In the year of our lord 831
I: The Man in Question
Kenny
'Thing about having power is that you never run out of enemies. Grandpa used to say that Kenny was his own worst enemy, which was a load of bullshit, but the geezer liked complaining so they both let it slide. Anyway, Ol' Paw didn't say much these days. Not since they put him in the ground.
He'd been tired towards the end, real tired, with hollow cheeks and wrinkles shaping deep grooves in his forehead and beneath his tired, grey eyes. His thin chest heaving up and down, labouring to draw each breath. The crabs were in his belly, he'd said. Eating. Then he died, and they put him to rest beside the empty graves of his children and grandchildren. Dead before him the whole lot of them, except for Kenny and Kuchel, though that might not have been any great comfort to the old man.
The Ripper and the whore. It sounded like the name of a cabaret.
Kuchel held out a few more years after he was gone, before the pox carried her off. She wasted away on a narrow cot in the asshole of the world, leaving nothing behind but a malnourished, sullen brat with one name and zero prospects. He'd still been sitting at the foot of her bed when Kenny came around to tell Kuchel how everything was about to change. Funny, even in death she'd had that holier-than-thou look on her face.
He'd been right though, everything had changed after that. Only, there had been no one left to see it.
Kenny pushed his hands deep into his pockets, waiting. The royal steward had disappeared inside the chamber a couple of aeons ago, but if previous experience was anything to go by, the lords of the royal council would keep him waiting another ten years purely out of spite. Great men and their small pleasures, or was it the other way around?
Judging from the noise permeating the massive door, something in particular had whipped them into a frenzy. He could just picture it, red faced, puffed up old men croaking at each other like a bunch of overgrown bullfrogs. One voice, marginally louder than the rest and sweating of self-importance, made some kind of statement that earned it fervent shouts of approval.
The chamber door opened a crack, shining a pale sliver of light out onto the floor. Jonas Laszló, the king's steward, poked his head outside and nodded curtly.
"You may enter now, Mr. Ackerman."
The half-moon shaped room within had pillared walls reaching up towards a high vaulted ceiling. A spear of silvery light fell from the leaded window above, shrouding the king in ethereal light upon the dais. Uri Reiss' blue eyes hinted at a smile as Kenny entered. He shifted in his seat and light reflected off his silk waistcoat with golden embroideries.
"Ah, Kenny," said Uri. "I am pleased you could join us."
As if the summons of a king was something one might opt to ignore.
The council of nobles sat in their assigned places, surrounding the king as effectively as a pack of well-groomed wolves. Although it had only one elected representative for the king's assembly, the council's members collectively owned and controlled the greater part of the economy, inflating their egos to monumental proportions. Why Uri hadn't used his monster power and eaten them all was beyond Kenny's understanding.
On the far left of the room sat Roland von Bergh. He clasped his coat lapels with thick sausage fingers laden with bejewelled rings. Next to him were Lambert Stein of the magnificent neckbeard, beside a shrunken old geezer Kenny could not recall the name of, Baron Cough of Pennybottom, or something like that. At his side, Emerich von Rohr looked like he'd swallowed a bee, and the immense Arnold Friesing pointedly ignored the tortured creaking of his chair. On the far right, Theobald Gravenreuth's shock of white hair had abandoned all pretence of discipline, and stood out whichever way it pleased in great tufts. He looked grave, but then again, he always did whenever Kenny was in attendance. There was another man present, a wispy youth wearing a grey three-piece suit.
"Who's the tadpole?" Kenny nodded to the place where he stood, hiding behind a large potted plant beside the window.
"That gentleman would be Mr. Laurens Theil. He is a representative of the Medical Society." The corners of Uri's eyes crinkled as he smiled. "One of their top physicians, aren't you Laurens?"
The little man swung around, his face already set in a simpering and mildly apologetic expression. "Oh, I would not claim as much, Your Majesty. That is—It is really not for me to say, Your Majesty."
Nervous fella.
"Worry not, I have it on good authority that you are quite accomplished." The king straightened and addressed the council. "Now gentlemen, let us discuss why we are all here. Hans, will you do us the honour?"
Baron Cough coughed into his hand. A feeble sound, like trying to whistle through a reed. When he spoke it was in a voice so thin and papery Kenny had to strain his ears to hear the words.
"This meeting pertains to the matter of vile, gruesome murder."
The general murmur that always accompanied a declaration, died abruptly. Roland von Bergh, who by the looks of it had been on the brink of falling asleep, snorted loudly and jolted upright.
"A murder?" he said, and they all listened intently. "Is that not business for the Military Police Brigade, rather than the royal council? Who got themselves killed this time—another leader of the lower street gangs?"
"If only, Roland. If only," Emerich von Rohr replied tersely, nostrils flaring. "I—Hans, if you would continue."
Baron Cough let out a low wheeze and continued, "Just before noon today, the young gentleman Joachim von Rohr, son of our most noble council member Lord Emerich von Rohr, was found senseless on the floor of his chambers. His personal physician was called to the scene and quickly ascertained that the young lord was beyond the help of any man. May he rest in peace."
The lords gasped in unison. Someone let out a strangely feminine shriek.
"Karl Fritz, have mercy!" Theobald Gravenreuth cried and clung to the edge of the long table like a drowning man to flotsam.
Kenny sighed. So, someone carved themselves a bit of bacon—good for them, but whoever roasted this pork belly just created a lot of work for some poor bastard. His eyes drifted to Emerich von Rohr.
The way he looks ya might think someone killed his best thoroughbred instead of a son. On second thought, considerin' how much Emerich loves the races he might have wept for his precious pony.
