A murder in Marienburg w-1

by David Bishop

  “This isn’t over,” the witch hunter vowed, stalking away towards Stoessel.

  “Oh get out!” Kurt shouted after him.

  Jan had emerged from the station in time to catch the end of this unhappy exchange. “I see you’re still doing your best to make friends and influence people,” he commented wryly, before laying a dark grey blanket over Verletzung’s body, shielding the corpse from the gaze of curious passers by. “Who was that?”

  “Brother Nathaniel of the Temple Court,” Kurt sighed.

  “A witch hunter?”

  “Uh-huh.”

  Jan rolled his eyes. “Is there anyone you haven’t aggravated yet? Give me a list and I can invite them to the station. Perhaps you could insult them all at once, save you doing it one at a time.”

  “I’ve heard that sarcasm is the grumpy man’s wit,” Kurt replied.

  “At least I’ve still got my wits about me,” his sergeant said. “Are you set on making enemies with everyone and everything in this city?” Jan rested a hand on Kurt’s shoulder. “I know you’re angry about losing another man, but venting your rage on a witch hunter? I taught you better than that.”

  “I couldn’t help myself,” the captain admitted. “I’ve seen too many good men and women made to suffer needlessly in the service of a witch hunter’s obsessive quest.”

  “Takes one to know one.”

  Kurt couldn’t help but laugh at that, but his smile soon faded. He scooped Verletzung’s body out of the cart, making sure the blanket wrapped around the corpse to keep it from view. Kurt staggered under the dead weight, but found his footing again after adjusting his stance.

  “Do you need help carrying that?” Jan asked.

  “No, I’ll manage. I owe Verletzung a proper burial, if nothing else.” Kurt glanced at the station. “I’m not sure how long I’ll be with Otto at the Temple of Morr. Best if you get out on patrol, show the locals we’re here to stay. The two of us need to set an example for them-and for the rest of the station.” The fog had vanished when Belladonna reached the eastern end of Luydenhoek, the sky revealed as a brilliant blue and light dancing on the waters that lapped the edge of the island. In the midst of all this azure glory, it was not hard to spot the black clouds belching from a chimney at the end of a deserted passageway. Belladonna followed the soot-laden fumes to their source: a squat building of disreputable appearance, from which a steady stream of curses and blasphemies were issuing yelled by a gruff voice.

  She waited for a pause in the violent language before rapping her knuckles on the dense wooden door. More curses followed, coming closer to the entrance, accompanied by the stamp of heavy feet. The door was wrenched open to reveal a scowling man as wide as he was tall, his face livid with anger. He was not much taller than a halfling but was clearly a man, however short his physical stature. “What do you want?” he snarled as he emerged, clutching a steaming length of metal in a hairy fist.

  “My watch captain sent me,” Belladonna replied, trying to keep fear out of her voice.

  The belligerent face softened at seeing her strikingly beautiful features. “Did he now?”

  She produced the metal crossbow bolt. “He said there was only one man in all of Marienburg who’d be able to identify the alloy used to make this-a wizard called Terfel.”

  The stout figure moved closer, waggling his eyebrows suggestively. “Flattery will get most people anywhere, my dear. But with looks like yours, you needn’t bother. I’m at your service.”

  “He also said you had several disgusting habits and I should beware your wandering hands.”

  Terfel did his best to look appalled at these allegations. “Indeed. And who is this wantonly cruel watch captain that has so grossly maligned my good name?”

  Belladonna smiled. “Schnell. Captain Kurt Schnell.”

  “Ahh!” The little man scratched the back of his balding head and sniffed. “Well, in that case you’d better come inside. What’s your name then, sweetheart?”

  “Belladonna Speer,” she replied, ducking her head to enter the wizard’s domain. “And if you don’t remove your hand from inside my cloak, you’ll find a dagger stabbed through it any moment now.”

  “Ooh, I like you, you’ve got fire in your belly.” Terfel enthused, hastily withdrawing his curious digits as he followed her inside the low-ceilinged workshop. “Why don’t you take a seat and let good old Terfel have a look at this bolt of yours, hmm?”

