The dark city, p.8
The Dark City, page 8
Spinoza placed her gauntlets together in her lap. ‘We were working on a case. One involving xenos. Lord Crowl paid a visit to a colleague, a man named Slek Nor Jarrod, who was an expert in such matters. After undertaking further investigations, I believe Crowl returned to confer with Jarrod again on the same subject. When we attempted to retrace Crowl’s steps, we found Jarrod’s habitation ransacked and abandoned. Jarrod himself is likely dead.’
‘And how could you know that?’
‘I do not for certain. But I believe he was hunted by a powerful individual, one who nearly destroyed us in turn, so it is a reasonable judgement.’
‘So then, Crowl could be dead too.’
‘He could, though I hope earnestly he is not – my guess is that he visited the hab after Jarrod was attacked. Whatever the case, I need to find out where he went next, and what Jarrod told him.’
‘Because of these xenos matters you were investigating?’
‘Just so.’
Clodia barked out a hoarse laugh. ‘Emperor’s balls, you’re even more starched than he was! They make your kind like that, I suppose – knock the juice out of you at these scholas and punish any random spurt of vim until you’re all machine-copies of those doom-and-death’s-head priests we have to pretend to be scared of.’ She shook her head. ‘But you’re a good girl to look out for him like this. I like loyalty – you’d fit into a crew all right, once we’d knocked the edges off you. And now, look, I think I see what your problem is. This is xenos work. But Erasmus isn’t a xenos person, is he? Hells, from what I remember, he couldn’t even stand to talk about them, like it was some kind of stain to admit to having them on the crew-rolls at all.’ She shook her head sadly. ‘A weakness in him. In all of you, who never get far enough out there to see the Beacon start to flicker and the void open its jaws at you. We could learn from them – some of them – if we let ourselves. Might get a bit wiser, if we did, eh? Not so keen on all this stupidity and burning anything with an extra eye or a spiny leg, eh?’
Spinoza felt Tallis’ trigger finger twitch every time this woman called her girl, which was almost endearing of him. For her part, she found the torrent of words wearying rather than amusing, a transparent attempt to belittle that cut no ice. In the old days, under Tur’s tutelage, she might have pushed back, demanded that some respect be shown. Her short service with Crowl, though, had already softened that impulse – it didn’t matter that much how a thing was done, as long as you got what you wanted.
‘So,’ Spinoza said, ‘do you still have xenos on your rolls?’
Clodia snorted. ‘Throne, no! You think we’d even get them here in one piece? You think, if we’d tried that, that we wouldn’t have had fanatics like Jarrod sniffing around our door within five minutes, itching to burn us all alive in here while they warmed their skinny hands at the flames?’ She rolled her eyes. ‘No, I’m not that stupid, not even in my dotage.’
‘But you had them in your service, at one time?’
‘Might have done. Might not have done. You will draw whatever conclusion you wish to. How, precisely, does this bear on what you’re telling me?’
Spinoza drew the book out from her armour, the one she’d taken from the hab, opened it at the pages where Jarrod had scrawled his runes, and handed it to Clodia. ‘This is all we have. We cannot interpret it. The situation means that we cannot make use of the usual channels to help us.’
Clodia took the book, had a look at the pages, and shrugged. ‘Jarrod wrote this?’
‘We assume so.’
Clodia tossed the book over to the man wearing the purple robes. He caught it deftly, adjusted his visor, and started to read.
‘What do you make of that, Albujar?’
A few moments passed while the adept worked. Eventually, he looked up. ‘These are aeldari symbols,’ he said, in the kind of thin, scratchy voice that all Imperial scribes seemed to affect. ‘Some I can interpret, some will require work. I have materials in my chambers that will assist me.’
‘Albujar was our liaison,’ Clodia said. ‘If we had ever had xenos on our crew, he would have been the one to work with them. Learn their language, their habits, their likes and dislikes, just so the ship didn’t descend into anarchy because we couldn’t serve up a non-lethal meal or keep the temperature survivable. If we had ever had such wretches among us, that is.’
