by David Bishop
“I wasn’t sure. You see, you’ve still got the tavern sign hanging outside.”
Scheusal sighed. “Willy, go upstairs and ask the captain what he wants to do about the Abandon Hope sign. Tell him we’re not sure it’s the best way to encourage people to come here with their problems.”
“On my way!” Bescheiden tossed his hammer to Verletzung and scampered up the east staircase. Scheusal turned his attention back to the citizen.
“So, you want to report a crime, yes?” he asked in his thick Bretonnian accent.
“Err, yes. I think my neighbour is involved with smuggling.”
“And why do you think that?”
“How many people do you know who have twenty slaves from Araby in their two-room house?”
“Not many,” Scheusal conceded. “What’s your neighbour’s name and where do they live?”
The citizen took a step back, staring in bewilderment at the Black Cap. “Do you think I’m mad? I’m not going to tell you that, she’ll know I’m the one who reported her.”
“Then why come to us?”
“So you can put a stop to it. I don’t see why she should have twenty slaves when I don’t have any. It’s an injustice, a complete injustice.” He folded his arms, as if he’d told them all they needed to know. “So what are you going to do about this?”
Scheusal pursed his lips. “We’ll look into it as a matter of urgency. In the meantime, I suggest you keep a careful note of all the comings and goings from this woman’s property, day and night. That’s the best way to monitor the movement of these… slaves.”
“But I can’t read or write,” the citizen replied.
“Can you draw?”
“A little-why?”
“I want you to draw me a picture of all the slaves you see being smuggled via your neighbour’s home. That way we’ll be able to keep track of them. Can you do that for me?”
“I suppose so,” the citizen said uncertainly.
“We’ve had several reports of slave trafficking already. It’s possible there’ll be a reward for any information that leads to a breakthrough in these terrible crimes.”
“A reward?”
Scheusal tapped a finger against his bulbous nose. “You didn’t hear it from me, understand?”
“Absolutely!” By now the citizen’s eyes were gleaming with avarice, his imagination evidently planning the ways he could spend this reward. “Will the reward be in guilders?”
“I shouldn’t be surprised if it was golden guilders-but don’t tell anyone else, it’s our secret.”
The visitor tapped the side of his nose conspiratorially. “You can count on me!” He scurried from the building, but returned a moment later. “These drawings -charcoal or pastel?”
Scheusal furrowed his brow, as if thinking the question through thoroughly. “Charcoal-that way you can concentrate on capturing their likenesses without having to worry about what colours to use.”
“Right you are!” The citizen practically ran from the station. Scheusal and Verletzung were still laughing when Bescheiden returned with the captain.
“Sigmar’s beard, what’s so amusing?” Kurt demanded. Once they had recovered enough to explain, the captain pointed out the station had no funding and certainly no money to offer any rewards. To Kurt’s surprise, it was the taciturn Verletzung who answered him.
“You’re not from Suiddock, captain, so you probably wouldn’t understand. I grew up here. You want people from these parts to volunteer any information, you have to make it worth their while-they expect to be compensated. As long as they believe there’s a reward for the best information, you’ll have a steady stream of people coming here with tip-offs, hoping to cash in.”
“It was the same in Bretonnia,” Scheusal chimed in. “As captain, you can decide who’s given you the best information and how much reward they deserve to get.”
“And where do I find this reward money?”
Verletzung shrugged. “Take the gold from the criminals. Call it a crime tax.”
“We steal from the robbers to pay the poor for information?”
“It’s not stealing. You’re confiscating stolen property.”
Kurt frowned. “This never happened in Goudberg.”
“Nothing ever happens in Goudberg,” Belladonna said as she walked in, escorting the halfling woman from across the bridge. “Why else did you think you had such an easy time there?”
Verletzung’s smile faded. “Captain, you’re in Suiddock now-normal rules don’t apply here. If you want to beat the smugglers and thieves and murderers, you have to be as ruthless as them. More ruthless.”
