by David Bishop
“Twelve months? He’ll be lucky to last twelve days!” Wout cackled.
“Twelve days? He’ll be lucky to last twelve hours over there,” Rottenrow chortled.
“I give him until Geheimnistag,” the Watch Commander said. “If he’s still there and still alive after the Day of Mystery, it would be a small miracle.” The others laughed heartily as the door closed behind Kurt.
“Did you see the look on his face when you mentioned the Three Penny Bridge, sir? Priceless!”
Belladonna rested a comforting hand on Kurt’s left arm. “Don’t listen to them. They’re just grateful you got the poison chalice, instead of them.”
“Thanks,” he grimaced. “That helps a lot.”
She shrugged. “Have you got anyone in the city you trust, someone to back you up?”
Kurt pondered her question for a moment. “One man, but he’s retired from the watch.”
“Talk him out of it. You’ll need all the help you can get where you’re going.” Belladonna gave his arm a gentle squeeze of encouragement before escorting him from the antechamber. The doors swung shut behind him and Kurt Schnell, acting captain for the Three Penny Bridge, was back out in the corridor where he’d waited since long before dawn. Now he was wishing he’d stayed in bed.
***
Belladonna waited until the captains had departed before re-entering the commander’s office. Unusually, he had stayed away from his desk, waiting for her return. “And how did our new acting captain react once he left my presence?”
“Like a man who’d just been punched in the groin.”
“Well, at least he’s not a fool.” He moved closer to Belladonna, until they were within touching distance. “And what of you? Joining Schnell is a fool’s errand.”
“I still want to be part of his team.”
The commander moved closer still, until their hips were almost touching. He was half a head shorter than her, so his breath was warming her neck. One of his hands slid round her waist, while the other explored more sensitive parts of her body. “You need not put yourself in such danger, my dear. I could make your life very comfortable, in exchange for certain… tasks.”
“I prefer to earn my rewards,” she said, struggling to keep the disgust from her face.
He leaned closer still, his eyes hungry with lust. “Oh, you’ll earn them, be certain of that.”
Belladonna snapped a knee up into his groin, the impact so hard it lifted his feet off the floor. The commander crumpled like a cloth sack, abruptly emptied of its contents. He gasped for breath, spitting vile obscenities at her. She smiled down at the prostrate figure curled upon the floor.
“Can I take it you’re giving me permission to leave, sir?”
Another string of curses told Belladonna where she could go and what she could do upon arrival.
“Well, I’m not sure that’s physically possible, but I’ll take it as a suggestion rather than an order. Goodbye, sir.”
Belladonna walked slowly from the imposing chamber, a wry smile on her lips. She’d been waiting a long time to repay that slug of a man for his wandering eyes. With any luck, he wouldn’t be able to walk straight for a week after that. Perhaps she should summon an apothecary to help heal the commander’s bruised pride. No, let him suffer. She had little doubt he planned to make her suffer now.
CHAPTER THREE
“A new captain’s been appointed to the Three Penny Bridge?” Adalbert Henschmann smiled, but his unsightly teeth and thin lips made the expression look more like a sneer to anyone who didn’t know him. Those who did know him knew better than to pass comment on the sinister nature of Henschmann’s smile, particularly if they wanted to keep their own teeth. “How delicious. Does this fool have a name?”
The small, weasel-faced creature grovelling in front of Henschmann dared to look up at its master. “Schnell, his name’s Kurt Schnell. He’s from Altdorf originally-his father was Old Ironbeard Schnell.”
“Then the man’s either a rogue or a fool to have wound up in Marienburg, let alone being assigned as captain of the watch in my domain,” Henschmann growled. “How many men does he have?”
“Supposed to be a dozen-at least two have already deserted, in fear for their lives.”
“A sensible reaction, in the circumstances.” Henschmann stamped his foot down beside the fearful wretch cowering in front of him. “And you-are you one of the unfortunates assigned to this fool Schnell?”
