[Ravenor 01] Ravenor - Dan Abnett

by Dan Abnett

  The elevator doors slid open and we emerged into a high hallway lined in wood veneer and beam lighting. At the far end, more doors opened into a wide, softly-lit apartment whose tintglas windows overlooked the entire western part of the hive.

  "Wait," said Kinsky, and the three of them withdrew, leaving me alone with Frauka. Frauka wandered across the room between armchairs and settees, and opened an inlaid box on the writing desk under the windows. He took out a lho-stick - a more expensive brand than the one he smoked - and lit it.

  "Should I contact the ordo here?" he asked.

  "We'll see," I said.

  A man walked in from a side door. He was dressed, like Kinsky, in soft grey murray, and was slender, with a chin-beard and tied-back black hair. The third man from Sonsal's house. The one with the power. Not power like the psyker. Real power.

  "Good evening, inquisitor," he said, bowing slightly to my chair. He ignored Frauka, which seemed to suit Frauka fine.

  "Good evening." I replied, using my voxponder.

  "My name is Jader Trice. I am first provost of the Ministry of Subsector Trade. I would like to start our conversation by apologising for any unpleasantness this evening."

  "Unpleasantness?"

  "At the Circus Carnivora. You found yourselves caught up in a routine crime-raid."

  "A routine raid? I thought you were responding to an altercation in the cavae."

  Trice shrugged. He was handsome, and immaculately groomed and manicured. A real operator. I noticed he had one brown eye and one blue. There was something else about him. An essence. A hint of something I was desperate to put a figurative finger on. But at this stage, under these circumstances, it would have been rude to probe, however discreetly.

  "Our raid had been planned for several weeks, and we'd brought in sections of Magistratum and the PDF. Fairly major scale. The Carnivora is a hotbed of crime and smuggling. We were intending to move in towards the end of the night, but the - altercation, as you put it - forced our hand. I understand this... altercation... was set off by your own investigation."

  "I had reason to examine the circus. The criminal elements objected to my interest."

  Trice smiled. "Can I get you a drink?" he asked.

  "A little malt liq with a shaving of ice," replied Frauka, helping himself to another lho-stick.

  Trice looked at him.

  "I don't," I said. "But please indulge my companion."

  Trice fetched Frauka's drink from a stand on a sideboard, and poured himself an amasec. "The lord governor was most upset to hear that an inquisitor had been caught up in tonight's operation."

  "I'm sure."

  "He extends his best wishes, and asks me to offer my services to you."

  Trice handed the drink to Frauka and looked at me. Like everyone else, he was put-off by the unforthcoming nature of my enclosed chair.

  He sat down, facing me, and swirled the amasec in his balloon. "The Ministry of Subsector Trade is a newly created body. I don't know if you're aware of our purview."

  "I am," I said. "I'm very familiar with the writings of the lord governor. A perceptive man, a reformer, an innovator. His election to office last year was a thing to be welcomed."

  I meant what I said. Oska Ludolf Barazan, who had been in his time hive mayor, senator plenipotentiary, and, since 400.M41, lord governor of the Angelus sub, was an erudite and forward-thinking politician whose reformist attitudes I much admired. Given the segmentum-wide trend for such offices to fall to under-achievers via nepotism and birthright, Barazan's election seemed like a miracle of liberalism. Generally stagnant men inherited control of stagnant subsectors and thus further stagnated them. The Ministry had been part of his election platform. He had wanted to create an active, sharp-toothed instrument that would oversee the workings of Imperial bureaucracy on Eustis Majoris and beyond. Clean them up. Cut the crap. "Reform" was not wide enough a word.

  "I'll pass your comments on to the lord governor," Trice said. "He'll be flattered. He is an avid student of your own work."

  I had written a few things: a number of treatises, an extended essay or two. They had been well received. If I'd had a visible face, it would have been blushing.

  "He is troubled, however." Trice went on. "His central doctrine is openness. Clarity."

  "Full disclosure." I remarked.

  "Quite so. And yet, you chose to operate on the capital world... clandestinely."

