by Darius Hinks
‘You’re a gentleman of the old school, Emissary Corval. As I knew you would be.’
Corval sat back in his chair. Candlelight flashed across the trio of eye-lenses at the centre of his star-shaped helmet, giving Draik the disconcerting sensation that he was seeing the Navigator’s inhuman, third eye. Draik knew that all Navigators had this specific, sanctioned mutation – an eye nestling in their forehead, able to peer into the madness of the warp – but if Draik were to truly see it, the eye would send him irrevocably insane, perhaps even kill him. He coughed and turned his gaze elsewhere.
‘I have made several journeys to the Blackstone,’ said Draik. ‘It has been a costly business, in more ways than one, but I have come to think that I can do more here than simply treasure hunt. During my last attempt, I uncovered what I believe may be the crux of the whole mystery – a central chamber to which all the others are merely attendants, locked in orbit, as it were. I spoke to some poor, damned souls, too badly injured to make their way back to Precipice, and the deeper I travelled, the more consistent their stories became. I heard several mentions of a hidden chamber called the Ascuris Vault. One of them even did me a sketch.’ He showed Corval a small piece of paper with a spherical grid scrawled on it. ‘This was drawn by an informant of mine, a man by the name of Tor Gaulon. He’s dead now, but he swore to me he had seen this place with his own eyes. When I consulted my notes from previous expeditions, I found that his description of the vault exactly matches the signals transmitted from the Blackstone’s transportation chambers. If we can–’
‘Forgive me, captain, I’m lost. Are you saying this Ascuris Vault is the “brain” of the Blackstone?’
‘Perfectly put, Emissary Corval. But let me explain why that’s so important. Travel through the Blackstone is dangerous in the extreme, as you will learn if you decide to venture inside. The place is crawling with aliens – aggressive, carnivorous species, many of which I have never encountered before, and the Blackstone’s architecture itself is hazardous, reforming and reacting even as one tries to climb from one location to another. But those problems are nothing compared to the difficulty of using its transportation system. The fortress is traversed by the use of maglev chambers. They’re fascinating creations of alien manufacture, but they’re impossible to steer with any consistency. They move from one place to another, but their routes soon become random and, after depositing you far from your intended destination, they become inert. That’s why the fortress is so perplexing. And the Blackstone’s defences are triggered by movement – in the same way alien bodies trigger an immune system, so simply staying in one place is not an option. The result is that parties of explorers race around the place like lunatics, sometimes stumbling across valuable finds, but more often becoming lost and never returning. But I believe the Ascuris Vault is the solution to this problem. I think it’s the central point on which all the other maglev chambers hinge. The fulcrum, as it were. If I can reach it, I believe I will have come closer than anyone before to understanding the nature of the fortress.’
‘And what then, captain? Do you mean to contact Commander Ortegal? I believe he is the officer in charge of this subsector.’
Draik sipped his wine again. ‘No. I intend to return to Terra myself, with whatever I have learned in the Ascuris Vault. I mean to present my findings to the High Lords in person.’
Corval was silent for a moment. Then he nodded. ‘I see. May I ask why? Ortegal is a dullard but he’s a well-meaning dullard. Do you doubt him?’
‘Not at all.’ Draik sipped his wine again.
‘But you would rather the news came from you?’
‘From House Draik, yes.’
‘Ah, of course. I understand. Yours is a mercantile dynasty. A find such as this will be a great boon.’
‘There will be no impropriety. I will inform Commander Ortegal and send reports to Terra before I leave Precipice. But I will explain my findings in person.’
‘Fascinating,’ said Corval, rising from his chair and crossing the room with such soft steps that he seemed to glide. Draik noticed again how impossibly slender he was. Navigators were often ravaged by the arduous nature of their calling, tormented by years of guiding ships through the lunacy of the warp. Where others could avert their gaze, Navigators stared, unblinking, finding rhythms in the frenzy, finding a path in the blindness. As a result, they had evolved into something altered – a new class of human – but few outside of their own dynastic families could claim to understand the true nature of the Navigator breed.
