01 - Honour of the Grave

by Robin D. Laws - (ebook by Undead)

  “What an amusing comment that is,” said Benno.

  He would banter with the guards, keeping them at ease. If they asked why they were to go in the same cell as Lukas, he would shrug and tell them his father wanted it that way. His tone would carry the suggestion that Jurgen was not to be questioned. This would sound more authentic than an elaborately detailed explanation.

  “Won’t they already have contrary instructions? Not to let anyone in, under any circumstances?”

  “No doubt,” said Benno, “but I’ve checked the roster, and I know these men. Olli Unruh grew up on the same streets as me, he is just a little bit younger. I’ve cultivated him a long time. He thinks if he sticks by me he’ll have a fine career. Maybe even end up as adjutant, when I command the Sabres, which would be quite a step up for a man such as him. Then there’s young Renald; he’s a nervous one, and not prone to asking questions.”

  “Renald Wechsler,” Franziskus said. “He was among those who kept watch, as you rode us north.”

  “Ah,” said Benno.

  “If he’s nervous, though, he might be a stickler, afraid to contradict his orders?”

  Benno twitched his shoulder; it would have been a shrug, if he’d put more effort into it.

  Angelika examined the daggers Benno had scrounged for her. He hadn’t been able to lay his hands on the ones his men had taken from her. “So we get them to open the cell door, then what?”

  “Then we kill them.”

  “Kill them?” Franziskus said.

  Benno responded with a second shrug; this one had slightly more energy behind it. “There’s no other way. They’ll catch on when we start to unshackle the boy, won’t they?”

  “We’ll have to make quick work of it, too. Make our first blows count.”

  “Isn’t it enough just to overpower them?” Franziskus asked.

  “That’s fine for you, maybe, but I can’t have witnesses.”

  “Couldn’t you somehow coax them into silence?”

  “Can’t risk it.”

  Franziskus looked to Angelika, for support in his argument. She was jiggling her wrist, testing the weight of her knives.

  “If it’s any consolation, Franziskus, they’re both bad men. Olli would happily cut your head off, if I told him to. Your friend, Renald, I’ve heard, gets all sweaty whenever he spots a scrawny little boy. He follows street urchins into dark alleys, that sort of thing.”

  “It’s convenient you can say so.”

  “If they were truly righteous men, I’d wait until the roster changed. Lukas’ life for Unruh and Wechsler’s—it’s a fair trade, I promise.”

  “Franziskus,” Angelika said, “let him tell us the whole thing from the start, without interruption.”

  Benno shifted on his stool. “I go in. You’re my prisoners. I put Olli and Renald at ease. They open the door. We kill them. We unshackle the boy, hustle him down the steps, get him into a cart. The three of you drive away in the cart, never to breathe Grenzstadt’s air again. Voila!”

  “Where do we take him?” Franziskus asked.

  “That’s your choice. Just keep him away from me and my father.”

  “The count’s man—Brucke. He told Jurgen not to harm Lukas. We were thinking, maybe the count might protect him?”

  Benno tongued at his teeth, clearing out errant food morsels. “I wouldn’t recommend it. Fancy courtiers like him will betray you just for the pleasure of running in circles.” His tongue found a large chunk of something; he reached in with his fingers to extract it from his gums. He balled his prize between thumb and forefinger and flicked it away. “And the count himself—Sigmar knows what he would do with a boy like Lukas. Imprison him? Make him his catamite? Blow him up, in one of his experiments? If it were me, I’d stay clear. Go south again.”

  “Where the orcs are massing.”

  “Then go to Wissenland. Go to the forgotten isle of the peg-legged dwarfs, for all I care. Just get him free of here.”

  To while away the time until night settled in, they played cards. The shopkeeper joined them, rattling his tin cash box. He changed Angelika’s half-crowns into smaller coins. Benno regarded this transaction with apparent curiosity but did not ask where she’d got the money. Angelika gave Franziskus half of her coins, which he promptly lost to her. To keep him in the game, she gave them back. She won money from Benno and the storekeeper, too. Sometimes she lost part of her stake, to one or the other of them, but always won it back on the next hand. Franziskus never won. As the game wore on, his hands began trembling. He dropped his cards, and they always landed face up. The storekeeper glowered at him like he was an idiot. Benno seemed to feel sorry for him, which was worse. The third time his cards slipped from his damp fingers and onto the table, Benno asked Angelika: “I hope your friend here is ready, for tonight.”

