The Warmaster

Twenty-One: Lice

Rawne walked out of the K700 billet buildings into the yard. Rain was still coming down hard.

‘Listen up!’ he yelled. He had to raise his voice to be heard over the constant drumming and rumbling of the raid. On the dismal skyline, the Great Hill was lit up, strobing with flashes and fizzles of light as the enemy aircraft assaulted the shield and the lower slopes.

The officers, adjutants and seniors gathered in.

‘Primary order,’ said Rawne. ‘We’re moving in force towards the Tulkar Batteries. Expect enemy contact at that site. Be prepared to engage the enemy before we reach the batteries. We’re moving in five. Rapid deploy.’

‘Is this from the top?’ asked Kolosim.

‘No,’ said Rawne sarcastically. ‘I’m making it all up. Five minutes, are we clear?’

There was general assent.

‘Sergeant Mkoll?’

‘Yes, sir.’

‘I want the approaches to the batteries scouted in advance, so your boys will tip the spear.’

Mkoll nodded.

‘Do we have street plans?’ he asked.

Rawne glanced at Oysten, who held out a waterproof bag of city maps and charts.

‘Read and digest,’ said Rawne. ‘In fact, everybody get a look, please. Make sketches if you have to.’

‘What about the retinue?’ asked Blenner.

‘E and V Companies will remain here and guard the non-coms,’ said Rawne.

‘Are you joking?’ asked Wilder, unable to contain his annoyance. Once again, the Colours Company was being relegated from the front line.

‘No, I’m not, captain,’ said Rawne.

‘V Company isn’t just a marching band!’ Wilder protested. ‘This is simply another insult to our soldiering–’

‘Enough, captain, enough,’ said Blenner. He tried to sound stern, but secretly, he was pleased. His attachment to V Company meant that he wouldn’t be advancing into the field.

‘How long is this babysitting going to last?’ asked Meryn.

Rawne glanced at him.

‘An hour or two. Maybe slightly longer. Transport is being arranged to bring the retinue to safety inside the palace precinct. When it arrives, your job will be to escort the transit. Is E Company lodging a complaint too?’

Meryn shook his head. He was perfectly content to sit out the fight. And he knew full well why Rawne had made the call. If E Company stayed at the billet, then Felyx Chass would stay at the billet, and Rawne could sideline the boy from front-line deployment without making an obvious exception.

‘Request permission to remain on station with E Company,’ said Ludd. His concerns for Felyx’s welfare were all too obvious again. Rawne saw Dalin glance at Ludd with a frown.

‘Denied, commissar,’ said Rawne.

‘But–’

‘I said denied. Hark and Fazekiel are basically missing in action. I need a competent commissar at the line with us.’

Blenner thought about objecting, but he kept his mouth shut. If he said anything, he might end up switching out with Ludd. Better to live with an insult to his abilities than to get himself a walk to the line.

‘All right, that’s it,’ said Rawne. ‘Get ready to move. This is going to get ugly. I won’t dress it up. Chances are, whatever we’re heading to won’t be prepped. We’ll have to hit the ground and improvise. Maintain contact at all times – we’re going to need coordination. But vox discipline too, you hear me?’

He paused.

‘One last point,’ he said, reluctantly. ‘I’ve been given the rank of colonel for the duration of this. I don’t like it, but it may be useful authority if we’re dealing with allied units.’

‘You are our second in command anyway, sir,’ said Pasha.

Rawne nodded.

‘And now I have the rank to match,’ he said. ‘I probably should finish with some uplifting remark, but I’m fethed if I can think of anything. Get moving. Don’t feth this up.’

Gaunt’s Ghosts exited the billet camp rapidly, heading out along the access road and then turning south. Blenner stood and watched them fade into the rain, first the marching lines of troopers, then the half a dozen transports laden with munitions and heavier gear.

He heard Meryn shout, ‘Get the site secure! Come on now!’ The buffeting slap and thump rolling across the city from the Great Hill was growing more intense. Lightning laced the rain clouds, and it was hard to tell where the lightning stopped and the furious aerial bombardment began.

Blenner glanced around the yard. Wilder was talking to the hired mourners who staffed the funeral transports. The gloss black vehicles were still parked at the edge of the yard, glistening with raindrops. Death was clinging to Gaunt’s men. Urdesh should have been a deliverance for them, a well-earned respite after the struggles of the Reach, but it was dismal.

