'I see.' He eyed me narrowly, trying to size me up. I kept my expression neutral. 'I take it your self-restraint is a little stronger.'
At the moment/ I said, choosing my words with care, 'we're still at peace with the tau. The internal situation here is, I'll admit, a little disturbing, but unless the Guard is ordered to intervene, that's purely a matter for the Arbites, the PDF, and His Excellency/ I nodded at Grice, who was listening to Kasteen explain the best way of disembowelling a termagant with every sign of interest, although his retinue of sycophants was beginning to look a little green around the gills. 'I'm not averse to fighting if I have to, but that's a decision for wiser heads than mine to take/
'I see/ He nodded, and stuck out a hand for me to shake. After a moment's juggling, more to put him
off balance than anything, I transferred the glass to my other hand and took it. 'Erasmus Donali, Imperial Envoy/
'I thought as much.' I smiled in return. 'You have the look of a diplomat about you.'
'Whereas you seem quite exceptional for a soldier.' Donali sipped his drink, and I followed suit, finding it a very pleasant vintage. 'Most of them can't wait for the shooting to start.'
'They're Imperial Guard/ I said. 'They live to fight for the Emperor. I'm a commissar; I'm supposed to consider the bigger picture/
'Which includes avoiding combat? You surprise me/
'As I said before/ I told him, 'that's not my decision to make. But if people like you can solve the conflict by negotiation, and keep troopers who would have died here alive to fight another enemy another day, and maybe tip the balance in a more important battle, then it seems to me that you're serving the best interests of the Imperium/ And keeping my skin whole into the bargain, of course, which was far more important to me. Donali looked surprised, and a little gratified.
'I can see your reputation is far from exaggerated/ he said. 'And I hope I can oblige you. But it may not be easy/
That wasn't what I wanted to hear, you can be sure. But I shrugged, and sipped my drink.
As the Emperor wills/ I said, a phrase I'd picked up from Jurgen over the course of our long association. Of course when he says it he means every
word; from me it's just the verbal equivalent of a shrug. I've never really bought the idea that His Divine Majesty can spare some attention from the job of preventing the entire galaxy from sliding into damnation to look out for my interests, too, or anyone else's for that matter, which is why I'm so diligent about doing it for myself. 'The difficulty, I take it, being the public support for the tau in certain quarters/
'Exactly/ My new friend nodded gloomily. 'For which you can thank the imbecile over there talking to your colonel/ He indicated Grice with a tilt of his head. 'He got so carried away counting his bribes from the likes of him…' another tilt of the head to the far corner of the room, 'that he hardly even noticed his planet slipping out from under him/
I turned in the direction he'd indicated. A cadaverous, hawk-nosed individual dressed in unwise scarlet hose and a burgundy tabard was holding forth to a knot of the local aristocracy. Flanking him were a couple of servants in livery, who looked about as comfortable as an ork in evening dress; hired guns if I'd ever seen them. A scribe hovered next to him, making notes.
'One of the rogue traders we've heard so much about/ I said. Donali shrugged.
'So he says. But no one here is entirely what they seem, commissar. You can certainly depend on that/
Well he was right on the money so far as I was concerned. So I exchanged a few more inconsequential words and resumed circulating.
After a few more conversations with local dignitaries whose names I never quite caught, my glass was in need of replenishment, and I headed towards the table at the far end of the room where an enticing display of delicacies had been laid out. On the way, I noticed Kasteen had managed to extricate herself from the governor's presence, and was working the room as though she'd been a habitue of high society since she could walk. The air of confidence she now radiated was remarkable, especially set against her earlier nervousness, but the ability to seem calm and in control whatever the circumstances is a vital quality in a leader, and for all I knew, she was shamming it as shamelessly as I was. It certainly looked as though she was enjoying herself, though, and I gave her a light-hearted salute as our eyes briefly met. She responded with a flashing grin, and whirled away towards the dance floor with a couple of aristocratic fops in tow.
