“What’s that supposed to mean?” Elyra asked, checking the movement.
The man looked her in the eyes, his sincerity as palpable as if he’d just sworn on the aquila. “My associates would be prepared to offer you refuge too,” he said. “You’d be protected, your gifts made full use of, and you’d never have to fear the Black Ships again.”
“Yeah, right.” Elyra laughed in his face. “Like I’m about to trust someone I’ve only just met. For all I know you’re an Inquisition skag paid to deliver suckers like me to the interrogators. I’ll take my chances, thanks. I’ve done all right so far.”
“Then why are you running?” the man asked reasonably. “You must be desperate to get away, or you wouldn’t be here. My guess is, you’re not doing as well as you’d like to think.”
“I’ve got somebody after me,” Elyra said, “but it’s nothing to do with my gift. I slept with her husband and stole her shinies, and she’s got a bounty killer on my arse. Satisfied?”
The well-dressed man broke into peals of laughter, which sounded perfectly genuine to Elyra. They echoed from the broken walls around them, eliciting startled glances from the surrounding refugees, who averted their eyes again almost at once. The unforced merriment sounded entirely out of place in this despairing oubliette, making the milling serfs restive and nervous. “Oh my,” he said at last. “And that’s your idea of keeping your head down, is it?”
“I never said it was easy,” Elyra said, allowing a reciprocal smile to soften the truculent expression she’d adopted. Her strategy had worked, after all. The mysterious psyker had swallowed her story, all the more readily for her apparent reluctance to trust him, and the next stage was to build on the rapport she’d established. “A girl’s got to have some fun, after all.”
“I suppose so,” the man said. He’d check up on who she was supposed to be, that much was certain, but she’d been careful to lead him in the direction of her cover story, so whatever he discovered would probably check out. If it didn’t… Well, she’d just have to worry about that when the time came. “Think about my offer. If you decide to trust us, we’d be pleased to help you. If not, go your own way when you reach Scintilla, and may the Powers protect you.”
“I’ll think about it,” she said grudgingly.
“Good.” He turned back to his trio of protégés, and conversed with them for a short while in an undertone. Then, leaving them to settle as best they could on the hard stone floor, he turned, and disappeared back down the passage from which he’d emerged.
“Holy Throne,” Kyrlock murmured as the man disappeared. “Some piece of work.” He made the sign of the aquila, and spat, glaring at the trio of disconsolate teenagers. “Pus-rotted wyrds.” Then he cleared his throat, and glanced sidelong at Elyra. “Sorry. No offence.”
“None taken,” Elyra reassured him, swallowing the old bile, which still tasted as bitter as ever. “I’ve been called a lot worse.”
“That was really clever,” Kyrlock ventured a moment later, and Elyra smiled, appreciating the clumsy attempt to make amends, “getting him to trust you like that.”
“I just turned his suspicions against him,” Elyra said. “The more hostile and distrusting I seemed, the more he ended up trying to win me over. Now he thinks it was his idea to pass me on to the next link in the chain.”
“I get it.” Kyrlock nodded. “Like the thing you did with that piece of pipe, taking it off the guy who was trying to hit you with it.”
“Pretty much,” Elyra said, surprised that he was capable of such insight. “It’s all a matter of using their strength to your own advantage.”
“Then let’s hope we’re facing a lot of strength,” Kyrlock said soberly, “cause I think we’re going to need all the advantage we can get.”
SIXTEEN
The Gorgonid Mine, Sepheris Secundus
102.993.M41
The sun was setting behind the western peaks, throwing them into silhouette in a manner that reminded Drake uncomfortably of fangs in a closing jaw, as he began his descent into the Gorgonid. It was a trip he’d only made a handful of times before, despite having spent most of his life in the glittering glass city suspended above it, and he stepped onto the platform of the elevator with a tingle of exhilaration. This was the first time he’d been entrusted with an assignment entirely on his own since joining the Angelae, and he was determined to vindicate Horst’s apparent confidence in him.
