Otto regarded the mortal remains of Helmut Verletzung with a dispassionate eye. “I don’t see what more I can tell you that isn’t obvious from looking at the body. He died from having an arrow or crossbow bolt fired through his neck. It severed the cord that connects the brain with the rest of the body, so Morr would have claimed him within moments. Your man was facing the person who killed him. If they used a bow and arrow, they were twenty paces from him at most- less if they used a crossbow.”
“How can you be so certain of that?” Kurt asked, wrapping his arms around himself to try and stay warm. It was cold as the grave in the temple’s side chapel, and it was all the captain could do to stop his teeth from chattering. “I mean, about the distance of firing?”
Otto pointed at the small puncture wound where the bolt had penetrated. “The crossbow shoots its bolts with greater speed than most bowmen, though not all. I’d say a crossbow was used on this man.” Kurt nodded a confirmation. “He died before midnight, judging by how cold he is and the stiffness of the body.” Otto rolled the body over slightly and pointed out dark purple stains mottling the skin. “He was lying on his back for several hours after being slain. The blood in a body settles to its lowest point in death.”
“Anything else?”
“No, I’m sorry.”
The captain frowned. “I thought you could make the dead speak to you?”
“Morr works through me, giving those unjustly taken from this life a voice-sometimes.” Otto closed his eyes and muttered a few words under his breath, but Verletzung’s body remained unmoved. “I’m sorry, but this man’s spirit is long gone. Perhaps it left him before he died.”
“I don’t understand,” Kurt admitted, frustration evident in his terseness.
“Some abandon their belief in life before life abandons them.”
“Must you priests always talk in riddles and parables?”
Otto shrugged. “It is our way, captain.” He walked around the slab on which the corpse was resting, until he stood over Verletzung’s feet. The priest set to work removing the dead man’s soft leather boots. “If your men continue to be slain with such alacrity, I shall have more of them here in my temple than you will have at-” Otto abruptly stopped talking, his eyes widening and nostrils flaring.
“What is it?”
The priest held up a hand for silence, all his energies focused on the murder victim’s boots. “You know that this man was killed in a sewer tunnel, don’t you?”
“No,” Kurt admitted. “We know nothing of where he died, except it was probably on Riddra.”
“It was. Slain below the surface, but his body was laid out on the street. You could see the indentations of cobbles in the blood that pooled beneath his skin.”
“Yes, but how do you know he died in a sewer? We could smell nothing like that on him.”
Otto smiled, his thin lips pursing. “The mist settled into his clothes and on his skin, drenching them overnight, cleansing them.” He held up the boots. “But the stitching of these boots is suffused with human waste, and another scent. Something sweet and sickly…” The priest pressed his face into the leather, inhaling deeply of the foul aromas hidden within the seams. “Drugs, opiates-black lotus, I believe.”
“There’s only one place on Riddra that deals in that,” Kurt said, his eyes gleaming at this discovery. “The Golden Lotus Dreaming House.”
“The way the opiate is mixed with the waft of human waste…” Otto mused out loud. “I believe he was walking in the sewers beneath the Golden Lotus or close by when he was killed. The killers put his body back up on the surface, hoping to hide this fact.” He smiled to himself. “They almost succeeded.”
“But why take the trouble to dump him above ground?” Kurt wondered. “Why not simply leave his corpse in the sewer tunnel? We would scarcely be likely to find it down there, and tidal currents would have eventually taken the body out to sea. That would have been the perfect murder.”
“I can tell you only what I observe and intuit. I cannot speak to the motives or thinking of those who committed murder, captain-that is your field of endeavour, not mine.”
“True.” Kurt ran a tired hand across the stubble on his chin, suddenly aware of how little sleep he’d had since arriving in Suiddock. He hadn’t even had time to shave since his promotion. “You obviously have a better nose for clues than me. Would you come with me to Riddra, help me find the place where Verletzung was murdered? There could be evidence that leads us to his killers, help bring them to justice.”
Otto formed his delicate fingers into a steeple. “I will help you in this, captain, but one day you must help me when I have such a need-without question or hesitation.”
“Of course.”
The priest smiled benignly. “You do not know what I will ask of you when the time comes.”
“That does not matter,” Kurt insisted. “I never break a promise, no matter what it may cost me.”
