Anarch

Eight: Deployment

‘Well, Throne be blessed,’ said Blenner. ‘Major Kolea? Back from the dead?’

‘Back from somewhere,’ replied Kolea.

‘Well, welcome anyway,’ said Blenner. He offered up a little shrug, suggesting he was about to give Kolea a brotherly embrace, but Kolea looked distant. Blenner turned the shrug into a smoothing of his tunic, as if that’s all he had intended to do in the first place. ‘Welcome to our new home.’

Kolea glanced around. Blenner was the first person he had encountered since descending to the undercroft.

‘Temporary home,’ he said. ‘Our homes are always temporary.’

‘Well, that’s indeed the truth of it,’ Blenner replied cheerfully. ‘Ever marching on, no bed to call our own. But this is better than some. I recall a billet on Sorclore where the lice, I tell you–’

‘What’s the smell?’ asked Kolea.

‘Yes, there is a smell,’ said Blenner. ‘An aroma. Latrines, I gather. Backing up. It’s the fething weather.’

Kolea glanced around at the whitewashed stonework. The overhead lamps ticked and flickered.

‘And the lights?’

‘Another maintenance issue, I gather.’

‘What are our numbers here?’ Kolea asked. ‘I was told two companies…’

‘Uhm, E Company and V Company, along with the retinue, of course.’

‘And they’re all accommodated? Needs met?’

‘Well, Major Baskevyl has that in hand. That and the maintenance issues. I gather–’

‘You gather?’ asked Kolea. ‘You seem to gather a lot, commissar, but nothing seems gathered to me. You must be one of the ranking officers here. Why aren’t you supporting Bask and getting things fixed?’

Blenner looked stung. ‘I do what I can, major,’ he said, then added, ‘What they’ll let me do.’

‘What does that mean?’

Blenner dropped his gaze and his voice. He seemed miserable. Four women from the retinue went past, carrying baskets of laundry. When Blenner spoke, it had an air of confidentiality.

‘Did you hear about Low Keen?’ he asked.

‘Yes, briefly. Gendler and Wilder. And Ezra.’

‘Well, it’s put a stink on things,’ said Blenner. ‘On me. Just now, I am not regarded with the same warmth as I once enjoyed.’

‘You did your job, didn’t you?’

‘It’s not a popular job. The Belladon–’

‘It’s a dirty job, is what you mean?’

Blenner nodded. Kolea eyed him. He’d never thought Vaynom Blenner much of a soldier, and his lack of discipline made him a poor discipline officer. Kolea suspected he’d only ever become part of the company because he and Gaunt went back. Now Gaunt was elevated above the Tanith, Blenner had no ally to hand, no shadow to lurk in. His chief value had always been his endless cheer and informal conduct, which Kolea had to admit had been an asset to morale at times. Even that seemed dimmed.

‘A dirty job indeed,’ Blenner said.

Kolea felt a pang of pity for the man. Blenner was good for little, but Kolea knew all too sharply what it felt like to lose status and relevance, or at least to stand on the brink of that.

‘Bask doesn’t trust you?’ he asked.

‘No, and I don’t blame him,’ said Blenner. ‘No one seems to. I’m sort of out of the loop a little. Shunned, you might say. Throne knows, I’m–’

He shrugged, as if unwilling to finish any searching self-reflection.

‘Good old Vaynom, you know,’ he said with a half-smile. ‘Good for a laugh. Fond of a drink. Fun to have around until the laughing stops.’

‘Do you know what I think?’ Kolea asked.

‘Please tell, sir,’ said Blenner.

‘I think it’s shock.’

‘Mine?’ asked Blenner.

‘Theirs,’ Kolea replied. ‘You have a reputation for… good humour. People forget you’re a commissar. You just reminded them. You executed a killer. You upheld the dictats and discipline of the Astra Militarum. You showed your true self to them. Give them a few days to reconcile that with the Blenner they know.’

‘Well, I suppose. That’s kind of you to say.’

‘And there are always duties,’ said Kolea. ‘Gendler was Meryn’s man, so I’d be looking at Meryn pretty hard right now if I was a commissar.’

‘Ah, well, ah… Fazekiel is in charge of the investigation,’ said Blenner nervously. ‘I can’t be involved in that, seeing as I was the one that pulled the trigger and all…’

‘I suppose,’ said Kolea. ‘But there’s always other work. You don’t have to be asked. Do the asking yourself. For a start, it smells like there are drains to be unblocked.’

‘I’m not unblocking drains, major,’ said Blenner with a waspish smile.

‘No, but you can order someone to,’ said Kolea. ‘Get on with things and make this situation better. Show them you don’t care what they think of you.’

‘Sage counsel, sir, thank you.’

‘Blenner?’

Blenner looked at him.

‘You did your job, and you saved her, didn’t you?’

‘I did, yes.’

‘Gaunt’s daughter, Blenner.’

‘Ah, Throne knows what that maniac Gendler might have done…’

‘Take pride in that, then. Gaunt knows what you did. Throne above, I know what it’s like to be a father. Despite everything.’

‘Despite…?’ Blenner asked.

‘What I mean is, that’s a bond that ties a man’s soul. Children. The future, and all that. If Gendler had threatened Yoncy, or Dal, I’d like to think a good man like you would have stood up to defend them. And I’d be blessed thankful for that. You did your job.’

Blenner looked almost embarrassed. Or ashamed. It was hard to read the expression on his face. For a moment, Kolea thought the commissar was going to blurt something out, as if he carried some awful burden he needed to set down.

‘Major,’ he said. His voice was hesitant. ‘Gol, I–’

Raised voices suddenly echoed down the hallway, and they both looked around.

‘Someone’s annoyed,’ said Blenner with forced lightness.

‘Indeed.’ Kolea looked back at Blenner. ‘You were going to say something.’

‘No, nothing,’ Blenner laughed. ‘Nothing, nothing. Just an idle… Really nothing.’

‘All right,’ said Kolea. ‘Let’s see what this is.’

Their spur of the undercroft hallway met another coming in from the vaults to the left. Baskevyl was arguing with a Munitorum overseer, with Bonin and Yerolemew looking on. The overseer’s three man work crew, lugging their equipment panniers and bulky in their yellow overalls, stood sheepishly behind their boss. A small crowd of women and support staff from the retinue was gathering to watch.

