Kal jerico sinners bount.., p.34
Kal Jerico: Sinner's Bounty, page 34
‘Good. We should do so again.’ Zoon pushed away from him. He looked at Goeth, and the Cawdor shivered. Something in Zoon’s gaze cut to the heart of him, and he wondered if the man saw through his prevarications. Maybe the God-Emperor truly spoke to him, as many whispered. Zoon’s eyes narrowed. ‘You raised Two Pumps up from nothing, brother. Made it a place for the faithful. I remember that.’
Goeth bowed again. ‘Thank you, brother. I but did as the Emperor bade.’
‘And you say you have done so again…’ Zoon trailed off. ‘It might be that our Lord sent you here for reasons greater than you know, brother. We should ask Him, once matters have been settled.’ Zoon clasped Goeth’s shoulder, and the Cawdor felt an electric shock at the point of contact. Zoon’s gaze seemed to draw him in, and for a moment, the sounds of the attack dimmed to nothing.
‘I’m going to die here, brother. My life – I can feel it dripping away. Slipping through my fingers. My fire is going out. But I can kindle it one last time. One last flare of light, before the dark swallows us all.’ He paused. ‘Will you help me?’
Goeth stared at him, unable to answer. Here, at last, was the Desolation Zoon of legend. A man of fire and faith, rising to the challenge of the heathen. And suddenly, Goeth was ashamed. Ashamed of his betrayal, of his ambition, of everything save his faith. He had that, at least, to cling to. He struggled for words, on the cusp of confession.
But it was not to be. Alarms sounded. They turned.
‘The north gate,’ Zoon said. ‘It is under attack.’
An explosion followed. And then another. The muties were employing crude artillery, and the echoes of the blast resounded through the dome.
Zoon gripped Goeth’s shoulder, his fingers like iron. ‘You should get to the boats, brother. They are almost ready to launch. Things are coming to a head.
‘Final judgement is upon us, and only the worthy will survive the blood-dimmed tide.’
CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
REPTILIAN DEATH
‘Give me a grav-spanner,’ Scabbs called out from inside the ore-hauler’s engine-chamber. One of the Cawdor watching him from the hull handed down a tool. Scabbs took it and looked up. ‘I said a spanner. This is a mag-driver.’ He sighed. ‘Just hand me the kit.’
‘Heresy,’ one of the Cawdor muttered. There were three of them, all young. Barely into adolescence. They crouched around the hatch, staring down at him with expressions ranging from mulish disapproval to boredom. Scabbs pointed the mag-driver at the one who’d spoken.
‘Stow it. This is maintenance, not heresy. Now, go get me some plas-tape and sealant foam. And be quick about it.’ Scabbs turned back to his labours as the youths scrambled to obey.
The Cawdor working beside him chuckled.
‘What’s so funny, Brud?’ Scabbs growled. Despite his tone, he liked Brud. For a Cawdor, he was sensible – at least when it came to machines. He was older than most, with iron grey hair poking out of the top of his mask, and steel caps on most of his teeth. Grease stains marked his coat and trousers, and burn scars coiled along his wiry forearms.
‘Don’t take it so personally, infidel,’ Brud said. ‘The snatchlings think everything that doesn’t involve fire is heresy.’ Brud leaned forwards, using his weight to break the seal on a bolt. ‘They forget that proper care and maintenance of a machine-spirit is no less a man’s duty than the slaughtering of heathen souls.’ He sat back and slapped his spanner down on the bit he was working on. Something popped inside it, and the smell of smoke filled the chamber. ‘There we go. Loosened the plate. Should see some movement now.’
Scabbs nodded. ‘We still need to reroute the coolant feed. Maybe replace the tanks. They’ve been running too hot for too long.’
Brud grunted and wiped his hands on his trousers. ‘Might be able to cannibalise parts from one of the ore-trucks. Won’t do for long, though. Maybe some sealant?’
‘Need a lot.’
‘Could patch them… I’ve got some spare plas-sheets. Bit of heat, some hard foam, they might hold long enough to get her moving.’ Brud frowned. ‘Course, once it gets hot, they’ll melt and fill the compartment with toxic gas.’
