[Dark Heresy 01] - Scourge the Heretic

by Sandy Mitchell - (ebook by Undead)

  “Looks like it,” Kyrlock agreed.

  “One for the road,” Mung said, reaching under the counter and handing over a bottle of the colourless liquid. “For the old times.”

  “They weren’t all bad, were they?” Kyrlock said, taking it, and stowing it in his pack. Neither of them could think of anything more to say, but he suddenly felt reluctant to leave.

  His brother shrugged. “Yes they were,” he said, “but we got by.” A faint air of wistfulness passed across his face. “Look after yourself out there, Vos,” he said, “cause I guarantee you, no other bugger will.”

  “No change there then, is it?” Kyrlock said, turning away. Elyra and Kantris were already waiting beside the curtain leading to the open air, and pushed through it without a word as he moved up to join them. Kyrlock hesitated on the threshold, raising a final hand in farewell, which his brother returned, and then the filthy scrap of fabric sundered them forever.

  “Which way?” Elyra asked impatiently, and, recalled to more immediate matters, Kyrlock nodded. The night was well advanced, closer to dawn than dusk, and the furtive night life of the Tumble was winding down, its nocturnal denizens scurrying away to hide from the authorities in whatever bolt-holes luck or the right bribes kept secure, or to resume their daytime lives unnoticed among the teeming mass of serfs swarming towards the face. It was still dark enough for the soft light of the suspended city to be the only reliable source of illumination, though, and he looked around, scrutinising the shadows. A faint scrape of dislodged stone echoed in the stillness of the night, and he tensed, wondering if they were being watched by anything more inimical than rockrats.

  “Down here,” Kantris said. “It’s not far.” He gestured towards a narrow defile between two spoil heaps, and Kyrlock raised his shotgun.

  “After you,” he said.

  “Well of course,” Kantris said easily. “How else am I going to show you the way?” He set off at a confident pace, his footing on the treacherous shale instinctively sure, and after a moment Elyra began to follow. His senses straining, Kyrlock took up the rear, silently cursing the woman for her impatience. She was blocking his shot at Kantris, and if the expeditor tried anything, he couldn’t fire without hitting her.

  At first, it seemed, he was being overly cautious. Despite his expectations, Kantris showed no sign of turning and drawing a gun. However, as they made their way between another pair of spoil heaps, some way from Mung’s place in a part of the Tumble Kyrlock didn’t recognise, the treachery he’d been anticipating materialised.

  His first and only warning had been the familiar rattle of stone against stone, which he’d heard several times since leaving the drinkhole, and generally dismissed as more rockrats going about their business, or equally furtive night folk, as eager to avoid detection as he was, kicking an unregarded pebble as they’d hurried away. This was louder, however, and more sustained, and he turned, bringing up the shotgun just in time to see a man rising up from the spoil heap behind him, throwing aside the tattered blanket with its thin coating of shale that had so effectively concealed him. City light gleamed on a long, serrated blade as the ambusher rushed at him, sweeping the end of the filthy piece of cloth out and around in an attempt to entangle his arms.

  Kyrlock pulled the trigger, and the fellow fell, half his chest transmogrified in an instant to bloody scraps, the boom of the shotgun echoing flatly through the canyons between the artificial hills. Even before the brigand’s knife clattered against the stone the Guardsman had turned, and cursed under his breath.

  There was a whole gang of bandits erupting from the dirt around them, two closing on Elyra, and a big fellow charging towards him swinging a length of rusty chain. Unable to fire for the fear of hitting the psyker instead of his intended target, Kyrlock ducked under the improvised flail, reaching round for his chain axe, and thumbing it to full power as he tore it free of its retaining straps. The whining metal teeth met the man’s chest as he swung it in a short, flat arc, grating on some steel plates sewn into the fellow’s coat as Kyrlock stepped in behind him. The makeshift armour held for a moment, raising a shower of bright golden sparks, before the blade penetrated, extinguishing them in a sudden shower of dark blood. Kyrlock kicked his assailant in the back of the knee, knocking him down, and sliced through his neck as he fell.

