by David Bishop
“I thought you were the finest pickpocket in all of Suiddock?”
“I might have been mistaken about that.”
“Perhaps, but back when you first accosted me in the street, you told me things only the murderer or a witness could know. You told me the elf had a deep green tunic, and his skin was like alabaster.”
“A lucky guess.”
“You said you heard him whispering something under his breath.”
“I was lying,” Gerta spat out, pouting at him. “There, are you happy now? Can I go?” She rose from her chair but Kurt pushed her back down, not an easy task with a determined woman of her size.
“No, you can’t. Even if you didn’t witness the murder, even if you didn’t see what the body-dumpers looked like, you still heard the dead elf’s last words. Anything he said could be a vital clue, the key to finding his killers. I need to know what he said and you’re not leaving here until I do!” Gerta folded her arms, a sulky look on her plump features. “Well?” Kurt insisted.
“Tooth and claw.”
“Yes?”
“That was all he said – ‘Tooth and claw.’”
Kurt pondered these cryptic words. “You heard him say this yourself?”
“Not exactly,” she admitted.
“You mean not at all, or yes you did?”
“I didn’t hear it myself, but I know a man who did. He was there, he sold me this.” Gerta reached into the deep valley between her breasts and extracted a tiny brooch of silver and jade, delicately crafted from the finest materials and gemstones. “Cost me a pretty penny, I can tell you. Don’t get workmanship like this everyday. I’m planning to wear it the night I’m reunited with my Engelbert.”
Kurt snatched the brooch from her fat fingers and studied it closely, ignoring her cries of protest. At the centre of the brooch was a shard of a dull green gemstone he did not recognise. Unlike most jewels, it was uncut and unpolished, making it appear as little more than a stone chip. But as Kurt turned it over in his fingers, light danced inside the shard for a moment, drawing his eyes closer, as if the stone was calling to him. He felt a stirring inside himself, as if he was being called by some unseen power. Kurt tore his eyes away from the brooch and jabbed a finger at his prisoner. “The reason you don’t see workmanship like this everyday, Gerta, is because this looks like it was crafted by elves, for elves. You never see workmanship like this, certainly not for sale on the streets of Suiddock. Who sold this to you and how much did you pay for it?” She named a four-figure number and Kurt snorted in disbelief, slipping the brooch into a tunic pocket for safekeeping. Gerta quickly shaved a zero off the end of the number, before removing another zero. “You bought a priceless brooch for twenty-seven guilders?” he snarled. “Didn’t that strike you as unlikely?”
“I think it was a bit of a bargain, but Fingers said he needed to raise some cash fast to-” Gerta clamped a hand over her own mouth to stop herself saying any more.
“Fingers sold this to you, did he? Fingers who? What’s his last name?” Gerta shrugged. “It doesn’t matter whether you tell me or not,” Kurt warned. “Sergeant Woxholt will be back soon and he knows the name and nickname of every thief, drunk and liar in all of Marienburg. Tell me now and it’ll go the better for you. Well?”
“Blake, his name’s Fingers Blake.”
Kurt smiled. “That’s better. And where do I find this Fingers Blake?”
“I’m not going to tell you that. Even your sergeant won’t know all of Blake’s boltholes. Arrest me for obstruction of justice if you want, but I’ll never tell.”
“Fine, you’re under arrest,” Kurt snapped.
“I am?” Joy spread across Gerta’s face like sunshine after a thunderstorm. “Does that mean… you’re sending me to Rijker’s Isle?”
“No.”
“No?”
“Not yet, anyway. You’re withholding evidence that’s vital to a murder investigation. So I’m keeping you here until we get some answers. Send you to Rijker’s Isle and I’ll get nothing. Let you go home and the murderers might decide to silence you permanently. The safest thing I can do is keep you here at the station, under our protection, pending further investigations.”
“But what am I supposed to do here?” Gerta protested.
“Can you cook?”
“Of course-”
“Good, we need a cook. The men will be hungry and tired by the end of their shifts. I hereby sentence you to seven days hard labour in the kitchen of the Three Penny Bridge station.”
