A murder in Marienburg w-1

by David Bishop

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  Kurt opened his eyes and was surprised to find himself still alive. He was kneeling on the blood-strewn floor of the station. Beyond the mass of ratmen surrounding him Kurt could see early morning light on Three Penny Bridge, suggesting it would soon be dawn. A shame he and the others had not been able to hold off the ratmen until daybreak. He doubted the monsters would have dared stay above ground once the sun rose, but such regrets were useless now. A soft voice winced in pain nearby that Kurt recognised. He craned his neck about and saw ten humans being held prisoner by the ratmen. All had a wickedly curved blade held to their throats, the sinister black metal digging into their skin. All bore the bruises and blood of many beatings. They had suffered at the hands of the ratmen, but they were not dead-yet.

  Kurt fought off a wave of nausea as his eyes slid in and out of focus, a blinding pain from the side of his head threatening to undo him. He squinted, struggling to make out the faces of those opposite. Three of them were mercenaries, their features unknown to him. But the others were all familiar: Gerta, Faulheit, Bescheiden, Holismus, Scheusal, Belladonna and Henschmann. Why had they been kept alive? More to the point, how was it he had not been killed by the ratmen? The answers to both those questions soon became evident. All the ratmen inside the station suddenly stiffened, straightening their backs and puffing out their chests. Sweet Shallya, Kurt thought, they’re standing to attention. But that means-

  “Who is the leader?” an ancient, malevolent voice asked, its rasping words heavily accented but still able to be understood. Kurt twisted round to see who was speaking. An old, battle-scarred ratman limped into the station, its fur flecked with grey and silver. The new arrival wore elaborate battle armour, encrusted with numerous metallic decorations, no doubt marking the many conflicts it had fought. Kurt tried to stand, but his legs were still too weak and would not support him.

  “I am captain of this station,” he replied, contenting himself his voice still had its usual authority.

  “What is your name, human?”

  “Captain Kurt Schnell of the Marienburg Watch-what’s yours?” One of the ratmen guarding Kurt lashed out, smashing the hilt of a sword against the captain’s head. He was sent sprawling back on to the floor, but immediately dragged himself back up on to his knees, refusing to be bullied by these creatures.

  “I am Garacin the Ghost, longest-lived of all skaven in this city. Where is the heart stone?”

  Kurt frowned, uncertain what was being asked of him. “The heart stone?” Another vicious blow smacked him to the floor, but he refused to be beaten down.

  “We seek the heart stone, the lost shard, the missing fragment of our greatest weapon. Too long it has been lost to us, hidden from our eyes by some cunning trickery of the elves. We had our allies lure foolish young elves down into our domain, in the belief one of them would find what was concealed from us. They did as we hoped, but somehow the heart stone was secreted away from us once more. We know the heart stone had been close these past few days, has been kept within these walls. Give it unto us!”

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about-” A third blow struck him, still more brutal than the last. When Kurt had recovered, Garacin made a gesture to the line of ratmen guarding the ten prisoners. A viciously curved blade sliced through one of the mercenary’s throats, severing his vocal chords and stopping his screams. He perished in a pool of his own blood, while the ratmen laughed as his twitching body died.

  “Surrender the heart stone or surrender the lives of your fellow humans,” Garacin hissed.

  “I would if I could,” Kurt replied.

  Another signal from the veteran vermin and it was Faulheit’s turn to die. His pleading eyes stared at Kurt as the blade did its bloodthirsty work. So deeply did the ratman guard slice, Faulheit’s head was cut free and rolled across the floor towards the captain, coming to rest beside his knees.

  “All your friends will die the same way, unless you give us what we want,” Garacin warned. Kurt said nothing, his eyes fixed on those of Henschmann. The crime boss’ face was bleached white by terror, while a dark stain was spreading downwards from the crotch of his trousers. The ratman leader tired of waiting for a response from Kurt and nodded to his brethren. The second mercenary died, closely followed by the last of the hired killers. That left only Kurt, Gerta, five Black Caps and Henschmann.