  As the brigand with the chain gurgled and went silent, Kyrlock whirled, aiming the shotgun one-handed, but still couldn’t find a target without endangering Elyra. Slinging the weapon, he switched to a two-handed grip on the chain axe and charged towards the nearest of her attackers, a short fellow in a hooded cloak, holding a long metal pipe roughly his own height, which he thrust at the woman’s midriff like a spear.

  Before Kyrlock could get within striking range, though, Elyra had pivoted easily, stepping in close to the man with the pipe, increasing the distance the other outlander attacking her had to travel, and seized the weapon halfway down its length. She twisted again, using her hand as a fulcrum, and brought the end up rapidly, flicking its erstwhile owner off the tip like a clod of earth from a stick. He fell heavily, entangling the legs of the last bandit, who went down hard, dropping the knife he was carrying. Before either man could rise, Elyra spun the thin tube of metal, bringing it down hard, twice in rapid succession. They both went limp, and she hurdled their prostrate bodies, flinging herself at Kantris, who staggered backwards, raising both hands.

  “Hey,” he protested frantically, “hold on! I’m on your side, remember?” A faint, sickly echo of his bar-room grin tried to gain a foothold on his face as he retreated.

  “Since when?” Kyrlock asked, moving up to stand shoulder to shoulder with Elyra, holding the whining teeth of his chain axe where the sweating expeditor could get a good look at them. He shot a glance at the grim faced Inquisition agent. “I told you he’d try something like this.”

  “I didn’t try anything, swear to the Emperor,” Kantris said. He glanced from one operative to the other, the grin coagulating. “Lucky you were so quick off the mark, or they’d have had us for sure.” He heaved an exaggerated sigh of relief. “Better get on, then, eh?” He looked at Elyra speculatively. “Those were pretty sharp moves for a lady’s maid.”

  “She’s got enemies,” Elyra said. “Apart from me.” She threw the pole away, where it clattered among the stones, and glared defiantly at Kantris. “All right, I lied. I was the bitch’s bodyguard. The rest of it’s true, though, and I thought you’d be more trusting if I played the helpless little girlie. How else did you think I got out of the house in one piece?” She glanced sharply at Kyrlock. “Do you have a problem with that?”

  “If you can get me off planet before the commissars catch up, I don’t care if you’re Abaddon the Despoiler,” Kyrlock assured her, slipping easily into the fallback story they’d agreed on in case her more lethal skills became obvious to an outsider. They hadn’t expected something like this to happen so early in the mission, but, paradoxically, it might even work to their advantage. Kantris would be congratulating himself on his cleverness for having exposed Elyra’s apparent deceit, and with any luck he and his shadowy associates would take everything else they were told at face value, believing that the real lie had been successfully found out.

  “How about you?” Elyra asked, turning back to Kantris. “Do we still have a deal? Or am I going to have to make alternative arrangements?”

  “That won’t be necessary,” the fixer assured her, with a quick glance at the inert bandits, and a covetous glance at the backpack he’d almost certainly intended to ransack. “The deal stands. Vos here I’ll tell you, I’m a man of my word. Well known for it.”

  “Is that true?” Elyra asked, and Kyrlock nodded slowly.

  “I’ve never heard of him reneging on anyone he’s afraid of,” he agreed slowly. “And if he’s not afraid of you by now, he ought to be.” He shrugged, and glared at the expeditor. “And even if he isn’t, he knows damn well I’ll snap his miserable neck if we have any more problems, don�
�t you Emyl?” He switched off the chain blade, and stowed it.

  “There’s no call for that sort of language,” Kantris said, making an unconvincing attempt to sound affronted. “We’re all friends here. On my mother’s life, I never laid eyes on any of these scoundrels before.” He shot a nervous glance at the two Elyra had struck down. One of them was beginning to stir, and making a low groaning sound, which Kyrlock knew was the prelude to regaining consciousness. “Best get moving, eh? It’ll be light soon, and we need to get you under cover.”

  That much, at least, was true, and waiting until one of their unfortunate assailants was in a fit state to answer questions would be far too great a risk.

  With a last regretful look at the feebly twitching bodies, Kyrlock nodded. “Right behind you,” he said, unslinging the shotgun again.

