Arcanum (80 page)

But he’d freeze to death if he didn’t do something about that, and quickly. The little boat sank lower in the water, and he tried to pull himself into it.

He couldn’t get enough purchase. His few-fingered hands slipped against the wet wood, and he fell back each time. There were shallows, though, and he kicked out to try and guide his salvage towards them.

The dwarves weren’t giving up. The hoom of distant horns, and close-by shouts of their strange words made that clear. He had bare moments to fix the situation.

His feet touched the bottom, and he pushed the boat up against the bank. Emptying it of water, he dragged his sodden cloak off his back and jammed it into the hole in the bilges, working the cloth deep down with his fist. Then, with one foot in the boat, he pushed off from the side, paddling frantically with his hands to put as much distance as he could between himself and the snarling, bearded faces assembling on the riverbank.

If any had been armed with a bow, he’d have been done for. Bows weren’t dwarvish weapons, though, not like the axe or hammer. Dwarves preferred to meet their foe face to face, killing him like an honest man should.

Fuck that, thought Büber, as the river propelled him on. The bung he’d made of his rain-washed cloak leaked more than a little, and he bailed with his cupped hands.

At some point in his journey downstream, he realised that he might be dying. By that time he was too cold to care.

They were barely in any state to invade a beer cellar and order a round of drinks, let alone do more, but at least they’d finally arrived: it was just beyond dusk, a couple of miles upstream of Simbach, just past where the Salzach and the Enn met.

Ullmann had taken his turn tied to the barge like some draught animal, walking along the bank and helping to guide it along. Everyone had, except Vulfar who’d broken at least a couple of ribs and was lucky not to have pierced a lung. They’d laid him out in the cabin, and just got on with the job.

Ohlhauser had proved to be as strong as an ox, a lifetime of lifting and carrying, ploughing and reaping meant he thought little of wrapping a rope over his shoulders and leaning into the load. He reminded Ullmann of the father he’d left behind in Over-Carinthia, perhaps a little too much.

Crossing the Enn had proved difficult, but, once again, Ullmann had swum across and guided the barge to the other side.

With the boat safely tied up and not showing any lights, Vulfar felt he’d earned his florins. Ullmann wasn’t so sure about the bargemaster, but his crew certainly had, as also had the Bavarians, and Manfred and Horst, who’d cheerfully done everything asked of them and more. He closed the hold doors, and lit one of the lanterns.

“Does everyone know their part?” asked Ullmann. “Mr Ohlhauser, you’ve already done your duty, and, if you wish, you’re released.”

“If you’ve something else in mind, Master Ullmann, I can lend an arm or two.”

“Then stay with the barge and Manfred. The spears won’t unload themselves, and we may have to do it quickly. If we can take the wharf, we’ll do it there. If that’s too risky, we’ll send the townspeople to you. Be ready, and if you’re attacked, cast off for Carinthia.” He unfolded the map and pressed it flat with his hand. “Me, Mr Metz, Mr Kehle and Horst will enter the town from the north and go door to door. Fuchs never stays overnight in Simbach, but returns to his hall three miles to the north-east. He leaves some of his men behind, but if we gather enough townspeople, quickly enough, we can overwhelm and disarm them in whichever cellar they happen to be.”

“That’s clear enough,” said Horst. “Are we taking spears with us?”

“As many as we can comfortably carry. If we can take the town without alerting Fuchs, we’re half done.” Ullmann counted out six spears to each man, and six for himself. “Our load’ll soon get lighter.”

They were ready, and Manfred asked: “What’s the sign, then, that we’re to come to the wharf?”

“Let’s not get too pretty about this, Man. One of us’ll run back and tell you. Just keep close watch, and if you see the town on fire, you’ll know that things aren’t going well for us.”

“These are our homes you’re talking about,” murmured Metz in the darkness, “and our families and neighbours.”

“Yes, Mr Metz, and if you didn’t want our spears or our help, the time to say so would have been on the quay at Juvavum. Nothing’s going to go wrong, and nothing’s going to get burnt down – as long as everyone plays their part.” Ullmann blew the lantern out and opened one of the landward-side hold doors.

The gusty night wind blew in, and Ullmann stole out onto the running board, then jumped up onto the soft soil of the bank. Manfred passed him his bundle of spears, doing the same for each person as they scrabbled ashore.

