David Bishop - A murder in Marienburg

“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.

“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.