Oosterlee swallowed hard, struggling to maintain his composure. “I’m not sure what you”
“How much money?” Kurt snapped, a vicious tone to his words. “Show me how much they’ve sent along here with their little lapdog.”
“I say, there’s no need to become abusive, my friend. I’m simply here”
“I’m not your friend, Oosterlee. Scum like you turn my stomach, pathetic lapdogs running around, doing their master’s bidding, desperate to please him, even more desperate to collect the scraps from his table, to feast on the leavings of parasites who suck this city dry.” Kurt grabbed Oosterlee’s rich clothes. He rooted around in the fat man’s pockets for several seconds before producing a leather pouch bulging with coins. “Is this the appreciation you were mentioning, by any chance?”
“Well, I didn’t want to”
“Is it?” Kurt snarled, his face so close to Oosterlee their noses were touching.
“Yes,” the messenger squeaked. Kurt released him and Oosterlee staggered backwards on the cobbles of Three Penny Bridge. He watched in dismay as Kurt emptied the pouch of golden guilders into one hand. “Obviously, if that isn’t enough I’m sure my associates would be more than happy to”
“Who wants to be rich?” Kurt bellowed at all those on the bridge. “Who wants a taste of this man’s wealth? Who wants a golden guilder, courtesy of Theodorus Oosterlee and his corrupt masters?”
Belladonna glanced around. All those on the bridge had come to a halt, bemused by the sudden outburst from the captain of the Black Caps. Their expressions soon changed as Kurt threw the handful of golden coins high into the air. Before the first fistful had come back down, Kurt emptied the rest of the pouch into his hand and tossed it into the sky. A moment later golden guilders were raining down on Three Penny Bridge, coins bouncing off the road. In the blink of an eye everybody was on their knees, scrabbling among the animal droppings and stone cobbles, grabbing every coin they could get their fingers on. Oosterlee let out a shriek of dismay and threw himself on the ground, trying feebly to reclaim what he had brought with him. Molly and several of her girls came running out of the temple, not too proud to grab a guilder. The man from the fish market on the other side of the station also abandoned his place of business to chase the windfall. Only Kurt and Belladonna stayed standing, both watching the greedy spectacle around them.
When the last of the coins had been collected and the excitement was over, Oosterlee was still crawling around on the cobbles, frantically searching for any remaining guilders. Kurt stepped in his way, forcing the obese businessman to look up. “Captain SchnellI’m sorry, I didn’t realise”
Kurt snapped his right knee forward, so it rammed into Oosterlee’s many chins. The grovelling man tipped over backwards, landing with a heavy thud in the gutter streaming with urine and faeces. When Oosterlee tried to get up, Kurt pinned him back down beneath a leather boot. “Now, you listen, TheodorusI’ve got a message for your masters at the League of Gentleman Entrepreneurs, or whatever grand title they choose to call themselves. I won’t be bought and I won’t be bargained with. Kurt Schnell is not for sale, not for gold, not for ale, not for crimson shade and not for anything else scum like Adalbert Henschmann might have to offer. I’m here to do a job, plain and simple. If they stay out of my way, I’ll stay out of their way. But if one more slug like you comes back here, trying to slither their way into my affections, I’ll be forced to take drastic action. I hope that’s not too much for you to remember.”
Oosterlee shook his head, terror etched into his chubby features.
“Then slime your way back to the Marienburg Gentlemen’s Club and tell Casanova what I said.” Kurt removed his boot from Oosterlee’s chest and stalked back into the station. The sergeant was waiting inside, his face stern and unforgiving. Seeing his expression, Belladonna went back to supervising the prisoners while they finished the last of the caged cells.
“Was that wise?” Jan demanded of Kurt. “We don’t have the men to take on Henschmann and his cronies. We’ve got two murders to solve, the elves breathing down our necks and Cobbius to deal with.”
“Henschmann started it, you know he didgetting his thugs to dump a cartload of dead pigs outside the station, sending that bloated warthog Oosterlee here to bribe me.”
“There’s a time and a place for all things,” Jan insisted in a low voice. “You’re starting too many fires and you’re leaving us to put them out. And the fuse on your temper hasn’t gotten any longer has it?”