He wandered over to the abandoned cook tents. Water pattered from the edges of the canopy. He could still smell smoke, but the stoves had been put out, and the food was cold. There would be no feast now, no celebration. Blenner doubted Gaunt would care. Gaunt had come home to glory, to the insulating sanctity of high rank. His friend Gaunt. His old, dear friend. How many of his friends would Gaunt remember now he was ascending the dizzy heights? How many would he take with him?

Few at best, Blenner reckoned. Gaunt had made that snake Rawne a colonel, but that wasn’t anything. Just a field promotion so that the Ghosts had a leader. It was a way for Gaunt to wash his hands of the regiment. The Ghosts were just a historical footnote now, a minor citation in the history book entries on the career of Lord Militant Ibram Gaunt.

Blenner found the pills in his pocket, scooped up a ladle of water from an abandoned steamer, and washed down a handful. When he got to the safety of the palace, he’d work hard, make a few contacts, maybe inveigle his way into the good graces of a more agreeable commander. He’d secure himself a more comfortable future with some ceremonial company or ­honour guard, and he’d do it fast before Gaunt made good on his threat and transferred Blenner to some mud-bath line company.

He could do it. He was charming and persuasive. He’d always been able to work the arcane systems of the Astra Militarum to his own benefit.

‘Do you know where the keys are?’

He looked around. Wilder had come over.

‘What keys?’ asked Blenner.

‘The keys to the medicae trailer. The funeral staff want to be gone, and I don’t blame them. They won’t take the coffin with them. I said we’d store it in the trailer.’

Blenner nodded.

‘I think Meryn has them,’ he said. He called Meryn’s name across the yard.

Wilder took out a hip flask, and took a swig while they waited for Meryn to join them. He offered it to Blenner, who knocked some back, too.

‘I was talking to them,’ said Wilder.

‘Who?’

‘The mourners,’ said Wilder. ‘The paid mourners.’

‘They can’t really leave the woman’s body here. It has to be buried.’

Wilder shrugged.

‘I hardly care,’ he replied.

‘Will they come back tomorrow?’ Blenner asked. ‘Will they reschedule the service?’

‘Ask them yourself,’ said Wilder. ‘I said, I don’t care.’

‘Maybe we can take the coffin with us to the palace…’ Blenner mused.

‘I was talking to them, anyway,’ said Wilder.

‘And?’

‘I asked how much this service and everything was costing.’

‘The boy’s paying for it all. Private funds. I told you that.’

Wilder nodded. He took another swig.

‘You did. You have any idea what it costs?’

Blenner shook his head. Wilder mentioned a figure.

Blenner looked at him, his eyes wide. He took the flask from Wilder and drank again.

‘Are you joking?’

Wilder shook his head.

‘The boy’s loaded,’ he said. ‘He just drew down that kind of money. It was triple rate because of the short notice.’

‘Holy Throne,’ murmured Blenner.

‘Them and us, Blenner,’ said Wilder. ‘The great and eternal divide between the dog-soldiers like us who crawl through the mud and the high-born who can do anything they fething want.’

‘You two talking social politics again?’ asked Meryn, wandering into the cook tent with Gendler.

‘Oh, you know, the usual,’ said Blenner.

‘I was just telling the commissar how deep that brat’s pockets are,’ said Wilder.

‘You can spare them the details, Jakub,’ said Blenner.

Wilder didn’t. He repeated the figure to Meryn and Gendler. Meryn whistled. Gendler’s face turned red with rage.

‘Makes me want to slit that little bastard’s throat,’ he said.

‘Now, now, Didi,’ said Meryn.

‘Come on, Flyn. He’s a rancid little toerag. He’s so gakking arrogant.’

‘Didi, we all know the axe you have to grind against the Vervunhive elite,’ said Meryn.

‘And Gaunt,’ said Wilder bluntly.

‘Look at you,’ Meryn laughed, nodding to Wilder and Gendler. ‘Didi, robbed of his wealth and birthright by the war, and the captain here, seething with animus towards the man he blames for his brother’s death… Or at least, his brother’s lost reputation. You’re both pathetic.’

‘You despise Gaunt too,’ Gendler snapped. ‘He cost you your world.’

Meryn nodded.

‘He did. And I’d love to see him suffer. But bitching and moaning behind his back is hardly productive. You should do what I do. Take that hate and make it work for you.’

‘Yeah?’ sneered Wilder. ‘And how do you do that?’

