A murder in Marienburg w-1

by David Bishop

  Belladonna got back to her feet, retrieving the crossbow. “You get back to your cooking,” she told Gerta. “I’ll watch over the windows on this side of the building, make sure nobody else comes in this way.” In the basement Jan had watched with amusement as the mercenaries’ longboat went down. But his smile faded when the first intruder appeared in the hallway, carrying a short sword in one hand and a dagger in the other. The sergeant reacted faster, throwing his own dagger. It stabbed deep into the mercenary’s chest, sending him staggering backwards into another intruder. “Sweet Shallya,” Jan gasped. “Where are they coming from?” He and the other watchmen assigned to the basement had scoured it thoroughly but couldn’t find the hidden entrance Joost Holismus had used to get into the station earlier. Now Henschmann’s thugs had also found a way to gain access to the basement. Jan ran towards the second mercenary, intent on dealing with the immediate threat before resuming the search. He lashed out at the retreating intruder with a sword, slicing off the man’s left hand and part of his right cheek. The mercenary went down shrieking for mercy, trying to defend himself with a bloody stump still squirting crimson into the air. Jan ignored the cries for mercy and drove his sword through the intruder’s neck.

  “Black Caps! To me!” the sergeant bellowed. Faulheit and Bescheiden appeared from the cell where Cobbius was chained to the wall, each of them armed with a crossbow.

  “Taal’s teeth, where did they come from?” Faulheit gasped, staring in disbelief at the dead men.

  “That’s what I want to know,” the sergeant growled. “Raufbold! Raufbold, where are you?” he shouted, but there was no reply. The incoming water was now ankle deep on the floor and rising fast. Jan jabbed a finger at Faulheit. “You-stay with the prisoner! Bescheiden, you’re with me.”

  Faulheit retreated back into the cell with Cobbius, while Bescheiden helped the sergeant to his feet. “Do you think the mercenaries got Jorg?” the watchman asked.

  “Let’s hope not,” Jan replied. The pair edged along the hallway, looking for any sign of their missing colleague. Jan knew the concealed entrance couldn’t be in either of the rooms on the south side of the station-he had been in one when the mercenaries appeared in the hallway, while Bescheiden and Faulheit were in the other with Cobbius. That left the two cells on the north side. Neither had any windows for illumination, so they had served as storage space for ale barrels when the building was still a tavern. They were a step higher than the rest of the basement, so the rising tide hadn’t reached them yet. Jan had put lanterns in both chambers, knowing nightfall would only make things more difficult in the basement, especially with high tide due after dark. In one of the north side rooms all the lanterns were still burning, revealing nothing untoward. But the other chamber was black as night, except from a slither of light spilling out of the far corner.

  Jan motioned for Bescheiden to stay put while he edged into the room, a blade in both hands. The sergeant crept across the empty chamber, grateful its floor was still dry. As he neared the far corner, he could heard anxious whispers. The voices were those of Raufbold and someone else, with an unfamiliar accent. Jan stopped, concentrating on listening to the faintly audible words, “Tell Helga I did as she asked, but this is going too far,” the watchman was saying. “I won’t kill for her!”

  “Why not? You murdered that crimson shade dealer, Roos.”

  “I was desperate!”

  “Deny us and you’ll discover the true meaning of desperation, Raufbold.”

  Motioning for Bescheiden to stay where he was, Jan moved closer to the wall from where the hushed words were loudest. The sergeant’s right foot stubbed against a slab of stone protruding from the wall. No, it wasn’t a slab-it was a door, standing fractionally ajar. Jan ran his rough hands across the stone and found a concealed mechanism, all but flush to the surface. Little wonder their search had not found the door. He pulled it open a fraction more, moving closer to hear what was being said beyond it.

  “I let your mercenaries in to finish off Cobbius,” Raufbold bleated. “Once they’re done, this will all be over, right?”

  “It’s not enough anymore,” the other man replied. “Henschmann wants an example made of the station. Your captain has openly defied and embarrassed the League. He has to be executed, along with any of the other Black Caps still loyal to him. Once that’s happened, this will be over-but not before.”

  “They’re all loyal to him!” Raufbold hissed.

