The Warmaster

Eighteen: And Stones

The stronghold of the ordos in Eltath lay in the Gaelen district. It had once been a gaol and courthouse, but its thick walls and private cells had long since been converted to Inquisitorial use. Fazekiel, Baskevyl and Domor were left waiting in the main atrium, a cold, marble vault. They sat together on high-backed chairs beside the main staircase.

‘This is where they used to bring prisoners in,’ said Fazekiel, ‘you know, for trial.’

‘Stop trying to cheer me up,’ said Domor.

After an hour, Onabel came to fetch them, and led them to a long, wood-panelled bureau where Inquisitor Laksheema was waiting.

Three chairs had been set out in front of her heavy desk. Laksheema gestured to them, but did not look up from the data-slate she was reading. Several dozen more, along with paper books and info tiles, covered her desk. Colonel Grae of the intelligence service stood by the window, sipping a thimble-cup of caffeine.

They took their seats.

Laksheema looked up and smiled. It was disconcerting, because only her flesh-mouth smiled. Her eyes, gold augmetic and fleshless, could not.

‘Thank you for your attendance,’ she said.

‘I didn’t think it was optional, ma’am,’ said Domor.

Grae chuckled.

‘We have been supplied, at last, with a copy of Gaunt’s mission report,’ said Laksheema. ‘The Astra Militarum was kind enough to share.’

‘Now the report has been delivered to the Urdeshic Palace, and lies in the hands of the beloved warmaster, protocol permitted it,’ said Grae.

‘So we are now aware of all additional particulars,’ said Laksheema. ‘The matters you were reluctant to discuss yesterday, Major Baskevyl.’

Baskevyl felt his tension begin to mount.

‘We have begun reviewing the materials you handed to us,’ Laksheema said. ‘Well, Versenginseer Etruin is conducting the actual review. It will take months–’

‘Versenginseer?’ said Baskevyl. ‘You said that before. I thought I had misheard. You mean “enginseer”?’

‘I spoke precisely, major,’ she said. ‘Etruin’s specialty is reverse-engineering. The deconstruction, and thus comprehension, of enemy technologies and materials. As I was saying, it will take months, if not years. But we have focused our immediate attention on the stone tiles that you discovered so memorably.’

‘We would have interviewed you in due course,’ said Grae. ‘You, and every member of the squad present at the discovery, and every­one else who came in contact with the materials. Just ongoing data-gathering in the months to come. But you collated the materials, Commissar Faz­ekiel, and you two – Major Baskevyl and Captain… Domor – you were in command when the disruption was discovered.’

‘That’s right, sir,’ said Baskevyl.

‘Even on cursory examination,’ said Laksheema, ‘Etruin assesses there to be great worth in the materials, collectively. Who knows what wars we may win and what victories we may achieve thanks to their secrets. Time will tell.’

She looked very pointedly at Baskevyl.

‘The stone tiles seem to be key,’ she said. ‘And it would appear that the Archenemy thinks so too. Wouldn’t you say, major?’

Fazekiel saw Baskevyl’s unease.

‘You’re being remarkably forthcoming, ma’am,’ she said.

Laksheema pursed her lips, an expression Baskevyl read as ‘puzzled’.

‘Well, commissar,’ she said, ‘circumstances have changed somewhat overnight, haven’t they?’

‘Have they?’ asked Domor.

‘I’ll be honest,’ said the inquisitor, ‘given what I’ve read in the mission report, the interviews with all three of you should have been conducted individually, in less… comfortable surroundings, and with rather greater persuasion.’

‘Charming,’ said Domor.

‘Do not test me, captain,’ said Laksheema. ‘That ship has not yet sailed altogether. But, due to circumstances, I find I am obliged to offer a greater level of cooperation, be less territorial. Colonel Grae is present to oversee that cooperation. And you three are now, of course, entitled to greater levels of confidence. You can be read in. So can any members of your regiment at company and particular grade or higher. That’s correct, isn’t it, colonel?’

‘It is, ma’am inquisitor,’ said Grae. ‘As of midnight-thirty last night, the clearance rating of the Tanith First at company and particular level was raised by default to cobalt.’