Corval paused at a cabinet and fiddled with what Draik presumed was another astronomical instrument. It was a metal cylinder, punched with tiny holes in a pattern he could not decipher. Corval flicked a switch on its side and the cylinder started to turn, slowly, glinting in the firelight like the armillary sphere at the end of the table. Rather than illustrating the movements of the stars, however, the cylinder flooded the room with music – a faint, crackling recording of a choir, their voices raised in tribute to the unknowable beauty of the galaxy, the melody spiralling like the orbits of the spheres.
The Navigator swayed his hand in time to the hymn, lost in thought for a moment. Then he returned to his chair. ‘It sounds like you have a clear plan, captain. How may I be of help? Funds? A crew?’
‘You are extremely kind, emissary, but no, my need is more complicated than that. I have recruited a pilot who can reach the docking point – a hazardous location the local drunks have labelled the Dragon’s Teeth. I also have a guide in the form of a Ministorum preacher by the name of Taddeus. He is…’ Draik hesitated, unsure how devout, or not, the Navigator might be. ‘He is pursuing an agenda of his own, but he is able to lead me to the Ascuris Vault. I also have what remains of my household guard. My problem is of a more psychological nature.’
‘Now you have intrigued me,’ said Corval, looking up from the phonograph.
‘The priest, Taddeus, warned me that the final approaches to the Ascuris Vault are protected by a particular weapon – a kind of mental projection that confuses anyone trying to reach the vault. I spoke to members of his party and they are reluctant to explain in detail, but the Blackstone has a way of distorting perception, so that the past becomes jumbled with the present. The end result is fatal. The priest’s party turned on each other. It sounds to me like some kind of telepathic psychosis.’
‘Telepathic psychosis? And that made you think of me?’ The Navigator sounded amused.
Draik smiled. ‘Your work requires you to shield your mind from the dangers of the empyrean, does it not? You have to protect yourself.’
‘Indeed, captain. The dangers we face are as much spiritual as psychological, but we can ignore the semantics. Essentially, yes, you are right.’ Corval tapped his helmet. ‘This may look ridiculous, but it’s a powerful relic. Its original name is unpronounceable, even for me, but my archivists refer to it as a cerebrum cowl. It amplifies my second sight, enabling me to follow the Emperor’s light even in the darkest corners of warp space.’ He nodded to the serpents on the armillary sphere. ‘But it also wards me against the beings that call those corners home. Such devices are rare and incredibly valuable – and their workings are arcane in the extreme, but it may be that I could find you something simple enough to be of help. It would be hard, though.’ He drummed his fingers on the table and shook his head. ‘No, that would be no use, even if it were possible. In the time it would take to have a device sent here, you might have missed your opportunity. Precipice’s days are numbered, I’m sure of it.’
Draik was about to speak when Corval held up a finger and continued talking. ‘But there is a way. Yes. Now that I think of it, it is actually a more appropriate solution. If you will indulge me, captain, I would be honoured to accompany you myself. My cerebrum cowl, allied to my experience of navigating the immaterium, should enable me to protect your party from whatever delusions the Blackstone tries to throw at you.’
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‘I would not have presumed to ask that you accompany me in person.’
Corval waved a dismissive hand. ‘I came here to see the Blackstone. And now I shall see it in the company of a friend.’
‘I’m afraid time is of the essence, though,’ said Draik. ‘My plan is to leave in a matter of hours.’
‘And I have no intention of delaying you. Let me know the time and place.’ Corval laughed. ‘Having experienced the Helmsman in all its glory, I do not think this boneyard holds much else in the way of interest for me. The sooner we begin the better.’
