The Inquisition War (96 page)

After much minute attention to the details of the Chaos world, Lex strolled into the garden to rest his eyes.

Grimm was staring at the huge red sun.

‘It’s warmer today,’ said the squat. ‘Warmer than it’s been since we arrived here. Can’t you feel it on your bare skin?’

Lex wasn’t one to pay much heed to heat or cold. Besides, he’d been focusing his attention upon the fine lines wrought by the graving tool and how well those lines corresponded with appalling memories. Surprised, he agreed.

‘But at the same time,’ said Grimm, ‘that ruddy sun looks, I dunno, smaller?’

Lex mused a while: ‘As I recall,’ he said, ‘that vast red orb is actually the outer atmosphere of the sun expanded across hundreds of millions of kilometres. Deep within, hidden from our eyes, will be a white-hot core, a dwarf core. By the time the radiance of that core reaches the extremities, the temperature is only that of an iron poker in a fire.’ His brow furrowed. ‘I’ve heard that the radiation output of white dwarfs can fluctuate. This is to do with the alchemy of elements.’ He regarded Grimm sardonically. ‘A dwarf can be unstable.’

The short abhuman scratched his head under his forage cap. ‘Maybe we’re in for a heatwave, eh?’

‘We must hope not! Who knows what the upper limit of a heatwave might be?’

‘Don’t you try to scare me, you big lunk. This world has harboured life for aeons.’

‘Aeons are merely seconds on the clock of time.’

‘I’m aware of that!’

‘Maybe a relatively minor shock might be enough to destabilize the white dwarf core. A warp-storm occurring locally. Even a warp-ship materializing accidentally within the star and disrupting the fabric of space before evaporating.’

‘Thanks for the reassurance.’

‘The cosmos does not exist for our benefit, little man, any more than a dog exists so as to harbour fleas. The fleas may think so, but they are wrong. Heroism is to accept this fact yet continue to strive in the Emperor’s name.’

‘Do you know His name, by the way?’

Lex flexed a fist warningly.

‘No one knows His name by now,’ came Jaq’s voice in reply. Jaq too had stepped out into the garden. ‘Nor can He possibly know His own name after so many millennia of transcendent anguish and cosmic over-watch.’

‘Bionn an fear ciallmar ina thost nuair nd bionn pioc le rd aige,’
he recited enigmatically in Eldar, and strode forth through the shrubbery.

NINE

Jester

A
FEW WEEKS
later, Rakel brought word about a trio of amazing new performers who were drawing audiences to a theatre in the Mahabbat district.

Two of these acrobatic artistes were clad in kaleidoscopic motley, the hues of which changed from moment to moment. These artistes also wore holo-masks which could display a whole gamut of personae. In repose, the faces which these masks displayed were affably human. No one ever saw their actual faces of flesh and blood behind the masks.

The third member of their tiny troupe wore a skull-mask. White bones decorated his black costume. What a grin that skull exhibited! How frolicsome its wearer could be. He was the one who spoke Imperial Gothic, though not the dialect of Sabulorb itself. Much could be accomplished by mime. What fine mimes his companions were.

‘Everyone seems to assume they’re human,’ recounted Rakel. ‘Bit tall, maybe. But with arms and legs and heads in the right places.’

These exotic artistes had arrived in Shandabar by camelopard caravan from the city of Bara Bandobast across the Grey Desert. They must belong to some nomad tribe.

R
AKEL’S INFORMANT ABOUT
these performers was Mardal Shuturban. The man was still ravaged by the fratricide of his brother. His thumbs bore scars where he had finally torn them free from the bones of Chor’s skull. Mardal believed that by some unknowable sorcery Tod Zapasnik’ had saved himself and Mardal too from death during the delirium in the Sensuality Suite. Sly brother Chor had hoped that the snake-woman would snoop upon Zapasnik’s mind. The plan had gone unimaginably wrong. What did it matter if Chor’s finger had been bitten off impatiently? Compared with what Mardal had done to his brother’s eyes and frontal lobes, a finger was a trivial matter.

