“One last thing,” Rijgen said, after running through a brief list of the day’s earlier incidents and any interesting gossip the watchmen might find useful in finding or avoiding any trouble, depending on their temperaments. “The Suiddock watch has passed on the news that an Imperial witch hunter arrived on a barge there this morning. Not really our problem at the moment, but word gets around, and if he starts making trouble this side of the river something might get shaken loose on our patch too. So keep an eye out, and if anything weird happens don’t take any chances, back off, contain it if you can, and send a runner back here to report it. That’s what the Special Wizardry and Tactical teams are for, so let them deal with it.”
He paused for the chorus of agreement to die away. None of the watchmen felt they were being paid enough to tackle wizards at the best of times, except the occasional licensed one getting drunk and disorderly and therefore by definition in no fit state to cast spells, and most of them said so. Rudi listened with a chill of apprehension, certain he knew the identity of the new arrival, but afraid to draw attention to himself by asking the sergeant for more details. Rijgen concluded as he always did. “Any questions?”
“What if this witch hunter turns up on our patch?” Gerrit asked. He and Rudi often worked together; being younger than most of the other watchmen and both living in the barracks they spent a lot of their leisure time together too. They’d soon developed a rapport which made them a good team, and Rijgen had been astute enough to take advantage of the fact. Rudi glanced across at the other youth, wondering if his concern had somehow been visible, but Gerrit was watching the sergeant with his usual expression of eager inquiry.
“A good question.” Rijgen nodded. “And a good answer is to use your own judgement. He’ll probably make all kinds of demands and expect you to take orders from him. Don’t. Unless he can actually point to a daemon swimming down the Doodkanal, just refer him to a higher authority. Which would be me, until I can palm him off on the captain.” He paused for the laughter to die down. “We work for the city of Marienburg, not the Empire, and especially not for the church of Sigmar.” He paused again. “Remember, while he’s here he’s subject to our laws. If he breaks one, bring him in like you would any other lowlife.”
Despite himself, Rudi felt a grin stretch across his face at the prospect, and entertained a brief fantasy of actually arresting Gerhard. Not that that would be easy, he knew. He’d seen the man fight, but the image was distinctly appealing nonetheless.
“Something amusing you, Walder?” Rijgen waited for Rudi to recompose his features. “Any other questions? Good. Then get out there and try to be careful.” He waited until most of the watchmen had filed out of the room before raising a hand and beckoning to Rudi. “Walder. Wait a moment.”
“Sergeant?” Rudi approached the man, trying to hide the sudden flare of apprehension he felt. Did Rijgen know something about the connection between him and Gerhard? He forced his features into an expression of guarded neutrality. “Something wrong?”
“Why don’t you tell me?” Rijgen glanced up at Gerrit, who was hovering by the door, waiting for his partner. “Go and do something.” He waited until the other watchman had vanished before turning back to Rudi. “Well?”
“I’m not sure what you mean,” Rudi said, wondering how he’d betrayed himself.
“Then let me refresh your memory. The city is divided into twenty wards, at least for administrative purposes. Correct?”
Rudi nodded. In addition to the officially recognised districts there were a bewildering number of so-called boroughs, areas with their own distinct identities and remarkably fluid boundaries, the largest of which in the Winkelmarkt was the halfling quarter known colloquially as the Kleinmoot.
“And each of those has its own watch barracks, its own watch houses and its own watch captain, am I right?”
Rudi nodded again, unsure of where this was heading. In practice the Elfsgemeente, where the elves lived, was outside the watch’s jurisdiction, and the Doodkanal was a no-go area they left strictly alone except for occasional incursions in force, but that was technically true.
Rijgen fixed him with a glare which seemed to penetrate like a sword thrust. “So why are you spending so much of your off time wandering around the Oudgeldwijk asking questions? The local Caps don’t like it, they think you’re treading on their toes and technically you are. Which means the captain doesn’t like it, which means I don’t like it. Are we clear?”