Willy Bescheiden nodded, greasy strands of dark hair falling in front of his beady little eyes. “Yes, Mr. Henschmann, I am. I think Quist must have realised I was feeding you information from Noordmuur.”
“Well, that was only a matter of time. Quist is many things, but he’s no fool.” Henschmann peered out of the window of his bedroom at the Marienburg Gentleman’s Club. It was an opulently decorated chamber on the upper floor, replete with four-poster bed, a writing desk and chair, and a rich, wooden wardrobe bulging with expensive, garishly coloured garments. Henschmann prided himself on his fashion sense, replacing all his clothes twice a year to keep up with the latest trends. Nobody dared tell the de facto crime boss of Marienburg he had the taste of a colour-blind lunatic, since he also had the temper of a psychopathic murderer. That probably had something to do with the fact he was a psychopathic murderer, so at least his temper matched his methods of maintaining control over the city’s vast criminal underbelly.
Through the window Henschmann could see much of nearby Suiddock: the neighbouring headquarters of the Stevedores and Teamsters Guild, where his counterpart Lea-Jan Cobbius ruled with a rod of iron; the Golden Lotus Dreaming House, the most notorious drug den in all of Marienburg, if the truth were told; and beyond them the Three Penny Bridge, spanning the cut that separated the islands of Riddra and Stoessel to the east. Beyond that but out of sight was Luydenhoek, the third island in the chain. All were under Henschmann’s control, all were effectively his property-and now the watch was daring to send an outsider to bring the law to these lawless streets and canals. Henschmann almost pitied the fool.
“So be it,” he announced. “Remind me, Willy, what is the old station being used for?”
“That’s where the bodyguards of your, err, associates in the Gentleman’s Club wait while their masters are gathered here. Otherwise it serves as the Abandon Hope Tavern, a place for thugs to wet their lips, dip their wicks and punch each other senseless. Cobbius’ half-witted cousin Abram likes to think of it as his own private club, although those who’ve seen his privates-”
Bescheiden’s words were abruptly cut off as Henschmann took care to grind the heel of his left boot on the informant’s hand as he passed the grovelling guttersnipe. “Yes, thank you-I do know the principal functions of a tavern, and I have no wish to hear anything about the life of Abram Cobbius.”
“Yes, sir, Mr. Henschmann,” Bescheiden winced, snot dribbling down from his nostrils, soaking his feeble attempt at growing a moustache. “Of course you don’t, sir.”
“Very well. Go back to the tavern and tell those inside to prepare a special, Three Penny Bridge welcome for this upstart from Altdorf-they’ll know what to do. After that I want you to stick close to this Schnell, find out his plans, his thinking. Report back to me daily, more often if you believe it necessary, and you shall be compensated for your…” Henschmann strode past Bescheiden again, once more crushing the cowering watchman’s hand underfoot, “…pains. Is that clear?”
Bescheiden merely nodded this time, wisely keeping any further commentary to himself.
“Good. Now, get out of my sight. I’m expecting a visitor and the last thing I want her to see when she walks in is your vile, repulsive presence.” Henschmann tossed a few gold coins against the door. “Take those as a down payment for your services, and get you gone.”
The informant was scrambling to retrieve the coins before they had settled to the wooden floor. He gathered them in his yellowed fingers and scuttled out of the bedchamber, doffing his black cap to Henschmann as he
left. Bescheiden was still making his way down to the ground floor when a beautiful, raven-haired woman clad in alluring silks of red and black appeared at the foot of the stairs. She waited until he had passed before venturing up to her client for the afternoon, not bothering to acknowledge Bescheiden’s lecherous attention.
Willy by name and willing by nature-that was Bescheiden’s motto. If only the ladies had been as willing, he might not have had to spend so many of his bribes buying their affection. But he doubted his entire life’s earnings would be enough to purchase the attentions of the woman ascending to entertain Adalbert Henschmann. Courtesans like Madame von Tiezer were few and far between in this city, her clientele only the richest and most powerful people. Travelling to Three Penny Bridge took Kurt most of the morning because he decided to arrive on foot. Streets and thoroughfares in Marienburg were perpetually crowded during the hours of daylight by travellers, peddlers and citizens, but the problem doubled on any given Marktag. The grand traditions of the market day may have eroded over the years, but most housewives still chose Marktag as their day to go shopping and gossiping. Craftsmen and artisans sent their apprentices out on the streets to sell items that would otherwise have to be scrapped, while farmers and fishermen ventured into the city with fresh supplies of their latest crop or catch.