  “I would, but I’m not sure there’s anywhere safe to sit,” she observed, coughing politely. The interior of Terfel’s abode best resembled a head-on collision between a library and a foundry. Books were stacked from floor to ceiling in half the available space, piles teetering perilously close to collapse, while sheaves of paper covered in a spidery scrawl and incomprehensible diagrams curled in what sunlight seeped through the soot-smeared windows. The rest of the building was given over to a smithy, complete with roaring fireplace, a massive chimney stabbing up through the ceiling and an endless array of metals. Solid ingots were stacked in one corner, while sacks of ore and sand spilled across the floor. Pipes, poles, and metalwork in all manner of shapes and sizes littered the floor. The occasional puff of black smoke escaped the chimney’s suction and wafted out across the room, making the air taste of fire and metal.

  “Here, let me open a window or two,” her host said, hurrying across to the nearest one and tripping on a pile of leather-bound tomes. He cursed himself for the mess, but had soon created several apertures to the outside world, letting much needed fresh air into the sweltering environment. Satisfied with the results, he returned to Belladonna and emptied a chair laden with ancient grimoires on to the floor. Terfel pulled a grubby cloth from up his sleeve and swiped across the leather seat. “Try that for size.”

  She lowered herself delicately on to the chair. Once seated, Belladonna was at eye level with Terfel. He folded his arms and smirked at her. “So, let’s have a look at this mysterious bolt of yours, hmm?”

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  Otto regarded the mortal remains of Helmut Verletzung with a dispassionate eye. “I don’t see what more I can tell you that isn’t obvious from looking at the body. He died from having an arrow or crossbow bolt fired through his neck. It severed the cord that connects the brain with the rest of the body, so Morr would have claimed him within moments. Your man was facing the person who killed him. If they used a bow and arrow, they were twenty paces from him at most- less if they used a crossbow.”

  “How can you be so certain of that?” Kurt asked, wrapping his arms around himself to try and stay warm. It was cold as the grave in the temple’s side chapel, and it was all the captain could do to stop his teeth from chattering. “I mean, about the distance of firing?”

  Otto pointed at the small puncture wound where the bolt had penetrated. “The crossbow shoots its bolts with greater speed than most bowmen, though not all. I’d say a crossbow was used on this man.” Kurt nodded a confirmation. “He died before midnight, judging by how cold he is and the stiffness of the body.” Otto rolled the body over slightly and pointed out dark purple stains mottling the skin. “He was lying on his back for several hours after being slain. The blood in a body settles to its lowest point in death.”

  “Anything else?”

  “No, I’m sorry.”

  The captain frowned. “I thought you could make the dead speak to you?”

  “Morr works through me, giving those unjustly taken from this life a voice-sometimes.” Otto closed his eyes and muttered a few words under his breath, but Verletzung’s body remained unmoved. “I’m sorry, but this man’s spirit is long gone. Perhaps it left him before he died.”

  “I don’t understand,” Kurt admitted, frustration evident in his terseness.

  “Some abandon their belief in life before life abandons them.”

  “Must you priests always talk in riddles and parables?”

  Otto shrugged. “It is our way, captain.” He walked around the slab on which the corpse w
as resting, until he stood over Verletzung’s feet. The priest set to work removing the dead man’s soft leather boots. “If your men continue to be slain with such alacrity, I shall have more of them here in my temple than you will have at-” Otto abruptly stopped talking, his eyes widening and nostrils flaring.

  “What is it?”

  The priest held up a hand for silence, all his energies focused on the murder victim’s boots. “You know that this man was killed in a sewer tunnel, don’t you?”

  “No,” Kurt admitted. “We know nothing of where he died, except it was probably on Riddra.”

  “It was. Slain below the surface, but his body was laid out on the street. You could see the indentations of cobbles in the blood that pooled beneath his skin.”

  “Yes, but how do you know he died in a sewer? We could smell nothing like that on him.”

  Otto smiled, his thin lips pursing. “The mist settled into his clothes and on his skin, drenching them overnight, cleansing them.” He held up the boots. “But the stitching of these boots is suffused with human waste, and another scent. Something sweet and sickly…” The priest pressed his face into the leather, inhaling deeply of the foul aromas hidden within the seams. “Drugs, opiates-black lotus, I believe.”