“I have heard that about you from others.” Otto put the boots down beside the dead man’s feet. “Very well. I must secure the temple before we can depart. In other parts of Marienburg, the acolytes of Morr can leave their doors unlocked, safe in the knowledge few would disturb the sanctity of the temple. But this is Suiddock and I have learned from bitter experience that such circumstances do not always apply here.”
“Don’t I know it,” Kurt agreed, taking a last look at his murdered watchman before leaving. Terfel was warming the metal bolt in his fire while letting his eyes wander over Belladonna’s shapely figure. Even in a less than flattering Black Cap uniform, she was clearly a beautiful young woman. The wizard wondered how she came to such a job. But there was a determined set to her jaw and a piercing look in her warm eyes that suggested direct questions would not get the answers Terfel wanted. He decided to try a more scenic route to the truth. “So, how well do you know Captain Schnell?” he asked while working the bellows.
“I met him first a few days ago, when he was given the station on Three Penny Bridge.”
“And what do you make of him?”
Belladonna frowned, the expression creating tiny creases between her eyebrows. “He seems brave and resolute, certain of his own judgement. I imagine he would be brave in battle and loyal to the death. But his temper-that could be his undoing one day.” She paused for thought. “Yes, that’s my impression.”
Terfel nodded, not volunteering his own opinions of the captain. “I knew him in Altdorf.”
“Indeed?”
“My services were engaged by his father for a time, work involving precious metals and the like.”
“I’ve never meet General Erwin Schnell, but I’ve heard he was a great warrior.”
“Yes, they could have done with Old Ironbeard during the war against Chaos,” the wizard said, turning the bolt over in the fire, letting the flames soften the metal shaft. “It was a shame what happened to Kurt and his brother on the battlefield. I don’t think their father ever recovered from the shock.”
Belladonna got up from her seat. “Is the bolt ready for examination yet?”
“Nearly,” Terfel said, keeping his voice casual but carefully watching her face. “Of course, Kurt’s behaviour shouldn’t have come as such a surprise-especially after that incident with his wife, Sara. I never heard all the details, but I know Old Ironbeard disowned Kurt afterwards.”
Belladonna did her best to ignore his comments. “You seem to have an ear for gossip and innuendo, Terfel. Are you just as skilful when it comes to matters of metallurgy?”
“I flirt with gossip and women,” he confessed, “but metals are my first love.” The wizard pulled the bolt out of the flames and held it up to study the glowing shaft, turned white by heat. Tiny black specks shimmered within the metal, as if they were alive. “See that? See those particles moving inside the alloy?”
“Yes, yes I do,” she said, a note of wonder in her voice.
“Extremely rare, they are-you’d be lucky to see them twice in your lifetime.”
Belladonna continued to stare at the shaft, but it was already cooling and the surface became darker, making it impossible to see the specks anymore. “Why? What’s so special about them?”
Terfel tossed the bolt back into his fire. “They tell me the alloy includes a rare kind of iron, created by smelting an expensive black sand imported from one particular beach in Araby. When used in arrowheads or crossbow bolts, this metal alloy enables the projectile to pierce any armour, any hide, almost any defence imaginable. It’s like a glove around a fist, hiding the power of what it contains. Fire such an arrow or bolt at a target and it will slice through them like a hot knife through sausage fat.”
“I’ve never heard of such an alloy before,” Belladonna said.
“That’s why Captain Schnell sent you. My knowledge of metals is almost without equal.”
“Who imports this black sand into Marienburg?”
The wizard looked rather sheepish at this question. “Yes, I was afraid you’d ask me that. Only two people in the city maintain a regular supply of it- myself and Adalbert Henschmann.”
“An intriguing juxtaposition of personalities.”
“Well, you see, it’s not strictly legal to remove black sand from that particular part of Araby. The beach is owned by a murderous warlord and he doesn’t take kindly to having it depleted.”
“And how often do you take possession of a shipment?”