'It looks like you've lost your date/ a voice said behind me. I turned, and found myself falling into the wide blue eyes of the singer I'd been watching before. Uncharacteristically for me, I was momentarily at a loss for words. She was smiling, a plate of finger food in her hand.
'She's, ah, just a colleague/ I said. 'A fellow officer. Nothing like that between us. Strictly against regulations, for one thing. And anyway, we're not-'
She laughed, a warm, smoky chuckle which warmed me like amasec, and I realised she was pulling my leg.
'I know/ she said. 'No time for romance in the Imperial Guard. It must be grim for you.'
'We have our duty to the Emperor/ I said. 'For a soldier, that's enough/ It's the sort of thing I usually say, and most civilians lap it up, but my beautiful singer was looking at me quizzically, the ghost of a smile quirking at the corner of her mouth, and I suddenly got the feeling that she could see right through me to the core of deceit and self-interest I normally keep concealed from the world. It was an unnerving sensation.
'For some, maybe. But I think there's more to you than meets the eye/ She picked up a bottle from the nearby table with her free hand, and topped up my glass.
There's more to everyone than meets the eye/ I said, more to deflect the conversation than anything else. She smiled again.
That's very astute, commissar/ She extended a hand, slim and cool to the touch, the middle finger ornamented with a large and finely wrought ring of unusual workmanship. Evidently she was extremely successful in her profession, or had at least one wealthy admirer; I would have laid money on both. I kissed it formally, as etiquette demanded, and to my astonishment she giggled.
'A gentleman as well as an officer. You are full of surprises/ Then she surprised me by dropping a curtsey, in imitation of the bovine debutantes surrounding us, the light of mischief in her dazzling eyes. 'I'm Amberley Vail, by the way. I sing a bit/
'I know/ I said. 'And very well too.' She acknowledged the compliment with a tilt of her head. I bowed formally, entering into the game. 'Ciaphas Cain/ I said, 'at your service. Currently attached to the Valhallan 597th/ Her eyes widened a little as I introduced myself.
'I've heard of you/ she said, a little breathlessly. 'Didn't you fight the genestealers on Keffia?' Well I had, if you count hanging around drinking recaf while the artillery unit I was with dropped shells on the biggest concentrations of stealers we could find from kloms away as fighting. I'd been in at the death, so to speak, and emerged with a great deal of the credit, more by luck than good judgement. It was one of the early incidents that had laid the foundations of my undeserved reputation for heroism, but my misadventures since had tended to overshadow what most of the galaxy still regarded as a minor incident on a backwater agriworld.
'Not entirely alone/ I said, slipping easily into the modest hero demeanour I could adopt without thinking. 'There was an Imperial battlefleet in orbit at the time/
'And two full divisions of Imperial Guard on planet/ She laughed again at my astonished expression. 'I have relatives in Skandaburg.1 You're still talked about back there/
1 The provincial capital of the smaller of the Northern continents. Most of the action in the cleansing of Keffia took place on the southern continent, where the genestealer cult was most deeply entrenched; so Skandaburg and its population would have been relatively untouched by the fighting.
'I can't think why/ I said. 'I was just doing my job/
'Of course/ Amberley nodded, and again I got the feeling that she wasn't fooled for a moment. 'You're an Imperial c
ommissar. Duty before everything, right?'
'Absolutely/ I said. 'And right now, I think it's my duty to ask you to dance/ It was a transparent attempt to change the subject, which I hoped she'd put down to modest embarrassment, and I half expected her to refuse. But she smiled, discarding her plate of half-eaten delicacies, and took my uninjured arm.
'I'd love to/ she said. 'I've a few minutes before my second set/
So we drifted across to the dance floor, and I spent a very pleasant few minutes with her head on my shoulder as we spun around to an old waltz I never learned the name of. Kasteen galloped past a couple of times, a different swain in tow on each occasion, raising an eyebrow in a way which forewarned me of some relentless leg-pulling on our drive back to the compound, but just at that moment I couldn't have cared less.
