“Yeah. Jesus. Plague.” I gripped the tiller. “You still fixed on putting in?”
“Where isn’t there plague?” Stephan sighed. “It’s better than drowning.”
“Less certain, maybe, but better’s a strict matter of opinion,” I countered. Stephan was right again, though. The prick. We were barely making headway. The Ulysses had nothing left in her. Except water. And Karl was probably up to his neck, pumping away, grumbling, blurting curses to the old gods. That, at least, brought a smile to my face.
“Abraham said one of his trade partners lived here,” Lady Mary offered.
“‘Lived’ being the keyword.” I counted on my fingers. “Plague. Abe’s friend’s probably a Jew. And this is Haeskenburg. That’s three blows landed and we’ve yet to set foot through the breach.”
Abraham and I had history and not the kind you think fondly on. I was the last person he’d have chosen to captain a ship bearing his family, but he hadn’t had any choice. I owed him, owed him big, owed him more than I owed anyone, so I said, “Fuck it,” then, “Drop anchor,” and so we did.
* * * *
“I don’t like this place.” What I could see was not encouraging. A ramshackle scattering of abandoned hovels. Depleted. Hollow. Lost.
“You’ve been here before,” Lady Mary said.
“Unfortunately.” I felt for the dagger at my belt. “With my Uncle Charles, a long while past. Hunting a murderer.”
“Did you apprehend him?” Lady Mary asked.
I stifled a shiver, a curse, memories. “No.”
Lady Mary said nothing.
“Abraham’s acquaintance is Lemuel ben David.” Stephan dug his hook hand into the gunwale to steady himself.
I raised an eyebrow. “Abe’s awake?”
“No. I let him sleep.” Stephan shook his head. “But Ruth knows him as well. She says he runs a money-house in the Jewish Quarter.”
“Imagine that.”
“Do you know where it is?”
“Yeah. Over there.” I pointed south along a jut of land called the Tooth, curling out round half of Crimson Bay. “Not much to it. ‘Course, it’s been a while.”
“Do you know anyone here?”
“Well,” I thought for a moment, “I knew a lass once.”
“Rose of Sharon,” Lady Mary pursed her lips, “you ‘know’ a lass everywhere.”
“I’m friendly.” I shrugged. “And she was sweet. Wasn’t much, truth be bare. We were just kids, practically.”
“Remember anyone useful?”
“She’d be useful.” But I considered a moment. “Used to drink with a knight. Sir Alaric. The lass’s father. Hmm… He’d be pushing sixty or seventy by now. At least. And the harbor-master,” I screwed my eyes shut, “Jacob, I think. No way he’s still alive, though, not with the way he drank…”
Stephan nodded.
“So what’s Abe need?” I asked.
“What’s he need?” Stephan worried his hook at the gunwale. “He needs food. Hot drink. A warm fire. To be twenty-years younger. Have lungs clear of corruption. A heart that’s not broken.” He crossed himself. “He needs a miracle from God. Maybe two.”
“The Good Lord pulling miracles for Jews now?”
“Wondering lately if he’s pulling them for anyone.”
“Blasphemous bastard,” I smirked.
Stephan stiffened, muttering something beneath his breath.
I rolled my eyes. It was too easy with him.
“I’ll go ashore,” Stephan offered.
“No,” I raised a hand, “you stay here. Apologize to God. Grovel. Confess. Scourge yourself.” I swept the deck in a moment, eyeballing the lads, weighing in on who might be worth his salt in a shit town like Haeskenburg. Chadwicke or Avar? “You spell Ruth. Give her a chance to sleep. She needs it. I’ll go ashore.” I glanced over at Avar, a big raw-boned kid who looked like he might be good in a fight. “I’ll take Karl and Avar.”
Stephan pursed his lips. “Won’t do Abraham much good if the town’s razed.”
“I’ll go,” Lady Mary blurted.
A frown darkened Stephan’s face. “My brother said—”
“Just try and stop me.” Lady Mary’s hand balled into a fist.
“Ship-life vexing you, my lady?” I inquired innocently.
“No. It’s you vexes me.”
“Fair enough,” I said. “You’ll add a touch of class to this whole sordid affair.”
