[Marienburg 02] - A Massacre in Marienburg

by David Bishop - (ebook by Undead)

  “All dark?” the innkeeper asked. “Shouldn’t be. The chute doors were open before I came up. Expecting a delivery before sunset. Should have been here by now.”

  “Sweet Shallya,” Kramer gasped. “The darkness—it’s moving!”

  The corpse flies burst from the hatchway, surrounding the terrified watchman. He’d time for one scream before they attacked him, flying in through his open mouth and down Kramer’s throat to consume him from the inside out. The rest dived at his exterior, eating through his clothes and skin in moments, before gnawing their way down to the bones beneath the surface. Holismus and the others watched, transfixed.

  It was Acco and Ormston who saved them, brought back into the taproom by Kramer’s abruptly silenced scream. Recognising the other Black Caps would be next to die, Ormston ran to the tavern door and ripped it open. “Out, everybody out!” Acco was shoving the other watchmen out into the street, breaking their reverie.

  “They’re right,” Holismus realised. “Evacuate! Bescheiden, get down here—now!”

  The watch commander was too busy congratulating himself to pay much attention when his adjutant announced three members of the Stadsraad and a quartet of representatives from the Ten families were waiting to see him. He sat behind his desk on the raised dais in his office, ready to receive his visitors. No doubt they were coming to add their praises to those already bestowed upon the commander after the emergency meeting. Yes, his star was truly on the ascendant. So long as this Farrak was kept in his place, the commander was confident his days stuck in charge of Marienburg’s City Watch would soon be behind him. He’d always felt certain a shrewd cunning like his was destined for greater things; now that destiny was fast becoming a reality—and not before time.

  The adjutant opened the double doors and ushered in the delegation. But rather than introduce them and depart, the adjutant remained. More curious was the fact he appeared to be leading the delegation, despite his far lowlier position in Marienburg’s political hierarchy.

  “Commander, we need your help,” the adjutant said.

  “Indeed? And who is this ‘we’ of which you speak?”

  “You know our public faces, the positions we fill in the Stadsraad, the Directorate and here at your headquarters. But we’ve another, private identity,” the adjutant replied.

  The commander frowned, perplexed by his underling’s tone of voice. Adjutants came and went, the commander never paid them much mind. But this one was now speaking to him with an authority and presence that belied his rank. For the first time in his memory, the commander studied his adjutant. The minor functionary was tall, with an athletic build and piercing green eyes that blazed from an intense face. Strange, never to have noticed his adjutant’s eyes were green, the commander thought. But they were always cast down and looking away, never confronting him as now. “Well, don’t keep me in suspense. What’s this alter ego you all possess?”

  The adjutant gestured at the delegation. “We are worshippers of Solkan, god of vengeance. We drive out the unclean, all those guilty of the heresy of mutation. We are the enemies of Chaos and dark magic. We are the Knights of Purity!”

  “You’re the Knights of Purity?” The commander burst out laughing. “But you’re just an adjutant, a humble functionary who comes and goes at my beck and call.”

  “A ruse on my part to gain access to you, in anticipation of this day.”

  “What day? What are you talking about?”

  The adjutant grimaced. “We have known about the coming of Farrak the necromancer for generations. Our greatest prophets foresaw this day, this crisis. All of us have been trained since birth in anticipation of this war for the soul of Marienburg.”

  The commander stood, his patience wearing thin. “Very droll, but you’ve had your fun. Time to get back to work.”

  “No!” his adjutant thundered. Pulling a dagger from inside his sleeve, he leapt on to the dais and stabbed the blade deep into his commander’s desk. The symbol of Solkan was etched into the hilt, a symbol kept hidden for centuries by followers of that deity. “You no longer have authority over me, or anyone else in this city. We’re taking control of the situation before it’s too late!”

  “Impossible,” the commander spluttered. “My position is for life.”

  The rest of the delegation produced daggers, all bearing the symbol of Solkan. Their faces were grim and resolute, no trace of pity in their expressions. The threat did not need to be spoken, their gesture was explicit enough.

