[Ravenor 02] Ravenor Returned - Dan Abnett

by Dan Abnett

  Plyton teared up again.

  "That's when Maud and I ran into each other." Kara cut in. "Thanks to Zael, it seems. We made our escape and came here."

  "Is that it?" Carl said. "I don't know what use this-"

  "No," said Plyton suddenly, glaring at Thonius. "There's more. Limbwall managed to procure a file for me, before the department was shut down." She produced the crumpled folder and spread it out on the table. "I think he dug very deep to get this, very deep. It's original street plans, from the first phase of the hive's construction. Template records made by the pioneer builders and stored by the Scholam Architectus. The records of the city's original planner, a man named Theodor Cadizky."

  "Say that name again?" Carl said.

  "Cadizky," Plyton repeated. "Why? Do you know him?"

  "If it's the same man I think it is, yes," Carl said. He got to his feet and began to pace. "Golden Throne, I didn't think any of his structures were still standing!"

  "Carl?"

  "Sir, Cadizky was an Imperial senior prominent in the pioneer expansion that originally settled this region. He was a chief Administratum advisor to the Lord Rufus Helican, Lord Bering Angelus and Lord Fedric Antimar, and you know where those names ended up. He was an architect, a city planner, a diviser, who believed - and this is evident in his writings - that the hive-cities of mankind should follow a pattern that, in his words, 'must follow the gracious schemes of heaven'."

  "You've read this material?" Nayl asked.

  "Of course!"

  "The stuff you know." Kys smiled. Thonius bowed to her, mockingly.

  "Go on, Carl." I prompted.

  He turned to face me. "Inquisitor, Cadizky was a genius, ahead of his time. He planned buildings that were designed to resonate with the warp. He constructed towers that channelled the Astronomican thanks only to their architectural structures. And, as it turned out, he was a madman. The ordos penanced him and later executed him, as an enemy of the Throne. All of his known works were demolished and levelled."

  Carl turned to the table and began to sort through the papers spilling out of Plyton's folder. "And now we find-" He swallowed hard, agitated. "And now it turns out this entire hive was constructed on plans he drew."

  "Which means what, Carl?" I said.

  He stared at me. "Give me time to process these charts. I'll be able to tell better then. But, on the face of it, I'd say Petropolis isn't a city. It isn't a hive."

  "Cutting you more slack than you deserve, Thonius," Nayl said, leaning forward, "what, on the face of it, are we talking about?"

  Carl glared at Nayl. "Damn you, bitch. That tone of yours is getting on my nerves. Why don't you trust my learning, just for once?"

  "The question stands, Carl," Frauka said quietly, rising to his feet from the chair in the back of the room. "What are we talking about?"

  Carl spread the papers out wide. "Petropolis has grown, developed, overlapped itself, but its basic structure remains. You can see the axes. Ignore the distortion of more recent expansion. Here, see? And here? The plan remains, just as Cadizky arranged it in the original proposal of construction. There's a symmetry, an order, underlying every part of Petropolis that has been added since. An occult geography."

  "Look," said Plyton, clearly unsure if she was supposed to butt in at this point but admirably positive she should. "If Petropolis isn't a city, if it isn't a hive, as you said... what is it? What was it built for? What did Cadizky plan here?"

  "An instrument." Carl replied. "A device. A spiritual resonator that would only begin to operate when it was filled with millions and millions of human beings."

  "Holy Throne!"

  Everyone looked at me: Kara, Nayl, Kys, Frauka, Thonius and Plyton.

  I realised I had been the one who had exclaimed.

  SIX

  The immense, seven-fold vault hatch opened slowly, like the petals of a flower blossoming. Jader Trice and Toros Revoke stepped inside, into the cool, pure air, into the hemisphere of light. They could hear the powerful air-scrubbers panting and gusting in the darkness above.

  They were entering the chamber of the lexicon, directly three floors down from the Encompass Room.

