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

CHAPTER SEVEN

Otto prayed beside the body of Arullen Silvermoon while Belladonna watched impatiently from the other side of the stone slab. “Oh, mighty Morr, Lord of Dreams, Protector of the Dead, watch over this soul and keep him safe so that he may know happiness until he finds his way to the next life that awaits us all.” Belladonna nodded her agreement and was about to undo the corpse’s clothing when Otto resumed his invocation, halting her progress. “Look upon this elf as you would look upon any of us. Grant him your favour and your wisdom, that he may not struggle against the dying of the light, but embrace the path to death and beyond. Let all those present bow their heads in silent prayer for the day when we too shall know your glory, and sleep forever in the realm of dreams and death.” The bald priest glared at the woman standing opposite him until she complied, dipping her head and mumbling a few words under her breath. Satisfied, Otto continued his prayers: “Verily it is spoken, that on the last day shall you return to us, oh wondrous Morr, and show us-”

“Oh, give it a rest!” Belladonna protested. “You’ve been saying a lament over this dead elf for the best part of an afternoon, Otto. Enough is enough. Besides, the elves have their own gods-what good does praying to Morr do for our dead friend here?”

“It is my way, the way of my kind. Besides, I know a little of the elf rituals involving the dead and my prayers will do no harm, and may even do some good.”

She rolled her eyes. “I studied with one of your brethren and he could get the rituals of death completed in the time it took you to finish the first sacrament.”

“Haste is indecent when it comes to the ways of Morr,” the priest murmured. “Besides, souls that have been wrongly sundered from their mortal bodies before the proper time have been known to return, seeking justice for the ills done to them. In the circumstances, I thought-”

“You thought Morr might guide this elf’s spirit back to his body so we could ask him a few questions,” she interjected, walking round the slab to stand beside him. Belladonna peered at the lifeless face. “Sorry, Otto, but it doesn’t look like there’s anybody home. Now, are you going to let me have a proper look at his clothes, or should I go back to the station and do something useful?”

“You will not touch the body, otherwise I must begin at the beginning once more-”

Belladonna silenced him with a gesture. “Don’t let’s start that again. Trust me, I won’t touch your precious corpse. The dead and the dying are your speciality. I’m looking for evidence of the living.”

Reluctantly, Otto stood aside, but he remained in the side chapel with her, watching every movement as she delicately moved aside each tattered garment. Belladonna studied the garb in minute detail, looking in the lining, inspecting the folds for anything that might offer a clue to the killer’s identity. Her hands shivered in the cold stone chamber, a row of lit candles suspended from casings on the walls providing the only illumination. No windows offered a glimpse of the outside world, and no sunlight crept beneath the thick wooden door that separated the side chapel from the rest of the temple. “Does it have to be cold as the grave in here?” Belladonna asked, blowing hot air into her hands to warm the fingers.

“You get used to it,” Otto said. “We keep the bodies here for three days before they go to whatever final resting place awaits them. Friends and families sometimes have to come many miles to see their loved ones. All temples of Morr are designed to be as cold as possible, to preserve the body and keep the smell of decay to a minimum. That is why temples are sited in the shadows, away from direct sun.”

“I remember now. It was one of the reasons I stopped coming to temple, simply too cold for me.” Belladonna paused as she was unbuttoning the dead elf’s dark green tunic. A single, short hair was caught behind the button, held in place by dried blood. Using nimble fingers, she removed the hair and carried it over to the nearest candle, holding it in front of the flame to examine her find. “Definitely human, and it’s from somebody who’s going grey. The hair has been crudely cut, probably did that themselves. But there’s no root at the other end, suggesting it fell out rather than being torn out. The person who stabbed our victim is in their forties and going bald-almost certainly male.”

“How can you tell all that from a single hair?” Otto asked, disbelief in his voice.