Kurt frowned, considering what his recruits had suggested. After a few moments, he nodded his agreement. “Spread the word to the graveyard shift when they come on. All property held by criminals at the time of their arrest is to be seized as the proceeds of illegal acts-no matter how big or small. And when you’ve finished building that cell, take down the sign outside. This is a watch station, not a tavern.”
“Yes, captain,” Scheusal replied, saluting crisply. He exchanged approving glances with Verletzung. Rare was the captain who listened to what his men had to say, let alone acted on it. Belladonna asked Kurt to hear what the grieving halfling had to say, so all three of them went upstairs to his office, the room recently vacated by Molly and her girls. Kurt had fashioned a desk for himself by removing the door from another room and laying it across an empty bed frame. Belladonna ushered the diminutive woman onto a low chair before sitting beside her, while Kurt paced back and forth in front of the windows overlooking Three Penny Bridge. “This is Silvia Vink,” Belladonna said. “Her husband Titus drowned two days ago. Afterwards Silvia was told Titus had died accidentally, but she doesn’t believe that. She’s convinced her husband was murdered. Tell the captain why, Silvia.”
When the halfling spoke, her brittle voice was choked with emotion. But she kept going her fingers working the funeral wreath between them like prayer beads, turning it slowly around in a circle. “Titus runs…” she began, before correcting herself. “Titus ran the fish market beside this station, at the Riddra end of the bridge. He took it over from the previous owner, Herr Middendorp, back in Jahrdrung. My husband was a halfling like me, but he matched any man for strength or courage. He stood up to the world and he walked tall, never pretending to be something he wasn’t, never giving in to anyone who tried to treat him as less than a man because of his size. I was so proud of him, of all he had achieved…” By now tears were flowing freely down Silvia’s face and her chin was quivering with grief.
Kurt paused his pacing to smile some encouragement to her. “Go on, Frau Vink, please.”
She nodded, swallowing hard. “A month ago, a man came to the market. He said Herr Middendorp had been paying a percentage of the takings as a safety measure. The man said it only needed a stray match at night or a consignment of rotten fish to ruin the market, to put it out of business. What would happen if Titus got sick or accidentally broke both his legs? He wouldn’t be able to work and the market would have to close. The man said he could protect Titus, make sure nothing bad ever happened to him.”
“Extortion with menaces, in other words,” Kurt said.
Silvia sighed. “I had never seen Titus so angry. He went to see the previous owner, demanding to know why Herr Middendorp hadn’t mentioned this other man. Titus also talked with the other merchants and stall holders nearby. All of them said it was easier to pay this man than to fight back. Surrender your tithe and there was no trouble, everybody was happy. But Titus wasn’t happy.”
“He decided to fight back?”
“My husband, he saved for many years to buy the fish market from Herr Middendorp. It was Titus’ dream to have his own business. He didn’t see why he had to give a tenth of his takings to a stranger. When the man came back for his money, Titus refused. He strode into the middle of Three Penny Bridge and told anyone who would listen that all you needed was the courage to stand up to
bullies and they would leave you alone. He called the man all kinds of terrible names and said bullies had no power over us.”
Silvia frowned, struggling with the memory of what happened next. “That evening I waited for Titus to finish at the market-but he never came home. I stayed up all night, expecting him to walk in at any minute. I hoped that perhaps he’d gone to a tavern and gotten drunk, lost his way. Next day I heard about a halfling who had drowned in the night and I knew it was Titus. He couldn’t swim, never learned how. He said if halflings had been meant to swim, then we wouldn’t have had boats and fishermen.”
“You believe your husband was deliberately drowned to make an example of him?”
“Yes,” Silvia spat.
“Do you have any proof?” Kurt asked, his voice full of kindness.
She grimaced. “This man went around the next day, boasting about what he’d done. He does not care who knows he drowned my husband. This man, he brags about murdering Titus, he flaunts what he did. He believes himself immune from retribution or prosecution. If I had the strength, I would drown him for what he’s done. Instead I come here, hoping you can punish him for murdering my husband.”
“Do you know his name?”
“Everybody knows his name-Abram Cobbius.”
