03 - Death's Legacy (13 page)

Rudi hadn’t been sure what he was expecting to see when the
city finally came into view, but his initial reaction was one of complete
astonishment. Marienburg had been a low-lying metropolis, built on the chain of
islands at the mouth of the Reik, and with a few exceptions, like the colossal
span of the Hoogbrug, most of the rooflines had been more or less even.
Carroburg, however, loomed over the river like a man-made mountain, sprawling
back up the hillside that rose from the steep banks of the Reik, until its upper
streets and houses became lost in the low-lying mist that wreathed the summits
of the valley.

“Quite a sight, eh?” Pieter asked at his elbow, and Rudi
nodded, lost for words. “They say Middenheim makes it look like a pimple, but I
wouldn’t know.” He shrugged. “Too far from the water, see?”

“I see.” Rudi nodded, taking in the scale of the place as the
Reikmaiden
forged through the water towards the docks, a bustling tangle of
quays and wharves that, at least, seemed vaguely familiar. Dozens of other
riverboats were visible, coming and going, or lying alongside, and innumerable
smaller craft were scudding about on urgent business, or casting hopeful fishing
nets into the choppy water. This at least was reminiscent of his sojourn in the
maritime city, and he found the familiar bustle vaguely reassuring.

“The houses seem to get bigger towards the top,” Rudi said,
and Pieter nodded.

“That’s right. The richer you are, the higher up the hill you
live.” He laughed. “Riff-raff like us, we stick to the bottom. There’re plenty
of taverns around the docks anyway, so why work up a sweat looking for a drink?”

“Sound advice,” Rudi said. He pointed to a cluster of
ramshackle huts clinging to the shoreline, and spreading back into the woods.
The stumps of trees and the harsh white of newly cut timber showed that the
clearings around the city wall were recent. “Who lives there?”

“Refugees,” Pieter said. His voice took on a faintly pitying
tone. “Pretty much everything north of Middenheim’s destroyed, they say, and
what’s left of it’s crawling with Chaos scum. These are the lucky ones. They got
out in time. Some of them talk about going home, but I can’t see it happening
any time soon.” He shook his head mournfully, and wandered off to attend to
whatever duties Busch had decided he was still able to cope with.

Rudi watched the city grow, as the sturdy little riverboat
drew closer and closer to it, until the rising tangle of streets and buildings
completely filled his vision. Individual structures began to be distinguishable:
large ornate houses looking down on the teeming masses below, the unmistakable
bulk of temples and the wealthier guild houses, and, closer at hand, the
warehouses around the docks.

“Impressive, isn’t it?” Hanna asked dryly at his shoulder.
Rudi shrugged.

“They might have a decent tavern or two,” he conceded,
determined to seem no less cosmopolitan than she did. After all, they were both
experienced urbanites. Shenk ambled over to join them as Yullis and Berta
manhandled the gangplank into place.

“Going ashore?” he asked casually, unable to keep a flicker
of relief from his eyes as Rudi nodded in the affirmative.

“We’ve got some errands to run,” Rudi assured him. “We won’t
be cluttering up the deck while you’re trying to move your cargo.”

“Glad to hear it,” Shenk said. “Try to get back here before
we’re about to sail this time, eh?”

“We’ll do our best,” Hanna assured him and led the way down
the gangplank.

Despite the bulk of the city looming above them like a
thundercloud of stone, Rudi felt surprisingly at home in the cramped and narrow
streets surrounding the harbour. In all but scale, it reminded him of the
Suiddock back in Marienburg: the same air of purposeful activity, the
ever-present carts and sweating labourers transferring barrels and bundles from
boat holds to warehouses and back again, and through it all, the never-ending
flow of local citizens pursuing their trades, honest or otherwise.

Surrounded by people again, he found his old watchman’s
instincts surfacing, and amused himself picking out the local bawds and
cutpurses from the throng. Once, he saw a halfling pickpocket making off with
the contents of a well-dressed gentleman’s purse, and had to suppress the
impulse to shout a challenge and give chase. Not his problem here, he reminded
himself. The last thing he and Hanna needed to do was draw unnecessary attention
to themselves.