“Perfectly clear, sergeant,” Rudi said, trying to hide his relief. “I’m just trying to find an old friend. I know he lives in Marienburg somewhere and I think he’s most likely to be there.”
“I see.” Rijgen gazed at him levelly for a moment. “Well in future leave your hat behind if your inquiries take you into a different ward, all right?”
“Right.” Rudi nodded eagerly and the sergeant jerked a thumb at the door.
“Good. Then go and make some trouble for someone who’s making trouble. I’m off home before the wife forgets what I look like.”
“What did the old man want?” Gerrit asked, lifting his lantern a little higher to illuminate a pile of old rags propped up against the back door of a baker’s shop.
“Just a bit of advice about protocol,” Rudi said. He dug a copper coin out of his purse and flicked it at a beggar, whose age and sex were indeterminate. He was pretty sure it was human, though, as he’d become familiar enough with halflings and dwarfs, whose borough bordered the Kleinmoot. He’d even seen a few elves since his arrival in the city, although most of those remained closeted in their own quarter and few of the exceptions had business taking them south of the river. He wasn’t sure quite what to make of them. They looked more human than the other races, although they tended to be taller and slimmer, but they moved with a fluid grace no human could possibly have matched and they had an air about them which raised his hackles without him ever being able to pin down precisely why. “Here, get something to keep the cold out. Preferably solid.”
“Shallya bless you,” the beggar said, stretching out a slim, delicate hand to pick up the coin. Rudi shrugged, surprised by the glimpse of a lace cuff on his sleeve, but not enough to show it. It seemed even the high born of Marienburg could slip on the social ladder badly enough to join the guild of the Unfortunate Brethren.
“I keep telling you, it’s a mug’s game giving them handouts,” Gerrit said. “You’ll just end up getting a reputation as a soft touch.”
“You think?” Rudi said. “After I took out Tilman’s thugs most of them seem to reckon I’m the toughest thing on two legs since Konrad.”
“Who?” Gerrit asked.
“In the ballads.” His friend still looked blank. “Never mind. I guess it’s an Empire thing.”
“You’re the one seeking the merchant, is that not right?” the indigent aristocrat asked suddenly. “Rudi the woodsman?”
Startled, Rudi turned back to him. Absorbed in his conversation with Gerrit, he had already forgotten the beggar’s existence.
“That’s right.” Surprise and suspicion mingled in his voice. “You really know Magnus von Blackenburg?”
“Not socially.” The man’s laughter was still redolent of the drawing room, in spite of the bitterness and melancholy which infused it. “But the Brethren hear a great deal, since we’re so little noticed. You won’t find him in the Oudgeldwijk, I can assure you of that.”
“You can?” In spite of his instinctive cynicism, Rudi felt his heart begin to beat a little faster. “Where should I be looking?”
“In the dark, dead shadows.” The barely seen head nodded slowly. “Where rot and decay hold sway.”
“This is all dreck,” Gerrit said. “You’ve had your handout, now bugger off and get ratted with it.”
“Shut it, Ger.” Rudi spoke a little more sharply than he’d intended and turned back to the beggar, leaving his partner looking almost comically confused. The clearing in the forest outside Kohlstadt, where he’d met his f
ather and Magnus, had been blighted with disease, he remembered. Perhaps the indigent did know something. “You mean the Doodkanal?”
“Schwartzwasserstraat,” the man said. “There’s a house there owned by von Blackenburg.” The hand extended again. “And that knowledge, you must agree, is worth a shilling at least.”
“It might be, if it’s true.” Rudi hesitated. After a moment he dug a silver piece out of his purse and handed it over. “If it’s not, I know where to find you.”
“I think you’ll find that cuts both ways.” The beggar took the coin with a courtly bow and vanished into the shadows.
“What the hell was all that about?” Gerrit asked.
“I’ve been looking for someone. Personal business. I guess I’ve made a few ripples in the process,” said Rudi.