‘Well,’ said Meryn with a shrug, ‘for a start, I don’t openly discuss vengeance against Gaunt, or his arse-wipe son, or the high spires of Verghast aristocracy, or any other iniquity, in front of a fething commissar.’

He looked at Blenner.

‘Probably wise,’ said Blenner. ‘He is my friend.’

‘Is he?’ asked Gendler. ‘Is he? He seems to treat you like crap on a regular basis.’

Blenner opened his mouth to reply, then decided to say nothing.

‘You’re all missing the point,’ said Meryn quietly. ‘You’re all too worked up with your own grievances. You need to learn the long game.’

He walked over to one of the stoves, and sampled the contents of a cook-pot. He wrinkled his face and spat it out again.

‘Gaunt’s at the palace,’ he said. ‘Out of the way, and probably too good to mingle with the likes of us any more. The company’s moving to the front line, and feth knows if they’ll come back alive. We’re here alone. We’re in charge.’

He smiled at them. It was a dangerous expression.

‘So, Didi, you could slice that runt’s throat. Wilder, you could put the boot in too, if you felt like it. Get a little payback for your brother. And we could ditch the body in the rubble wastes, and claim Felyx Chass was lost during the retreat operation. What would that get you? Ten minutes of private satisfaction? A temporary outlet for your resentment?’

‘So?’ asked Gendler.

‘That’s if you got away with it,’ said Blenner bleakly. ‘There’d be an inquiry…’

‘You’re all so dense,’ Meryn laughed. ‘We don’t need to off the boy. He’s an asset. He’s rich, you idiots.’

‘What are you saying?’ asked Wilder.

‘I’m saying the profits we’ve enjoyed over the years have reduced significantly since Daur’s bitch of a woman blew the viduity scam,’ said Meryn. ‘Booze and pharms make a little pocket change. We need a new revenue stream.’

‘What, we milk him?’ asked Gendler.

‘Deep pockets, you said,’ replied Meryn.

‘Are you talking extortion with menaces?’ asked Blenner. He felt very cold, suddenly.

‘I’m suggesting we have a quiet word with Felyx,’ said Meryn, ‘and illustrate how life will be much better for him in this regiment if he has friends looking out for him. Friends like us, who can make his existence a great deal more bearable. In exchange for, say, regular withdrawals from his family holdings. We could split it comfortably, four ways – maybe even set aside enough so that one day, not too long from now, we could just ghost ourselves away, score passage on a merchant ship and get the feth out of this life.’

‘Whoa, whoa,’ said Wilder. ‘I’m… I’m not comfortable with this conversation.’

‘Really, Jakub?’ smiled Meryn. ‘Not even the thought of screwing over the man you hate by means of his own bratty son? That not doing it for you?’

‘I think Captain Wilder is concerned that you’re talking about extortion with menaces, and desertion,’ said Blenner. ‘This conversation alone counts as conspiracy to commit. And as you pointed out yourself, Captain Meryn, it’s not a conversation you are wise having in my earshot. I thought you were smart, Meryn. I knew you were crooked as feth, but I thought you were meticulously careful. That you “played the long game”.’

Meryn grinned more broadly. He took Wilder’s flask and helped himself to a swig.

‘I am, commissar,’ he said. ‘I plan ahead. I cover the angles. I don’t open my mouth until I’m sure it’s safe to do it. Who’s going to tell?’

‘This conversation ends now,’ said Blenner. ‘If you don’t think I’ll report you if you carry on with this–’

‘How are those pills working out for you, Vaynom?’ asked Meryn.

Blenner hesitated.

‘What?’

‘Contraband somnia. Oh, that’s bad news. Possession, well… that would get a man flogged. And a commissar, what do we think? Execution? Or the worst possible punishment squad posting, at the least, I should think. A Delta Tau-rated posting. A death world, Vaynom. Want to end your days on a death world?’

‘A-are you threatening me?’ asked Blenner.

Meryn made a casual gesture.

‘Me? No. You’re one of us, Vaynom. One of our inner circle. We’re all friends. We can talk freely. None of us is going to rat on the ­others, is he?’

Meryn wandered across the tent and stopped face-to-face with Blenner. Blenner couldn’t meet his eyes.

‘We need you on this, Vaynom,’ he said. ‘The sweet, cures-all-ills protection of the Officio Prefectus. And you’d benefit too. You like your life, Vaynom. You like it comfortable.’