  “Then they must all die. Tonight. Now.”

  “You can’t do this!”

  “I’m not going to-you are. You and your fellow traveller.”

  “What?” Raufbold gasped.

  “Our master requires a show of loyalty. You must atone for past failings, Raufbold. Murder your colleagues, or I will slay you, here and now. I don’t care which course you choose-we have another already inside the station to do our bidding, if needs be. Well, what path do you take?”

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  Jan twisted round to look at Bescheiden. The Black Cap was standing in the doorway, his crossbow aimed at the sergeant’s head, ready to fire. Jan waved for Bescheiden to throw him the weapon. The other man blinked, his finger twitching around the trigger. Jan strode across to him and tore the crossbow from Bescheiden’s grasp, before returning to the hidden door. The sergeant pulled it open and discovered a long, narrow, candlelit tunnel beyond. Two men were standing in the tunnel, their backs to Jan. Raufbold whirled about, startled at being discovered. Beside him was a sour-faced mercenary aiming a pistol at Raufbold, a second pistol in his other hand.

  “Sergeant!” the Black Cap exclaimed. “I’ve found where the intruders-”

  The mercenary shot Raufbold in the chest before he could finish lying. Jan fired his crossbow in the same instant, the bolt thudding deep into the mercenary’s skull, sending the intruder flying backwards. When his target had stopped twitching, Jan approached Raufbold. The watchman was collapsed against the tunnel wall, a dribble of blood leaking from his mouth. “Traitor,” Jan whispered.

  Raufbold nodded, colour draining from his face. “I couldn’t-” He slumped to the floor, the last breath leaking from his body.

  Jan glared at Raufbold. “Save your excuses for someone who cares,” the sergeant muttered. The sound of rapid footfalls echoed along the tunnel, getting closer by the moment. Jan dropped to one knee, snatching the spare pistol from the dead mercenary’s grasp. The sergeant waited until he could see the enemy’s eyes before firing his crossbow, stopping five of the intruders as they ran towards him. The last he shot with the pistol before tossing it aside. Supplies of gunpowder in the station were strictly rationed, so the weapon would be of little use. Already more mercenaries were running along the corridor towards Jan. He strode back to the secret entrance, all too aware of the next wave of mercenaries approaching from behind him. But Jan found his escape route was closed off, as if the door had been wedged shut from the other side. “Bescheiden! Bescheiden, are you there?”

  “I can hear you, sergeant,” a quiet voice replied.

  “This door’s jammed, I can’t move it from my side. Can you get it open from where you are?”

  “I can’t. I’m sorry, but I have my orders.”

  Jan loosed off three more shots from his crossbow, finishing the cartridge of bolts he had loaded into it. He ripped that free and slotted his spare cartridge into place. “What did you say?”

  “I’m not allowed to open the door.”

  “Why not?” Jan demanded, aware how little time he had before the mercenaries were upon him.

  “You heard what Henschmann’s messenger said-everybody in the station must die.”

  Realisation sank through the sergeant like a stone in water. “Damn you, Bescheiden!”

  “I’m already damned,” the traitor replied. “What’s one more damnation among so many?”

  Jan threw his shoulder against the door again and again, trying to force it open, but the heavy slab of wood would not move. The sergeant
peered back along the tunnel where the shapes of oncoming mercenaries were all too visible. Well, if he was going to die down here, he wanted to take as many of these bastards with him as possible. Better to die like a man, fighting for what he believed. Jan clamped a dagger between his teeth and charged at the onrushing wave of attackers, firing bolt after bolt at them from his crossbow until it was exhausted. He twisted it round in his hands, turning the stock into a bludgeon against his foes. His last thoughts were a prayer for Kurt and the other watchmen: save them, Manann, if you can. Bescheiden leaned against the door, listening to the sounds of pain and death from the tunnel beyond it. He had driven a handful of wedges into place around the wooden barrier, making it impossible for the sergeant to retreat back into the station. Now he forced himself to listen to Woxholt’s last moments, tears of grief and guilt streaming down his cheeks. He was still weeping when Faulheit found him, kneeling beside the door. “Willy? Willy, what is it? What happened?”