She returned to the body and pointed at two different bloodstains on the clothing. “This elf was attacked twice. Blood stains change colour as they dry. The wounds to the stomach were made first, and that blood is darker, like the bloodstain in which I found the short hair. All the other wounds were made later, anything up to an hour later-the bloodstains from the second attack are that much lighter.” She pointed to dark areas around the tunic’s collar, below where the neck had been torn apart. “See?”

Otto leaned closer, his eyes peering intently at the fabric. “There’s another hair, embedded in the material there-but it’s much longer than the other one you found.” He moved aside to let her see it. But before Belladonna got close enough, the sound of a fist pounding on wood echoed through the temple.

“Is anyone in there?” a nasal voice called from outside. “It’s Willy Bescheiden, from Three Penny Bridge. Sergeant Woxholt sent me!”

Belladonna let go of the priest’s arm and drew a dagger from a sheath hidden beneath her cloak. “I’ll come with you. For all we know, Bescheiden could have been involved with the elf’s murder.”

“Doubtful,” Otto said. “I’ve met this man before, he has the courage of a sausage seller.” The priest strode out of the side chapel, followed by Belladonna. They went to the front door of the temple, where Otto pulled back a small shutter in the broad wooden door to look outside. The top of Bescheiden’s head was visible, his greasy hair slicked across a balding pate. “What do you want?”

“The elves are coming for the corpse! The sergeant is taking them the long way round from the station, but he sent me to warn you. They’ll be here any-” Bescheiden’s voice stopped abruptly.

“What is it? What’s wrong?” Otto hissed.

“They’re coming-I’ve got to go!” Bescheiden fled, his footfalls quickly fading away into the distance, replaced by the steady stomping of an approaching company. Otto slid the shutter back into place, thought furrowing his brow.

“Get back to the body and redress it,” he urged Belladonna after a moment. “If the elves suspect you’ve been interfering with it, there’ll be every kind of trouble imaginable.”

“But I haven’t interfered with it,” she protested.

“You’ve been in close, physical contact with a dead elf. That doesn’t happen often, and certainly not with human women. As far as they are concerned, your mere presence here is an affront to dignity.”

“Charming,” Belladonna said. “I’m trying to determine who or what killed that poor soul and they’re going to find a way of blaming me for shaming his corpse.”

“Many are the ways of death, Belladonna Speer-don’t let yours be in this place,” Otto urged.

“Fine, I’ll put him back the way we found him,” she agreed. “But I’m not hiding when they come into the side chapel. I’m a member of the watch and I’ve got a legitimate reason to be there.” She hurried back to the corpse while Otto listened to the sound of the elves approaching. Moments later, the stomping of feet halted outside the temple and a heavy fist banged on the wooden doors. “We both know you didn’t pick the pocket of an elf. Nobody believes that, not even you,” Kurt insisted. “But you did see something involving the elf that was found dead today, didn’t you? Now either you saw him being murdered, or saw the body being dumped on the steps between the Stevedores and Teamsters Guild building and the Marienburg Gentlemen’s Club. So, which is it?”

Gerta Gestehen poked her tongue out at the captain.

Kurt rolled up the sleeves of his tunic. He’d been locked in this room with the city’s most frequent confessor for more than an hour and she hadn’t spoken a word in that time. Gerta was sat by the window, looking out at Three Penny Bridge below. Lamplighters were going about their business, providing meagre illumination for those brave enough or foolish enough to pass over the notorious cobbled span after dark. An occasional wooden stall was dragged past by a weary merchant, heading home after a long day selling his wares in a more prosperous part of Suiddock. The cobbles were an unforgiving surface, making it that much harder to pull a cart, especially if it was still heavily laden after a bad day of few sales.