With so much money changing hands, Marktag was also the busiest day of the week for pickpockets and thieves, plunderers, pilferers, brigands and bullies. The war had made the overcrowding worse, with crippled soldiers lining the streets begging for scraps, while deserters lurked in taverns and bordellos, trying to vanquish their sorrows and guilt.
Kurt could hardly walk a hundred paces without hearing somebody scream from a dark side alley, or without being accosted by some citizen or merchant left out of pocket by fraud or theft. The Black Caps’ headgear had been chosen for a reason. It made the watchmen easier to spot in a crowd and offered them some slight measure of protection from the outrages perpetrated on ordinary citizens. He told them all where he was going and what he planned to do there, and his path miraculously cleared-until the next cry for help, the next belligerent victim stepped in his way. Eventually he removed his cloth headgear and found progress faster. Overhead gulls wheeled and squawked in the air, the cacophony of their cries a constant presence for any who chose to live in Marienburg. Kurt had been told you got used to the sound of the gulls after ten or twenty years. In the meantime he did his best to ignore the birds, even if their cries echoed the mocking laughter of the captains in that grand office.
The sun was directly overhead when Kurt eventually set foot on Luydenhoek. Another hour elapsed before he reached the western end of Stoessel, so narrow were the streets of Suiddock and so dense the constant press of people, animals and carts. He knew to walk in the shadow of the overhanging buildings at either side of the streets. Only newcomers walked down the central cobbles, where urine and faeces ran along a gutter searching for an outlet. But it was the unexpected dowsing from a brimming chamber pot emptied out a first floor window that caught most new arrivals in the city unawares. Few made the same mistake twice.
Kurt heard a crier calling two o’clock as he got his first glimpse of Three Penny Bridge. The structure itself was little different from many other bridges around Marienburg. Houses and shops stood along either side of the span, such was the lack of space available for construction elsewhere in the city. Buildings hung out over the cut slicing between the much larger Rijksweg canal to the north and Bruynwarr canal to the south. Kurt was always amazed that those precariously perched structures did not topple into the water more often, but most had stood for more than a hundred years. No doubt most would stand for another hundred-barring outside intervention. But which of them was the abandoned station? Kurt paused near the foot of the bridge, letting his eyes become accustomed to what little light fell on Three Penny Bridge, looking for clues about which building housed his new quarters.
A line of heavily fortified homes lined the northerly side of the span, all of them looking like they were expecting war to break out at any minute. No doubt they were burgled or attacked on a frequent basis, Kurt surmised. Several looked like they had been abandoned altogether, while another was a burnt-out shell, smoke stains above the charred windows resembling the kohl eye make-up favoured by whores.
Three structures dominated the southern side of Three Penny Bridge-an abandoned temple at the Stoessel end, a fish market at the Riddra end, and a large, menacing structure in the middle. Working girls hung from the first floor windows, calling out to the men passing below, offering them fun, laughs and a good time. Drunks were sprawled in front of the entrance, lending the structure a disreputable air. Kurt could hear laughter and revelry spilling out from within, the familiar sounds of men gambling and arguing. Above the entrance jutted a twisted metal strut, and from this hung a battered and broken wooden sign. The word “Watch” had been obscured by a new name for the establishment: the Abandon Hope Tavern.
Kurt realised his first task would be reclaiming the abandoned station, and it would not be easy. Make a mess of this and he would quickly prove the captains had been right to mock him. “At least I won’t be on my own,” he muttered. “My recruits should have got here before me.”