‘Cobalt,’ said Laksheema. ‘Which is a shame for me, because I felt I was likely to get a great deal more out of you all if I was permitted to function at a standard, basic level. Especially you, I think, captain.’

She smiled her non-smile at Domor.

‘You think you’d acquire more and better information from us through enhanced interrogation than through… what?’ said Fazekiel. ‘Our honest­ cooperation?’

Laksheema shrugged. ‘Probably not. Cooperation is always the most effective. It’s just a matter of trust, and I suppose I must trust you now you’re cobalt cleared.’

‘Wait,’ said Baskevyl. ‘I’m sorry. Could you start again?’

‘From where, major?’ asked Laksheema.

‘The start?’ suggested Domor.

‘The point at which we could be suddenly read in at upper echelon level,’ said Baskevyl.

‘Oh dear,’ said Laksheema. ‘I don’t understand what you don’t understand.’

‘Is this… is this part of the enhanced interrogation?’ asked Domor, shifting uncomfortably in his chair.

‘Shhhh, Shoggy,’ said Fazekiel.

‘I’m just all confused,’ he said.

‘Inquisitor,’ said Grae. ‘I believe they don’t actually know.’

‘Really?’ said Laksheema, exasperated.

‘Know what?’ Fazekiel asked.

‘Last night, Colonel-Commissar Ibram Gaunt received promotion to the rank of militant commander, and your regiment automatically becomes marked out for special status, with commensurate clearance.’

There was a long pause.

‘He’s a what now?’ asked Domor.

‘Are you going to say anything?’ asked Rawne.

Gaunt took a deep breath and let it out. He stood facing the window of the small room in the hab block they’d cleared as his billet. Rawne stood by the door.

‘It’s done,’ said Gaunt. ‘I can’t change it.’

‘She, uhm… she was protecting the boy, of course. Her skills were not, I suppose, the right ones for urban war. She should have left it to us.’

‘She was not one to be told,’ said Gaunt.

‘I suppose so.’

‘Others died?’

‘Seven others, sir. Some Helixid nearby too.’

‘I’ll see the list of names.’

‘Yes, sir.’

Rawne paused.

‘Criid, she wanted to explain it all herself. She was there when… She was there. And Curth, she wanted to break it to you. I decided it should come from me. I wanted to inform you straight away, but that was a moment down there in the yard and it felt wrong to ruin it. I’m sorry I had to kill your mood so soon after.’

Gaunt looked at him.

‘It’s fine. It’s sad. It’s fine. It’s a life lost. Something to mourn. And I’ll miss her. I will. But, in truth…’

‘Sir?’

‘That was a moment down there. To see the Ghosts uplifted like that. To see a celebration. We get so few.’

‘There’ll be more, sir,’ said Rawne. ‘I think Blenner wants a feast. I think he said a feast. Or a series of feasts.’

Gaunt laughed dryly.

‘The truth, Eli,’ he said, ‘I’m glad for the Ghosts. I’m glad this cheers them. And vindicates them too, for all the years of courage and sacrifice. We are now a regiment of esteem, with special status, and that comes with benefits. But I am not as overjoyed by this day as I might have been. As I expected to be. It has come with other issues attached.’

‘Issues, sir?’

‘We’ll discuss them, in time. Maddalena’s death has not ruined a good day. The day, despite its apparent glory, was ominously marked already. Her loss simply seals that.’

Gaunt sat down, and gestured for Rawne to sit too.

‘How has Felyx taken it?’ he asked.

‘Rough,’ said Rawne. ‘Like you’d expect. Criid’s taken him under her wing. Apparently, that was your woman’s dying wish, and I approved it. She’s got Dalin to keep an eye on Felyx. Keep things as normal as poss­ible. Guard routine.’

‘That’s good. I suppose I’ll have to talk to him.’

‘Well, he’s kind of your son and everything. And he wants a funeral.’

‘Of course.’

‘No, he wants to pay for a private funeral. The works.’

‘Not appropriate.’

‘Oh, let him do it. Maddalena was a mother figure to him. It’s the House Chass way, and he’s rich as feth. Let him do it and save yourself some grief.’

Gaunt didn’t reply.

‘Save Felyx some grief,’ Rawne added. ‘Let him feel like he’s done something.’

Gaunt nodded.