  FIFTEEN

  Icenholm, Sepheris Secundus

  101.993.M41

  Everyone else had slept late, leaving Drake with little to do except enjoy a leisurely breakfast and listen out for an emergency signal from Kyrlock and Elyra, which he didn’t really expect to hear. They were both in deep cover, somewhere in the sprawling pit of the Gorgonid, working their way into the pipeline. Their chances of being able to call without being observed by someone around them would be minute. Vex’s shrine in the corner was still murmuring to itself, though, the runes he’d pointed out before leaving for the Fathomsound flashing reassuringly to show that the vox-unit in Elyra’s pack was still functioning, so Drake had been able to enjoy his mid-morning recaf and a stroll around the terrace with a relatively easy mind.

  “Good morning.” Keira joined him in the open air, apparently unconcerned by the chill, clad in a yellow silk robe, which clung closely enough for Drake to be reasonably certain that she wore nothing beneath it, held closed by a knotted cord. Her slippers matched the fabric, and her hair swung loose around her face, which still held the faint flush of a long, leisurely bath. Her eyebrows shifted a little closer together as she registered his scrutiny. “You’re doing it again.”

  Drake smiled, and tore his attention away from the shapely and well-muscled calves below the folds of cloth.

  “Hard not to,” he admitted cheerfully. “But we covered that last night.” He suppressed a moment of unease. “At least I thought we did.”

  “That’s what I wanted to talk to you about,” Keira said, moving distractingly close, and lowering her voice. “I’ve been thinking about what you said.”

  “Oh.” Drake had hoped that she would have forgotten the awkward exchange by now, but she clearly hadn’t. He kept his gaze on her face, despite the temptation to let it wander appreciatively downwards, seeing once again a flicker of uncertainty in the depths of her emerald eyes. “If I embarrassed you, I apologise. I can’t pretend I don’t find you attractive, but I understand you don’t feel the same way about me, and I won’t let that get in the way of our working together.”

  “I believe you,” Keira said, to his heartfelt relief. “But I meant the other thing you mentioned.” To his surprise, Drake saw a flush of crimson, too deep to be the legacy of her bath, spreading across her face and neck. “About Mordechai.”

  “I’m sorry about that too,” Drake said, feeling as though the solid balustrade behind him was suddenly as insubstantial as smoke, and that he was teetering on the brink of the abyss. “That’s entirely your business. I should never have brought it up.”

  “It’s just that… I was wondering…” Keira hesitated again, and then ploughed on with her usual directness. “What made you think that I felt… something like that for him?”

  “Well…” Caught by surprise, Drake floundered a little. “The way you act around him, I suppose.”

  “And what way’s that?” Keira asked, an edge of irritation beginning to enter her voice.

  Remembering how dangerous she could be if she lashed out in angry frustration, Drake tried to collect his thoughts.

  “Edgy,” he said at last. “And you challenge him all the time. It’s as if you’re trying to antagonise him, because it’s the only way you can attract his attention and still feel in control.”

  “That’s ridiculous,” Keira said, although the note of belligerence Drake had expected was absent from her voice.

  “If you say so,” he replied, as neutrally as he could, “but if a girl started acting like that around me, I know what I’d think.”

  “Which is what?” Keira asked, a little breathlessly.

  Drake shrugged. “That she was either the biggest bitch in the sector, or my luck was in.”

  “I see,” Keira said coldly, “but maybe Mordechai doesn’t have quite such a high opinion of himself as you seem to do.”

  “I’m sure he doesn’t,” Drake said easily, “but I thought it was your opinion of him you wanted to discuss.”

  “What’s the point?”

  “You’re as bad as he is,” Keira said, turning sharply away. “Thanks for your help.”

  “Any time,” Drake assured her, quietly appreciating the spectacle of her retreating rear as she returned to the house.

  By the time he’d finished his recaf and wandered back inside, the others were up as well. Horst greeted him affably enough, but still seemed exhausted after his ordeal in the mines, lying on an overstuffed chaise with his head on a cushion embroidered with the coat of arms of the family from whom the villa was rented. He was dressed in a simple grey shirt and trousers, his brocade jacket hanging from the back of a nearby chair. Vex, in a freshly laundered robe, was already hard at work on his data-slate, muttering prayers and tapping the keyboard with single-minded diligence, barely looking up to acknowledge the Guardsman’s arrival.

