Rijgen looked at him with a hint of surprise. “Bucking for promotion already, Walder? Didn’t think you were the type.”
“I’m not,” Rudi said without thinking. “I mean, I want to get on of course, but…” That sounded even worse, and he trailed off, embarrassed. “A friend of mine works over there and I haven’t seen him in a while. I just thought if someone had to go over the bridge today I might as well do it and see if he’s free for a drink.”
“I see.” Rijgen nodded again and began to follow the rest of his command back towards the Winkelmarkt. Rudi glanced back, just in time to see a furtive figure in a blue coat dart out of the building behind them and disappear down a nearby alleyway, and breathed a faint sigh of relief. At least Shenk had got away clean and wouldn’t be compromising him. Not for a while, anyway. Forcing down the suspicion that he had merely postponed a problem he’d hoped to avoid, Rudi returned his attention to the sergeant. “Well, since you’ve volunteered, you might as well go. But don’t think I’m authorising overtime. If you want to get ratted with your mates you can do it in your off hours.”
“No, sergeant,” Rudi said, trying to hide his elation. It seemed his covert commission would turn out to be easier than he’d anticipated, and fulfilling that would bring him closer to the answers he needed.
“No hurry, though,” Rijgen said. “Grab some breakfast before you go.”
Rudi followed the sergeant’s advice, booking out at the end of the shift and heading for the Blind Eye with Gerrit and a couple of the other Caps who had accompanied them on the raid. They were all in high spirits, reliving the highlights of the night’s events for their own amusement and that of their colleagues who had, as Gerrit put it, “missed all the fun.”
“So Kuyper and me are waiting by the back door,” he said, piling into a plateful of sausage, “when it bursts open and this shorty runs out like someone’s just shouted ‘free cake!’ So Kuyper grabs him and chucks him back inside and there’s a whole bunch of them there, jammed up in the doorway, and he just says ‘skittles. Don’t you love it?’”
“I thought the best bit,” Rudi said, as the laughter around the table died down, “was when Maarten brought that elf out. You know, when he looked at sergeant Rijgen all down his nose and said ‘Have you any idea who I am?’” He took a bite of sausage and bread, blessing the foresight that had made him warn Shenk to stay hidden instead of trying to get out of the back of the building.
Gerrit nodded enthusiastically. “Oh yeah. The old man just looks back at him for a moment, then shouts, ‘Does anyone here know who this gentleman is? He appears to have forgotten!’”
“That’s right,” Maarten confirmed. “I never knew they could go that colour.” Despite their cynicism about the previous evening, most of the night shift present looked a little envious of their colleagues who had made such a successful foray, and the men from the noon shift were clearly feeling that they’d missed out too.
“You know the real cherry on the cake?” one of the listening watchmen cut in.
Rudi shook his head. “What?” he asked, his voice muffled slightly by another mouthful of food.
“The Waterboys cocked up their end completely.” A chorus of delight and disbelief swept the taproom.
“How do you know?” he asked.
“Ran into Beren from the Suiddock post.” That sometimes happened, patrols from neighbouring wards meeting by chance at their mutual border and pausing for a while to exchange gossip and rumour. “He’d just bought a snack from Granny Hetta, who heard it from a boatman who’d come across the water half an hour before. Seems they hit the Apron and it was perfectly clean. No contraband anywhere.” Gleeful hoots of derisive laughter followed the announcement. Rudi chewed his sausage thoughtfully. Artemus’ experiences had put him off the idea of gambling for life, but he would cheerfully have bet the two guilders remaining in his purse that whatever had been in the back room of Esmeralda’s Apron was now safely stowed in the hold of the Reikmaiden.
“I bet they were choked,” Gerrit said, with a cheerful lack of sympathy. The watchman nodded.
“It gets better. Apparently they forgot to clear it with the Mannikins first.” After a moment of bafflement, Rudi recognised the common nickname for their elven counterparts. “Seems that as it was a halfling tavern on a waterway it never occurred to them that the elves might claim jurisdiction, even if the landward side was on their patch. And the Mannikins aren’t at all happy about it.” Rudi could understand that. The borders of the Elfsgemeente were rigidly defined and jealously guarded. The political ripples of such a fiasco were likely to run on for weeks, if not years. The elves had long memories.