“Right. Man, you sit at the bow and keep watch. If you feel yourself dropping off, for gods’ sakes swap with someone else – Mr Ohlhauser for preference.” Ullmann slung his spears up on his shoulder, where they rattled against each other. “This should be straightforward, but it won’t hurt to stay alert.”

“The gods are on our side, Max,” said Manfred. “Go on, get going.”

Kehle took the lead, and they spaced themselves out, keeping track of each other in the dark by dint of tails of white cloth they’d tucked in the waist bands of their breeks.

The Bavarians moved quickly and surely. Fuchs’s band of robbers didn’t bother with wasteful effort like patrols; when the sun went down they started drinking, and when the sun came up again, they’d look for more people to intimidate. Dusk, then, meant a welcome respite for the town, when those who had somewhere else to go might take the opportunity to steal away under cover of night.

The band crept into the outskirts of town. There was no stone wall, narrow bridge or looming castle to mark the boundary – just buildings beginning to squash in next to each other. Glowing globes had hung suspended across a few of Simbach’s major junctions, just as they had, in greater abundance, at Juvavum. Now the streets were dark, with most of the windows shuttered, and there was no edict in force, commanding that a light be shone from every house

Ullmann watched Kehle turn a corner, then abruptly reappear. Working his way up the line, he pressed his mouth to the Bavarian’s ear.

“What is it?”

“Fuchs’s men. Beer cellar on München Street.”

Ullmann crouched down and took a peek for himself. Drunken noise and dirty yellow light spilt out from one of the basements, and, across the road, someone was pissing up against the wall of a tailor’s.

“At least we know where they are now. Is there another way across?”

“We’ll have to back up.” They trotted back the way they’d come, and took another side street that led them out further along.

This time, the beer cellar was an indistinct glow, and the figures visible in front of it were blind to their presence. Ullmann and his men crossed the München road calmly and quietly, Kehle leading the rest of the way to his brother’s house, overlooking the market square – not by the front way, but down a narrow alley and up a creaking flight of wooden steps, difficult to negotiate carrying half a dozen spears each.

“Give me a minute,” Kehle said, and handed his load to Horst before trying the latch. It rose, and he slipped through the door. A sliver of warmth, then darkness again. Ullmann shivered and looked up. The night sky was breaking apart to show the stars and the rising horns of the moon, the light of which risked exposing them to view.

He motioned for them to get down as best they could, and hide their faces from the moon-glow.

From somewhere inside the house came the sound of a woman’s shriek – cut sharply off – and the shattering of a pot. Then the light under the door went out, and Kehle was standing there, beckoning them in. Quickly gathering up their bundles, they climbed up and in. The door was closed, and the candle uncovered.

“Sorry about the noise. My brother’s wife.” Kehle lifted the candlestick. “They came for my brother yesterday, and Juli doesn’t know where he’s been taken. She thought I was him.”

“Does Fuchs know you went to Carinthia?” asked Ullmann.

“No, but he’s taken Gerd hostage anyway.”

Metz grew agitated. “I need to find my parents, my sisters.”

Ullmann rested his spears against the closed door and bowed his head. “Let’s not complicate matters, gentlemen. Why don’t we take a moment or two to work out what we want and how best to get it. I assume Fuchs is holding his prisoners in his manor?”

“That’s what Juli heard,” said Kehle. “There are others, too, taken in the last couple of days. In case there’s trouble.”

“He’s a smart one, this earl of yours. Whole families start to disappear, and he’s worried that they might band together into a force to challenge him. So he splits them every which way, even before they raise so much as a carving knife at him.” Ullmann nodded at Horst. “Can you make sure the lady of the house isn’t thinking of leaving for Fuchs’s estates to try and trade her husband for his brother?”

Horst pursed his lips, piled all the spears he was carrying next to Ullmann’s, and went through into the rest of the house.

“You see,” said Ullmann, “that’s where it leads. Divide and conquer, one part of the family against the other. You want rid of Fuchs, don’t you?”

“Of course,” said Metz, “but—”

“The cost.” Kehle looked back at the door Horst had gone through. “It’s too much to ask of anyone.”

“We can get your brother back, Mr Kehle, and any relatives of yours whom Fuchs might have, Mr Metz. It’s fear that’s holding you prisoner just as surely as any chain.” Ullmann looked at both the Bavarians. “How many men has Fuchs got?”