He studied the throng shuffling back and forth across the most infamous bridge in Marienburg, searching for likely candidates, the best of the best that he’d been promised. But his heart sank like a stone on seeing the raw material he’d been supplied.
Seven men were lingering beside the fish market, trying to look like they didn’t know each other and certainly not as if they were meant to be there together. They all appeared bored, dishevelled and unfit. Several were leering at passing women, others were sipping covertly from bottles that no doubt contained liquor, and the remainder appeared quietly terrified. Not one of them was in the full regulation uniform of a watchman and none were wearing their black cap.
Guiltily, Kurt realised he had also removed his distinctive headgear. He retrieved it from his leather waist belt and positioned the cap proudly atop his head. If I lead by example, they should follow, he hoped. Time to find out if all the things his mentor had taught him would work as well on the Three Penny Bridge as they did in gentle Goudberg.
“Good afternoon, men,” Kurt said firmly as he approached them, trying to make his voice sound more positive than he felt. “You’ve all been assigned to that station, correct?” He jerked a thumb toward the Abandon Hope Tavern, not bothering to acknowledge the travesty it had become.
Nobody replied.
“I asked if you’ve all been assigned to that station. Is that correct?” Kurt repeated, letting anger seep into his voice, making certain all seven of them had heard him clearly. They started to straighten up, realising their new leader had arrived and he meant business. A few guiltily slid their black caps back on their heads. Eventually a small, insipid member of the group stepped forwards to speak.
“We were sent here, but some of the others didn’t bother turning up,” he said.
“Why not?”
A shrug was the sole response.
Kurt took a deep breath, trying to maintain his calm. He stepped closer to the self-appointed spokesman and grabbed hold of the craven creature by the throat. “What’s your name?”
“Bescheiden. W-Willy Bescheiden.”
“Willy Bescheiden what?”
Bafflement clouded Willy’s beady eyes. “Willy Bescheiden the third?” That got a laugh from the others. Kurt responded by tightening his grip around Willy’s throat, lifting the watchman into the air until Willy’s feet were off the cobbles, kicking uselessly at nothing.
“Let’s try that again, shall we?” Kurt suggested. “If I ask your name, you should tell me your name-and then feel free to add the word ‘sir’ to the end of that sentence. Is that quite clear?” Willy did his best to nod, his face slowly turning puce. “In fact, if I ask you anything, or you should need to talk to me for any reason, you will end every sentence w
ith the word ‘sir’. Do you understand?” Willy nodded once more, his features now rapidly changing from puce to a sickening shade of purple.
Kurt opened his hand and Willy tumbled to the cobbles, coughing and gasping for air, retching up a thin stream of green bile. Kurt waited until the unfortunate figure lying in the faeces gutter had recovered enough to speak. “So, let’s try it one more time, shall we? What’s your name?”
“Willy Bescheiden-sir.”
“That’s better.” Kurt smiled at the other recruits, making sure they all knew he meant business. “And why didn’t the other men assigned to this station turn up, Willy?”
“They were afraid what might happen here.”
“Sorry, what was that you said at the end of that sentence?”
Willy scrambled backwards, trying to get himself beyond the kicking range of Kurt’s leather boots. “They were afraid of what might happen here, sir.”
“See how easy it is to pick up the simplest of habits?”
“Yes, sir.”
Kurt nodded, letting his eyes wander over the faces of his charges. He had gotten their attention, but he needed to do more than thrash some sense into them if he wanted their respect. Fear was an effective leadership tool for a while, but without respect he would never get their best. A demonstration of will was required, to prove he would never ask them to do something he wasn’t willing to do himself. Any soldier was only as good as the commander leading him; Kurt’s father had taught him that.
He drew his club from its leather loop at his side and began tapping its heavy end against the palm of one hand. “That building has been stolen from the watch, from us in effect. Our first task is to reclaim that house of drunkenness and ill repute, transform it into a haven for law-abiding citizens, a place where people can come for help. It will not be easy and it will not be painless, but it is necessary if the watch is going to bring justice back to Suiddock. Who’s with me?”