They finished their drinks and Draik prepared to leave, bracing himself for the degradation outside. Before he said goodbye, he paused to admire the armillary sphere one last time. As he looked closer he noticed a detail that had eluded him earlier. Not all of the serpents were arrayed around the outer rings. The sphere representing Terra was resplendent – like the jewel-encrusted finial of a royal sceptre, polished to such a sheen that it seemed luminous. But hidden in the filigree, coiled around the spires of the Imperial Palace, was a serpent – smaller than the others, but moving with purpose, venom glinting on its teeth.
7
The Vanguard clanged and hummed as Draik stormed down its companionways, wondering if he had forgotten anything. The roar of the plasma engines vibrated up through the deck, rattling the gilt-framed canvases that lined the bulkheads and shaking servitors that were trundling through the gloom, trying to seal cargo holds and airlocks in preparation for their departure.
‘Is everyone else ready?’ he said, glancing back at Isola.
She was making notes on her cogitator as she struggled to keep up with him, but she nodded. ‘The two priests are here and they have joined Audus and Grekh on the bridge. They’re waiting for you there. Emissary Corval is the last to arrive.’
Draik nodded, pleased. Now that the rioting in the Dromeplatz had died down, the proctors would be trying to discover who was responsible. If he had been seen leaving Taddeus’ ship, it was quite possible their bullgryns would arrive at the Vanguard and start asking questions. Or someone may have even seen him with Grekh when the kroot fired the shot that caused all the trouble. Paying off the proctors was never a problem for a man of his means, but he had no time for negotiations and haggling. He was desperate to be gone.
‘I’ll see to Corval,’ he said. ‘You make sure there’s no trouble on the bridge. They all know each other, but I don’t get the impression there’s any love lost between Audus and the priests.’
Isola nodded and headed off in another direction as Draik continued toward the Vanguard’s main loading ramp.
The doors were already open and the Navigator was waiting on the walkway outside, watching the crowds bustling past.
‘Emissary Corval.’ Draik rushed down the ramp and grabbed his hand. ‘I cannot tell you what a relief it is to have a like-minded companion with me on this expedition.’
‘I’m excited to come,’ laughed Corval, looking out through the void screen at the colossus hanging over Precipice. ‘Excited to see the Blackstone, despite all your warnings.’
Draik nodded and waved him up the ramp. ‘It’s a unique place. Hazardous, certainly, but beautiful in its own way.’ As he closed the door behind them, Draik hesitated. ‘You’ve come alone? No servants? No guards?’
Corval laughed and tapped the pistol at his belt. ‘I’m able to look after myself, captain.’
Draik shrugged and waved him on. ‘The others are already on the bridge.’
As they hurried through the rumbling Vanguard, Corval stopped and tapped one of the paintings. ‘Is this a Catali?’ he said, sounding shocked.
Despite his impatience to leave, Draik could not help pausing and looking back in surprise. Catali’s work was an acquired taste and it had been decades since he met someone else who had even heard of the artist.
‘You know his work?’
Corval stared at the painting. His expression was hidden behind his mask, but his voice betrayed his emotion. ‘I do,’ he said, his words hushed.
The painting was only loosely sketched, but drawn with such skill that every mark seemed to carry meaning. It showed a proud Terran noble. He was at prayer in a ruined temple, kneeling, his head resting on a sword as moonlight washed over his imposing features. The mood was sombre and full of pathos.
‘I’ve collected his work for as long as I can remember,’ said Draik, waving at some of his other pictures. All of them showed similarly poignant scenes: stately, imposing aristocrats at prayer, lost in thought.
‘How well he captures our burden,’ muttered Corval. His voice sounded odd – quite unlike his previous, confident tones. ‘See how bowed and humbled they all look. Crushed by duty, but never defeated by it, determined not to relinquish their responsibilities, determined not to fail.’
There was something in Corval’s words that threw Draik back into the past, reminding him of what he was fighting for – of his determination to return home.
