[Blood on the Reik 02] - Death's City

by Sandy Mitchell - (ebook by Undead)

  Kris’ face went white. “Then she’s dead,” he said flatly. “The college won’t lift a finger to help a convicted felon.”

  “She’s not dead yet,” Rudi said. Grim determination made his jaw stiffen, so much so that he had to force the words out. “I know a riverboat heading for Altdorf tomorrow morning and the captain owes me a favour. Whatever happens, I swear she’ll be on it.”

  “But the talisman will kill her if she leaves!” Kris almost shouted the words, keeping his voice low with an obvious effort.

  “You said yourself if she stays the college will disown her. Maybe one of the ones in Altdorf can help. She’ll live long enough to get there, won’t she?”

  “You’re right.” Kris nodded bleakly. Marta looked from one young man to the other, her face a mask of incomprehension.

  “What do you mean she’ll die?” she asked.

  “It’s complicated,” he said, standing abruptly. “Kris will explain.”

  “And what are you going to do?” the mage asked.

  “Rescue her.” He pulled his watchman’s cap out from inside his shirt, removed his new hat and placed the black floppy one firmly on his head. “Where’s she being held?”

  To his great relief, it turned out that Hanna had been arrested just outside the Pirate after a meal with Kris, and was being held by the Winkelmarkt Caps at the ward’s main watch house. That was going to make things a great deal easier. He entered the familiar building briskly, as though he was on an important errand, and stifled a twinge of regret at the thought that this was probably the last time he’d ever cross the threshold. A couple of watchmen looked up, nodded a greeting, and resumed their conversation over a game of cards.

  “Walder.” Sergeant Rijgen greeted him with an expression of puzzlement. “I thought you were finished with nights for a while.”

  “So did I.” Rudi injected what he hoped was just the right tone of resigned irritation into his voice. “Captain Marcus sent me over. Something’s come up.” The sergeant looked no more than mildly curious, but it wouldn’t hurt to reinforce the impression that he was on official business. He smiled wryly. “I hope you’re going to authorise the overtime on this one.”

  “That depends,” Rijgen said. “What do you want?”

  “Hanna Riefenstahl,” Rudi replied at once. “Young woman, arrested this afternoon. Is she still here?”

  “Yes.” Rijgen looked at him again, no hint of suspicion in his eyes yet. “You know the procedure. She’ll be here until the assizes open in the morning.” For the first time he looked mildly regretful. “It’s a pity. She’s young, good-looking. She’s going to have a hard time on Rijker’s.”

  “That’s if she’s lucky,” Rudi said. The sergeant looked at him sharply. “The temple court’s claimed jurisdiction in the case.”

  “Are you sure?” Rijgen asked.

  “The captain’s drawing up the transfer order now. It seems she’s the one that Imperial witch hunter’s been after.”

  “Hendryk’s purse.” Rijgen shook his head. “That’s hard to believe.”

  “We’ll soon know for sure. If she is I’m supposed to take her back to the barracks, to wait for the templars. Gerrit’s gone over to the Tempelwijk to get them.”

  “How can you tell if she is the right one?” To Rudi’s relief Rijgen was picking up the heavy ring of keys to the cell doors as he spoke.

  “I’ll show you.” He followed the sergeant down the corridor, past the row of barred doors from behind which a steady drone of weeping, cursing, or snoring seeped, depending on the occupant’s temperament and degree of inebriation. Rijgen stopped at one of them, from which no sound at all could be distinguished, and turned the key in the lock.

  As he pulled it open, Rudi stepped into the cell through the widening gap, blocking the sergeant’s view for a second or two. Hanna was sitting on the narrow cot, the sole item of furniture apart from a foul smelling bucket, and glanced up, her eyes widening with shock as she realised who it was.

  “Trust me,” Rudi mouthed, hoping she would pick it up and have the presence of mind to respond. Evidently she did: she inclined her head a fraction and launched into a typical tirade.

