by Dan Abnett
'I've come for the Novena/ he said. 'I was summoned to attend by Orsini's staff, like you I imagine. I wanted to talk to you, talk to you as far off the record as was possible/
'So you broke into my house?'
He sighed deeply, finished his drink and walked over to the spirit stand in the corner of the room to fix another.
'You're in trouble/ he said.
'Really? Why is that?'
He looked round, peeling strips of citrus rind off a fruit with a paring knife.
'I don't know. But there are rumblings/
'There are always rumblings/
He turned to face me fully. His eyes were suddenly very hard and bright. Take this seriously/
Very well, I will/
You know what the rumour-mill is like. Someone's always got a point to make, a score to settle. There were stories. I dismissed them at first/
'Stories?'
He sighed again and returned to his seat with his refreshed drink.
'There is talk that you are… unsound/
"What talk?'
'Damn it, Gregor! I'm not one of your interview suspects! I've come here as a friend/
'A friend who broke in wearing a stealth suit and-'
'Shut up just for a minute, would you?'
I paused.
'Gladly. If you cut to the chase/
'The first I heard, someone was bad-mouthing you/
Who?'
'It doesn't matter. I waded in and told them just what I thought. Then I heard the story again. Eisenhorn's unsound. He's lost the plot/
'Really?'
Then the stories changed. It was no longer "Eisenhorn's unsound", it was, "The people who matter think Eisenhorn's unsound". As if somehow suspicion of you had become official/
'I've heard nothing/ I said, sitting back.
'Of course you haven't. Who'd say it to your face but a friend… or a convening judge from Internal Prosecution?'
I raised my eyebrows. 'You're really worried, aren't you, Titus?'
'Damn right. Someone's gunning for you. Someone whose got the ear of the upper echelon. Your career and activities are under scrutiny/
'You get that all from rumours? Come on, Titus. There are plenty of inquisitors I can think of who'd like to score points off me. Orsini's a closet Monodominant, and the puritan idealists are forming a power block around him. They are radicals, in their way. You know that. Us Amalathians are too louche for their tastes/
I mentioned before how I hated politics. Nothing is more fruitless and wearying than the internal politics of the Inquisition itself. My kind is fractured internally by belief factions and intellectual sectarianism. Endor and myself count ourselves as Amalathian inquisitors, which is to say we hold an optimistic outlook and work to sustain the integrity of the Imperium, believing it to be functioning according to the divine Emperor's scheme. We preserve the status quo. We hunt down recidivist elements: heretics, aliens, psykers, the three key enemies of mankind – these are of course our primary targets – but we will set ourselves against anything that we perceive to be destabilising Imperial society, up to and including factional infighting between the august organs of our culture. It has always struck me as ironic that we had to become a faction in order to fight factionalism.
We profess to be puritans, and certainly are so compared to the extreme radical factions of the Inquisition such as the Istvaanians and the Recongrenators.
But equally alien to us are the extreme right wing of the puritan factions, the Monodominants and the Thorians, some of whom believe even the use of trained psykers to be heretical.
If I was in trouble, it would not be the first time an inquisitor of tempered, moderate beliefs had run foul of either extreme in his own organisation.
'This goes beyond simple faction intrigue/ Titus said quietly. 'This isn't a hardliner deciding to give the moderates a going over. This is particular to you. They have something/
'What?'
'Something concrete on you.'
'How do you know?'
'Because twenty days ago on Messina, I was detained and questioned by Inquisitor Osma of the Ordo Malleus.'
I suddenly realised I was up out of my seat.
'You were what?'
He waved dismissively. 'I'd just finished a waste-of-time matter, and was preparing to pack up and ship for Thracian. Osma contacted me, polite and friendly, and asked if he could meet with me. I went to see him. It was all very civil. He made no effort to restrain me… but I don't think I could have left before he had finished. He was guarded, but he made it clear that if I decided to walk out… his people would stop me.'
