"A murder in Marienburg" - читать интересную книгу автора (Bishop David)

CHAPTER FIVE

To an outside observer, Marienburg was seemingly run and controlled by the Stadsraad, a parliament of elected representatives. To most of those living within Marienburg, the Stadsraad was controlled by the Ten-ten families who owned the city’s most wealthy merchant houses. To those who dealt with crimes both wet and dry in Marienburg, the city was run and controlled by two organisations-the Stevedores and Teamsters Guild, and those who gathered at the Marienburg Gentlemen’s Club. That both of these groups should have their headquarters on Riddra, the smallest island in the Suiddock district was unlikely. The fact both buildings should stand adjacent to each other was too unlikely to be a coincidence.

During his time in the city, Kurt had rarely encountered the true power of the guild. Its members controlled each and every piece of cargo that came into or departed the docks of Marienburg. In the greatest trading city of the Old World, that control represented an immensely powerful weapon. Almost all of the Empire’s imports and exports flowed through Marienburg, therefore the guild could paralyse the rest of the Empire if it so chose. The power of the stevedores and teamsters was absolute on the docks. Once out at sea, vessels became tempting prizes for pirates and wreckers. But most captains preferred their chances at sea to the tyranny of the guild.

Stevedores and teamsters held the docks in a merciless grip, but those who gathered at the nearby Marienburg Gentleman’s Club profited from every crime in the city. It was the nerve centre of all illegality, home to the League of Gentlemen Entrepreneurs, an organisation more commonly and simply known as the League.

It was the guild for thieves, smugglers and robbers, a union for criminals and their masters. The League arbitrated disputes between rival gangs and made sure everyone concentrated on their true purpose: profiting from the misery and vices of others. Kurt may have hailed from Altdorf, but as a Black Cap he knew all too well about the extent of the League’s grasp upon life within Marienburg. But he had never had cause before today to venture on to Riddra, let alone stand on the steps that passed between the headquarters of these two powerful organisations en route to the water’s edge of the Bruynwarr.

The two buildings offered a stark contrast. The League’s home resembled little more than a modest, two-storey tavern, squatting on the southern side of Riddra, complete with tiled roof and slightly shabby exterior. A casual observer could little imagine the power that was wielded by those who gathered within those walls. By comparison, the guild headquarters was a lavish building.

An innocent mind would find it incongruous for an organisation of supposedly humble dockworkers to boast such an opulent structure, every level of the building larger and more ornately decorated than the last. As Kurt approached the scene of the crime, he studied the two buildings, looking for faces at the windows or some hint that those within knew about the corpse found so close by. But nobody appeared interested in peering out, and certainly the residents of Riddra had no intention of coming near this place. The curious were not long-lived around these cobbled streets and passageways.

Two figures were at the top of the stairs, but they kept apart from each other, like a pair of strangers waiting for the next ferry across the Rijksweg. The one on the left was dressed in a black cloak, the hood drawn back to reveal a hairless scalp.

Kurt couldn’t see their faces yet, but he had little doubt it must be Otto, the priest of Morr he had met earlier. The other person was also wearing a cloak, but cut from a different cloth and dark of hue. They had the hood up, hiding their features from Kurt’s gaze as he got closer. As he watched, the hooded figure crouched down, staring intently at something near the top of the steps. Kurt quickened his pace, moving from a brisk walk into a run. “Don’t touch that!” he called out.

“I wasn’t planning to,” a woman’s voice replied. Gloved hands pulled back the hood to reveal a mass of chestnut hair and the familiar, smiling face of Belladonna Speer.

“You again,” Kurt said. “I suppose the commander sent you. That didn’t take him long.”

She stood up and removed her gloves. “Actually, I’m here on your behalf.”

“I don’t understand.”