‘Damn you,’ murmured Blenner.

‘Oh, all right. Damn me.’

Meryn turned away.

‘Your choice,’ he said. ‘But we’ve got you cold. You flip a coin on us, you’re done. You really think I would have opened my mouth in front of you if I didn’t already own you? Long game, Vaynom, long game.’

Blenner swallowed hard. He felt unsteady. He could feel all three of them staring at him. The self-preservation that had seen him safe his entire career kicked in faultlessly.

He lit his most charming smile.

‘I was just testing you, Flyn,’ he said. ‘I wanted to make sure you were serious. It’s about time we stopped picking up scraps and got ourselves a decent score.’

‘Are you serious?’ asked Wilder.

‘Throne, Jakub,’ said Blenner. ‘My only hesitation was whether to do this myself or bring you in on it.’

Meryn nodded and smiled his crooked smile.

‘We have to put this in motion now,’ he said. ‘The next hour or so. Better here than once we’re inside the palace.’

‘We need him alone,’ said Gendler.

‘Everyone needs to get scrubbed and showered before we ship to the palace,’ said Blenner. ‘Carbolic soap, anti-bac. We’ll only be admitted if there’s no lice infestation. The instructions are specific.’

‘They are?’ asked Wilder.

‘They are if I say so,’ said Blenner.

‘What about that fether Dalin Criid?’ asked Gendler. ‘He’s shadowing Felyx.’

‘He’s my adjutant,’ said Meryn. ‘He’ll do exactly what I tell him to.’

‘But what,’ Wilder asked, haltingly, ‘but what do we use as leverage? The boy’s an arrogant little bastard. What’ll stop him telling on us?’

‘He’ll be too scared to talk,’ said Gendler.

They’d already had to double back four times. The road links across the city between Gaelen quarter and Low Keen were frantically congested. Instead of taking shelter from the raid, the population of Eltath seemed to have taken to the streets. Convoys of traffic, transports laden with people and belongings. It was like an exodus. People seemed to be trying to flee north.

Baskevyl had seen this before. It was like resignation. When a population had been beaten and deprived for too long, it finally snapped. In the face of another attack, the promise of another destructive cycle of death and dispossession, they turned their backs and fled, unable to face the danger any more.

Ironically, this meant they were fleeing into danger.

The main air raid was concentrated on the Great Hill. The cloudy skies above were backlit by flashes and blinks of light and fire as the Archenemy attacked the shield. Some sections of the enemy air mass had peeled off, choosing to strike at other targets in the city, strafing and unloading sticks of bombs. The constant drumming thump of anti-air batteries across the city was relentless. From the cab of the Munitorum truck they had commandeered, Baskevyl could see the glow of street fires in neighbouring blocks. The sky was stained amber.

They had come to a halt again. Traffic choked the street ahead. Transports were lined up, stationary, drivers arguing. On the pavements, tides of people hurried northwards, some pushing their lives in hand carts and barrows.

‘Back up,’ Fazekiel told the driver. ‘Go around.’

‘Where exactly?’ the driver complained.

‘Down there. That side street,’ she told him.

‘That’ll just take us back towards the harbour,’ the driver said.

‘At least we’ll be moving,’ Fazekiel snapped.

There was a sucking rush as an enemy aircraft passed overhead. A moment later, the jarring crump of detonations shuddered from no more than three streets distant. Grit and scraps of papery debris ­drizzled down on the road, and people screamed and hurried for cover.

‘Moving is good,’ said Domor.

The driver put the truck in reverse, swung the nose around, and edged down the sharp incline of a narrow side street. Pedestrians had to get out of the way. They yelled at the truck, and beat on its side panels. Baskevyl wasn’t sure if that was anger at the imposition of letting the truck pass through, or desperate pleas for help.

He glanced at Fazekiel. They’d been on the road for two hours, and seemed no closer to the billet. It felt like a year had passed since they had set out for the ordos stronghold that morning.

Baskevyl wondered if they should just stop. Stop and find cover. Stop and find somewhere with a voxcaster or some communication system. He wanted to warn Gol what was coming his way. He had a sick feeling it was already far too late.

At the bottom of the side street, the driver turned left, and they ­rumbled along the service road of a hab area. They passed people hurry­ing to nowhere, people who didn’t turn to give them a passing look. Anti-sniper sheets and curtains, tapestries and carpets, flapped overhead like threadbare parade banners.