“Excellent. I’ll get my things.” Lady Mary bolted off for the forward hatch.
“She’s eager,” I said.
“I don’t like it.”
“Yeah. Neither do I, but this is your idea.”
“Aye. Yes. Fine. We need to get Abe ashore, though. Quickly. Quietly. Tonight if at all possible.”
“I’ll do what I can.” I thought on our empty coffers.
Stephan glared up at the sliver of moon rising. “Are they friendly to Jews here?”
“Ain’t friendly to anyone, brother.”
…was the penultimate step upon the path which we five had set ourselves, to bring glory and honor to the good Haesken name which had fallen to so much ruin and disrepair…
—War-Journal of Prince Ulrich of Haeskenburg
Chapter 3.
HAESKENBURG’S STREETS spider-webbed labyrinthine up the hill, contorting left and right, doubling back, splicing off in three, four, and five-way intersections. The houses’ second and third floor overhangs nearly colliding left naught but a slash of night sky above.
Beyond houses, there wasn’t much to Haeskenburg, truth be bare, except the old Schloss hunkered atop the northern tor like some hunch-backed beggar. An old motte and bailey style fort. Stockade walls of pile-driven tree trunks lashed together. Sturdy but obsolete against machinery of modern warfare. Of course, we were as likely to find that here as folk with straight teeth.
“Should we try the Schloss?” Lady Mary squinted up at the gates looming through the mist.
I glared at Karl and he at me. “No fucking way,” we said simultaneously.
I turned toward our present destination.
“What was it they called this place?” Lady Mary adjusted her hood against the rain.
“The tavern?”
“No, the town.”
“Haeskenburg.”
“No.” Lady Mary tugged on her lower lip. “It was something … something else. Hmm? Is there a convent here?” Lady Mary had sworn off men, persistently, vocally, irrevocably, on numerous occasions, vowing to join the first convent we crossed. I had that effect on a lot of women.
“No,” I answered.
She drew her cloak about her. “Good.”
“They have a leper-house.” I nodded toward the crest of Haeskenburg’s southern hill. “Has all the amenities.”
“All of them, huh?” Lady Mary frowned.
Old Jacob the harbor-master was no more. The shack he’d inhabited was long-since abandoned, along with everywhere else. A bloody ghost-town. The Jewish Quarter included. And Abraham’s friend Lemuel was gone, too. Which left Sir Alaric Felmarsh, the last man on our list.
It was the fourth tavern we’d tried. The Half-King. It stood within a stone’s throw of the Schloss’s gates. A sign hung down, a crude painting of a king whose left half looked as though it’d been burnt in a fire, a mad slather of groping char splaying out to all points of the compass.
“C’mon. There’s a light on inside.” I pointed. “And watch your step.”
A corpse lay in a puddle, not far from the Half-King’s front door.
“Whoa—” Avar jumped back.
I squatted and clutched for a pulse at the dead bloke’s throat.
He was about my age or had been, though not nearly so handsome. Fair clothes. Not the best, mind you, but probably a sight better than this town often saw. His face looked sunken, drawn, his skull prominent beneath papery skin. “Ain’t plague.” I glanced up at Karl. “Famine?”
“Who gives a shit?” Karl stood at
the tavern door.
“Good point.” I turned at a sound. “Hello…?”
A lady dressed in ragged finery slid from the shadows across the road, pulling a hood up as she skittered down the alley.
“Pardon! Oh, Madam—” Lady Mary raised a hand, “but could you tell us…”
Palms out to the wall, the lady glided along, splashing through the mud and into the far darkness, the sound of her sobs echoing long after she’d gone. Or … had it been laughter?
“Oh…?” Lady Mary’s arm fell.
“Just as friendly as I remember,” I said.
“What do we do now?” Avar inched back from the corpse.
“Well first, we raise the hue and cry.” I glanced up against the soft curtain of mist. “Then cordon off the area.”
“Form the posse comitatus.” Karl pulled out his thane-axe.
“Aye.” I rose and drew Yolanda, testing her edge.
“Huh?” Avar’s feet were dancing, eyes flitting from axe to sword and back again. “Wha—?”
