‘Educated as well. How surprising.’
Greel ignored the insult. ‘Irontooth sent me.’
‘He always does. There’s a fellow who never learns.’
‘He wants to hire you.’
‘He can’t afford me.’
‘You don’t say no to Irontooth.’
Hex frowned. ‘Now, you’re smarter than that, surely.’
Greel set his stub gun on the table. ‘I’m going to have to insist.’
Hex sat back. ‘Maybe I overestimated you.’
‘If I go back without the answer he wants to hear, Irontooth will try and scrag me.’
‘Ah, but I’ll definitely scrag you, if you press the point.’
Greel nodded. ‘One bullet is the same as another.’
‘Fatalism is the sign of a well-ordered mind.’
Greel blinked. That sounded familiar. ‘Guppo Bosch, The Intricacies of Resignation,’ he said, after a moment. It had been a little book, with a blue cover. The old red-robe had quoted from it often. Quick to read, even with his limited understanding of the subject matter. Hex nodded, seemingly pleased.
‘How delightful – a Goliath who reads. I’m not sure Irontooth would approve, given what I know of him.’ He scratched his chin. ‘Then, I expect he isn’t aware of your hidden skill. There’s an old Terran proverb about lights and bushels that comes to mind.’
Greel frowned, not understanding. Even so, Hex had hit the mark. Gangers had even less use for books than foundry workers. If Korg found out, he might decide to make an example of Greel. Or he might not. Irontooth could be erratic at the best of times. He tapped the cylinder of his stub pistol. ‘Feel free to tell him in person,’ he said.
‘Why does he want to hire me?’
Greel shrugged. ‘He didn’t say.’
‘I suppose it doesn’t matter. I’m turning down his kind offer regardless. I’m discerning in my choice of clients, and Irontooth Korg is not the sort of man I normally kill for.’ Hex fixed Greel with a steady eye. His face seemed to shift in the dim light of the deck, and for a moment, he looked like someone else entirely, save his eyes. The eyes never changed, never wavered. Like two black pits, as deep as Hive Bottom.
Greel blinked and looked away. ‘Make an exception.’
‘I don’t think so. Unless you think you can force me.’
Greel felt a chill that had nothing to do with the cold. Hex reached into his coat. Greel resisted the urge to snatch up his stub pistol – he’d only get one chance, if it came to that. Hex produced a deck of cards. ‘How many times do you think I’ve had this conversation?’ he said. If he noticed Greel’s unease, he gave no sign. He shuffled the deck with one hand, his fingers moving dextrously.
‘More than once,’ Greel said. His unease increased. This wasn’t going the way he envisioned. He began calculating the distance to the edge of the deck, versus that to the door. Counting steps, wondering if he could make it. If he could put some distance between them, he might be able to increase his odds of survival.
‘This is the twentieth time Korg has sent one of his boys to demand my presence. Did he tell you that, before he sent you?’
‘No.’
‘No, of course not.’ Hex continued to shuffle the cards, his eyes never leaving Greel’s face. ‘You might not have been so willing to come then, smart as you are. He keeps sending them, because I keep giving him the wrong answer. How old are you, boy?’
The question caught Greel by surprise. Hex didn’t give him the chance to answer. ‘It’s hard to tell, with Goliaths. The stimms and chems in your system make you look older than you really are. You’re old enough to have heard the stories about me though. I’m curious – which is your favourite?’
Greel’s mouth was dry. For some reason, he couldn’t look away from the cards. His calculations deserted him, and he struggled to come up with an answer. ‘Sliding Jak,’ he said, finally. It had been the first thing to come to mind.
‘Ah. That is a good one. Before your time, I think. I admit, I laid a few red roads through Hive Primus that time. Gideon Drexlar was sitting right where you are now, when I put a bolt-round between his eyes.’ Hex smiled, and in the weak light it seemed as if his face were no more than a mask, hiding something awful.
Greel felt a harsh taste at the back of his mouth, and wondered if it were fear, or just the stimms. He cut his eyes to his stub pistol, and knew, even as he did it, that Hex saw. The cards ceased their movement. Hex set the deck down. The sound had a finality to it that Greel didn’t like. He licked his lips. ‘Are we playing a game?’ he asked.
‘The only game that matters.’ Hex set a finger on the deck, and swiftly laid out a row of cards, face down on the table. ‘Twenty times, I’ve had this conversation with someone like you. I’m bored of it now. At first, I just ignored Korg’s messengers. I started beating them after the fifth one pressed the point. Then, I started shooting them. This time, I’d like to change it up a bit.’ He began to slide the selected cards around, shifting their positions. ‘Let’s make things interesting.’
Greel watched the cards. It was a mistake. He should have been watching Hex. He glanced up, and Hex smiled. Greel grimaced, silently berating himself. Hex was toying with him. The thought made him angry, the way he’d been angry at the sump-fisher, Jaqo. His fingers curled into fists. He wanted nothing more than to flip the table, and lunge at the man they called Widowmaker. To smash that hateful smile from his face, the way he’d smashed Jaqo, until his skull had gone soft and folded in on itself.
‘What do you mean?’ he asked finally, choking back the anger. He needed to keep his head, and anger would only get him scragged.
‘I’m going to give you a chance that I didn’t give the others. Pick the right card and I’ll go with you. I’ll explain to Korg face to face that my guns aren’t for hire.’
‘You’ll kill him?’ Greel said it more quickly than he’d intended.
Hex paused. ‘Do you want me to?’
Greel ignored the question. ‘What if I pick the wrong one?’
Hex studied him for a moment, and then shrugged. ‘I don’t go with you.’
Greel sat back, knowing that it wouldn’t be that simple. ‘Fine.’
Hex tapped the cards. ‘In your own time then.’