‘I have to go back to the palace this afternoon. I’m needed at staff. There’s a mass of tactical data to go through. This war’s a mess.’

‘It’s a war. When weren’t they a mess?’

‘We’re probably going to have to consider changes, Eli.’

‘Changes?’

‘In regimental structure. We’re special status now. I have Tempestus goons trailing me around.’

‘They’re right outside the door and can probably hear you,’ said Rawne.

‘I don’t particularly care. Anyway, this new rank elevates me too far above the regiment structure. The divide is too great. I’ll need to promote from within.’

‘Promote?’

‘There needs to be a colonel in charge, especially if I’m not present, which I’m not going to be as much as I’d like.’

‘Gol, Bask and I handle the regiment well enough when you’re not around.’

‘Not doubting that, but the Munitorum will insist for appearances and formal process. I’ll have to raise one of you, or they’ll bring someone in from outside.’

‘Really?’ asked Rawne, his face not relishing that prospect.

Gaunt smiled.

‘It’ll be one of you three. Well, I guess Daur, Elam and Pasha are in the frame too, but really it’s one of you three. Ironic. One Tanith, one Verghast, one Belladon.’

Rawne nodded.

‘It should be Gol,’ he said.

Gaunt looked surprised.

‘I’m asking you, Eli.’

‘To be colonel? Colonel Rawne? I don’t think so. Gol’s the better man.’

‘Gol’s one of the best men I’ve ever served with. But it should be a Tanith because of this regiment’s history and name, and it should be you because of your service.’

Rawne sat back and shrugged.

‘Here’s my thinking,’ he said. ‘You told me that staff promoted you for your service record, chief amongst the honours of which is Vervunhive. The People’s Hero. If this is about appearances and show, then the hard-arse Verghast scratch company hero is the one for you. It’s kind of poetic. The People’s Hero and his doughty partisan second. Plus, and again for show, Gol was… like… blessed by the fething Beati and brought back from living death, so he’s probably got feth-arse sainthood in his future somewhere.’

‘She’s here, you know?’ said Gaunt. ‘Here on Urdesh.’

‘So I understand.’

Rawne put his hands flat on the tabletop.

‘I don’t want to be a fething colonel,’ he said. ‘Kolea’s the man you want. We all have authority, true enough. Mine comes from… Well, ­people fear me. They love Bask. That’s where his authority comes from. Gol… He commands through respect. Everybody respects him. Every­body. He’s the one you want. Plus, he’s never tried to kill you or sworn eternal vengeance against you or anything. I don’t want to be a fething colonel. I’d never be able to look the woods of Tanith in the face again… oh, wait.’

He glared at Gaunt.

Gaunt laughed.

‘And besides,’ said Rawne, ‘I could never ever take Corbec’s place. Not ever.’

Gaunt nodded.

‘We’ll talk about this again,’ he said.

‘We fething won’t,’ said Rawne. ‘It’s a done fething deal, my lord militant commander.’

They sat together on a broken wall behind the billets, looking out across the rubble wastes.

‘How long have you been–’ Dalin said finally.

‘A girl? Are you a simpleton? All my life.’

‘Hiding this, I was going to say.’

Felyx shrugged.

‘Since Verghast. Since birth.’

‘Who knows?’

‘Maddalena knew. Ludd knows.’

‘Ludd?’

‘Yes, “Ludd”,’ she mocked.

‘Why does Ludd know?’

‘Pretty much the same reason you do. He found out by accident. Maddalena went to great lengths to always secure me a private room. When the Armaduke fell out of the warp, I was alone, getting in kit for secondary order, and I was knocked unconscious. He found me.’

‘And he saw–’

‘Yes, he saw.’

‘So that’s why he–’

‘Yes, that’s why. That’s why he wanted me to be placed in his care, to protect my secret. But he couldn’t say so. And your damn mother–’

‘Was doing what Maddalena asked. And trying to help you.’

Felyx shrugged.

‘Doesn’t it hurt?’ Dalin asked.

‘Doesn’t what hurt?’

‘The binding you put around your body, squashing up your–’

‘My?’

‘Your… bosom.’

‘They’re called breasts, Dalin. Grow up.’

‘Sorry.’

‘You get used to it,’ she added.