  “There’s only one place on Riddra that deals in that,” Kurt said, his eyes gleaming at this discovery. “The Golden Lotus Dreaming House.”

  “The way the opiate is mixed with the waft of human waste…” Otto mused out loud. “I believe he was walking in the sewers beneath the Golden Lotus or close by when he was killed. The killers put his body back up on the surface, hoping to hide this fact.” He smiled to himself. “They almost succeeded.”

  “But why take the trouble to dump him above ground?” Kurt wondered. “Why not simply leave his corpse in the sewer tunnel? We would scarcely be likely to find it down there, and tidal currents would have eventually taken the body out to sea. That would have been the perfect murder.”

  “I can tell you only what I observe and intuit. I cannot speak to the motives or thinking of those who committed murder, captain-that is your field of endeavour, not mine.”

  “True.” Kurt ran a tired hand across the stubble on his chin, suddenly aware of how little sleep he’d had since arriving in Suiddock. He hadn’t even had time to shave since his promotion. “You obviously have a better nose for clues than me. Would you come with me to Riddra, help me find the place where Verletzung was murdered? There could be evidence that leads us to his killers, help bring them to justice.”

  Otto formed his delicate fingers into a steeple. “I will help you in this, captain, but one day you must help me when I have such a need-without question or hesitation.”

  “Of course.”

  The priest smiled benignly. “You do not know what I will ask of you when the time comes.”

  “That does not matter,” Kurt insisted. “I never break a promise, no matter what it may cost me.”

  “I have heard that about you from others.” Otto put the boots down beside the dead man’s feet. “Very well. I must secure the temple before we can depart. In other parts of Marienburg, the acolytes of Morr can leave their doors unlocked, safe in the knowledge few would disturb the sanctity of the temple. But this is Suiddock and I have learned from bitter experience that such circumstances do not always apply here.”

  “Don’t I know it,” Kurt agreed, taking a last look at his murdered watchman before leaving. Terfel was warming the metal bolt in his fire while letting his eyes wander over Belladonna’s shapely figure. Even in a less than flattering Black Cap uniform, she was clearly a beautiful young woman. The wizard wondered how she came to such a job. But there was a determined set to her jaw and a piercing look in her warm eyes that suggested direct questions would not get the answers Terfel wanted. He decided to try a more scenic route to the truth. “So, how well do you know Captain Schnell?” he asked while working the bellows.

  “I met him first a few days ago, when he was given the station on Three Penny Bridge.”

  “And what do you make of him?”

  Belladonna frowned, the expression creating tiny creases between her eyebrows. “He seems brave and resolute, certain of his own judgement. I imagine he would be brave in battle and loyal to the death. But his temper-that could be his undoing one day.” She paused for thought. “Yes, that’s my impression.”

  Terfel nodded, not volunteering his own opinions of the captain. “I knew him in Altdorf.”

  “Indeed?”

  “My services were engaged by his father for a time, work involving precious metals and the like.”

  “I’ve never meet General Erwin Schnell, but I’ve heard he was a great warrior.”

  “Yes, they could have done with Old Ironbeard during the war against Chaos,” the wizard said, turning the bolt over in the fire, letting the flames soften the metal shaft. “It was a shame what happened to Kurt and his brother on the battlefield. I don’t think their father ever recovered from the shock.”

  Belladonna got up from her seat. “Is the bolt ready for examination yet?”

  “Nearly,” Terfel said, keeping his voice casual but carefully watching her face. “Of course, Kurt’s behaviour shouldn’t have come as such a surprise-especially after that incident with his wife, Sara. I never heard all the details, but I know Old Ironbeard disowned Kurt afterwards.”

  Belladonna did her best to ignore his comments. “You seem to have an ear for gossip and innuendo, Terfel. Are you just as skilful when it comes to matters of metallurgy?”