That's outrageous!'
'No, that's Osma. You've met him surely? One of Orsini's. Bezier's right-hand man. Thorian to the marrow. He makes a point of getting what he's after'
'And what did he get?'
'From me?' Endor laughed. 'Not a thing, except for a glowing character reference! He allowed me to leave after an hour. The bastard even suggested we might meet and dine together, socially, during the Novena.'
'Osma is a skilled operator. Slippery. So… that begs the question, what did he want?'
'He wanted you. He was interested in our friendship and our history. He asked me about you, like he wanted me to let something personal and damning slip. He didn't give away much of anything, but it was clear he had dirt. Some report had been filed that compromised you, directly or indirectly. By the end of it, I knew that the rumours I had been hearing were just the surface ripples of a secret inquiry. I knew then that I had to warn you… without anyone knowing we'd spoken.'
'It's all lies/1 told him.
'What is?'
'I don't know. Whatever they think. Whatever they fear. I've done nothing that deserves the attention of the Ordo Malleus.'
'I believe you, Gregor/ Endor said, in a way that suggested to me he undoubtedly did not.
We took fresh drinks onto the sea terrace. He looked out at the kalaedo-scopic swirls of luminous plankton and said, They've only just begun.'
I nodded and looked down at the drink cradled in my hands.
'On Lethe… Tantalid came after me. I supposed at the time it was old scores, but from what you've said tonight, I doubt that now.'
'Be careful,' he murmured. 'Look, Gregor, I should go. This should have been a better reunion of old friends.'
'I want to thank you for the chance you took. The effort you made to bring this to me.'
"You'd do the same.'
'I would. One last thing… how did you get in?'
He looked round at me sharply.
What?'
'In here? Tonight?'
'I used a code scrambler on the door.'
'You diverted the alarms.'
Tm not a novice, Gregor. My scrambler was set to trigger a nulling cascade effect through the system.'
That's quite a piece of kit. May I see it?'
He took a small black pad from his hip-pocket and passed it to me.
'An Amplox model/1 noted. 'Quite advanced/
'I only use the best/
'Me too. I've employed these before. They seem… just in my experience. .. to work best after a few tests/
'How so?'
'A dry run or two, I mean. To assess the system you're trying to penetrate. A few soft passes to gauge the security and let the scrambler assimilate and learn what it's up against/
Teah, I've done that, when I've had the luxury of time. These suckers learn fast. Still, they do the job on the spot when time is tight/
'Like tonight?' I handed the device back to him.
'Yes… what do you mean?'
'It got you in tonight from cold? No test runs necessary?'
'No, of course not. This visit was spur of the moment. And until that pretty bitch of yours kicked me in the face, I had thought myself very lucky to have gotten so far/
'So you haven't been here before? You haven't been in before?'
'No/ he said sharply. Either I had offended him
or…
'Go if you have to/ I said.
'Goodnight, Gregor/
'Goodnight, Titus. I'd offer to show you out, but I think you know the way well enough/
He grinned, raised his glass and finished it in a single swig.
'Raise 'em and sink 'em and let's have another!'
'I hope so/1 replied.
The Palace of the Inquisition on Thracian Primaris is high in the cloud tiers of Hive Forty-Four. The size of a small city itself, it is the chief office of the Inquisition in the Helican sub-sector, maintaining a permanent staff of sixty thousand. I make no excuses for its black staetite facings, its darkened windows, its protective spines of iron spikes. Critics of the Inquisition may regard its architecture as almost comically overdone, playing directly to the general public's worst fears about the nature of the Inquisition with its deliberate, black menace. That, I would say, is precisely the point. Fear keeps the populace in line, fear of an institution so terrible it will not hesitate to punish them for transgressions.
At the start of the next day cycle, I went to the Palace, escorted by Aemos, von Baigg and Thula Surskova. Ironically, I felt vulnerable with only three companions at my side. 1 had grown too used to a large retinue these last few decades. I had to remind myself that there had been a time when my entire retinue would have numbered three such people.