“Sounds like someone’s going to be looking for another job,” Maartens said, with some satisfaction.
“Which reminds me,” Rudi said, pushing his empty plate away and standing slowly. “I’ve an errand to run. Catch you later.”
“Now?” Gerrit stared at him, astonished, and stifled a yawn. “I swear, I don’t know where you get the energy from.”
Despite having been in Marienburg for nearly two months, Rudi had never been north of the river before, so it was with a strange mixture of anticipation and apprehension that he began his journey. Captain Marcus had the letter for the commander of the River Watch ready and waiting and Rudi nodded attentively as he added some last minute verbal instructions.
“Make sure you give it directly to Commandant Vanderfalk,” he said. “We’ve done our part. I don’t want him trying to deflect attention from his people’s failure by claiming he never got the message.”
“Yes, captain.” Rudi nodded again and glanced at the name scrawled on the folded sheet of paper, close to the seal. Sure enough he was able to read it, Commandant Vanderfalk, just as Marcus had said. He felt a faint flush of pride in his newly acquired ability. Back in Kohlstadt he’d carried innumerable letters like this for Magnus, having to rely on memory tricks to ensure they reached the right recipient.
The stray thought sparked a storm of memories of his former life, which, if by comparison with his present one had been dull and circumscribed, had at least seemed secure. For the first time in weeks he missed his adoptive father, whose solid presence had been the cornerstone of his existence for as long as he could remember.
“Are you all right, Walder?” Marcus was looking at him doubtfully, and Rudi forced the memories away.
“Fine, captain,” he said hastily.
“I can always get someone else to take it if you’d rather turn in. You’ve had a long night.”
“I’ll be fine,” Rudi repeated. Once he found Magnus and the answers the merchant held, perhaps things would start to make sense again. The merchant knew who his real family was, Gunther had said as much before he died. That was a secret worth taking a few risks to uncover.
“Better get going, then,” Marcus said, already turning to the next piece of paperwork.
Outside, the morning was crisp and chill, a keen wind rippling up the street from the direction of the river. Even over the all-pervading stench of the city, which by now he scarcely noticed, Rudi could smell the onset of winter in it. Before long the Sea of Claws would begin to live up to its name, and the only ships entering or leaving the harbour would be those of the elves, the occasional Norscan, or skippers whose debts or desperation had driven them to the brink of insanity.
For now, trade flourished, and as he left the familiar streets of the Winkelmarkt for the lesser-known byways of the Suiddock, the evidence of that was all around him. The bustle of activity was just as intense as he remembered it on the morning Kris had taken him and Hanna through the ward on their way to the college in the Templewijk. Several times he had to step out of the way of laden carts or straining stevedores moving the lifeblood of the city from river to warehouse or back again. Once, a coach passed him from the direction of the Westenpoort gate, although whether it had come from Altdorf or Gisoreux he had no idea. Something was written on the side, but it was so obscured with mud t
hat it had gone before he had time to puzzle it out. That meant he was still moving in the right direction, though. The coaches entering the city by either gate terminated their journeys in the Beulsplaats, one of the few open spaces in the ward, on the island of Luydenhoek.
A ripple of apprehension disturbed the surface of his mind at that thought. Reikmaiden was berthed at the docks and he’d rather not run into Shenk again. Not for a while, anyway, until he’d had time to assimilate the implications of their unexpected encounter the previous night. He had no option, though; the only route to the Hoogbrug bridge was across the largest island of the small chain making up the Suiddock ward.
Getting to Luydenhoek in the first place meant crossing the Bruynwater, the main canal used by ocean-going vessels, and as he neared it the breeze flowing through the streets began to take on a sharper edge. The thoroughfares began to seem more crowded too, pedestrians, carts and carriages mingling in confusion as they were funnelled into the approaches of the only bridge across the shipping channel. Thanks to his distinctive headgear, Rudi was able to make better progress than most, the authority it lent him and his purposeful stride nudging people out of his way as effectively as his elbows would have done.