  The lexicon was a book, but it was not fashioned in the shape of any conventional book. Curving pages, printed on inert metal, were fixed to an axial spine, so that the lexicon took the form of a metal sphere, two hand spans in diameter. A stroke of the hand would peel the sphere open on a particular page, like parting the feathers of a bird.

  But no hand had ever touched the lexicon. It hung in a sterile suspensor beam, each additional page fitted into it by the ring assembly of skeletal servo-arms sprouting like a crown below it on the deck. Reading beams, bright violet, maintained an assessment of the pages, scanning for errors or faults, watching for imperfections, even ones as slight as a rogue mote of dust.

  No human had ever read the lexicon either. The primer had been compiled remotely via the servos. A very few secretists and cipherists had viewed individual pages, even studied particular sequences. But no one had regarded the plenary contents. No one had that much sanity or willpower. Yet.

  Trice gazed at the layered metal globe suspended in the column of light. The chamber servitors approached him, shambling beetle-things painted surgical white or scrubbed to base metal, their hulls covered with purity seals.

  "Is everything ready for conveyance?" Trice asked.

  One of the servitors projected a hololithic reply, a moving diagram that showed how the entire west wall of the chamber would hinge away so that the lexicon could be carried, by means of manipulation beams into the hold cavity of a specially refitted bulk lifter.

  Trice nodded, flicking his hands through the hololithic image to advance it. He flicked back to check several details.

  "The lifter pilot?"

  "A surgically lobotomised operator, as you specified," said Revoke. "General flight governance will come remotely from palace control."

  "Who have you put on that?"

  "Galbrade," Revoke said. "The best pilot we have."

  "It's quite beautiful, don't you think?" Trice said, gazing at the lexicon.

  "Yes," said Revoke. "I think it is."

  Trice turned suddenly, hearing voices from above. He stared up at the observation gallery that ran around the chamber, high up. Revoke followed his gaze.

  "What is he doing here?" Trice demanded.

  The Diadochoi was wearing his public face. Culzean was with him, looking down at the lexicon as he listened to the Diadochoi talk. They were too far away for the words to be distinct, but the Diadochoi was evidently explaining the principles in detail.

  Trice took a few angry steps towards the nearest staircase, but Revoke stopped him.

  "Go up there and do what?" he said quietly. Trice's eyes shone with bitterness, but he made no reply.

  Revoke said, "You have enough things to do today without finding time for recriminations and arguments. Let it go."

  "He is so contrary, so wilful. He shows me no respect."

  "Sir, you were the instigator and master of this project from the start, but nevertheless you allowed him to become part of it. You could have refused the partnership with him. I believe you didn't because you are afraid of him."

  Trice nodded slightly, his lips pursed. "He is the most dangerous man I have ever met. Once our paths had crossed, there was no way I could disentangle myself from him. It was better to exploit his talents and tolerate his faults."

  "Then you should continue to do so."

  Trice nodded again, more emphatically now, and the two men started to walk back to the vault hatch.

  "Remember," Revoke said quietly, "you made him. You made him part of this great project, you made him lord governor subsector, you made him Diadochoi and tonight, you will make him a god. The one thing you don't want to make him is your enemy."

  Patience Kys made a revolted sound. "Did you have to bring that thing in here?"

  Nayl nodded. He had caught and killed a s
mall sheen bird on the roof, and now was stripping it apart, using some tools and cutters he'd borrowed from Belknap. Metal feathers and dismantled chrome mechanisms lay on the white cloth Nayl had spread out on one of the smaller tables.

  "I figure we need to know how these things work."

  Close up, dead, it was a miserable thing. Age and weather had worn it down to a silver wire skeleton, with stiletto-blade plumes and a secateur beak. Deposits of thick black filth and grease had built up in its crevices and contours, and it stank of pollution.

  "Carl told me the sheen birds of Petropolis had been commissioned from the Guild Mechanicus by the city founders. Machine birds, you see. They were meant to be part of the architecture, programmed to simulate the flocking activities of real bird life, a mobile decoration to complement the city spires."

  Nayl grunted. "The stuff he knows."

