‘Feth,’ he whispered to himself.
He edged on, following the hallway that led to the latrine area. The stone wall was hard and rough under his groping hand. Just to the right, he thought, the tunnel turns and–
There was a blank stone wall ahead of him. A dead end.
Domor stood for a second, and adjusted his optics. How was that possible?
He cursed himself. You got turned around, Shoggy, he thought. You took a wrong turn. Mach Bonin will have your guts when he finds out a Tanith man got himself lost in his own fething billet.
He turned and moved back the way he had come. Stupid. Just stupid. Just nerves. They’d been in the undercroft for four days. He knew the fething way around.
Domor came back under a low lintel into one of the main billet halls. His optics showed him the rows of empty cots, the rumpled sheets a brighter, almost incandescent lime green compared to the deep emerald of the bedrolls. Kitbags had been knocked over and left.
‘Taskane! For feth’s sake!’
He thought he heard something, but it was just the damn scratching in his ears. He turned back and took the correct exit this time, fumbling along another wall.
He went down a couple of steps and found himself shin-deep in water. It was cold as hell, rushing into his boots.
‘Feth’s sake!’ he cursed.
He splashed on for a few metres.
‘Taskane!’ His optics winked out.
Domor stood stock-still for a moment. He tapped at the sides of his augmetics.
Vision returned in a jumble of green noise.
Then it failed again. The temperature seemed to drop sharply.
In utter darkness, he sloshed his way backwards and found the reassuring solidity of the wall. Get your breathing under control, you idiot. You’re not afraid of the dark. There’s nothing down here to be scared of–
A noise shuddered through the darkness. It wasn’t the burble of the faulty alarms. It was a rasping, keening whine.
He’d heard it before. A noise like a surgical drill. A bone saw.
He’d heard it down at Low Keen, while searching behind the billets for Elodie and Gol’s kid.
Heard it right before the… the whatever it was slaughtered an insurgent pack of Sekkite troops.
Shoggy Domor drew his warknife, and felt the comfort of it in his hand. He tried to adjust his optics and get them working again.
Something grabbed him from behind.
‘Good to see you,’ said Daur.
‘You too,’ replied Curth.
He’d come down to a reception hall just off the palace east gatehouse as soon as he’d received word that the regimental casualties had arrived.
‘I’ve got them all to the palace infirmary,’ she said, handing Daur the casualty list. ‘All stable. No losses en route.’
Daur nodded, reading the list. ‘Some of these look grim,’ he said.
‘It was fething brutal at the batteries,’ she said. ‘Some of them should have been shipped back from the front line days ago. It’s a miracle three or four of them made it.’
‘I imagine that miracle was you,’ said Hark as he joined them.
‘No,’ she said. ‘Just luck and maybe the blessing of the Emperor. They’re all with the palace medicae now. Best surgical teams in the crusade.’
She looked at Daur.
‘I’d like to get back out there,’ she said. ‘Re-join Pasha’s group, or Rawne’s. Are you sending V or E out in support?’
‘This is Gaunt’s op,’ said Daur. ‘He’s told us to sit here for now.’
‘Well, can you authorise my return, Ban?’ Curth asked.
Hark looked at her. She was filthy with dirt and blood stains, and had a dazed look in her eyes, a look he’d seen many times before. She clearly hadn’t slept in days.
‘I think a little turn-around rest here first, eh, Ban?’ said Hark gently. He glanced at Daur.
‘I think so,’ he replied.
‘Feth’s sake,’ she snapped. ‘They’re deploying into… well, who the feth knows what. No one’s clear about it. The whole regiment’s been on the line for nearly a hundred and fifty straight. They’re burned through–’
‘I know,’ said Daur. ‘And so are you. Take an hour or two at least, get cleaned up, and we’ll talk about it again.’
‘I’ll take this to Gaunt, then,’ she said, her chin jutting pugnaciously.
‘Good luck,’ said Hark. ‘No fether’s getting in to see him. He’s with the Saint. He’s the Lord high fething Executor, Ana. We’re just getting scraps from his table, and the scraps say do this and get it done.’
Curth breathed out hard and her shoulder slumped.
‘Is it true?’ she asked.
‘About what?’ asked Daur.
‘Ezra being dead? Felyx being…’ her voice trailed off. ‘Gaunt’s daughter or some shit?’
‘All true,’ said Hark.
‘Feth!’ she said.
‘It’s been quite a time, all told,’ said Hark. ‘Ana, let’s go find you a billet.’
‘And a drink, maybe?’ she asked.
‘Oh, definitely that,’ said Hark.
The three turned and began to walk back down the reception hall. It was filling up with Helixid and Keyzon troopers, just arriving off transports that had set down in the Hexagonal Court. The trio had to skirt between gaggles of men and stacks of fieldpacks and bagged support weapons. Munitorum staffers were shouting orders and herding the arrivals into formations. A squad of Urdeshi troopers hurried through the hall, and spat disparaging taunts at the Helixid as they pushed through.
There were some angry answers. Some of the Helixid squared up, blocking the big Urdesh men.
‘You! Yes, you!’ Hark yelled. ‘That’s enough. Back off and get about your business or I’ll turn the lot of you arseholes-out!’
‘That’s an actual surgical procedure, right?’ Daur murmured sidelong to Curth.
‘Takes a steady hand, but it’s highly effective,’ she replied with a weak grin.
‘Idiots,’ muttered Hark as he turned back to join Curth and Daur. ‘Is it me, or is there something in the air tonight?’
‘The storm?’ asked Daur. Hark didn’t look convinced.
‘No, Viktor’s right,’ said Curth. ‘A really ugly mood. I thought it was just me, but you could sharpen steel on some of the looks in here.’
Hark nodded. ‘Yeah,’ he said. ‘I know I’ve got a bastard of a headache. Right between the ears. Gnawing away.’
‘Probably brain worms,’ said Curth.
‘That would explain an awful lot,’ said Daur.
‘The two of you are simply hilarious,’ said Hark.
‘Sir! Captain Daur!’
They turned at the sound of a woman calling out anxiously. Trooper Ree Perday, the helicon player from V Company, was pushing her way through the hall towards them, waving to be seen over the tall, solid mob of assembling Guard.
‘Perday?’
She ran up, slightly out of breath, and threw a salute.
‘Message from Major Baskevyl,’ she said. ‘There’s a situation in the undercroft, sir.’
‘Where?’ asked Curth.
‘Our spectacular billet,’ replied Hark, ‘also known as the old palace wine vaults that no one else wanted.’
‘What sort of situation, trooper?’ asked Daur.
‘Well, the lights have failed. Total blackout,’ she said.
‘Then get a fething tech crew on it,’ said Daur. ‘Bask doesn’t need my permission to call in a–’
‘Begging your pardon, sir,’ said Perday, ‘he’s already done that. It’s f – bad word dark as arseholes down there – sorry, sir. It’s totally dark. And Commissar Fazekiel, she’s called an amber status.’
Daur and Hark looked at each other sharply.
‘What?’ asked Daur. ‘Why?’