The scent of evening meals being cooked drifted in through the open window: stews and sausages, sour bread and boiling cabbage, paprika and peppercorns. The ever present gulls were no longer visible as they wheeled and turned in the darkening sky, but their cries still rent the air, grating at Kurt’s nerves. Competing with the gulls were the catcalls of Molly and her girls in the next room, offering to give any male who wandered over the bridge a good time-at a price. The sooner we find them a new home, the better, Kurt thought, before pushing himself to concentrate on the matter in hand. “Well? Did you see the murder or not?”

“You’ve no right to keep me here,” she replied, finally breaking her silence.

“She talks!” Kurt said exultantly.

“I’ve done nothing wrong,” Gerta insisted.

“I thought you were the finest pickpocket in all of Suiddock?”

“I might have been mistaken about that.”

“Perhaps, but back when you first accosted me in the street, you told me things only the murderer or a witness could know. You told me the elf had a deep green tunic, and his skin was like alabaster.”

“A lucky guess.”

“You said you heard him whispering something under his breath.”

“I was lying,” Gerta spat out, pouting at him. “There, are you happy now? Can I go?” She rose from her chair but Kurt pushed her back down, not an easy task with a determined woman of her size.

“No, you can’t. Even if you didn’t witness the murder, even if you didn’t see what the body-dumpers looked like, you still heard the dead elf’s last words. Anything he said could be a vital clue, the key to finding his killers. I need to know what he said and you’re not leaving here until I do!” Gerta folded her arms, a sulky look on her plump features. “Well?” Kurt insisted.

“Tooth and claw.”

“Yes?”

“That was all he said – ‘Tooth and claw.’”

Kurt pondered these cryptic words. “You heard him say this yourself?”

“Not exactly,” she admitted.

“You mean not at all, or yes you did?”

“I didn’t hear it myself, but I know a man who did. He was there, he sold me this.” Gerta reached into the deep valley between her breasts and extracted a tiny brooch of silver and jade, delicately crafted from the finest materials and gemstones. “Cost me a pretty penny, I can tell you. Don’t get workmanship like this everyday. I’m planning to wear it the night I’m reunited with my Engelbert.”

Kurt snatched the brooch from her fat fingers and studied it closely, ignoring her cries of protest. At the centre of the brooch was a shard of a dull green gemstone he did not recognise. Unlike most jewels, it was uncut and unpolished, making it appear as little more than a stone chip. But as Kurt turned it over in his fingers, light danced inside the shard for a moment, drawing his eyes closer, as if the stone was calling to him. He felt a stirring inside himself, as if he was being called by some unseen power. Kurt tore his eyes away from the brooch and jabbed a finger at his prisoner. “The reason you don’t see workmanship like this everyday, Gerta, is because this looks like it was crafted by elves, for elves. You never see workmanship like this, certainly not for sale on the streets of Suiddock. Who sold this to you and how much did you pay for it?” She named a four-figure number and Kurt snorted in disbelief, slipping the brooch into a tunic pocket for safekeeping. Gerta quickly shaved a zero off the end of the number, before removing another zero. “You bought a priceless brooch for twenty-seven guilders?” he snarled. “Didn’t that strike you as unlikely?”

“I think it was a bit of a bargain, but Fingers said he needed to raise some cash fast to-” Gerta clamped a hand over her own mouth to stop herself saying any more.

“Fingers sold this to you, did he? Fingers who? What’s his last name?” Gerta shrugged. “It doesn’t matter whether you tell me or not,” Kurt warned. “Sergeant Woxholt will be back soon and he knows the name and nickname of every thief, drunk and liar in all of Marienburg. Tell me now and it’ll go the better for you. Well?”

“Blake, his name’s Fingers Blake.”

Kurt smiled. “That’s better. And where do I find this Fingers Blake?”

“I’m not going to tell you that. Even your sergeant won’t know all of Blake’s boltholes. Arrest me for obstruction of justice if you want, but I’ll never tell.”

“Fine, you’re under arrest,” Kurt snapped.

“I am?” Joy spread across Gerta’s face like sunshine after a thunderstorm. “Does that mean… you’re sending me to Rijker’s Isle?”