  Frauka snorted. Trice looked round at him and he raised his glass. "Don't mind me," he said.

  "I'm sure," I said, "the lord governor is not unfamiliar with the workings of the Inquisition. Our success in preserving the purity of Mankind relies entirely on our unquestioned power. The Inquisition does not have to ask, or obtain permission. It may look where it wishes, and do what it wishes. It is the most absolute power in the Imperium of Man, save the God-Emperor himself."

  "Oh, quite," said Trice, swirling his drink some more. I notice that he had not touched it. Keeping his mind sharp. "There is, however, an inference that you did not inform the lord governor of your activities here because you suspected the authorities as well."

  "Of course I did. No offence to the lord governor, but corruption is everywhere. Is that not why he created your Ministry, Provost Trice? To clean the house from the top down? Consider me to be cleaning from the basement up."

  "May I enquire the nature of your investigation?" he asked.

  "You may. Prompted by my ordo masters, I have undertaken an investigation into the nature and origin of the addictive substances know as flects."

  Trice frowned. "Narcotics are an Magistratum matter, and smuggling..."

  "The flects are not narcotics, provost. Not in the chemical sense, whatever their characterising traits. They are most definitely xenos in nature."

  "Xenos?" he breathed, uneasy.

  "They are artifacts. Tainted artifacts. Their abuse has spread, these last two years, down through the Angelus sub, into the Helican sub and the Ophidian too. All signs indicate the root of that trade is here on Eustis Majoris."

  Trice got up and set down his untouched drink. "We... we are on the same side, inquisitor."

  "I'd hate to doubt it, Mr. Trice."

  He smiled at me. "I mean to say, we are aware of the flect problem. It is rife here. We... uhm... we know we are the source of it. The fact pains the lord governor greatly. It is, consequently, uppermost in my Ministry's list of actions. Tonight's raid on the Carnivora was part of our ongoing war on flect-distribution."

  "You had identified the circus as a source?"

  He nodded. At last, he took a sip of his amasec. "The Imperial pits are a focus of contraband crime on many worlds, inquisitor. The staff has powerful contacts with rogue traders and commercial outfitters, all licensed to import xenos-breeds on-planet for the games. It is an obvious source. A trader imports a snarl-cat from Riggion for the circus, under license... What else does he bring in the snarl-cat's cage? Grinweed. Gladstones. Phetamote thrill-pills baggy-packed into the animal's intestine."

  "And flects," I said. "The ship traders and outfitters are moving flects through the circus businesses. Through other outlets too, I'm sure. Wood, metals, weapons perhaps. But the Imperial pits are key. They have the most open trade permits, necessarily, to cater for the creatures they bring in."

  He nodded again, sagely. There was a click-clacking sound. By the desk, Frauka was trying to light another lho-stick from an ornamental desk igniter that refused to spark. He became aware of us staring at him, and put the igniter down.

  "Sorry," he said and pulled a match book out of his jacket.

  Trice looked back at me. "You detained a man tonight."

  "His name was Duboe. Chief handlerman at the cavae. A dealer."

  "My Ministry had suspected as much."

  "I'd like him returned to me for questioning."

  "Of course!" Trice smiled, as if anything else was unthinkable.

  "And I'd like to continue with my work... unimpeded."


  Trice nodded. "I have a request. From the lord governor. He asks that we pool our efforts."

  "How so?"

  "We have information that may assist you... You have the force of the Inquisition behind you to empower it. I have to admit, Inquisitor Ravenor, my Ministry - for all it is newborn and fresh - is hard stretched. We would like to combine our efforts with yours and close off the flect trade at source."

  I slid my chair a few centimetres forward towards him. "Tour information. Try me."

  Trice pursed his lips. "Our investigations have shown that Duboe's source was a game agent from the outworlds called Feaver Skoh, one of a famous dynasty of xeno-hunters. Skoh operates from a rogue trader called the Oktober Country, captain of which is one Kizary Thekla. The Country runs the lanes up through our sub to Flint, Ledspar and beyond, sometimes as far as Lenk, every half-year, to buy choice stuff from the beast-moots there. Sometimes they go on into Lucky Space so that Skoh can hunt for himself on the rip-worlds up there. We believe they're sourcing flects, maybe from the moots, maybe, from Lucky Space."

