Ravenor Rogue

by Dan Abnett

  ‘That’s a curious question to ask,’ Ravenor replied.

  They had gone up onto observation bay high in Berynth Hive to pass the time while they waited for Ballack and Kys. With the dome shutters up, there was a considerable view of the icebound landscape and the belting, eternal storm.

  There was no one else around apart from a courting couple, low habbers, at the far end of the rail. The place was like a temple to the elements.

  Thonius sat down on a metal bench beside Ravenor’s chair.

  ‘Have you, though?’ Carl asked.

  ‘Have you what?’ Maud Plyton asked as she joined them, carrying two metal cups of hot secum she’d bought at a stall in the hallway outside the bay. She handed one to Carl and then sat down on the other end of the bench.

  ‘Thanks,’ Carl said.

  ‘I’m intrigued,’ said Maud, sipping her drink.

  ‘Carl just asked me if I’d ever wondered just how much I could get away with before someone noticed,’ Ravenor said.

  ‘That’s a curious question to ask,’ Plyton said.

  ‘That was my response,’ Ravenor agreed.

  ‘No, look,’ said Carl. ‘We’ve gone rogue. I understand why we had to, and I support the decision. That’s well and good. I just wondered how much you would risk? I mean, how much you would do in plain sight of others before you thought they would notice?’

  ‘Myzard’s people will be looking for any hint of our activity. So, very little is my answer.’

  ‘It fascinates me,’ Carl said, getting up. ‘Subterfuge fascinates me. What a person can get away with, I mean.’

  ‘You’d be surprised what a person can get away with,’ Maud Plyton said, ‘in my professional experience.’ Ravenor’s voxponder made a sound that indicated he was chuckling.

  ‘Oh, I think I wouldn’t,’ said Carl. He put his cup down. ‘Our work, sir, it’s all about secrets, isn’t it? Keeping secrets, opening secrets up. Molotch, forgive me for mentioning his name, is so damn dangerous because of his ability to keep secrets.’

  ‘Does a point come with that, Thonius?’ asked Plyton.

  ‘I think so, Maud,’ Carl replied. He looked out at the storm. ‘It’s not just keeping a secret, is it? It’s about how you use it. What latitude you have.’

  ‘“Latitude”?’ asked Ravenor.

  ‘Yes, sir. What you say and what you don’t say. It’s not just about keeping the secret locked in. It’s about having the strength and confidence to reveal your secret when you know it won’t matter.’

  ‘That’s an interesting notion,’ Ravenor said. ‘Develop it, Carl.’

  Carl laughed. ‘We’re in class now, are we?’

  ‘We’re in class till I say we’re not, Carl Thonius,’ Ravenor replied.

  ‘Fair point,’ said Carl, although his face darkened. ‘For a start, they say that liars have the best memories.’

  ‘Old school lore,’ said Plyton. ‘First day on the job at interrogation, I learned that. Fakers need good memories to remember what they’ve faked. You need a first-class memory to hold a false story together under inspection.’

  ‘Sound Magistratum advice,’ Ravenor remarked.

  ‘Yes, yes,’ said Carl, ‘but a liar... a real liar... needs to vent himself sometimes. Just to stay sane. He needs to confide, or act openly when he’s sure no one will notice. He needs to be able to get away with telling the truth once in a while. Just to test the integrity of his deception.’

  ‘You think Molotch might be so driven?’ asked Ravenor.

  ‘He might. It’s worth considering.’

  ‘So noted,’ Ravenor said. ‘That’s good, clean thinking, Carl.’

  Carl smiled. ‘Thank you, sir. I mean to say, what if a person did this, right in front of you?’

  He waved his right hand. Plyton set her cup down and drew her sidearm out of her jacket. She cocked it and set the muzzle against the side of her head.

  ‘I think you’re fretting, Carl,’ Ravenor said. ‘The tension’s getting to you.’

  ‘Or this?’ Carl said, grinning, He waved his hand again. His hand was beginning to glow with a dull, red light.

  At the far end of the platform, the courting couple was kissing. The man suddenly jerked away from his girl and floated backwards in the air towards the dome windows. She yelped, disbelieving, and stared at him. He was trying to cry out. His arms were flailing. He floated backwards, and hit the glass gently, like a balloon.

  Then he went through the glass, like a hand through water.

