‘Feth me all you like,’ Laksheema replied. ‘This is a security matter. A warp incursion. There’s something in there. I believe we would be derelict in our duty to the Throne to open that wall and let it into a palace containing the bulk of crusade high command and the person of the warmaster.’
Daur looked away. Hark squeezed his shoulder.
The Scions snapped around, weapons raised. Grae was returning, bringing the inquisitor’s savant Onabel and two robed interrogators.
‘Let them through,’ said Laksheema. She put her hand on the plump little woman’s elbow and cradled it. ‘Did Grae brief you?’ Laksheema asked.
‘He did, mam,’ Onabel replied. She combed her fingers through her curly silver hair. ‘All our meters are spiking. This is an incursion of serious grade.’
‘Serious enough to evacuate the palace?’ asked Gaunt.
Onabel hunched her shoulders. ‘Not my place to say, high lord,’ she replied. ‘But I wouldn’t stay here. I’m only here because I’m called to work. I’d venture that, at least, the removal to safe distance of senior echelon might be wise. That would include yourself, sir.’
‘I’m staying,’ said Gaunt. ‘Beltayn, go to the war room and…’ he hesitated. ‘No, it’s got to come from someone with authority. Van Voytz won’t act on the word of a vox-man. Inquisitor?’
Laksheema beckoned the two interrogators. She handed them her ordo rosette. ‘Convey to Lord General Van Voyz whatever the Lord Executor instructs you.’
They nodded.
‘Tell him immediate evacuation, including senior level,’ Gaunt said. ‘Tell him to carry Macaroth out of the palace on his shoulders if he has to. Tell him… Ibram told you this. It’s an unconditional order from the Lord Executor.’
‘Yes, lord,’ they replied, and hurried back the way they’d come, the tails of their robes lifting behind them.
Onabel had set her hands on the wall.
‘Here?’ she asked.
‘Yes,’ said Laksheema.
The little savant closed her eyes. She took one hand off the wall and pressed it against her bosom. The other she left in place, her index finger tapping on the stone.
They could smell the ugly aura of psionics immediately. Perday covered her mouth. The Scions took a step back, uneasy.
Clear liquid began to seep out of the stonework, welling up and running down the wall around her hand like heavy beads of condensation. It felt as though someone had opened the door of a walk-in freezer.
‘Water?’ said Daur. ‘Is the flood up this high?’ He reached towards the droplets.
‘Don’t,’ said Laksheema.
‘It’s tears,’ said Onabel. She kept tapping her finger, her eyes squeezed shut.
‘Tears?’ asked Curth.
‘There is a great deal of pain on the other side of this wall,’ said Onabel. ‘Woe.’ Her voice was soft, but a tiny break betrayed her increasing discomfort. ‘I have voices,’ she said. ‘People are… there are dead people. Others crying out.’
‘May we hear?’ asked Laksheema. ‘If you can bear it?’
Onabel nodded. When her mouth opened next, it wasn’t her voice that came out of it.
‘–can’t find the door! There’s no door!’
There was no mistaking the voice. It was Mach Bonin. They’d never heard him so agitated, but it was undeniably him. The savant wasn’t impersonating. Bonin’s voice, the product of an entirely different set of vocal chords, was issuing from her mouth.
‘Mach?’ Gaunt said, stepping forward. ‘It’s Gaunt. Tell him it’s Gaunt.’
‘Is he the other side of the wall?’ asked Sancto.
Laksheema shook her head.
‘There’s no fething door, Yerolemew!’ Bonin said through Onabel’s mouth. ‘How’s that fething possible?’
‘I don’t know, Mach. Mach? Mach? There’s something on the stairs.’ Onabel’s speech had switched seamlessly to the gruff, rich cadences of the Belladon bandmaster. They’d never heard him panicking either. ‘Mach, it’s on the stairs. It’s all shadows. The women are screaming.’
‘Sergeant major!’ Gaunt shouted at the wall and the savant. ‘Sergeant Major Yerolemew! This is Gaunt! Can you hear me?’
‘Sir? Sir?’ Onabel’s lips kept moving, but Yerolemew’s voice had faded, as though he had moved away. The volume rose and fell like a ’caster looped on and off a signal. ‘Mach, did you hear that? Bonin! I heard someone. I heard Gaunt!’
The noises from the savant became inaudible. Muffled sounds. Echoes of words.
‘Bonin!’ Daur called out, moving in beside Gaunt. ‘Bonin? It’s Ban! Let me know you can hear us.’
The voice coming out of Onabel suddenly giggled. A different voice in another register. A child.
‘Feth,’ murmured Hark.
Curth nodded. ‘Yoncy.’
The giggle stopped. Onabel’s mouth continued to move silently. Then suddenly, sharply–
‘Ban?’
Daur shuddered. He fought to control the contortions of his face. His eyes filled with tears.
‘Ban?’ The voice was loud and very clear.
‘Elodie?’ Daur answered.
‘Ban, get us out. Ban? The shadow’s in here. We can’t find the door. Everything… everything’s moving around.’
‘Elodie… we’re trying to–’
‘Everyone’s scattering. Women and children. There was no door. The door just wasn’t there. The shadow came up. The bad shadow. Filling up everything. People – Ban? Are you still there?’
‘Yes,’ he whispered.
‘Ban, love,’ said Elodie’s voice, as though she was just on the other side of a curtain. ‘Ban, it’s killing people.’ She started to sob. Tears ran from Onabel’s eyes and more droplets scurried down the wall. ‘I’m so afraid. There’s blood everywhere. It’s cutting through the retinue and– Ban? I think it’s hungry. I think it’s eating to… to get stronger. To grow. It’s filling everything up. Blood levels are rising–’
‘She means flood levels,’ whispered Sancto.
‘No, she doesn’t,’ said Laksheema.
‘Elodie?’ Daur grimaced through his tears. His fists clenched. ‘Elodie, stay put. Hide. We’ll get in there.’
‘Blood levels are rising. The shadow’s in us. It makes the sound I heard. The sound at Low Keen. The butcher sound. Juniper says it smells like a woe machine. I’m so scared. Get me out. Get me fething out. Please. I’m so sorry, Ban. So sorry. I was right. I was right about her, and I should have said before. I should have said. I knew what she was. I should have made someone listen–’
Elodie’s voice dropped to a distant whisper.
‘Oh Throne,’ she breathed. ‘She’s right here.’
‘Elodie?’
‘Ban? I love you. I always will.’
‘I love you, Elodie. I–’
Onabel fell silent. Her lips stopped moving.
‘Elodie?’ Daur murmured, staring at the savant.
Onabel let her hand slip off the wall. It flopped down at her side. She turned very slowly and opened her eyes. She stared right at Daur.
And opened her mouth. And somehow produced a sound it should have been impossible for a human voice to copy.
The howling shriek of a bone saw.
The light globes overhead shattered like autogun rounds.
Onabel coughed, and bloody phlegm sprayed from her lips. She fell down, twitching.
Daur sank to his knees.
‘Holy fething throne,’ murmured Beltayn.
Laksheema knelt beside her stricken savant. Curth ran to Daur, and tried to get him up. He wouldn’t move, so she crouched beside him instead and wrapped her arm around him.
‘Get charges,’ said Gaunt. ‘Viktor? Get charges now. A demolition team. We’re taking this wall down.’
‘My lord, we cannot let it out,’ said Laksheema. ‘Under no circumstances. It’s your regiment, I know. I understand your despair. But we cannot permit this thing to exit the undercroft area.’