Rawne glanced at Oysten, who held out a waterproof bag of city maps and charts.
‘Read and digest,’ said Rawne. ‘In fact, everybody get a look, please. Make sketches if you have to.’
‘What about the retinue?’ asked Blenner.
‘E and V Companies will remain here and guard the non-coms,’ said Rawne.
‘Are you joking?’ asked Wilder, unable to contain his annoyance. Once again, the Colours Company was being relegated from the front line.
‘No, I’m not, captain,’ said Rawne.
‘V Company isn’t just a marching band!’ Wilder protested. ‘This is simply another insult to our soldiering–’
‘Enough, captain, enough,’ said Blenner. He tried to sound stern, but secretly, he was pleased. His attachment to V Company meant that he wouldn’t be advancing into the field.
‘How long is this babysitting going to last?’ asked Meryn.
Rawne glanced at him.
‘An hour or two. Maybe slightly longer. Transport is being arranged to bring the retinue to safety inside the palace precinct. When it arrives, your job will be to escort the transit. Is E Company lodging a complaint too?’
Meryn shook his head. He was perfectly content to sit out the fight. And he knew full well why Rawne had made the call. If E Company stayed at the billet, then Felyx Chass would stay at the billet, and Rawne could sideline the boy from front-line deployment without making an obvious exception.
‘Request permission to remain on station with E Company,’ said Ludd. His concerns for Felyx’s welfare were all too obvious again. Rawne saw Dalin glance at Ludd with a frown.
‘Denied, commissar,’ said Rawne.
‘But–’
‘I said denied. Hark and Fazekiel are basically missing in action. I need a competent commissar at the line with us.’
Blenner thought about objecting, but he kept his mouth shut. If he said anything, he might end up switching out with Ludd. Better to live with an insult to his abilities than to get himself a walk to the line.
‘All right, that’s it,’ said Rawne. ‘Get ready to move. This is going to get ugly. I won’t dress it up. Chances are, whatever we’re heading to won’t be prepped. We’ll have to hit the ground and improvise. Maintain contact at all times – we’re going to need coordination. But vox discipline too, you hear me?’
He paused.
‘One last point,’ he said, reluctantly. ‘I’ve been given the rank of colonel for the duration of this. I don’t like it, but it may be useful authority if we’re dealing with allied units.’
‘You are our second in command anyway, sir,’ said Pasha.
Rawne nodded.
‘And now I have the rank to match,’ he said. ‘I probably should finish with some uplifting remark, but I’m fethed if I can think of anything. Get moving. Don’t feth this up.’
Gaunt’s Ghosts exited the billet camp rapidly, heading out along the access road and then turning south. Blenner stood and watched them fade into the rain, first the marching lines of troopers, then the half a dozen transports laden with munitions and heavier gear.
He heard Meryn shout, ‘Get the site secure! Come on now!’ The buffeting slap and thump rolling across the city from the Great Hill was growing more intense. Lightning laced the rain clouds, and it was hard to tell where the lightning stopped and the furious aerial bombardment began.
Blenner glanced around the yard. Wilder was talking to the hired mourners who staffed the funeral transports. The gloss black vehicles were still parked at the edge of the yard, glistening with raindrops. Death was clinging to Gaunt’s men. Urdesh should have been a deliverance for them, a well-earned respite after the struggles of the Reach, but it was dismal.
He wandered over to the abandoned cook tents. Water pattered from the edges of the canopy. He could still smell smoke, but the stoves had been put out, and the food was cold. There would be no feast now, no celebration. Blenner doubted Gaunt would care. Gaunt had come home to glory, to the insulating sanctity of high rank. His friend Gaunt. His old, dear friend. How many of his friends would Gaunt remember now he was ascending the dizzy heights? How many would he take with him?
Few at best, Blenner reckoned. Gaunt had made that snake Rawne a colonel, but that wasn’t anything. Just a field promotion so that the Ghosts had a leader. It was a way for Gaunt to wash his hands of the regiment. The Ghosts were just a historical footnote now, a minor citation in the history book entries on the career of Lord Militant Ibram Gaunt.
Blenner found the pills in his pocket, scooped up a ladle of water from an abandoned steamer, and washed down a handful. When he got to the safety of the palace, he’d work hard, make a few contacts, maybe inveigle his way into the good graces of a more agreeable commander. He’d secure himself a more comfortable future with some ceremonial company or honour guard, and he’d do it fast before Gaunt made good on his threat and transferred Blenner to some mud-bath line company.
He could do it. He was charming and persuasive. He’d always been able to work the arcane systems of the Astra Militarum to his own benefit.
‘Do you know where the keys are?’
He looked around. Wilder had come over.
‘What keys?’ asked Blenner.
‘The keys to the medicae trailer. The funeral staff want to be gone, and I don’t blame them. They won’t take the coffin with them. I said we’d store it in the trailer.’
Blenner nodded.
‘I think Meryn has them,’ he said. He called Meryn’s name across the yard.
Wilder took out a hip flask, and took a swig while they waited for Meryn to join them. He offered it to Blenner, who knocked some back, too.
‘I was talking to them,’ said Wilder.
‘Who?’
‘The mourners,’ said Wilder. ‘The paid mourners.’
‘They can’t really leave the woman’s body here. It has to be buried.’
Wilder shrugged.
‘I hardly care,’ he replied.
‘Will they come back tomorrow?’ Blenner asked. ‘Will they reschedule the service?’
‘Ask them yourself,’ said Wilder. ‘I said, I don’t care.’
‘Maybe we can take the coffin with us to the palace…’ Blenner mused.
‘I was talking to them, anyway,’ said Wilder.
‘And?’
‘I asked how much this service and everything was costing.’
‘The boy’s paying for it all. Private funds. I told you that.’
Wilder nodded. He took another swig.
‘You did. You have any idea what it costs?’
Blenner shook his head. Wilder mentioned a figure.
Blenner looked at him, his eyes wide. He took the flask from Wilder and drank again.
‘Are you joking?’
Wilder shook his head.
‘The boy’s loaded,’ he said. ‘He just drew down that kind of money. It was triple rate because of the short notice.’
‘Holy Throne,’ murmured Blenner.
‘Them and us, Blenner,’ said Wilder. ‘The great and eternal divide between the dog-soldiers like us who crawl through the mud and the high-born who can do anything they fething want.’
‘You two talking social politics again?’ asked Meryn, wandering into the cook tent with Gendler.
‘Oh, you know, the usual,’ said Blenner.
‘I was just telling the commissar how deep that brat’s pockets are,’ said Wilder.
‘You can spare them the details, Jakub,’ said Blenner.
Wilder didn’t. He repeated the figure to Meryn and Gendler. Meryn whistled. Gendler’s face turned red with rage.
‘Makes me want to slit that little bastard’s throat,’ he said.
‘Now, now, Didi,’ said Meryn.
‘Come on, Flyn. He’s a rancid little toerag. He’s so gakking arrogant.’
‘Didi, we all know the axe you have to grind against the Vervunhive elite,’ said Meryn.