Terfel shook his head in dismay. “You misunderstand me. I can only afford to buy a small bag a year. If it were flour in the bag, instead of sand, you wouldn’t have enough to bake a loaf. I’ve run out at the moment, to be honest. I was due to get a fresh batch last week, but some cloth-brained fool among the stevedores left me a hundredweight of it by mistake. I thought it was my lucky day, until I got a visitation from a surly woman with muscles the size of my head. She suggested I leave the sand next to the entrance of an underground tunnel, over on Riddra. I had to hump it all the way over there, under cover of darkness. You think Henschmann could at least have sent one of his thugs to do the heavy lifting for me, but no.”
Belladonna listened intently to his words, pausing before asking another question. “This underground tunnel-where did it lead to?”
“Search me,” the wizard shrugged. “Word is old Casanova uses the network of tunnels running through the catacombs and sewers of Suiddock for transporting contraband unseen around the district. You’d hardly think he needed to bother, he runs half the city as it is, but Henschmann likes to keep his hands clean. Strange thing is, his men haven’t been using the tunnels so much lately. I’ve seen them, skulking about with their carts and coaches, even using water taxis.”
“Could you show me where the entrance to this tunnel was?”
“You must be joking! I’m not sticking my neck out for you love-least, not unless you’re willing to make it worth my while…” Terfel quickly became aware the point of a dagger was digging into his neck below the jaw line, threatening to pierce the skin.
“I warned you what would happen if those grubby little fingers of yours found their way inside my cloak, didn’t I?” Belladonna asked in a sweet voice.
“So you did,” he said, removing his hands. “My mistake.”
“Repeat the error and you won’t have hands at all.”
“Point taken,” the wizard agreed, swallowing hard as she removed her blade from his throat. “How’s about I draw you a map of where I left the black sand. That way you get what you want and I don’t get my neck opened up by you or one of Henschmann’s more murderous bullies, yes?” Kurt and Otto had paused at the station, where the captain armed himself with a short sword from the cache of arms left behind by the building’s previous occupants. Otto declined the offer of a weapon, preferring to retain his wooden staff. “I’m a priest, not a pugilist,” he said. Kurt left a message with Gerta about where he and Otto were going, in case they did not return in good time. The two men set off from Three Penny Bridge but had hardly set foot on Riddra before they discovered Faulheit skulking nearby, trying to avoid trouble. Kurt was about to send his lazy recruit back to the station, until a better idea occurred. “How do you feel about sewers?” the captain asked, sliding an arm round Faulheit’s shoulders.
“Well, I think they’re full of-”
“I mean, how do you feel about helping us investigate the sewers?” Kurt interjected quickly.
Faulheit looked at the impassive priest of Morr for help but got nothing back. Perhaps realising he had no choice in the matter, the Black Cap sighed with weary resignation. “Which sewer am I going down?”
“The one beside the Golden Lotus Dreaming House.”
“Charming!”
“Don’t worry,” Kurt said by way of reassurance. “We’re coming with you.” The three men strode through the teeming streets of Riddra, their presence earning curious looks and dark whispers from the citizens there. Black Caps were a rare sight on the island, let alone two of them together, but to see them walking with a priest of Morr for company, that could only mean death for somebody and soon. The captain had little doubt word would have already spread about Verletzung’s murder and the threat delivered with his corpse-gossip flew faster than any seagull across Marienburg. It lightened his mood a little to see the reaction of ordinary people to their passing. Kurt felt he had not been a strong enough presence outside the station walls thus far, but it was not easy when he had so few men at his disposal.
Within minutes they were outside the Golden Lotus, the sickly sweet scent of its vices seeping out of the three-storey timber and stone building. Kurt knew what happened inside, but this was the first time he had seen the notorious drug den in daylight. It had a cruel, sickening slant to the timbers, as if the structure was close to collapse. The dreaming house was run down and dilapidated, its exterior offering little evidence of the fortune spent inside by some of the city’s most powerful people. The gold lotus symbol painted on the front door was all that revealed what happened within, that and the stench of suffering drifting out from the building. I will come back here one day and tear this place apart, Kurt silently vowed to himself-but not today. That would have to wait while more urgent calls demanded his time and energy.
“The sewer entrance-where is it?” he asked.
Otto sniffed the air, somehow distinguishing the required scent from among so many others-sausages being grilled on a stall nearby, the smell of sea salt, the wretched aromas of the drug den, the waft of drying laundry from a nearby washing line, suspended between two first floor windows to catch the sun. “Around this corner,” he announced. “Close to where Riddra stops and the Rijksweg begins.”