“A wise man once told me that people never change, they only become more so.”
“What idiot said that?”
Kurt smiled. “You did, Jan.” The sergeant shook his head despairingly. “What news from those people in the basement, eager to collect the reward money?”
“Pretty much what you’d expect,” he replied. “Plenty of petty squabbles between neighbours, accusations of adultery and bigamy, and fingers being pointed. Merchants who have lead in the bottom of their scales, fishmongers who claim that yesterday’s catch is still fresh off the boat. These people haven’t had anybody who’ll listen to their complaints for the best part of five years, so Faulheit’s been getting it all.”
“Anything useful? Anybody mention Fingers Blake or Abram Cobbius?”
“A few believed Blake may have lifted their money pouch but none of them can prove it. Nobody seems to know where he lives and nobody has seen him for at least a day, if not longer.”
“And Cobbius?” Kurt asked. “What about him?”
Jan sighed. “If you believe what people are saying about him, he’s like the plague, infecting everything and everyone he goes near. He’s been bragging about what he did to Vink, saying its proof that nobody can touch him. The citizens are terrified of Abram Cobbius. As far as they’re concerned, he’s completely untouchable, protected from on high by his cousin Lea-Jan.”
“We need to prove them wrong. Arrest Abram and it shows we mean business.”
“Arrest Abram and you’ll get us killed,” the sergeant hissed. “I don’t want to die in this place!”
Kurt stared at his oldest friend in Marienburg. “You mean that, don’t you?”
“Of course I mean it.”
“No, you believe you’re going to die here, on Three Penny Bridge.”
Jan didn’t answer, but his pained expression was eloquent enough.
“Why?” Kurt asked.
“I had my fortune read on Mitterfruhl,” the sergeant admitted. “Everything the seer said has come truemy retirement, you asking me for help, coming here. She said if I did as you asked and we arrested a powerful man with a broken nose, one of us would die.”
“Superstitious nonsense! And you believed her? How much did you pay this seer?”
“She wouldn’t take my money, said it wouldn’t be right. Told me to keep it for funeral expenses.”
Kurt shook his head. “I’m not changing my mind to avoid the predictions of some gap-toothed old crone, no matter how well she fooled you. She was probably working for Cobbius herself.”
“You only broke his nose yesterday, remember?” Jan prompted. “The seer told me all this long before you were offered the chance to become captain on Three Penny Bridge.”
“I don’t care,” Kurt insisted. “Arresting Abram Cobbius is the most important thing we can do right now. It will send a signal to everyone, citizens and criminals, show them that we’re serious. If we want to be anything more than a joke in Suiddock, we have to take on the worst this district has to offer.”
“You’re making a mistake,” Jan said. “Letting your anger get the better of you again, Kurt.”
“I’d prefer it if you called me Captain Schnell when we’re on duty,” Kurt snapped. “You may have been my mentor in the past, but I outrank you now, remember?”
“Yes, captain.”
“That’s better. It’s time you got out on the streets. Go and see how Mutig is coping with his first patrol. While you’re looking
for him, ask around about where we can find Abram Cobbius too.”
Jan came to attention and saluted his former pupil before marching from the station. Kurt caught Belladonna looking at him in bewilderment. “Don’t start on me,” he warned. “I’m not in the mood.”
Mutig spent the morning searching for a suitable target to meet his needs. The most promising tavern appeared to be Vollmer’s Rest, a hostelry on the northern edge of Stoessel with a broad wooden balcony overlooking the Rijksweg. Mutig had seen half a dozen men stagger into the tavern already well on their way to oblivion, and none of them had managed to stagger back out.
Once the sun had passed its highest point of the day, the Black Cap ventured a look in the tavern’s grease-smeared windows. The most promising recipient for a trouble-free thrashing was slumped against the taproom bar, black rings under both eyes, an ugly swelling in the centre of his face where a nose should have been. It looked like somebody had already made a start on him, but he was obviously still in charge of the drunken rabble slouching around him, judging by the way they laughed at his jokes and deferred to him physically. He was big and he was ugly, with a broad chest and narrow, porcine eyes. An oil painting, he was not. There was something vaguely familiar about him, but the Black Cap couldn’t recall why. It probably didn’t matter.
