His hair was cut in the style of the Astra Militarum, shorn close though without a regimental insignia. He did have a tattoo just above the bridge of his nose, of a letter ‘I’ within an eye.
‘Who are you?’ demanded Meroved. He gestured to Kazamende’s body. ‘Did you have a part in this?’
‘I’ll presume you are pointing to your dead comrade,’ said the man. ‘Through the hololith I can only see you. The narrow beam focus, you understand.’ His voice was cultured, urbane and bereft of the usual condescension typical of his calling. ‘He is your comrade, yes?’
‘Answer me now,’ said Meroved, in no mood for games. ‘There is no place you can hide from me. Nowhere that will be safe for you or those responsible.’
The man nodded. ‘I thought so,’ he said, as if he hadn’t heard Meroved’s threat. ‘I am Ylax Orn, not that my name will mean anything to you. I regret what happened to your comrade. I am the Emperor’s servant in this but he was unwilling to let me conduct my work.’
Meroved scowled in disbelief. ‘You slay one of the Ten Thousand and claim you serve the Throne?’
‘I did and I do. You do not understand yet. You will. But I wanted to be sure, to see you with my own eyes…’ He shrugged, and his casual manner turned Meroved’s hands to fists, though he knew his rage was impotent against a hololithic projection. ‘Well… You can appreciate what I mean.’
‘You will die by my hand, heretic,’ Meroved promised.
‘Not until my work is done, and then I would gladly surrender my neck to your sword.’
‘What work? Does it involve the Vexen Cage? Do not use it. I warn you now.’
‘I fear if I told you, you would try to find a way to stop me and I cannot have that. I have the relic, that much at least I am willing to divulge. I am its guardian. It is His will that I have it. I will be completely honest – I hope that by telling you this you will let me continue without unnecessary impediment. It is essential to the Awakening, but you will see.’ He frowned then, seeing the look on Meroved’s face. ‘Although… perhaps you won’t.’
Meroved tensed, his eyes narrowing as he searched the cavern for any threat, but he could find no sign.
‘I needed to know if there were more of you,’ said Orn. ‘So I left Reinhar as bait. I assume he is dead.’
‘What are you talking about?’ demanded Meroved.
‘Do not despair,’ said Orn as the very air seemed to thicken and sound became muted. ‘Your suffering serves a great purpose.’
It was as if Meroved had crossed an invisible boundary line into a different realm of existence. He knew this feeling. It had happened to him before, during the battle at the Lion’s Gate. He could detect the pulling of the veil, like overstretched rubber brought to breaking point before slowly returning to its resting elasticity. Something had crossed over.
The hololith faded. Behind it stood another figure, and this one was very real.
Chapter Twelve
City of Vorganthian, Kobor, within Terra’s light
Gedd had returned to the precinct as soon as she was back on Elserow. Xeus had met her outside the observatory, just as Meroved had said. He had been right about her not being able to find her way to the street too. Unlike when she had been here before, there was no stairway that led out of the alley. There was just a lamp, like that on the Avenue of Light. It had flared brightly, as before, and Gedd had shut her eyes to avoid being blinded. When she opened them again she was back on Elserow. Xeus had gone.
She met Klein on her way out of the precinct, shouldering his way through the burly peacekeepers, who were strapping on armour and preparing for an underhive sortie.
‘Low-hive cleansing?’ she asked, sparing Klein a glance as she headed to the precinct’s landing strip.
‘What? Oh yes, whatever, Gedd,’ he said, doing his best to follow. He had shed most of his kit and was wearing simple grey fatigues. ‘Our twelfth suicide…’ he ventured.
Gedd stopped and turned, swearing colourfully at the other peacekeepers trying to bustle past her. They all saw sense and took a wider berth.
‘Not a hive-worker,’ said Klein.
Gedd scowled. She didn’t have time for this.
‘And?’
‘Salvage yard dredged up a ship from over by the northern rigs.’
Gedd’s jaw tightened at the mention of the rigs.
‘I’m still not hearing the punchline, Klein.’
‘The pump-gun suicide, he was crew on that ship.’ He checked a data-slate that Gedd had once surmised was surgically attached to his hand. ‘The Voidstrafer.’
‘Ridiculous name for a ship.’
‘It’s a rogue trader,’ said Klein.
Gedd shrugged. ‘That explains it. Was it carrying anything?’
‘No cargo. Salvager said it was empty–’
Gedd snorted. ‘Of course he did.’
Klein went on, ‘–but that the hold had been blown open with charges.’
‘Interesting,’ said Gedd, and it was, but she didn’t know what to do with the information at that point. ‘I’m heading north anyway. I’ll take the cutter for a flyover. See what I can see.’
‘You need company?’ Klein asked.
Gedd had already turned on her heel and was walking away. ‘I do not. Just need transit. I’ll let you know if anything comes up.’
Gedd left Klein and the bustle of the precinct house behind.
Now, she was in a gun-cutter heading for the Hoard, her pilot having been given strict instructions to depart as soon as she was on the ground and be ready for her signal for pickup.
A strange day all round, really.
The Hoard lay at the northern edge of the city, deep into low-hive. It was a collection of vast warehouses and silos, bordered by hab-blocks. Trade had come this way once via the mag-shuttles and the arc-trans, but a catastrophic generator failure had turned the district’s fortunes. Without the Vorganthian main-grid, power became limited. The mag-shuttles no longer ran and the arc-trans froze as the northern winds began to bite. Half of the district lay clad in ice, the other half populated by the desperate dregs too weak or too stubborn to move on.
A heavy snowdrift, grey with ash from the uphive factorums, blighted the commercia-scape as the boxy gun-cutter touched down. Down-thrust from its turbines warmed the ice, and Gedd splashed onto greasy black melt-water as she leapt the short distance from the ship’s exit ramp to the ground.
She held her slicker tight around her body as she moved across a square of piston-hammered asphalt. Behind her, the cutter went airborne again, the din of its engines lessening as it pulled away into the storm.
The place looked deserted, though she thought she saw a few hooded figures huddled in doorways.
‘Bloody twists and wyrds…’ she muttered under her breath. ‘What’s here, Meroved? Other than imminent death due to hypothermia.’
Gedd looked out to the ocean and the distant rigging platforms. Her eyes narrowed and she paused for a moment before moving on. Her father had been a rigger and had found some strange things in the deep ocean trenches. He never brought them back with him, he never mentioned them in detail at all, but she had heard him murmur in his sleep about the deeps and their secrets.
She turned away, the momentary nostalgia freezing on the wind.
Ahead of her was an old and disused warehouse, its battered plasteel door bent and gaping. ‘There. That’s it,’ she hissed, her breath coming out in spectral plumes. ‘Saint’s piss, I hope it’s warmer on the inside.’