Keeping his expression impassive, he’d walked past the red-uniformed Scourges manning the security point with barely a glance in their direction, a wide-brimmed hat pulled down low to shade his eyes. This had been a small, but calculated risk. The chances of one of his former comrades being on duty at the cable head, part of the perpetually bored detail assigned there in case a serf rebellion should unexpectedly erupt in the mine below and attempt to send a suicidal raiding party up the wire to annoy their betters, was minimal, but still a remote possibility. None of the faces seemed familiar, though, and he strode briskly past them, conscious of the part he was supposed to be playing, exuding an arrogant self-confidence that plainly warned anyone in the vicinity that he wasn’t to be trifled with.
The apprentice from the Guild of Elevation and Descent manning the creaking metal gates had scanned the papers Vex had spent most of the afternoon preparing, identifying him as a servant of the non-existent Marquise de Granbie on personal business for his patroness. Without meeting his eyes, he waved him through with a deferential tilt of the head appropriate to a functionary of the highest status, clearly wary of provoking him. If the lad found those credentials intimidating, Drake thought, he could barely imagine his reaction if he’d produced the Inquisitorial rosette that Horst had entrusted him with shortly before he’d left the villa. Where it had come from, he had no idea. Perhaps Inquisitor Finurbi had left badges of office in the team leader’s charge, to be given to the new recruits whenever he felt they’d proven themselves. Either that, or it had belonged to a former member of the group who’d fallen in the service of the Emperor.
Dismissing the irrational impulse to take it out and examine it for bloodstains, he leaned against the grille enclosing the platform, looking down towards the vast pit in the ground, attempting to orientate himself. The spoil heaps of the Tumble were clearly visible in the distance, and he narrowed his eyes, trying to locate the shaft where Vos and Elyra were hidden. There was no obvious sign of it, though, just as he’d expected, and he shrugged indifferently. He’d find them, he had no doubt of that. Vex had given him a portable auspex unit, no larger than a data-slate, which was communing in some fashion with Elyra’s vox. All he had to do was perform the rituals the tech-priest had shown him, and the little machine-spirit would guide his footsteps unerringly to their hiding place.
The platform shuddered as the Guild journeyman in charge of the motivators threw another shovelful of coal into the furnace, kicked the steampipes, recited the prayer of descent, and pulled the lever in front of him. With a grinding shriek of abused metal the whole structure jerked into motion, and began to slide stiffly down the guide tracks, the steel hawsers at each corner of the platform humming gently as the great drums in the winding house above it began to pay out.
There were few other passengers at this time of the evening, as Drake had expected, increasing his chances of being spotted by the people he wanted to notice him. By law, the barons had to reside in the mine holdings they owned, although most maintained apartments in the city above as well. Later, the elevators would be relatively full of the highborn and their retinues fleeing the squalor of the Gorgon id for the more pleasant environment above them, or returning to their groundside homes for as short a time as possible to maintain their property rights before decamping for Icenholm again.
Now, however, the platform was almost empty, apart from a couple of sullen looking noblemen discussing the laziness and cupidity of the average serf in loud and braying voices, and a lady whose exquisitely cut gown and preternatural beauty marked her out
as a high-class courtesan paying a house call. Clearly noticing Drake’s scrutiny she yawned delicately, and fluttered flirtatious eyelashes in his direction, but mindful of the part he was supposed to be playing he simply scowled and turned away. Amused, the woman made a vulgar hand gesture implying that he preferred the company of his own gender, which Drake also ignored.
After about twenty minutes of uncomfortable tedium the platform clanked and wheezed to a stop, and the apprentice scurried forward to open the gates. Waiting until the braying fops had disembarked, and the lady of negotiable virtue had undulated her way to a waiting litter, Drake stepped out of the elevator and onto the cracked stone surface of the Gorgonid.
“I’m down,” he voxed briefly, tapping the comm-bead in his ear just enough to draw attention to it if anyone was watching.