  Spotting Keira on a sofa at the end of the room, Drake braced himself for some sign of overt hostility, but from her demeanour their conversation on the terrace might never have happened. The young assassin merely glanced up, smiled, and nodded at him with every impression of ease. She’d got dressed in the interim, in a simple ochre kirtle that suited her well, and Lilith was fussing over her hair, coiling it neatly at the nape of her neck. “If you’re hungry, we were about to have an early lunch,” she said brightly.

  “Works for me,” Drake agreed, settling himself comfortably in a nearby armchair. “I trust you had a pleasant evening at the Conclave?” The servant knew where Keira had gone the previous night, and would no doubt think it odd if no one asked her mistress whether she’d enjoyed herself.

  “Most enlightening,” Keira said, in exactly the right tone of bored condescension, examining her reflection in the mirror her maid held up for her as she spoke. “Thank you, Lilith, that’s a tremendous improvement.”

  “Very becoming, if you don’t mind me saying so, my lady. It wouldn’t suit everyone, of course, but you’ve got the bone structure for it. Breeding always tells, in my experience.”

  “I’m sure you’re right,” Keira said, completely straight-faced, and turning to face the servant. “That will be all for the moment.”

  “Very good, my lady,” Lilith said, and bustled out, followed a moment or two later by a pair of domestics, who had been busily laying a side table with a small but comprehensive buffet.

  Horst approached the table as soon as the servants were out of earshot, and ladled out a generous plateful of kedgeree, which he began to devour the moment he’d sat down again. “Better grab something to eat while you can,” he said. “We’ve got a lot to discuss.”

  Having breakfasted well before the others rose, Drake contented himself with a small portion of pancakes, which he soused in ackenberry syrup. Glancing round for a fork, he became suddenly aware of Keira’s presence at his elbow, noting her quiet amusement as he suppressed a reflexive start. “Can I help you to anything?” he asked, determined to seem affable. If she was as willing as she seemed to gloss over any lingering awkwardness between them, he was certainly ready to reciprocate.

  Keira considered the range of dishes on offer. “Some of those kidneys,” she said thoughtfully, “some
mushrooms, a bit of whatever that is…” she pointed at a nearby platter.

  “Kenil omelette,” Drake said, spooning up a generous portion, and transferring it to her plate. He sniffed at the fragrant steam. “Kenil seems fresh, too.”

  “Never heard of it,” Keira said. “Guess it must be a Secundan thing.”

  “It’s a kind of lichen,” Drake told her, “which grows wild in the mine workings. The Fratery of Comestibles cultivate it in the worked-out seams, to improve the yield and flavour.”

  “Oh.” Keira took a cautious nibble at the omelette, and nodded approvingly. “Tastes pretty good. I suppose they grow the mushrooms down there too?”

  “That’s right.” Drake smiled easily. “Not a lot else you can do with a hole in the ground.”

  “I wondered why fungi were so popular with the cooks here,” Keira said, taking her plate to a nearby chair.

  “Hybris?” Drake asked. Vex looked up, with a faintly distracted expression. “Want anything?”

  “Whatever you deem most nutritious,” the tech-priest said, returning to work. Not having a clue what that might be, Drake filled a plate with a random selection of foodstuffs, which he placed within easy reach of the data-slate.

  “We’re definitely making some progress,” Horst said, setting his plate aside with a sigh of satisfaction. “My latest report to the inquisitor contains some significant new information.”

  “Which he won’t be able to respond to for another month at least,” Vex reminded them, glancing up from the keyboard for a moment. “Assuming the warp currents remain favourable.”

  “That makes it all the more important to ensure that everything we know is available to him the moment he arrives at the Tricorn,” Keira said, a trifle indistinctly.

  “Exactly,” Horst said, looking momentarily taken aback at this sudden unexpected support. “If the worst comes to the worst, he’ll be able to pick up where we left off.”