  "Trice. Why are you telling me this?" I asked.

  "In the spirit of cooperation. Full disclosure," he said.

  "And?"

  He knocked back his drink in one tug. "The Oktober Country broke orbit fifty minutes ago, without permission from ground traffic. Its last vectored course was up the line to Flint."

  Nayl, Kys and Kara were waiting for me on the palace pad. Zael was hanging back behind them, and they had Duboe in manacles.

  As the drop ship came down out of the night on columns of spitting flame, I rolled out onto the pad to join them, Frauka at my side. Behind me came three figures in soft grey cloth-suits, their crewbags slung over their shoulders: Kinsky, Ahenobarb and a female called Madsen.

  Nayl looked at them.

  "Who the hell...?" he breathed.

  "Say hello." I replied. "They're coming with us."

  PART TWO

  Lucky Space

  ONE

  He'd been on wherries down the overfloat, tracks and cargo-8s a few times and, once, a train over to Formal R to visit a cousin or some such. He'd been pretty young at the time, he barely remembered the cousin, let alone the train.

  He'd never been off the ground for more than a few seconds, never flown, not even in a lifter. He'd certainly never been on a starship.

  The guy (Zael still thought of Harlon Nayl as "the guy" even though he knew his name - it was kind of a comforting thing to cling on to) told him the ship was called the Hinterlight. Meant nothing. Might as well have been called Yer Momma is a Smiley-Girl, Zael still hadn't heard of it. But he was sort of impressed, and funny-excited. It was a starship, and it was all that word implied. Off-dirt, the void, distant worlds whose names he couldn't spell.

  The big deal, as far as Zael saw it, was that they were taking him too. Where, he didn't care. Had to be better than the J stacks. His little, knucked-up life had just taken an interesting swing.

  It occurred to him to wonder why they were taking him. The Chair had talked to him several times since he'd hooked up with the guy, said a few things that seemed to indicate that he thought Zael was special somehow. Well, that was fine. The Chair was the big shot in this little gang, and if The Chair thought Zael was special, it probably meant he was.

  Though he kind of wanted to know special how?

  The Chair's gang had been scaring the life out of him since he'd met them, but they were sort of cool too. He'd seen the guy do his thing, for a start. The guy was a piece of work. Then there was Kys. She was as scary as the guy, but in a different way. Zael tended to look aside when Kys glanced his way. Kara was nicer. She always asked if Zael was doing okay. She was sexy. Kys was probably sexy too, in a blade-thin, dangerous sense, but her scariness got in the way. Kara was just nice, simple as that. And she had these killer curves that made him feel tingly.

  Thonius was a freak, though. Unpleasant and sneery. Zael got the feeling Thonius didn't like him much. Well, that was fine. And also mutual. There was Mathuin, who was simply a surly bastard. He reminded Zael of the worst kind of moody. But Zael had to feel a little sorry when the flier stopped to pick Thonius and Mathuin up. The bastard had been hurt bad. There was a lot of blood, and a spew-making smell of crispy flesh. Kara and the guy carried Mathuin into the rear compartment to patch him up.

  Zael sat in his seat as the flier rose up out of the city. There were window ports, but he couldn't see much. He could feel it, though, in his stomach. A little up and down. So this was flying. It made him queasy.

  The other member of the gang sat down next to him. His name was Frauka, and there was something weird about him. Every time Zael got near him, his head started to hurt. And Frauka smoked all the time.

  "Something the matter?" Frauka said, exhaling lho-smoke through his nostrils.

  Zael shook his head.

  The smoke smelled pretty good, actually. It reminded Zael of the drink-dubs in the stacks. It had been days now since he'd taken a hit of anything. He'd been really witchy-twitchy for a while, but he was better now. He wouldn't have said no to a flect, just a little look, but he didn't crave one. He had the distinct feeling that The Chair had done something to his head. Nothing bad, just... eased it. Cradled it. Taken out the sting.