  “He’s ready,” Angelika said, exposing a winning hand, and sliding more of Benno’s coins across the table and into her lap.

  Finally they left the shop. The unnamed merchant had a small cart prepared for them. A mule was already hitched to it. The animal sniffed the air, pointed its snout at Angelika, and hissed. Angelika hissed back. The cart was covered in canvas, dyed yellow and rusty red. Angelika and Franziskus clambered inside, from the back. Benno took a seat up front; his friend handed him the reins. Without further discussion, Benno urged the mule on. It clopped through Grenzstadt’s streets. Angelika sat beside Franziskus, but he could tell she was studying him for signs of lost nerves. He stuck his nose out and chin up. He promised himself he wouldn’t fail her. He’d served her well so far, he thought. When it was time to act, he’d done what was needed. It was the anticipation he couldn’t stand.

  * * *

  The cart stopped. They heard the faint jingling of buckles as Benno hitched the reins to a post. He came around to the back. Without lifting the canvas flap, he said, “We’re here.”

  Angelika emerged from the cart. In a low voice, she said to Benno, “You stay here. The two of us will go.”

  “What?” he mouthed, as Franziskus climbed out.

  “We’ll go. We’ll get the door open without killing anyone. You stay here and watch the cart.”

  “We can’t change the attack now. You should have—”

  “I only decided it just now.”

  “Two against two lessens the odds.”

  “We’ll take the risk. You underestimate us.”

  She set off. He seized her arm, pulled her back. “You think you can save the guards this way?”

  “No good has ever been done in this world by murder.”

  He anxiously surveyed the darkened square for observers. “You know the world better than that! If Lukas goes missing, they’re dead anyway! What do you think happened to the two guards who let you escape yesterday?” Benno gave Angelika a brief chance to admit she didn’t know, then went on. They were executed this morning. Gross dereliction, my father called it. In military punishment, he favours a modern approach: death by gunshot. Now they lie in beggar’s graves. If we kill Olli and Renald, their families still get pensions, at least. They die as heroes, felled by bandits. Would you deprive them of both lives and honour?”

  Angelika glanced up at the tower. “In that case…” She shook her head violently. “All three of us go. But we pull blades on them and give them the choice. Stand and fight and die, or run away and live.”

  “Better to strike without warning.”

  “You need our help. We’ll do it my way.”

  Benno let loose a stream of murmured profanities, nodded his clenched jaw at her, and led the way to the foot of the curving stone stairs that led to the tower. They ran up. Franziskus drew his new rapier, then remembered he was supposed to be a prisoner. He stuck it back into its scabbard without breaking stride. Once inside the tower, and no longer exposed to passersby, they slowed their pace. Hands on the backs of their heads, Angelika and Franziskus took up their roles as resentful captives, edging reluctantly up the stairs. Angelika even stopped for a m
oment, making Benno prod her with the flat of his outstretched sabre. They looked from side to side, as if alert for opportunities to make a break for it. The performance went to waste; they saw the guardsmen only when the front of the door came within sight.

  “Found some more work for you, boys!” Benno called out, in his most jovial manner.

  “Commandant Benno?”

  Benno’s nose twitched. The voice did not belong to either Olli or Renald. Finally as he cleared the curving wall, he got a good view of them. Renald was there, but the other guardsman was a new recruit, one whose name he could not recall. The new fellow was short and dark-eyed, with a complexion that suggested some Tilean or even Araby blood in him. Both regarded Benno and his prisoners with undisguised bafflement. They wore breastplates, carried sabres, and had burnished steel helmets on their heads.

  “Renald,” he said, “where’s Olli?”

  “He’s come down with the croup, sir.”

  “That so? Well, I’ve found you some more guarding to do. I personally caught these two lurking around my father’s manor. Guess the reward stays in the family, hah?”

  “Good for you, sir.”

  “Unlock the door,” Benno said. “I want to get these two shackled, quick.”