‘Why?’ asked Dalin. He picked up a stone from the wall top and tossed it across the rubble. ‘Why hide it? Why the secret? There are women in this regiment…’

‘My mother,’ she said, ‘is heir to House Chass of Vervunhive-Verghast. You’re Verghastite, Criid. You know this.’

‘A bit. I was very young when I left. And I’m low-hive scum, right? So the politics of your world are lost on me.’

‘My world is your world,’ she said.

‘Not really. My world is the regiment. For me, Verghast means the regiment.’

Felyx pondered this. She looked out across the rubble flats. The pink dawn was turning to a drab, overcast day, a scurfy, grey expanse of sky. An interceptor, probably a Lightning, soared across the distance, east to west, low over the city, leaving a long, rolling whoosh behind it.

‘My mother is heir apparent to House Chass,’ she said. ‘House Chass is the most powerful of the Vervunhive controlling dynasties. She is the only heir. No sons. The first female ever to hold that rank. She must inherit the full title when my grandfather dies.’

Felyx paused.

‘Time has passed. He is probably dead already.’

She shrugged.

‘Anyway, the hive elders are against a female succession to House rule, and the other noble families… they see an opportunity to undermine House Chass and loosen its grip on the reins of power. Vervunhive-Verghast is a patriarchy, Criid. The Houses all have strong male heads or heirs. If my mother succeeds, she will be deemed weak – it will be a moment to topple House Chass from its long dominance. House Anko, House Sondar, House Jehnik… Throne, they will fight hard. It will be a dynastic war that could collapse Vervunhive more thoroughly than Heritor gakking Asphodel’s Zoican War ever did.’

She glanced sideways at Dalin. He was listening, frowning.

‘My mother is persistent and ambitious. Very ambitious. She cites continuity of bloodline, and her connection to the People’s Hero who saved the hive from doom. She may carry the popular vote, despite her sex. Now, the city knows she has a child by Gaunt, the offspring of the hive saviour. So, in the absence of a direct male heir, the most elegant compromise to effect a popular succession would be to skip a generation. To make the child the new lord. For my mother to step aside, and become the Lady Dowager. For the son to succeed. That would be a big deal. It would strengthen House Chass’ hold on power immensely. For Vervunhive to inherit a ruler who is both House Chass and the bloodline of the People’s Hero.’

‘But no one knows that child is a girl?’

‘No one,’ she said.

Away in the distance, in the direction of Zarakppan, the muffled thump of an artillery bombardment or a saturation bombing began to roll, like faraway thunder or the quiver of heavy metal sheets. A smudge of black smoke smeared the horizon.

‘My mother is ambitious,’ said Felyx. ‘She wants power for herself. And she can’t accede to the demands to step aside anyway, because that means admitting her child is another female. So she sent me away.’

‘Just like that?’

‘You really don’t understand hive politics, do you? By sending me away, my mother makes herself the only candidate for succession. She avoids the issue of standing aside, and secures absolute ­primogeniture, which suits her ambition, no matter the political fight that might present to her. If I had stayed, the issue of my succession would have become a focus, and my gender would have been revealed. It would have weakened House Chass even more. There would have been no advantage to skipping, and there would have been, further, the prospect of an all-female succession. A woman followed by a woman. That would be too much for the traditionalists to bear. House Chass would have been done, then and there.’

‘So she sent you away?’

‘She sent me away.’

‘So she could become queen?’

‘It’s not a queen. It’s… head of the House.’

‘She doesn’t sound like a very nice woman,’ said Dalin.

‘She’s not. She’s a political animal. I respect her and loathe her for that in equal measure. I honestly wanted to find my father. I thought he’d be the better parent.’

‘And he’s not?’

‘How do you think he’s doing so far?’

Dalin swung his feet and shrugged.

‘He’s a great man.’

‘He’s a great soldier,’ said Felyx. ‘He’s no father. Except, ironically, to the Ghosts.’

Dalin ran his tongue around his teeth and thought for a moment.

‘We should tell him,’ he said.

‘No!’

‘My mother, then?’

‘Are you trying to be stupid?’

‘Then Doctor Curth. Curth can be trusted. Doesn’t she even know?’

‘I have studiously avoided all medicae exams,’ she said. She paused. ‘The prospect of lice is a worry.’