  "After my encounter with them, I don't think of them as decoration anymore." Kys said. "And it all takes on a more sinister quality now we know about Cadizky. I mean, they were probably his idea, along with all the other hidden meanings and esoteric structures he laced into this city."

  "Well, they're hard to kill," Nayl said. "Look here." He took a stainless steel probe and levered open the sheen bird's thorax, exposing the core of the mechanism. "I mean, they'll break if you hit them hard enough, but the power source - it's a solar-charging unit - and the miniature cogitation box are incredibly well protected. Meant to last forever, after all."

  "How did you kill it?" Kys asked.

  "I netted it and then hit it hard enough. The point is, it was one single, small, feral sheen bird, roosting up near the heating flues. It was not part of a flock, under control, or trying to kill me."

  Patience thought about that ruefully.

  It was late morning, the day a clear, muzzy grey. There was an oddly muted sense of expectation in the air, but Kys was pretty sure she was projecting that herself. Carl, the marshal woman Plyton and the inquisitor himself were grouped around Belknap's old, underpowered cogitator at the far end of the lockup, trying to discern some comprehensible pattern from the ancient - and incomplete - designs of the mad architect Theodor Cadizky. Nearby, close to where Nayl and Kys sat, Frauka was reclining on a stack of old mattresses, reading his slates and smoking non-stop. Zael lay on the little cot beside him. There had been no change in the boy's condition.

  Belknap was off running his morning surgery. In the lockup's adjoining room, Kara was sorting through the weapons and equipment Carl and Frauka had managed to salvage from Miserimus before their hasty exit. It wasn't much, though Patience was happy at least that her quiver of spare kineblades had been amongst it. Unwerth was helping Kara. On several occasions, Kys had overheard Ravenor suggest to Unwerth that he should slip away, return to his ship, and extract himself from the danger. Unwerth had refused. In fact, he had "obtusely strenuated the supposition." Kys was glad. When the time came, they would need all the help they could get, and Unwerth had revealed himself to be a man of hidden talents: his loyalty, his endurance and his piloting skill being the three most notable revelations so far. And Kys hoped, that somewhere down the line, Unwerth might claim a degree of payback against the men who had tortured and brutalised him.

  Kys considered taking a walk, just a few blocks, until she was clear of Frauka's blunting, so she could test how well her telekinesis had returned. But, suddenly, there was no time.

  "You'd better all see this," Ravenor said. Nayl called Kara and Unwerth in from the side room and the group gathered in around Belknap's cogitator.

  "We're pretty much certain now." Carl began, "that the old sacristy is of particular importance because it is the point at which the axes cross. It's what Gadizky called 'the true centre', the fulcrum on which his entire design turns. If Petropolis is a temple, then the old sacristy is the high altar."

  "So whatever they're planning to do," said Kara, "they'll do it there?"

  "Yes." Ravenor said. "Now tell them the rest, Carl."

  "Well I started to run some basic searches and data-probes about the old sacristy, and ran into stuff. There's something going on. The grand templum is closed today, no reason given, and the immediate area has been sealed. We've got lots of irregular activity at the Ministry, the governor's palace and the Magistratum. Comm lines are very busy. Security's been heightened at state buildings. Road networks are closed in Formal A, some public data systems have been suspended. Air space above A has been restricted, what else?"

  "It's happening now, today, tomorrow at the latest," Ravenor said, and though his transponded voice was flat and toneless, Kys' spine prickled. "So we don't have time to call for help, and we don't have time to devise a sophisticated plan to combat this. We have to go in right now and do whatever we can."

  "Ah," said Nayl. "The old-fashioned way. Let's load up."

  I watched them prepare, selecting armour and weapons from the limited resources we had left. They were all eager, ready, and although we had no real plan and were outgunned to an almost comical degree, positive action felt so much better than hiding and waiting. Plyton came to speak with me.

  "Request permission to join your people on this, inquisitor," she said.

  "Granted, junior marshal. I hadn't expected you to sit this one out anyway. May I call you Maud?"

  "Of course, inquisitor."