“I see.” Kurt looked out the window at the few people using the bridge in the dark. A footsore crier made his way slowly past, jangling a bell and announcing the midnight hour. “Abram Cobbius-the cousin of Lea-Jan Cobbius, Master of the Honourable Guild of Stevedores and Teamsters.”
“Yes, that’s him,” Silvia agreed.
“You do realise that by coming to us, you’re placing your own life in danger, Frau Vink?”
She nodded. “Titus is dead, and Abram Cobbius has taken over the market, claiming it was left to him in a suicide note written by my husband. Titus was a simple man, captain-he couldn’t read or write. But he would never disinherit me, even if his life were at stake. Now one of Cobbius’ thugs runs the market. He’s put the prices up so they’re ten times what they were before-none of my friends in Suiddock can afford to shop there anymore. The only people who go into the market are thugs and servants from rich families. Meanwhile, I have no income, no husband and no hope. But I also have nothing left to lose. I will speak against this man, if you have the courage to arrest him.” The little woman looked at Kurt with sad eyes, made bloodshot by the shedding of so many tears. Belladonna was also studying the captain closely. He knew reestablishing the Black Caps on Three Penny Bridge would not be easy. But he hadn’t realised how quickly his decisions would become a matter of life and death-not just for him and his recruits, but also for the ordinary citizens of Suiddock. “Well, captain?” Silvia asked. “Do you have the courage?”
“Yes,” Kurt replied. “I do, Frau Vink. My Black Caps will arrest Abram Cobbius and charge him with your husband’s murder. You have my word on that.” Belladonna escorted Frau Vink back home while Kurt roused the graveyard shift from their beds. The captain had offered to find the halfling widow a new home until Cobbius was safely behind bars, but she declined. “I want to be here to see that monster punished,” she said. “My Titus wouldn’t hide from them and neither will I, captain. Thank you for the offer, but I’m staying where I am.”
Holismus, Narbig and Raufbold grumbled about having to get up scant hours after going to sleep, but Kurt had little sympathy for them. “I’ve been on duty since before dawn and I doubt I’ll see my bed before the next dawn. Now, get out on patrol. I expect each of you to make three arrests before sunrise.”
“Three arrests?” Raufbold protested, his usually sleek hair a mess of tangles. “Taal’s teeth, who are we going to arrest at this time of the morning?”
“Drunks,” Holismus said, his voice betraying bitter experience.
“And sinners,” Narbig added, strapping a short dagger to his left hip. He stalked from the station, eager for the hunt, while the other two watchmen staggered out after him a few minutes later. Belladonna returned as they departed, ignoring Raufbold’s offer to accompany her inside. She found Kurt positioning a chair beside the long wooden bar. A cool breeze through the broken window brought the smell of the sea into the large room, slowly overcoming the lingering odour of stale beer and despair that had been the Abandon Hope Tavern’s more usual scent. Belladonna did her best to stifle a yawn, but Kurt noticed it.
“How long since you got any sleep?”
“I could ask the same of you,” she countered.
“You can sleep on the bed frame in my office,” Kurt offered. “Better that than have you sharing with the rest of the watchmen. I’m not sure how many of them I’d trust and a few deserve to be on Rijker’s themselves, judging by what Jan’s told me about their service records.”
Belladonna grimaced. “Shallya only knows how Raufbold came by the nickname Gorgeous Jorg. He makes my skin crawl. There’s something not right about him.”
“There’s something not right about almost everybody assigned to this place,” Kurt sighed. He noticed her arching a mocking eyebrow at him. “Present company excepted, of course.”
She laughed. “No, you’re probably right. I must’ve been mad to volunteer for this station.”
“You did well with the halfling widow.”
“All she needed was someone to listen.”
“That’s all most folk need to open up. Rare is the Black Cap who offers citizens that chance.”
“She’s determined to speak out against Abram Cobbius, no matter the consequences. If we want to build a case against him, we should get Otto to examine her husband’s body. Prove Titus didn’t drown, or was drowned against his will, and you’re halfway to a conviction.”
“A confession would seal the case.”