  “You will remain as commander, all orders will still be issued in your name,” the adjutant hissed. “But until the crisis ends, you will answer to our commander, our leader.”

  “And who’s that?” the commander whispered, his gaze still fixed on the dagger buried in his desk. The double doors behind the delegation swung open and a lone figure entered, wearing a hooded cloak. They marched past the other Knights of Purity and up the dais to stand beside the adjutant. Finally, hands clad in black gloves pushed back the hood, revealing the face of the cabal’s leader.

  “From now on, I’m giving the orders,” Captain Georges Sandler announced.

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  Kurt was on his way out of the Paleisbuurt temple when a familiar face caught his eye. All the patients being treated in the side chapel were male, but a handful of women were lying on cots in a nearby annex. One of them was sitting up, knees hugged into her chest. She looked pale and distressed, brown curls pulled back from her face, red-rimmed eyes staring dead ahead. Kurt wasn’t certain this fragile creature could be the same headstrong woman he knew so well. “Belladonna? Is that you?” At first she didn’t respond, her mind elsewhere. Kurt moved nearer, stepping into her line of sight. “Belladonna?”

  His words filtered through whatever was troubling her. “Kurt?”

  He sat on an empty cot to one side of Belladonna. “What are you doing here? Where’s Captain Damphoost—Ruben?”

  “Haven’t you heard?”

  Kurt shook his head.

  “He’s dead,” Belladonna said, fighting to control her feelings. “They’re all dead.”

  “The River Watch?”

  She nodded, her body wracked by sobs. Kurt waited until her emotions subsided before asking what happened. Belladonna told him about the floating blockade and the smugglers’ attack, how the River Watch had endured flaming arrows and smugglers ramming the small wooden boats. Then came the ship of horrors, and the creatures pulling men underwater, and Captain Damphoost throwing himself in front of a harpoon meant for her. The memory of that fatal moment broke her spirit. Kurt shifted over to sit beside Belladonna on the cot, sliding a comforting arm round her shoulders.

  “After the death ship had passed,” she said, “all of us who survived were left in the water. None of our boats were intact and the tide was dragging us out past Rijker’s Isle. We clung on to pieces of wreckage as best we could, but the water was so cold, so cold.” She shivered at the memory and Kurt hugged her closer. “After a few hours the tide turned, sending us back past the prison. That’s when the monsters came back for us.”

  “Do you mean Farrak?”

  “Who?” she asked. Kurt described the necromancer’s undead army of ghouls, wights, skeletons and other horrors. Belladonna shook her head. “No, these monsters were underwater, they never broke the surface. All we could see were glimpses of them when they came up to claim another victim. You were safe so long as you didn’t leave any part of yourself hanging down in the water, but we didn’t have many pieces of wreckage large enough to protect ourselves. We realised there would be no rescue, not with our own quarantine keeping boats away from open water. Some of the men tried swimming for Suiddock—but the things under the water took them, one by one. The rest of us let the current take us where it would. By the time two Black Caps pulled me out of the water near the Hoogbrug, I was one of the few still alive. Most of the others have died since then.” Belladonna looked Kurt in the eyes. “Guess I might take up your invitation and
come back to Three Penny Bridge station, once all this is over—if your offer’s still open.”

  “Always,” he smiled. “But I’m not sure there’ll be a bridge left standing by then, let alone a station.” The captain brought her up to date on Farrak’s invasion of Suiddock, and the plan to explode the Hoogbrug and Draaienbrug bridges if the necromancer tried to expand his domain. “So far my Black Caps have been far luckier than the River Watch, but that can’t last much longer. I’m taking my men and a small army of militia across the canal by boat tonight, under cover of darkness. We’ve been given the task of rigging the swing bridge with gunpowder. I’m hoping Holismus, Bescheiden and the others are still alive, and we can find them while we’re over there.” Kurt moved his arm away from Belladonna’s shoulders. “We could do with someone like you along to help. I could.”

  She smiled, but it didn’t last long. “Thanks, but I want to see if I can find any more survivors from the River Watch, and reform the unit first—in honour of Ruben.”