Belladonna offered the hand of friendship to him. “I volunteered to join your station. I’m one of the recruits assigned to Three Penny Bridge.” When Kurt did not shake her hand, she sighed and withdrew it. “Let me guess-you’ve never worked alongside a woman before, you don’t believe I’m up to the job and you’re worried I’m going to get myself into some sort of trouble-either with the other recruits or a criminal-that will cause problems for you and your ambitions for the station. Correct?”

“Well…” Kurt said. “Yes. And I’m not sure whether we have… err… facilities for women.”

“I’m sure we can find a way around that,” she replied. “Give me until this time tomorrow to prove myself. If you’re not satisfied I’ll be an asset to the station, I’ll get myself transferred back to headquarters or somewhere else, out of your way.”

“I’ll have to think about it.”

Belladonna shook her head, nostrils flaring in frustration. “Fine, you do that. In the meantime, I want to get a closer look at the bottom of these steps.”

“Don’t touch the body,” Otto warned as she approached the top of the staircase.

“I wasn’t planning to. That’s your domain, not mine.” She stomped off down the stone steps.

“Quite a temper she has,” Otto observed dryly. “Her own worst enemy, no doubt.”

“That’s true of almost everyone,” Kurt replied.

“Not of me,” the priest said.

Kurt let that pass. “How did you hear about the murder?”

“As a servant of Morr, I am attuned to such things.”

“Ahh.”

“And I overhead a fat woman bragging outside my window about her involvement with the murder of an elf. She described where the victim was, so I came to administer what aid I could.”

“Gerta the Blurter strikes again.”

Otto frowned. “You mean she’s killed before?” Kurt explained about the woman’s confessional tendencies. “A sad case,” the priest decided. “So powerful a love, separated from its inspiration.”

“Actually, I’ve heard Gerta’s alleged lover can’t stand the woman. I wouldn’t be surprised if he let himself be caught in the hope of being sent to Rijker’s Isle, just so he could escape her attentions.”

Otto shrugged. “I know little of such matters. My devotion is to Morr and the ways of death.”

“You’ve examined the body?”

“Not closely, but well enough to confirm the dead elf was murdered-a wrongful killing.”

“All murders are wrongful killings.”

Otto pursed his lips. “Perhaps by definition, but I’ve found there is an infinity of possibilities in such matters. Murder may be a wrongful killing but not all wrongful killings are murder.”

“If you say so,” Kurt sighed. “How was he slain?”

The priest pressed his fingers together in a steeple shape in front of his chest. “That I cannot say.”

“Why? Is that the sort of thing you can only confide to the family? Or do you need more time with the body to be certain of your conclusions?”

“You misunderstand me,” Otto said before pointing down the steps. “That poor soul was slain in a way I’ve never observed before. An animal was involved, but also a blade and possibly other weapons as well. The vocal chords were ripped apart by claws, in an attack of inhuman savagery-but the decision to sever them suggests intelligence, reasoning, an attempt to stop the victim crying out for help. I believe that was one of the first wounds inflicted, perhaps the second. After that, the murderer took their time, savouring the slaughter. This was a celebration, a testing of strength almost. Whoever committed this atrocity will certainly kill again. They have a taste for it now.”

Kurt stared at the priest in disbelief. “And you saw all this from a brief examination of the body?”

“One brief examination of this body, and a lifetime spent studying death and dying.”

“Point taken. Well, time I had a look at this dead elf for myself.” Kurt moved towards the steps but felt a hand on his shoulder, holding him back. He turned to look at the priest inquiringly.

“You should give her a chance,” Otto said quietly. “I know a little about Belladonna Speer. She studied our ways for a time, before choosing a different path. That young woman knows much that is considered arcane or uncanny by most of your kind. Her attitude may be irksome, but she would be a valuable asset for your station.” Otto released his surprisingly strong grip on Kurt’s shoulder.

“I’ll bear that in mind.” Belladonna was standing astride the dead body, studying a droplet of blood on the stone wall to one side of the corpse, when she heard Kurt coming down to join her. “Don’t step in that pool of blood on the fifth step up from the water,” she warned, not bothering to look up at him.

