Kell studied him. ‘It must be difficult for you,’ he began. ‘The doubt. The uncertainty.’
‘There’s no hesitation in me,’ gasped the Eversor. ‘Let me up and you’ll see.’
‘The mission, I mean.’ That got him the smallest flash of hesitation from behind the Garantine’s skull-face. ‘To wake without direction… That can’t have been easy on you.’
‘I will kill,’ said the Eversor.
‘Yes,’ agreed the Vindicare. ‘And kill and kill and kill, until you are destroyed. But it will be for nothing. Worthless.’
With an agonised grunt, the Garantine tried to lurch forward, clawing towards the open doorway. ‘I’ll kill you,’ he grated. ‘Worth something.’
Kell resisted the reflex to step back. ‘You think so?’
‘Broke your gun, back there,’ muttered the Eversor, the sweat thick on his bare neck. ‘Pity. Were you… attached to it?’
Kell didn’t rise to the bait; his prized longrifle had been custom-made by Isherite weaponsmiths, and it had served him well for years. ‘It was just a weapon.’
‘Like me?’
He spread his hands. ‘Like all of us.’ Kell paused, then went on. ‘The accident that woke you early… The Vanus Tariel tells me that it would take too long to put you under again, to go through all the hypno-programming and conditioning. So we either vent you to space and start anew with another one of your kindred, or we find–’
‘A different way?’ The rage-killer gave a coughing chuckle. ‘If I was chosen by my clade for whatever is planned, I’m the one you need. Can’t do it without me.’
‘I’m compelled to agree.’ Kell gave a thin smile. The Garantine was no mindless thug, appearances to the contrary. ‘I was going to say we would find an understanding.’
The other assassin laughed painfully. ‘What can you offer me that would be richer than tearing your head from your neck, sniper?’
The Vindicare stared into the Eversor’s wide, bloodshot eyes. ‘Nothing has been said yet, but the directors can only be bringing us together for one reason. One target. And I think you’d like to be there when he dies.’
He said the name, and behind his fanged mask the Garantine grinned.
Yosef’s hands were tight fists, and it was all he could do not to haul back and smack that weak half-smile off the face of Reeve Warden Laimner. For a giddy moment, he pictured himself with Laimner’s greasy curls in his hand, smashing his face against the tiled floor of the precinct house, beating him into a broken ruin. The potency of the anger was startlingly strong, and it took an effort to rein himself in.
Laimner was waving his hand in Daig’s face and going on and on about how all of this was Segan’s fault for not following proper channels, for not calling in backup units. He had been singing the same song all the way back from the Blasko lodge.
‘You lost the suspect,’ the warden bleated, ‘you had him and you lost him.’ Laimner glared at Yosef. ‘Why didn’t you take a shot? Leg hit? Put him down, even?’
‘I could have walked Sigg in through the front door,’ Daig grated. ‘He was going to surrender!’
Laimner rounded on him. ‘Are you an idiot? Do you really believe that?’ He stabbed at a pile of crime scene picts on the desk before him. ‘Sigg was playing you. He wanted to make meat-toys out of you both, and you almost let him do it!’
Yosef found his voice and bit out a question. ‘How did you know where we were?’
‘Don’t be stupid, Sabrat,’ said the warden. ‘Do you think the High-Reeve would let you off on a major case like this without having you tracked every second?’
Yosef saw Daig go pale at that, but he didn’t remark on it. Instead, he pressed on. ‘We had a solid lead, from a… a reliable source! We could have brought Sigg to book, but you came in mob-handed and ruined it!’
‘Watch your tone, reeve!’ Laimner shot back. He ran a deliberate finger down his warrant rod to emphasise his rank. ‘Remember who you’re talking to!’
‘If you want to run this case, then do it,’ Yosef continued. ‘But otherwise don’t second-guess the investigating officers!’
The warden’s sneering smile returned. ‘I was following Telemach’s orders.’
Yosef’s lip curled. ‘Well, thanks for making that clear. I thought it was just your impatience and poor judgement that would make this case fall apart, but it seems like the problem is further up the line.’
‘You insubordinate–!’
‘Sir!’ Skelta burst into the wardroom before Laimner could finish his sentence. ‘He’s here! The, uh, man. The baron’s man.’
Laimner’s attitude transformed in the blink of an eye. ‘What? But they’re not supposed to be here until tomorrow morning.’
‘Um,’ Skelta gestured at the door. ‘Yes. No.’
Yosef turned to see two figures entering behind the jager. The first was an ebon-skinned man who matched Sabrat for height, but was broader across the chest, with the thickset look of a scrumball player. He had ash-coloured hair that fell to his shoulders and an oblong data monocle that almost hid a faint scar over his right eye. At his side was a pale, thin woman with a bald head covered in intricate tattoos. Both of them wore the same green and silver livery Yosef had seen on Bellah Gorospe, but the man’s cuffs bore some kind of ornate flashing that had to be indicative of rank. The woman had a golden brooch, he noted, in the shape of an open eye. As he looked at her she raised her head to meet his gaze and he saw the unmistakable shape of an iron collar around her neck, like one that might be used to tether a dangerous animal. It seemed crude and out of place on her.
The man surveyed the room; something in his manner told Yosef he had heard every word of the argument that had preceded his entrance. The woman – it was hard to determine her age, he noted – continued to stare at him.
Laimner recovered well and gave a shallow bow. ‘Operatives. It’s a pleasure to have you here on Iesta Veracrux.’
‘My name is Hyssos,’ said the man. His voice was solemn. He indicated his companion. ‘This is my associate, Perrig.’
Daig was gawking at the woman. ‘She’s a psyker,’ he blurted. ‘The eye. That’s what it means.’ He tapped his lapel in the same place where Perrig’s brooch was pinned.
Yosef saw that the eye design was subtly repeated in among the woman’s tattoos. His first reaction was denial; it was common knowledge, even on the most parochial of worlds, that psykers were forbidden. The Emperor himself, at a council called on the planet Nikaea, had outlawed the use of psionic sensitives, even among the Legions of his own Space Marines. While some stripes of psyker were approved under the tightest reins of Imperial control – the gifted Navigators who guided ships through the immaterium or the telepaths who carried communications between worlds, for example – most were considered mind-witches, dangerous and unstable aberrants to be corralled and neutered. Yosef had never been face to face with a psyker before this day, and Perrig unnerved him greatly. Her gaze upon him made him feel like he was made of glass. He swallowed hard as at last she looked away.
‘My lord baron has sanction from the Council of Terra to employ an indentured psionic,’ Hyssos explained. ‘Perrig’s talents are extremely useful in my line of work.’
‘And what work is that?’ said Daig.
‘Security, Reeve Segan,’ he replied. Hyssos’s manner made it clear he knew the name of every person in the room.
Yosef nodded to himself. He knew that the Eurotas clan wielded great power and influence across the Ultima Segmentum, but he had never guessed it had such reach. To be granted dispensation against so rigid a ruling as the Decree of Nikaea was telling indeed; he couldn’t help but wonder what other rules the Void Baron was free to ignore.