  “Perhaps you care more for your females,” Garacin said. “The younger, more beautiful one dies next, unless you surrender the heart stone unto us.”

  “I can get it for you,” Kurt said. “I know where it is.”

  “Where?”

  “My predecessor has it. I hid the heart stone on him before witch hunters took him away. I can get it back-I just need time.”

  “That is a luxury you do not possess,” Garacin hissed. “Kill the female.”

  “No!” Kurt protested. “Kill her and I guarantee you will never find what you seek!”

  The old ratman stared at him. “I do not believe this. You wish to delay us, knowing we must withdraw before sunrise.”

  The captain smiled. “I was trying to delay you, that much is true. But not until sunrise.”

  “Then why?” Garacin demanded, his voice a sibilant hiss of hatred. They were the last words he uttered before an arrow buried itself in the rat-man’s neck, killing him outright. The other ratmen twisted round, searching for the source of this murderous attack. More arrows shot through the air, cutting down all but one of the ratmen guarding the prisoners. As the monster closest to Kurt collapsed, the captain snatched a blade from its grasp and flung it across the room, slaying the ratman that still had Belladonna at its mercy.

  “I’ve been waiting for reinforcements,” Kurt said, a quiet smile of satisfaction on his face.

  A dozen elves stormed into the station from Three Penny Bridge, Tyramin Silvermoon leading them from the front, Otto close behind him. The elves were armed with bows and blades, cutting a swathe through the ratmen. The ratmen were already in shock from the sudden death of their leader. When the elves burst in, it put the ratmen warriors to flight. A handful engaged the new enemy while others beat a hasty retreat, taking the bodies of their slain brethren with them.

  Kurt called to his watchmen and they joined the battle, using discarded weapons to catch the remaining ratmen in a pincer movement. The fighting was fast and furious, but the ratmen did not stand their ground for long. A high-pitched squeal cut the air and the ratmen bolted, diving out of windows to evade the elves and battle-weary humans. Half the elves went in pursuit of the enemy, while the others stayed behind, Tyramin among them. Kurt took one last, long look around the station, amazed it was still standing, amazed his tiny force of watchmen had withstood all that had been thrown against them since sunset. Then he collapsed, utterly spent. When Kurt came round, he found Scheusal and Belladonna talking with Otto. The elves were all gone except for Tyramin, who was kneeling by the captain’s side. “Thank you,” Kurt said. “I’m not sure what we’ve done to deserve your intervention or your assistance, but thank you.”

  The elf smiled. “We came at the priest’s request. The House of Silvermoon was in his debt, due to the kindness he showed my dead brother. Besides, I understand it was these vermin who killed Arullen.”

  “I believe so,” Kurt replied, sitting up with some difficulty. His head was spinning and his body felt more tired than it had ever been before. He reached into the pocket of his tunic and removed the brooch found near Arullen’s body. The tiny shard of warp-stone was back inside its setting, as before. He had lied to the ratmen, determined to delay them as long as possible. The moment the ratmen had the heart stone, the lives of all those within the station would have been forfeit. More importantly, it would have enabled the ratmen to reactivate their greatest weapon.

  Kurt had no idea what that weapon might be, but he knew its most likely target: Marienburg. If the city ever fell to the ratmen, that would trigger a chain reaction that could destroy the Empire. The sa
crifice of a few lives in a Suiddock watch station was nothing in such circumstances, but he was grateful to have survived his encounter with the ratmen. The captain explained all of this to Tyramin as he handed over the brooch. “I believe your brother died getting this artefact away from the ratmen. I ask that you take it back to your enclave, and ensure it never leaves the protection of the House of Silvermoon. Will you do that, Tyramin, brother of Arullen?”