‘You’re on the front line. What if you’re injured? They’ll find out. That’s no way to find out!’

‘You will keep my secret, Dalin Criid. You will swear this to me.’

She looked at him fiercely. She was not asking. It was the look of a person who had been raised to expect complete obedience.

‘Look,’ he said. ‘Verghast high echelon may be a misogynistic mess… which, I have to say, comes as a surprise given how many female soldiers it has raised. Like my mother.’

‘By necessity,’ she scoffed, ‘and because it is the only sphere of power in which a Verghastite woman may flourish. The war allowed women to show their strength. It is an empowering moment against the traditional patriarchy that my dear mother is using to the full extent to secure her position. It also factored into her decision regarding me. If I was sent out after my illustrious father, and served with him, and won rank and glory, then I could return and succeed her, and it wouldn’t matter if I was a man or a woman. Because glory in war is a currency that all Verghastites understand. So she had the juvenaticists accelerate my growth and packed me off.’

In the distance, the thunder of the bombing had grown more intense.

‘My point is,’ said Dalin, ‘you don’t need to hide here. The Ghosts will accept you for who you are. There’ll be no prejudice like there is in your home hive.’

‘Word would get back to Verghast, and that would undermine her carefully laid plans,’ Felyx said.

‘I think you should tell someone,’ he said.

‘I think you should tell no one,’ she replied.

There was silence between them for a while.

‘What do I call you?’ he asked.

‘Felyx,’ she said. ‘Or Chass, as you do.’

‘What’s your real name?’

‘Meritous Felyx Chass. Merity Chass. After my mother. But my name is employed artfully to disguise the gender.’

Dalin heard someone behind him. He turned sharply.

‘What are you doing out here, Dal?’ asked Yoncy.

‘Yoncy!’ Dalin jumped down off the wall.

Yoncy scratched at her bald scalp. She looked thinner and older without the little girl pigtails. Her smock dress seemed more like the tunic of a prepubescent boy. She looked awkward, but oddly more beautiful than she had done as a pig-tailed child.

‘Mumma cut my hair off, Dal,’ she said.

‘How long has she been there?’ Felyx asked, jumping off the wall in alarm.

‘She cut my hair off because of the lice,’ said Yoncy. ‘The itchy lice. She cut off all my tails.’

‘How long has she been there?’ Felyx repeated. ‘What did she hear? Dalin?’

‘What were you talking about?’ Yoncy asked.

‘Oh, just things,’ said Dalin.

‘Were you talking about Papa Gaunt?’

‘Yes,’ said Felyx, warily.

‘He is milignant commander now,’ she said. ‘They said so.’

‘That’s right,’ said Felyx. ‘My great father, greater by the hour.’

Yoncy cocked her starkly shaved head, and looked at Felyx with big eyes.

‘He’s your papa too? Papa Gaunt is?’

‘He’s my father, yes.’

Yoncy frowned and thought.

‘What else were you talking about?’ she asked. ‘Who’s Merity?’

Laksheema led them through to the large workspaces adjoining her panelled office. Grae followed. The workspaces were several joined chambers, lined with examination benches over which hung glass projection screens. Ordo tech-savants bowed to Laksheema, before turning back to their diligent examinations.

Laksheema had brought a small silver cyberskull from her desk. She set it, and then released it into the air as if she were letting slip a dove. It rose and hovered over her shoulder. They all immediately felt a slight prickling sensation. The drone was generating a clandestine jamming field around them.

‘The stones are the chief items of interest,’ said Laksheema. She clicked an actuator wand, and images of the stones appeared on the hanging protection plates. Close up views, both back and front, in high resolution. Domor looked at them and shuddered.

‘I understand the asset thought these especially significant?’ she said.

‘That’s my understanding,’ said Fazekiel.

‘Did he say why?’

‘Neither Fazekiel nor I were present at the time of recovery,’ said Baskevyl.

‘I was,’ said Domor. ‘I was part of Strike Beta that went in with Gaunt, and made the recovery. We went into that foul fething place. It was like animals lived there, but Mabbon, he called it a college.’

‘Mabbon?’ asked Grae.

‘The “asset”,’ Domor replied, surly.