As he neared the bridge itself, he was surprised to find the traffic continuing to flow unimpeded by anything other than the eddies induced into the current of pedestrians by its own mass. Unlike any of the other bridges he’d seen in Marienburg, the Draainbrug which spanned the Bruynwater was free of obstructing houses or market stalls. Faintly puzzled by this at first, Rudi was soon to discover why.
He had almost reached the bridge himself when a horn blew, louder than any he’d ever heard before. Startled, he glanced across at the single, massive stone archway which towered over the roadway in the centre of the bridge. A dwarf stood on a small balcony there, blowing energetically into a brass instrument almost as large as he was.
In response to the clarion call the foot traffic around him slowed and a couple of riders spurred their horses to a canter, hurrying across the span in almost indecent haste. Rudi was about to take a step after them when a solid oak pole, which looked as though it had once been the mast of a riverboat, descended abruptly on a counterweighted pivot to bar his way.
“Sorry mate,” the Black Cap manning it said, clearly not meaning it, then realised she was talking to another member of the watch. Her voice changed, acquiring a more friendly tone. “Not in a hurry, are you?”
“No.” Rudi shook his head, faintly surprised. There were only a couple of female Caps in the Winkelmarkt watch, and the shift patterns meant that he’d never been on duty with either of them . “Just taking a message over the water.”
“Good.” The Cap motioned to him to duck under the barrier and Rudi did so, relieved to be out of the growing press of bodies behind him. “You might just make it over if you run for it.”
“It’ll wait,” Rudi said, mindful of his instructions not to hurry. The longer he took, the longer Marcus and Rijgen would have to interrogate the suspects before the River Watch got their hands on them. “We’ve done enough for the waterboys for one night.”
“Thought you were from the Winkelmarkt ward,” the Cap said. She glanced at the bow and quiver of arrows slung over his back. “You must be Walder, am I right?”
“You are,” Rudi said, surprised.
The Black Cap smiled. “Thought so. Not too many Caps in Marienburg carrying those things around.” Rudi smiled politely, trying to conceal the alarm he felt. It seemed his reputation had already spread beyond the Winkelmarkt, and that was disturbing. If Gerhard heard any gossip about a young watchman named Walder he’d undoubtedly waste no time in following it up. “I’m Rauke, by the way. Rauke van Stolke.”
“Rudi.” He shook the proffered hand. “I had no idea I was so famous.”
“Not famous, exactly.” Rauke laughed. As she tilted her head back, Rudi caught a glimpse of brown hair, brown eyes and freckles under the floppy hat she wore. “Just a bit unusual. You know how these things get about.”
That idea was a bit worrying too, but before Rudi had time to reflect on it or frame a reply his attention was diverted by a loud grating sound. A few yards away, the cobbles of the street appeared to be moving, and a momentary surge of vertigo made him sway on his feet.
“I bet you never saw anything like that in the Empire.” No point in asking how she knew where he came from, his accent betrayed his origins to native Marienburgers every time he opened his mouth. Another detail for Gerhard to absorb and draw conclusions from if he heard the gossip about him. Then the full magnitude of what he was seeing finally sunk in, and he felt his jaw slackening with surprise.
“You’d bet right,” he admitted. The entire bridge was rotating around the massive stone pillar beneath the archway, smoke belching from a chimney and wisps of steam escaping from vents in the carriageway. A metallic clatter and screech echoed across the water, louder than anything of the kind he’d ever heard. The spectacle was breathtaking, although Rauke seemed completely unimpressed by it.
“Now that’s a sight I never get tired of,” she said after a moment. Following the direction of her gaze, Rudi saw an ocean going carrack, its sails cracking in the wind, tacking cautiously around the bridge, which now lay parallel to the flow of the Bruynwater. A wall of wood seemed to glide majestically past the two Caps, bigger than Rudi had ever thought possible. The only vessel he’d ever seen close up was the Reikmaiden, and the sturdy little riverboat would have been dwarfed by the mighty vessel in front of them now. “One of these days…”
“You’ll leave?” Rudi guessed.
