‘What happened to him?’ asked Blenner.
‘Died on Ancreon Sextus with Lucien.’
‘So not every battle, then.’
‘Don’t be smart, commissar. Do yourself a favour and look up his service record. The text of his declarations.’
Blenner got up.
‘Get your house in order, captain. We’ll speak again.’
Wilder nodded. He didn’t get up.
‘I’ll take your advice,’ said Blenner at the door. ‘So take some from me. Forget about your brother.’
‘Really?’
‘This is the Emperor’s Imperial Guard, Wilder. It’s about a lot of things, but family isn’t one of them. Blood ties get in the way. They just get in the way. They are a weakness. Look at Gaunt and his son–’
‘His what?’
Blenner hesitated.
‘It’ll be known soon enough. His bastard child arrived the same time you did. Vervunhive aristo with his own lifeguard. It was a surprise to Gaunt, and he’s trying to treat it like it’s nothing, but it will affect him. Don’t let your brother do the same thing to you.’
‘I see.’
‘The Guard is the only family you ever need, captain. Blood relatives are just a complication.’
Wilder sat alone for a while after Blenner left. He drifted off in thought, and then realised Didi Gendler was standing in the cabin doorway, grinning at him.
‘You look a little the worse for wear,’ said Gendler.
Wilder got up. Gendler exclaimed in surprise as Wilder grabbed him by the tunic front, dragged him into the cabin and slammed the door. He smashed Gendler back against the bulkhead.
‘Are you out of your mind?’ Gendler stammered.
‘You bastards screwed with me! A friendly drink? I don’t even remember getting on board!’
‘I was under the impression you were a grown up, Captain Wilder,’ snapped Gendler. ‘It’s not our job to moderate your drinking. Blenner stop by to put you on a charge, did he?’
Wilder looked away and let go. Gendler straightened himself up.
‘You should thank us,’ said Gendler.
‘Why?’
‘You only got to your cabin because of us. When we realised how much you’d tucked away, Captain Meryn had me and Costin smuggle you aboard. We were looking out for you. You’d have been shot for disgracing the uniform otherwise.’
Wilder didn’t reply.
‘In fact, the captain sent me to check on you. He told me to give you this.’
Gendler held out a small glass bottle.
‘What is it?’
‘A cure-all. Knocks back the effects of a hangover. From the captain’s own supply.’
Wilder took it.
‘This is from regimental stores,’ he said, reading the label. ‘Medicae supplies.’
‘Don’t be naive, captain. If you know the right people, you can get anything you need.’
‘And who do you know, Gendler?’
‘The right people.’
Wilder looked at the bottle again, and then unstoppered it and drank it.
‘It’s good stuff,’ said Gendler. ‘Costin swears by it. He’s been functioning on it for years.’
‘I take it you and Captain Meryn are businessmen,’ said Wilder.
‘We provide unofficial services. Someone has to. There’s a demand. We’re good at it.’
‘It takes money. And organisation.’
‘We have both,’ said Gendler. ‘Like I said, we’re good at it. Time was, Rawne was the biggest noise in the shadow trade.’
‘The second officer?’
‘Right, you’ve met him?’
‘Not yet,’ said Wilder.
‘He’s rather more legitimate these days,’ said Gendler. ‘Legitimate and busy. Captain Meryn thought it was only fair and helpful to take some of the hard work off his plate.’
‘Why?’ asked Wilder.
‘Oh, don’t be dense,’ said Gendler. ‘There are winners and losers in any regiment. Rawne’s becoming a bit of a winner. And he’s always made sure Meryn lost out. Promotions. Advancements. Sometimes, you have to take charge of your own destiny. Meryn, me… you. We see a kindred spirit in you.’
‘Someone to join your losers club?’
Gendler laughed without smiling.
‘Thwarted men with ambition can do great things, Wilder. They can rise and make others fall. The privilege of rank, of opportunity. Failing either of those, the simple comfort of riches.’
‘Is this about getting on, or revenge?’ asked Wilder.
‘Why can’t it be about both?’ smiled Gendler.
Wilder was feeling better. The cure-all had certainly been effective. He laughed.
‘What do you and Meryn really want from me?’ he asked.
‘Cards on the table?’ asked Gendler. ‘All right. Friends help each other. And everyone’s got an angle. What’s your angle? The most useful commodity is protection. Any shield that will let us operate unseen. It’s early days, but you already seem to be on good terms with Blenner.’
‘So?’
‘He’s a soft touch. A soft touch commissar. The best protection a Guardsman could ever ask for.’
‘I don’t know him at all,’ said Wilder.
‘That’s not true. Besides, you could know him better. You could cultivate him. Find a weakness. Find his angle. Find leverage.’
‘Could I?’
‘It’s what friends do,’ said Gendler.
Wilder didn’t reply. Gendler shrugged and turned to leave.
‘I think he’s got a habit,’ said Wilder quietly.
‘What?’
‘Pills, I think. Anxiety is my guess. So, a narcotic.’
‘How do you know?’ asked Gendler, smiling.
‘I’ve seen the habit before. He had a bottle. Didn’t want me to see. Then he was twitchy. He wouldn’t have tried to hide it if it was on the level or something he wasn’t ashamed of.’
‘Interesting.’
‘Is it?’ asked Wilder. ‘It sounds like persecution to me. Is that the angle you were looking for? What will you do? Expose him? Control his supply and make him your puppet?’
‘He’s only useful if he stays in play,’ said Gendler. ‘We wouldn’t want to strangle his supply. We would want to increase it. Become the friends he can rely on.’
‘You’re a bastard, Gendler,’ said Wilder.
‘An effective bastard.’
‘You must feel right at home here,’ said Wilder, shaking his head. ‘Everyone’s a bastard, one way or another. Even the mighty Gaunt has a bastard of his own.’
Gendler stopped, his smile vanishing.
‘What did you just say?’ he asked.
The woman’s name was Galayda. She was one of a group of Verghast intake that Juniper stopped in the laundry halls. Everybody was perspiring from the warm damp air. There was a hard chemical stink of ultra-processed water and cleaning chemicals.
‘Ban Daur?’ Galayda said. She was from Hass West, Vervunhive, a hab girl who had lost everything in the war and ended up attached to a scratch company man called Herzog, who was a sergeant in Major Pasha’s brigade.
‘He was PDF,’ said Juniper.
‘I didn’t know any Hive Defence,’ said Galayda. ‘I fought for a while in the scratch company after I lost my ma and pa in the bombing. Gak, we all did. That’s where I met Herzog.’
‘But you put away the gun after the Zoican War?’
‘I’m no soldier. A scratch company isn’t soldiers. It’s desperate people. A soldier’s wife, though. That’s more me.’
She looked at Juniper. Her sleeves were rolled up and her arms were stained and sore with chemical soaps.