Corval had turned from the painting and was watching Draik in silence. He seemed on the verge of asking a question. Then he shook his head and laughed. ‘Forgive me, captain. You’re in a rush and here I am wasting time, revealing my poor knowledge of art. Lead on!’
Corval’s laugh did not ring true. Draik sensed that he was hiding something – a sadness. The Navigator clearly carried a burden of his own.
He was about to ask Corval why he had come to Precipice when the Vanguard’s thrusters roared and Draik had to steady himself against the wall.
‘Captain,’ came Isola’s voice from speakers overhead. ‘Everything is ready.’
Draik nodded and hurried on down the companionway. ‘We must talk of this again, emissary,’ he said, glancing back.
Corval nodded, but gave no reply, still staring at the paintings as they headed towards the bridge. He looked hesitant and unsure, like a man who had seen a ghost.
8
The Blackstone rushed towards them, voltaic and grim, choking the darkness and silencing everyone on the bridge of the Vanguard. Draik had been this close many times before, but familiarity did nothing to lessen the shock. There was no familiarity, in fact. Every time he returned, the horror was new, the menace more explicit. Explosions flitted across the surface, caused by failed approaches and colliding debris, splashing light over a baffling jumble of polyhedrons. Draik tried to discern a pattern, tracing the planes and vertices, but with every fitful burst of light the shapes became more confused – shapes without shape, each more bewildering than the last.
‘Five degrees starboard,’ said Audus. She spoke softly, but her words jarred in the heavy silence that had fallen over the bridge.
Draik’s pilot responded and the primary thrusters roared, the sound vibrating up through the deck plating and causing Draik’s amasec to slosh in its glass. He finished the drink and studied his companions. The Western Reaches had robbed him of most prejudices – such luxuries would be laughable in a place like Precipice. Even so, this was an unusual group. Corval was at his side, his thoughts unreadable, hidden behind his helmet. At Draik’s other side was Isola, studying the hololithic star chart that hovered in the middle of the bridge. An attaché and a Navigator, perfectly respectful companions for a rogue trader – but not so the others. Taddeus the Purifier was seated at the back of the bridge, mouthing silent prayers. His florid features were beaded with sweat and he was not even looking at the Blackstone. There was a book open on his lap, a hand-written journal, the pages rife with lurid apocalypses and coin-eyed corpses. His sweat was pattering on the gaudy vellum, landing with a gentle, persistent tap. Beside him was his disciple, Pious Vorne, her fists locked tightly around her flamer and her eyes closed in prayer. There were a few officers of the Draik Household Guard scattered around the bridge, but none of them were standing anywhere near Grekh. The kroot was hunched in his seat, straining against his harness like a capt
ured animal. It was hard to know if the Blackstone unnerved him as much as everyone else because his eyes were hidden. Almost as soon as they left Precipice, Grekh had reached into his sack and taken out a bloodbird – one of the dripping, crimson moths that Gatto kept in the Helmsman. The creature was still alive, and fluttering weakly, but Grekh had strapped it to his face so that the creature’s wings obscured his eyes. Every now and then, Grekh would place a hand on his stomach and mutter something in his own language, but he had said nothing else since takeoff.
Audus was leaning over Draik’s pilot, watching his every move until the time came for her to take the controls. Isola had offered her new clothes, but she had insisted on wearing her filthy old Navy flight suit, with its bulky pouches, air sockets and hastily removed insignia. The laspistol Draik had given her was now strapped to her leg and she had also acquired a combat knife while he had been away. Draik was keen to know her story. Grekh had called her a deserter and Gatto claimed the Imperial Navy had put a price on her head, but Draik felt there was something more to her than that. In Bullosus’ hold she had shown no sign of fear or panic. There was no trace of cowardice in Audus. So why was she on the run? He resolved to quiz her when there was time, but for now, he had noticed that she seemed excited about something, leaning over the controls and muttering to the pilot.
He crossed the bridge to stand beside her.