  The unfamiliar guard hesitated. “Commandant, sir, we was clearly told…”

  “Told what? What’s your name?”

  The guard took a deep breath and tapped the heels of his boots together. “Gottfried, sir. Nino Gottfried.”

  “Speak up, Nino. What were you told?”

  “Your father’s orders, sir—we was strictly instructed, there was no, no condition at all where we could even—If we even think of unlocking this door, sir…” He made the throat-slitting gesture across his throat. “You understand, sir.”

  “My father will be pleased you spoke up for his orders. I’ll commend you to him. But the situation—”

  Angelika winked at Franziskus. Renald saw this and came down the steps at them, pointing his sabre at her. Nino loosed his sword, too, and held it out before him, unsure who to aim it at.

  “They were planning a move, sir,” Renald said to Benno. “I saw this one give the sign to the other.”

  “Treacherous sow!” Benno cried, smacking the back of Angelika’s head with his free hand. She exclaimed in genuine pain. Benno refixed his gaze on Nino. “You think my father wants them to escape a second time? Open the cursed door!”

  Nino’s sword clattered to the floor as he fumbled in his belt for the key ring. Benno wrinkled his face in annoyed impatience. He tapped his foot. Nino’s fingers shook, jangling the keys. He stuck the key in the door but it wouldn’t turn. Benno skipped up the steps to swipe it from his hand. Renald jabbed his swordpoint in Angelika’s direction, and then in Franziskus’. Benno opened the door. He swept inside. Nino bent to scoop up his sabre and point it at Franziskus’ throat. Renald prodded Angelika, pushing his hilt-guard into her side. He ordered her up to the door. Angelika regarded him with slow contempt. She and Franziskus moved slowly up the stairs. Renald and Nino stood aside to make room for them. They shuffled resentfully into the cell.

  Lukas hung shackled from the wooden beam in the centre of the room. A long spike had been driven into the beam, about seven feet from the floor. His wrist shackles were fastened to it, forcing him to stand with arms above his head. His hair had been shaved off, leaving a dense, black stubble on his scalp. Red lines marked the razor cuts of a careless barber. The boy had a freshly fattened lip, purple and swollen. His eyes fluttered and widened. “Franziskus!” he cried.

  Benno, already at his side, worked a key into the wrist cuffs. “Come here!” he barked, to Nino. “It’s stuck!”

  Nino hopped to it. Renald saw that Angelika’s belt still had a pair of daggers in it. “Their weapons!” he exclaimed, warning Nino, who halted mid-stride.

  “But why—” he choked, as Benno snatched his sabre from his hand. Angelika seized Renald’s sword-arm. Franziskus punched him in the gut. He bent over, gasping. Franziskus gaped guiltily at him. Angelika twisted Renald’s arm until he groaned and opened his hand, dropping the sabre to the floor. Benno stuck a foot behind Nino’s leg, pushed him over on his back, and crouched over him, a knife to his throat.

  Franziskus shook his head and stepped to the door, swinging it shut. He picked up the keys, which Benno had dropped, and freed Lukas. Limp, the boy fell into Franziskus’ arms, nearly knocking him over. Franziskus lowered him to the floor. “I knew you would come,” he said.

  Benno used the point of his sabre to herd Renald and Nino into a corner. Angelika bent over Lukas; he flinched when he saw her. “You’re hurt?” she asked. He nodded. “Injured,” she asked, “or just fatigue, from the way they hung you?”

  “Fatigue,” he breathed.

  “You’d better find the strength to run, and find it fast!” she told him.

  “Commandant, sir,” Renald said, “why are you doing this?”

  Benno picked up a metal lamp, which burned on the floor, and held it up, gazing intently into the guards’ faces. His right hand kept a sword steady at their chests. “My accomplices want to spare your lives. I think it’s safer not to. Convince me that if I tell you both to flee town and never come back, you’ll do it, and you’ll do it now, without getting yourselves caught.”

  “Please, commandant, sir…” said Renald.

  Benno moved the sword to him. “Unconvincing,” he said.

  “Sir,” said Nino, “if you stop now, if you let us reshackle the boy, I swear to you we’ll never—”

  Benno lifted the lantern until it was next to Nino’s cheek; both men could feel the heat of its flame. “A poor line of argument.” He set the lamp down. “I’ll repeat myself, one last time. Can you run from here, now, and never be seen again? Or must we slay you?”