Rauke nodded. “I’m nearly twenty. I don’t want to be stuck here rousting drunks and busting heads all my life. There’s a whole world out there to explore. Araby, Lustria, even Cathay.” She shrugged. “We’re a seafaring nation. I don’t think there’s anyone in the Wasteland who doesn’t feel the urge to go wandering to some extent.”
“It’s not all it’s cracked up to be,” Rudi said, without thinking.
“Maybe you just haven’t gone far enough,” she suggested.
Despite his apprehension, Rudi passed through the streets of Luydenhoek without encountering Shenk again, or any of his crew, although that was hardly surprising once he’d got a good look at the place. If anything it was even more bustling than the precincts south of the canal, which was all he’d seen of the Suiddock so far. The sketchy knowledge of the city beyond the Winkelmarkt which he’d absorbed since his arrival, mainly from conversations with Artemus and Gerrit, included the fact that the so-called east end of the island was where the most modern and efficient facilities were, but seeing it for himself was entirely different. Houses, taverns, shops and all manner of other enterprises were jammed together between warehouses and docks, all crammed with vessels like the one he’d seen sailing down the Bruynwater. The river-boats were mainly confined to the side canals, over which the streets ran on bridges just sufficiently high to let them glide past with inches to spare between the tops of the masts and the keystones supporting the arches above, docking at smaller wharves abutting the warehouses. The first time he saw this arrangement, Rudi was troubled by a faint, nagging sense of familiarity, until he realised that this echoed the layout of the warehouse in the Doodkanal where he’d seen Magnus and the horned sorceress.
Absorbed in these reflections, he reached the north side of the island before he was expecting to and found himself striding out across the Neiderbrug, the wide bridge connecting Luydenhoek to Hightower Island where the mighty Hoogbrug terminated. Like the swing bridge, the Neiderbrug was completely clear of the obstructions which he’d grown accustomed to seeing on all the others he’d crossed, although this time the reason was different. It and the Hoogbrug were kept clear by law. The Directors of the city would tolerate no hindrance to the free flow of commerce across the river, and anyone attempting to do so would quickly find new lodgings at their expense on the fortress prison of Rijker’s Isle, the lonely outcrop whi
ch guarded the mouth of the harbour.
The main result of this was that Rudi got his first unobstructed view of the Hoogbrug and the huge tower leading up to it, which cast its shadow across the whole ward like the gnomon of a gigantic sundial. As Kris had boasted, the roadway wound its way around it in a vast spiral, wide enough for the traffic to flow unobstructed in both directions, and had he not been caught up in the remorseless motion of people and animals he might well have stopped dead in stupefaction at the awe-inspiring sight. As it was, he merely checked his pace a moment and went on, ignoring the oaths of a sedan chair bearer plodding grimly up the steepening ramp behind him. How the fellow and his compatriot at the other end of the contraption were able to keep up the pace was a mystery to him. Fit as he was, his calves were aching by the time he passed beneath the massive arch which carried the span of the bridge and felt the ground begin to level off.
As he stepped out onto the Hoogbrug itself he felt the urge to check his pace again and simply stare. Absorbed in the long climb up the ramp and buffeted by the other traffic he hadn’t had much attention to spare for the view beyond the balustrade, but now the entire city seemed spread out below him.
His first impression was one of water, the broad sweep of the Reik to the east, receding into the far distance beyond the walls, scything through the greens and browns of the Wasteland until it merged with the horizon, and the deep, infinite blue of the open sea in the other direction.
Mighty ships, shrunk by perspective to the size of children’s toys, crowded the water, surrounded by the scudding sails of skiffs and water coaches. On the far side gleaming white spires marked the elven quarter, while closer at hand, almost at the foot of the northern tower, a building larger and more ornate than any of its neighbours was undoubtedly the official residence of the staadholder, the chairman of the council of ten who ran the city and all its affairs.
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