Greel leaned forward, but paused. ‘Which card is the right card?’
‘Any card but the wrong one.’
‘And which card is the wrong one?’
Hex gave a feral grin. ‘You’ll know it when you see it.’
Greel’s eyes were drawn to the bottle of Wild Snake. He didn’t know why. In the back of his head, variables were turning over. Eyes still on the bottle, he reached out and selected a card. He slid it towards himself, and flipped it over.
A death’s head grinned up at him. As his fingers touched it, it began to cackle and wink cheerfully, as if in response to some secret jest. He looked at Hex, who shook his head sadly. ‘I told you you’d know it when you saw it.’
Greel went for his gun. Even as he did so, he knew he was too slow, compared to the man across the table. Hex moved so swiftly that he barely perceived it. One moment, Hex was leaning back, the next he had a bolt pistol in his hand, and aimed at a point between Greel’s eyes. ‘Your choices have narrowed to two, Greel. You can try for your gun, and hope you’re fast enough. Or you can run back to Irontooth. You have until I finish my drink to decide.’ Hex lifted his glass and took a slug of Wild Snake, almost emptying the glass. His bolt pistol didn’t waver.
Two choices. Tighten or loosen. Pick the wrong one, and into the Spew you went. Time slowed, stretched and faltered. Greel looked around, calculating the variables. Again, his eyes were drawn to the bottle of Wild Snake. Goliaths valued strength and grit. You had to be tough to work the furnaces and the valves. You had to be quick. You had to know when to back off… and when to ta
ke a chance.
Decision made, Greel leaned forward, and pressed his head against the barrel. ‘I can’t beat you to the draw. And I can’t go back without you.’ He closed his eyes, and dredged up another line from the little book with the blue cover. ‘It is not a matter of if, but merely a choice of when.’
He waited, eyes shut, until he heard Hex chuckle.
‘Brave, and smart. Too smart. When did you guess?’
Greel opened his eyes. Hex had put his pistol away and was sitting back, watching him. Greel snatched up his glass and drained it in a single gulp. ‘It wasn’t hard,’ he said, wiping his lips. His hands shook slightly. The stimms, he thought. ‘Why else would you be waiting with two glasses?’
Hex smiled. ‘Very few people think to ask that question.’
‘You work for Irontooth already.’
‘In a sense. I’m more of what you might call a consultant. He pays me a small stipend to ascertain the worthiness of potential candidates for his… organisation. A clever man, is Irontooth, despite the name. He wants only the bravest of brutes – those who’ll try to shoot me, even knowing it’ll mean their death. Cowards need not apply. Those who run get a bolt-round in the back and dumped in the lake.’
‘And what am I?’
‘You… are smart. And that’s even worse, by Irontooth’s standards.’
Greel tensed.
Hex continued. ‘A smart lad like you, you’re a danger to his position. Smart lads get airs above their station. Smart lads start thinking they should be in charge. I see it often, down here. Ambition kills a man deader than a bullet.’ Hex studied Greel for a moment. ‘Do you still want to be a Steelgate King? A petty feudal lord, striding across a tiny kingdom, no bigger than a speck of corpse starch.’
Greel paused. Then, after a moment, he said, ‘We all have to start somewhere.’
Hex laughed. It was not a pleasant sound. ‘That we do. And where better than here, over a bottle of Wild Snake and some pleasant conversation?’ His chair scraped back and he stood. ‘I like you. Take this. Show it to Korg, he’ll know you passed your initiation.’ Hex slid a card towards him. Greel covered it with his hand, but didn’t take his eyes from Hex, as the Widowmaker circled the table.
‘You’ve impressed me, Greel. Not many do. And I think you’ve got a bright future ahead of you.’ Hex’s fist dropped lightly on his shoulder – a gesture of approbation. ‘If Korg doesn’t kill you first.’ He leaned down, his voice dropping to a harsh whisper. ‘You owe me, boy. One day, I’ll come to collect.’
Greel looked up. Hex’s face had changed somehow. Not a man’s face now, but something else, halfway between beast and skull, and Greel hurriedly looked away. When he turned back, Hex was gone.
Hands still shaking, Greel took up the half empty bottle of Wild Snake and swigged from it. As he drank, he turned over the card Hex had tossed him. Another mnemonic death’s head, but this one wasn’t laughing. Not yet.
Greel drained the bottle and stood, death’s head card in hand, and a head full of variables. It was said that you could find whatever you were looking for in Down Town.
If you were willing to pay the price.
About the Author
Josh Reynolds is the author of the Horus Heresy Primarchs novel Fulgrim: The Palatine Phoenix, the Warhammer 40,000 novels Lukas the Trickster, Fabius Bile: Primogenitor, Fabius Bile: Clonelord and Deathstorm, and the novellas Hunter’s Snare and Dante’s Canyon, along with the audio dramas Blackshields: The False War and Master of the Hunt. For Warhammer Age of Sigmar he has written the novels Eight Lamentations: Spear of Shadows, Hallowed Knights: Plague Garden, Nagash: The Undying King, Fury of Gork, Black Rift and Skaven Pestilens. He has also written many stories set in the Warhammer Old World, including the End Times novels The Return of Nagash and The Lord of the End Times, the Gotrek & Felix tales Charnel Congress, Road of Skulls and The Serpent Queen. He lives and works in Sheffield.
In the underhives of Necromunda, many bounty hunters ply their trade – but none are as successful or infamous as Kal Jerico. This edition collects together three novels in one action-packed omnibus taking you into the darkest depths of the Underhive.
A Black Library Publication
First published in Great Britain in 2018 by Black Library, Games Workshop Ltd,
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ISBN: 978-1-78572-925-6
This is a work of fiction. All the characters and events portrayed in this book are fictional, and any resemblance to real people or incidents is purely coincidental.
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