Gaunt took the note and nodded his thanks.
Urienz took him by the elbow and stepped him away from the three Ghosts and the Scions.
‘A word,’ he said, quietly.
‘Of course.’
‘We know,’ he said.
‘Know?’ asked Gaunt.
‘Of the scheme Van Voytz and Cybon are cooking up.’
‘Who’s we?’ asked Gaunt.
Urienz shrugged.
‘Other senior staff. It’s an open secret. Some of us have been approached to lend our support.’
‘You turned the opportunity down?’
Urienz smiled.
‘There are many who do not share Cybon’s view. Many who remain loyal to Macaroth.’
‘I believe everyone is loyal to Macaroth,’ said Gaunt.
‘I’m advising you to think carefully, Gaunt,’ Urienz said. ‘I have no quarrel with you, and I can see why they’ve picked you as their man. Few would block you. That’s not the point. We’re on a knife edge. The last thing we need is a change of command. The disruption would be catastrophic.’
‘So this is a friendly word?’ asked Gaunt.
‘There are some, perhaps, who would be more hostile,’ Urienz admitted. ‘Just think about what I’m saying. The crusade doesn’t need a headshot like this. Not now.’
‘The proposal can be blocked,’ said Gaunt, ‘very simply. It’s not a conspiracy. It’s a political effort. If you know, then the warmaster must be aware too.’
‘Who knows what he’s thinking?’ said Urienz. ‘None of us are going to confront him with the matter. He’s been known to shoot the messenger, even if that messenger is bringing valuable intelligence. Look, if it goes forward, he might step down quietly. But he could as easily go to war with Cybon and his cronies. None of us want to step into that crossfire. And that’s where you’d be, Ibram. You’d be standing right in front of Cybon. The political bloodbath could put us back years. Throne, it could cripple us. Lose us the entire campaign.’
‘You mean Urdesh?’
‘I mean the damn crusade. Macaroth isn’t perfect, but he’s warmaster, and he’s the warmaster we’ve got right now. This is not a cart of fruit that needs to get upturned.’
‘If your concern is this great, sir,’ said Gaunt, ‘you should speak to the warmaster. Inform him of what’s afoot. Encourage discussion.’
‘I don’t need that flak, Gaunt. No one does. Turn Cybon down. Don’t go along with him. They don’t have another decent candidate to sponsor, none that the rest of staff would accept. You step aside, and they can’t move ahead. The whole affair dies off. Let it blow over, bide your time. Once Urdesh is done and finished with, once the heat is turned down and we’ve got time to breathe, more of us might be willing to consider the process favourably.’
‘Thank you for your candour,’ said Gaunt.
Urienz smiled.
‘We’re all on the same side, eh? I like you. I mean you no ill will. You’ve walked straight into this, and you’re barely up to speed. I thought a word to the wise was a good idea. And might save us all more grief than we can handle.’
Gaunt nodded. They shook hands again. Urienz turned to leave.
‘Check out that tailor of mine,’ he called over his shoulder as he strode out.
‘What was that about?’ asked Daur.
‘Appropriate clothing,’ said Gaunt.
‘What?’
‘About looking like the right person for the job,’ said Gaunt.
The door opened again. Chief Tactical Officer Biota entered.
‘Lord militant,’ he said. ‘Sorry for the delay. We must begin at once.’
Felyx looked up.
‘Why have we stopped?’ he asked.
Criid sat forwards in her seat and peered through the vehicle windows at the funeral transport ahead. Dalin said nothing. He’d been quiet since they’d set off, not just respectful, but as though he was brooding on something. Criid hadn’t wanted to ask him what in front of Felyx.
‘Traffic,’ Criid said. ‘At the next street junction. We’ll be under way again soon.’
‘On Verghast,’ said Felyx, ‘traffic parts for a cortege. Out of respect. The cortege does not stop.’
‘Well, this is Urdesh,’ said Criid.
‘A place where respect seems to be in pitifully short supply,’ murmured Felyx.
Criid looked at him. Gaunt’s son was almost cowering sullenly in the seat corner, gazing out of the side window at nothing. She decided not to press it.
One of the hired mourners, a stiff figure in black, had climbed out of the funeral transport and was stalking back to their vehicle.
‘Stay with Felyx,’ she said to Dalin and got out.
‘What’s the problem?’ she asked.
‘The street is closed, ma’am,’ said the mourner. ‘There are Astra Militarum blockades here. Down as far as Kental Circle, I believe.’
‘Why?’ asked Criid. The man shook his head. She glanced at the street around her. It wasn’t busy, but the traffic was stationary. Pedestrians, most of them civilians, seemed to be hustling away, as if they had somewhere urgent to go.
The mourner checked his pocket chron.
‘The service is not for another seventeen minutes, ma’am,’ the mourner said. ‘We have plenty of time. We will find another route.’
‘Do that,’ said Criid.
‘I’m waiting for the explanation,’ said Viktor Hark.
Colonel Grae looked at him. The man was annoyed. The grey Chimera they were riding in was rumbling through the Hollerside district, and Hark had no idea of their destination.
‘There was no reason for you to accompany us, commissar,’ said Grae.
‘I think there’s every reason,’ said Hark. ‘You’ve taken a senior officer of my regiment into custody with no explanation. I’m not going to let you just march him off.’
He glanced back down the payload bay. Kolea was sitting on a fold-down seat near the rear hatch, flanked by security troops from the intelligence service. They hadn’t cuffed him, but they had taken his sidearm, his microbead and his straight silver.
‘The issue is sensitive,’ Grae said.
‘And I can probably help you with it, if you bring me up to speed,’ said Hark. ‘Colonel, this man is one of our finest officers. He’s a war hero. I’m not talking small stuff. He’s blessed by the Beati–’
‘I’m aware of his record,’ said Grae.
‘He’s in line for promotion to regimental command,’ said Hark. ‘Quite apart from Major Kolea’s fate, I am, as you might expect, keenly concerned for the welfare and morale of my regiment.’
Grae looked him in the eye. Hark was disturbed by the trouble he read in the man’s face.
‘Major Kolea’s significance and record are precisely why I’ve taken him in,’ he said. ‘Matters have arisen. The ordos have taken an unhealthy interest in him.’
‘Unhealthy for whom?’ asked Hark.
‘For Major Kolea.’
‘This is the Inquisitor Laksheema I’ve heard about?’
Grae nodded.
‘The ordos wants Kolea. I tried to deflect, but intelligence is very much the junior partner in this,’ said Grae. ‘I have instructions to protect Kolea as an asset–’
‘Instructions from where?’ asked Hark.
‘Staff level,’ said Grae. ‘High staff level. We need him shielded from the ordos. Laksheema could cause us some major and unnecessary set-backs if she gains custody.’
‘I thought we were all playing nicely together,’ said Hark.
‘Come now, Commissar Hark,’ said Grae, ‘you are a man of experience. With the best will in the world, and despite aspiring to the same high ideals, the departments of the Imperium often grind against each other.’
‘This is territorial?’
‘Let’s just say that the stringent application of Inquisitorial interest will slow down the ambitions of the Astra Militarum.’