  "Ravenor will do. Get what you need from Nayl, Maud. And may the Emperor protect you."

  I had prepared a report, storing the document in my chair's memory, and now I made some final alterations to bring the facts up to date, and transferred it to a message tile.

  "Kara?"

  "Yes, Gideon?"

  "Take this, if you will, to the nearest clerk of law or legal practice. Belknap will know of one. Arrange for a clerk or lawyer to leave Petropolis at once with this tile, and travel to the nearest conurbation with an astrotelepathic office. He will then have the contents of this pod sent immediately to the ordos on Thracian Primaris. I've attached all the necessary codes. You'll have to pay him well, so access our funds and use your discretion. I don't really care what it costs."

  Kara picked up the little tile. "I'll get right on it," she said.

  I moved across the chamber and stopped beside Sholto Unwerth.

  "Master Unwerth, I know I am just wasting words, but you do not have to involve yourself in this."

  He looked at me and grinned. "I would be preferential to muck in and do some good. Unlike the name my old father straddled me with, I would like to be remembered as a man who had some worth."

  "So be it. Please follow all the instructions my people give you. They are experts in what we are about to do."

  "Which is?" Unwerth cocked his head.

  "Walk headlong into death, destruction and all points in between."

  I left him laughing at that and approached Frauka in the corner of the room.

  "You won't be coming in with us, Wystan."

  "Oh," he said.

  "Why?" he added after a moment.

  "Because I need someone to stay here with Zael. I need someone who can watch over him."

  "Surely the medicae-"

  "I need someone who knows enough about what's at stake to know what to do if he wakes before I return. Or what to do if I don't return."

  He frowned and nodded. "I see. Well, you certainly can't be asking the medicae that."

  "If Zael is what we fear he is, you have the greatest immunity. It might be enough for you to get done anything that needs to be done, before it's too late."

  "Very well."

  "Wystan, as far as I'm concerned, he's still Zael. He's still an innocent teenage boy, and he still deserves our protection. The moment you get a hint he's anything other than that, act. And if I don't come back, you won't have a choice. The risk would be too great."

  "I understand," said Wystan Frauka.

  "I need to find the nearest reliable law office." Kara began as she walked into the surgery. "Maybe even a bail bonder or a notary or... what ar
e you doing?"

  Belknap was sorting medical instruments and dressing packs into his black leather practice bag. "Getting ready," he said.

  "For what?"

  "Nayl told me what was going on. He wanted to borrow some field dressings and wound kits. Well, if you're going into a situation that you know is going to be violent, I think you need a trained combat medicae with you."

  "Oh no-" Kara began.

  "It's not up for debate," Belknap said. "What happens if me being there to patch one of you up and get you back on your feet is the difference between success or failure today? I don't even want to think about how much is at stake."

  Kara sighed. Belknap opened a metal foot locker and took out an object wrapped in an oil cloth. "Besides," he went on, "it's a bonus if that medicae knows how to shoot." An old, well-worn, las-carbine came out of the cloth. It was Guard-issue, and had a folded skeleton stock. Belknap looked it over with practiced skill, then dropped it into his bag.

  "This is all because I kissed you, isn't it?" Kara said.

  "Yeah," smiled Belknap. "Probably is."

  Later in the afternoon, a few spits of rain in the air, Belknap opened the metal shutters of his lockup's loading bay, and the Bergman rumbled out onto the sink street, followed by the cargo-8. Belknap closed and locked the shutters, and then climbed into the cargo-8. A moment later, the two vehicles pulled away and joined the up-stack traffic.

  From the grubby window of the lockup, Frauka watched them leave.

  "Just you and me now," he said.

  Frauka took out his handgun, checked the load, set it on the table beside him and sat down next to Zael's cot.

  SEVEN

  "It's time, sir," said Revoke. "The sixth hour."

  Trice knew that. He had just changed into the long grey robes prepared for the ritual, and in doing so had removed his pocket chron for the last time.

  "How do I look?"

  "Regal," said Revoke. "But we should be leaving now."