“What pool of-” Kurt’s voice was stopped by a sickly squelch. “Ahh. That pool of blood.”

Belladonna shook her head. “Why do Black Caps always insist on walking through the evidence, thereby destroying clues that might help them catch the culprits?”

“You’re a Black Cap too, remember?”

“I was generalising,” she replied, before pointing at the bloodspot on the wall. “I don’t think that came from a human being. Some kind of animal, possibly, but certainly not from a human.”

“You’ve got a dead elf beneath you. Perhaps he was the source,” Kurt said.

“Sarcasm is the poor man’s wit,” Belladonna observed.

“You would do well to remember I am your superior, at least in rank.”

She smiled, despite herself. “Sorry, Captain Schnell.”

“So am I,” he admitted. “My first day and a dead elf on my watch-hardly an auspicious start.”

“Well, if it’s any comfort, our friend here’s been dead longer than you’ve had your promotion. His body temperature suggests he’s been here since before dawn.”

“Wouldn’t the tide have affected that?”

“Normally, yes, but the body was dumped down here as the tide was going out. Whoever put this corpse here wanted it found by the Black Caps, not the River Watch.”

Kurt grunted unhappily. “You said it was dumped here-but not killed here?”

Belladonna gestured around them. “There’d be much more blood. This elf fought for his life, he didn’t die willingly. This was murder, have no doubt of that.”

“Otto said much the same.”

“Well, he would know, wouldn’t he?” When Kurt didn’t reply, she looked up to find him staring at her. “What is it? What’s wrong?”

“He was right about you-you see things other people don’t. Why is that?”

Belladonna shrugged. “To me, a case like this, it’s a puzzle, an enigma waiting to be solved.”

Kurt smiled. “What else can you tell me about this enigma, then?”

She stepped aside, to afford him a better view of the corpse. The elf was blanched white, his face a mask of pain and torment. The throat was a mess of rips and shreds, while the abdomen had suffered even more damage. The hands were just as brutalised, skin hanging from bleak, white bones. Curiously, one finger pointed up towards the sky-or perhaps towards the two buildings that overlooked the corpse. “This body wasn’t so much dumped here as carefully posed. Notice how one foot extends downwards, towards the water’s edge? That would have muddied the jurisdictional issues, depending upon when the corpse was found. The hands show the elf fought back, even unto death. The throat-”

“Severed to stop him crying out,” Kurt interjected.

“Very good,” Belladonna said admiringly.

“Otto told me.”

“Ahh.” She pointed at the abdomen. “There’s two sets of wounds there. The major damage was done by something jagged and savage. But the underlying wounds look like they were done by a blade, not expertly handled either. Someone hacked about for a while in there.”

“So the second wounds were designed to conceal the first attack?”

“It’s possible,” she conceded.

Kurt’s brow furrowed. “Were the initial wounds fatal?”

“They were mortal wounds-but not necessarily fatal. I’d need to know more about the bodies of elves before I could give a definitive answer on that. It’s Otto’s area of speciality, not mine. To be honest, I’m more interested in what’s around the body, what that tells us.”

“And the pointing finger?”

“Someone is sending a message to the Guild or the League-or possibly both. Whoever put this body here knew the presence of those organisations so close by meant the corpse would not be found straight away. They also knew we wouldn’t have the benefit of any witnesses to help us.”

“Well, they were wrong about that much, at least,” Kurt muttered to himself. He gestured at the body. “Are you done here? I’d like Otto to have a closer look at the remains, see what else he can find.”

“It’s best if he takes it to his temple for that. Once news reaches the elf quarter about what’s happened here, this case will be taken out of your hands and so will the body.”

“You know your politics,” Kurt said appreciatively.

“Three years working under the commander, you pick up a thing or two. I can help Otto transport the body, if you wish. Priests of Morr are stronger than they look, but even he would struggle to shift a dead elf across to Stoessel without anyone noticing.”