The Palace of me Inquisition is not a place for casual or accidental meetings. Inside, it is a dark maze of shadowy halls, void screens and opaquing fields. The staff and visitors move privately behind masking energy fields, their business confidential. On entry to the echoing main hall, my party was issued with a drone cyber-skull that hovered at our shoulders and projected an insulating cone of silence around us. We were offered an astropath adept too to further ensure our privacy, but I declined. Surskova, with her untouchable quality, was all I needed.
The hooded Inquisitorial guards, their burgundy armour threaded with gold leaf and emblazoned with the seal of our Office, led us across the black marble floor, their double-handed powerblades held upright before mem. Glinting brown opaquing fields swirled into being on either side, forming a solid, buzzing corridor of energy that divorced us from our surroundings.
Alain von Baigg played with his high collar distractedly as we walked. He was nervous. The oppressive threat of the palace affected even its own servants.
Lord Rorken awaited us in his private chambers. A void shield dissipated to allow us through the circular doorway and flickered back to life once we were inside. The guards did not accompany us. I told my trio to wait for me in the austere vestibule where there were two cast iron benches piled with white satin bolsters.
I went in through the inner door.
I had come wearing black, with a three-quarter cloak of dark brown leather. My inquisitorial crest was pinned at my throat. My companions were all formally robed too. One did not call on Master of the Ordo Xenos in casual attire.
The reception chamber was dazzlingly bright. The walls were mirrors, framed in ormolu gilt, and the floor was a polished cream marble. Thousands of candles burned all around, on stands, on forked candelabras, or simply placed directly on the floor. The mirrors reflected their glare. It was like standing in a prism that was catching golden sunlight.
I blinked, and raised my hand to shield my eyes. I saw a hundred other men in cloaks do the same. My reflections. Multiplied Gregor Eisenhorns, framed by twinkling candles. I saw I looked edgy.
That would not do.
'None may escape the penetrating glare of the Inquisition's light,' said a voice.
'For to do so means perforce they embrace the outer darkness/ I finished.
Rorken strode towards me. 'You know your Catuldynas, Eisenhorn.'
'His apopthegms please me. I have never much liked his later allegories.'
Too dry?'
Too arch. Too mannered. For my taste, Sathescine has a superior voice. Less… bombastic/
Rorken smiled and took my hand. 'So you rate poetic beauty over content?'
'Beauty is truth, and tram beauty/
He raised an eyebrow. 'What is that?'
'A pre-Imperial fragment I once read. Anonymous. As to your first question, I would read Sathescine over Catuldynas for pleasure, and insist that my neophytes read Catuldynas repeatedly until they can quote it as well as I/
Rorken nodded. He was a compact man, his head shaved but for a short goatee, and he wore crimson robes over black clothes and gloves. It was impossible to guess his age, but he must have been at least mree hundred years old, for he had held his high office for a century and a half. Thanks to augmentation and juvenatus processes, he looked like a man in his late forties.
'Can I offer you refreshment?' he asked.
Thank you, no, sir. The nunciature has organised a busy schedule for me through the Novena, so I would be grateful if we could deal with things directly/
The Ministorum's nuncios have set busy schedules for us all. The Lord Commander has charged them with arranging as much pomp as possible for this celebration. And the Gregor Eisenhorn I know won't be sticking to their appointments if he can help it/
I made no reply. That was a telling remark.
I became wary. Rorken and I had a good working relationship, and I felt he had trusted me ever since the affair wim the Necroteuch ninety-eight years before. Since then he had been pleased to lead me, guide me, and oversee my cases personally. But one did not become anything like friends with the Master of the Ordo Xenos Helican.
'Have a seat. You can spare me a little time, I think/
We sat on high-backed chairs either side of a low table, and he gave me chilled water imported from the chalybeate springs of Gidmos.
