “This was a watch station before you arrived and now it’s going back to being a watch station again. That’s no place for your sort of business.”
“Maybe not, but we need a place to work,” one of the women yelled back. “Find us somewhere else we can earn a crust, and you can have the room back. Until that happens, we stay where we are!”
“Have it your own way,” Jan replied. He nodded to Scheusal and Narbig, whom he had sent out to fetch wooden planks, nails and two hammers. “You heard the ladies, they’ve decided to stay. Barricade the door to make sure they do.” The two men set to work nailing planks across the door, sealing it shut so the women couldn’t come and go via the station, even if they wanted to. When the noise of hammering finally ceased, the women demanded to know how they were supposed to get out. “We’ll fetch you a rope ladder,” Jan shouted back. “If you want to leave, you go out the window.”
“What about our customers?”
Jan looked to the two watchmen for suggestions. “They have got a right to work, you know,” Scheusal said, while Narbig remained silent.
“I guess any visitors you have can use the ladder too,” Jan bellowed through the double barricade, “but only until we find you somewhere else. How does that sound?”
“It’ll do!”
“Good! Well, that’s settled, then.” Jan folded his arms, feeling he’d been duped in some way.
“Hey, sergeant-what’s your name?” the spokeswoman called out.
“Woxholt-Jan Woxholt. And you?”
“Molly.”
“Molly what?”
There was a hollow laugh from the other side of the door. “We don’t need a second name in our line of work, Sergeant Woxholt. Even if we had second names, nobody ever asks for them.”
“I’m sorry to hear that.” Jan’s attention was taken by the sound of a woman’s shouts drifting up from the ground floor. “Is that one of your girls?”
“No. We know better than to argue,” Molly replied.
“You could’ve fooled me,” Jan muttered to himself, before raising his voice. “She’s probably here to see the captain. I’ll have to make sure she doesn’t leave before he returns. Afternoon to you, Molly.”
“Same to you, I guess.” Satisfied with the strange arrangement, Jan headed for the staircase. “Hey, sergeant!” Molly called, stopping Jan in his tracks. “I wanted to say-you’re alright, for a Black Cap.”
“You’re welcome,” he shouted back, before continuing on his way. Kurt stood outside the front door of the Marienburg Gentlemen’s Club, unsure what to do. This was the nerve centre of all crime in the city, home to the dreaded Guild We’ve Never Heard Of, the headquarters for the League of Gentlemen Entrepreneurs. Should he march straight inside, or knock first and wait? Kurt decided discretion was the better part of valour and knocked three times, his knuckles rapping hard against the heavy wooden door. A small, metallic porthole opened in the door and a large, rheumy eye stared out at him. “What do you want here?” a gruff voice demanded.
“My name’s Captain Schnell of the watch. I…” Kurt pondered his next words carefully, not wishing them to be his last. “I’ve come to pay my respects to Adalbert Henschmann.”
“Casanova’s busy at the moment,” the doorman replied, laughing at some private joke.
“Really?” Kurt smiled. “I’ve sometimes heard your employer referred to by that nickname, but I understand nobody ever dares call him that to his face. I’m sure he’d be interested to learn his doorman dares use it, let alone uttering it here of all places.” Kurt glanced up to the first floor windows. “Perhaps I should shout out this revelation, I’m sure he could probably hear me from his private quarters.”
“No, don’t!” the doorman pleaded, his eye wide with panic. “I’ll let you in, just don’t tell him what I called him-please?” Bolts were hurriedly drawn back and the door swung inwards. Kurt strolled inside, a broad smile on his usually taciturn features.
“Let’s keep it our little secret, hmm?” he offered, trying not to be startled by the black, empty socket where the doorman’s right eye should have been. Kurt glanced around and was surprised to find the interior little different from any other taproom in Marienburg. The ceiling was low, the wooden floorboards were covered in spilled ale and sawdust, and a low fog of smoke choked the air.
A surly cluster of sour-faced miscreants gathered at tables, while a serving wench glared at Kurt from the bar, her clubbed hands wiping a pewter tankard with a grimy cloth. What little light there was came from a fireplace at the far end of the taproom, illuminating the few wooden doors that led into other parts of the building. A wooden staircase beckoned Kurt upwards. He took a step towards it but the doorman blocked the way. The one-eyed man was at least a head taller than Kurt and broad of build, but his hands clutched each other for comfort like those of a nervous father.
“Please, captain, you can’t go up there-not yet.”
“I’ve already said, I won’t tell-”
“No, I mean you can’t go up. Casa-” the doorman said, before clamping a hand over his own mouth in horror at saying the nickname again. “Henschmann is being entertained, at present.”