Up ahead, a truck had broken down and was half blocking the service road. The engine cover was up, and people were working on it. The driver had to bump up on the pavement to try to ease around the obstruction. People shouted at them. Some clamoured for a ride.

‘Hey,’ said Domor. He slid down the cab’s window and craned to listen. ‘That’s artillery.’

Baskevyl could hear the thumping, sporadic noise in the distance. Heavy shelling. That was a worse sign. If the artillery belonged to the enemy, then it meant they were facing a land assault too, one that was close enough to hear. If the artillery was Imperial, it meant that there were enemy targets close enough to warrant a bombardment.

‘We need to find shelter,’ said the driver. They could tell he was beginning to panic. The stink of his sweat in the cab was unbearable.

‘Keep driving,’ said Fazekiel.

There was a flash.

The street ahead, thirty metres away, vanished in a blinding cloud of light and flames. Then the sound came, the roar, then the slap of the shock wave. The transport shook on its suspension. Debris cracked and crazed the windscreen. Baskevyl shook his head, trying to clear his ears. Everything had become muffled, the world around him buzzing like a badly tuned vox.

‘The feth was that?’ he heard Domor say.

The street ahead had become a crater, deep and smoking. Outflung ­rubble was scattered everywhere. The buildings on one side of the street were ablaze, flames licking out of blown-out windows. On the other side, the front of a hab block had simply collapsed, exposing layers of floors like some museum cross section. As Baskevyl watched, an anti-sniper curtain, on fire, broke from its moorings over the street and fell, billowing sparks.

There were bodies everywhere. Bodies of pedestrians who had been rushing to nowhere, and were now not rushing at all. Debris had killed some, mangling them, but others had been felled by the blast concussion. They looked like they were sleeping. Pools of blood covered the road surface and gurgled in the gutters.

‘Where’s the driver?’ Fazekiel asked, dazed.

The cab door was wide open. The driver had bolted.

‘Can you drive?’ Fazekiel asked Baskevyl.

He nodded. He was still hoping that the ringing in his ears would stop. He got into the driving seat, and fumbled to find the engine starter.

‘We’ve got to turn around,’ said Domor. ‘The whole fething street is gone. We have to back up and turn.’

‘I know,’ said Baskevyl. He was pushing the starter, but the engine wasn’t turning. He thought the driver had stalled the transport out, but maybe they’d taken damage.

He fiddled with the gears in case there was some kind of transmission lock-out that prevented engine-start if the box wasn’t in neutral. He pushed the starter again.

He could hear a pop-pop-pop-pop.

Was that a starter misfire? An electrical fault?

‘Get out!’ Domor yelled to them.

Baskevyl could still hear the popping, but his finger was no longer on the starter button.

It was small-arms fire. He was hearing small-arms fire.

A moment later, they heard the slap-bang of the first rounds striking the bodywork.

Colonel Grae told Hark that the site was called Station Theta, apparently one of several anonymous safe house strongholds Guard intelligence controlled inside Eltath. Intelligence service troopers in body armour opened the gates and ushered the Chimera into a fortified yard behind the main building.

Hark got out. The raid had been under way for a while, and the skies were florid with fire-stain. Through the razor wire on the wall top, Hark could see enemy aircraft passing overhead, heading to the apex of the city.

‘This is bad,’ he said to Grae.

The colonel nodded.

‘No warning this was coming,’ he said. ‘Nothing on the watch reports of this magnitude. We had no idea they had moved principal strengths so close to the city limits.’

Grae looked at his detail.

‘Get Major Kolea inside, please,’ he said.

‘I should rejoin my regiment,’ said Hark. ‘With this shit coming down, they’ll be mobilising.’

Grae frowned.

‘True,’ he said, ‘but I don’t like your chances. It’s all going to hell out there. Maybe when the raid is over…’

Hark looked him in the eye.

‘I said I should,’ he said, ‘not I would. I’m not leaving Kolea here. Not even with you, though you seem sympathetic. The Ghosts are big boys, and they have good command. They’ll be all right for a while.’

‘As you wish,’ said Grae.

‘You’ll get me use of a vox, though,’ said Hark. ‘So I can get a message to them?’

‘Of course.’

They walked into the blockhouse, following the guards as they escorted the silent, solemn Kolea. There was a holding area and a loading dock. Hark saw side offices filled with cogitators, planning systems and vox-units.