‘How long will it take?’ Spinoza asked the man.
Albujar frowned. ‘I don’t know. They’re difficult things. I swear that they mean different things every time you look at them.’
‘Time is of the essence,’ said Spinoza.
‘And we are all busy people, interrogator,’ Clodia interjected. ‘We have things to be getting on with ourselves, and Albujar is a man with many duties. What I’m thinking, now – forgive me, trading is in my blood, after all – is this… What can you possibly offer us, to make it worth our while?’
Spinoza smiled dryly. ‘I am a servant of the Emperor Himself,’ she said, softly but firmly. ‘I have the right under law and precedent to compel your assistance. And yet, you and I can both see that the world is ending around us. You and I both know that I do not have the force to compel you, nor the coin to tempt you. It would insult everyone in this room to pretend otherwise.’ She turned her hands over, palms up, as if to show she had no weapons in them. ‘I am appealing to your sense of duty, captain. I am trusting that your return to this world indicates a certain sense of loyalty to the Imperium and its customary practices. I am assuming that you are astute enough to know that I would only come here if my investigation were of the highest importance – more important than the life of a single man, to be sure. Maybe I am wrong about you. But I do not think I am.’
Clodia smiled – a shrewd little snatch of dry lips. ‘Pretty words, girl,’ she said. ‘And so I’ll assume some things of my own. I’ll assume that you’ve been observing every possible weakness of my fortress since the moment you entered it. I’ll assume that you’ve already got several plans in mind to crack it open. And I’ll assume that, Crowl’s absence aside, your current weakness is strictly temporary, and that when things are back to normal, you’ll be back here with a whole fleet of atmospherics and enough ammunition to send my little kingdom sinking into the underhive. Because that’s how you people operate, isn’t it? I think you’d hold a grudge about this for a long time, and the grudges of the Inquisition are really quite legendary. How does that sound, as an assessment?’
Spinoza’s gaze never so much as flickered. ‘You will draw whatever conclusion you wish to,’ she said.
‘Ha!’ Clodia laughed. ‘See, I like you very much! Even stiffer than the old man, but you’ve got some heart and stomach, I’ll give you that, and you talk like a real one. An inquisitor, I mean. A real-life, foul-as-vomit, tough-as-Titans inquisitor.’
Clodia looked over at Albujar, and gave him the nod.
‘Work on it,’ she told him. ‘As soon as you have a text, send it to the girl. I have a feeling she’ll know just what to do with it.’
Khazad was taken swiftly from the spire. Zijes’ forces were numerous and well armed, and they had arrived in a whole squadron of Nighthawks. Unlike her own gunship, these were all in decent condition and looked fully combat-ready. Zijes went with her in the lead craft, swooping low and fast over the smouldering cityscape until the flotilla reached what seemed to be its base of operations – a collection of low buildings sunk among a deserted set of cooling towers that had once served an urban sector power plant.
She was taken inside. Soon she found herself in a low-lit room surrounded by Zijes and four of the storm troopers, brought there by a circuitous route she would have struggled to remember.
Zijes had said nothing to her during the flight. Only when she was seated in one of two metal chairs and he was sitting opposite her did it begin.
‘Well, then,’ he said. ‘Niir Khazad. Late of the retinue of Inquisitor Phaelias, now in Inquisitor Crowl’s company. That’s right?’
Khazad looked back at him. He was slim, young, in very good condition and with a trained fighter’s poise. His skin was a healthy brown, indicating either recent arrival on Terra or expensive treatment. He sat with his spine straight, hands resting in his lap. The confidence he projected was unfeigned – he was fully convinced of his own capability. Maybe he was right to be, or maybe this was just another brash scion of the Imperial hierarchy, possessed of a few parchment qualifications and believing himself equal to the primarchs. Time would tell.