  “Of course.” Kurt stood. “I’d better be going. There’s a lot still to do before—”

  “Be careful, captain.”

  He laughed. “You know me, I’m always careful.”

  “No, I mean when you’re crossing the Rijksweg. There are things beneath the surface that nobody else knows about yet. I saw figures moving beneath the water. It looked like they were crossing from Suiddock, moving north under cover of the canal.”

  “How many?”

  She shrugged. “I’m not sure, but more than enough to tear Marienburg apart.”

  Kurt bit his bottom lip. “The watch commander, the Stadsraad, all the wealthy families—they think we’ve got Farrak isolated in Suiddock. They believe blowing up the bridges and posting a few guards along the northern shore of the Rijksweg will keep the necromancer contained. If he’s already moving his undead army into position around districts like Paleisbuurt and Guilderveld, that means Farrak can attack the northern districts of Marienburg at any time. Occupying Suiddock’s just a ruse, another trick.”

  “What will you do?” Belladonna asked.

  “There’s nothing I can do,” he replied, bitterness all too evident in his voice. “The watch commander’s made it quite clear. I follow orders, or suffer the consequences.”

  “But the citizens—”

  “—are the people who’ll really suffer.” Kurt ran a hand across the closely cropped stubble on his scalp. “Can’t save everyone. Not even sure if I can save myself anymore.”

  Goudberg was chosen as a staging point for all those headed south with Kurt. The captain had no wish to spend time on Sandler’s territory, but the bulk of all militiamen were based there or in the neighbouring district of Paleisbuurt, so the location made tactical sense. As Scheusal noted when Goudberg was chosen, at least the men might have some comforts to enjoy before leaving on what felt increasingly like a suicide mission.

  Kurt’s Black Caps had enjoyed a brief respite since Suiddock’s fall, replenishing their reserves of energy and weaponry. Fresh bolts were gathered for crossbows, broken blades replaced with newer swords and daggers, while those armed with flintlocks sought out pouches of dry blackpowder. The watchmen of Goudberg even donated some clean clothes to their counterparts from Suiddock, though the sizes left something to be desired.

  Sandler invited Kurt to his office before the men set off. The room was spacious and plush in its furnishings, as befitted the watch captain for one of Marienburg’s richest districts—a stark contrast to the threadbare lodgings Kurt and his watchmen had on Three Penny Bridge. “How many troops have you been assigned?” Sandler asked.

  “Close to a hundred militia, for all the use they’ll be, and the eight Black Caps that came across the Hoogbrug with me.” Kurt mentioned the other watchmen he hoped to find south of the Rijksweg. “Holismus is a strong leader, he’ll have kept them together.”

  “So you’re confident of locating them?”

  “Hopeful might be nearer the mark—why?”

  Sandler opened a drawer and produced a roll of parchment. He pushed it across the desk to Kurt. “That came for you from the commander, not long before you arrived.”

  “You already know what this says?”

  “There was no seal on it.”

  Kurt unrolled the parchment, dreading what fresh nightmares it might contain. The commander had scrawled a brief message in black ink, the scratchy words betraying haste but the hand still unmistakeable. Kurt read the orders, his anger rising with each sentence. Once finished, he threw the message to the floor, disgust etched into his features. “The man’s lost his senses! He expects me to leave all but two of my Black Caps here, to help you defend Goudberg. Why? What possible reason could he have for doing that?”

  Sandler shrugged. “I couldn’t speculate on his state of mind when he wrote that.”

  “You put him up to this, didn’t you?” Kurt demanded, jabbing a finger at his counterpart sat opposite. “You’ve been whining for months about how much Goudberg needs more watchmen—looks like all that moaning has finally paid off! But why now? This is when I need my Black Caps most, when their presence could be the difference between my mission succeeding and failing. Why now, Sandler? Tell me that much!”

  “I made another request and this time he listened. That’s all I can tell you.”

  “All you can tell me, or all you will tell me?”