‘There’s nothing to unblock, sir!’ the overseer snapped.

‘There fething well must be!’ Baskevyl snarled back.

‘I’m telling you, I know my trade,’ the overseer retorted.

‘Fifteen centimetres of soil-water in the second and third billet halls would seem to suggest otherwise,’ said Bonin.

‘Do I tell you how to fight?’ asked the overseer.

‘Would you like to?’ asked Bonin, stepping forward.

‘Whoa,’ said Yerolemew, arresting Bonin’s arm with a tight grip.

‘Yeah, listen to the old chap,’ the overseer said. ‘We haven’t come down here to do no brawling.’

‘You misunderstand,’ the old bandmaster told him. ‘I just wanted it fair. Start with me, and see how you get on against a one-armed man. Then you can have a crack at the big time.’

The crowd laughed at this. The overseer blinked rapidly.

‘We’ve checked the drains through to the north outfall,’ he said. ‘There’s nothing blocked. I don’t know where the water’s coming from.’

‘What about the lights?’ asked Baskevyl.

‘Circuit systems is on a different docket,’ said the overseer. ‘My docket says waste overflow.’

‘Your docket is about to say “ow, my face hurts”,’ said Yerolemew.

‘Gentlemen,’ said Kolea, stepping in.

They looked at him. A broad smile crossed Baskevyl’s face.

‘Gol,’ he said, and gave Kolea a hug. Blenner looked on from the edge of the group. That was how good comrades greeted each other. He sighed.

‘Back on duty?’ Baskevyl asked.

‘Back on the slog,’ said Kolea. ‘And not before time, looks like.’ He glanced at the overseer. ‘What’s your name?’ he asked.

‘Taskane,’ the man replied. ‘Technician, first class.’

‘I’m Kolea. Major Kolea. My company, we were pretty pleased to be staying in a palace for the duration. But it’s hardly palatial.’

‘Well, I grant you–’

‘Taskane, I know you’ve got orders. Dockets, in fact. So have I. The Lord Executor wants his personal regiment well taken care of.’

‘The Lord Executor?’ asked Taskane.

‘You’ve heard of him?’

‘Well, of course.’

‘He’s an absolute bastard,’ said Kolea. ‘Kill you as soon as look at you. We don’t want that. We don’t want complaint reports filed with names on them, do we? What’s that form again?’

‘K 50715 F,’ said Blenner quickly, trying not to grin.

‘That’s the very one, commissar,’ said Kolea. ‘Thank you. Oh, and commissar? Please keep your weapon holstered. This isn’t a discipline matter.’ He looked at Taskane and pulled a face. ‘He’s a right bastard too,’ he whispered. ‘We don’t want to get him riled up.’

‘We do not, sir,’ said Taskane.

‘So we’ve got water, backflooding.’

‘I explained this, sir.’

‘Soil water too, so from the latrines not the drinking supply. So that’s a hygiene matter, which will bring in the Medicae.’

‘I’ve explained,’ said Taskane. ‘It’s the weather. Unseasonal quantities of rain, backing up the waste flows. We’ve checked the pipework.’

‘You could check it again, though?’ asked Kolea. ‘I mean, a thorough double-check. Thorough never hurt, did it? Then maybe pole it out with extenders. Run a rod right through?’

‘I could do that…’ Taskane began.

‘Then flush the whole system with a chem-sluice. It’s old, stone built, so there’s no danger of corroding metal pipe. And if that fails, you could set up a pump or two, and evacuate the flood water using suction tubes.’

Taskane hesitated. ‘How come you know so much?’ he asked.

‘I was a miner before I took to soldiering,’ said Kolea. ‘I know how to dry-down a flooded section. Lives depended on it.’

‘Well, I can imagine…’

‘But I’m no expert,’ said Kolea. ‘Not municipal, like this. That’s your area. I’ll bet with your skills, you can get this handled by nightfall.’

‘We’ll get to it, sir,’ said Taskane. He glanced at his men and directed them back the way they’d come. ‘And we’ll take a look at the circuit system too,’ said Taskane. ‘The problems could be related.’

‘I appreciate it, overseer,’ said Kolea. ‘The Emperor rewards diligent service.’

The overseer and his team trudged back down the hall towards the flooded section.

‘Direct orders from the Lord Executor?’ Bonin asked.

‘I may have re-worked the actual truth a little there,’ Kolea said with a smile. ‘Then again, I think there was a little invention at work with the complaint forms too.’

Blenner winked. ‘Made the whole fething thing up,’ he said.

‘It’s good to have you back,’ Baskevyl said to Kolea.

‘It is.’

Kolea glanced around. Dalin had appeared, gently pushing his way through the amused crowd of onlookers.

‘Hello, son,’ said Gol.

The morning showed no signs of ending. From the darkness outside the chamber windows, it looked like it was night already, and they had sat through the entire day, but Merity knew that was just the storm hanging over Eltath, a turbulent, rain-belting blackness that had despatched any sign of daylight.

Senior Tactician Biota had seized the room ‘by order of the Lord Executor’, a phrase he seemed to enjoy using. The chamber was a prayer chapel adjoining the hub of the main war room, a vast place teeming with people that Merity had only glimpsed as they had gone past it.

The chapel was small, but a cogitation station and a strategium display had been brought in, along with an old, solid table that could accommodate ten. As part of the war room area, the chapel was screened and proofed against scanning and detection. The trunking on all the device cables was thick and reinforced, there was a small back-up power unit, and the walls had been crudely over-boarded with panels of bare flakboard that sandwiched suppression materials against the original stonework. Even the windows had been treated with anti-invasive dyes, which further darkened them, adding to the gloom, though Merity could still see the shifting speckle of raindrops striking them.

The back-up power unit was also an asset. Main palace power kept fluctuating, and twice during the morning had blink-failed entirely, causing displays to go dark. Biota had taken to kicking the power unit automatically every time the lights dimmed, to make it whirr into action. It had become a reflex gesture: he did it even when he was talking, without even looking at it.