“Agreed. I’ll send him down.” Kurt started back up the steps, taking them three at a time.

“Where are you going, in case we run into trouble?” Belladonna shouted after him.

“To pay a social visit on an important local resident.”

“Who?”

“I think it’s about time I introduced myself to Adalbert Henschmann!” Getting Abram Cobbius and his drunken thugs out of the Abandon Hope Tavern was relatively simple, once they’d been beaten unconscious. Persuading the women who plied their trade from the upper level was proving more problematic for Jan. All six of the women had barricaded themselves into the middle room at the front of the building, the side that faced out on to Three Penny Bridge. “You can’t stay in there forever,” Jan shouted through the heavy wooden door. “This was a watch station before you arrived and now it’s going back to being a watch station again. That’s no place for your sort of business.”

“Maybe not, but we need a place to work,” one of the women yelled back. “Find us somewhere else we can earn a crust, and you can have the room back. Until that happens, we stay where we are!”

“Have it your own way,” Jan replied. He nodded to Scheusal and Narbig, whom he had sent out to fetch wooden planks, nails and two hammers. “You heard the ladies, they’ve decided to stay. Barricade the door to make sure they do.” The two men set to work nailing planks across the door, sealing it shut so the women couldn’t come and go via the station, even if they wanted to. When the noise of hammering finally ceased, the women demanded to know how they were supposed to get out. “We’ll fetch you a rope ladder,” Jan shouted back. “If you want to leave, you go out the window.”

“What about our customers?”

Jan looked to the two watchmen for suggestions. “They have got a right to work, you know,” Scheusal said, while Narbig remained silent.

“I guess any visitors you have can use the ladder too,” Jan bellowed through the double barricade, “but only until we find you somewhere else. How does that sound?”

“It’ll do!”

“Good! Well, that’s settled, then.” Jan folded his arms, feeling he’d been duped in some way.

“Hey, sergeant-what’s your name?” the spokeswoman called out.

“Woxholt-Jan Woxholt. And you?”

“Molly.”

“Molly what?”

There was a hollow laugh from the other side of the door. “We don’t need a second name in our line of work, Sergeant Woxholt. Even if we had second names, nobody ever asks for them.”

“I’m sorry to hear that.” Jan’s attention was taken by the sound of a woman’s shouts drifting up from the ground floor. “Is that one of your girls?”

“No. We know better than to argue,” Molly replied.

“You could’ve fooled me,” Jan muttered to himself, before raising his voice. “She’s probably here to see the captain. I’ll have to make sure she doesn’t leave before he returns. Afternoon to you, Molly.”

“Same to you, I guess.” Satisfied with the strange arrangement, Jan headed for the staircase. “Hey, sergeant!” Molly called, stopping Jan in his tracks. “I wanted to say-you’re alright, for a Black Cap.”

“You’re welcome,” he shouted back, before continuing on his way. Kurt stood outside the front door of the Marienburg Gentlemen’s Club, unsure what to do. This was the nerve centre of all crime in the city, home to the dreaded Guild We’ve Never Heard Of, the headquarters for the League of Gentlemen Entrepreneurs. Should he march straight inside, or knock first and wait? Kurt decided discretion was the better part of valour and knocked three times, his knuckles rapping hard against the heavy wooden door. A small, metallic porthole opened in the door and a large, rheumy eye stared out at him. “What do you want here?” a gruff voice demanded.

“My name’s Captain Schnell of the watch. I…” Kurt pondered his next words carefully, not wishing them to be his last. “I’ve come to pay my respects to Adalbert Henschmann.”

“Casanova’s busy at the moment,” the doorman replied, laughing at some private joke.

“Really?” Kurt smiled. “I’ve sometimes heard your employer referred to by that nickname, but I understand nobody ever dares call him that to his face. I’m sure he’d be interested to learn his doorman dares use it, let alone uttering it here of all places.” Kurt glanced up to the first floor windows. “Perhaps I should shout out this revelation, I’m sure he could probably hear me from his private quarters.”