A restorative tonic. I understand the Beldame tested you hard on Lethe Eleven/
I slid a data-slate out of my cloak.
'A preliminary draft of my full report/ I said, handing it to him. He took it and put it, unread, on the table.
'Do you know why I have asked to see you?'
I paused, and took a calculated gamble.
'Because of the stories that I am unsound/
He cocked his head in interest. You've heard them?'
They've been brought to my attention. Recently/
'Your reaction?'
'In all honesty? Puzzlement. I don't know the matter of the stories themselves. I feel someone must have a grudge.'
'Against you?'
'Against me personally/
He sipped his water. 'Before we go any further, I must ask you… Is there any reason, any reason at all, that you think this story has arisen?'
As I said, a grudge is the-'
'No,' he said quietly. 'You know what I'm asking you.'
'I've done nothing,' I said.
'I'll take your word for that. If at a later time I discover you're lying, or even hiding something from me, I will… be displeased.'
'I have done nothing,' I repeated.
He steepled his hands and looked out across the sea of candles. 'Here is the way of it. An inquisitor – who, it does not matter – reported to me in confidence a disturbing encounter. A daemonhost made a show of sparing a man's life, because it thought he was you.'
I was fascinated and horrified at the thought.
'I am not able to confirm it, but the daemonhost has been identified as Cherubael.'
Now my blood ran cold. Cherubael.
'You've had no contact with that entity since 56-Izar?'
I shook my head. 'No, sir. And that was almost a century ago.'
'But you've been looking for it ever since?'
'I've made no secret of that, sir. Cherubael is the agency of an invisible enemy, one whose machinations involved even a member of our Office.'
'Molitor.'
'Yes, Konrad Molitor. I have spent a great deal of time and effort trying to uncover the truth about Cherubael and its unseen master, but it has been fruitless. Ten decades, and only the barest few hints/
'The matter of Cherubael
's involvement in the Necroteuch affair was passed to the Ordo Malleus, as you know. They too have failed to turn up a trace of it/
"Where was this alleged encounter?'
He paused. 'Vogel Passionata/
'And it thought it was sparing me?'
'The implication was the daemonhost had better things in mind for you. There was a strong suggestion of… a compact between you and it/
'Nonsense!'
'I hope so-'
'Really, nonsense, sir!'
'I hope so, Eisenhorn. Grandmaster Orsini has no time for radical elements in the Inquisition. Even if he wasn't so hardline, I'd not stand for it. Ordo Xenos Helican has no place for those who consort with Chaos/
'I understand/
'Make sure you do/ Rorken's face was dark and stern now. 'Your search for this entity continues?'
'Even now I have agents in the field hunting for it/
'With any signs of success?'
I thought of the Glossia-coded message I had received the night before. 'No/ I said, my first and only lie in the conversation.
'The inquisitor in question urged me to take the matter to the Ordo Malleus. I'll not throw one of my best men to the mercy of Bezier's dogs. I kept the matter internal to our ordo/
Then why the stories?'
That's what troubled me too. Word has got out anyway. I thought it prudent to advise you that the Ordo Malleus might be scrutinising you/
A second warning in twelve hours.
'I'd like to suggest you leave Thracian and get on with other work until the matter blows over/ he said. 'But your presence is required for the Apotropaic Congress/
Pieces now fell into place. The sheer scale of the triumph celebrations, the magnitude of the Novena, were appropriate enough, but the number of senior inquisitors summoned to attend was heavy handed to say the least. Military and Ecclesiarch luminaries may be ordered around to swell such events, but inquisitors are a different breed, more aloof, more… independent. It is unusual for us to be called together in any great gathering, particularly by such incontestable orders. I had presumed Orsini was throwing his weight around to impress the Lord Commander Helican.
But that was not the case. There was to be an Apotropaic Congress. That is why we had been called here.