She quite liked Biota. She believed his name was Antonid. He was a veteran, but no soldier. The small, bespectacled man had spent his career in the Departmento Tacticae, and he seemed fiercely clever, though his people skills were clumsy. She suspected he was the cleverest man she had ever met. Throughout the morning, he had led the way through a slew of documents, discussing everything from ‘geographical suitability’ to ‘Munitorum Asset efficiency’, and displayed a knowledge of everything. He didn’t even need to consult lists to be able to name, with accuracy, specific divisions, companies, unit commanders, or the numbers of men active in any bracket. Now he was leading the way through a review of orbital images, pointing out details she wasn’t able to detect.

It was fascinating, yet still boring. Merity had a decent general grasp of the situation at Eltath, and on Urdesh at large, but the minutiae were lost on her. She could barely follow the logistic data, the deployment specifics, or the tactical nuance. Biota’s team had spent ten minutes debating the weight tolerance of a single bridge in Zarakppan.

But she had always been fascinated by the sight of people, expert people, doing what they did best. There was a wonder to it. And these individuals, hand-picked by Biota to form her father’s tactical cabinet, were the best. Among the best in the entire Imperium, and certainly within the crusade host.

It reminded her of the long afternoons when she had been forced to attend the congress meetings of House Chass, where matters of hive politics and house business affairs were discussed in forensic detail. Now, as then, she was but a witness. Beltayn had assured her she would come to grasp the finer points soon enough. She certainly had nothing to offer, except her attention and the promise of direct access to the Lord Executor, should the need arise.

She did not have an actual seat at the table. Biota had vaguely pointed her to a row of chairs in the corner. She started off taking notes, but Beltayn had seen her doing this and had shaken his head.

‘Why?’ she’d whispered.

‘It’ll end up in the burn box as soon as you leave the room. I’ll get you an encrypted slate for tomorrow.’

Merity had put the noteblock aside, and tried to rely on her memory.

Aside from Beltayn and Biota, there were three others present. Two wore the same tacticae uniforms as Biota: a younger man named Willam Reece, who had the darkest skin she’d ever seen, and a rather tall, haughty woman called Geneve Holt. Neither seemed to smile, ever, and they matched Biota’s pace and knowledge detail for detail.

The other person was a fierce, body-armoured Tempestus Scion called Relf. Relf had been assigned to guard Merity, and the Scion had taken it upon herself to remain standing throughout, at duty beside the door. Biota had broken his flow several times to offer the Scion a seat.

‘Thank you, no,’ Relf had replied each time.

Eventually, around mid-morning, Biota had insisted she sit down.

‘You’re in my eye-line every time I look at the display,’ he said.

‘I would prefer to stand,’ Relf had replied. ‘Standing, I can react more swiftly to danger presenting at the doorway.’

‘If danger presents at the doorway, then the palace has fallen,’ remarked Holt, ‘and then we’re all screwed, and you being here will make little odds.’

Reece had actually laughed at this.

‘Take a seat, Scion,’ Biota had said. ‘I insist. By order of the Lord Executor.’

Relf had, reluctantly, sat, though she had taken Merity’s chair and forced Merity to shift one seat down so that Relf could be between her and the doorway.

Merity hadn’t argued. She was used to this kind of protection work. It wasn’t the first time she’d had a lifeward.

Biota was finishing up the orbital scans when there was a knock at the door. Relf answered immediately, and after some wary discussion with the porters, admitted a very fierce woman in the uniform of a lord militant.

‘Ah, Marshal Tzara,’ said Biota. ‘We’re ready for your presentation. Please, take a seat.’

Tzara, het-chieftain of the Keyzon host and Mistress of the Seventh Army, eyed the chapel room and its occupants stiffly.

‘The Lord Executor asked me to report to you and deliver yesterday’s data from the suppression in the Northern Claves. I’m not sure why I couldn’t send an adjutant to do this, nor why I am asked to report to a broom cupboard.’

‘The Lord Executor wants the chain of command kept as short as possible, Marshal,’ Biota replied. ‘Senior officer briefings only, to reduce data dispersal and the risk of breaks in the confidence chain. Reporting to me, you may consider yourself reporting to the Lord Executor himself.’

‘This is undignified,’ said Tzara. ‘This is his… tactical cabinet?’

‘Yes, well…’ Biota faltered slightly.

‘Triage,’ Beltayn hissed at him.

‘You have requested his audience several times, and it was granted this morning,’ said Biota.

‘Indeed–’ Tzara began.

‘One does not need to be an expert on human behaviour to see that you want to ingratiate yourself with the new First Lord.’

‘Is that so?’ Tzara said. The tone of her voice dropped the temperature in the room.

‘Well, yes,’ said Biota. ‘No one likes to fall from grace.’

‘I have not fallen from grace,’ Tzara snarled.

‘No,’ said Biota, ‘but the precipice is close and sheer. You backed others in the move to disempower Macaroth. You’ve held on to your position, like Lord Blackwood and Lord Cybon, but there is a cloud over you. You need an ally, and the Lord Executor is the best ally to have. So please, take a seat. Consider my polite request an order of the Lord Executor.’

Tzara sat down.

‘He really likes saying that,’ Merity whispered to the Scion beside her. Relf trembled slightly. Merity realised the Scion was trying to suppress a snigger.

‘Please walk us through yesterday’s efforts in the Clave theatre,’ said Biota. ‘Be as specific as possible. We have received a summary document, but you will have detailed lists of enemy strengths and so on.’

Marshal Tzara produced a data-slate from her belt pouch. She took a last, sneering look around the room.

‘The Astra Militarum has protocols,’ she remarked. ‘I fear they are being forgotten. There is a common line trooper here.’

She glanced at Beltayn, who suddenly found his notes fascinating.

‘And as for her,’ Tzara added, nodding in Merity’s direction. ‘I did not realise that the Guard had become a family business.’

‘I was asked to attend,’ Merity replied before Biota could answer.

‘By your father,’ said Tzara. ‘The Guard operates through excellence. Training, experience, and hard-won seniority. Not nepotism.’

Merity felt her cheeks flush hot.

‘I’m sure it does, ma’am,’ she replied. ‘I’m sure that’s why the third, ninth and fourteenth companies of the Keyzon host are commanded by your sons.’

Tzara blinked. Her mouth formed a sharp, pursed, horizontal line.

‘Ballsy,’ she remarked, and turned back to Biota.