  “We’ll run,” gulped Nino.

  “Is the boy ready?” Benno asked Angelika.

  “Can you stand?” she asked Lukas.

  With difficulty, young von Kopf made it up to his knees; Franziskus extended an arm to him.

  “No.” Angelika curtly shook her head. “He must do it on his own power.”

  Lukas strained, grunted, stood, wavered, and then was steady.

  “The boy is ready,” Angelika told Benno.

  “Here is how we will proceed,” Benno instructed the men. “We will all walk quickly down the steps together. When we hit the courtyard, you will silently walk to the city gates and—” He turned to Angelika. “It won’t work. The men on the gates may know they’re supposed to be on duty.” He took a step back. “I’m sorry, fellows.” He levelled his sabre. Angelika braced herself to leap at him and pull him away from the guards.

  Boot soles scraped outside the closed door. A voice boomed: “What in the fiery halls of Hell is this?”

  Gelfrat.

  Benno swore. He dived for the door. So did Angelika. They pushed their weight against it. Gelfrat was pushing from the other side.

  Renald and Nino rushed Franziskus. He drew his rapier and stepped in front of Lukas, swiping it through the air to keep the guards at bay. Lukas stumbled to retrieve Nino’s dropped sabre.

  “Explain yourselves, you manky swine!” Gelfrat shouted, as Benno and Angelika’s feet slid on stone. He’d shoved them back a couple of inches, opening the door a crack.

  “Help us!” Angelika shouted to Franziskus.

  “We’re occupied over here!” he replied.

  “You two! I knew it!” Gelfrat bellowed.

  “And Commandant Benno, too!” called Renald.

  “You’re a dead man, Renald!” Benno said, his lips sideways.

  The door was six inches open. Angelika shifted her posture for better leverage but it was no use.

  “Benno?” Gelfrat howled. “What goes on here?”

  “Gelfrat, my brother, listen to me…”

  “Half-brother!”

  The door was nine inches open.

  “We must get the boy far from here, before our
father ruins himself!”

  “We? We, you say?”

  The gap was a foot wide.

  Nino picked up the lamp and threw it at Lukas’ head. The boy ducked. The oil sprayed wide. A small puddle of it burned in a far corner. Franziskus craned his head to see if there was anything the flames might catch on. There didn’t seem to be. Just stone and more stone. Nino charged him. He slashed Nino’s cheek. Nino stepped back, hand on face, blood drizzling through his fingers. Renald ceded space to Franziskus.

  Gelfrat shoved the door open another three inches and then squeezed into the gap, jamming his wide, thick body between door and frame. Benno reared back and slammed his weight into the door. Gelfrat grunted; his face turning red. Angelika pushed harder.

  Gelfrat shoved again. “The witch has entrapped you in her honey snare, has she?”

  “This is for the family good, Gelfrat. The good of all the von Kopfs.”

  Gelfrat clenched his teeth. Veins danced on his neck and forehead. “I am so glad to catch you in treachery, Benno. There’s no set of guts I hate worse than yours.” He got his arms up and his palms flat against the door. Using the wall to brace himself, he won another couple of inches.

  Lukas edged toward the door. Renald moved to block him.

  “People call me a brute,” panted Gelfrat. “But you—I may strike hard, I may shed the blood of men. But I strike in honest warfare, or when drunk, or angry. You, Benno. You—You’re worse than a brute. Cold. Calculation. Narrowing your eyes, deciding pain or mercy like you’re writing in a ledger book. Cruel, heartless. And now—”

  Grunting like a hog on the slaughter table, he forced the door another foot, squeezing his way into the room, clear of the door. With no resistance to counter their weight, Benno and Angelika fell onto the door as it slammed back shut.

  Gelfrat wrapped his paw around the back of Benno’s neck. Benno swung a fist into Gelfrat’s side; the big man took no notice of the blow. He put his thumbs in the middle of Benno’s throat. “Even if you weren’t competition,” he said, as Benno’s eyes bugged, “I have dreamt of this for nearly a year now.”