‘I’ve known Astartes who were more like animals than men,’ Gaunt shrugged. ‘Allentis was a man. A human soul. One of the bravest and tenacious I’ve ever had the privilege to serve with.’
Jaume pursed his lips, and nodded.
‘So is this where Slaydo died?’ he asked.
‘No, not here. About a kilometre to the west.’
Jaume nodded.
‘Is it odd being back here?’ he asked.
‘Strangest thing I’ve ever done,’ Gaunt smiled. ‘What’s the time?’
‘Ten minutes to four,’ said Jaume. He had a good sight of the palace clock tower. None of their watches had worked since the night of the snowstorm.
‘We’d better move,’ said Gaunt.
‘My good sirs, can I help you?’ a docent asked, approaching and bowing. He was a tall young man, skinny with long hair that hung down around the neckline of his red docent robes. He smiled a friendly smile.
‘A tour, perhaps?’ he suggested. ‘A crown per person, and you see all the sights. It’s very thorough. I can walk you through the High Palace fighting zones, the Gate, the Tower and, of course, the death of Slaydo. I am fully versed. Did you lose a loved one here?’
‘Plenty,’ said Gaunt.
‘Yes,’ said Jaume. ‘My father. He was PDF. He assisted in the assault of the Gate, or so I’m told.’
‘Well, that was a valiant endeavour indeed,’ the docent agreed. ‘I’d be delighted to show you the key sites.’
‘Yes. Do that,’ Gaunt said. He fished into his pocket for coins. ‘We want to see it all, but we especially want to see the Tower of the Plutocrat.’
‘One of the highlights, sir,’ said the docent.
‘Take us there first,’ said Gaunt.
The docent nodded. ‘How many in your party, sir?’
‘Five,’ said Gaunt. He had found three crowns. ‘Help me out here, Jaume.’
Jaume hurriedly produced another two crowns, and Gaunt paid the guide. He beckoned to Maggs, and Maggs and the doctor led Mabbon out of the shadows to join them.
‘Oh, the poor man!’ the docent exclaimed, indicating Mabbon. ‘Is he a veteran?’
‘Yes,’ said Gaunt.
The docent set off. Three or four other parties were threading the rebuilt ruins with them. Docents in their trademark red robes were leading family parties along the walkways, reciting the narratives of war, parrot-fashion. Gaunt saw parties of weeded widows in veils, parties of earnest young soldiers, and family groups that mixed both together. Small children attached to family groups toddled free across the quads and open spaces, their aunts and mothers cooing after them. Gaunt watched each party in turn, hearing the soft echoes of the docents‘ narrations.
Their own docent was in full-flow as he led the way across quads and along cloisters.
‘Here, on the ninth day! The death of Captain Ollark! At this very site! Two rounds, as he tried to crest the bank of bodies!’
‘Ollark shot himself on the fifth day,’ Gaunt whispered to Jaume. ‘He couldn’t take it any more. This man is as bad as you.’
‘It must be contagious,’ said Jaume.
‘Was your father really here?’ Gaunt whispered as the docent banged on.
‘Yes. I wouldn’t make a thing like that up,’ said Jaume.
‘I don’t recall a Jaume,’ Gaunt whispered. ‘There were PDF units right in it with us, but I don’t recall a Jaume.’
‘I hardly expect you to,’ Jaume replied as the docent babbled on. ‘He was a junior man in a minor unit, and it was fifteen years ago. You probably never even saw him. Besides, are you telling me you can remember the name of everyone on every battlefield you’ve ever been on?’
‘Of course not,’ Gaunt said, looking at him.
‘Well then,’ said Jaume. ‘You wouldn’t remember him. He wasn’t important.’
Gaunt frowned. ‘The PDF were right with us, every step of the way. Their contribution is often overlooked. Jaume, if your father was here, he was a brave man. You say he died here?’
‘We never knew where,’ said Jaume. ‘He died at the Gate, that’s what we were told.’
‘You said to me you’d never met a hero,’ said Gaunt as the docent went on and on, ‘but you have. Your father was a hero.’
Jaume looked at him, and smiled.
‘Thank you,’ he said.
‘What for?’
‘For being kind enough to tell the same white lie to me that I tell to others.’
‘It’s not a lie,’ said Gaunt.
‘Perhaps,’ said Jaume. ‘I bless you for it, anyway. Perhaps now you better appreciate the merits of my occupation.’
‘You know Kolding’s father died in the war too?’
‘The doctor?’ Jaume asked.
‘His father died trying to defend the wounded. It seems I have the sons of heroes watching my back today.’
Jaume laughed.
‘I never expected such sentiment from you,’ he said. ‘I should put you on retainer. Shall we say half a crown per epitaph?’
The docent, still gabbling, had brought them to the entrance of the eastern palisade. He became operatic.
‘And here! Here it was that great Slaydo fell in his mortal combat with the foul Archon! See how his falling place is marked by an aquila of inlaid silver and rubies.’
They looked down at the holy site. It was lit up by spotlights and atmosphere globes.
‘I think we should all take a solemn moment here,’ said the docent.
‘This isn’t where Slaydo fell,’ Gaunt whispered.
‘No?’ Maggs whispered back.
‘He went down about sixty metres that way on the western palisades. Then they dragged his corpse another hundred metres, and ritually dismembered it. I bet that isn’t on the tour.’
‘It’s not,’ whispered Jaume.
‘I can’t believe they’ve got so much of this stuff wrong,’ murmured Gaunt.
‘Unlike you, they weren’t here,’ said Mabbon quietly.
The docent began walking again.
‘What’s the time?’ Gaunt asked.
‘Five minutes to four,’ said Kolding. ‘At least, it was the last time I saw the palace clock.’
Gaunt looked to the docent. ‘We’d like to see the Tower of the Plutocrat now,’ he said.
‘But of course,’ the docent exclaimed. ‘And I’m sure you’d like to view the death venues of the key fallen there!’
‘The… death venues?’ asked Kolding.
The docent nodded.
‘As with Slaydo, the places where the heroes fell. Captain Menhort of the Kolstec “Hammers”, Gaunt of the Hyrkans and, of course, Allentis.’
‘What?’ asked Gaunt.
‘Did you say Gaunt?’ asked Jaume.
‘Gaunt, the Commissar of the Hyrkans,’ said the docent. ‘He died taking down the Tower.’
Gaunt looked back at his companions.
‘Honestly, I didn’t,’ he whispered. Maggs and Jaume snorted. The hint of a smile even found its way onto Kolding’s lips.
‘Let’s look at the death venue of Gaunt,’ Maggs said to the docent.
‘Yes. Why don’t we?’ Gaunt laughed.
‘This way,’ the docent declared. ‘It was the ninth day. The Heritor was resisting. Gaunt, Throne rest him, led the Hyrkans through the obliterated Gate, and dug down in the yards under the Tower…’
It was just two minutes to four.
TWENTY-EIGHT
The Death Venue of Ibram Gaunt (visitors welcome)
The eager docent led them towards the great quad where the footprint of the Tower of the Plutocrat was outlined in silver and gold.
Gaunt felt the air chill.
He reached for the reassuring grip of his bolt pistol. It felt comfortable in his hand. He kept the group close to him, and picked up his visual checking. He noticed that both Mabbon and Maggs were scanning the area too. They’d felt it as well, and whatever they were, both of them were soldiers first. They had keen skills that could never erode.