Eventually, Amberley pulled away, with what seemed like reluctance unless I was succumbing to wishful thinking, and began to return to the stage. I walked with her, chatting to no purpose, intent simply on prolonging a pleasant interlude in what otherwise promised to be a dull evening, and it was thus that I noticed a quiet, vehement altercation between Grice and the hawk-faced rogue trader.
'Do you know who that is?' I asked, not really expecting an answer, but it seemed my companion was well-versed in the intricacies of Gravalaxian politics. It came with performing for the aristocracy, I supposed. She nodded, looking surprised.
'His name's Orelius. A rogue trader here to deal with the tau. So he says.' The qualification was delivered in precisely the same tone of scepticism as Donali's had been, and for some reason I found myself remembering Divas's cloak-and-dagger fantasies from our night in the Eagle's Wing.
'Why do you say that?' I asked. Amberley shrugged.
'The tau have been dealing with the same traders for more than a century. Orelius arrived from nowhere a month or two ago, and tried opening negotiations with them, through Grice. It may just be a coincidence, but…' She shrugged, her dress slipping across her slim shoulders.
Why now, with the political situation destabilising?' I asked. She nodded.
'It does seem a little unusual.'
'Perhaps he's hoping to take advantage of the confusion to strike a better deal/ I said. Orelius turned on his heel as I watched, and marched away trailed by his bodyguards. Grice was pale and sweating, even more than usual, and reached out to pluck a drink from a nearby servitor with a trembling hand. 'He's thrown a scare into our illustrious governor, at any event.'
'Has he?' Amberley watched him go. 'That seems a little presumptuous, even for a rogue trader.'
'If that's what he really is,' I said, without thinking. Those depthless blue eyes turned on me again.
'What else would he be?'
'An inquisitor/ I said, the idea taking firmer root in my head even as I said it. Amberley's eyes widened.
An inquisitor? Here?' Her voice became a little tremulous, as though the enormity of the idea were too huge to grasp. 'What makes you think that?'
The urge to impress her was almost irresistible, I have to confess; and if you could only know how bewitching she was, I know you'd have felt the same. So I looked my most commissarial.
All I can say/ I told her, lowering my voice for dramatic effect, 'is that I've heard from a reliable military source/ - which sounded a lot better than 'from a drunken idiot/ I'm sure you'll agree - 'that there are Inquisition agents active on Gravalax/
'Surely not/ She shook her head, blonde tresses flying in confusion. And even if there were, why would you suspect Orelius?'
'Well, just look at him/ I said. 'Everyone knows that undercover inquisitors disguise themselves as rogue traders most of the time.1 It's by far the easiest way of travelling incognito with the rabble of hangers-on they all seem to attract/
1 It is indeed regrettable that this predilection has become so widely known. Personally, I blame popular fiction for perpetuating the stereotype, although it has to be said that some inquisitors are simply woefully lacking in imagination when required to adopt a disguise.
'You could be right/ she said, with a delicate shiver. 'But it's no concern of ours.'
Well, I couldn't agree more, of course, but that's not what my heroic reputation leads people to expect of me, so I put on my best dutiful expression and said 'The security of the Imperium is the concern of all of His Majesty's loyal servants.' Well, that's true too, and it lets me out, but no one needs to know that. Amberley nodded, sombrely, and trotted back to the stage, and I watched her go, cursing myself for an idiot for puncturing the mood.
As you'll no doubt appreciate, the rest of the evening promised to be anticlimactic, so I drifted back to the food and drink. Our rations back at the compound were adequate enough, but I wasn't going to pass up the opportunity to savour a few delicacies while they were there for the taking, and it was as good a vantage point as any to enjoy Amberley's performance from. It was also, as I'd learned from uncountable similar affairs, the best spot from which to cull gossip, since everyone gravitated there sooner or later.
Thus it was that I made the acquaintance of Ore-lius, without the faintest presentiment of the trouble that innocent conversation would lead to.