“No, don’t!” the doorman pleaded, his eye wide with panic. “I’ll let you in, just don’t tell him what I called him-please?” Bolts were hurriedly drawn back and the door swung inwards. Kurt strolled inside, a broad smile on his usually taciturn features.

“Let’s keep it our little secret, hmm?” he offered, trying not to be startled by the black, empty socket where the doorman’s right eye should have been. Kurt glanced around and was surprised to find the interior little different from any other taproom in Marienburg. The ceiling was low, the wooden floorboards were covered in spilled ale and sawdust, and a low fog of smoke choked the air.

A surly cluster of sour-faced miscreants gathered at tables, while a serving wench glared at Kurt from the bar, her clubbed hands wiping a pewter tankard with a grimy cloth. What little light there was came from a fireplace at the far end of the taproom, illuminating the few wooden doors that led into other parts of the building. A wooden staircase beckoned Kurt upwards. He took a step towards it but the doorman blocked the way. The one-eyed man was at least a head taller than Kurt and broad of build, but his hands clutched each other for comfort like those of a nervous father.

“Please, captain, you can’t go up there-not yet.”

“I’ve already said, I won’t tell-”

“No, I mean you can’t go up. Casa-” the doorman said, before clamping a hand over his own mouth in horror at saying the nickname again. “Henschmann is being entertained, at present.”

Kurt sighed. “I see. And how long does his ‘entertainment’ usually take?”

“It’s difficult to say, captain.”

“Less time than it takes me to fill a tankard with ale,” the serving wench interjected. “But he likes his visitor to stay with him most of the afternoon, to enhance his reputation with the ladies.”

“Well, I haven’t got all afternoon to wait,” Kurt insisted. He pushed past the doorman and strode to the staircase. He was halfway up the creaking steps when another burly body blocked his progress. Kurt was confronted with the hefty, heavyset presence of a terrifyingly dour woman, her straw blonde hair tied in plaits that were bound in whirls on the sides of her head.

“You heard them downstairs,” she sneered. “Nobody disturbs my master until he’s ready.”

“But I-”

“Nobody,” the woman repeated, cracking the knuckles of one hand inside another. She was twice Kurt’s bodyweight, had forearms like hocks of ham and a broken nose. She also had the advantage of height over him, making it all but impossible to foresee an easy way past.

Kurt smiled. “Very well. Tell your master that I came to pay my respects, and that if he wishes-” The rest of his sentence was forgotten as the most stunning woman Kurt had ever seen emerged from a doorway behind the bodyguard. Her hair was dark as a moonless night, yet her pale skin had the quality of alabaster. The luscious red of her lips was matched by a corset of startling red silk that struggled to encompass her proud bosom. The rest of her dress was also silk, but black as the shining hair that framed her beautiful features. She blew a delicate kiss into the room from which she had just left, before walking towards the staircase, her face alive with humour and intelligence. The woman paused at the top of the steps, taking a moment to adjust her dйcolletage, a wry smile on her lips. Kurt had never seen this woman before, but her startling appearance and self possession left him in little doubt of her identity.

“Thank you, Helga,” she said, her voice warm and low, like an early evening zephyr on a summer’s night. “I believe Adalbert is ready to receive visitors now.”

“Very good, Madame von Tiezer,” the bodyguard growled, stepping aside to let the woman pass.

Kurt also moved aside for the courtesan, gently inclining his head to her as an acknowledgement. To his surprise, she paused beside him, the scent of musk and sweet perfume drifting into his nostrils like a sigh. “I don’t believe we’ve met. My name is Diede,” she whispered, offering her right hand. He took it in his and kissed the delicate knuckles, his eyes straining to take in her beauty.

“The pleasure is all mine,” Kurt said, before introducing himself. She seemed intrigued.