Mutig felt confident he could knock this buffoon insensible with a single blow, but decided to use his lead-encased cosh for extra safety. No point starting a fight unless you had the weapons to finish it. Stepping back from the window, he admired his own reflection in the glass, adjusting the tilt of his black cap. Yes, the streets of Suiddock would soon echo in wonder at the name Hans-Michael Mutig. Once his reputation as the newest hard man in the district was secure, he need never fight again. All he had to do now was find somewhere to empty his protesting bowels and the fun could begin in earnest.
Five minutes later Mutig strolled into Vollmer’s Rest and waited for the inhabitants to pay attention to him. Instead they were focused on their leader, who was pouring ale down his throat and bragging about how his cousin would show some upstart the meaning of true power. The cheek of that gutless whelp, evicting them from their own private taproom! Well, they’d change their minds, soon enough. “Hey!” Mutig shouted, determined to make a strong, first impression. “Which one of you scum wants to prove what a big man he is?” He strode through the cluster of glowering drunks, heading straight for the bar and the braggart propping it up. “You look a likely candidate,” Mutig told the inebriated thug with the broken nose. “How about I teach you a lesson you’ll never forget?”
Mutig never knew what hit him. He heard the sound of wood splintering and something else, like an egg cracking open. The next thing he knew was intense pain, closely followed by inky darkness.
Faulheit finished interviewing the last of the would-be informants by midday. He reported his limited findings to Kurt before asking permission to go and get something to eat. He sauntered back into the station moments later with a pie from a stall that had opened on the other side of the bridge. “The owner heard about your tendency to toss golden guilders around and decided to try their luck, in the hope of a repeat performance,” Faulheit explained when Kurt came downstairs, lured by the scent of hot meat. “I think it’s the first new business to take residence on Three Penny Bridge since the station last closed.”
“Good. That means we’re starting to make a difference,” Kurt said, licking his lips. He sniffed the air appreciatively, his eyes lingering on Faulheit’s lunch. “What’s in the pie?”
“Long pig and chestnut, apparently. Never had long pig before, it’s rather tasty.”
Belladonna returned from ushering the last disappointed citizen out of the station. None of the informants had earned the mythical pouch of golden guilders and most were even less impressed to discover the captain had been throwing coins around in the street outside. She too was entranced by the delicious aroma of Faulheit’s lunch. “What flavour did you say that was?”
He sighed, frustrated that these constant questions were stopping him from actually eating any of the pie that was exciting such interest. “For the last time, it’s long pig and chestnut.”
The colour quickly drained from Belladonna’s face. “Did you say… long pig?”
“For the love of Manann, yes!”
Kurt noticed the sudden change in her features. “What’s wrong?”
“Long pigI’ve heard that’s what savages in the New World call the people they eat.” Belladonna bolted for the front door, just getting outside in time to empty her stomach on to the cobbles. Inside Faulheit was staring at his partially eaten pie with growing horror.
“You don’t think this is… That it’s got bits of…” He threw the rest of the pie aside. It rolled across the floor and came to rest against the nearest cell. One of the prisoners grabbed it and scoffed down the remaining chunks of meat and pastry. That was too much for Faulheit. He bolted for the door, joining Belladonna outside as they retched up their stomach contents with alacrity.
Kurt marched past them, pausing only to order Faulheit to throw a bucket of water over the cobbles once they’d finished vomiting. The captain crossed over the bridge to confront the pie seller, a ruddy-faced man with red hair, red freckles and a red smock stood beside a wooden cart.
“Hello, captain!” the stallholder said. “I’ve heard all about you, I havequite the celebrity you’re becoming all over Suiddock and so quickly, too who’d have thought it, eh? Would you like to try one of my pies? You’d never know there was a fresh meat shortage after you’ve tasted one of my pies. I’ve got some exciting new flavours I’ve been trying out: garlic and gristle; turnip and water vole; long pig and” The captain grabbed hold of the cart and violently tipped it over, spilling the pies across the cobbles. “Here, what in Sigmar’s beard do you think you’re doing?”
Kurt picked up one of the pies, holding it distastefully between his fingers. “What flavour is this?”