  Outside, hanging there, he screamed. No one could hear him, although his lover squealed at the sight. The sleet storm shredded his clothes and slammed him against the glass.

  The constant barrage of the ice particles, like blades, shredded the meat off him in about thirty seconds. His skeleton, with gory strands of flesh and clothing still attached, with wounded organs still throbbing inside his ribcage, slowly slid down the glass leaving a red smear, and dropped away onto the blackness.

  ‘I mean,’ said Carl. ‘What about that?’

  ‘The storm is quite magnificent, don’t you think?’ Ravenor said. ‘The primal quality of it.’

  ‘You didn’t see, did you?’ Carl murmured. ‘I did that, and you didn’t see. Well, that’s something.’

  He looked at Maud Plyton. ‘Not today,’ he said.

  She made her weapon safe and put it away. Then she picked up her cup and sipped again.

  Carl lowered his hand. It had stopped glowing.

  ‘That’s good. Very good.’

  Plyton looked up. ‘Sir? Why is that woman down there screaming?’ she asked.

  Lucic walked into the hall, past the sensors and the waiting servitors. He tracked muddy footprints across the worn bronze flooring.

  ‘Get out. We’re closed,’ said Stine from behind the desk.

  ‘I’ve got an introduction to make,’ Lucic said. He sat down on one of the leather couches.

  ‘Really?’ Stine sneered across the desk.

  ‘Yes, really. You’d better stay sharp.’

  ‘Is it remunerative? Or is it like the last few losers you’ve brought in, Lucic? Stine and Stine is getting tired of your time wasting.’

  ‘Neither. The Inquisition is onto us. Get ready.’

  Stine looked up sharply, suddenly interested. ‘The Inquisition? How do you know?’

  ‘I was paid to know,’ said Hiram Lucic.

  Six

  Stine waited by his wooden desk in the hall’s main chamber of display. He was nervous, his palms sweating. He began to pace.

  He stopped suddenly at the chime of a vox-link in the shadows nearby. There was a brief crackle of muted transmission, and then a voice said, ‘Understood.’

  The red-haired man who had been standing in the shadows stepped into one of the pools of emerald light containing the chamber’s showcases. He was slipping a link back into his pocket.

  ‘That was Lucic,’ the man said. ‘They’re on their way. Five minutes.’

  ‘I don’t like this at all,’ said Stine.

  ‘You’ll like the alternative even less,’ said the red-haired man. Stine didn’t know the man’s name. He’d only met him an hour ago. ‘Are you ready?’

  ‘This isn’t the way it’s done,’ said Stine. ‘The relationship between the halls and the House is very delicate. We don’t abuse it. There’s too much at stake. Our livelihoods–’

  ‘Stine–’

  ‘Listen to me! If these people are agents of the Inquisition, then they cannot be allowed access to the House. We are very strict about this.’

  ‘What? You jewellers gonna club together and take out an Inquisition team? I don’t think so.’

  ‘It’s been done before,’ Stine said haughtily. ‘I think you underestimate how zealously we protect our interests or how capable the halls of Berynth are. Usually it doesn’t come to that. We detect Inquisitorial approaches and frustrate them with false leads or dead ends. Since the foundation of the hive, no ordo agent has got past
us, or close to the House.’

  The red-haired man shrugged. ‘It’ll have to work differently this time. This is an exceptional case, and the halls of Berynth are most definitely out of their depth this time. Now get ready. You have to play your part. We’re paying you well enough. It’s essential that these people believe they are gaining access to the House through the proper channels. If they suspect for a moment that there’s been any funny business, well... then you’ll have a problem.’

  ‘With them?’

  ‘With them, and with us, Stine.’

  Stine opened a desk drawer, took out a clean polishing cloth, and wiped his damp hands. He tossed the cloth into the back of the drawer and closed it again. He looked up at the red-haired man.

  ‘No,’ he said.

  ‘I beg your pardon?’

  ‘No,’ the factor repeated. ‘I’m not doing this. Call it off.’

  ‘It’s way too late for that, Stine.’

  ‘I don’t care. I won’t be party to this. The halls have far too much to lose to play this kind of game. You will not manipulate me.’