The halfling wasn’t the only non-human he noticed as they
made their way through the streets towards a local square that Pieter had
assured him held enough clothier’s shops to satisfy Hanna’s most exacting
requirements in a dress, and a couple of reasonable taverns besides, which Rudi
would probably need after she’d completed her shopping. By the time they reached
their destination, he’d seen a couple of dwarfs snoring loudly in a gutter
outside a tavern while a third stood over them, swaying slightly, his
negligently-hefted axe effectively deterring anyone from attempting to relieve
them of their personal effects; a solitary elf; and almost a dozen halflings,
who, for the most part, appeared to be vending foodstuffs of dubious
palatability from small wheeled carts.

“Cosmopolitan, isn’t it?” Hanna remarked, although Rudi
wasn’t sure how sarcastic she was being. He was saved from having to answer, as
she stopped suddenly beside a market stall selling a wide variety of women’s
clothing. “Ooh, this is nice. What do you think?” She held up a dress, which, to
Rudi’s eye, looked little different to the one she had on, apart from a lack of
accumulated grime.

“It’s your colour,” he hazarded, and Hanna laughed.

“Never mind.” She seemed to take his incomprehension for
granted, and find it amusing. “I’ve already got two blue ones.” Her only change
of clothing, still back in her bag aboard the
Reikmaiden,
was almost
identical to the dress she wore now, although even more patched and stained.
They were almost the only things she still possessed that she’d brought with her
from Kohlstadt. Rudi suspected that it was the only reason she hadn’t discarded
them.

“You’re in luck, missy. I’ve got one just like that in
green.” The stallholder, a ruddy-faced man with an easy manner, held up the
garment in question. Hanna looked at it dubiously. “Eighteen shillings to you,
and cheap at half the price.”

“I don’t know.” Hanna made a show of considering it. “Green
doesn’t really go with my eyes, and besides, it’s a spring colour. I want
something warm for the winter.”

“Warm, you say?” The stallholder was clearly enjoying the
game. “How about this?” He held up a red dress, trimmed with yellow. “Real
Middenland wool, best in the Empire, and just the colour to warm the heart as
well, eh laddie?” The last remark was directed at Rudi, who just nodded, unsure
of how to respond. Hanna was holding the garment up in front of her, cocking a
quizzical head at him, waiting for his response. Rudi nodded again, and
swallowed the obstruction that had suddenly appeared in his throat.

“It, ah, suits you,” he said. “It really does.” The yellow
trim set off her blonde hair almost perfectly, and brighter colour seemed to
infuse her with life and energy. “But isn’t it a bit, you know, draughty?”

“Low necklines are the fashion, laddie.” The stallholder
grinned. “Good thing too, I say.” He smiled at Hanna. “If you’ve got it, flaunt
it, that’s what I say. Bring a bit of sunshine into the life of a sad old man
like me.”

“I could always wear a shawl if it gets too cold,” Hanna
said, smiling at Rudi’s discomfiture. Of course, she could always shield herself
from the chill by magical means, although saying so out loud would be foolish in
the extreme. “Eighteen shillings, you said?” The stallholder sighed regretfully,
and shook his head.

“That was the plain one. This one’s a crown two and six.”
Hanna hesitated. “Tell you what, we’ll forget the sixpence, seeing as it looks so
good on you, and I’ll throw in a scarf to match.” He picked up a yellow
headscarf, with a pattern of crimson thread worked into it. “That’s worth two
shillings alone, if it’s worth a farthing.”

“It’s lovely,” Hanna said, running it between her fingers,
the pattern in the fabric seeming to ripple like flames as she did so. She
handed both garments back to the stallholder, who grinned happily as he began to
fold them with expert precision, and took three coins from her purse. The
stallholder frowned at the sight of the Marienburg guilder.

“Got any crowns? You never know with those foreign coins. If
they haven’t been clipped like a ewe they’re probably counterfeit.”

“Sorry.” Hanna shook her head. “We’re straight off the boat
from Marienburg. If you won’t take guilders…” She began to turn away, as if
about to leave.

“No, hang about. I’ll risk it, seeing as you’ve got an honest
face. Gold’s gold, wherever it comes from.” He sighed, and bit the coin
suspiciously. “Seems all right, anyway.”

“Thank you.” Hanna smiled sweetly at the man, and accepted
the package he held out.