‘Where is everyone?’ Grae asked.

Hark knew what he meant. He had expected to see the place in a frenzy of activity. This was an intelligence service station in a city under assault.

‘Where’s the head of station?’ Grae called out. ‘Someone find me the head of station or the rubrication chief!’

A couple of troopers from the detail moved forwards to look. Grae led the main group through a station office and down a hallway to the situations room.

The console station in the situations room was active, chirping and buzzing, but it was unmanned. A tall figure stood waiting for them in the centre of the room.

She turned to face them.

‘Inquisitor,’ Grae said, startled.

‘Colonel Grae,’ said Laksheema. ‘Did you honestly think that you could disguise your movements and deceive me?’

‘I was… merely taking Major Kolea into custody, as we agreed,’ said Grae.

‘This is not what we agreed,’ said Laksheema.

‘This is her, is it?’ Hark asked Grae.

‘Yes,’ said Grae.

For a moment, Hark had thought Grae had walked them into a trap, that he’d been playing them all along. But from the look of dismay on his face, it was evident that his part in delivering them to Inquisitor Laksheema had been unwitting.

‘The intelligence service is extremely proficient,’ said Laksheema, ‘but it is an amateur operation compared to the omniscient surveillance of the Holy Ordos. You’ve made a fool of yourself, Grae. Inter-departmental rivalry is ridiculous and counter-productive. I will be speaking to your superiors.’

She looked at Hark.

‘You are Viktor Hark?’

‘I am,’ said Hark.

‘You are known to me from the files,’ she said. She took a step towards Kolea, and waved the intelligence service guards surrounding him out of her way.

‘And Gol Kolea. Face-to-face, again.’

Kolea said nothing.

Laksheema eyed him with curiosity. She tilted her head, and her gilded augmetics caught the light.

‘With respect, ma’am,’ Hark said.

She looked at him sharply.

‘A phrase which always means “without any respect at all”, commissar.’

‘True enough,’ said Hark. ‘What do you want with Kolea? I am here to watch out for his welfare, and I intend to do everything in my power to do that.’

‘You have no power at all,’ she replied. ‘However, unlike Colonel Grae, I see great benefit in inter-discipline cooperation. You will assist me in learning the manner of truths from Major Kolea.’

‘Like what?’ asked Hark.

‘Major Kolea clearly has a connection of some sort to the so-called eagle stones,’ she said. She looked at Kolea. ‘Don’t you, Gol? We will explore that connection.’

‘Will we?’ asked Hark.

‘Yes,’ said Laksheema. ‘And let us first consider this. The city is under attack. It has been a safe stronghold for months. Now, suddenly and without warning, it is the focus of a major assault, one which we did not see coming. And, just days ago, the major here, and his regiment, and the secrets they guarded, including the eagle stones, arrived in Eltath. Do you not suppose the timing is significant? Do you not imagine that the Archenemy of mankind is descending upon us to get the stones back?’

Night was falling, and the rain was still beating down hard. A min­imum number of lamps had been lit at the K700 billet because of the danger of air raid. The void shield of the Urdeshic Palace, a dome of green light just visible through the filthy air, was still lit. The waves of enemy aircraft had finally stopped coming about an hour before, but the shield was still up. Areas of the city on the slopes of the Great Hill glowed amber in the gloom: blocks and streets turned into firestorms by bombing overshoot.

Outside the wash house units behind the billet, people were still queuing for the mandatory anti-bac showers Commissar Blenner had ordered. V Company had already run through shower rotation, and were supervising the civilian queues. E Company was lining up to use the blocks of grotty wash houses on the east side. The rainy air smelt of counterseptic gel and carbolic.

‘I don’t want to do this,’ Felyx whispered to Dalin. ‘I don’t have to. I don’t have lice.’

‘Everyone has to,’ said Dalin. ‘Blenner ordered it. Instructions from staff command, he said.’

‘Dalin–’

‘Don’t worry. We’ll use the block on the end. There are only four stalls. I’ll cover the door while you’re in there, make sure no one else comes in.’

‘This is stupid,’ said Felyx.

‘What’s stupid is us not telling anyone,’ said Dalin. ‘Then we wouldn’t have to go through this pantomime.’

‘Don’t start on me.’

The group ahead of them was waved over to the left-hand shower block by Trooper Perday.

‘Next group,’ she called.

‘We’ll take the right-hand block,’ said Dalin.