Biota had removed his spectacles and was looking at Merity with a frown.

‘We reviewed the disposition of the Keyzon about four hours ago,’ he said. ‘You remembered that detail?’

‘I’m trying to remember everything I can, sir,’ said Merity. ‘So there’s some point in me being here.’

Biota raised his eyebrows, put his spectacles back on and turned back to the table.

‘Right, let’s continue,’ he said. ‘Marshal, kindly run us through–’

There was another knock at the chamber door.

‘If that’s Lugo, he’s an hour early,’ snapped Biota.

Relf answered the door. ‘It’s a commissar,’ she reported stiffly. ‘Requesting my lady Chass.’

‘I’ll step out so you can carry on,’ said Merity, getting up. She went to the door as Tzara began her report.

It was Fazekiel.

Merity stepped into the hallway. Relf followed.

‘No need,’ Merity said.

‘I’ll say what’s needed,’ Relf replied. She closed the door behind them, then stood with her back to it, gazing at the wall opposite.

‘I’m sorry to interrupt,’ said Fazekiel. ‘I see you’re busy.’

‘How can I help?’

‘I’m still conducting the investigation. I want to re-interview everybody involved. Blenner, Meryn, you. Just go over it again.’

‘There’s nothing much I can add that you don’t already have,’ Merity replied. ‘I was unconscious during the… the murders.’

‘Well,’ said Fazekiel, ‘your memory might throw up something, even if it doesn’t seem pertinent to you.’

‘Her memory’s very good, it seems,’ said Relf from behind them.

‘I don’t know, commissar,’ said Merity.

‘Well, think about it,’ said Fazekiel. ‘I’m based in the undercroft with the regiment billet. If you think of anything, come and find me. Anything at all, all right?’

Merity nodded.

‘And maybe tomorrow, when you’re not tied up, we can run another interview just for the record.’

‘Of course,’ said Merity.

Fazekiel nodded.

‘Thank you, ma’am,’ she said. ‘I won’t keep you.’

An air battle was underway to the south. Most of it was hidden by the low cloud cover of the rainstorm, but they could hear the blow-torch growl of thrusters and odd pops and crackles. Occasionally, a white dart would become visible, rolling and swooping against the black clouds, a canopy briefly catching the sun. Varl had told her they were Lightnings, probably out of Zarak East, running an interdiction patrol to maintain Eltath airspace. Curth didn’t know anything about that, but she knew that a skirmish was underway. She sat in the cab of the cargo-10, reviewing her medical reports, but the sporadic noise of the battle kept drawing her attention.

Something flashed. A silver dot, about five kilometres west. She saw it screw-roll down out of a great dark, buttress of low cloud, blurred by the rain. A flurry of tiny lights suddenly surrounded it, a cloud like fireflies or sparks cast up by a bonfire. They swirled for a second, then streaked away, lost in the cloud. A moment later, the entire cloud bank was back-lit by a fierce series of yellow flashes, flames blooming behind the dark vapour. The staggered pops of the multiple detonations reached her after a second. By then, the silver dot had gone. She saw something drop out of the cloudbank. A streak of fire that fell straight down, the sunlight flashing off wing panels as they folded around the fireball and fluttered away. The streak of fire vanished behind the rooftops.

Someone rapped at the window of the cab door.

Curth got out and climbed down. The rain was worse than before.

‘They’re all loaded and secure,’ Kolding told her.

‘Thank you,’ she said.

‘I can go with them,’ Kolding offered.

‘Colonel Rawne’s ordered me to do it, so…’ she shrugged.

Curth’s inclination was to move with the main force, but they were carrying forty casualties from the action at the Tulkar Batteries, and nine were critical. Her oath as a doctor made those souls her responsibility, and her position as the regiment’s chief medicae landed the duty firmly in her lap. Rawne knew that. The casualties needed more than a field station. They needed the surgical and intensive facilities of the Urdeshic Palace.

Across the shattered street, beyond the line of waiting transports, Rawne was briefing the officers. The Ghost companies were drawn up along the length of the street, standing at loose order, resting, and using the blown-out shop fronts as partial cover from the downpour.

‘Major Pasha has command of the primary group,’ Rawne said.

‘We can move at once, sir,’ Yve Petrushkevskaya replied confidently. ‘Three hours to the location, barring mishaps.’

Rawne nodded. ‘Asa Elam and Ferdy Kolosim are your line officers. Chain of command flows through them. Pasha gets final operational say. All clear?’

The company commanders all nodded.

‘First section, B Company, goes with me to the secondary,’ Rawne continued.

‘Just one section?’ asked Obel.

‘Don’t question me,’ Rawne replied.

‘But it’s a fair question,’ said Criid.

‘We’re stretched as it is,’ Rawne replied. ‘The primary objective needs everything we can throw at it, which is fething little as it stands. The Suicide Kings have handled him before, so we can handle him now. In and out.’

First section, B Company had become known as the Suicide Kings when the regiment first took custody of the enemy asset known as the pheguth. No one doubted they had the best level of experience.

‘But if there’s trouble…’ Kolosim began.

‘Trouble can kiss my Tanith arse,’ Rawne replied. ‘Get your companies up and ready to move. That’s it.’

‘No cheery words of inspiration, sir?’ asked Theiss.

Rawne paused. ‘Am I known for that sort of thing?’ he asked.

‘No,’ Theiss admitted with a grin.

‘Then imagine me sending you thoughts and prayers,’ Rawne said.

The officers laughed.

‘I tell you what,’ said Rawne. ‘These orders come directly from Gaunt. That should be enough for all of you. Feth, imagine it’s him standing here briefing you in this fething rain. I’d prefer that. I’d be much happier sitting in the palace with my boots up on a desk. Get on with it.’

The group broke up. The company officers – Criid, Kolosim, Theiss, Arcuda, Elam, Obel, Spetnin and the rest – strode back to their waiting men, shouting brisk orders. The drenched Ghosts began getting to their feet and shouldering their packs. Ludd moved among them, yelling strong words of encouragement.

Rawne turned and saw Curth waiting.

‘Ready to go?’ he asked.

‘Honestly,’ she said, ‘I’d be happier going with Pasha’s formation. It’s bound to get ugly.’