If anything, I suppose, it was the sling that was to blame. It had seemed a good idea at the time, but now I came to fill a plate the damn thing got in the way, preventing me from reaching out for the palovine pastries perched on the opposite side of the table. If I transferred the plate to my left hand I was
turned awkwardly, my centre of mass shifted, so I still couldn't reach. I was trying to work out a way of getting to them when a thin arm reached across to pick up the dish.
'Allow me.' The voice was dry and cultured. I transferred a couple of the delicacies to my plate, and found myself addressing the man I'd almost convinced myself was an inquisitorial agent. It was ridiculous, of course, but still…
Thank you, sieur Orelius/ I said. 'You're most kind.'
'Have we met?' His eyes were shadowed, the irises were almost black, and had an unnerving piercing quality that increased his resemblance to a bird of prey.
Your reputation precedes you/1 said blandly letting him make of that what he would. I don't mind admitting I was less relaxed than I tried to look. If he really was an inquisitor, there was a good chance he was a psyker, too, and might know me for what I was, but I'd encountered mindreaders before and knew that mey weren't as formidable as most people thought. Most of them can only read surface thoughts, and I was so long practiced at dissembling that I did so without any conscious awareness of the fact.
'I'm sure it does/ He was an old hand at this game too, I realised, an essential skill whether his profession was as it appeared or as I had surmised.
'You seem to have the ear of His Excellency/ I said, and the first momentary flicker of emotion appeared on his face. I'd got in under his guard, it seemed.
'I have both. Unfortunately, His Excellency appears to lack anything between them/ He took one of the pastries for himself. 'He's paralysed with indecision.'
'Indecision about what?' I asked ingenuously.
'Where his best interests lie. And those of his people, of course.' Orelius bit into the delicacy as though it were Grice's neck. 'Unless he starts showing some leadership, this world will go down in blood and burning. But he sits and vacillates, and hopes it will all go away'
'Then let's hope he comes to his senses soon/ I said. The keen eyes impaled me again.
'Indeed/ His voice was level. 'For all our sakes/ He smiled then, without warmth. 'The Emperor be with you, Commissar Cain/ My surprise must have shown on my face, because the smile widened a fraction. 'Your reputation precedes you too/
And then he was gone, leaving me curiously troubled. I didn't have long to dwell on my unease, though, because the flunkey who'd announced our arrival was back, looking a little flustered. He'd called out a number of names since Kasteen and I had made our entrance, but it was clear that this time he expected to be listened to. He pounded a staff on the polished w
ooden floor, and the babble of voices gradually diminished; Amberley's trailed away in mid-chorus, which was a real shame. The flunkey's chest inflated with self-importance.
'Your Excellency. My lords, ladies, and gentlemen. O'ran Shui'sassai, Ambassador of the tau. '
And for the first time since arriving on Gravalax, I was face to face with the enemy.
FIVE
Treachery is its own reward.
Callidus Temple proverb.
One thing I'll say for the tau, they certainly know how to make an impressive entrance. Shui'sassai was draped in a simple white robe, which made all the Imperial dignitaries look ridiculously overdressed, and was surrounded by others of his kind similarly attired. There was no mistaking who was in charge, though, as his charisma filled the room, his entourage bobbing in his wake as he strode confidently across the polished wooden floor towards Grice like seabirds around a fishing boat. I didn't realise at the time how apt the mental image was, of course.1
1 The ambassador, like all tau diplomats, would be one of the Water caste.
What I did notice almost at once was the bluish cast of his skin, and that of his compatriots, which I'd been led to expect from Divas's gossip and the various reports I'd read. What I hadn't expected was the single braid that grew from his otherwise hairless skull, plaited and ornamented with ribbons in a variety of colours which contrasted vividly with the plain simplicity of his garment. The meaning of the bizarre hairstyle sported by their human dupes, which I'd noted many times since our landing, thus became clear to me, along with the face paint the leader of the street gang had worn, and I found myself suppressing a shiver of unease. If so many citizens had been influenced so openly by these alien interlopers, the situation was dire indeed, and my chances of keeping well away from trouble, problematic at best.
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