Perday frowned.

‘It’s the commander’s son,’ Dalin whispered to her with a meaningful look. ‘A little privacy, all right?’

Perday nodded.

‘Understood, Dal,’ she said. ‘On you go.’

Dalin and Felyx walked across the puddled cobbles to the end block. A couple of E Company troopers followed them.

‘Use that one,’ Dalin told them. ‘Only two of the stalls are working in here.’

They reached the door of the end block. It was a grim, tiled chamber with four curtained brick stalls. The place reeked of mildew. A couple of troopers were exiting, towels around their necks.

‘Go on,’ hissed Dalin. ‘Get in there and be quick. I’ll watch the door.’

Felyx glared at him and stomped inside. Dalin heard the pipes thud and water start to spray. He pulled the wooden door to and waited.

‘Trooper?’

Dalin turned. It was Meryn.

‘You done yet, trooper?’ Meryn asked.

‘No, sir,’ said Dalin. ‘I’m just…’

‘Is it full in there?’

‘No, sir. Uhm, Trooper Chass is in there. I was just watching the door. Giving him some privacy.’

Meryn nodded.

‘I want to know where the transports are,’ said Meryn. ‘They should be here by now. Seeing as how you’re still dressed, run up to the gate and ask if they’ve seen anything inbound.’

‘Oh. B-but–’

Meryn frowned at him.

‘That’s a fething order, Trooper Criid,’ he said.

‘Of course.’

‘Come on,’ said Meryn, smiling slightly. ‘I know you take your duties seriously. This’ll take you five minutes. Don’t worry. I’ll watch the door and keep precious Trooper Chass safe.’

Dalin hesitated.

‘Get the feth to it!’ Meryn barked.

With a sigh, Dalin turned and began to run down the breeze-way towards the yard and the gate.

Meryn leaned back against the shower block wall and folded his arms. Gendler and Wilder appeared out of the shadows.

‘Get on with it,’ said Meryn, ‘and make it fast.’

He walked away.

‘Keep watch,’ said Gendler to Wilder. He pushed open the door and stepped inside.

The ragged curtain was drawn on the end stall. Gendler could hear water hissing.

He approached the curtain, and drew his straight silver.

‘Hello, Felyx,’ he said.

There was a long pause.

‘Who’s there? Who is that?’

‘I just want a little chat, Felyx.’

‘Is that you, Gendler? Is it? I know your voice.’

Gendler smiled.

‘Yeah. It’s time to have a little chat with your Uncle Didi.’

‘Stay out! Stay the feth out!’

‘Oh, that’s not very friendly is it, Felyx,’ said Gendler. He poked the tip of his knife through the curtain at the top, near the middle of the rail, and ripped it down, cutting the old curtain in half.

He expected to find the boy cowering inside. He didn’t expect Felyx to come flying out at him like a fury.

Something sliced into Gendler’s shoulder and he yowled in pain. Instinctively, he lashed out, swatting the boy aside with the back of his fist. Felyx lurched hard to the left, cracked his head against the side wall of the stall, and collapsed in a heap. His straight silver clattered from his hand onto the tiled floor. The water started to swirl Gendler’s blood off the blade.

Gendler stood for a moment, breathing hard. The bastard had knifed him in the shoulder. Blood soaked the front of Gendler’s uniform. Little bastard! It hurt like a fether!

Shaking, he looked down at the unconscious boy. He hadn’t meant to hit him so hard. The boy had cracked his head on the bricks, and blood from the wound was spiralling into the stall’s drain plate and soaking the grubby towel that the boy had half wrapped around himself–

‘Holy gak,’ Gendler breathed.

Not a boy. Not a boy at all.

‘What have you done?’

Gendler looked around. Wilder had entered the shower block. He was staring in shock at the crumpled, half-naked body on the tiles.

‘Oh, shit, Gendler! What have you done?’

‘The little brat went for me,’ said Gendler. ‘Bloody stuck me. I’m bleeding!’

‘Fething Throne, Gendler,’ said Wilder. ‘She’s a girl. It’s a girl.’

Wilder looked at Gendler.

‘What the feth do we do?’ he asked, panic rising. ‘You have just dropped us in so much shit.’

‘We… we say she slipped. Slipped in the shower,’ said Gendler. ‘Yeah, she slipped. We found her. We helped her.’

‘You gak-tard! What will she say?’ asked Wilder.