  “I do it willingly,” Tyramin replied, bowing his head to Kurt before helping the captain back on his feet. Together the two unlikely allies surveyed the damage to the station. “You and your men fought well. Few can hold back a ratmen attack for long, and fewer still have the strength of will to stare into the face of death while refusing to surrender their dignity. A pity none will ever know of this courage.”

  Kurt nodded. “The ratmen removed all trace of themselves and I’ll forbid my men from speaking of what happened here, for their own sakes. Besides, I doubt anyone would believe a word of it.”

  “I bid you farewell,” Tyramin said. “I will make mention of your courage to my elders. It is good to know there are creatures of valour and resolve among the men of Marienburg.”

  Kurt bowed, accepting the compliment. When he looked up again the elf had gone. Also missing was Henschmann. Belladonna said the crime boss had fled once the ratmen were vanquished. “Couldn’t wait to get back to his lair,” she smirked, before her expression softened. “Thank you for saving me.”

  “The station has lost too many Black Caps,” Kurt replied. “Jan, Verletzung, Mutig, Faulheit, Raufbold and Narbig-I didn’t want to lose anymore.” He ran a hand across the lumps and bumps on his skull, wincing in pain at the many places where the ratmen had hit him. “What happened to Cobbius?”

  “Come and see,” Scheusal interjected. “It isn’t pretty.” Tyramin studied the brooch on his way back to Sith Rionnasc’namishathir. It was not made by the hand of elves, though he could understand why Schnell and the others had believed that. The intricate design of the brooch had much in common with the work of elf silversmiths, but it was born of another race, one far older than the memories of mortal men. As Tyramin held the brooch in his hands, he felt the warpstone shard set within the design calling to him, asking to be found, to be set free.

  This tiny piece of evil had lured Arullen and his friends to their doom in the catacombs. But for Arullen’s bravery and the fortitude of Schnell, the ratmen would have the brooch now. Tyramin shuddered at how close Marienburg had been to disaster these past few days. The city owed the Black Caps of Three Penny Bridge an enormous debt, though none but him knew that. But true heroism needed no celebration to be truly heroic. The high tide was receding from the basement, leaving a floor awash with shattered armour and broken weapons. Cobbius was still hanging from his shackles, but little remained of him from the neck down except a skeleton. The ratmen had stripped every morsel of flesh from his bones. “I see they had the good taste to leave his head untouched,” Kurt observed. “Best put his remains in a bag and throw it into the water at Doodkanaal. I don’t think his cousin Lea-Jan will want anyone else seeing what’s left of Abram.”

  Otto was still waiting for the captain when Kurt made his way back upstairs. “I’m sorry I couldn’t get here sooner, but the elves took some persuading,” the priest explained. He glanced at the multitude of bodies littering the station floor, while yet more were piled up outside on Three Penny Bridge. “I can see I’m going to be busy over the next few days. Will business always be this good while you’re around?”

  “Let’s hope not,” Kurt sighed. “I want you to hold a service for all the watchmen who fell defending this place-Jan, especially. They deserve more than a burial barge.”

  The priest bowed. “It would be an honour.”

  Kurt called Bescheiden over. “Willy, I need you to help Otto recover Sergeant Woxholt’s body from the tunnel in the basement. Can you do that?”

  The grief-stricken watchman nodded. “It’s… It’s the least I can do for him.”

  “Good man,” the captain replied, placing a comforting hand on Bescheiden’s shoulder. Henschmann cancelled his appointments for the day, telling Helga he was not to be disturbed under any circumstances. Even Madame von Tiezer was to be turned away. Once satisfied Helga understood his mood, Henschmann went into his office and stood by a window, staring out at Riddra and Three Penny Bridge in the distance. He remained there for hours, refusing all attempts by his bodyguard to bring him food or drink. Henschmann was still standing by the windows when Kurt approached the Marienburg Gentleman’s Club, not long after midday. “Helga!”

  “Yes, sir?” she replied, hurrying into his office.