‘Chances are, we’ll all be dead by the time that becomes an issue, though,’ Scabbs said. He sat back on his heels and wiped his hands on his shirt. ‘It’s a good idea. Let’s do it.’ He heard a whistle from above him, and looked up. Amanute stared down at him.
‘I need to show you something.’
Brud glanced up as she spoke, and then looked away hastily, muttering a prayer. Some of the Cawdor had heard that she was a witch. Few of them were willing to meet her gaze. Scabbs patted him on the back.
‘Think you can finish up without me?’
‘If the Emperor wills,’ Brud said. He hesitated. ‘Careful with her, brother. You can’t trust her kind. They’ll draw a man’s soul from him, and cast it into the sump.’
‘If she can find mine, she’s welcome to it,’ Scabbs said. He clambered out of the compartment and onto the hull. Amanute was already waiting on the ground. She looked impatient. The Cawdor sitting nearby watched her warily, their eyes full of loathing. If she noticed, she gave no sign.
‘You are wasting time,’ she said, as he dropped to the ground.
‘And yet you keep interrupting. What did you want to show me?’
She turned away. ‘Come.’
Scabbs followed her out of the warehouse. The street was crowded with people heading for the docks. Tithe-masters stood on crates, offering lots to be drawn for a place on one of the boats. Scabbs wasn’t entirely clear on whether those fighting for a place on the boats knew that they weren’t really going to be evacuated.
The crowd parted for Amanute. As she walked, she trilled softly, and Scabbs felt a pulse go through him – as if she had reached inside his skull, and plucked the strings of his brain. He wondered if the Cawdor could feel it as well. He caught her arm.
‘Stop it,’ he hissed.
She glanced at him, and smiled. ‘Why? They are no more than animals.’
‘They say the same thing about you.’
‘But I am right, and they are wrong. Without the guidance of the spirits, the deep places make beasts of men. Look at them – they live in filth and call it holy. The God-Emperor is a great spirit, not some doddering carcass to be worshipped by fire and pain.’ Her voice grew loud, and a murmur swept through the nearest Cawdor. Scabbs dragged her away, hoping to avoid trouble. That was the last thing they needed right now.
‘Quiet, please,’ he said.
‘Are you afraid that they will burn me?’
‘I’m afraid they’ll burn me. Now what do you want?’ He turned her to face him, and she deftly slipped his grasp.
‘I told you. There is something you must see. Come. To the palisade.’
‘The palisade – why?’
She didn’t reply. Scabbs sighed and followed her.
The streets around the docks were full of smoke and noise. Alarm klaxons wailed. The north gate was under attack – had been under attack for hours. Scabbs’ shoulder-blades itched as another dull boom sounded from that direction. He doubted the gate would hold much longer. Part of him thought that they should just cut their losses and scarper. This wasn’t their fight, whatever Kal’s reasons.
Another part of him knew, with the instinct of one who’d grown up in the underhive, that this wasn’t the usual sort of mutie raid. Something was different. And down here, different usually meant bad.
Perdition wouldn’t survive, not without a miracle – or at least some good luck. And if it fell, what then? Maybe nothing – settlements vanished all the time, at these depths. But maybe something worse than just one more burnt-out ruin.
He shook his head. Thinking about it gave him a migraine. He was just a bounty hunter. This was far outside his usual remit. All he knew was that he didn’t want to be here any more than Amanute seemed to.
Flares popped in the dark overhead, illuminating the roof of the dome. Things moved in the shadows there – too many to count.
‘Shaft-haunters,’ Amanute said, without looking at him. ‘The stink of blood draws them here.’
Scabbs shuddered, remembering the one that had almost killed him. ‘Wonderful.’
The palisade ran out along the waterfront. It was unfinished, and seemed to be there mostly to provide shelter to the fishing boats and slime-skiffs that were tied to its pylons. Sheets of metal ran down into the water from an iron frame. At the top was a walkway.
There were only a handful of gangers patrolling its length – so far, the muties had stayed well away from the water, save to attack the tithe-posts on the far shore. And the shaft-haunters had been absent since their last raid. Even so, Zoon had called the boats in, and put guards on the docks, as well as the palisade.
No one challenged them as they climbed to the top and followed the walkway to its farthest point. The gangers gave them a wide berth. Scabbs kept his autogun close, regardless.