“Any relation to Old Ironbeard Schnell?”

“He’s my father.” Kurt pondered the implications of her question. “You’ve met my father?”

Madame von Tiezer smiled. “Not in my professional capacity, no. But men of true courage and greatness are rare these days. I do my best to keep abreast of all notable arrivals in Marienburg. I’m surprised we haven’t met before now.”

“I was only made a captain this morning.”

“And this afternoon you’re coming to visit Adalbert?” She arched an eyebrow at him. “How delightful. I wish you well with your endeavours on the Three Penny Bridge, Captain Kurt Schnell. The task ahead of you is not easy, and the victory will not come without cost, but victory you shall win.”

“How do you know-”

Madame von Tiezer pressed a finger against his lips to silence the question, while pressing the rest of her body closer to him. “A true courtesan is trained in many arts: she must sing, tell stories, listen well and speak less. Some of us also have other skills, second sight and the like. We will meet again, Captain Schnell, you may be certain of that.” She removed her finger from his lips, the act so intimate Kurt felt himself close to blushing. Then she was gone, dancing down the steps with the grace of a ballerina.

Helga cleared her throat conspicuously to get Kurt’s attention. When he looked up at her, she was gesturing impatiently for him to follow. “You coming or what?” Henschmann waited for Schnell in the League of Gentlemen Entrepreneurs’ meeting room, a chamber sometimes mockingly referred to as the Directorate-the same title given to the city’s executive council. As far as the crime lords were concerned, they were the true rulers of Marienburg. This was reflected in the meeting room’s decor-a white marble floor, rich tapestries and curtains around the walls and windows, and a crystal chandelier that hung from the velvet-draped ceiling. Dominating the room was a long wooden table, its surface inlaid with gold swirls and curlicues. Ten matching chairs stood round the table, four down either side, and one at each end. Henschmann chose the chair at the far end of the room, opposite the door from the hallway. There was another door in the Directorate, but its existence was invisible to the naked eye and the opening mechanism known only to three living souls. The most powerful criminal in all of Marienburg waited patiently, his hands clasped together on the table, his expression utterly neutral.

The door swung open and Helga entered, her face sour as ever. “Captain Kurt Schnell, sir.”

Henschmann observed the newcomer closely as he entered. Schnell appeared flushed, no doubt from a close encounter with Diede on her way out-how she loved to tease men with her femininity.

The Black Cap was younger than Henschmann had expected, though the piercing ice-blue eyes hinted at past horrors they had seen, and the shaven head suggested a man who brooked no opposition. The body appeared fit and trim, with a wiry rather than muscular build. No doubt Schnell had known sin in his time, but he was not its slave. Whatever vices the captain possessed, they did not command him. The set of his jaw, the way Schnell held himself, his ease in unknown surroundings-all spoke of a man who had fought his way up, a determined man who would not be easily swayed or intimidated. An interesting opponent, Henschmann concluded. If Schnell could not be turned, he would have to be crushed.

“Welcome to the Marienburg Gentlemen’s Club,” Henschmann said, smiling broadly. “How can I be of service to you, Captain Schnell? Perhaps you’re interested in becoming a member?”

“I came to pay you my respects. Your name is known throughout the city, of course, but your business is strongest here in Suiddock. I felt it only right to introduce myself to you properly.”

Henschmann nodded his appreciation at this courtesy. “I understand you have plans to reopen the station on Three Penny Bridge?”

“The process is already underway,” Kurt agreed, his voice remaining neutral.

“I hope the reprobates who have been frequenting the abandoned building did not cause you too many difficulties?”

“None worth mentioning.”

“I’m gladdened to hear it.” Henschmann waited, but still Kurt did not ask for a bribe or create an opportunity for one to be offered. “No doubt it will be expensive to refit the interior of the station, since it has stood in neglect for so long. Perhaps my colleagues and I could make a contribution to the costs?” He produced a leather bag filled with gold coins and tossed them carelessly down onto the table. The pouch burst open, spilling its rich contents across the wooden surface, several of them rolling off the edge and coming to rest beside the visitor’s boots. “You’ll find that should more than cover any initial outlays you may have.”