“No.”

“No?”

“Not yet, anyway. You’re withholding evidence that’s vital to a murder investigation. So I’m keeping you here until we get some answers. Send you to Rijker’s Isle and I’ll get nothing. Let you go home and the murderers might decide to silence you permanently. The safest thing I can do is keep you here at the station, under our protection, pending further investigations.”

“But what am I supposed to do here?” Gerta protested.

“Can you cook?”

“Of course-”

“Good, we need a cook. The men will be hungry and tired by the end of their shifts. I hereby sentence you to seven days hard labour in the kitchen of the Three Penny Bridge station.”

Gerta looked perplexed. “This place was a tavern this morning. Does it even have a stove?”

Kurt shrugged. “I haven’t been in all the rooms yet, how would I know? Stay here, I’ll send someone up to fetch you when I’ve found out.” He turned to go but paused by the door. “I know this isn’t what you wanted, but the station is probably the safest place for you now.” Kurt looked back at her. “Deal?”

“Do I have a choice?”

“Not as such, but I thought it better to try and persuade you. From everything I’ve heard, Gerta Gestehen can be a remarkably strong-willed woman.”

“Alright, I’ll stay-on the condition you send me to Rijker’s once the killer is caught.”

Kurt smiled. “I’ll see what can be arranged.”

“Can I have my brooch back?” she asked hopefully.

“No. That’s evidence.” Belladonna returned to the side chapel to find a ghostly presence floating above the dead elf on the stone slab. The translucent wraith turned to face her as she entered, stopping the Black Cap in her tracks. “Sweet Shallya-Otto was right!” Fascinated by the unexpected spectre, Belladonna ventured nearer to the corpse. “Can you hear me? Can you speak? What’s your name?”

The phantom’s mouth moved with agonising slowness. “Moon…” it gasped. “SSSilver… moon.”

“Your name’s Silvermoon?” Belladonna asked gently.

“Yesss…”

“Who murdered you?”

“Toottth… annnd… clawww…”

“And a blade. Someone stabbed you with a blade.”

“Yesss…”

“Who did this to you?”

“Clawww… tooth and clawww…”

“I know, they used tooth and claw to murder you,” Belladonna said, her voice low and soothing. “But we need to know who did this to you, so we can stop them hurting others the same way.”

“SSStop themmm…”

“Yes, we want to stop them.” Belladonna could hear loud, shouted voices from within the temple. Otto had delayed the other elves as long as he could, but now they were inside. She had but a few moments before they found the side chapel. Who knows what would happen if they discovered her interrogating the ghost of their dead brother. “Rest. We will stop them, I promise.”

“You mussst ssstop them…”

“I promise,” Belladonna said. By now the heavy footfalls of the approaching elves were in the corridor outside the side chapel. She watched as the phantom faded away. “Rest in peace, Silvermoon.”

“Ressst…” Tyramin Silvermoon pushed past the priest and forced his way into the side chapel. Inside he found the body of his beloved younger brother, laying peacefully atop a stone slab, his face in repose. A hooded and cloaked figure was kneeling at the head of the slab, face lowered respectfully, a prayer being whispered for the souls of the fallen. “Who’s this?” Tyramin demanded, his suspicions already aroused by the transparent delaying tactics of the Morr worshipper.

“One of the Black Caps from Three Penny Bridge. She helped transport your brother’s body here to preserve his dignity until the family came forward to claim him. She has kept guard over him for many hours, without respite or relief, refusing to let anyone but me near him.”

Tyramin let his hand stray to the hilt of his sword, making the movement conspicuous enough for the priest to be in little doubt of his intentions. “You swear no others have touched my brother’s body?”

Otto stared directly into the angry elf’s eyes. “I swear upon my soul and my belief in Morr that all I have spoken to you is the truth. I know the importance your kind place upon the preservation of mortal remains until they can be transported to their final resting place. I have performed rituals of cleansing and purification, as is your custom in such circumstances.” The priest bowed his head and stepped aside. “Come, Belladonna-let the brothers be alone.”