  “I flirt with gossip and women,” he confessed, “but metals are my first love.” The wizard pulled the bolt out of the flames and held it up to study the glowing shaft, turned white by heat. Tiny black specks shimmered within the metal, as if they were alive. “See that? See those particles moving inside the alloy?”

  “Yes, yes I do,” she said, a note of wonder in her voice.

  “Extremely rare, they are-you’d be lucky to see them twice in your lifetime.”

  Belladonna continued to stare at the shaft, but it was already cooling and the surface became darker, making it impossible to see the specks anymore. “Why? What’s so special about them?”

  Terfel tossed the bolt back into his fire. “They tell me the alloy includes a rare kind of iron, created by smelting an expensive black sand imported from one particular beach in Araby. When used in arrowheads or crossbow bolts, this metal alloy enables the projectile to pierce any armour, any hide, almost any defence imaginable. It’s like a glove around a fist, hiding the power of what it contains. Fire such an arrow or bolt at a target and it will slice through them like a hot knife through sausage fat.”

  “I’ve never heard of such an alloy before,” Belladonna said.

  “That’s why Captain Schnell sent you. My knowledge of metals is almost without equal.”

  “Who imports this black sand into Marienburg?”

  The wizard looked rather sheepish at this question. “Yes, I was afraid you’d ask me that. Only two people in the city maintain a regular supply of it- myself and Adalbert Henschmann.”

  “An intriguing juxtaposition of personalities.”

  “Well, you see, it’s not strictly legal to remove black sand from that particular part of Araby. The beach is owned by a murderous warlord and he doesn’t take kindly to having it depleted.”

  “And how often do you take possession of a shipment?”

  Terfel shook his head in dismay. “You misunderstand me. I can only afford to buy a small bag a year. If it were flour in the bag, instead of sand, you wouldn’t have enough to bake a loaf. I’ve run out at the moment, to be honest. I was due to get a fresh batch last week, but some cloth-brained fool among the stevedores left me a hundredweight of it by mistake. I thought it was my lucky day, until I got a visitation from a surly woman with muscles the size of my head. She suggested I leave the sand next to the entrance of an underground tunnel, over on Riddra. I had to hump it all the way over there, under cover of
darkness. You think Henschmann could at least have sent one of his thugs to do the heavy lifting for me, but no.”

  Belladonna listened intently to his words, pausing before asking another question. “This underground tunnel-where did it lead to?”

  “Search me,” the wizard shrugged. “Word is old Casanova uses the network of tunnels running through the catacombs and sewers of Suiddock for transporting contraband unseen around the district. You’d hardly think he needed to bother, he runs half the city as it is, but Henschmann likes to keep his hands clean. Strange thing is, his men haven’t been using the tunnels so much lately. I’ve seen them, skulking about with their carts and coaches, even using water taxis.”

  “Could you show me where the entrance to this tunnel was?”

  “You must be joking! I’m not sticking my neck out for you love-least, not unless you’re willing to make it worth my while…” Terfel quickly became aware the point of a dagger was digging into his neck below the jaw line, threatening to pierce the skin.

  “I warned you what would happen if those grubby little fingers of yours found their way inside my cloak, didn’t I?” Belladonna asked in a sweet voice.

  “So you did,” he said, removing his hands. “My mistake.”

  “Repeat the error and you won’t have hands at all.”

  “Point taken,” the wizard agreed, swallowing hard as she removed her blade from his throat. “How’s about I draw you a map of where I left the black sand. That way you get what you want and I don’t get my neck opened up by you or one of Henschmann’s more murderous bullies, yes?” Kurt and Otto had paused at the station, where the captain armed himself with a short sword from the cache of arms left behind by the building’s previous occupants. Otto declined the offer of a weapon, preferring to retain his wooden staff. “I’m a priest, not a pugilist,” he said. Kurt left a message with Gerta about where he and Otto were going, in case they did not return in good time. The two men set off from Three Penny Bridge but had hardly set foot on Riddra before they discovered Faulheit skulking nearby, trying to avoid trouble. Kurt was about to send his lazy recruit back to the station, until a better idea occurred. “How do you feel about sewers?” the captain asked, sliding an arm round Faulheit’s shoulders.