Mardal had babbled impetuously to Rakel. He was deeply disturbed by his experience. At the same time, a criminal could not afford to convalesce. Mardal had seemed on the verge of proposing some kind of alliance with Rakel’s powerful and scary patron. ‘Oh my brother, oh my brother!’ he had wailed. ‘Oh my wise, thoughtful brother!’

Why was Rakel asking about exotic artistes on behalf of Sir Tod? Chor might have had an inkling of why. Chor was dead. Zapasnik was an enigma.

Had Rakel really entered the courthouse? Members of the caste of garbage collectors who were allowed limited access to bring away toxic ashes from an incinerator had heard cooks talking about a murdered judge. No need for Rakel to say a word about it unless she wished to! Ah, how hot it was right now. How one sweated. Never before in living memory had anyone perspired so much in Shandabar – outside of a chamber of sin in the Mahabbat district! In the Grey Desert dust was dancing thermally.

‘Oh brother mine, brother mine!’

Ah yes, those strange artistes... Mardal would keep watch on them for Sir Tod; but he would do nothing impetuous.

‘O
BVIOUSLY
,’ J
AQ SAID
to his companions, ‘the eldar Harlequins are searching for the stolen book.’

Rakel’s eyes had widened at this new revelation.

‘The book contains many dire secrets,’ he told her. ‘They removed it from the Black Library of the eldar located in the webway which leads through the warp. Only an inquisitor could penetrate such a place. This is all forbidden knowledge – which you now need to know.’

‘Knowledge is a curse,’ she said darkly, ‘not a blessing.’

T
HE
H
ARLEQUINS MUST
be spreading their scouting forces thin, so as to touch as many likely worlds as possible.

Groups of Harlequins very occasionally visited innocuous worlds of the Imperium to present their pageants of dance and mime. A feast for the eyes! An enigma to almost all human spectators! A troupe would generally consist of at least a hundred of the aliens – including costumemakers and operators of holo-projectors, and even the elderly and children, in addition to the core of costumed players who were also warriors. For as few as three players to visit Sabulorb implied that many similar visits were being made by other Harlequins to as many worlds as possible. Often at great risk, no doubt!

Here on Sabulorb, the Harlequins were passing themselves off as exotic masked tribesmen. The local judges now knew nothing about the astropathic bulletin. On other worlds, too, the eldar might pass as human beings of ethereal grace; as visitors from some luxurious Imperial plant where the population knew nothing of rickets or goitres or skin diseases. The eldar would sometimes even boldly reveal their identity as aliens, endowed with lavish funds – as they had reportedly done on Lekkerbek. On many other planets such as Karesh they must be risking their lives, and even losing them, victims of strict judges or zealous preachers or xenophobic mobs.

All to recover the book!

The alien trio had arrived from the direction of Bara Bandobast, not by way of Shandabar’s landing field.

Jaq gave blessings that there was indeed a webway entry and exit somewhere at hand. He and Lex and Grimm began to form plans, which should involve Mardal Shuturban and his men.

Jaq’s party now had three fully-loaded boltguns, as well as laspistols. Yet how rash to go unaided against three alien warrior-troubadours, particularly when one was a Death Jester. Those Death Jesters were heavy weapons specialists. Ah, but this Jester could hardly have brought a shuriken shrieker cannon fitted with anti-grav suspensors into Shandabar in his gear! If the Harlequins had ridden armed jetbikes through the webway to Sabulorb, they must have hidden those far out in the desert before joining the camelopard caravan.

A problem was that the eldar were far more sensitively psychic than human beings. The population of Shandabar generated a mental babble, a seething slurry of emotions and half-formed images. Doubtless the Harlequins were attempting to sieve this foetid torrent for any relevant nugget – though without the least guarantee of finding any. What might stand out from the babble, as unusual?

Turmoil at a temple, as priests and deacons of Occidens tried to discover whether the Austral temple had been responsible for the theft of the thigh bone...

The mysterious assassination of a judge...

A gruesome Slaaneshi manifestation at the House of Ecstasy, branded in survivors’ minds: that should rivet the attention of any Harlequin.

Assuming that the sensitive eldar were able to extract such needles from the haystack of circumstances!

Mardal Shuturban might be radiating intense horror at what had happened in the House of Ecstasy. His horror might be associated with visual images of a certain wizard – a wizard who had access to priceless jewels.