Tyramin watched as the two humans left the chamber before telling his men to stand guard outside. Only when the side chapel was empty did he approach his little brother’s lifeless body. Closing his eyes, Tyramin let his thoughts and feelings reach out to make contact with Arullen’s spirit. All was as the priest had said-cleansing and purification were complete, the body ready to be taken back to Sith Rionnasc’namishathir. In a way, Tyramin was disappointed. He wanted something more to do, someone to rage against for his brother’s senseless murder. But he would have to preserve that anger and fury until the day it could be unleashed upon Arullen’s killer, hold that burning rage like a fire in his belly. For now he must focus upon the rituals of mourning, must-“Tooth… and clawww…”

The words were an echo in the cold, lifeless chamber, more felt than spoken. Tyramin’s eyes sprang open, hoping against hope to see his little brother was somehow still alive. But Arullen was cold and gone, the broken flesh and torn bones containing only remnants of the spirit that had once occupied them. Still the words whispered inside Tyramin’s thoughts: “Tooth… and clawww…” Tyramin allowed himself to smile, knowing he would not smile again for many, many days. Those three simple words had told him all he needed to know about those who had killed Arullen. “Thank you, brother. Thank you for pointing the way.”

He called his brethren into the side chapel and commanded them to prepare a litter for carrying Arullen back to Sith Rionnasc’namishathir, back to the resting place of his ancestors, so that the youngest Silvermoon could join them in the life beyond this life, the world beyond this world. As the cadre did their duty, Tyramin went outside and found the priest talking with the Black Cap. “Thank you for observing our ways and rituals. I did not know those outside our walls knew to do such things, and I am grateful you were present to perform these rituals for my brother. If you or anyone you hold dear ever needs my help, come to the gates of the Sith Rionnasc’namishathir and ask for me. The House of Silvermoon is in your debt.”

The priest bowed low, acknowledging the honour and privilege bestowed upon him.

To Tyramin’s surprise, the Black Cap removed her hood and spoke to him. “I am among those seeking justice on whomever murdered your brother. If I may be so bold, what was his name?”

“Arullen,” the elf replied, his voice catching with emotion. “He was Arullen Silvermoon.”

“Thank you.” She swept the hood back up into place, bowing her head respectfully to him.

Tyramin Silvermoon went back to supervising his cadre, once more surprised by the kindness shown to him and his brother by these outsiders. In his limited experience, men were boorish, drunken creatures that caused more trouble than they were worth. Perhaps he had been wrong about them. Still, he did not trust them enough to mention the three other elves still missing. All were friends of Arullen and all had been seen leaving the elf quarter together. Tyramin had little doubt the lost three were dead and even less doubt about who must have slain them. An old enemy was rearing its ugly head once more within the city, and this reappearance boded ill for all the inhabitants of Marienburg. Belladonna told Sergeant Woxholt about her encounter with the dead elf’s spirit as they walked back to Three Penny Bridge. It was well after sunset and Woxholt carried a lantern on a pole to light their way. Burning torches to illuminate the cobbled streets and passageways of Suiddock were few and far between, even more so the closer you got to Three Penny Bridge. “He kept saying we must stop them,” she mused. “At the time, I thought he was simply agreeing with me when I said we would stop them. But looking back, maybe he was trying to warn me. I think Arullen Silvermoon was killed by more than one attacker.”

“You mean by a group,” the sergeant clarified.

“No, by more than one attacker. First he was stabbed in the stomach, a mortal wound, but he got away from that person. Later he was attacked by someone or something else, perhaps multiple attackers. The person who stabbed him first was a man-balding, grey hair, perhaps forty summers old.”

“And the second attack?”

