A murder in Marienburg w-1

by David Bishop

  Now here he was, cold and wet once more, patrolling the streets of Suiddock. All he had to illuminate his way and offer any warmth was the feeble light of a lantern suspended from a pole. Sweet Shallya, how he hated weather like this! These damp mists could hang over Marienburg for days if wind did not come to blow them away. No matter how dry you might be indoors, step outside and you would be soaked to the skin within fifty paces. Once you did get back into the warmth, that same dank smell that had haunted his childhood soon insinuated its way into your nostrils.

  Within moments of catching that scent, he was transported back to those horror-filled nights and bleak boyhood days, when his drunken father tormented and tortured him and his mother. To be forced to relive those memories, even for a moment, was Verletzung’s idea of purgatory. He would give anything to be warm and dry right now.

  In the distance he could hear a temple bell tolling and carefully counted the chimes as they were struck. When the last bell sounded, he couldn’t be certain of the total-was that eleven or twelve? If it was the former, he still had another hour left out in this cold, damp misery. If it was midnight, he could return to the station and let the graveyard take his place on the cobbled streets. Verletzung made a fateful decision. He couldn’t be sure if it had been twelve, but he didn’t care anymore. He would make his way back to the station and let that be an end to it. If Sergeant Woxholt, Scheusal or that fool of a captain wanted to berate him for dereliction of duty, let them. But another hour out in this fog was more than he could bear.

  Verletzung started back towards Three Penny Bridge, trying to pull the damp cloak closer round his shoulders. He would have happily extinguished his lantern considering what little use it was in this damned mist, but wasn’t sure he could find his way back to the station without it. Besides, he had no wish to take a wrong turn or miss his step on the slippery cobbles and fall into a cut or canal. So he held the lantern ahead of him on its heavy, awkward pole.

  Verletzung didn’t see the furtive figures in the distance so much as hear them. They were running, their feet making a curious double noise-a padding sound akin to softened leather slapping on stone, and another sound, a kind of skittering or scraping. There must be at least a dozen of them, judging by the number of sounds Verletzung was hearing. He ran forward, the lantern swinging and swaying from its fixture on the pole as the Black Cap hurried onwards.

  He never quite caught sight of them, not enough to be able to offer a description of what the figures looked like. But there was something disturbing about them, a sinister quality that made the hairs on the back of Verletzung’s neck stand up and the flesh on his cold, damp arms rise up like goose pimples. At one point a face turned towards the Black Cap and he caught a glimpse of it: black, beady eyes, vicious teeth and something else, something that didn’t seem human. But it was only a glimpse and Verletzung couldn’t be sure of even those few details, thanks to this accursed mist. The figure turned away and then all of them were gone, vanished from sight and inaudible to their hunter’s ears. Verletzung slowed and then stopped, suddenly uncertain of himself and his own senses. He waited, letting his eyes become accustomed to his surroundings once more, but all trace of the furtive figures was lost in the fog-bound night.

  Verletzung spat out a curse, before cursing again after realising he had lost all track of his bearings. He knew he was still on Riddra, as he hadn’t crossed Three Penny Bridge and that was the only dry method of departing the small island. He was debating whether to try and retrace his footsteps, knowing the likely hopelessness of that task. Whomever he had been following, they knew these alleys and passageways far better than him. They had led him a merry chase into some obscure corner of Riddra before vanishing and now he was utterly lost. It was a relief when he heard heavy footfalls coming towards him, and the sound of a man cursing the fog. Belladonna woke at dawn the next morning, her slumber broken by the graveyard shift stumbling into their sleeping quarters after a long night patrolling the mean streets of Suiddock. She dressed quickly and made her way down to the ground floor of the station, startled to discover she had been asleep since the previous afternoon. A thick mist hung over Three Penny Bridge, not a gust of wind available to lift the fog that had rolled in overnight. Faulheit was a forlorn figure behind the reception desk, staring at the five drunks asleep in the holding cells. “Busy night?” Belladonna asked cheerfully.