  The Chair could do that. It wouldn't surprise Zael to find out that The Chair could do anything. He really wanted to know what was inside that smooth, matt-black form. He didn't even know what an inquisitor was, not actually, although he knew that everyone he'd ever known got terrified at the mention of the word.

  The Chair didn't seem all that terrifying to Zael. Not like Kys, or Mathuin, or the guy. The Chair was more like what Zael imagined the God-Emperor to be. Quiet, faceless, potent, benign.

  Or maybe that was just something else The Chair was doing to his mind.

  Zael looked down the companionway towards the forward seats of the flier's main compartments, and wondered about the others. The newcomers. One, haggard and blood-flecked, sat on his own, his chain binders anchored to a seat restraint. Zael knew he was called Duboe, and had witnessed the final moments of his apprehension in the Carnivora. That had been another first. Zael had never been to the big circus before.

  Zael wondered what Duboe had done. He certainly felt for him. With Kys and Thonius and Mathuin around, Zael sure as hell wouldn't have wanted to be a prisoner here.

  Then there were the other three. They kept themselves apart from The Chair's gang. They were dressed in identical suits of fine-quality grey cloth, but they were far from identical themselves. One was very large, bigger than the guy even, his muscles stretching at the cut of his jacket. His skin was dark, though not as black as Mathuin's, and he had a little trimmed moustache line and clan-style piercings in his left eyebrow. His black hair was short and downy. There was something primitive about him, something coarse. He was very still. He reminded Zael of picts he'd seen, picts of huge lizards sun-basking on rocks, stock-still and blank for days at a time, jaws agape. Waiting, waiting to explode into fury and eat something alive.

  The woman seemed to be in charge. Her name was Madsen - Zael had heard her introduced to Kara. She was white-blonde and slender, with a hard, pinched face that would have been really pretty if it hadn't been so tight. She spoke to her two companions now and then in a low voice that no one could overhear.

  The other one, the stringy man, was more alarming. Zael had an impression of a balding, blond creep, but for some reason, every time he looked at him, Zael saw nothing but a sort of blur. Like the creep wasn't really there. Or like he was twice, and the two-ness of him was making him appear distorted.

  Once during the flight, when Zael was looking at the creep, the creep had turned and looked back at Zael, as if feeling his eyes on him. The creep's stare was like hot wires. It said look someplace else, you little freak.

  Zael had looked away fast.

  He peered out of the window. The flier shivered as it climbed. Zael suddenly saw spots of fire in the d
ark and cried out.

  "What the frig's the matter?" Frauka asked him, petulantly.

  Zael pointed.

  "Stars. They're stars. Haven't you ever seen stars before?"

  Another first.

  He'd expected some grand fanfare and ceremony - this was a starship after all. But there was simply a thud, and a scraping sound and the flier's hatch had opened to reveal another hatch, which had opened to display a dank, greasy metal corridor.

  And everyone had just got up and got out.

  Zael felt cheated. He'd wanted to see the starship and understand where he was going. This oily deckhall could have been the back stacks of J, anywhere.

  The Chair slid past him.

  +Find our friend a cabin and make him comfortable.+

  The guy nodded, and turned back to Zael.

  "Come here, boy. I've got to-"

  "Find me a cabin and make me comfortable," Zael said.

  The guy faltered. "Yeah... that's right."

  Zael was busy lifting his feet one at a time and putting them back down on the deck grille. The strange, fluid sensation made him smile.

  "What?" asked the guy.

  "Weird," said Zael.

  "A-G," said the guy.

  "What's that?"

  "The ship's artificial gravity. You'll get used to it."

  "What's... gravity?"

  A recording of sweeping orchestral music was being broadcast at high volume across the bridge of the Hinterlight. Somebody or other's Ninth Symphony, laden with strings, brass and kettle drams. It was one of ship-mistress' idiosyncrasies, a little ritual. She liked to break orbit with something appropriately stirring blasting from the vox. Besides, she claimed, it helped the Navigators compose the course.

  "Down three," she said as she saw me enter the bridge by the after hatch. The music muted appropriately.

  "Thonius tells me we're off to Flint."