“Long pig and chestnut,” the stallholder said proudly. “That’s been my best seller today.”
“And where do you get the long pig for your pies?”
“There’s a cutter on the docks, called the Grey Sail, brings it in fresh for me from the ocean every week. Wish he could bring me more, but I think most of his trade is arms shipments these days, what with the war and everything. The fresh meat always sells out first, what with supplies being so hard to”
Kurt offered half the pie to the freckled man. “Try it for yourself, tell me what you think that tastes like.” The stallholder bit deep into the pastry case and masticated happily, his brow furrowed in thought.
“Well, it’s meaty, obviously. A bit like pork, actually, but with some other flavour as well.”
When Kurt told him what long pig was, the stallholder didn’t believe him at first. But after a few moments a look of quiet horror passed over his face and he hastily flung the rest of the pie down on the bridge.
“You mean I’ve been selling… all this time it’s been… oh my stars…”
“What cargo does the Grey Sail take over the ocean when it sails out?”
“Explorers, traders, merchants, adventurersyou know the sort.”
“And have you ever seen any of these people come back?”
“No, but I suppose they decided to stay out there. Takes a long time to see the New World, I’m told. Sea trips can take months or years, so I’ve heard.”
“If the journey takes so long, how can the Grey Sail be there and back again every week, hmm?”
The stallholder was about to answer, but realised he couldn’t. “I don’t know, now you mention it.”
Belladonna had recovered enough to join Kurt beside the upset wooden cart. “Well?”
“A vessel called the Grey Sail has been offering trips to the New World,” Kurt replied. “But instead of giving people the experience of a lifetime, I’m guessing they’re taken out to sea, slaughtered and brought back to port as fresh cu
ts of long pig.” He studied the queasy-faced stallholder. “Who owns the Grey Sail?”
“Captain Marius is in charge on board, but I think it’s owned by Abram Cobbius.”
Kurt grimaced. “Quite the little empire he’s running around here.”
“I suspect we don’t know the half of it,” Belladonna said. “But whatever happens on the Grey Sail is a wet crimenot our jurisdiction. Have you got friends in the River Watch who can deal with that?”
The captain nodded. “He owes me a favour, too. I’ll send a message suggesting he investigate the Grey Sail. The sooner we start turning the screws on Cobbius and his illegal businesses, the better.”
“He’s not used to being challenged, Kurt. He won’t respond well,” she warned.
“Don’t you start, I had enough of that from Jan. Besides, I want Abram Cobbius angry and off balance. That way he’ll make a mistake sooner, overstep the markand then we’ve got grounds to arrest him. Once that happens, a few hours in an interrogation cell will soon get the truth about what he did to Vink. I want this animal sent to Rijker’s for so long, he rots out there.”
When Mutig regained his senses, he could smell where he was better than he could see it. Everything around him was a blur, as if someone had smeared grease across his eyeballs. He could hear the sound of gruff murmurings and laughter in the distance, but did not recognise the voices at first. But the smell that filled his nostrils, that he knew all too well. Stale ale and sawdust, pipe smoke and a cold sweat of abject terror all hung in the air like an early evening mist that had rolled in from the sea. There was another scent mixed in, the distinctive tangy aroma of urine. Somebody had lost control of their bladder. Mutig let his head sink down on to his chest. His vision was still a mass of oscillating and undulating blurs and shapes, but he could make out a dark stain around the crotch and thighs of his uniform. He was the somebody that had lost control of their bladder. His shame was complete.
He tried to cover himself but found his arms were bound behind his back, the ropes so tight they had cut off the circulation to his arms, making them feel like useless lumps of lead. His legs were also bound to the chair in which he was sitting equally unable to move. More ropes lashed his torso in place so he couldn’t do anything but strain uselessly against them. When he tried, it served only to alert the murmuring voices nearby that he had become conscious once more. “You can’t keep me prisoner here,” he said, surprised how weak and feeble his words sounded, stricken with terror. Mutig licked his lips, trying to get some moisture on the cracked, bloodied skin. “Everyone at the station knows the route for my patrol. They’ll come looking for me if I’m not back soon.”
[Marienburg 01] - A Murder in Marienburg Page 14