“That might not be such a good thing,” Gerrit said slowly. “Ripples have a habit of travelling further than you expect.” He nudged Rudi in the arm. “So what’s this personal business then? Does she have a name?”
“It’s personal,” Rudi said, in a tone which left no doubt that he didn’t want to discuss the subject any further. Noticing his friend’s disappointed expression he grinned. “But it’s nothing to do with a girl, I can tell you that.” A flash of movement caught the corner of his eye, his hunter’s instincts picking it out from the rest of his surroundings. Someone was standing in the shadows, close enough to have seen and heard his conversation with the beggar. He turned his head casually, angling it so that he seemed to be concentrating completely on the exchange with Gerrit, and studied the hidden figure covertly. Too short for an adult, too slim for a dwarf, too muscular for a child. A halfling.
Gerrit chuckled. “I can believe that. I saw your girlfriend this afternoon, Anna was it? You’d have to be out of your mind to be two-timing a looker like her.”
“She’s not my girlfriend,” Rudi said, trying to ignore the sense of acute discomfort the words stirred up in him. “And if you’re thinking of trying your luck there, forget it. She’s involved with someone else.” He strained his eyes, trying to make out the lurking figure through the thickening mist. Kris’ prediction about the fogs had turned out to be true, although somewhat exaggerated; as the nights had grown colder, tendrils of mist had begun to rise from the network of waterways with increasing regularity, but he had only experienced a real Marienburg fog once so far. That had lasted for nearly three days before an onshore breeze had dispersed it, and watch houses throughout the city had been stretched to the limits trying to keep a lid on the felons and opportunists making the most of the chance to move around unobserved. According to Sergeant Rijgen things only got that bad two or three times a year, and he wasn’t looking forward to the next occasion.
“Oh, I get it,” Gerrit said. “She fancies this other bloke and you want to warn him off.” He shrugged. “Not a good idea if you want my opinion…”
“I don’t,” Rudi said. He tapped Gerrit on the arm and lowered his voice. “That alley over there. Someone’s watching us.”
“Where?” Gerrit turned his head. The mist in the mouth of the alley swirled briefly for a moment and when Rudi looked again the halfling had vanished.
“Never mind,” Rudi said.
The rest of the night passed relatively uneventfully, which meant they rousted a few drunks, collected fines for disorderly behaviour from the usual quota of revellers, ran in a couple more either too bellicose to cooperate or too lacking in funds to pay on the spot, and chased a fleeing burglar who had been unfortunate enough to rouse the owner of the house and even more unfortunate enough to have done so within earshot of the young Black Caps. By that time the night was so well advanced that even the most die-hard of pleasure seekers had retired to their beds or moved on to establishments so discreet that they might just as well have done. Rudi and Gerrit had been getting bored. Their last arrest had been over an hour ago and the steadily-thickening mist had wrapped itself around them so insidiously that they were beginning to feel cut off from the world.
“It can’t be long now,” Gerrit said, for the umpteenth time, and shivered. Their shift ended at dawn and he’d been looking forward to returning to the watch house and a warm fire for some time.
“If it gets any thicker we’ll never notice,” Rudi said, unable to resist teasing his friend. “Sunrise could have come and gone for all we know.”
Gerrit shook his head mournfully. “Wouldn’t surprise me,” he agreed. He blew on his hands. “What I wouldn’t give for a mulled ale about now.” He appeared to be on the verge of elaborating, when a piercing scream echoed through the streets. “Hendryk’s purse, what was that?”
“Our job,” Rudi said, breaking into a run. The jumble of buildings around them was distorting the sound with overlapping echoes, but his hunter’s instincts gave him a bearing and he sprinted down a nearby alleyway without a moment’s hesitation. After a second of stunned surprise Gerrit followed, drawing his sword as he did so and raising the lantern to illuminate the way as far ahead as possible.
“Help! Thief!” A middle-aged woman in a voluminous nightgown was leaning out of an upper-storey window about halfway along the street. Glancing down she caught sight of the two watchmen and pointed dramatically. “He went that way! A huge ruffian! Hurry!”
