Ciaphas Cain: Choose Your Enemies

‘Hard to say,’ Amberley said. ‘Listen.’ She must have opened another channel, because the psyker’s voice was suddenly in my ear, along with her own, although it was hard to be certain for a moment; instead of babbling gnomic gibberish, as I’d expected, the woman was singing – some complex, wordless melody that seemed to veer through several conflicting emotions like a drunken Guardsman ricocheting his way through a bar room full of tables in an attempt to find the exit. ‘She’s been doing that ever since we left the docking arm. Something on the orbital’s affecting her.’

‘More spirit stones?’ I asked, jumping to the obvious conclusion.

‘Could be,’ Amberley said. ‘She’s been trying to commune with the ones we found, but they’re so far outside anything she’s experienced before that she can’t explain any impressions she can pick up in terms we’d understand.’ Business as usual, in other words, I thought sourly.

‘So we’re time-wasting following her wanderbouts instead of finding some dregs we can gun,’ Zemelda put in, a trifle irritably, her mauled arm apparently causing her even more discomfort by now.

‘So we’re seeing if she can lead us to whatever she’s sensing,’ Amberley corrected, in the calm, reasonable tone everyone naturally found themselves agreeing with, if they had any sense at all.

‘Good luck with that,’ I said. ‘Heard anything from Vekkman?’

‘No,’ Amberley said, clearly happy to have it remain that way. ‘Caractacus says he just turned round for a moment in the main concourse and when he looked back he was gone.’

Which wasn’t my problem, of course. ‘I’ll check in if anything happens,’ I said, and turned back to my aide. ‘We’re sticking with the governor’s people for now.’

‘Very good, sir,’ Jurgen replied, his inevitable response when he didn’t see the point of something but assumed there must be one because someone in authority had just made a decision.

I waved to Fulcher and Defroy, and began walking towards them in the exaggeratedly leisurely manner of someone who expects to be waited for. ‘It seems we’ll have the pleasure of one another’s company for a little while longer,’ I said, as I came within easy conversational range. ‘The inquisitor has just suggested I review your security arrangements here, to ensure His Excellency’s safety.’ I glanced at Defroy as I spoke, for any sign of discomfiture; if I was a heretic infiltrator, a broad hint that an inquisitor didn’t entirely trust me wouldn’t exactly put my mind at rest. But Defroy was nodding, an expression curiously like relief spreading across his face.

‘I was hoping you’d say that,’ he said. ‘Under the circumstances, I’d feel a lot happier knowing a man with a reputation like yours was helping to guard the governor.’

‘As would I,’ Fulcher said, with a brisk business-like nod. He glanced past my shoulder, got his first real look at Jurgen, and his affable smile curdled for a moment before reforming into the expression of faint disbelief most people adopted when being introduced to him. ‘And this is your aide, I take it?’

‘You take it correctly.’ I nodded briskly, and made the usual back-and-forth gesture concomitant on exchanging the names of third parties. ‘Gunner Jurgen,’ I said. ‘Governor Fulcher.’ I watched the Emperor’s anointed coming slowly to terms with this unexpected development, and wondered if he’d hold out a hand to shake from sheer force of habit, but perhaps fortunately for all concerned he overcame the impulse. ‘You won’t find a better man to have at your back.’

‘I don’t doubt that at all,’ Fulcher said, while Jurgen positively glowed from the compliment. ‘Anyone serving with a man like you must be equally exceptional.’

Jurgen shook his head. ‘Plenty more like me in the Guard, sir,’ he said modestly but, thank the Emperor, completely inaccurately.

‘Then our victory against the eldar must be all but assured,’ Fulcher said, determined to have the last word. He turned to Defroy. ‘Have all the relief supplies been offloaded?’

Defroy listened to a voice in his vox-bead. ‘They have,’ he confirmed after a moment.

‘Then I don’t see any point in waiting around.’ Fulcher put his helmet back on, no doubt fondly imagining that he now passed for a soldier, a delusion I rather uncharitably felt I’d like to see challenged by one of the drill sergeants the Guard relies on to knock similar notions out of the heads of raw recruits.