  “The sergeant,” Bescheiden whispered. “He sacrificed himself to save us. The sergeant found Raufbold with the mercenaries, on the other side of this door.”

  “Raufbold was a traitor?”

  The turncoat nodded. “Woxholt ordered me to wedge the door shut with him on the other side.”

  “Sweet Shallya,” Faulheit gasped. “Is he…?”

  Bescheiden closed his eyes. “The sergeant’s dead. He died to save me. To save all of us.” Kurt had no idea how many of the enemy he and the others on the ground floor had killed. In the first hour of the siege they must have slain or mortally wounded dozens of mercenaries, firing arrows and bolts through gaps in the barricades. No matter how many of the hired killers they stopped, there was always another wave, another attack. Kurt knew it was simply a matter of time before they ran out of ammunition. Once that happened those outside would need mere minutes to breach the barricades. Then the watchmen’s choices would become very narrow, very quickly. The three of them might escape via the secret passage linking the station with Molly’s bordello, but Kurt had no intention of abandoning the others. They could flee to the basement and hope to find some escape route, swimming to safety if possible. Failing that, a last stand on the upper level. But the chances that any of them would get out alive from either level were slender, at best.

  Holismus and Scheusal had proven brave and resolute in the face of near certain death. Both Black Caps had stood their ground, not flinching from the threats hurled at them by those outside the station. It wasn’t easy to keep your nerve when a single wall was all that separated you from a horde of paid murderers, hungry for your demise. Kurt was proud of his men, and had little doubt the rest of his recruits were doing just as well. Whatever happened, they had proven themselves. It was a shame so few-if any-of them were likely to survive the night.

  Kurt had stationed himself by the entrance, leaning against the barricade for support. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d slept, but that didn’t matter now. His body was running on pure adrenaline, leaving a bitter, metallic taste in his mouth. He fired the last bolt from his crossbow and reached down for a fresh cartridge. But there was nothing left, his hand scrabbling at bare floorboards. “I’m out!” he called to the other two. Scheusal was standing at a window to Kurt’s left, while Holismus had taken charge of defending the south side of the building. Scheusal held up a half-empty quiver of arrows, while Holismus was also down to his last cartridge of bolts. Kurt spat out a curse, unable to believe they’d gone through their meagre supplies of ammunition so fast. It was decision time.

  “Get ready to fall back,” he called to the others. They looked at him, uncertain what he was saying. “Use the last of your arrows and bolts first-make them count-before you fall back to the staircases.”

  Scheusal nodded, his face a mask of quiet determination. “Where are we going? Up or down?”

  Kurt took a deep breath. “My place is here, in the station. I was the one who chose to stand and fight, so I should stay here as long I can. You two will fall back to the basement. Tell Sergeant Woxholt to get everyone down there out, if possible. Failing that, you can try using Cobbius as a hostage to fortune. I doubt he’ll be worth anything now, dead or alive, but it’s a chance.”

  “What about you, captain?” Holismus asked.

  “I’m going upstairs. I should have got Gerta and Belladonna out before this started, they’re my responsibility. I won’t see them violated on my account.” Kurt had few illusions the mercenaries would be taking any prisoners, nor about what the hired killers would do if they captured two women alive. If the worst came to the worst-No, there was still a chance, he told himself. There had to be. “I’ll get them out of here, one way or another,” he told Holismus and Scheusal. “You both understand what to do?”

  The two watchmen nodded. Scheusal loosed a last arrow through the window before throwing his bow aside. “I’m out!” he yelled, picking up a double-headed axe in one hand and a mace in the other.

  “Me too!” Holismus cried, abandoning his empty crossbow for two short swords.

  “Alright,” Kurt replied. “Get down those stairs and take position at the bottom. You can use the enemy’s numbers against them for a while, they’ll have to climb down over their own dead to get to you. But if the situation becomes hopeless, tell Jan he’s under orders to find a way out for you-understand?” Both men nodded. “Good luck-to all of us!” Gerta summoned Belladonna to help her with the boiling cauldron of soup. “I had hoped to serve this to the men later on, but I don’t think there’s going to be a later on,” she said, smiling for a moment. “Let’s give it to our friends outside instead, yes?”