  Sandler smiled. “There’s a difference?”

  Kurt shot to his feet, cursing the other captain’s name, questioning his parentage and suggesting ways Sandler could attempt procreation without the aid of a partner. Kurt’s host waited until the storm of vitriol had calmed before dignifying the abuse with a reply.

  “From what I hear you’re already on shaky ground with the commander, Schnell. Your father’s due in Marienburg any day, and your future with your son is at stake. Do you really want to jeopardise that over some territorial skirmish with me?”

  “If you think I’m leaving any watchmen here, you can think again,” Kurt vowed.

  “You can and you will, or it will go the worse for you when this is over.”

  “Sweet Shallya, we’ll be lucky to get through this alive!”

  “I prefer sound tactics and ample preparation to relying on luck, fate or chance,” Sandler said, his supercilious voice still as smooth as silk. “I’ll let you select which men you leave behind. I’ve no wish to steal away your best Black Caps. Well, not all of them.”

  Kurt resisted the urge to smash Sandler’s teeth out, knowing it would destroy any chance he had of reclaiming his son Luc from Old Ironbeard. But Sandler came within a hair’s breadth of taking all his future sustenance in liquid form.

  “What do you mean, I’m not coming with you?” Scheusal spluttered at Kurt. “Why not?”

  “Orders from the watch commander. You and three other men have to stay here, help Sandler protect his little empire—Manann knows why. By rights, I should only be taking two Black Caps with me, but Sandler and I came to an arrangement.”

  “He got four of us and you didn’t get brought up on murder charges?”

  “Something like that,” Kurt laughed, despite his anger. “Personally I think it would have been justifiable homicide, at worst. Anyway, I’ll take Ganz and Potts with me. You want to recommend two more from among the newer recruits?”

  “Ganz and Potts? Have you developed a death wish like Bescheiden?”

  Kurt shook his head. “For all his bellyaching, Ganz is one of the best fighters I’ve ever seen in close quarters combat. And Potts is my responsibility. If he dies, I don’t want you catching the blame for that from his damn uncle. So, two others?”

  The sergeant scratched the back of his neck, pondering the question. “Burke and Denkers are good, in their own ways. Burke’s got a vicious streak that should come in handy, and Denkers is the best shot I’ve ever seen with a crossbow. Could take the eye out of a fly from a hundred paces—in the dark.”

  “If you’re exaggeratin
g, don’t tell me.”

  “I won’t,” Scheusal agreed. “What’s so special that I’ve got to stay here in Goudberg and guard it for Gorgeous Georges?”

  “You’ll discover your new assignment soon enough,” Sandler interjected as he strolled into the ablutions block where Kurt and the sergeant were talking.

  “Can’t wait,” Scheusal sighed, walking out of the room. “Excuse me.”

  Sandler watched him go, before facing Kurt. “Your militiamen are here.”

  Both captains marched to a courtyard outside the station, where a slovenly rabble was waiting in uninterested clumps. Most were unshaven and out of shape, their blades dull and listless, their garb ill-fitting and badly kept. “Charming,” Kurt muttered. He strode forwards to speak, introducing himself to the men. “I’ll be leading you across the Rijksweg when the moon reaches its apogee. We’re taking twelve boats, eight men per boat. Has anyone among you served with the River Watch or other maritime units?”

  Little more than a dozen raised their hands.

  “Fine. Each of you will be in charge of a boat for the crossing. How many of you have seen active duty in the past five years, either with the Watch or the military?”

  A similar number from among the militia nodded.

  “What about the rest of you?” Kurt asked, his voice loud enough so all could hear. When nobody responded, he pointed at the nearest man, a heavyset figure with dull eyes. “How did you choose to become a militiaman?”

  His subject shrugged. “Seemed like easy money, living off the Rothemuurs.” Others around him laughed, bringing a smile to the militiaman’s face.

  “What’s your name?” Kurt asked.

  “Auteuil.”

  “He’s one of those idiots from Bretonnia!” someone shouted from the back of the militiamen, getting a bigger laugh from most of those assembled.