Kurt followed the priest round the corner, making sure Faulheit was not far behind. It was the captain who saw the sewer entrance in the shadow of the Golden Lotus, the lid already removed and slid to one side on the cobbles. “Somebody’s been down there recently,” he said.
“They may still be down there,” Otto added.
“You go down and see, captain,” Faulheit suggested. “I’ll stay here and guard your escape.”
“If there is someone waiting for us in the sewer, I’ll need you beside me,” Kurt said, clapping a hand on his recruit’s shoulder. “In fact, why don’t you go down first, show me how it’s done?”
“I could, but you are the senior Black Cap here, so-”
“That’s an order, Faulheit. Down you go.”
Grumbling under his breath, Faulheit waddled over to the circular hole in the cobbled passageway and lowered himself through it, having to force his wide hips down through the opening. After a few moments there was a heavy splash and a cry of anguish, followed by silence.
“Faulheit? How is it down there?”
“If I’d known where I was going today, I’d have brought a clothes peg for my nose!” an unhappy voice shouted up from the sewer. “Can’t see anyone else down here, but then I can’t see much at all.”
Kurt clambered down the metal ladder fixed beneath the circular hole. It stopped shy of the murky, fetid liquid that swirled along the bottom of the tunnel, but he could see from how high the waters reached on Faulheit’s boots that the remaining distance wasn’t far. He let himself drop into the water, almost losing his footing on the slippery bricks that lined the tunnel. Kurt didn’t like to think what was making his boots slither around on the tunnel floor, but his imagination didn’t require much prompting. As Faulheit had said, the stench inside the sewer was all but unbearable, rancid bodily waste from thousands of people oozing back and forth around their ankles, nudged by the movements of the tide. Kurt wrapped an arm round his face, burying both nose and mouth in his elbow to stifle the worst of the smell. He drew his short sword with the other hand and looked round the circular tunnel while Otto descended the ladder. The priest landed in the water with the grace of a cat, his wooden staff acting as an extra point of balance in the treacherous tunnel. Like the others, Otto’s face soured at the odours assaulting his senses.
“And I thought the stench of death could be strong,” he commented dryly.
“Let’s not stay down here any longer than we have to,” Kurt said to his companions.
“Do you see me arguing?” Faulheit asked, looking about himself. Light was spilling into the tunnel from the opening above, but a faint green glow was also radiating from the walls to illuminate the sewer, casting a queasy pallor across the trio. “How come we can see down here? It should be close to pitch dark.”
Otto studied the walls with interest. “Some kind of natural phosphorescence, I suspect.”
“Good. I wouldn’t want to strike a match down here,” Kurt observed. “The gas being produced by all this sewage smells as if one spark could set it alight. Be careful what you do down here. Got that?” The other two nodded. “Good. Faulheit, you stay here. If you see anyone or anything suspicious, yell for help.”
“I can do that,” the watchman agreed.
“Otto, you’ll come with me?” Kurt did not want to assume he could order Otto about as if he were another Black Cap, but the priest nodded agreement without hesitation. “Good. Let’s go.”
The pair waded forwards, heading inland, away from the Rijksweg. Otto was using his staff for support while Kurt struggled to maintain his balance. The last thing he wanted to do down here was slip and fall, as that would douse him in liquid excrement. He shuddered at the thought and pressed on, the priest close behind. Noises from the street above faded the further they got from the opening, with the tunnel curving round to the left. Ahead was a divide, the sewer splitting into two tunnels that stood at right angles from each other. Kurt paused when they reached the junction, waiting for Otto to catch up. “You have any preference which of these we try first?”
The priest did not answer immediately, his head cocked to one side.
“What is it?”
“Listen,” Otto whispered.
Kurt did as he was told and soon heard it too: the splashing of someone coming towards them from the left tunnel. He motioned for Otto to stand one side of the entrance while Kurt took position on the other, ready to accost whatever was approaching them. The splashing sounds grew louder and nearer, until they were almost upon the waiting pair, before suddenly stopping.
“Hello?” a nervous voice asked. “Is anybody else down here?”
“Belladonna?” Kurt gasped in surprise. “Is that you?”