“Two dozen or so,” said Metz. “Some will be with Fuchs, and when word reaches him that you’re here, they’ll kill the hostages.”

Ullmann raised his finger. “How will word reach them?”

“One of Fuchs’s men?” Doubt had already crept into Metz’s voice.

“Not if we’ve captured them all. That part won’t be difficult. They’re steaming drunk, and even if they want to make a fight of it, my little sister could take two of them at once.” He was bringing them around: the situation was difficult, yes, but not impossible. Far from it. “We can tie up any who don’t want a scrap. I even know of a safe place to put them till morning.”

“Then what happens when Fuchs comes with the rest of his thugs in the morning?”

Ullmann reached behind him for a spear-shaft, and held it out for Kehle to take. “If you want to get rid of Fuchs and run these lands as you see fit, now’s your chance. If you’re happy with the way things are working out for you and your kin, we can go back to the barge and Carinthia will have spent a hundred florins on a boat trip down the Salzach. Both me and Horst are here because you wanted this: if we go, that’ll be that. If we ever have reason to come back, it won’t be with offers of help. But it will be with weapons.”

“I don’t think you understand,” said Metz, and Ullmann felt himself starting to lose his temper. Cowardice was cowardice, and it was embarrassing.

“We have a barge with two hundred spears on board. Fuchs will only have half a dozen louts left once we’ve done for those in the cellar. And there’s no reason why we can’t have half a century of spears waiting for him to leave his estate in the morning and sneak in when he’s gone. This is not for Carinthia to do. It’s for you, or have you forgotten why you ended up in Mr Ohlhauser’s barn?”

Perhaps they had, but Ullmann’s words reminded them. Kehle reluctantly took the brandished spear.

“We’re just shopkeepers and tradesmen. We’re not soldiers,” he said. “We’ve had no training.”

“Me and Horst were just ushers at the library. Why should that mean we’re short on courage?” Ullmann set his face hard. “As for training? Use the pointy end. Now go and get your neighbours and bring them to the yard behind your house.”

They moved the spears so that Metz and Kehle could leave the house, and Ullmann went in search of Horst, two of the spears in hand.

He found him in the kitchen, with Mrs Kehle sitting rigidly in a chair at the table.

“You were right,” said Horst. “Caught her by the front door, off to tell Fuchs about us.”

“You have no right to keep me here,” she said. Ullmann passed one of the spears to Horst and laid the other across the table, among the crumbs and vegetable peelings.

“We’d be fools to let you go, though.” He sat down opposite her. “You love your husband, yes?”

“Yes,” she sniffed.

“Not every woman can say that, Mrs Kehle. Some would find benefit in a situation like this to be rid of a bad father or husband. But you’ll get yours back quickest if you stick with us.”

“I don’t know that. You’re from Carinthia, so how can I trust anything you say?”

Ullmann snagged a leftover crust of bread from one of the plates. It was dry and brittle, but he chewed on it anyway because he was hungry. “Fuchs is Bavarian, and he’s been busy looting the town and taking hostages. We’re Carinthian, and we’re here with spears and men to help you overthrow Fuchs. Why don’t you tell me who you can trust?” He leant back in the chair. “Take your time.”

Mrs Kehle’s face went through several contortions, and eventually she slumped her shoulders. “I just want Gerd back.”

Ullmann pushed the spear towards her. “Then take this.”

Horst coughed. “Max.”

Ignoring him, Ullmann nudged the spear towards the woman again. “Can you leave your kids?”

“My eldest can look after the younger ones for a while.” Then she shook her head. “You can’t expect me to fight.”

“My life was saved from Fuchs’s spies only a few days ago by a woman armed with a broom. You can do the same for your husband.”

“Max,” said Horst again.

Ullmann looked at the ceiling. “Horst. What’s the problem?”

“She’s a woman and a mother. You can’t expect her to take on a bunch of drunkards with a spike on a stick.”

“If she was on her own, you might be right. She won’t be on her own. And this is as much her fight as it is her brother-in-law’s. There’s no reason I can think of for not offering her the chance to hold her head up among her neighbours and tell them what she did this night.” When Ullmann looked back down, Mrs Kehle had taken the spear and rested it along the arms of her chair. “Ideas don’t stop at bridges,” he said, appropriating Sophia’s words as his own. “I’m guessing they don’t stop at doors or walls either. Can we rely on the goodwives of Simbach?”