Belladonna shrugged. “Arullen kept repeating one phrase, over and over-tooth and claw. What does that suggest to you?”

“A wild animal of some kind, or a creature so savage as to be akin to a wild animal.”

“Animals often hunt in packs,” she said.

“So do the Fen Loonies,” Woxholt pointed out. “And they’ve been known on occasion to enter the city after dark, searching for fresh meat and delicacies.”

“Elf flesh would certainly qualify as a delicacy for the likes of Koos and his mutant kin.” Belladonna stopped as they got within sight of the station. “There’s another, more obvious question we haven’t asked yet: what in the name of Verena was an elf from the House of Silvermoon doing in Suiddock after dark?”

The sergeant nodded. “I’ve been wondering that myself. If we knew why, I suspect we’d be a long way towards finding Arullen’s killer-or killers.” He pointed to the station, where a line of young women in various states of undress were climbing down a rope ladder from the first floor. “Looks like the captain has found Molly and her girls a new place to call home.” Kurt was standing at the foot of the ladder, a burning torch in one hand as he coaxed down the women. Meanwhile men from the night and graveyard shifts were carrying beds out of the station and into the abandoned temple next door.

“Seemed the most obvious solution,” Kurt explained as Belladonna and the sergeant got closer. “Nobody else dares set foot in the temple, because that’s where Joost Holismus went mad five years ago. The locals apparently think the place could be cursed but-”

“But they said the same about our station and Molly’s girls never had a problem there,” Belladonna observed, finishing the captain’s sentence for him. “Clever solution.”

“It was my idea,” Molly replied as she stepped down from the ladder on to the cobbles, before turning to Kurt. “That’s the last of the girls and their things out. I’ve loosened the barricade from inside, so you should have no problems getting into the room now.”

“Thank you for being so understanding,” he replied.

“No skin off my chin,” she said, her gaze taking in the abandoned temple. “You don’t want us doing business in your station and Manann knows we didn’t get many customers today after you arrived. Besides, I’ve always had my eye on the temple. Maybe I’ll start my own religion-the Cult of Molly.” She strode off into the temple, shouting at Raufbold and Narbig to be careful with the bed they were carrying.

“You know, I wouldn’t put it past her to open a church,” Belladonna observed dryly.

“Excuse me,” a timorous voice said. The front door on one of the fortified homes on the other side of Three Penny Bridge stood open, a halfling woman beside it gesturing for them to come over. She was clad from head to toe in black, her hands clutching a funeral wreath. “I want to report a murder.”

Woxholt leaned closer to Kurt, stifling a yawn while he whispered in the captain’s ear. “Do you want me to handle this?”

Kurt shook his head. “Go home and get some sleep, old friend-you look exhausted. I can handle this. Besides, you’ve got to be back here before dawn to supervise the changeover from graveyard to day shift.”

“Good point,” the sergeant agreed, another yawn overwhelming him. “I’ll see you in the morning.” Woxholt shuffled away, nodding goodnight to Belladonna as he departed.

She looked across at the anxious resident. “Why don’t I talk with her? Whatever’s troubling her, she might find it easier dealing with a woman.”

“True, but if she’s witnessed a murder-”

“Then I’ll bring it to you,” Belladonna promised. She smiled at him. “You can’t do everything yourself, captain. You’ve got to learn to delegate tasks to those under you. Besides, it’ll give you a chance to watch the others, see how they operate, discover their strengths and weaknesses.”

Kurt frowned. “Sounds like you’re the one who should be captain, not me.”

“No thanks. The watchmen would never accept a woman as their leader, and I don’t want the job. I’ve seen what power does to people, the way it corrupts so many of them.”

“How do you know it won’t corrupt me?”

“I read your file before volunteering for this station, I know what happened to you in Altdorf. You may have been many things in the past, but corruption is the one taint nobody has ever accused you of.” She walked across to the halfling woman, leaving Kurt to ponder the wisdom of her words.