Gerta looked perplexed. “This place was a tavern this morning. Does it even have a stove?”
Kurt shrugged. “I haven’t been in all the rooms yet, how would I know? Stay here, I’ll send someone up to fetch you when I’ve found out.” He turned to go but paused by the door. “I know this isn’t what you wanted, but the station is probably the safest place for you now.” Kurt looked back at her. “Deal?”
“Do I have a choice?”
“Not as such, but I thought it better to try and persuade you. From everything I’ve heard, Gerta Gestehen can be a remarkably strong-willed woman.”
“Alright, I’ll stay-on the condition you send me to Rijker’s once the killer is caught.”
Kurt smiled. “I’ll see what can be arranged.”
“Can I have my brooch back?” she asked hopefully.
“No. That’s evidence.” Belladonna returned to the side chapel to find a ghostly presence floating above the dead elf on the stone slab. The translucent wraith turned to face her as she entered, stopping the Black Cap in her tracks. “Sweet Shallya-Otto was right!” Fascinated by the unexpected spectre, Belladonna ventured nearer to the corpse. “Can you hear me? Can you speak? What’s your name?”
The phantom’s mouth moved with agonising slowness. “Moon…” it gasped. “SSSilver… moon.”
“Your name’s Silvermoon?” Belladonna asked gently.
“Yesss…”
“Who murdered you?”
“Toottth… annnd… clawww…”
“And a blade. Someone stabbed you with a blade.”
“Yesss…”
“Who did this to you?”
“Clawww… tooth and clawww…”
“I know, they used tooth and claw to murder you,” Belladonna said, her voice low and soothing. “But we need to know who did this to you, so we can stop them hurting others the same way.”
“SSStop themmm…”
“Yes, we want to stop them.” Belladonna could hear loud, shouted voices from within the temple. Otto had delayed the other elves as long as he could, but now they were inside. She had but a few moments before they found the side chapel. Who knows what would happen if they discovered her interrogating the ghost of their dead brother. “Rest. We will stop them, I promise.”
“You mussst ssstop them…”
“I promise,” Belladonna said. By now the heavy footfalls of the approaching elves were in the corridor outside the side chapel. She watched as the phantom faded away. “Rest in peace, Silvermoon.”
“Ressst…” Tyramin Silvermoon pushed past the priest and forced his way into the side chapel. Inside he found the body of his beloved younger brother, laying peacefully atop a stone slab, his face in repose. A hooded and cloaked figure was kneeling at the head of the slab, face lowered respectfully, a prayer being whispered for the souls of the fallen. “Who’s this?” Tyramin demanded, his suspicions already aroused by the transparent delaying tactics of the Morr worshipper.
“One of the Black Caps from Three Penny Bridge. She helped transport your brother’s body here to preserve his dignity until the family came forward to claim him. She has kept guard over him for many hours, without respite or relief, refusing to let anyone but me near him.”
Tyramin let his hand stray to the hilt of his sword, making the movement conspicuous enough for the priest to be in little doubt of his intentions. “You swear no others have touched my brother’s body?”
Otto stared directly into
the angry elf’s eyes. “I swear upon my soul and my belief in Morr that all I have spoken to you is the truth. I know the importance your kind place upon the preservation of mortal remains until they can be transported to their final resting place. I have performed rituals of cleansing and purification, as is your custom in such circumstances.” The priest bowed his head and stepped aside. “Come, Belladonna-let the brothers be alone.”