“If he’s been bragging about what he did to everyone on Three Penny Bridge, getting a confession should be easy,” Belladonna said.
Kurt nodded. “I don’t doubt that. It’s what happens next that’ll determine our future. If Abram’s cousin decides to intervene, we haven’t the men or resources to fight the guild. Lea-Jan Cobbius could swat us aside like flies, without even trying.”
“But you promised Mrs. Vink-”
“I’ll keep my promise,” Kurt said quietly. “I’m banking on Lea-Jan losing patience with his bully of a cousin and deciding that Abram’s a disgrace and an embarrassment to the Cobbius name.”
“You’re putting a lot of faith in a man you’ve never met.”
Before she could question Kurt further, Narbig returned with the station’s first two arrests, holding the pair apart to stop them fighting. Both were drunk, bruised and naked from the waist down. Belladonna folded her arms and shook her head.
“My, it must be colder outside than it looks,” she smirked. The two prisoners quickly clamped their hands over their groins, forgetting all about the dispute that had brought them to the station. Kurt opened the cell door and Narbig propelled the inebriated twosome inside.
“Drunk and disorderly,” he reported. “Found them fighting outside the Cock and Bull, south side of Stoessel. I’m suggesting a night in the cells so they can sleep off the drink, followed by a hefty fine.”
“Sounds good to me,” Kurt agreed. He vaulted the bar to retrieve a blackboard and chalk. “Either of these two given you their names?”
Narbig pointed at the drunk with least to brag about. “He’s called Winkie, for obvious reasons-”
“Am not!” Winkie protested. “Nobody calls me that, except this sausage-sucking-”
“And his friend is Scratch. Fond of using his nails in a fight, apparently.”
“I’ve been called worse,” Scratch responded. “Besides, anything’s better than Winkie.”
“So I can see,” Belladonna quipped.
“Enough!” Kurt commanded. “You two in the cell, shut your mouths or we’ll double your fines.” The prisoners grumbled beneath their breath, but retreated to opposite corners of the caged cell and contented themselves in glaring at each other w
ith murderous intent. Satisfied, the captain turned to his recruits. “Good work, Narbig, but I don’t doubt there’s plenty more where those two came from.”
The badly scarred Black Cap saluted crisply. “I’ll get back on patrol, find some more.” He marched from the station, leaving the yawning Belladonna to face the captain.
“Go and get some sleep,” Kurt insisted. “You’re no use to me if you can’t keep your eyes open.”
“I’m going, I’m going,” she replied, wandering past the caged cell to the western staircase.
“And Belladonna?” Kurt called after her. “Good work.”
She gave him a salute, before disappearing up the wooden stairs. The night slid by like the dark waters of the Rijksweg, bringing further arrests and more occupants for the single cell. By the time dawn broke on Marienburg, the caged enclosure was full to bursting with thieves, burglars, drunks, bullies and brigands. Narbig proved himself a relentless thief-taker, bringing half of all those arrested, but Holismus also pulled his weight. Raufbold was least successful, struggling in at daybreak with a single collar to his credit. The captive was badly bruised and battered, his face beaten to a bloody pulp. Kurt studied the prisoner and captor closely. “What’s the charge?”
Raufbold smirked in his usual, cocksure way. “Caught this piece of scum over on Luydenhoek, trying to sell crimson shade to anyone coming into Suiddock.”
“What happened to the drugs?”
The Black Cap shrugged. “Must have fallen into the water when he resisted arrest.”
“Put up quite a fight, I notice.” Kurt grabbed one of Raufbold’s hands and scrutinised the angry red knuckles. “Threw his face repeatedly against your knuckles. You’re fortunate to make it back here alive.”
The watchman’s face darkened. “You calling me a liar, captain?”
“Why-have you got a guilty conscience?”
“There’s nothing keeping me awake at night, except the love of several good women.” Raufbold turned to his prisoner for a laugh. “You hear that one? Nothing keeping me awake except-”
“Spare us,” Kurt interjected. “It wasn’t funny the first time, and neither are you.” He stepped closer to the recruit, staring into Raufbold’s eyes.