‘What else did he say?’ asked Laksheema.

Domor shrugged.

‘I don’t know. We were under constant fire, and I was too busy shovelling this shit into carry-boxes. We all were. I wasn’t really listening.’

Fazekiel pulled out a data-slate and consulted it.

‘The record states that the area was a “college of heritence”, a weapons lab, run – according to the asset – by the Anarch’s magir hapteka, or weaponwrights. All the material was said to be inert. That is to say, not actively tainted.’

‘You had the asset’s word on that?’ asked Laksheema, dubiously.

‘There were compelling reasons to believe it so,’ Fazekiel said. ‘More volatile, warped material was held in other areas.’

‘A college of heritence,’ Grae said.

‘For weapons development,’ Fazekiel said, reading from her thorough notes. ‘One of many facilities constructed by Heritor Asphodel to ­supply war machines to the Anarch.’

‘Asphodel, the insane genius,’ mused Laksheema. ‘Very probably a corrupted adept of the Mechanicum, possibly immensely old, ­sharing Mechanicum perverted secrets with the enemy.’

‘That supposition is probably not cobalt-rated, ma’am,’ said Grae.

‘The drone hasn’t blocked it,’ she replied, glancing at the cyberskull hovering nearby. ‘However, if I had said, in addition, that Asphodel is reckoned to be–’

Her mouth continued moving, but they could no longer hear her speaking. A faint buzzing from the cyberskull was blocking her words, redacting the classified information. Grae was nodding. He could hear her.

‘Yes,’ he said with a shudder, ‘that’s definitely vermilion clearance.’

Baskevyl, Domor and Fazekiel glanced at one another.

‘Asphodel, curse his soul, is dead,’ said Domor. ‘Long dead, on Verghast. Colonel-Commissar Gaunt killed him. I mean… Militant Commander Gaunt.’

‘The asset suggested that Asphodel was just one of many “heritors” working for the enemy,’ said Fazekiel. ‘The greatest, perhaps, but one of many. A cult of demented weaponwrights, presumably “inheriting” secrets from the Mechanicum, to follow your line of thought.’

‘I am already fully aware of those theories,’ said Laksheema curtly. ‘I want to know details of your regiment’s experience at the point of collection. What did the asset say about the place and these stones?’

‘According to Gaunt’s verbatim report,’ said Fazekiel, returning to her transcript, ‘the asset called them the Glyptothek. A “library in stone”. He remembered them being brought to the Reach years before, and being treated as valuable even then. They were said to be xenos items of significance, recovered from one of the Khan Worlds. He wanted them collected, and considered them very important. He didn’t know why, he just appreciated their significance, the significance the weaponwrights considered them to have. He considered them “a discovery of singular value”.’

‘They now have another name, do they not, Major Baskevyl?’ asked Laksheema.

Baskevyl sighed and nodded.

‘There is reason to believe they may be called eagle stones, ma’am,’ he said.

‘Because of the Aigor Nine Nine One incident?’ she asked.

‘Yes.’

‘Which you were present for?’

‘Yes, I was.’

Laksheema looked at her data-slate.

‘You, and Major Kolea, whom I met yesterday, and two troopers, Maggs and Rerval?’

‘That’s correct, ma’am,’ said Baskevyl.

‘You heard a voice?’

Bask shook his head.

‘I did not, ma’am,’ he said. ‘The voice was only heard by Rerval and Gol. Uhm, Major Kolea.’

‘But you saw something?’

‘We fought something, ma’am. A daemonic shadow. It slew two of our party. We drove it off.’

‘Horrible,’ said Grae, wrinkling his face in disgust.

‘Afterwards,’ asked Laksheema, ‘did Gol relate what the voice had said?’

Don’t use his name like that, Baskevyl thought. Don’t talk about him like you know him.

‘He made a full report, to our commanding officer. To Militant Commander Gaunt,’ said Baskevyl. ‘He also told me what the voice had said.’

‘In private?’

‘Yes.’

‘Why did Gol confide in you?’

‘Because I’m his friend,’ said Bask.

‘And what did Gol say it said, major?’

‘The voice… identified itself as the “voice of Sek”. It said, “Bring me the eagle stones”.’

‘And at the time, this meant nothing?’ asked Laksheema.