  “This is absolutely outrageous! I demand that you send a message to Professor Aaldbrugh at the college at once! You have absolutely no right to keep me here…” Her voice stopped abruptly, with a strangulated shriek, as Rudi reached out a hand, grabbed her headscarf and yanked it from her head. Her hands snapped up reflexively, trying to cover the wax seal seared into the middle of her forehead.

  “Manann’s bloody trident!” Rijgen said, staring at it. “You were right.”

  “I’m afraid so,” Rudi said. He held out a peremptory hand. “Come with me, please.”

  “Where?” The note of panic in her voice sounded as though it was not entirely counterfeit. She grabbed the headscarf and retied it, glaring at him angrily.

  “I’m escorting you back to the main watch barracks,” Rudi said. He rested his hand on the hilt of his sword. “If you try to run, I’ll kill you. Do you understand?”

  “Yes.” Hanna nodded, her face white.

  “Good.” Rudi took hold of her upper arm and urged her into motion. As they passed Rijgen he favoured the sergeant with the most disgusted look he could contrive. “Witches,” he said vehemently. “I’m not being paid enough for this.”

  “None of us are, lad,” Rijgen agreed. “But we keep right on doing it.”

  Rudi kept up the pose of escorting a prisoner until they were well out of sight of the watch house, then steered them down a narrow alleyway he knew well from his night patrols. Very little light ever penetrated down there and they would be able to converse unobserved.

  “What the hell do you think you’re doing?” Hanna snapped, wrenching her arm free of his grip. “Are you out of your mind, showing him that?” Words failed her for once.

  “I had no choice,” Rudi snapped back, in no mood for a debate. “If I’d left you there you’d be on your way to Rijker’s by noon.”

  “What are you talking about?” Her voice was a little quieter, but no less vehement. “It was just a misunderstanding, that’s all. I could have sorted it out.”

  “Trust me, you couldn’t,” Rudi replied. “Under Marienburg law you didn’t have a leg to stand on. The college couldn’t help you either, not in a criminal case. And in case you were wondering, they’ll be after me too as soon as they realise I helped you escape.”

  “I see.” Her voice was brittle. “I assume you have some kind of plan? Or are you just making it up as you go along again?”

  “Shenk’s sailing for Altdorf at dawn,” Rudi said. “We’re going with him. Kris thinks the colleges there might be able to help you, even if Baron Hendryk’s can’t.”

  “I see,” Hanna said again. “And is anyone going to ask what I think?” She sneezed, suddenly. “Gods, it’s cold!”

  “Come on.” Rudi urged her into motion. “We’re meeting Kris back at his place. The sooner you’re back in the warm the better.”

  “Are you mad?” Hanna asked, stopping to stare at him. “That’s the first place they’ll look!” Abruptly she started walking again. “Still, at least I won’t die of cold I suppose.”

  “You’re not going to die at all,” Rudi said, trotting a few paces to catch up with her. “Not if I can help it.”

  “Me neither,” Hanna said.

  * * *

  In deference to Hanna’s concern that Kris’ rooms would be an obvious place to start looking for them, Rudi stayed out in the street to keep watch while she went inside to take her farewell. At least that’s what he told himself. In truth, he felt that things were being said that neither of them would want him to overhear, and he didn’t want to make their parting any more awkward or painful than it would otherwise have been. At length she reappeared, swathed in the travelling cloak and carrying her satchel. It seemed quite bulky and Rudi gazed at it as she slipped it over her shoulder.

  “We won’t be a
ble to get any of your stuff from the Tempelwijk,” he said. “I’m sorry.”

  “It can’t be helped,” she said. “Besides, most of it was here.” She sniffed and wiped her eyes with the back of her hand.

  “Right,” Rudi said, feeling awkward again. A shadow in the upstairs window gazed down at them and he raised a hand in farewell. “We’d better get moving. There ought to be a patrol along here fairly soon.”

  “Right,” Hanna said, the familiar decisive tone entering her voice again. It faltered slightly as she waved too and the shadowy figure echoed the gesture, its shoulders slumping forlornly. “Where to, then?”