‘Pasha will have Kolding and the corpsmen,’ said Rawne. ‘Besides, this isn’t about your preference. I gave you an order.’

‘You did.’

‘No disrespect to Kolding, but I think you’re the only one who can get them to the palace alive.’

‘You’re probably right.’

‘Now, about an escort,’ he said.

Curth shook her head. ‘You need everyone you can get. Don’t waste anyone on a guard duty. We can get there.’

He looked at her.

‘I’m serious,’ she said. ‘We’re making a run to the palace through what should be friendly territory. We’re not heading into danger. You are.’

‘All right,’ he said.

Curth turned away, then looked back at him, wiping rain off her face.

‘I don’t know what this is about,’ she said. ‘I don’t know what you’re getting into…’

‘Join the club,’ Rawne replied.

She rested her hand on his arm gently.

‘Just don’t die,’ she said.

‘I’ll see how that goes,’ he replied.

She turned and walked back to the waiting transports.

‘Start them up!’ he heard her shout.

The heat was fierce. Jan Jerik could feel the sweat pooling in his boots. He paused, wiping the visor of his mask, to check the duct number stencilled on the wall.

‘This way,’ he said, his voice muffled.

There was a junction ahead. The main shaft of the vent continued north-west. To the left was a grating mouth that had rusted open. The geotherm network had been built a long time ago, and the secondary ducts were not well-maintained. Only the grates of the principal ducts still operated, opening and closing huge iris valves in response to over- and under-pressure demands.

Jan Jerik sloshed to a halt in the soup of mineral swill that flowed along the base of the duct. He raised his lantern, and the light illuminated the old grating through the rolling steam.

‘Here is your division,’ he said.

Corrod and Hadrel stepped forward. The sirdar consulted his chart. Jan Jerik could hear the wet, rasping respiration of their mucus-thick snouts.

‘This runs to the secondary?’ Corrod asked him.

‘All the way,’ Jan Jerik nodded.

Corrod and Hadrel faced each other.

‘Select your team,’ Corrod said.

Hadrel nodded, and began pointing at packsons in the line behind him. Seven of the Archenemy warriors split from the main group and came to stand with Hadrel.

‘He dies,’ said Corrod.

‘He dies,’ Hadrel agreed.

They both raised a palm to their mouths in a brief salute.

Corrod turned to Jan Jerik.

‘The main duct takes us to the primary?’ he asked.

‘Yes,’ said Jan Jerik. ‘I’ll show you–’

‘No,’ said Corrod. ‘You, and your men, you are no longer needed. We will find the way from here.’

‘But we’ve not yet–’ Jan Jerik began.

‘Go back. You’ve done your part. Forget us. Say nothing. If the warp approves our endeavour, then we will return, and the voice of our lord will reward those who have served him in this. The courage of House Ghentethi will not be forgotten.’

‘Well,’ the ordinate wavered. ‘His voice… his voice drowns out all others.’

‘Go back now,’ said Corrod.

Jan Jerik nodded. He signalled his men and they began sloshing their way back down the line, returning the way they had come. He looked over his shoulder, and saw Hadrel leading his team into the rusted grating.

He kept walking. At every step, he expected Corrod’s daemon-men to fall on him from behind, to butcher him and his subordinates to ensure their silence.

No strikes came, but he would never shake the feeling of death at his heels, not for the rest of his life.

He looked back again. Through the darkness and steam, neon eyes watched his departure.

‘You’re all right then?’ Kolea asked.

‘Yes,’ Dalin nodded. ‘You?’

‘It’s been eventful,’ said Kolea. ‘Yoncy?’

‘She’s around here somewhere,’ said Dalin. ‘She’s a little shaken.’

‘I’d like to see her,’ said Kolea. ‘She’ll be scared, especially as Tona’s not here. Look…’

‘What?’

Kolea looked uncomfortable. ‘Dal, I’ve… I’ve never been much of a father to you, to either of you–’

Dalin laughed and held up a hand. ‘Seriously?’ he said. ‘Where’s all this sentimental crap coming from? This isn’t the time or the place, and it probably never will be. We’re Ghosts. This is our life–’

‘I just wanted to say–’ Kolea insisted, quietly urgent.

‘You don’t need to,’ said Dalin. ‘What’s brought this on? It’s not the end of the world… well, no more than it ever is.’

Kolea smiled. ‘Things just don’t get said, you know?’ he replied. ‘Not the things that matter. It’s always too late. A day goes by and suddenly, someone’s not there to speak to any more. So many times over the years, I’ve realised it’s too late to talk to somebody.’

‘Are you expecting to die?’ Dalin asked.

‘No.’

‘Are you expecting me to die?’

‘No,’ said Kolea. He shrugged. ‘My mind’s been a jumble for a few weeks now. Gaunt helped me get it straight. Yoncy’s really all right?’

‘Seems to be.’

‘Dal, have you ever thought there’s something different about her?’

‘She’s my sister. She drives me mad.’

‘I’d better find her,’ said Kolea. ‘She’ll probably hear me out with more patience than you.’

‘Look, I appreciate what you were trying–’

‘Dal, feth take the sentiment of it, I want you to know… you and your sister… I’d walk into hell for you both. I mean it. While there’s breath in me, I’ll stand between you and anything–’

‘I know,’ said Dalin.

‘Good then.’

‘Can we go back to being normal now? This is awkward.’

Kolea laughed.

‘Gol!’ Baskevyl’s voice echoed down the hallway. Kolea turned and, past two Munitorum workmen rolling out flexible piping for a pump unit, he saw Baskevyl wave to him and brandish a bottle.

‘Come and join us!’ Baskevyl called out.

Kolea shrugged a ‘maybe’.

‘Go on,’ said Dalin. ‘Do you good. I’ll go and find Yoncy and bring her round to you.’

‘All right. I really want to see her.’

Fazekiel appeared, striding down the hallway, stepping neatly over the unrolling pipes.

The smell hasn’t got any better, then?’ she said.

‘They’re working on it,’ said Kolea.

‘Nice to have you back, major,’ she said. ‘Trooper Dalin?’

‘Yes, ma’am?’

‘I’d like some time with you. In half an hour or so?’

‘Yes, ma’am. Concerning?’

‘The incident at the billet. You were the last one with… Felyx before the attack.’