  The red-haired man glanced towards the chamber entrance. Two minutes left, maximum. ‘Dammit,’ he said. He turned to face the factor and reached into his coat. ‘I didn’t want to have to do this, Stine, but you’ve backed me into a corner. ‘

  Stine’s eyes widened. He took a step backwards, banging his hip against the desk. The man’s hand was coming back out of his coat.

  Stine was expecting to see a weapon in it, a gun.

  The red-haired man was holding something far worse.

  It was an Inquisitorial rosette.

  Lucic led Kys and Ballack along the Promenade St Jakob. Lucic had dressed smartly for the occasion in a dark suit and a brown leather coat, both a little old, but respectable. He’d lacquered his hair. Ballack and Kys wore rather finer clothes, the image of understated wealth. Ballack carried a small grey case.

  Lucic stopped a few hundred metres from the hall’s main entrance, and drew them over to the promenade railing. A steady flow of well-to-do and stately clients moved past them in both directions.

  ‘Now,’ said Lucic, ‘follow my lead and do as I indicate. One wrong move, and you can forget everything. The hall will not tolerate games.’

  ‘We understand,’ said Kys.

  ‘I hope you do, Mamzel Kine,’ said Lucic. He nodded at the case Ballack was carrying. ‘Currency bonds?’ he asked.

  ‘Notarised wafers,’ Ballack replied. ‘I trust that will be acceptable.’

  +It damn well better had.+

  Kys smiled to herself at the touch of Ravenor’s mind in her head. It was reassuring to know he was with them, and she knew he was right. Now they were operating rogue, Ravenor’s access to funds was limited. Any access to fiscal holdings or trusts would flag them to the ordos. They were living off Ravenor’s fast eroding personal resources, the ‘small change’ he carried with him as an operating budget, and the three hundred and twenty thousand in Ballack’s case made a big dent in that reserve.

  ‘Wafers? That’s fine,’ said Lucic.

  +You getting anything on him?+ Kys sent.

  +He’s wearing a blocker, so, no. I presume that’s standard for a man in his position, although it concerns me. It’s as if he was expecting a psyker. But we have to go through with it.+

  +Good. Right. Of course.+

  +Before you ask, I’m getting nothing off the hall either. I cast ahead. The whole place is psy-opaque. Fielding, I think. I’m not surprised by that, though. Standard security practice for a high-class jewellers to be psy-blunted.+

  +But you won’t be with us once we’re inside?+

  +No, Patience, I won’t. That’s regrettable. Remember though, the Emperor protects.+

  ‘Well, if we’re ready and we’re all clear?’ Lucic said.

  ‘As crystal,’ said Ballack.

  ‘Let’s do it,’ Lucic said.

  ‘You understand now?’ the red-haired man asked.

  Stine swallowed, and sat down hard. ‘The Inquisition…?’

  ‘Has enjoyed regular access to the House for decades, Stine, despite what the halls of Berynth believe. We just don’t advertise the fact. The House can be very useful to us. So, forget about keeping the ordos out. We’ve been inside for years. Concentrate your mind on this particular deal.’

  The man stepped closer. ‘Stine?’

  Stine started and looked up. He was still reeling from the revelation. ‘Yes,’ he murmured. ‘Yes.’

  ‘The people you’re about to deal with are the principal agents of a rogue inquisitor. Do you understand? A rogue. A criminal. A mass murderer. He is very dangerous. They are very dangerous. Their actions have led to the slaughter of thousands.’

  ‘Th-thousands?’ Stine echoed.

  ‘The disaster on Eustis Majoris eight months ago. That was their doing.’

  Stine shuddered. His hall, Berynth, Cyto, the whole Helican subsector was still reeling from the great trauma that had afflicted the capital world of the neighbouring subsector. The economy was in spasm.

  ‘We’re close,’ said the red-haired man quietly, ‘but we need to get closer. We need them where we want them, so we can finish them. They’re too dangerous to live. Do you understand?’

  ‘I understand.’

  ‘Good. I’m counting on you. Help us with this, and it will go well for Stine and Stine. I might even forget your recent suggestion that your hall and others may have eliminated ordo agents in the past to protect your own interests.’

  ‘Throne, I didn’t mean–’

  ‘Shush, Stine. Clean slate. That’s what I’m authorised to offer you in exchange for helping us today. Do your part, give them what they want, and then forget anybody was ever here. Then the Inquisition of Mankind might forget about you too.’

  ‘Very well,’ said Stine, rising to his feet. ‘Very well. I’ll do it.’