The female Black Cap emerged from the left tunnel, clutching a dagger in one hand and a loaded crossbow in the other. “What are you two doing down here?” she asked, staring in wonder at them.
“Looking for Verletezung’s killer. You too?”
She nodded. “No luck finding the person who fired this crossbow at Helmut, but I do know the murderer’s identity: Didier Deschamp. Probably of Bretonnian parentage, judging by his name.”
Otto snorted derisively. “Impossible! How can you know such a thing, unless you indulge in witchcraft or other blasphemous practices?”
“No witchcraft necessary, just simple powers of observation, that’s all.” Belladonna turned the crossbow over to show the name “Didier Deschamp” burnt into the wooden stock of the weapon.
“Ahh,” the priest said, for once looking rather abashed. “I see.”
“No need to apologise,” she grinned.
“Where did you find it?” Kurt asked.
Belladonna jerked a thumb over her shoulder. “About twenty paces back that way, in a junction chamber. Terfel made a link between the crossbow bolt and these tunnels. Apparently Henschmann’s thugs use them to shift their worst contraband-you know the sort of thing, mummy dust, crimson shade, the occasional orc corpse in ice. So I came down here, hoping to-” Her words were cut short by the sound of someone running towards them. Within moments Faulheit appeared round the corner, the overweight watchman staggering in the faeces-laden waters, his features stricken with terror. He stumbled and fell face-first into the vile soup, but scrambled back to his feet and kept coming.
“What is it? What’s wrong?” Kurt hissed as Faulheit got closer.
“Half a dozen men, coming this way!”
“Why didn’t you challenge them? They shouldn’t be down here.”
“I don’t like to argue when I’m outnumbered. Besides, they were armed for war, not surrender!”
“Did they see you?”
“I don’t think so,” Faulheit panted. “They were busy looking for something.”
Otto regarded the crossbow in Belladonna’s hands. “Perhaps Deschamp is coming back for his murder weapon? He could have dropped it down here in the dark last night, after killing your colleague.”
Kurt peered past Faulheit, trying to see if anyone had rounded the corner yet. They hadn’t, but multiple shadows were visible on the curving tunnel wall, suggesting the intruders were not far away. “Fall back. We need somewhere better to make a stand if we have to.”
The fearful watchman stared at his captain. “You want us to go further into the sewers?”
“We don’t have a choice. We can’t defend this junction effectively if they outnumber us. Better to retreat to a point where we have a chance of survival if this turns to combat. Now move!”
“Which tunnel?” Belladonna asked.
“The direction you just came from-is there a better place to make a stand along there?”
She thought for a moment. “The section where I found the crossbow could do. It opens out into a square junction, with three more tunnels running away from that. Plus there’s a raised section on either side of the tunnel. That would give two of us a height advantage, if needs be.”
“Sounds good,” Kurt agreed. “Lead the way!” Didier Deschamp was beginning to regret this fool’s errand in the sewers. He had been startled to find a Black Cap stalking him through the tunnels the previous night, and panicked. The murder had been a reflex act, nothing more, nothing less. Given the choice, he’d have left the body down there and hoped it got washed out to sea with the high tides that accompanied the autumn equinox at Mittherbst. But his boss had laid down strict orders about operations within the tunnels and leaving corpses lying around in the sewers was not permitted.
So Didier had been obliged to drag the dead Black Cap for what felt like forever until he found an opening through which he could get it up and out of the sewers. Only after laying the corpse out on the cobbles had Didier realised his crossbow was missing. By that point it was too late to go back for the weapon. Rising tides would make the tunnels all but impassable. Instead he suffered an hour of drunken bellowing and berating from his employer, followed by the unhappy task of retrieving the body and delivering it to the station on Three Penny Bridge, with a suitably threatening note added to the corpse.
Didier’s big mistake? Making mention of the misplaced weapon in front of his still aggrieved boss.
That stupidity had earned a thrashing, and now here he was in the bloody sewers once more, traipsing around with five surly thugs for company, searching for the damned crossbow. Didier had been awake since dawn the previous day, he hadn’t eaten in all that time and now he was ankle-deep in human sewage, uncertain if he was even in the right tunnel. It didn’t help that he had a growing suspicion the five muscle bound thugs had orders to kill him once the weapon was found. Didier was busy thinking of ways to escape his minders when one of the thugs, a man-mountain called Fokkes, noticed the opening at the top of a ladder that led up to the streets of Riddra. “Somebody else had been down here,” Fokkes observed, drawing a viciously curved and notched knife from a sheath at his side. “They might still be down here, waiting for us.”