‘Is she all right?’ Dalin asked. ‘Merity, I mean?’

‘She seems fine.’

‘I’ve got an errand to run. Half an hour, then?’

Fazekiel nodded. The three of them went their separate ways.

In a side room nearby, Meryn leaned against the cold stone wall beside the open door.

‘She’s relentless,’ he said quietly.

Blenner didn’t reply. He sat on the dirty cot, and knocked back a pill with a swig of Meryn’s amasec.

‘That’s right,’ said Meryn. ‘You swallow it. Keep calm.’

Blenner looked at him with poorly disguised contempt.

‘We’re good, Vaynom,’ said Meryn. ‘For now. But she’ll come back to both of us too. More questions. So keep the story straight and keep it simple.’

Blenner rose to his feet. ‘Sometimes,’ he said, ‘you have to ask yourself if it’s worth it. Throne knows, I don’t want to lose what I have. And forget a shit-duty posting or a demotion. This? It’d be a headshot for me.’

He looked at Meryn.

‘But Luna’s good. She’s got a ferocious eye for detail,’ he said. ‘I don’t think she can catch anything, but if she does–’

‘We stick to the story.’

‘And live with the guilt? I’ve lived with shame most of my career, Flyn, one way or another. But guilt? Guilt this heavy?’

‘Take another pill, Blenner,’ said Meryn.

‘Don’t you just ever want to let it go?’ Blenner asked. ‘No matter the consequences, just let it all out? Get that weight off you?’

‘No,’ said Meryn. ‘Because I’m not a fething idiot.’

Blenner smiled sadly. ‘No, I don’t suppose you are.’

‘Are you going to crack on me?’ asked Meryn. ‘You sound like a coward who’s close to giving up. But then, you always have. You suddenly going to grow a fething spine and face the music?’

Blenner shook his head. ‘No,’ he said. ‘Actually, I’m not worried about me. It’s you that bothers me.’

‘Me?’

‘You shift stories like you change clothes, and you’ve got the wit to sell them too,’ said Blenner. ‘I think if it gets close, you’d throw me under the wheels to save yourself. Feth, you did it to that idiot Wilder. Whatever it takes to cover your arse. Throne, I can imagine it.’

Blenner put on an earnest but wheedling voice.

‘“It was all Blenner’s plan. We had to go along with it because he’s a commissar. He threatened us with the brute force of the Prefectus. Summary execution if we didn’t go along with him. And he’s hooked on pills too. I was too afraid to speak up, sir, but I need to clear my conscience now…”’

Blenner smiled at Meryn.

‘I can hear you doing it. Blinking those wide, handsome eyes. I mean, no one likes you, Meryn, but they all just think you’re a snake. A self-serving creep. They have no idea how truly toxic you are.’

‘And they won’t,’ said Meryn. ‘Will they?’

‘No,’ said Blenner. He put his cap back on. ‘I’ll keep to the story. But you keep leaning on me, I might decide the guilt and all that shit just isn’t worth it.’

He patted Meryn on the shoulder.

‘Feth,’ he grinned, ‘maybe I am growing a spine after all. How about that?’

Luna Fazekiel had a small room at the north end of the undercroft. Just enough space for a cot and a folding desk. She had the picts laid out there, all the images she’d captured on site at Low Keen. It was a damned shame they hadn’t been able to preserve the scene, and an exam of the bodies brought back from Low Keen – Gendler, Wilder and Ezra – had revealed nothing useful.

Low Keen. The very thought of that place made her tense. Aside from the Gendler case, there had been the incident with Daur’s wife and the girl, Yoncy. Fazekiel had been one of the first on the scene. Something had torn bodies apart. Some monster.

She’d heard it too. She’d heard the shrieking sound it made. Fazekiel was a strong soldier, but that sound had shaken her to an extent that troubled her. It had been more than a hazard – they faced those all the time. It had stirred some primal response in her.

She hadn’t slept. The memory of the shrieking sound was playing on her nerves, and she was afraid it might unlock some of the old anxieties she had spent so many years learning to contain and control.

The unknown made her worry. Data comforted her. Solid facts gave her a way to understand the world and retain agency. The Gendler case was reassuring. It helped take her mind off the mysteries she couldn’t address.

She sat down, and brushed invisible dust off the lip of the desk. The picts were telling her nothing. There was no inconsistency of evidence, no clash of accounts. She’d run each interview again – Merity, Blenner, Meryn, Dalin – perhaps twice more, to see if anything shook loose. But she was already sure how her report would run. The data upheld the story Meryn and Blenner had given.

The overhead lamps flickered.

Fazekiel sighed. She wished she’d brought some food with her from the canteen. That was the second time in two days she’d forgotten to eat.

The lights flickered again.

She stood up to fiddle with the lumen element and halted. She suddenly had a really uncomfortable feeling, as though something was scratching at her eardrums and her sinuses.

She coughed and tried to clear her nose. Probably just the damp down in the undercroft getting to her–

The lights went out.

Blackness. The lights didn’t flicker back on. She groped her way to the door, and peered out. The hallway was pitch black too. She could hear voices from other chambers raised in complaint.

The damn circuit fault had finally become terminal.

She fumbled her way back to her desk, reached down, and fished her stablight from her kit pack. It wouldn’t switch on. She slapped it against her gloved palm and the beam speared into life, lighting a frost-blue disc on the far wall. She panned the beam around quickly. Her ear drums itched again.

The beam passed over the open doorway. For a second, it starkly lit a face staring in at her.

Fazekiel jumped in surprise.

She played the beam back.

Yoncy stood in the doorway, hands at her sides, her face expressionless. She was staring right at Fazekiel.

‘Yoncy, you scared the shit out of me,’ Fazekiel said.

The girl didn’t answer. She stared at Fazekiel for another few seconds, then just turned and walked away.

Fazekiel got up quickly, stumbling slightly against her chair.

‘Yoncy?’

She reached the doorway, and stepped out into the hallway. More voices of protest and complaint were echoing through the undercroft. The scratchy sensation in her ears was worse. She played the beam to the left, then to the right. There was no one there.

‘Yoncy?’

She started to move to her left. The overhead lights suddenly buzzed and came back on. Alarms whooped for a second, then cut off. Fazekiel blinked at the glare.