Tyramin watched as the two humans left the chamber before telling his men to stand guard outside. Only when the side chapel was empty did he approach his little brother’s lifeless body. Closing his eyes, Tyramin let his thoughts and feelings reach out to make contact with Arullen’s spirit. All was as the priest had said-cleansing and purification were complete, the body ready to be taken back to Sith Rionnasc’namishathir. In a way, Tyramin was disappointed. He wanted something more to do, someone to rage against for his brother’s senseless murder. But he would have to preserve that anger and fury until the day it could be unleashed upon Arullen’s killer, hold that burning rage like a fire in his belly. For now he must focus upon the rituals of mourning, must-“Tooth… and clawww…”
The words were an echo in the cold, lifeless chamber, more felt than spoken. Tyramin’s eyes sprang open, hoping against hope to see his little brother was somehow still alive. But Arullen was cold and gone, the broken flesh and torn bones containing only remnants of the spirit that had once occupied them. Still the words whispered inside Tyramin’s thoughts: “Tooth… and clawww…” Tyramin allowed himself to smile, knowing he would not smile again for many, many days. Those three simple words had told him all he needed to know about those who had killed Arullen. “Thank you, brother. Thank you for pointing the way.”
He called his brethren into the side chapel and commanded them to prepare a litter for carrying Arullen back to Sith Rionnasc’namishathir, back to the resting place of his ancestors, so that the youngest Silvermoon could join them in the life beyond this life, the world beyond this world. As the cadre did their duty, Tyramin went outside and found the priest talking with the Black Cap. “Thank you for observing our ways and rituals. I did not know those outside our walls knew to do such things, and I am grateful you were present to perform these rituals for my brother. If you or anyone you hold dear ever needs my help, come to the gates of the Sith Rionnasc’namishathir and ask for me. The House of Silvermoon is in your debt.”
The priest bowed low, acknowledging the honour and privilege bestowed upon him.
To Tyramin’s surprise, the Black Cap removed her hood and spoke to him. “I am among those seeking justice on whomever murdered your brother. If I may be so bold, what was his name?”
“Arullen,” the elf replied, his voice catching with emotion. “He was Arullen Silvermoon.”
“Thank you.” She swept the hood back up into place, bowing her head respectfully to him.
Tyramin Silvermoon went back to supervising his cadre, once more surprised by the kindness shown to him and his brother by these outsiders. In his limited experience, men were boorish, drunken creatures that caused more trouble than they were worth. Perhaps he had been wrong about them. Still, he did not trust them enough to mention the three other elves still missing. All were friends of Arullen and all had been seen leaving the elf quarter together. Tyramin had little doubt the lost three were dead and even less doubt about who must have slain them. An old enemy was rearing its ugly head once more within the city, and this reappearance boded ill for all the inhabitants of Marienburg. Belladonna told Sergeant Woxholt about her encounter with the dead elf’s spirit as they walked back to Three Penny Bridge. It was well after sunset and Woxholt carried a lantern on a pole to light their way. Burning torches to illuminate the cobbled streets and passageways of Suiddock were few and far between, even more so the closer you got to Three Penny Bridge. “He kept saying we must stop them,” she mused. “At the time, I thought he was simply agreeing with me when I said we would stop them. But looking back, maybe he was trying to warn me. I think Arullen Silvermoon was killed by more than one attacker.”
“You mean by a group,” the sergeant clarified.
“No, by more than one attacker. First he was stabbed in the stomach, a mortal wound, but he got away from that person. Later he was attacked by someone or something else, perhaps multiple attackers. The person who stabbed him first was a man-balding, grey hair, perhaps forty summers old.”
“And the second attack?”
Belladonna shrugged. “Arullen kept repeating one phrase, over and over-tooth and claw. What does that suggest to you?”
“A wild animal of some kind, or a creature so savage as to be akin to a wild animal.”
“Animals often hunt in packs,” she said.
“So do the Fen Loonies,” Woxholt pointed out. “And they’ve been known on occasion to enter the city after dark, searching for fresh meat and delicacies.”
“Elf flesh would certainly qualify as a delicacy for the likes of Koos and his mutant kin.” Belladonna stopped as they got within sight of the station. “There’s another, more obvious question we haven’t asked yet: what in the name of Verena was an elf from the House of Silvermoon doing in Suiddock after dark?”
The sergeant nodded. “I’ve been wondering that myself. If we knew why, I suspect we’d be a long way towards finding Arullen’s killer-or killers.” He pointed to the station, where a line of young women in various states of undress were climbing down a rope ladder from the first floor. “Looks like the captain has found Molly and her girls a new place to call home.” Kurt was standing at the foot of the ladder, a burning torch in one hand as he coaxed down the women. Meanwhile men from the night and graveyard shifts were carrying beds out of the station and into the abandoned temple next door.