‘What are we out for?’ he asked, with growing unease. The walkway shifted beneath his feet with every step. Metal creaked in warning that the palisade was far from stable. The chemical stew of the sump had badly corroded the pylons.
Amanute stopped. She tilted her head, as if listening for something. ‘What do you hear?’ she asked.
Scabbs shook his head. ‘Noise?’
‘Listen,’ she insisted. ‘Use your ears the way a ratskin would. Not like an uphiver.’
Scabbs sighed. ‘Fine.’ He closed his eyes. He heard the slap of water, and the hiss of chem-foam against metal. He heard the hymns of the Cawdor, and the growl of engines…
‘Wait.’ His eyes popped open. ‘Engines. But not from behind us.’
Amanute nodded. She pointed out over the water. ‘Look.’
Scabbs lifted his autogun and braced it on the rail of the palisade. He peered through the gun’s range-finder. The shoreline was a broken scree of stone and metal, rising and falling at random. There were hundreds of small inlets and coves scattered about its length. There was smoke rising from some of them. Not campfire smoke – engine smoke.
‘Oh, scav,’ he murmured. ‘They’ve got boats.’
Amanute nodded. ‘They are smarter than you think. Uphivers always underestimate those of us who choose to live in the deep places.’
Scabbs stepped back, heart thudding. ‘It’s fine,’ he said. ‘Kal knew they’d have a few.’ But even as he said it, he knew that wasn’t so. They’d seen a few skiffs, here and there. But engine smoke implied larger vessels. They hadn’t prepared for those. He raised his gun, trying to get a better look at the smoke.
He counted the distinct plumes. At least six. That was bad. That was a scavving fleet.
‘So why haven’t they attacked yet?’ he murmured, lowering his weapon. ‘What are they waiting for?’
‘Does it matter?’ Amanute said. ‘You see now, don’t you? This will not be as simple or as easy as your friend thinks.’ She paused. ‘The spirits – the beasts of the water – they whisper to me that there is more to come. Things yet unseen. And hungry.’
He was about to reply when he heard a thunderous crash from the north. The tenor of the alarms changed. He knew that a bad situation had just got worse.
‘The gate…’ he said.
‘There is no more time,’ Amanute said, intently.
Scabbs looked back at the distant trails of smoke, and then at her. He slung his autogun and caught her hand. ‘Come on. We need to find Kal.’
Kal leapt down from the palisade walkway, a laspistol in either hand and Wotan at his heels. As his boots touched the ground, he fired. Muties sprawled back, smoking holes in their chests. They’d busted through the north gate too soon. The Cawdor had managed to block up the hole, but the damage was done – dozens of muties had scattered through the settlement.
Luckily, a few cannibals weren’t going to be much trouble. If the gangers didn’t catch them, the holesteaders and pilgrims would. Kal couldn’t say which fate was worse, from a mutie’s perspective.
More troublesome was the fire that was spreading. The mutie artillery was mostly inaccurate, but when it hit, things burned. The shanty town outside the walls had been set alight as well, and the conflagration was licking against the palisade. But that was someone else’s responsibility – Kal’s was the boats.
They had to keep as many of the vessels intact as possible, or the plan wasn’t going to work. And Kal didn’t feel like coming up with a new plan. A mutie ran across his path, chasing a fleeing woman. Kal whistled, and the mutie slid to a halt, puzzled. The cannibal turned, and Wotan slammed into him. The mutie went limp as the cyber-mastiff shook his prey the way a flesh-and-blood dog might shake a rat.
A second mutie burst from the side-street to his left, startling Kal. The autogun in the mutie’s hands bucked, and bullets chewed the ferrocrete wall just behind him. He twisted to the side at the last moment and recovered, weapons levelled. But there was no need – the mutie was dangling in the air, legs kicking. Gor held the back of the cannibal’s skull in one hand. He nodded to Kal.
‘Kal.’
‘Gor.’ Kal gestured. ‘Going to finish the job, or…?’
Gor slammed the mutie face-first into the wall. Bone crunched, and blood spurted. Kal winced. The mutie went limp, and Gor let him fall. He wiped his hand on his chest. ‘Got fleas,’ he growled. ‘Filthy, the lot of them.’