Meryn stood a few metres away, wincing in the light.

‘Captain,’ she said.

‘Oh, ma’am. I… I was just looking to see what had happened to the lights.’

‘With your silver out?’

Meryn looked down, He was holding his warknife.

‘Well, to be honest, I thought I heard something,’ he said.

‘Did you see Yoncy?’

‘What? No,’ said Meryn. He rubbed at his left ear.

‘You feel that?’ asked Fazekiel.

‘What?’

‘In your ears. An itch.’

He nodded.

‘It reminds me of–’

She stopped short. She could feel the anxiety rising inside her and quickly focused on the mental coping strategies she’d been taught to help her deal with her obsessive nature. She shut the anxiety down.

‘Of what?’ said Meryn, looking at her warily.

‘Go and get Baskevyl or Kolea.’

‘Why?’ Meryn asked.

‘Something’s not right,’ said Fazekiel.

‘What are you going to–’

‘I’m going to find Yoncy. She was right here and she’s probably scared. Go and get Baskevyl. Now, please.’

Meryn sheathed his warknife and hurried away.

‘Advise him amber status!’ she called after him.

In the wardroom, the lights fizzled back on in a brief squeal of alarms. Baskevyl was standing with a bottle in his hand.

‘As I was saying…’ he said.

‘They haven’t gone off for that long before,’ said Domor.

Kolea shrugged. ‘Maybe the Munitorum took them off line to reconnect or test?’ he said.

‘You want me to go and check?’ asked Bonin.

‘Well, I was about to open this precious bottle of sacra to celebrate Gol’s return,’ said Baskevyl. He put it down. ‘But we probably should.’

The others got up from their seats around his camp table.

Yerolemew and Blenner came in from the hall outside.

‘A lot of fuss in the billet halls,’ said Blenner. ‘That black-out was the whole undercroft.’

‘Go calm them down,’ Baskevyl said. ‘It was just a circuit fault.’

Blenner eyed the bottle on the table. ‘Private party?’ he asked.

‘Go calm them down, Blenner,’ said Baskevyl, ‘and you might get an invitation to join us.’

Blenner nodded, and hurried out.

‘What’s the matter with you?’ Bonin asked the bandmaster.

‘Can’t you hear that?’ Yerolemew asked.

‘Hear what?’ asked Domor.

Yerolemew frowned. ‘Like a… whistle. A note. High pitched.’

They shook their heads.

‘You’ve spent too many years standing beside the full brass section,’ said Domor.

‘You really can’t hear that?’ Yerolemew asked.

Bonin glanced around. He looked at the shot glasses standing on the table beside the bottle.

‘What, Mach?’ asked Kolea.

Bonin reached out and placed his splayed hand down on the tops of the glasses.

‘They were vibrating,’ he said.

‘Well, it must’ve been that,’ said Yerolemew. ‘The sound’s gone now.’

Bonin lifted his hand.

‘Now it’s back,’ said Yerolemew.

‘What the feth?’ said Domor. The sound made him uncomfortable. It reminded him of something he’d heard recently.

‘My, uh, ears itch,’ said Baskevyl. ‘What the gak is going on?’

Meryn hurried in. ‘Commissar Fazekiel wants you,’ he said to Baskevyl.

‘Why?’

‘Something’s going on. She said amber status. She’s spooked about something.’

‘What?’ said Domor in surprise.

‘Amber?’ asked Kolea. ‘On what grounds?’

Meryn shrugged mutely.

‘Let’s get some control back into this situation, please,’ said Baskevyl. ‘Come on! Act like you know what you’re doing. Get the retinue calmed down and secure, get the companies stood to. Shoggy, find that Munitorum work crew and ask them if they know what the problem is. Yerolemew, send a runner upstairs and find out if this is just us or the whole palace. And get them to advise Daur we seem to have a situation down here. Gol, Mach, with me–’

The lights went out again.

This time, they did not come back on.

She’d been thinking about it all the while Biota had quizzed Marshal Tzara about the integrity of the bridges and causeways serving the Zarakppan and Clantine canals.

Dalin had been waiting for her outside the showerblock. Standing guard at the door to protect her modesty. As she’d stepped into the shower pen, she’d heard his voice through the door. Dalin speaking to someone.

It was so vague. Just a partial memory she didn’t feel she could trust.

But the other person had sounded like Captain Meryn.

‘I’m sure this can wait,’ said Relf.

‘I’m not sure of anything,’ said Merity. ‘But Commissar Fazekiel said to report anything to her. Anything at all.’

‘But now?’ asked Relf, following Merity down the steep stone staircase into the undercroft.

Merity turned to her.

‘Can I ask?’ she said. ‘Do I take orders from you, or do you simply follow me where ever I go?’

‘Uhm, the latter,’ replied the large Tempestus Scion.

‘That’s what I thought,’ said Merity, and continued on her way.

They reached the bottom of the steps and followed the white-washed corridor into the chambers of the palace undercroft. Merity glimpsed the billets of the retinue, through side arches. There seemed to be some general agitation.

‘It smells down here,’ said Relf.

‘Never mind that,’ Merity said. ‘Let’s ask someone where Fazekiel is billetted.’

They turned a corner and Merity recoiled. The hallway floor ahead was awash with drain water. It wasn’t just standing water. The frothy waste was spilling towards her rapidly, as if it was being fed gallons at a time by some serious leak or overflow.

‘Come on,’ said Relf.

The lights went out.

Merity froze. She heard voices crying out from the billet halls in alarm.

‘There is one circumstance in which you take orders from me,’ Relf said in the darkness behind her.

‘Yes?’

‘Get behind me and do what I say.’

‘You have, honoured one, no active knowledge of the Anarch’s whereabouts?’ asked Van Voytz.

‘No,’ replied the Beati.

‘Or any views as to his plan of attack?’ Van Voytz added.

‘No,’ said the Beati.

‘But he lives still?’

‘He lives, Lord General,’ she said.

Van Voytz stood back and glanced at Gaunt. The three of them were standing at a strategium desk in a privacy-screened gallery room overlooking the war room. Kazader and the Beati’s deputies were with them. Sanctus and his Scions stood guard outside.