  Belladonna couldn’t help smile at Gerta’s cheerful demeanour. “Let’s.”

  Between the two of them, the women were able to slide the massive cauldron over to a table in front of a window overlooking Three Penny Bridge. Belladonna stuck her head out and looked down at the scene below. The vast horde that had threatened to overrun the station earlier was much reduced, as evidenced by the dozens of corpses littering the cobbles. But there were still far, far too many of the mercenaries. “Hey! Is anybody down there thirsty?” She rapidly pulled her head back inside as a dozen arrows were fired at her, several shooting in through the window. “Looks like soup’s up,” she said.

  “I hope they like vegetable broth, boiling hot,” Gerta replied. With a mighty effort, the two women tipped the cauldron so it emptied itself over the dozens of men directly below. The downpour was greeted with howls of pain and anger. To finish the job, Gerta shoved the heavy cauldron out the window. The cook wiped both hands on her apron, before picking up a wickedly sharp carving knife in each fist. “Let’s see what more damage we can do, eh?” she suggested.

  Belladonna nodded, retrieving her crossbow from the floor. “Sounds like a plan.”

  But before either woman could move, Kurt appeared in the kitchen doorway. “They’ve taken the ground floor,” he said, gasping for breath. “We have to barricade the staircases, try and slow them down.”

  “Where’s Scheusal?” Gerta asked.

  “I sent him and Holismus down to the basement,” the captain replied. He glanced into the mess, where a table and chairs stood awaiting the watchmen’s next meal. “Help me get those to the stairs!” Narbig appeared from the captain’s office, an axe in one hand and a dagger in the other. “Can you hold the staircase at the other end of the hallway?” the captain asked.

  “I can try.”

  “Do more than try. Unchain Deschamp so he can help-his neck’s on the line here, too.” Narbig hurried away, leaving the others to their task. Belladonna and the captain stood the wooden table up against the entrance to the eastern staircase. It was tall enough to block all access from below. Gerta brought chairs from the mess and those were added to the makeshift barricade, bolstering the defences. The captain ripped his office door from its hinges and stacked it against the growing assemblage. Satisfied for the moment, he sent Gerta to help Narbig and Deschamp at the other end
of the halfway. When she’d gone, he slumped against the desperate collision of wood, their last defence against the enemy onslaught. Belladonna sat on the floor beside him, still clutching her crossbow. “You’re out,” the captain said. “Out of bolts.”

  She looked at her weapon and laughed. “I hadn’t noticed. Narbig’s still got a few, but after that-”

  “Hand-to-hand combat.”

  “Yes.” Belladonna tried to rub the sleep out of her eyes, exhaustion kicking in now her adrenaline rush had passed. “How long before they get through the barricades downstairs?”

  “Any moment now.” The sound of axes and clubs hammering at wood drifted up the staircase from below. As they listened, the noise suddenly got louder before it was replaced by the roars of murderous men and the thundering of rampaging feet. The captain got back on his feet, drawing the short sword he had strapped at his side, a dagger clutched in his other hand. “Here they come.” Scheusal had been first down the stairs, Holismus close behind, both finding themselves knee-deep in the rising tide. They splashed along the corridor, looking for the others and ran into Faulheit and Bescheiden emerging from the unlit room. “Where’s the sergeant?” Scheusal asked. “Captain Schnell says-”

  “Woxholt’s dead,” Faulheit replied, his voice drained of emotion. “Raufbold too.”

  “How did they-” Holismus began, but Scheusal cut him off.

  “That doesn’t matter now, Lothar! We’ve got to fortify our position or find a way out. The barricades upstairs will give way any minute.” He glanced around the basement. “Is there a way out?”

  “We found a secret tunnel,” Bescheiden said. “Raufbold was using it to smuggle messages to the enemy. The sergeant went in to fight them, and ordered me to seal him inside. It’s hopeless,” he snapped. “Don’t you understand? It’s hopeless! We’re all going to die down here in this bloody place!”

  Scheusal slapped him hard across the face, once, twice and again. Bescheiden glared at Scheusal, ready to fight him but Scheusal grabbed him by the wrists. “That’s better, Willy! Keep hold of that anger-we’re going to need it, all of us!”