  “Captain Schnell is coming to see me. He is to be admitted without question or hindrance.”

  The bodyguard frowned, but knew better than to question her orders. “Yes, sir, of course,” she said, withdrawing. Helga returned a few minutes later, ushering the watch captain inside. Henschmann waited until she had gone, closing the door after her, before speaking.

  “Quite a busy night,” he said, remaining by the window.

  “I’ve had worse,” Kurt replied, before pausing. “No, perhaps not.”

  “I should hope not.” The two men stood in silence a while, deep in thought.

  “I came to inform you Abram Cobbius is dead. The ratmen consumed him.”

  “No loss,” Henschmann said. “He was an ambitious fool who outreached himself. Seeking his release was a matter of principle, nothing more.”

  “And trying to drive the Watch out of Suiddock?” Kurt asked. “Was that also about principles?”

  “I’ve decided to let you have your little outpost of justice, if you wish to stay in that district.”

  “How magnanimous of you, Casanova.”

  “There is little you can actively do to hurt me,” Henschmann continued, ignoring the insult. “My business interests stretch far further than Riddra, or even Suiddock as a whole. And my influence goes even further. It would take much more than your meagre resources to undo all of that. I am not bragging, you understand-merely stating a fact.”

  Kurt shrugged, not committing himself to agree.

  “Besides,” Henschmann added, “you seem to act as a lightning rod for trouble round here. I suspect you’re more useful to me where you are on Three Penny Bridge. Consider that a compliment, if you wish. I will have a word with your commander, see if he can’t arrange for you to have some reinforcements. Not much point having a watch station on the bridge if you’ve nobody left to man it, is there?” Kurt made his way back to the battered and broken station as the sun began its slow descent toward the horizon once more. Somehow he and a few of his recruits had survived everything the city could throw against them and more. They had lost far too many of their colleagues along the way, but the worst was over now. At least, he hoped it was. But rebuilding the station would be a massive task and one his recruits were ill equipped to undertake. Kurt shook his head. Maybe it would be easier to go back to the commander, tail between his legs, and admit defeat. For once the Schnell family pride would have to come second, in the service of a greater good.

  The captain was still mulling over his options as he got within sight of Three Penny Bridge. The span was choked with people, all of them gathered outside the station. Kurt quickened his pace, eager to see what was wrong now. But the closer he got, the denser the crowd became. As he struggled through the throng, people started to clap him on the back and applaud him. It was a disconcerting sensation after being the target of so much hatred and derision since arriving in Suiddock. When he did reach the front of the station, Kurt was stunned to see gangs of citizens hard at work rebuilding the battered walls, doors and windows. Scheusal was directing the efforts, while Molly and her girls were fetching drinks and equipment for the workers. Terfel leaned out of the captain’s office window and gave him a cheerful wave.

  Belladonna came out to see why the citizens were cheering and clapping. She smiled as Kur
t approached, calling to him. “Isn’t it incredible? They heard about how we stood our ground against Henschmann and his mercenaries! I think you’ve won them over, captain!”

  Kurt shook his head, still not quite able to believe what he was seeing. Maybe some good had come out of all the sacrifices, all the pain, all the suffering and all the deaths. Maybe. Time would tell. Deep beneath the station, in the tall columns of stone that supported Three Penny Bridge, one particular stone pulsed hungrily. It had tasted blood five days earlier and it had feasted again when the ratmen brought it chunks of raw flesh torn from the bones of Abram Cobbius. The stone called out into the darkness, summoning other monstrous creatures, calling the denizens of darkness to it. A sickly, green glow emanated from it, pulsating with evil. The stone had tasted human blood and it wanted more…

  FB2 document info

  Document ID: fbd-4c3b3a-deb2-0d4a-178a-85c3-6588-3610e4

  Document version: 1

  Document creation date: 15.11.2010

  Created using: Fiction Book Designer software

  Document authors :