Kurt sighed. “I see. And how long does his ‘entertainment’ usually take?”
“It’s difficult to say, capt
ain.”
“Less time than it takes me to fill a tankard with ale,” the serving wench interjected. “But he likes his visitor to stay with him most of the afternoon, to enhance his reputation with the ladies.”
“Well, I haven’t got all afternoon to wait,” Kurt insisted. He pushed past the doorman and strode to the staircase. He was halfway up the creaking steps when another burly body blocked his progress. Kurt was confronted with the hefty, heavyset presence of a terrifyingly dour woman, her straw blonde hair tied in plaits that were bound in whirls on the sides of her head.
“You heard them downstairs,” she sneered. “Nobody disturbs my master until he’s ready.”
“But I-”
“Nobody,” the woman repeated, cracking the knuckles of one hand inside another. She was twice Kurt’s bodyweight, had forearms like hocks of ham and a broken nose. She also had the advantage of height over him, making it all but impossible to foresee an easy way past.
Kurt smiled. “Very well. Tell your master that I came to pay my respects, and that if he wishes-” The rest of his sentence was forgotten as the most stunning woman Kurt had ever seen emerged from a doorway behind the bodyguard. Her hair was dark as a moonless night, yet her pale skin had the quality of alabaster. The luscious red of her lips was matched by a corset of startling red silk that struggled to encompass her proud bosom. The rest of her dress was also silk, but black as the shining hair that framed her beautiful features. She blew a delicate kiss into the room from which she had just left, before walking towards the staircase, her face alive with humour and intelligence. The woman paused at the top of the steps, taking a moment to adjust her dйcolletage, a wry smile on her lips. Kurt had never seen this woman before, but her startling appearance and self possession left him in little doubt of her identity.
“Thank you, Helga,” she said, her voice warm and low, like an early evening zephyr on a summer’s night. “I believe Adalbert is ready to receive visitors now.”
“Very good, Madame von Tiezer,” the bodyguard growled, stepping aside to let the woman pass.
Kurt also moved aside for the courtesan, gently inclining his head to her as an acknowledgement. To his surprise, she paused beside him, the scent of musk and sweet perfume drifting into his nostrils like a sigh. “I don’t believe we’ve met. My name is Diede,” she whispered, offering her right hand. He took it in his and kissed the delicate knuckles, his eyes straining to take in her beauty.
“The pleasure is all mine,” Kurt said, before introducing himself. She seemed intrigued.
“Any relation to Old Ironbeard Schnell?”
“He’s my father.” Kurt pondered the implications of her question. “You’ve met my father?”
Madame von Tiezer smiled. “Not in my professional capacity, no. But men of true courage and greatness are rare these days. I do my best to keep abreast of all notable arrivals in Marienburg. I’m surprised we haven’t met before now.”
“I was only made a captain this morning.”
“And this afternoon you’re coming to visit Adalbert?” She arched an eyebrow at him. “How delightful. I wish you well with your endeavours on the Three Penny Bridge, Captain Kurt Schnell. The task ahead of you is not easy, and the victory will not come without cost, but victory you shall win.”
“How do you know-”
Madame von Tiezer pressed a finger against his lips to silence the question, while pressing the rest of her body closer to him. “A true courtesan is trained in many arts: she must sing, tell stories, listen well and speak less. Some of us also have other skills, second sight and the like. We will meet again, Captain Schnell, you may be certain of that.” She removed her finger from his lips, the act so intimate Kurt felt himself close to blushing. Then she was gone, dancing down the steps with the grace of a ballerina.
Helga cleared her throat conspicuously to get Kurt’s attention. When he looked up at her, she was gesturing impatiently for him to follow. “You coming or what?” Henschmann waited for Schnell in the League of Gentlemen Entrepreneurs’ meeting room, a chamber sometimes mockingly referred to as the Directorate-the same title given to the city’s executive council. As far as the crime lords were concerned, they were the true rulers of Marienburg. This was reflected in the meeting room’s decor-a white marble floor, rich tapestries and curtains around the walls and windows, and a crystal chandelier that hung from the velvet-draped ceiling. Dominating the room was a long wooden table, its surface inlaid with gold swirls and curlicues. Ten matching chairs stood round the table, four down either side, and one at each end. Henschmann chose the chair at the far end of the room, opposite the door from the hallway. There was another door in the Directorate, but its existence was invisible to the naked eye and the opening mechanism known only to three living souls. The most powerful criminal in all of Marienburg waited patiently, his hands clasped together on the table, his expression utterly neutral.