  Faulheit shook his head. “The mist came in not long before midnight. After that, nobody could see far enough to make any trouble. With any luck the fog might keep things quiet today.”

  “I wouldn’t count on it. Any idea where the captain or the sergeant are?”

  “No.”

  She spotted a note nailed to the wall behind Faulheit’s head. “Didn’t you read that note?”

  “There’s a note?” He looked round and noticed it for the first time, before shrugging disconsolately. “Wouldn’t have mattered much if I’d noticed earlier, since I can’t read that well.”

  “I thought all Black Caps were required to have at least rudimentary reading skills these days.”

  “Yeah, well,” he scowled.

  “Let me guess-you couldn’t be bothered going to lessons.”

  “Reading is for priests and the rich,” Faulheit muttered. “I don’t need to read to do my job.”

  “Not if you think the job involves hiding in here, trying to avoid any trouble that might happen out on the street,” Belladonna snapped. She walked past him and retrieved the note, reading it out loud for his benefit. “Keeping watch with Woxholt on MGC. Should be back before day shift begins-Captain Schnell.”

  “MGC?”

  “The Marienburg Gentlemen’s Club,” Kurt replied as he marched in from outside, followed by a sheepish Jan. Both were soaked through and shivering, their arrival accompanied by the usual cries of gulls outside. “Twelve hours we spent in the shadows, watching that place. Might as well have been looking at the Bruynwarr for all the difference it made, we couldn’t see a damn thing once the fog rolled in!”

  “How was I to know about the weather?” his sergeant protested.

  “Fingers Blake could have been standing an arm’s length in front of us and we wouldn’t have spotted him.” Kurt took off his cloak and threw it on the reception desk, a fine spray of water from the garment spattering Faulheit. “So, did anything happen while we were wasting our time on Riddra?”

  Faulheit stood up straight, a glow of importance overtaking him. “Holismus from the graveyard shift had nothing to report when I relieved him, captain. Five men were arrested through the course of the night for disturbing the peace. They’re all in the cells, sleeping off their hangovers.”

  “Good. When they wake up, fine them anything they have in their pockets up to a guilder each and kick them out. We’re short staffed and can’t afford to feed them. Anything else to report?”

  “Verletzung never returned from his patrol at the end of the night shift.”

  “Why not?”

  Faulheit shrugged and resuming his previous position, slumped over the reception desk.

  “For the love of Shallya,” Kurt raged. “Don’t tell me he’s deserted!”

  Jan shook his head. “That doesn’t sound like Verletzung. He’s got a violent temper and a reputation for bullying anyone weaker than him, but he’s no quitter.” A wooden cart rumbled across Three Penny Bridge and stopped outside the station. Jan glanced at it through the open doors before continuing. “He could have gotten lost, pursuing a suspect last night. The fog was thickest on Riddra.”

  “You hardly need remind me of that,” the captain scowled.

  “Delivery for Three Penny Bridge Watch Station!” a voice called outside. Moments later somebody ran off, their footfalls rapidly fading into the deadening mist. Kurt glared at the cart stood outside the station, his expression curdling into a grim determination.

  “If that’s another load of swine, I’ll swing for the person who sent them,” he vowed, before marching out on to the
bridge. Belladonna followed, curious to see what had been left there.

  Jan was about to take off his damp cloak when a shout from Kurt summoned him to the cart. The sergeant ran outside, Jan skidding to a halt on the cobbles, the slippery surface nearly proving his undoing. He bumped into the cart and leaned on it for support, tipping over the side. That brought him face to face with Helmut Verletzung, whose lifeless eyes stared back accusingly at the sergeant. A bolt from a crossbow was buried in the dead man’s throat, the end of the metallic shaft protruding from his Adam’s apple. Someone had knotted a scrap of paper to the bolt with string, Jan reached out a hand to touch Verletzung’s skin. It was cold and damp, the only blood a dark crimson stain on his tunic. “He’s been dead for hours.”

  “Damn it!” Kurt shouted into the mist. Jan handed him the note. Kurt unrolled the parchment and read out what it said: “TWO DOWN-EIGHT TO GO.”