Rudi came to a halt below the window. A shadow was visible at the far end of the alleyway, almost two hundred yards away and moving fast. By the time they reached the intersection the thief would have been long gone, vanishing into the maze of side streets beyond any hope of detection. Rudi began to unsling his bow from across his shoulders and nocked an arrow. The housewife continued to shriek.
“Don’t just stand there! Get after him!”
“That won’t be necessary, ma’am,” Gerrit assured her. The first few times Rudi had taken the bow out on patrol his colleagues had teased him mercilessly; most watchmen who carried missile weapons preferred crossbows or firearms, which were easier to use. That had changed the first time he’d used it, picking off a drunken sailor who’d been holding a knife to the throat of a tavern girl who’d rejected his advances. The arrow had taken the man clean through the shoulder, making him drop the weapon without endangering the girl, and his reputation had risen even further. Quite why everyone had been so impressed, Rudi couldn’t understand. The shot had been an easy one, smooth and instinctive; it had never occurred to him that he wouldn’t hit the mark. The same feeling was with him now as he drew back the string and loosed.
“Holy Ranald!” The fleeing thief tumbled to the cobbles, thrashing like a landed fish. He looked up as Rudi slung the bow again and strolled the length of the street, taking his time to close the distance between them. “You’ve crippled me, you bastard!”
“It’ll heal.” Rudi was already certain of that. Despite the distance and the absence of a clear target, he knew the arrow had gone through the right calf muscle, missing the bone and the major blood vessels, just as he’d intended it to. Quite how he could be so certain was a question his mind skated around, simply accepting it as a fact. A single glance was enough to confirm it. “Keep some pressure on it, like this. It’ll stem the bleeding.” He picked up the pack the thief had dropped and turned back. “Don’t go away.” He walked back down the alley and raised his hat to the housewife, who by now was staring at him in stunned disbelief. “Yours, I believe, madam.”
By the time Rudi and Gerrit had finished booking the limping thief into the holding cells, sunlight was beginning to leak around the shutters of the watch house. Gerrit stared at it gratefully and yawned.
“That’s it then. I’m ready for bed.” He shook his head and stared at Rudi for a moment. “To be honest I thought that sailor had been a fluke. But now…” His voice trailed away, awestruck. “I’ve never seen shooting like it.”
“If you think I’m a good shot, you should have seen my dad. He really was a marksman.” Rudi walked across to a large urn, containing some dark, bitter drink imported from Lustria. He’d never heard of kaffee in the
Empire, but it was popular in Marienburg and he was beginning to develop a taste for it. He poured a steaming mug and offered it to Gerrit. “Something to warm you up before you go?”
“No thanks.” The young watchman shook his head. “Can’t stand the stuff.” He yawned again and began walking towards the door. “I’ll see you back at the barracks.”
“All right.” Rudi sipped at the drink until he was sure his friend was gone, then went out into the street himself. He still wasn’t sure how much he could trust the mysterious beggar, but the encounter had stirred up all the questions which continued to plague him. Consumed with the thought that at last he might be getting closer to the answers he wanted so desperately to know, he hurried south, towards the Doodkanal and the address the man had given him.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
In the harsh light of day the dereliction of the Doodkanal looked even worse than it had done the night Rudi had blundered into it shortly after his arrival in Marienburg. The transition from the bustle of the Winkelmarkt had been abrupt. All he’d needed to do was turn down an alleyway almost indistinguishable from a thousand others and within a score of paces a palpable air of blight and decay had settled across the buildings. Plaster cracked, paint peeled, and patches of mould infested their crevices.
The people in the streets seemed much the same, blighted by the same miasma which seemed to poison the district in which they lived. Grey sullen faces stared at him with open hostility as hunched figures clad in rags scuttled along the gutters, or peered from within the shelter of the squalid dwellings surrounding him. Packs of feral children, seeming more animal than human, lurked in dark corners, or scattered, squealing, from his path.
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