‘I’ll buy you a bath at the nearest joy-house after this is over,’ Kal said.
‘Scented soaps?’
‘All you can eat.’
Gor bared his teeth. ‘I’ll hold you to that.’ He sniffed the air. ‘Fire’s spreading fast.’
‘Not our problem. Let’s get to the docks.’
‘Think they’re after the boats?’
Kal shook his head. ‘No. But I wouldn’t put it past the scavvin’ bastards to try and sink them. And we need those boats in one piece.’
They hurried on. Smoke filled the narrow streets, carried on fan-stirred winds. Gunfire echoed from all directions. Kal thought it was a good preview of what was likely to come. Even if they beat back the muties, Perdition would still burn.
‘Maybe we should just let the fire take it,’ he muttered.
Gor laughed. The beastman had good hearing. ‘Save us the trouble. But you made a deal. And bounty hunters don’t break deals.’
‘Have you ever met any other bounty hunters?’
Gor snorted. ‘Good bounty hunters don’t break deals. All you got down here is your word. You hold to it, or you’re nothing at all.’
It was Kal’s turn to laugh. ‘That’d make a good slogan.’ He glanced at the beastman. ‘It’s better, this way. Working together, rather than trying to kill each other.’
Gor grunted, but didn’t reply.
Kal pressed on. ‘Maybe there’s something in that, you know? We could organise a more permanent business arrangement, when all of this is done.’
‘Like a guild?’
‘Why not?’ Kal hadn’t meant it that way, but the more he thought about it, the more it sounded like a good idea. ‘We’ve got guilds for corpses, energy, water… why not for bounty hunters?’
‘Adjurators. You’re talking about adjurators.’
‘Adjurators work exclusively for the guilds. This would be an independent operation – sanctioned, obviously.’
‘Obviously,’ Gor said.
‘Just think about it,’ Kal said. A mutie lunged from the smoke ahead of them, wailing. Kal and Gor fired at the same time, and the cannibal flopped backwards. Gor looked at Kal.
‘Who’d be in charge?’
‘Well, I came up with the idea…’ Kal began. Gor laughed and Kal shrugged. ‘Fine. We’ll hold a vote. We’ll make it a regular thing. Properly democratic. How about that?’
‘It sounds stupid,’ a new voice interjected.
Kal turned. Yolanda stepped through the smoke, chainblade in hand. She looked down at the mutie.
‘He was mine,’ she said, amiably.
‘Then you should have caught him,’ Gor growled. Yolanda blew him a kiss, and the beastman grunted in amusement.
‘And what do you mean, stupid?’ Kal asked. ‘What’s wrong with a little democracy?’
‘This is the underhive, Jerico. Democracy is just another word for failure.’ She crouched and began to saw at the mutie’s scalp. She tore it from the dead man’s skull and shook it at him, splattering his coat with droplets of blood. ‘Besides, who says any of us would want to join a guild in the first place? I came down here to get away from rules.’ She tucked the scalp through her belt, where it joined several others. They were worth money, in most settlements. ‘So did you, for that matter.’
‘I came down here for a lot of reasons,’ Kal said, wiping at the blood. ‘Come on, let’s check on the boats.’ He looked at Yolanda. ‘Are you still willing…?’
Yolanda grinned nastily. ‘Try and stop me.’
She led the way as they hurried to the docks. The air shivered with the sounds of klaxons and boat horns as the half a dozen vessels chosen for the task made ready. None of them were especially large, but all were armed. Queues of pilgrims hurried across wobbling gangplanks, praying and singing as the rising smoke stung their eyes. Cargo was dumped into the water by the crews to make room. There’d been no arguments – whatever else, the Cawdor were pragmatists. However valuable, the cargo would be worth nothing if they didn’t survive to sell it, and new cargo could always be obtained. Or even salvaged, depending on what it was.
Kal spotted Grendlsen talking to several of the boat captains. The squat raised a hand in greeting, and Kal returned the gesture.
‘You know what you have to do, then?’ he asked, looking at Yolanda.
‘I was there when you came up with it.’
‘Humour me,’ he said. Then, more softly, ‘Please.’