Shuturban needed an aura of protection cast around him as soon as could be. Either that, or kill him. His help was needed.

The walled mansion was far enough from the Mahabbat quarter for mind-noise to drown out any direct trace of Jaq’s presence. Jaq could shield his thoughts psychically. Lex had no helmet shielded with psycurium – but Lex could always intone a mantra of
Rogal Dorn, Rogal Dorn...
Could Jaq maintain protective auras for Grimm and Rakel, and for Shuturban too?

‘Lex,’ said Jaq, ‘I want you to start up a prayer-mantra in your mind as a screen against psychic intrusion. Grimm: I want you to start reciting your longest ballad to yourself – silently – and don’t stop. Rakel: I need to conjure protection around you. I need to embrace you with protection.’

Did a moan escape her lips?

‘Next,’ he told her, ‘I need you to hurry to Shuturban and tell him that his life is in danger from those performers unless I protect him psychically.’

‘He’ll believe you’re a sorcerer for sure, boss,’ said Grimm.

‘Maybe,’ Jaq said to the abhuman, ‘I am becoming one.’ Briefly a rictus twisted his face. ‘With your faithful help, my squat factotum, and with yours especially, Captain d’Arquebus.’

It was the first time that Rakel knew for sure that the giant was a Space Marine. She gasped – and Lex clenched his fist. In salute, or in reprimand? He loomed over the false Meh’lindi. His heels came together. Had he not been barefoot, those heels would have clicked.

‘Lady,’ he said formally, ‘I present myself properly at last. Space Marine Captain Lexandro d’Arquebus of the Imperial Fists Chapter, travelling incognito as escort for my Lord Inquisitor Jaq Draco. This fist will snap the neck of anyone who betrays my identity, or my lord inquisitor’s.’

‘Yes,’ murmured Rakel. ‘I hear you.’ She mumbled some prayer to herself. How many terrible secrets could she tolerate? Jaq told her: ‘We’ll need to rendezvous with Shuturban somewhere private well away from the Mahabbat district.’

‘Somewhere in Bellagunge?’ suggested Grimm. ‘Now that our boltguns are full of ammo!’

‘And empty them for no good reason?’ Lex said acidly. ‘We can do without a commotion.’

Where, then, could they rendezvous? The ruins of Oriens harboured too many beggars. That saddle warehouse might be booby-trapped by now, by its owners – and it was too close to the courthouse.

The little man piped up: ‘How about the cobblers where I got my new boots?’ Grimm stamped appreciatively. The successors to his old boots indeed had a long-lived-in look to the leather. ‘Meeting there has no obvious rhyme or reason. So it’s ideal. It’s nowhere near Mahabbat. Mind you, we must turf the cobbler out first to save his skin – I’m grateful to him.’

Jaq nodded. ‘Shuturban can bring as many bodyguards as he pleases.’ He turned to Rakel, and took the Assassin card from inside his robe. ‘Come with me, my mock Meh’lindi,
in nomine Imperatoris
, to be clasped with protection.’

A
MIDST IRON LASTS
and pincers and buffing wheels, amidst stitchers and scourers and sole-cutting shears – so many boltguns and laspistols and autoguns! The cobbler’s workshop could never have seen such a gathering of hardware as was in the hands or belts or holsters of Jaq’s party and of Mardal Shuturban’s half-dozen men.

The workshop was a long broad room, lit by electrolumens in sconces. Perhaps a hundred pairs of boots and shoes hung on hooks from joists.

The fat bald proprietor, Mr Dukandar, had been evicted into the night along with his stout wife and two apprentice sons. This happened as soon as Jaq’s party arrived, in advance of Shuturban and company. The Dukandars couldn’t remain in their upstairs quarters in case they eavesdropped. Take a walk for a couple of hours if you know what’s wise! Cool though the night air might be, for Sabulorb the temperature was almost balmy. The Dukandars wouldn’t catch cold.

‘W
E ARE MEETING
again,’ Mardal greeted Jaq, with sombre respect. ‘My life being in danger once again?’

‘In dire danger from those exotic performers. Being alien psyker-warriors—’