Baron Cough's old eyes drifted further down the parchment, clutching it between his leathery fingers. "It appears that the young lord's throat had been opened to the bone, whereupon he bled profusely and appears to have expired soon thereafter. Lady Traute von Rohr was removed from her husband's side, and the appropriate authorities were called to the scene. A Medical Society representative was kind enough to make sure the—" he hesitated, perhaps with the word 'corpse' upon his lips. A watery glance was thrown in the direction of Emerich von Rohr. "The body has been placed in cold storage, awaiting further examination." Here, he succumbed to a fit of coughing.
Whether they be a commoner or a nobleman, people die, but it is the custom of nobility to die in their old age, tightly tucked into their beds. And yet, one of them now lay in cold storage, dead long before his time. People suffered similar fates all the time, with the distinction that they were commoners, and no one gave a shit.
Eight pairs of eyes settled upon Kenny. Expectantly.
He shrugged. "Wasn't me."
Emerich von Rohr jumped out of his seat, slamming his fist down onto the table. His eyes bulged furiously from their sockets. "Is that all you have to offer us, dog—a jape? My son is dead! Dead, you hear me? I want whoever is responsible found, and I want them to hang!"
What do ya know, the sweaty pig does care after all, coulda fooled me.
"Yes," Lord Arnold Friesing interjected. His many chins wobbled noticeably as he spoke. "And how can we be sure the rest of us are safe from this madman? I cannot speak for the rest of you, but I do not intend for my name to figure on the butcher's bill."
Not that Kenny doubted the sincerity of this statement, but he couldn't help but notice how Friesing did not mention just how he meant to ensure that his insides would not become his outsides. He wasn't exactly a prime physical specimen who could defend himself against an attacker, at least not well, but supposedly he could hire bodyguards. Problem was, bodyguards were in the nasty habit of wanting to be paid for their work, and if there was anything Friesing hated more than Kenny himself, it was to part with his coin. Over the years the man had made an art of wheedling gold out of the crown. Officially, it pertained to dealing with the consequences of the severe food shortage that had come about when famine had set their fields to rot, half a decade ago. Despite the efforts made to conserve what was in storage, all reserves had been devoured within the first two years. With the tireless efforts of Arnold Friesing however, the amount of armed personnel safeguarding the storehouses and transports, as well as the plantations and mines which produced luxury goods, had tripled over the last three years.
Better hope no one ever takes a good look at him and realises that he's the solution to the food shortage.
Friesing stabbed the air with his finger. "I say we must spare no expense, no expense, in the pursuit of this murderer!"
"Or murderers," said Kenny.
"What?"
"Well ya said it like there's just one of them. Might be two, or ten."
"No matter—whoever they may be, they must be found, tried and punished to the full extent of the king's law!" he bleated, jowls quivering. "No quarter for such creatures!"
"Yeah yeah, sounds great. Got any idea who done it?"
The king cleared his throat."At this moment we do not, but Mr. Theil has agreed to review the body, and to assist in the search for the perpetrators."
"What, him?" The fussbudget looked like he'd just barely made it out of his diapers. "Ya want him to go chasin' after some murderer?"
"I do. He is the leading expert in the budding field of medical examination."
"He looks about as solid as water to me. Thought ya wanted the murders to stop?"
Emerich von Rohr pushed himself out of his chair again, huffing and snorting like he was trying to suck all the air from the room. "You will guard your tongue, dog. I must suffer your presence because you have proven yourself useful, but I will not suffer your mockery. A noose would fit you best, I say, and with some wear it might curb your vile tongue too."
"Gentlemen," said Uri. "The severity of this situation affects us all. It is the duty of a king to protect and safeguard his people, and in this I have failed you. A young man is dead, and no efforts on my part, or that of any man, will return him to life. You asked me to find his killer, and this I intend to do. You asked me to put my best men to the task—these are the men I have chosen."
"My pardons, Your Majesty, but I asked for a man and you gave me your ravenous hound," von Rohr replied. "Have him hacking and slicing, as it is all he is good for, and leave honest work to honest men."
Kenny was clearly supposed to take offence at that, but-
Hey, wait a minute—just what the hell is this velvet-swathed gasbag saying?
"Ya want me to investigate a murder?"
Uri tipped his chin in affirmation, his expression letting Kenny know that this wasn't a good time to give him lip about it. "I do, and you will. You know how such men work; their methods, their motives, where they are and how to find them. I believe there is no man alive better suited to this task."
It's the worst idea since monogamy.
Underground sewers, now that had been a good idea. This one was like shitting the bath before you got into it.
As if he'd been waiting for his cue, the rosy cheeked physician simpered up to him and extended his right hand.
"It is decided then. I hope that our union will bear ripe fruit." He said, pushing his glasses up. The way he blushed you might think he had proposed a wholly different sort of union between them.
Kenny took the little fella's floppy hand and gave it a shake.
"Yeah why not. Ripe blood oranges, burstin' all to bits," he said.
The little man's throat bobbed up and down "Well, I suppose we ought to get started. If you will permit it, Your Majesty."
Uri met Kenny's eyes across the room, and the corner of his mouth turned up, though nothing about this was the least bit funny.
"You may go."
Laurens bowed and made for the door, which all things considered seemed to be a pretty good idea. He followed the little doc across the floor, and as the door closed behind them, he heard the angry bickering resume as if no time had passed in between.
Speaking quickly, his expression as deadpan as if he were referring to a nice roast, Laurens said "We should pay a visit to the cold rooms immediately, as it is always best to view the corpse while it is fresh."
"Sure, always liked my corpses fresh," replied Kenny.
They smelled nicer, for one.