“What? You think this is an ambush?” Didier asked and once more wished he could learn to think before opening his mouth, instead of after. Such a talent would undoubtedly enhance his prospects of surviving this journey. “But how would they even know we were coming here now?”
Fokkes mulled that over for a few moments before shrugging. “They could still be down here.”
“Then let’s be on our guard,” Didier replied, grateful for the chance to draw his dagger. “Besides, I don’t think we’re far from where I dropped the crossbow. I recognise this section of the sewers. We go round the corner and then take the left tunnel at the next junction.” He pushed his way past the others and stomped forwards, hoping his lack of subtlety would warn off anyone else in the sewer. The last thing he wanted was a pitched battle in an underground chamber lined with human excrement. Taal’s teeth, I can read and write, Didier thought-I deserve better than to end my days somewhere like this. The others kept close behind him, a fact that did little to soothe his nerves. The troupe rounded the bend in the tunnel and soon reached the point where the sewer channel divided. Didier was all set to stomp into the left tunnel, but Fokkes held him back.
“Did you hear that?” the big man hissed.
“Hear what?”
“Sounded like somebody drawing a sword from its sheath!”
Didier stopped and listened, but could hear nothing beyond the dripping of brown liquid. “Come on. The sooner we find this crossbow, the sooner we get out of here, yes?”
Fokkes shook his head. “I go first, then the others and then you. If there are enemies down here, I want somebody behind me who won’t drop their weapon at the first sign of trouble.”
“Fine. Have it your own way. Lead on, show us how it’s done!” Didier huffed.
The big, burly man scowled. “If you won’t do this for your own sake, do it for our sake, yes?”
“By all means. Let’s do it your way, for Fokkes’ sake!”
Fokkes took a deep breath, his nostrils flaring, before turning away and marching into the left tunnel. The other four thugs followed him, daggers and crossbows at the ready. Didier dawdled after them, not wanting to get too close in case trouble did erupt. Run away and live to fight another day, that was his philosophy and it had kept him alive longer than most criminals in Marienburg. Kurt had stationed himself on the raised brickwork to the left of the outlet where the tunnel entered the square junction, while Otto was on the raised area to the right, wooden staff at the ready Belladonna crouched below Kurt in a dark corner of the sewer intersection, Deschamp’s crossbow in hand. Faulheit waited in the corner beneath Otto, armed with a dagger.
The approaching men were making much less noise than before as they neared the junction, but were still clearly audible to the waiting quartet. Kurt met the gaze of the other three, nodding to them as he gripped his short sword tightly. When the first man emerged from the tunnel, Kurt held up a fist, signalling for the others to hold back as long as they could before engaging the enemy.
A second man emerged, as big and intimidating as the first, followed by a third. All their attention was focused forwards, not noticing the quartet hiding on either side of them. A fourth emerged from the tunnel and he glanced about himself, his eyes going straight to Otto’s face. The priest pressed a finger to his lips, motioning the new arrival to silence. The man frowned, perplexed by this.
“This is it,” a snide voice announced from inside the tunnel. “I recognise that junction you’re standing in. That’s where I slaughtered that blundering fool of a Black Cap.”
“For the love of Shallya, shut up!” the first man out of the tunnel hissed.
It had occurred to Kurt as he stood watching the men emerge he had no reason to believe they were dangerous. He and the others simply assumed those approaching were linked to Verletzung’s murder, as a result of Belladonna’s discovery of the crossbow. What if he had rushed to judgement and was about to attack a party of innocents that had come into the sewers for some unknown reason? But the words spoken by the snide voice removed any lingering doubts the captain had.
One of these bastards had murdered Verletzung in here and now they were coming back to remove the evidence of their crime. They deserved no mercy and he didn’t intend to offer them any. “Now!” he yelled at the others, leaping from the brickwork while slicing his sword through the air. It took the head from the fourth man’s shoulders with that first swing, while another flash of the blade removed the fifth man’s nose as he emerged from the tunnel, still uncertain what was happening. He crumpled into the sewage on top of his decapitated colleague’s, hands clutching at a wound that spurted blood in a crimson aerosol.