  ‘Do what?’ the red-haired man asked. ‘Tell me again, clearly.’

  ‘I will make them believe they are in and that they are gaining access to the House through the proper channels. You can trust me.’

  ‘Trust you, Stine?’ the red-haired man laughed. ‘You deal in millions of crowns worth of precious metal and gems. The accumulation of wealth is all that concerns you. Men like you are cut throat and mendacious, hard as corundum. I don’t trust you at all, but I’m prepared to count on you this time. Do this, and do it well.’

  Stine nodded. ‘You can’t be here.’

  ‘I’ll be in the next room. Through there,’ the red-haired man said. ‘If anything untoward occurs, I’ll be ready.’

  ‘Untoward?’

  ‘Nothing will happen if you do your job right. We don’t want it to happen here. I’m just saying.’

  A burnished servitor approached.

  ‘They’re here,’ said the red-haired man. ‘Get on with it.’

  Stine cleared his throat and walked slowly towards the door.

  ‘Where’s the factor?’ Kys asked. They were standing in Stine and Stine’s wood-panelled reception chamber.

  Lucic looked around awkwardly. ‘I’m sure he’ll be along,’ he began.

  ‘We had an appointment,’ said Ballack.

  ‘The factor should be here to greet us,’ said Kys.

  Lucic was clearly uncomfortable. Kys noticed he was showing too much of the whites of his eyes.

  ‘Lucic?’

  The prospector shrugged an open-handed gesture. ‘I’m sure there’s no problem.’

  Ballack looked at Kys. She nodded.

  ‘We’re leaving,’ she said.

  ‘No!’ Lucic cried. ‘No, no, just give him a moment, please.’

  ‘This stinks,’ said Kys. ‘Thanks but no thanks.’

  ‘Throne’s sake,’ Lucic hissed, ‘this is my reputation on the line. My career. Agenting is where the real money is. I can’t get by on prospecting alone, and if I blow this, Stine and Stine won’t ever touch me again, and they’ll spread the word to the other halls.
I’ve put a lot into this.’

  ‘So have we,’ said Ballack.

  ‘Please...’ Lucic sighed.

  ‘My utmost apologies!’ Stine cried, hurrying into the chamber towards them. ‘I am so sorry to have kept you waiting, even for a moment. A servitor was meant to summon me, and he was waylaid. A thousand pardons!’

  Lucic looked sidelong at his clients. ‘We’re all right,’ he whispered.

  ‘Are we?’ Kys mouthed at Ballack. Ballack nodded.

  Lucic turned to the beaming factor. ‘Dear Factor Stine,’ he said with a forced grin, ‘not quite the seamless greeting I had led my friends here to expect.’

  Stine bowed. ‘Oh, of course not, my dear old good friend Hiram. I will have the entire servitor complex rebooted. The lapse in decorum is unforgivable. I hope I can make amends? Refreshments, perhaps?’

  ‘Always welcome,’ said Lucic, regaining his composure. ‘May I present Master Gaul and Mamzel Kine?’

  The factor came forward, and bowed to each of them in turn. ‘A genuine pleasure. My dear old good friend Hiram has always brought the most distinguished emptors to Stine and Stine.’

  He looked directly at Kys. ‘My lady,’ he said, ‘I fear I was most awfully impolite to you on the occasion of our last meeting. I hope you will forgive my rudeness. We have to be so careful these days, and I quite misjudged you.’

  Kys bowed back. ‘Factor, I apologised then, and I apologise now. I should never have come to you so bluntly, without proper introduction.’

  ‘Least said, soonest mended,’ Stine replied with a cheery gesture. ‘Let’s begin again fresh. Now... a little amasec, perhaps. We have a last few casks of the Fibula ’56, which I would keep to myself, truth be told, but I positively can’t offer you anything less magnificent. And some birri truffles wrapped in nap leaves, and some local shellfish, I think. The scallops are prepared fresh by the hall’s chefs, hoisted from the sub-ice ocean farms just three hours ago.’

  ‘The scallops or the chefs?’ asked Kys.

  Stine brayed out a laugh. ‘The scallops, naturally! My lady has a fine sense of humour!’

  He clapped his hands and directed orders to the waiting servitors.

  ‘Shall we go in?’ he ventured. ‘I have objects to show you.’