  “There’s an address in the Doodkanal I found,” Rudi began hesitantly as they slipped away down a convenient alley. “If Magnus is still in Marienburg, I’m sure that’s where he’ll be. I can’t leave here without checking it out. I can tell you how to get to the boat…”

  “Forget it,” Hanna said. “I’m coming too.” She shrugged. “I’m on borrowed time as it is. I might as well start living dangerously.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

  The Doodkanal was as unprepossessing as ever, and although Rudi was beginning to become familiar enough with the derelict surroundings to feel less uncertain about venturing into them for a third time, Hanna was clearly nervous, glancing at the dark shadows surrounding them with every sign of apprehension.

  They’d already passed through the marginally habitable area fringing the Winkelmarkt, the degraded and degenerate inhabitants of the quarter staring at them resentfully from the safety of their lairs, or scuttling out of their way as they moved through the streets. None of them had plucked up enough courage to offer a challenge, though. Even the gangs who had clustered in the deeper patches of darkness as they passed, and the two fugitives were now picking their way cautiously through an area of dereliction worse than any Rudi had yet seen in this blighted and forgotten part of the city. Hardly a roof remained on the buildings surrounding them and tumbled brick marked the memory of walls almost as often as the reality. Firelight gleamed in a few places, where souls even less fortunate than the rest of the inhabitants gathered together in whatever makeshift shelters they could contrive from the detritus surrounding them, but for the most part Rudi and Hanna were forced to rely on the uncertain moonlight to see by.

  For this, at least, Rudi thanked Taal. The frosty night was clear for the most part, with only a few scattered clouds to diffuse the silver glow of Mannslieb and the necrotic light cast by the pale green disk of its ill-favoured cousin. Even so, little enough of it penetrated to street level, so down here there were still too many patches of impenetrable darkness to leave him feeling entirely at ease.

  “Don’t worry about it,” Rudi assured her as a couple of furtive silhouettes slipped away into the murk. “They’re more afraid of us than we are of them.”

  “Speak for yourself,” Hanna said, but with just enough of a hint of humour to make it clear that her resolve was undiminished. Although Rudi had spoken more to reassure her than anything else, it seemed that there was more truth to his words than he realised. The impression he’d made on his last visit, when he’d casually dispatched the footpads who’d dared to waylay him, seemed fresh in the minds of the local denizens and none of them was willing to force a confrontation.

  “It must be down here somewhere,” Rudi said. The location he’d memorised was clear in his mind and he hurried through the tumbledown streets towards his goal with as much assurance as if he’d been there before. Just as he had on the night when he found the warehouse, he felt absolutely certain that he was on the right road and that if he simply relaxed and followed his instincts he would be drawn to his destination as surely as a leaf would follow the current of a stream. And, as on that occasion and the night in the forest when he’d found the strange celebration in the dying and blighted clearing, a small part of his mind wondered at that.

  “What I wouldn’t give for a light,” Hanna said, with heavy irony. The reminder of her lost powers must have stirred something within her, because she stumbled and clutched at her temples with a faint cry of pain. Rudi stopped, despite the nameless urge pulling him onwards, and tried to support her. It was a shock. She felt frailer than ever, light in his arms, as though the power coursing through her was leaching away her substance as well as her vitality.

  “Here, let me…” Rudi began, but Hanna shrugged him off.

  “I’m all right,” she insisted, despite every indication to the contrary. Rudi would have demurred, but he knew the girl well enough by now to realise how futile the attempt would be, so he simply nodded.

  “Better keep moving,” he said instead.

  “Right.” Hanna took a few more paces, then an expression of puzzlement crossed her face. “That’s odd.” She reached inside the cloak which swathed her, blurring her outline against the surrounding dark.

  “What is?” Rudi asked. A moment later Hanna’s hand emerged, with the small leather pouch she’d taken from the skaven clenched in it. As it did so, Rudi realised that he could see her face more clearly. Hanna loosened the drawstring and tipped the piece of stone into her hand.

  “It’s never done that before,” she said. Rudi drew in his breath. The stone was glowing faintly, with some strange internal radiance. As they watched, it faded and died and became nothing more than an inert chip of rock again.

  “What do you think it means?” he asked.

