He shook the thought off. One problem at a time.
Ayatani Zwiel was up on a bench, preaching the love of the God-Emperor to the family congregation. The old chaplain saw Gaunt in the doorway, and paused his sermon, climbing down from his perch with the aid of steadying hands.
‘You look grim, Ibram,’ he said as he hobbled up to face Gaunt.
‘You noticed, ayatani.’
Zwiel shrugged.
‘No, you always look grim. I was making a general observation. Why? Is there new trouble to keep us awake at night?’
Gaunt glanced aside to make sure no one could overhear.
‘There’s a drive fault,’ he said. ‘It may be nothing, but if we are forced to break shift to deal with it… Well, it could cause alarm and distress among the retinue. As a favour to me, stay here and keep watch. If the worst happens, try to calm fears. They’ll listen to you. Tell them we’ll be safe soon and that there’s no reason to panic.’
Zwiel nodded. Since the loss at Salvation’s Reach, his spirits had been lower. The old firecracker spark had grown dimmer.
‘Of course, of course,’ he said. ‘I’ll get them singing hymns. Hymns are good. And warm too, on a cold night.’
‘Do you mean hymns?’
‘Possibly not,’ Zwiel replied, thinking about it.
Something cannoned into Gaunt’s legs.
‘Papa Gaunt! Papa Gaunt!’
Gaunt looked down. It was Yoncy, Tona Criid’s little girl. She clutched his knees and grinned up at him.
‘Hello, Yoncy,’ Gaunt said. He scooped her up in his arms, and she gleefully took off his cap and put it on. She was so small and light.
‘I’m Papa Gaunt!’ she declared fiercely to Zwiel, glaring out from under the brim of the oversized cap. She threw a stern salute.
‘Well, young lady,’ said Zwiel, ‘what you’ve just done is an abuse of uniform code, and Papa Gaunt will have you shot for it.’
‘He will not!’ Yoncy cried, defiantly.
‘Not this time,’ said Gaunt.
One of the women hurried over.
‘There you are, child,’ she exclaimed. ‘I wondered where you’d run off to!’
She took Yoncy out of Gaunt’s arms.
‘I’m ever so sorry she bothered you, sir,’ she said. ‘I was supposed to be watching her.’
‘It’s fine,’ said Gaunt. ‘She was no bother.’
‘Papa Gaunt’s going to shoot me, Juniper!’ Yoncy laughed.
‘Is he now?’ the woman said.
‘Papa Zwiel said so,’ Yoncy told her.
‘I’m really not,’ Gaunt told the woman.
‘Uniform infraction,’ said Zwiel, mock stern, and scooped the cap off the child’s head. ‘A firing squad at the very least!’
‘I think we can let this one go with a reprimand,’ said Gaunt as Zwiel handed him his cap.
‘You best consider yourself lucky this time, child,’ Juniper said to the girl in her arms. She did a clumsy little bow and hurried off. Yoncy waved to them as she was carried away.
‘She calls everyone “papa”,’ Zwiel said. ‘It used to be “uncle”, but now “papa” is the favourite.’
‘A legacy of her curious upbringing, I suppose,’ said Gaunt. ‘She seems happy enough.’
‘Does she…’ Zwiel began. ‘Does she seem small to you?’
‘Small?’
‘I was thinking it the other day,’ said the chaplain. ‘Just a child in pigtails, as she’s always been. But Dalin is a grown man now, and there can’t be too many years between them. She acts very young too.’
‘Is that a defence, do you think?’ Gaunt asked. ‘Her life has never been safe. Maybe she plays on her childlike qualities to make sure we protect her.’
‘You think it’s an act?’
‘Not a conscious one, no. But while she’s an innocent child, everyone is her father or her uncle or her aunt. It’s how she copes. How she feels safe.’
‘Well, I imagine she’ll sprout soon enough. Girls develop later. Overnight, she’ll be a petulant teenager.’
‘And we will protect her just the same,’ said Gaunt. He reset his cap.
‘Our children always need our protection,’ said Zwiel, ‘no matter how much they grow up. How is your offspring?’
‘I’m still coming to terms with the fact,’ said Gaunt. ‘I have to go, father. I’ll keep you advised.’
‘And I’ll stand ready,’ said Zwiel.
Gaunt left the company deck and resumed his journey aft.
He suddenly heard music. It was jaunty music. It was cheerful. It rolled and echoed along the dismal connecting tunnel.
He approached the entrance to a side hold. The Belladon Colours band had assembled there, and were mid-practice. It was clearly an informal session. Most of them were not in full uniform code, and they were spread across the big, galvanised chamber of the holdspace, sitting or even sprawling on packing material, blasting out their music. Those not playing had got up and were dancing a sprightly formation polka in the mid-deck. Most of the dancers had discarded boots and jackets.
High above, the company’s mascot, the ceremonial psyber eagle, flew from roof girder to roof girder, squawking from both beaks.
The music died away unevenly as the bandsmen noticed Gaunt in the hatchway.
‘It’s cheerful in here,’ Gaunt remarked.
Captain Jakub Wilder wandered over.
‘It’s the Belladon way, sir,’ he said. ‘We celebrate the living and the dead. It’s the best way to shake off a hard tour.’
Gaunt pursed his lips.
Commissar Vaynom Blenner had got himself up off a roll of packing material to join them.
‘My idea, Ibram,’ he said, hurriedly. ‘Just a little loosening of the old collar, you know?’
Gaunt looked at his old friend. Blenner seemed remarkably relaxed.
‘I’m sure we can all use some downtime,’ he said.
‘I was going to suggest a formal,’ Blenner said. ‘Get some decent food and wine out of stores. Everyone invited. The band can play. Dancing, eh? We can cast aside this mood. The First deserves it, Ibram.’
‘It does,’ Gaunt agreed.
‘Good.’
‘But now’s not the time,’ Gaunt said. ‘We need to come to secondary order.’
‘Since when?’
‘Since now, Vaynom,’ Gaunt said.
Blenner swallowed.
‘Secondary order?’ he asked.
‘Yes. “Prepare to fight”. Is that a problem?’
‘No. No, no. Not at all.’
‘My troopers are ready,’ Wilder said.
‘Good. Expect hazard within a twelve-hour threshold,’ Gaunt said. ‘If fighting starts, conserve your ammunition.’ He turned and left the hold.
‘Let’s… let’s finish up here,’ Blenner said to Wilder. He needed a cup of water.
There was a pack of pills in his jacket pocket and he suddenly felt the urge to take one.
Gaunt paused outside the infirmary and hesitated before entering. He knew he had a good reason for the visit, and that it wasn’t the real reason. The real reason Gaunt kept visiting the infirmary was that he was trying to get used to the place without Dorden.
He took off his cap and entered. Internal screen walls and shutter partitions had been rolled back to extend the space and accommodate the regimental wounded after the battle of Salvation’s Reach. It was still pretty full. Several of the casualties, like the sniper Nessa Bourah, attempted to sit up and salute when they saw him.