Belladonna fired Deschamp’s crossbow the moment Kurt gave the command to attack. The bolt buried itself in the first man’s side, but this merely alerted him to her presence. He turned and threw himself at her, crushing Belladonna’s body into the corner, smashing the air from her lungs. Her knees gave way and white dots danced before her eyes, before darkness threatened to take her. Belladonna’s hands fumbled for a fresh bolt to reload the weapon, but the fetid liquid splashing around made her fingers slick and clumsy.
Faulheit’s hands were shaking so much, he dropped his dagger before it could see any use. The second man of the six whirled round and laughed at him, before advancing with murder in his eyes. A mighty fist swung back, ready to pummel Faulheit’s terrified face into the tunnel wall. But the fearful Black Cap lost his footing and fell sideways into the sewage. His attacker had already lashed out and couldn’t divert his momentum, punching the wall with such force it broke every bone in his hand. His scream of pain echoed round the small, square chamber, so loud it threatened to puncture the eardrums of everyone else. Sensing a chance to escape, Faulheit crawled away into the nearest tunnel he could find, plunging deeper into the catacombs beneath Riddra. Darkness enveloped him as the surface beneath his hands and knees abruptly twisted downwards. Faulheit slid away, screaming for help.
Otto stayed where he was atop the brickwork, using the height advantage it gave him and the length of his wooden staff to deal with the enemy from a safe distance. He smacked his staff soundly against the third man’s head several times, the skull cracking like a rotten egg. The priest put the second man out of his misery with a similar succession of forcible blows. Lastly, he drove the end of his staff down on the neck of the man without a nose, keeping the bloody face below the surface of the sewage until the unfortunate soul stopped struggling. Only then did Otto lower himself down on to the tunnel floor. He was moving to assist Kurt, until his attention was taken by a whimper of fear from nearby.
Kurt had seen Belladonna crumple in the corner and responded by driving his sword into her attacker’s back. The blade buried itself to the hilt but still the man-mountain kept lashing out at Belladonna. Kurt twisted the sword inside the wound and that got the man’s attention. He swung round and swatted Kurt aside, as a fishmonger would swat flies from the day’s catch. The captain smashed into a brick wall and sank into sewage, gasping for breath. He watched in horror as the attacker turned back to Belladonna, ready to deliver the killing blow. “No!”
Her eyes met his for a moment and she smiled, before pulling the crossbow up out of the murky water and firing a fresh bolt directly between her attacker’s eyes. The end of the metal shaft emerged from his head with a sickening splutch and he toppled over backwards, collapsing atop the bodies of his fallen colleagues. Belladonna got back on her feet and stumbled over to Kurt, helping him upright too. “What happened to Faulheit and Otto?” she asked.
“Faulheit fled when the fighting started,” Kurt replied, “but I didn’t see what happened to Otto.”
“I heard a noise,” the priest replied as he emerged from a tunnel, dragging a bedraggled creature behind him, “and found this cowering in the shadows. Says his name is Deschamp.”
“Didier Deschamp?” Kurt hissed.
“Depends who’s asking,” the small, sewage-soaked captive replied.
Belladonna handed the crossbow to her captain. Kurt held up the stock to reveal the name burned into the wood. “The same man who left his crossbow here last night after killing one of my Black Caps?”
“It was self-defence,” Didier suggested, trying to smile ingratiatingly at them.
“I believe your exact words were ‘That’s where I slaughtered that blundering fool of a Black Cap’, if I heard you correctly a few minutes ago,” Otto observed.
The captive winced. “I was… bragging. That’s it, I was bragging to these thugs.” He looked down at the pile of dead men slumped across the floor. “Honestly, I think they brought me down here to murder me.”
“Shame we interrupted them,” Belladonna replied.
“I can explain all of this,” Didier offered. “Honestly, I can.”
Kurt reclaimed his sword from the nearest body and held it under Didier’s chinless face, so the blade dug into the killer’s jaundiced skin. “Start talking, Deschamp-and I suggest you make it good.”