“Acknowledged,” Vex replied at once. “Listening out.” The faint hiss of static in his ear died away again, and Drake looked around, orientating himself. A couple of loitering mine workers glanced away with elaborate casualness, and he nodded quietly with satisfaction. So far so good; his arrival had been noticed, and word of the expected bounty hunter’s arrival would soon be spreading through the underworld of the Gorgonid, consolidating Vos and Elyra’s cover. Spotting the artificial hills of the Tumble in the distance he set out towards them, the weight of the Scalptaker in its shoulder rig a quietly reassuring presence beneath his coat.
Icenholm, Sepheris Secundus
102.993.M41
“My dear, you look even more ravishing than you did last night,” Adrin said, welcoming Keira into the opulent foyer of the Conclave lodge. From Horst’s position across the street, the viscount looked genuinely pleased to see the girl as he ushered her inside. His voice, attenuated by the tiny speaker in Horst’s ear, came through clearly enough, along with a persistent and vaguely irritating thudding sound, which he’d eventually identified as Keira’s heartbeat.
Sending the young assassin in with a hidden transmitter had been a risk, but one Horst had decided was acceptable under the circumstances. If the Conclave did turn out to be a nest of heretics, even her redoubtable combat abilities might not be enough to get Keira out in one piece, and he wanted to be aware of the first sign of trouble.
Part of him wondered about this. He’d ordered her into far greater danger before, without a qualm, but this time he felt an unusual degree of concern for her safety. Perhaps it was the way she’d been acting at the briefing, he thought, so unlike her usual self. He’d never even considered the possibility that she could be vulnerable before, her habitual self-confidence only serving to underscore her innate lethality, but her uncharacteristically quiet demeanour was disturbing. If she was preoccupied with something it might distract her at a crucial moment, with fatal consequences.
For some reason, his conversation with Elyra came to mind, and with it some worrying new reflections. Supposing the psyker had been right, and Keira was just beginning to realise the true nature of her feelings for him. What would that do to her judgment and objectivity, not to mention her screwed-up Redemptionist world view? And if he was suddenly feeling irrationally protective of her, what did that say about his own judgment, and his fitness to lead the group? Perhaps he should mention his doubts in his next progress report, and ask Inquisitor Finurbi’s advice.
If he did that, what then? The inquisitor might simply assign one of them to another team, and solve the problem that way. The thought of that happening, perhaps never seeing the girl again, brought an unexpectedly sharp pang with it. Irritating as she was, she was still his responsibility, and if she was attempting to wrestle with some inner daemons his presence in her orbit had somehow unwittingly raised, he felt obliged to help her deal with them. Besides, if she was undergoing some kind of personal transformation, the new Keira might be worth getting to know: perhaps a lot more intimately than he’d ever thought of getting to know the old one.
Vex’s voice suddenly sounded in his comm-bead, and he seized on the distraction gratefully. “Danuld’s down,” the tech-priest reported.
“Good.” Horst continued to watch the foyer across the street, thankful for the Secundan predilection for glass, and the concealing bulk of a solid iron stanchion supporting the causeway a level above where he stood. “Let me know when he makes contact.” That wouldn’t be for some hours yet, he suspected. The former Guardsman would have to go through the motions of trying to find Elyra and Vos first, and then fade quietly into the shadows. It would have been much easier if the two undercover agents could have carried hidden microphones too, like Keira, but Vex had insisted that nothing that small had sufficient range, and even if it had, the risk of discovery would be far too great. An ordinary vox could be explained away if it was discovered in Elyra’s pack, but obvious espionage gear could have only one purpose.
“Of course,” Vex said, and cut the link, leaving only the sound of Keira’s heartbeat pulsing gently in Horst’s ear.
“Leaving so soon?” Adrin’s voice enquired, still idly conversational, and Horst returned his attention to the Conclave lodge across the street. The viscount and Keira had been joined by two other figures who seemed vaguely familiar, a man and a woman in sober garb, who had paused for a moment as they crossed the lobby.
“There’s nothing else to detain us,” the man said levelly, his face coming into profile as he turned to reply, provoking a sudden shock of recognition in the hidden watcher across the street. Shorn of their garish mourning clothes, away from their own domain, Lord and Lady Tonis seemed shrunken and diminished. “Our business is concluded, and our attorney has already left. Thank you for providing a discreet place to discuss our affairs away from prying eyes.”
