[Gaunt's Ghosts 06] - Straight Silver
Page 33
Gaunt got in the back. “Sir?”
“Take us back to Rhonforq, Beltayn,” Gaunt said.
The motor car roared off from the long steps and turned into Gibsgatte’s cross-town traffic, heading south.
In the back of the car, Gaunt stripped the brown paper off the parcel. Inside was an old edition of a book. He checked the spine: DeMarchese, “On The Use of Armies”.
Gaunt smiled, despite the deep misgivings aching through his heart.
There was a handwritten note from Biota tucked inside the cover.
“Colonel-commissar,” it began, “I hope you find this instructive. I salvaged it from the lord general’s library and I’m sure he won’t miss it. As to the question you asked me…”
At Gaunt’s urging, they drove through the woodlands around Shonsamarl on their way back to Rhonforq. The sunlight played through the trees, dappling the car as it switched back and forth down the narrow, meandering lanes.
Beltayn pulled the car to a halt.
“We’re lost, aren’t we?” Gaunt said.
“No, sir,” said Beltayn. “I’m Tanith. I don’t get lost.”
“You got lost on the way through here.”
Beltayn shrugged. “All I know is, sir, this is the place. Don’t ask me why it’s not here anymore.”
Gaunt got out of the car The woodland looked familiar, very familiar. He was sure Beltayn was right.
There just wasn’t a chapel there anymore. There was no trace of the Chapel of the Holy Light Abundant, Veniq. Nothing, except the lingering perfume of a particular flower.
Beltayn stepped over to join him. “Where did it go, sir?” he asked.
Gaunt handed Beltayn Biota’s note so he could read it.
“As to the question you asked me, I have researched the Imperial records and found a mention of an Adeptus Sororitas warrior named Elinor Zaker. She was a key member of Saint Sabbat’s retinue during the original crusade, and died on Herodor six thousand years ago.”
Beltayn shivered. “Something’s awry, sir,” he said.
“I think so,” said Ibram Gaunt.
All along the 58th sector of the Peinforq Line, the word was spreading. The Ghosts were being pulled out. Enervated, Daur went down the line, distributing marshalling orders to the platoons. They were to pull back the following night to the cathedral city of Ghrennes and await Navy collection.
The orders didn’t say where they were heading, but all the troops were excited. It sounded significant. And most of them were just desperate to get out of the trench horror of Aexe.
Daur was torn. He wanted to see the First out of the murderous front line, but he was going to miss the XO role. Ana Curth had told him that Rawne was almost fit. In a day or two, the major would return to duty.
Daur conveyed the orders dutifully, getting the regiment to prep for off-lift.
He got Haller’s platoon roused up, then Obel’s.
Then he walked down the zagging trench to Soric’s command post.
Daur looked in through the gas curtain. “Chief? Get your men ready,” he said. “We’re shipping out tomorrow night.”
Soric was seated at the table in his gloomy dugout. He held a twist of blue paper in his fingers.
“Right you are, captain,” he said. “I know.”
Daur shrugged and left.
Soric looked down at the paper in his hands. “Ghosts leaving. Tomorrow night,” it read.
Soric balled it up and threw it aside.
Vivvo suddenly peered in through the curtain. “Word is we’re moving on, chief. Any idea where to?”
“No,” snapped Soric.
“Okay,” said Vivvo warily, backing out and leaving him alone.
Soric sat back. The gleaming brass message shell sat on the camp table in front of him. He waited, hoping, wishing. Then he reached forward and grabbed the shell.
Agun Soric unscrewed the cap and shook out the spill of blue paper.
He unfolded it and read what was written there, written in his own hand. One word. “Herodor.”
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