Gaunt wasn’t sure what was wrong. The Beati could be unpredictable, but in the last ten minutes, her manner had become distracted and remote. He knew she was tired. He could see it. She’d come straight from the Oureppan fight. He wished they could give her time to ­recuperate, but synchronising intel was a priority.

Gaunt turned to Captain Auerben. ‘You’ve brought reports from Oureppan?’

‘Yes, Lord Executor,’ Auerben replied. ‘Full field accounts from the victory and subsequent miracle at Ghereppan, and supplementary command reports and pict records from the raid on Pinnacle Spire.’

‘Then let’s upload and review those at least,’ said Van Voytz. ‘And maybe we should bring in Blackwood and Urienz?’

‘Let’s run through it first,’ Gaunt said. ‘Then we’ll brief high command as a group. Blackwood and Urienz have got plenty to be getting on with.’

Gaunt looked at the Beati.

‘Is something wrong?’ he asked.

She looked up at him. He was surprised by the distance in her eyes.

‘I think I hear a voice,’ she said very quietly. ‘Nagging at my head. His voice. Scratching…’

‘What?’

‘Ibram,’ she said. ‘A shadow is falling. Something bad is about to happen.’

‘An attack?’ asked Gaunt.

‘No,’ said the Saint. ‘It’s already in here with us.’

Olort led the way into the record chambers. It looked like an old library space that had been requisitioned for the Sons of Sek. Packson scribes worked at the old wooden desks, scraping bare the pages of old shipping ledgers so that they could be reused as palimpsests.

There was no electronic activity or apparatus. The dark, high-ceilinged rooms were lit only by candles and wick-lamps.

‘I want information about prisoners,’ Mkoll whispered to Olort.

‘Prisoners?’

‘You’ve brought plenty here. There will be lists.’

Olort looked dubious.

‘When we’ve found that, maps and charts. Plans of the whole Fastness.’

‘You sound like an etogaur planning a campaign,’ said Olort.

‘Maybe I am.’

‘You also sound like a hopeless fool.’

‘Humour this fool, and the fool won’t kill you.’

Olort spoke to two of the sirdars, and was directed to a side room. It was a small space, lined with shelves, with high windows facing the hollow mountain’s interior lagoon. There was a maritime desk, with an empty crystal decanter on a silver tray. Mkoll fancied this had once been the office of the port master or a shipping baron.

Mkoll pushed the heavy door shut.

‘Here?’ he asked.

Olort turned to the half-empty shelves. The books were all old, leather-bound ledgers. Fresh labels marked with the spiked symbols of the archenemy had been glued to their spines. Mkoll unbuckled his helmet and took it off.

Olort pulled a volume from the shelf, set it on the desk, and opened it.

‘This one,’ he said.

Mkoll moved closer to look. He placed the helmet on the desk beside the ledger, nodding at Olort to stand back.

The pages of the ledger had been treated and scraped to remove the old ink. Faint ghosts of the original writing remained. Over the top, fresh script had been added, the jagged characters of the Archonate’s tribal tongues. Symbols adorned the margins of the palimpsest, and in some places great effort had gone into the decoration of the words and letters that began chapters or sections. Illuminated images, rendered in different coloured inks, sometimes with a hint of gold leaf or egg tempera. Beasts with horns and wings and cloven hooves peered out from the shadows behind the large capital characters.

‘It will be meaningless to you, kha?’ Olort asked, amused.

It was dense, and the script hard to read. But a year on Gereon had taught Oan Mkoll more than the rudiments of the spoken language. He began to turn the old pages, running his finger along. He found lists. Pages of lists, with details beside what seemed to be names.

‘That word means “captives”, doesn’t it?’ he asked.

Olort nodded.

‘This gives names. These are Imperial names. Here, location of capture. The names of the Imperial units the men belonged to, where given.’

‘We are thorough,’ said Olort.

‘There must be a thousand names here,’ Mkoll said. ‘And this word, this indicates induction? Or a willingness to be inducted?’

Olort stepped closer and looked at the pages.

‘Kha,’ he said. ‘Those willing are held here…’

He slid his finger across the page.

‘…the holding spaces beneath the chapter house. These others, they are resistant but promising. Otherwise, we would not have brought them here. They are held in the livestock compound.’

‘A thousand or more…’ murmured Mkoll, reading on.

‘Do you suppose you have an army, Ghost?’ Olort asked, smiling broadly. ‘Is that your hopeless plan? To release them? Then what? Mobilise them to fight? Stage a revolt within the Fastness?’

‘A thousand men is a thousand men,’ said Mkoll.

‘A thousand starving men, unarmed. Beaten. Defeated. A thousand traitor sons of the Emperor. They would not follow you. And even if they did, they would accomplish very little. Unarmed men? Broken men? If this is your plan, you are no etogaur. I say again, give up, Mah-koll. Let me deliver you. You are alone at the heart of my Anarch’s bastion. The sons of the pack surround you. Give me the skzerret and discard these hopeless dreams.’

Mkoll ignored him. He skimmed on through the pages.

‘Nen, I see it now,’ Olort said. ‘Not an army. A distraction. Kha, kha… a distraction. That’s what you plan. Prisoners released, chaos and confusion. Mayhem. You care not for the lives of these captives. You would use them. Use their lives as cover for your own activities. But not escape. You would have tried that long before now. Not escape, but…’

He looked at Mkoll sharply.

‘You have come to kill,’ said Olort, his eyes wide. ‘Nen mortekoi, ger tar Mortek. These words you said to me. You see your fate as an opportunity.’

Mkoll continued to ignore him. He was reading on, and had come upon a small separate section divided from the other lists.

‘Enkil vahakan. That’s what you called me. Those who hold the key of victory. There are three names here.’

‘So?’ asked Olort with a sneer.

‘Held aboard the ship,’ Mkoll said. He peered closer to read the three names. He blinked in genuine surprise. ‘Feth,’ he murmured.

Olort lunged. The old crystal decanter smashed across the side of Mkoll’s head and hurled Mkoll across the desk face-first. He rolled, blood streaming down his neck, shards of broken crystal falling off him, and dropped to the floor. Helmet and ledger fell off the desk with him.

Olort ripped the skzerret out of his hand.

‘Help me here!’ Olort roared in the enemy tongue. ‘Help me here! Intruder! Intruder!’