‘That is my name,’ she replied.
‘Try to relax, assassin,’ Zijes said. ‘You’re among friends here. I hope you can forgive the way we met – the city’s dangerous at the moment.’ He smirked to himself. ‘Martians aren’t the easiest souls to negotiate with in a fast-moving situation. We had to get rid of a number of them on the way in, just to be sure of reaching you, which will not go down well with the tin-heads. Still, we’re out in the wilds again now, aren’t we? Just the way I like it. And you too, I’m guessing.’
Khazad said nothing. She met Zijes’ gaze evenly, waiting for something worth her while to reply to.
‘So, to the point,’ said Zijes. ‘Your name is known at the core. We’re aware, now, of the trouble you ran into just before all this current madness. We understand the work your old master did – a bit – as well as the services you offered Crowl after that. Arx wants to repair the damage. She needs allies. Consider this an opportunity.’
‘For what?’
‘Advancement. Placement with a retinue of importance. Tasks worthy of your abilities.’
‘I have tasks.’
‘Sure you do. But, once they’re all done, you might want to think how best you might continue to serve the Throne. Maybe as master of your own retinue. Maybe in service to a true lord of the ordos. One who has the resources to make a real difference, here or elsewhere.’
Khazad sighed. ‘You think me stupid. Do not start with your price – start with what you want.’
‘Hells, it’s not about me,’ said Zijes. ‘I want coin and power, like any sane man, but Arx has her own priorities. She wants things working again, the anarchy to end, and for that to happen we need to know what took place at the Fortress. She needs to speak to those who were there.’
‘You are doing so.’
‘You’re one of them. Your master was another.’
‘He is missing.’
‘So I hear. But the interrogator – Luce Spinoza – her name’s at the top of my list. She was in command, wasn’t she, during the raid? She made the decisions, she made the calls. Her voice was on an audex screed given to me by Sergeant Haessler of the Imperial Fists. She may very well be a Hero of the Imperium when all this settles down. So her version of events should be heard.’
‘Then speak to her yourself.’
Zijes smiled. ‘Yes, I could try that. I could try to negotiate that prickly citadel you all inhabit. It would be difficult. It might end badly – nerves are frayed at the moment. So, all things considered, I could use an introduction.’
Khazad smiled wearily in turn, and shook her head. ‘She would not listen to me. She does not listen to anyone.’
‘I heard you had a… falling out.’
Her smile disappeared. ‘Then find her yourself.’
Zijes sighed, and activated the projection field on his rosette. The holo-seal of the scorpion spun out into the air between them, replete with sigils of authentication. ‘Like I said, we’re on the same side. Same ordo, same holy mission. My superiors are serious about this. They need answers, and they’re used to getting them. One way or another, they will get her to the Sanctum. We can let them do that work on their own terms, with whatever collateral damage comes along with it, or we can do it sensibly, between ourselves.’
‘She won’t come,’ Khazad said.
‘Because of Crowl?’ asked Zijes. ‘I can understand that. I can admire it. I might feel the same in her position. Maybe she feels guilty for what happened, because she wasn’t there with him, like you were. That’s right, isn’t it? They weren’t together, in the Fortress? But you were. And you could keep up the search for him, if you were minded to. With help. With help from my people, who have plenty of gadgets and guns at their disposal.’ He leaned forward. ‘But she needs to come in with me now. Quietly, no fuss. That’s what’s needed, that’s what’s important. Afterwards, everything’s up for grabs. You get what you need to find your inquisitor. Change the game, inject some urgency. Because she’s been slow. Slow to act. I know that’s not your style.’ His gaze was steady and unyielding, the kind of gaze that had no doubt been perfected in the interrogation chambers of a dozen worlds. ‘She won’t be harmed. You have my word on that. It’s not a trial. Think of it as a consultation. A sharing of information. But it must happen soon.’
Khazad looked back at him. She looked at the troopers around them both. They were, as Zijes had said, in good shape. Better than the battered remnants still commanded by Revus, at any rate.