“It was most appreciated,” Lady Tonis added, taking her husband’s arm.
“It was no trouble,” Adrin assured them. “The Lodge of the Golden Wing has always prided itself on being more than a mere academic institution. Your son was a valued and popular member, and we’re only too happy to offer whatever assistance we can at this most difficult of times. Please don’t hesitate to call on us again, if you feel the need.”
“Thank you,” Lord Tonis said, his air of politeness sounding slightly strained even through the attenuating vox link, “but we won’t need to bother you any further. Everything is quite in order.” He nodded formally, and turned away, his wife still attached to his arm. Their dull grey clothes blended easily into the bustling crowd as they stepped out onto the street, and Horst had to exert all his old arbitrator’s instincts to keep them in sight.
“Hybris,” he voxed, moving out of the shadow of the stanchion. “Tonis’ parents were here. They must be preparing to run.” He hesitated for a moment, wondering if he should stay to back up Keira after all, but dismissed the thought. She wouldn’t have entertained a moment’s doubt in the same position, and neither should he. “Get Barda on standby, we might need the shuttle.”
“Acknowledged,” the tech-priest said coolly.
Triggering a brief series of coded vox clicks to warn Keira of his withdrawal, Horst slipped easily into the flow of foot traffic, praying silently to Him on Earth that he was making the right decision, and that he wouldn’t lose the fugitive aristocrats in the hurrying throng. Within a few score metres the rhythmic thudding of Keira’s heartbeat in his ear had faded away, to be replaced entirely by the pounding of his own, and after that he had no time to consider anything beyond the necessity of keeping his quarry in sight.
As the coded pulse rattled briefly in her hidden receiver Keira felt a brief moment of surprise, but masked it easily, continuing to chat to Adrin as though she had nothing on her mind beyond another pleasant meal and a little intellectual jousting to look forward to. Forced withdrawal: new target. What in the warp was that supposed to mean? There was no point verbalising the question, though, even if she’d been able to. Her jade earrings, chosen to offset the green of her eyes, weren’t large enough to conceal a full vox receiver, and the matching pendant nestling comfortably just above the
low-cut neckline of the rich purple gown Lilith had selected to complement her hair only had room for a minute, short-ranged transmitter.
Not that it mattered; she was used to working alone, preferred it even. That said, the knowledge that Mordechai had been listening in, hovering just out of sight in case things went wrong, had been reassuring in a peculiar kind of way.
She didn’t know why he’d departed so radically from their usual operating procedure, which had been mildly unsettling, but what the hell, he was in charge, he could make whatever arrangements he liked. Maybe he’d noticed she was trying to be more cooperative this morning, and offering to watch her back had been his way of reassuring her that he appreciated the effort she was making. Danuld had been talking complete nonsense, of course, but he was right about one thing: she’d fallen into the habit of challenging Mordechai needlessly over trivial matters, and that was bad for the mission. Or maybe she’d pushed him too far, before the talk on the terrace this morning had brought her back to her senses, and he simply didn’t trust her to operate independently any more. Well, if that was the case, she’d just have to show him she still deserved his confidence.
There was another possibility, a small, insinuating voice suggested, despite her best efforts to ignore it. Perhaps he’d drawn the same ridiculous conclusion about her behaviour that Danuld had, and felt somehow responsible for her apparent loss of focus. That would explain why he wanted to keep an eye on her. Or perhaps he felt some well-hidden affection, reciprocating the feelings he thought he’d detected in her, which would at least explain why he was such a pompous prig most of the time. Just what Danuld had said, in fact, but about the wrong person.
This startling thought struck her with the force of a shock maul, driving the breath from her lungs. Recovering as best she could, she forced herself to concentrate on Adrin’s casual conversation, hoping he hadn’t noticed anything unusual in her demeanour. To her relief, he was still looking the other way, watching the couple he’d greeted a moment before as they passed out of sight along the street.
[Warhammer 40K] - Scourge the Heretic Page 26