The shadow of a sneer passed across Kurt’s features. “Again, I must politely decline your generous offer. The station must stand on its own two feet if it is to be a success in the mission I have planned for it.”

“Indeed? And what mission is this, if that’s not too bold a question?”

Kurt folded his arms. “Reclaiming Suiddock for decent people. Bringing the law back to these lawless streets and cobbles. Destroying the tyrannical grip of the Thieves’ Guild upon so much of this city, and driving out those who would make their money extorting, terrorising and murdering innocent citizens. Any who oppose us will go to Rijker’s Isle or find themselves dancing with Morr.”

Henschmann folded his arms too, mocking the visitor’s stance. “An impressive speech-you may even believe those goals are possible. But I fear for the safety of anyone who tries to enforce such a list of aims and objectives. I’ve heard the criminal element in this city can be quite merciless in the prosecution of their vendettas. Obviously, I know nothing of such matters, but I’ve heard whispers about such reprisals.”

“I’m sure you have-Casanova.”

Henschmann was up on his feet in an instant, his face livid with anger. “What did you call me?”

“I understood that was the name most people commonly called you, something to do with your reputation as a ladies’ man. Of course, I don’t believe in such rumours. After all, why would a great lover need the services of a courtesan? Only someone too repulsive to find love without paying for it would resort to such methods to satisfy their carnal needs.”

The crime boss glared at Schnell, his nostrils flaring angrily as he fought to contain his temper. “Captain, I had been told you were an intelligent, thoughtful man who had risen through the Black Caps’ ranks by guile and cunning. I can see I was misinformed. That being the case, perhaps we should speak plainly to each other, as between men.”

“It would be my pleasure,” Kurt replied, all humour draining from his face.

“Continue on the path you have chosen and it will bring about your utter destruction. Not only will the station close before the end of Geheimnistag, but every soul within those walls shall have perished in the most exquisite agonies possible. You will be saved for last, giving you the opportunity to see your colleagues slain one by one before you join them in death,” Henschmann vowed.

“Should I consider those as threats?”

“Promises, Captain Schnell-consider them as promises.”

Kurt marched towards Henschmann, his face expressionless as granite. He stopped a few strides short of the crime boss, looking Henschmann up and down before speaking. “I fought in the war against Chaos. I’ve battled creatures beyond your worst nightmares and I’ve faced blood-sucking fiends in battle that would chill the marrow in your bones. If you believe the threats of a petty felon will shake my resolve, your intelligence reports about me are sadly lacking in depth or detail.” Kurt spat a mouthful of phlegm on the marble floor in front of Henschmann to emphasise his disdain.

Helga had been bristling with barely contained fury by the door during this exchange. Kurt’s insult was too much for her and she stormed round the table, ready to attack him. But Henschmann commanded her to stop with a simple gesture. The bodyguard returned to her position by the door, muttering threats of blood and violence under her breath. Henschmann smiled at Kurt. “You’ll have to excuse Helga, she lacks my sense of restraint in such matters.”

“Two steps closer and she would have been a dead woman,” Kurt replied.

Henschmann smile faded. “I think you’ve said enough for one visit, Captain Schnell. Regretfully, my hospitality to you must come to an end. Please remember what I said about the fate of the station on Three Penny Bridge and all those assigned to it. It would be a shame to sacrifice the lives of so many upon the altar of your childish, impossible ambitions.”

“The Black Caps are here to stay,” Kurt vowed. “Get used to it-Casanova.” The visitor turned on his heel and marched out, Helga close behind, leaving Henschmann still fuming in the meeting room. The commander of all crime in Marienburg waited until Schnell had left the building before smashing one of the gold inlaid chairs to splinters on the marble floor.