“Seemed the most obvious solution,” Kurt explained as Belladonna and the sergeant got closer. “Nobody else dares set foot in the temple, because that’s where Joost Holismus went mad five years ago. The locals apparently think the place could be cursed but-”
“But they said the same about our station and Molly’s girls never had a problem there,” Belladonna observed, finishing the captain’s sentence for him. “Clever solution.”
“It was my idea,” Molly replied as she stepped down from the ladder on to the cobbles, before turning to Kurt. “That’s the last of the girls and their things out. I’ve loosened the barricade from inside, so you should have no problems getting into the room now.”
“Thank you for being so understanding,” he replied.
“No skin off my chin,” she said, her gaze taking in the abandoned temple. “You don’t want us doing business in your station and Manann knows we didn’t get many customers today after you arrived. Besides, I’ve always had my eye on the temple. Maybe I’ll start my own religion-the Cult of Molly.” She strode off into the temple, shouting at Raufbold and Narbig to be careful with the bed they were carrying.
“You know, I wouldn’t put it past her to open a church,” Belladonna observed dryly.
“Excuse me,” a timorous voice said. The front door on one of the fortified homes on the other side of Three Penny Bridge stood open, a halfling woman beside it gesturing for them to come over. She was clad from head to toe in black, her hands clutching a funeral wreath. “I want to report a murder.”
Woxholt leaned closer to Kurt, stifling a yawn while he whispered in the captain’s ear. “Do you want me to handle this?”
Kurt shook his head. “Go home and get some sleep, old friend-you look exhausted. I can handle this. Besides, you’ve got to be back here before dawn to supervise the changeover from graveyard to day shift.”
“Good point,” the sergeant agreed, another yawn overwhelming him. “I’ll see you in the morning.” Woxholt shuffled away, nodding goodnight to Belladonna as he departed.
She looked across at the anxious resident. “Why don’t I talk with her? Whatever’s troubling her, she might find it easier dealing with a woman.”
“True, but if she’s witnessed
a murder-”
“Then I’ll bring it to you,” Belladonna promised. She smiled at him. “You can’t do everything yourself, captain. You’ve got to learn to delegate tasks to those under you. Besides, it’ll give you a chance to watch the others, see how they operate, discover their strengths and weaknesses.”
Kurt frowned. “Sounds like you’re the one who should be captain, not me.”
“No thanks. The watchmen would never accept a woman as their leader, and I don’t want the job. I’ve seen what power does to people, the way it corrupts so many of them.”
“How do you know it won’t corrupt me?”
“I read your file before volunteering for this station, I know what happened to you in Altdorf. You may have been many things in the past, but corruption is the one taint nobody has ever accused you of.” She walked across to the halfling woman, leaving Kurt to ponder the wisdom of her words.
CHAPTER EIGHT
It was close to midnight before the first citizen ventured into the station, looking around in wonder at the transformation overtaking the building. Scheusal, Bescheiden and Verletzung were busy erecting holding cells in the former taproom. Scheusal was doing his best to remain patient with the garrulous complaining of Bescheiden, and Verletzung’s dour silence, but even the big man from Bretonnia occasionally lost his temper. He was letting loose a stream of abuse as the citizen walked in.
“Shallya save you if you hit my thumb with that hammer one more time,” Scheusal snarled at Bescheiden, his face flushed crimson with anger.
“Is it my fault if you keep sticking your thumb in the way of my hammering?” Bescheiden asked.
“Will it be my fault if I shove that hammer somewhere so dark and so deep you’ll need an apothecary and a lamp-lighter to retrieve it?” Scheusal was about to make good on his threat when Verletzung tapped his shoulder and pointed at the entrance. “Now what?”
The citizen wavered at the sight of Scheusal bearing down on him, but stood his ground. “I’ve heard tell this place has reopened as a watch station.”
“For once the rumours are true.”