  “A warning, or a promise?” Belladonna asked.

  “A message,” the captain decided. “Nothing more, nothing less.”

  “We can’t leave Verletzung out here,” Jan said.

  “Don’t you think I know that?” Kurt snarled through gritted teeth. He slammed a fist down on the edge of the cart repeatedly, rage and frustration turning his features an angry crimson. Eventually Kurt’s fury passed and he tore his eyes away from the dead man’s expression. “That’s two men we’ve lost in as many days. With the commander refusing to give us any replacements, we’ll have to make and mend the shifts as best we can. Holismus is still shaken from seeing his brother yesterday-assuming it was his brother he saw-so it’s no use keeping him in charge of the graveyard shift. With Mutig dead, the day shift is also short-”

  “I can take over his patrols,” Belladonna volunteered.

  “You’re sure?”

  “No, but we need to maintain a presence on the streets.”

  “What about Gerta the Blurter?” Jan asked.

  “What about her?”

  “She’s a great asset to the station, especially her cooking, but most of the time she’s sitting upstairs with little to do. We could use her in reception, as cover when we’re out of the station.”

  “I decided to keep her in the station for her own protection, remember?” Kurt pointed out.

  “Protection from what? We’re no closer to finding Fingers Blake or solving the murder of that elf. Meanwhile our men are being murdered on the streets,” Jan said in a low, urgent voice. “I think we’re in more danger than she is, captain.”

  “You may be right,” Kurt conceded, letting his gaze wander back to Verletzung. “Alright, talk to Gerta, see if she’d be interested in coming on the payroll.”

  Belladonna laughed. “Assuming the commander ever reopens his money pouch for us.”

  “Hmm. That’s my fault. I’ve never been a political animal. I prefer my enemies to be in front of me where I can see them, instead of having them pretend to be my friend while stabbing me in the back.”

  “It’s amazing you’ve lasted this long in Marienburg,” Jan commented.

  Kurt nodded, his gaze still on Verletzung. “Belladonna, can you get that bolt out of his neck?”

  “Why? What do you plan to do with it?”

  “I want you to take it to a wizard of the Golden Order. Terfel’s short, heavy and has disgusting habits, but he’s also got a keen eye for metals. He might be able to tell us who made that bolt, and possibly even who fired it. Just be careful of his wandering hands.”

  Belladonna nodded, a wry smile on her lips. “Don’t worry. I encountered his kind before-and worse-when I was gatekeeper for the Watch Commander’s office. I can cope with the likes of him.” She clambered into the cart and set to work forcing the bolt the rest of the way through Verletzung’s throat. It eventually came clear of the wound with a wet, slurping sound that chilled the marrow.

  Jan shuddered at the noise. “What should we do with Helmut’s body? He has no surviving family in the city, at least none that I know of.”

  “I’ll take the corpse to Otto,” Kurt said. “A priest of Morr can discover more from a dead body than many of us can hope to glean from the living. I want you to stay here and man the station. Get Faulheit out on patrol. He looks too comfortable indoors. Let’s see how he likes it outside in the cold and damp.”

  Jan nodded, clearly appreciating his orders. “How do you know Terfel?” the sergeant asked quietly. “I thought he was Suiddock’s best kept secret.”

  Kurt smiled. “He studied in Altdorf for a time, but decided to leave the city after being publicly flogged for trying to sell fake gold to local merchants. I don’t think alchemy was his strongest subject.”

  “That much I already knew,” Jan persisted. “I asked how you knew him?”

  The captain was about to answer, but was interrupted by Belladonna jumping down from the cart, triumphantly holding out the crossbow bolt for them to see. “You’re right, this doesn’t look like any alloy I’ve encountered before. We need an expert in metals to identify it.”