‘She won’t come,’ Khazad said again.
‘An introduction,’ Zijes said. ‘Nothing more.’
‘And… no harm to her.’
‘On the soul of the Blessed Angel of the Gate, no.’
Khazad’s eyes never left his.
‘It’s your choice, freely made,’ said Zijes. ‘But I’ll need an answer.’
Khazad finally looked away, down at her lap. She remembered then what Spinoza had told her at their last meeting. No oaths bind you to us. Do as you will.
Her eyes snapped up again.
‘Then I have one,’ she said.
CHAPTER SEVEN
Morgant-9 voidport was not a large or distinguished place. Far greater transit hubs sat just a few hundred kilometres to the north and east, and the truly massive stations, the ones capable of bringing down heavy landers packed with supplies or pilgrims, were further away still. This place was just one of the many thousands of low-grade entry points, capable of berthing system-runners and shuttles, some of the smaller Navy tenders and maintenance vessels, but nothing much more impressive. Even before the anarchy it had been ramshackle, starved of resources and left to moulder. Its large rockcrete landing stages, stacked up on top of one another in the familiar Imperial manner, were cracked and dented. Its control towers were blackened from centuries of constant engine-wash, and its personnel-processing stations were gloomy, dust-blown halls with weak lighting and leaking drains.
It might easily have been overrun entirely, or abandoned, or perhaps still besieged by crowds of desperate citizens. By the time Revus approached it, none of those things appeared to have happened. The high perimeter walls were damaged in many places, with marks of widespread burning up against the rockcrete panels, but the defence towers were still in operation, with their slit-windows illuminated and their lascannon banks gently rotating.
Only when he got closer did evidence of recent fighting become evident. He’d stowed his groundcar some distance off, making a show of heading south towards Salvator before finding somewhere quiet to secure it in the hope of leading his tail off in the wrong direction. Then he’d crept carefully through the underground ways, avoiding trouble where it flared up, pressing himself up against the flaking walls of service tunnels and sewer-lines to stay hidden. He finally emerged close to the voidport’s old bustling approaches, and almost immediately the stench of decaying bodies hit him. The corpses were piled up in the overhung streets around him, some long into putrefaction, some looking fresh-slain. Vehicle-wrecks studded the plazas immediately ahead of the main entrance, many of them seemingly driven straight into the reinforced gates before they had been destroyed.
Nothing moved. Tendrils of thin smoke gusted over the carcasses and charred metal before sinking into the bloodstained gutters. The only obvious sound was the clunk and ratchet of the rotating guns some fifty metres off.
Revus crouched down in the shadows and activated a secure line to the voidport’s command tower. He’d visited this place twice in the past on business for Crowl, the most recent time being just a few months ago, and had, as a matter of course, retained the direct access codes in his armour’s comm-system. He’d already made contact with the facility’s administrator and arranged the rendezvous; now it was just a matter of getting inside.
‘Port-master,’ Revus voxed softly. ‘I am within sight of the Terminal Nine entrance gates. Are you ready?’
‘Standing by,’ came a crackling voice over the link.
Revus reached for his hellpistol and checked the charge. Not ideal. He took a final look around, then shuffled ahead through the rubble and corpse heaps, keeping his body low and using the cover of the burned-out vehicles where he could. As he neared the gates, something stirred a few metres to his left, and he snapped the pistol around.
He found himself staring into the face of a woman, less than ten metres away. She was clearly famished, her skin pulled tight over the bone and her dirty clothes hanging off her as she knelt. She stared at him, eyes wide, shivering despite the heat. She carried no weapon. Signs of some blood-sickness spidered across her exposed flesh. She barely looked capable of walking.
‘You’re going in… there,’ she croaked.
Revus scanned the area beyond her – no other movements registered. ‘Remain where you are,’ he told her.
‘You’re going in there. Take me with you.’