“Next, we gotta notify his next-of-kin. Then,” I met Avar’s wide eyes, “it falls to us to avenge him. Hunt down his killer. Bring him to justice.”
“W-What?” Avar scrabbled at the crossbow slung over his shoulder. “K-Killer? Murder? I thought you said—”
The grim line of my lips started twitching, trembling, and I let loose a smirk. Swallowed a guffaw. Karl rumbled, too.
“Just what in heaven’s breadth is wrong with the two of you?” Lady Mary crossed her arms.
Karl and I glanced sidelong at each other. Snickering.
I shrugged. “Quite a bit?”
“Huh?” Avar latched onto the side of the tavern. “What—?”
“Rose of Sharon. They’re jesting with you.” Lady Mary rolled her eyes. “Bloody hayseed.”
“Wha—?”
“C’mon, Hayseed.” I dabbed at a tear at my eye and made for the front door, soft mud sucking at my boots. “You wanted to know what we do?” I slapped Avar on the shoulder. “What we came here to do. And we drink.”
“But—”
“No.” I shoved him onward. Ungently. Pointedly. Bodily. I was nigh on salivating at the thought of ale. “We’re outsiders. We keep our heads down and noses out of the mud.”
Lady Mary lingered by the corpse.
“Jesus…” Avar stared dumbly back. “Where in shades is everybody?”
“Who the fuck cares?” I stood before the threshold. “Now, let’s reconnoiter.”
“R-Reconn…” Avar stammered.
“It’s French for ‘drink alcohol and fondle prostitutes.’” I shoved him through the door. “Lady?”
Lady Mary covered her mouth. “Oh, my word…”
I crossed my arms. “You remember now, yeah?”
The cold rain fell.
“Aye,” Lady Mary breathed as she brushed past, crossing herself, disappearing inside.
Folk had another name for Haeskenburg.
The called it Husk.
…travel with Father and three boon comrades, knights all, along with their own retinues.
We, the Haeskenburg Faction, as we have been come to be called, good-naturedly by some, less so by others, represent but a small arm of the greater body, comprised exclusively of Teutonic Brethren…
—War-Journal of Prince Ulrich of Haeskenburg
Chapter 4.
THE HALF-KING was a tavern not unlike a thousand others I’d frequented over the years, just dimmer, quieter, more desolate. But it was dry and it was warm and it was good to finally be somewhere, anywhere, that wasn’t the stinking fastness of the Ulysses’s hold. I felt her deck rolling beneath me still, that constant sense of motion, uncertainty, flux.
Hoping I could supplant that feeling with a true drunken stupor, I ordered a couple of ales and a whiskey. Avar laughed nervously at something Karl grumbled. Lady Mary merely gave the place the same slow sweeping glare of cool appraisal she gave everything.
“You folks ain’t from around here.” The barmaid set a pair of gorgeous flagons down along with a measure of whiskey.
“Luckily, no.” I slid a coin across the table. My mouth began watering, my knees quivered, my heart pounded.
“Just watch yourself.” The barmaid tucked the coin away to a place I’d never been but’d gladly go. “Town ain’t what it used to be.”
“Ah, you’ve a corpse lying nigh on your front doorstep.”
“Oh lord.” She wiped her hands on her apron and hustled into the kitchen.
“Ain’t what it used to be…?” I cradled my flagon, licked my lips, leaned in to inhale its rich scent. Beads of condensation sat still on its brim. Love at first sight, all over again. “Think maybe they used to have corpses inside the tavern?”
Lady Mary glared at my ale. “Was that the last of our coin?”
“Our?” I flipped a coin purse. “Fear not. Last of his.” I thumbed toward the front door with its corpse beyond, then took a hearty pull. Stifled a hefty groan, almost melting through my chair. “Wasn’t enough to do us much good for lodging.”
“So…” Lady Mary sat prim and proper. “Where is this justiciar?”
“Upstairs,” I took a pull, “plowing the furrow of some whore.”
“Plowing the furrow…” she echoed.
“Here.” I slid an ale her way. “Take a pull. Sit back. Relax.”
“How … er … long shall we need wait?”
“Barkeep says he went up just before we came in.” I leaned back.