  “Then Terfel’s the man for the job. You’ll find him at the far end of Luydenhoek, past the north bridge. He keeps a small forge there, just look for the cloud of black smoke it belches.” Kurt peered at the sky. The sun was beginning to burn through the fog, offering hope for a brighter day. “With luck this mist will be gone by the time you get there.” She nodded and hurried away. As the fog slowly lifted, Three Penny Bridge and the streets that fed on to it started coming to life, filling with merchants and peddlers, citizens and sailors. Soon the cobbles would be awash with people, all pushing and shoving to get where they wanted. The corpse of a murdered Black Cap deserved a better resting place. Jan went into the station to fetch a blanket with which to cover Verletzung’s body. Kurt stayed where he was, staring at his dead recruit, but they were not alone for long.

  “Captain Schnell?” a haughty, patrician voice demanded.

  Kurt looked up to see a witch hunter on the other side of the cart, a cloak pulled tightly round his body and a wide-brimmed hat casting dark shadows across a grim face. “That’s my name, what’s yours?”

  The witch hunter strode round the cart to confront Kurt, the long cloak swirling around him. “I am Brother Nathaniel of the Temple Court. You will render all assistance unto me, or suffer the consequences.”

  The captain folded his arms, scowling at the newcomer. “Spare me the menacing threats and dark, brooding behaviour, Brother Nathaniel-we’re not in the Empire here. What do you want with me?”

  Nathaniel’s face twisted with rage. “I ask the questions.”

  “But I’m under no obligation to answer them, until you show me your official licence from the Stadsraad to operate within the city of Marienburg.” Kurt held out a hand. “You do have a licence, don’t you?” The witch hunter produced a piece of folded vellum and slapped it down on the captain’s palm. Kurt opened it and read the ornate text scratched across the paper, noting the official seal of both the Stadsraad and the Watch Commander’s office. “Well, everything seems to be in order,” he said, his voice dripping with disdain as he folded the licence and returned it to the glowering presence stood opposite him.

  “Word has reached me of a Chaos-riddled heretic living on or near this bridge.”

  “Has it now?” Kurt stroked his chin. “Hmm-heretics, heretics. No, can’t say I’ve seen any round here, and certainly not any riddled by Chaos, as you so colourfully put it.”

  “Do not bandy words with me, captain, or it shall go the worse with you!”

  “Perhaps you could be more specific. Vague threats and black hints may be all your kind need as justification for intervention outside Marienburg, but in this city we rely on facts and truth, not hearsay.”

  “I see you are determined to obstruct my investigation,” the witch hunter snarled. “Your attitude is being noted, Captain Schnell, and my brethren will hear of your insolent manner.” When Kurt did not reply, his accuser looked around to see if anyone was listening before speaking again. �
��Joost Holismus.”

  “Used to be in charge of this station for the Black Caps. He drowned.”

  “That was the official story, as you well know. Heroic captain sacrifices himself to save Suiddock. Lies and propaganda, spread by his superiors to prevent panic gripping this district.”

  “Trust me, there’s a lot worse things within spitting distance of Three Penny Bridge than one Chaos-addled captain who goes for a swim and doesn’t come back,” Kurt snapped.

  “Heresy!” Nathaniel hissed.

  “Cold, hard facts,” Kurt replied. “Now make your point, or go!”

  “Very well,” the witch hunter said, drawing himself up to his full height. “I know that Joost Holismus was seen by his brother yesterday. We have long suspected the previous captain’s drowning was far too convenient. Now we have the proof it was a lie. All those who give succour to a heretic Chaos worshipper are ripe for my powers of inquisition. My brethren and I will be watching this place. If Joost Holismus returns, you are to notify us at once. If not, the consequences for you and your Black Caps will be ruinous. The station will be burnt to the ground and you will become my prisoner, to do with as I see fit.”

  Kurt nodded. “Yes, yes, I’ve heard it all before. Thank you for visiting. I’ll be sure to get in touch if Joost pops in for a chat and tankard of ale. In the meantime, get off my bridge!”

  Nathaniel took a step closer, his face a mask of rage and hatred. “You go too far, Schnell!”

  “I’ve stared death in the face more times than I care to remember. I fought against the tyrannies you claim to battle during the war against Archaon’s forces. I do not need some jumped up thug with a prayer book and bad breath telling me how to run my station, or trying to frighten me. Go pick on someone else.”