The door swung open and Helga entered, her face sour as ever. “Captain Kurt Schnell, sir.”
Henschmann observed the newcomer closely as he entered. Schnell appeared flushed, no doubt from a close encounter with Diede on her way out-how she loved to tease men with her femininity.
The Black Cap was younger than Henschmann had expected, though the piercing ice-blue eyes hinted at past horrors they had seen, and the shaven head suggested a man who brooked no opposition. The body appeared fit and trim, with a wiry rather than muscular build. No doubt Schnell had known sin in his time, but he was not its slave. Whatever vices the captain possessed, they did not command him. The set of his jaw, the way Schnell held himself, his ease in unknown surroundings-all spoke of a man who had fought his way up, a determined man who would not be easily swayed or intimidated. An interesting opponent, Henschmann concluded. If Schnell could not be turned, he would have to be crushed.
“Welcome to the Marienburg Gentlemen’s Club,” Henschmann said, smiling broadly. “How can I be of service to you, Captain Schnell? Perhaps you’re interested in becoming a member?”
“I came to pay you my respects. Your name is known throughout the city, of course, but your business is strongest here in Suiddock. I felt it only right to introduce myself to you properly.”
Henschmann nodded his appreciation at this courtesy. “I understand you have plans to reopen the station on Three Penny Bridge?”
“The process is already underway,” Kurt agreed, his voice remaining neutral.
“I hope the reprobates who have been frequenting the abandoned building did not cause you too many difficulties?”
“None worth mentioning.”
“I’m gladdened to hear it.” Henschmann waited, but still Kurt did not ask for a bribe or create an opportunity for one to be offered. “No doubt it will be expensive to refit the interior of the station, since it has stood in neglect for so long. Perhaps my colleagues and I could make a contribution to the costs?” He produced a leather bag filled with gold coins and tossed them carelessly down onto the table. The pouch burst open, spilling its rich contents across the wooden surface, several of them rolling off the edge and coming to rest beside the visitor’s boots. “You’ll find that should more than cover any initial outlays you may have.”
The shadow of a sneer passed across Kurt’s features. “Again, I must politely decline your generous offer. The station must stand on its own two feet if it is to be a success in the mission I have planned for it.”
“Indeed? And what mission is this, if that’s not too bold a question?”
Kurt folded his arms. “Reclaiming Suiddock for decent people. Bringing the law back to these lawless streets and cobbles. Destroying the tyrannical grip of the Thieves’ Guild upon so much of this city, and driving out those who would make their money extorting, terrorising and murdering innocent citizens. Any who oppose us will go to Rijker’s Isle or find themselves dancing with Morr.”
Henschmann folded his arms too, mocking the visitor’s stance. “An impressive speech-you may even believe those goals are po
ssible. But I fear for the safety of anyone who tries to enforce such a list of aims and objectives. I’ve heard the criminal element in this city can be quite merciless in the prosecution of their vendettas. Obviously, I know nothing of such matters, but I’ve heard whispers about such reprisals.”
“I’m sure you have-Casanova.”
Henschmann was up on his feet in an instant, his face livid with anger. “What did you call me?”
“I understood that was the name most people commonly called you, something to do with your reputation as a ladies’ man. Of course, I don’t believe in such rumours. After all, why would a great lover need the services of a courtesan? Only someone too repulsive to find love without paying for it would resort to such methods to satisfy their carnal needs.”
The crime boss glared at Schnell, his nostrils flaring angrily as he fought to contain his temper. “Captain, I had been told you were an intelligent, thoughtful man who had risen through the Black Caps’ ranks by guile and cunning. I can see I was misinformed. That being the case, perhaps we should speak plainly to each other, as between men.”
“It would be my pleasure,” Kurt replied, all humour draining from his face.
“Continue on the path you have chosen and it will bring about your utter destruction. Not only will the station close before the end of Geheimnistag, but every soul within those walls shall have perished in the most exquisite agonies possible. You will be saved for last, giving you the opportunity to see your colleagues slain one by one before you join them in death,” Henschmann vowed.
“Should I consider those as threats?”
“Promises, Captain Schnell-consider them as promises.”
Kurt marched towards Henschmann, his face expressionless as granite. He stopped a few strides short of the crime boss, looking Henschmann up and down before speaking. “I fought in the war against Chaos. I’ve battled creatures beyond your worst nightmares and I’ve faced blood-sucking fiends in battle that would chill the marrow in your bones. If you believe the threats of a petty felon will shake my resolve, your intelligence reports about me are sadly lacking in depth or detail.” Kurt spat a mouthful of phlegm on the marble floor in front of Henschmann to emphasise his disdain.