‘It meant nothing to anybody,’ said Fazekiel.

‘But then after that, during the boarding action?’ asked the inquisitor.

‘We found the damn stones had spilled out on the deck,’ said Domor. ‘In a pattern. Fapes… that’s Major Bask’s adjutant… he said they looked like an eagle. Wings spread.’

Laksheema turned to the bank of screens. She adjusted her wand again. The eight hololithic images copied themselves onto one screen, and formed into a pattern.

‘Like that?’ she asked.

‘Just like that,’ Domor nodded.

‘And from the shape, and prompted by your adjutant’s remark, you made the connection?’ Laksheema asked Baskevyl.

‘It’s just a guess,’ he said. ‘A gut feeling. A coincidence that made too much nasty sense.’

‘Are they here?’ asked Domor. ‘The actual stones?’

‘No,’ said Grae. ‘Versenginseer Etruin is examining the artefacts at the Mechanicus facility at–’

A soft buzzing blocked out the end of his sentence.

‘That’s vermilion, colonel,’ said Laksheema.

‘My apologies,’ said Grae.

‘There is another detail which lends weight to the proposition that these are the eagle stones prized and desired by the Arch­enemy,’ said Laksheema. ‘Your ship was spared.’

‘That’s in the report too,’ said Fazekiel stiffly.

‘You suffered a translation accident, and were helpless,’ said Laksheema. ‘You were overrun by enemy personnel. An enemy killship of significant displacement, the–’

She checked her slate.

‘–Tormageddon Monstrum Rex, had you at its mercy, but elected instead to destroy the Archenemy units boarding you. It then left you alone.’

‘The grace of the Emperor is strange and beyond our understanding,’ said Baskevyl. ‘He works in–’

‘Spare me the platitudes,’ said Laksheema. ‘An enemy battleship, not the most stable, restrained or logical entity in this universe, saved you and spared you. Does that not suggest there was something on board your vessel that was too valuable to annihilate?’

‘That’s one way of reading it,’ said Baskevyl.

‘It looks very much like it was ordered not to vaporise you,’ Laksheema continued. ‘Indeed, that it was ordered to protect said treasure, even from its own kind.’

‘It would take the command of a magister or the Archon himself to halt and control a killship of that aggressive magnitude,’ said Grae.

‘Then there is the matter of the broadcast,’ said Laksheema. ‘The broadcast made by the killship.’

‘I don’t know about any broadcast, ma’am,’ said Baskevyl.

‘The broadcast was intercepted by a Major… Rawne,’ said Laksheema. ‘By his vox-officer. It was translated by your asset, the Etogaur.’

‘I wasn’t aware of this,’ said Baskevyl.

‘Me neither,’ said Domor.

‘It’s in the mission report,’ said Fazekiel. ‘It was considered need-to-know only.’

‘It seems this Major Rawne has some appropriate notion of confidentiality,’ said Laksheema.

‘Domor and Baskevyl are cobalt-cleared now, inquisitor,’ said Grae.

Laksheema smiled. She looked at her data-slate and began to read. ‘Let’s see how far I get,’ she said. ‘The transcript of Mabbon Etogaur’s translation reads, “That which is born must live” or perhaps “That which was constructed must remain whole”. In full, “That which was made must remain whole… the offspring of the Great Master… all this shall be the will of he whose voice drowns out all others”.’

She glanced up at the cyberskull.

‘Well,’ she said. ‘All cobalt after all. Presumably because it is vague.’

‘What does it mean, “offspring”?’ asked Baskevyl.

‘According to your asset,’ said Laksheema, ‘that is open to interpretation. Allegedly, the word “offspring” can mean a thing made, or a child, or something spawned. It is the female noun, so it might refer to a female child, but apparently in the Archenemy tongue, things are female. Ships, as an example, are called “she”. In all likelihood, the statement refers to some construction of immense significance. My interrogators are pursuing the matter with the asset.’

‘Where is Mabbon?’ asked Baskevyl.

Laksheema replied, but the drone’s buzz obscured her words.

‘Do you know what the eagle stones are, ma’am?’ asked Fazekiel.

‘Undoubtedly xenos. Etruin is confident they match artefacts and cultural relics of the Kinebrach, a species that is known to have existed in the Khan Group until about ten thousand years ago.’