Gendler thought about that for a second. Then he knelt down, wincing from the pain of his stab wound, and put his hand around Felyx’s throat.

‘Nothing,’ he said, calmly. ‘She slipped and she fell and she died.’

‘Throne, Gendler!’ Wilder gasped.

Gendler’s knuckles began to tighten.

There was a spitting hiss. Gendler tumbled back as if he’d been hit with a mallet. He landed sitting up, with his back to the brick wall. An iron quarrel was lodged in his chest.

Eszrah Ap Niht stood in the doorway, his reynbow aimed.

‘Touch her not, soule,’ he growled.

Gendler coughed blood.

‘You feth-wipe,’ he gurgled. He wrenched his sidearm from its holster, and aimed it at Ezra.

The reynbow spat again. The quarrel hit Gendler in the middle of the forehead, and smacked his skull against the bricks. He lolled, head back, staring at the ceiling with dead eyes.

Jakub Wilder wailed in dismay. He pulled his sidearm.

But Ezra had already reloaded. The quarrel punched through the meat of Wilder’s right thigh in a puff of blood, and dropped him to his knees. Wilder squealed, and tried to aim his weapon. Ezra dropped another iron bolt into his bow, and fired again, quick and methodical. The quarrel hit Wilder in the shoulder of his gun-arm, spun him sideways off his feet and sent the pistol skittering away across the floor. Wilder lay on the ground, sobbing and moaning, blood leaking out onto the tiles.

‘The feth is going on in here?’ Meryn yelled as he and Blenner stormed in. They looked at the bodies on the ground in dismay.

‘Feth…’ Meryn said.

‘They would to kill her,’ said Ezra.

‘It’s a fething girl!’ said Meryn.

Drawn by the commotion, people were crowding around the door outside. Meryn turned and yelled at them.

‘Out! Get out! Get out now!’ he bellowed, driving them back, and slamming the ratty wooden door shut.

He looked at Ezra again.

‘Are you… are you saying Gendler and Wilder attacked this… attacked this girl?’

Ezra nodded.

Meryn glanced at Blenner. Blenner was shaking. He could see the frantic desperation in Meryn’s eyes.

‘That’s… that’s actionable, isn’t it, commissar?’ Meryn said. ‘Gross assault? That’s summary, right there!’

‘I…’ Blenner began.

‘That’s right, isn’t it, commissar?’ Meryn urged.

‘Feth… Meryn, please…’ Wilder moaned from the floor. ‘For pity’s sake, help me…’

‘I’m right, aren’t I, Commissar Blenner?’ Meryn demanded. Blenner could read the message Meryn was sending him, the message blazing out of his eyes. Shut this down. Shut this down before Wilder sells us out too. Shut this down and keep this contained.

Vaynom Blenner’s sense of justice crumbled beneath the weight of his fear. Somewhere, during that, his heart broke.

He drew his sidearm.

‘Captain Jakub Wilder,’ he began. His voice sounded very small. ‘You have shamed the honour code of the Astra Militarum with actions base, vile and cowardly.’

‘Oh, no,’ Wilder cried, trying to rise. ‘Are you bloody kidding me? Blenner, no! No!’

‘By the authority of the Officio Prefectus,’ said Blenner, ‘punishment is immediate.’

Jakub Wilder started to scream. Blenner shot him through the head. Blood flecked the walls. His body fell hard on the tiles.

Meryn looked at Ezra.

‘Good work,’ he said. ‘Very good work, Ezra. Thank the Holy Throne you were here.’

‘Gaunt, he told me to watch his child,’ said Ezra.

‘Well, you’ve served him well,’ said Meryn. He stooped to recover the laspistol Wilder had dropped. ‘Very diligent. Really, thank Throne you were here. The Emperor protects.’

Meryn fired Wilder’s sidearm three times, point-blank, into Ezra’s upper back between the shoulder blades. Ezra fell without a sound.

Blenner stood and stared with his mouth wide open.

‘What a mess, eh?’ Meryn whispered to him, putting the gun down beside Wilder’s lifeless right hand. ‘Ezra saved the girl, but Wilder shot him, so you had to execute him.’

He looked at Blenner.

‘Right?’ he asked firmly.

‘Meryn, I–’

‘We’re in this together, Blenner. You and me. It’s a simple, sad tale, and our stories will match. All right?’

Blenner nodded.

‘Good,’ said Meryn. ‘Now let’s find a fething corpsman.’