The tavern’s walls were scattered with a variety of portraits. Men. Women. Children. All of different ages, shapes, economic strata. All done by a keen hand. An old woman’s portrait, staid and imperious, glared out next to me, her wiry hair bound back, her gaze cold, haughty, appraising. Stifling the willies, I turned away.
“So…?” Lady Mary asked.
“So, he’s an old geezer.” I took another slug. “How long you hazard he’s like to last?”
“I’m sure I wouldn’t know.”
“My guess? ‘Not very.’”
“How wonderful to be expert in such a variety of fields.”
I grinned, raising my flagon. “Cheers.”
Outside the window, an orange glow grew from down the far end of the row. Beyond the susurrus of soft rain came the chatter of voices, the bark of rasping laughter, footsteps trudging through the muck, and above it all … was it song?
“What is it?” Lady Mary asked. “Is … is it chanting?”
“Hmm…” I wiped the window clear. “Don’t know.”
“Can you see?” Lady Mary perched at my shoulder.
“Not sure.” I squinted through the wavy glass. “Folk coming. Definitely. Something… A parade?”
“Rather late for festivities, is it not?”
“Depends what kind.” I turned as a whore on her last legs hobbled past, dappling her liver-spotted fingers fey-quick across my back, coruscating shivers down my spine.
“What’re y’all talking about, love?” A month at sea was telling. She had a gimpy leg, a lazy eye, and pox marks festooning her face, but none of those facts detracted from the beauty of her eagerness to consummate business relations.
“We were discussing these portraits.” I held out a hand.
“Oh… Aye… Art.”
“And art is all about eliciting feelings,” I said. “Isn’t that right?”
“Oh,” the whore settled a crone claw on my shoulder and started groping me in earnest, “I know all about illicit feelings, love.” She leaned in, whispering an impertinent question in my ear, punctuating it with the flick of her desiccated tongue.
I squinted in suspicion. “Is that even physically possible?”
“Oh, aye.” She bit her lip and nodded slowly, coolly, confidently.
“Ahem, well,” I cleared my throat, “interesting. And what be thy name, dear sweetest of ladies?”
“Wenelda.”
I patted her knobby hand, “I’m so sorry.”
&n
bsp; “Sir. Luther.” Lady Mary offered a glare Medusa might’ve envied.
“What’s her problem?” Wenelda twirled a finger through her rat’s nest of hair.
“Lonely. Aching. Miserable.” I whispered behind raised hand. “Yearns to be in on our little … arrangement.”
“Well,” Wenelda cackled, “I’d have to charge her double.” What teeth she possessed were simply glorious.
“As would I.” I turned a sober eye Lady Mary’s way.
Seething, she rose from her perch, and for a moment, I feared she’d gaff me with her hook hand. But she’d shed it for the wooden one Karl had carved. She glared at, quivering, like some arcane alchemist seeking to transform it to flesh through will alone. Alas, it remained a hand. Exquisitely crafted, near indistinguishable from a real one, if you were cock-eyed, or drunk, or didn’t know the difference between four and five.
“Look.” Lady Mary jabbed me with her wooden fingers.
“Apologies, milady,” I winked Wenelda’s way, “but perhaps later. Urgent matters.”
Wenelda curtsied smooth as a clockwork courtesan and lurched over to Avar and Karl who, I guessed, would be far more accommodating.
Outside, shadow-wraiths cavorted down the row, slithering across the Schloss’s walls. Leading them, a stooped geezer in rags staggered along, barely able to grasp the edges of a massive tome attached to his neck by a collar and chain. One after another, bodies stripped to the waist began streaming past, rippling torches borne aloft. The chanting trembled the tavern rafters. Dust rained in rivulets.
Lady Mary leaned past, nigh on pressing her nose to the glass. “Monks?”
She smelled good. Better than Wenelda even. “Don’t look like monks.” I slid aside, out of the encroaching light, drawing Lady Mary as I did so.
“Unhand me,” she cocked back her wooden hand.
“Easy…” I raised mine. “Don’t want to entice someone with a brick who’s itching for a face, yeah?”
The Last Benediction in Steel Page 2