‘The age of the Great Crusade,’ said Fazekiel.

‘They persisted for a short while beyond that,’ said Laksheema. ‘Into the age of Heresy.’

‘But they no longer exist?’ asked Fazekiel.

‘Xenoarchaeologists believe they became extinct during that period.’

‘As a result of the Great Heresy?’ asked Baskevyl.

‘My dear major,’ said Laksheema, ‘you know full well how patchy our records of ancient history are. We have no idea what happened to them.’

‘I’ve heard the name, though,’ said Baskevyl. ‘When we were on Jago. The Kinebrach. They were the ones said to have built the fortress worlds.’

‘Oh, they didn’t build them,’ said Laksheema. ‘But they almost certainly used them.’

‘What are the stones for?’ asked Baskevyl.

‘We have no idea,’ said Laksheema. ‘Nor do we have any idea why the Archenemy considers them to be so valuable. But it is quite apparent they are held in high esteem. Your friend Gol is our most direct corroboration of that.’

She looked at the three of them.

‘Is there anything else you’d like to add?’ she asked. ‘Anything else you’d care to share? I advise you, in full view of Colonel Grae, that now is the time, in this convivial atmosphere. If it later transpires that you have withheld any pertinent information, your cobalt clearance and association with a militant commander will not be sufficient to shield you. If we are obliged to speak again, our discourse will be far less agreeable. Are we understood?’

They nodded.

‘Anything?’

Domor and Fazekiel shook their heads.

‘No, ma’am,’ said Baskevyl.

‘A moment,’ she said, and turned to Grae. The two exchanged a few remarks that were entirely screened by the drone’s aggravating buzz.

Laksheema looked back at them.

‘That will be all,’ she said.

They walked out into the stronghold’s courtyard. Savant Onabel had told them to wait, and that transport back to the billet would be arranged. Baskevyl was certain that meant they had several hours to wait. It was starting to rain. It wasn’t clear if the distant grumbling was thunder or a bombardment.

Baskevyl let out a deep, long breath. Fazekiel stood and fiddled obsessively with the buttons of her coat. Domor sat on a stone block and lit a lho-stick.

‘I’ll be happy for that to never happen again,’ he said.

Bask nodded.

‘I will talk Gaunt through it,’ said Fazekiel. ‘Relate what happened. Was it just me, or did either of you sense territorial gamesmanship here? The ordos, with their agenda, grinding against the Astra Militarum? Squabbling over how they divide information?’

‘I got that,’ said Baskevyl. ‘Grae was uncomfortable. This is clearly very big.’

‘I thought we were all on the same side,’ said Domor, exhaling a big puff of smoke. His hands were shaking.

‘We’re supposed to be,’ said Fazekiel.

‘But who pulls the most rank?’ asked Domor. ‘I mean, when it comes down to it? The Inquisition, or Astra Militarum high command?’

‘I would say the warmaster,’ said Baskevyl. ‘In the long run, no matter­ the clout of the ordos, the warmaster must have final authority. He’s the representative of the Emperor.’

Domor glowered.

‘Anyway,’ he said, ‘we should warn Gol as soon as we get back.’

‘Warn him?’ asked Baskevyl.

‘Well, we pretty much sold him down the river,’ said Domor. ‘Didn’t matter what we said or how we answered, Gol stayed in the frame. He was the poor feth it spoke to. Feth, right at the end there, what they were saying about him.’

Baskevyl looked at him.

‘What do you mean, “at the end”?’ he asked. ‘The drone was redacting them. We couldn’t–’

‘Feth me, Bask,’ said Domor, rising to his feet and grinding the butt of the lho-stick under his heel. ‘All these years serving with Verghast scratch company grunts, and you don’t watch mouths automatically?’

He tapped his augmetics.

‘Screw the fancy drone and its crypto-field,’ he said. ‘I was lip reading them the whole time. Second nature.’

‘What the feth did they say, Shoggy?’ asked Baskevyl.

‘That fancy bitch wants Gol. She told Grae as much. Says she wants him brought in right away, no arguments,’ replied Domor. ‘And from the look on Grae’s face, it wasn’t going to be a pleasant chat like the one we just had.’