  “I have no idea whatsoever.” She replaced the enigmatic stone in the pouch and slipped the thong over her head again. “Better keep moving, like you said.”

  “Right,” Rudi agreed, the sense of urgency he’d felt ever since he’d found the mysterious map, growing stronger than ever. If Magnus really was waiting for him at the point they were moving towards, then the answers he craved would be within his grasp at last.

  Despite the cold, he felt feverish with anticipation. Heedless of the treacherous footing afforded by the frosty ground beneath his feet, he hurried on as fast as he could without taxing Hanna too much.

  “Is it much further?” she asked after a while. Struck by renewed concern, Rudi slowed his pace. The girl seemed weaker than ever, stumbling from more than just the uneven ground.

  “Almost there,” he assured her, although how he could be so certain continued to elude him. He scanned the panorama of dereliction ahead of them and trusted to whatever instinct or power had guided him this far.

  The prospect was far from encouraging. A shanty town of roughly constructed hovels stood on the shore of a rank and scummy inlet, ill-shaped shacks thrown together from whatever scraps of wood and canvas their owners had been able to scavenge from the water and the tumbled detritus surrounding them. Hanna frowned.

  “Are you sure?” she asked dubiously.

  “Yes.” With growing assurance. Rudi walked into the cluster of stinking huts, grateful for the chill night air which deadened the worst of it. Oddly, as he began to get used to it, the stench became less offensive, so that after a while it became more tolerable, even pleasant in some peculiar way. Piles of filth lay between the ramshackle dwellings, which he strode through unconcerned. Hanna lifted her skirts with a grimace of distaste and picked her way around the worst of it as best she could.

  “Here.” Without pausing to wonder how he could be so positive, Rudi lifted his hand and rapped loudly on the door of a hut which seemed a little more sturdy than the others. The timbers which formed most of it appeared to have been salvaged from a boat. After a short pause he heard the rattle of a latch and the door creaked open.

  “Grandfather’s buboes, is it really you?” Magnus stepped back a pace, his face a mask of astonishment. Then he rallied, a broad smile spreading across his thin features and embraced the young man for a moment.

  “I could ask you the same thing,” Rudi said. The merchant seemed more cadaverous than ever, his skin taut and glossy with unhealed burns, from which thin, clear fluid wept continuously, and his hair all but gone. His clothes were charred rags, damp p
atches betraying where they adhered to the seared flesh beneath them. His injuries should have left him in agony, barely able to move, but to Rudi’s astonishment he seemed almost well.

  “I’ve changed a bit,” Magnus agreed, standing aside to motion his unexpected guests inside the hut. “But for the better, I like to think.”

  Hanna stared at him in horror. “I’ve some ointment here that might help,” she said, reaching for her satchel. Magnus shook his head and gestured to a small table in the centre of the hut. Four rickety chairs were placed around it, and a bundle of stained rags in the corner evidently did duty as a bed. Hanna gagged as she crossed the threshold and lifted a fold of the cloak across her face. Rudi looked at her in some puzzlement. The air inside the hut was warm and close, but that felt welcome after the chill night air, and the thick, cloying odour reminded him more of incense than anything else.

  “That’s very kind,” Magnus said, the skin of his face tearing slightly under the pressure of his smile to release a thin dribble of yellow pus, “but I can assure you I’ve never felt better in my life.”

  “Then you’ve lost all feeling in your skin?” Hanna asked, professional curiosity overcoming her revulsion. “I’ve heard of cases like that, where the damage was severe, but…”

  “I can assure you I feel no discomfort,” Magnus said. He lifted the lid off a shallow dish, with a faint echo of the courteous host Rudi remembered from Kohlstadt. “Can I offer you some refreshment? It’s not much, but we do the best we can down here.”

  Hanna gasped and recoiled from the contents. In spite of himself, Rudi felt his mouth begin to water at the sight and smell of the putrescent mess, but gestured a refusal.

  “We’ve already eaten, thank you.”

  “As you wish,” Magnus said, slobbering up something squishy and slick with mould. Hanna made a faint choking sound in the base of her throat.