“Well, that was easy.” Rudi watched while Hanna stowed the
neat parcel in her shoulder bag, and started to look for a tavern. “What do you
want to do now?” Hanna shook her head.

“I haven’t finished looking at clothes yet,” she explained,
heading for the nearest shop. “I could still do with another dress. That way
I’ll have something new to wash and one to wear, once we get to Altdorf. I can’t
go around looking respectable one day and like this the next.”

Rudi sighed, not seeing anything wrong with the way she
looked now, and started after her. Clearly, it was going to be a long day.

Hanna was still glancing back over her shoulder to talk to
him, and his attention was still on her, so neither noticed that the door to the
shop was opening as they approached it. A couple emerged, chatting amiably.

“I’m not saying you don’t look stunning in it,” the man said.
“I’m just wondering when you think you’re ever going to get the chance to wear
it.”

“I’ll make the chance,” the woman said, flicking her head
back to talk to her companion. “It’s not as if we’re tramping around the
wilderness all the time.” A flash of bright red hair accompanied the movement.
Almost paralysed with astonishment, Rudi stopped dead in his tracks, and began
reaching for his sword.

“Oops, sorry.” Before his horrified gaze, Hanna bumped into
the couple, and began to turn towards them, an apologetic smile on her face.

“Don’t mention it,” Alwyn said. Then recognition sparked
between everyone present. “Conrad, it’s them!”

Even before she’d finished speaking, the two mercenaries had
drawn their swords and moved in to attack.

“Hanna, duck!” Rudi yelled, fearing that Alwyn’s blade would
strike her in the face as it emerged from the scabbard, but Hanna had already
moved, hurling herself at the other woman’s waist. Too close to step away
without making herself an easy target for the sword-wielding mage, she grappled
with her assailant instead, hoping to remain inside her reach. It was a smart
move, Rudi thought, exactly the right thing to do under the circumstances,
although he would have followed up on the initial attack. Lacking his experience
of street fighting, hard won in the back alleys of Marienburg during his days as
a Black Cap, Hanna simply hung on grimly to her opponent, shrieking like a
scalded cat, ducking under Alwyn’s sword arm just in time to avoid a vicious
downward blow from the hilt of the weapon.

Before Rudi could intervene, Conrad was on him, and he
blocked a sword-cut to his leg before he even realised that his hand was in
motion.

“You’ve improved,” Conrad said, his habitual easygoing tone
sounding almost approving. He parried Rudi’s counter strike, and gave ground a
little.

I’ve got an advantage, Rudi thought, remembering that
Gerhard’s bounty on his head was conditional on bringing him in alive. He didn’t
want to kill the man he’d once thought of as a friend, but he was willing to do
so if he had to, and that gave him the edge in the contest. At least until
Conrad decided that his own life was worth more than the thirty crowns he’d lose
by taking Rudi’s.

“I’ve been practising,” he said, pressing home his attack.
The crowd around them had scattered at the first clash of steel, to reform in a
tightly packed ring of fascinated spectators at what most of them seemed to
consider a safe distance. That ought to delay the watch a little at least, while
they forced their way through the crush of onlookers, several of whom appeared
to be placing bets on the outcome, although probably not for long. Pieter had
told him that the influx of refugees had led to rising tensions within the city,
and sporadic outbreaks of civil disorder, which meant that the local watch
houses would be ready to respond to any reports of trouble at a moment’s notice.
He had to finish this quickly.

“Hanna.” He risked a glance at his companion. It only lasted
an instant, but Conrad took advantage of it nevertheless. Disengaging from the
melee, Conrad kicked out at a barrel that had been abandoned outside a nearby
tavern by a carter, who was now shouting encouragement along with everyone else
in the vicinity, although to which combatant Rudi couldn’t tell. It rolled
towards him, picking up speed on the downward slope. He saw it coming just in
time, and hurdled it, landing in front of the astonished mercenary. Ignoring the
yells of approbation from the baying crowd, he pressed home his advantage in a
flurry of blows that Conrad was barely able to deflect in time. Behind them the
barrel began to move faster, scattering spectators like skittles before smashing
into the masonry frontage of a chapel of Mannan at the corner of the street
leading down to the harbour, apparently set up for the spiritual refreshment of
the riverboat crews heading into town for more earthly recreations.