Ciaphas Cain: Choose Your Enemies

‘I really think you should get back inside,’ Broklaw said. ‘If they realise you’re out in the open, you’ll go straight to the top of their target list.’

A thought, I’m bound to say, which had already occurred to me.

I leaned forward, and knocked on the partition separating me from the chauffeur. ‘Turn round,’ I instructed, with all the calm authority I could muster. The fellow ignored me, and I knocked a little harder. ‘Turn this thing around, or by the Emperor and all His saints, I’ll have words with the governor about you.’

He continued to stare forward, ignoring everything I said. If it hadn’t been for the fact that he’d started off without being instructed to, I’d probably have thought he was a servitor by now. My palms began to tingle. This definitely wasn’t right. I found my hands hovering instinctively close to my weapons. One last try, I thought, and drew the laspistol, using the heavy butt to hammer against the fragile-seeming barrier between us. It starred and began to fracture, and I found myself wondering how I was going to explain the damage to Fulcher when I saw him.

This time I did get a reaction, though not the one I’d been expecting. Without any change of expression, the chauffeur simply reached down under the dashboard and pulled out a bolt pistol. Nothing fancy, like the mastercrafted one I’d gifted to Amberley, just plain dull metal without any ornate engraving on it, but it certainly looked capable of doing the job. Still without a word he turned, and fired at me through the armourcrys.

Which was a mistake on his part, the crazing I’d inflicted on it with the butt of my own weapon no doubt blurring the image from his side; if he’d taken the time to retract it first he’d have had a clear shot at me. Perhaps he thought he’d be giving me too much warning if he did that, though, and perhaps he’d even have been right, but the point was moot in any case. The transparent screen was, despite the damage, still strong enough for the bolt to detonate against it. The sharp crack of the explosion jolted my eardrums in the confined space, and the partition shattered, filling the interior of the car with razor-edged shards. I ducked my head instinctively, letting the peak of my cap protect my eyes and most of my face, although a few fragments still stung my cheeks, scoring bloody trails as they impacted.

Even so, I’d fared better than my would-be assassin. His face was now a bloody mask, in which his remaining eye gleamed with an unhealthy fervour. He raised the weapon again, but I was quicker, and put a las-bolt through his brain before he had a chance to retaliate. My assailant slumped back against the controls, the air car lurched, and began to plummet towards the ground.

‘Ciaphas! What’s going on?’ Kasteen’s voice was tight with tension. ‘That sounded like shots.’

‘They were,’ I responded tersely, reaching through the gap in the partition and heaving at the now literally dead weight of the chauffeur. His body slumped to one side, the sleeve of his jacket catching on something, and the air car began to rotate in the air as well as plunging towards the ground. Better and better.

Giving up on the futile attempt to manipulate the chauffeur’s cadaver through such a narrow gap I drew my chainsword and attacked the thin sheet of metal dividing the car. It tore open under the whirling teeth with a screech of metal and a shower of sparks, not to mention the odd gobbet of deceased assassin; within seconds I’d made enough of a gap to pull a large section of it out of the way.

‘Come on, you festering ratbag.’ I heaved at the deceased assassin again, the muscles in my back cracking as I fought to lift him off the dashboard and the control column. By great good fortune the latch of the pilot’s door was just within reach, and I managed to trip it just as the plummeting air car twisted in that direction. A gush of lung-searing effluvia burst into the compartment, blurring my vision, and the fellow vanished, aided on his way by gravity, centrifugal force and a last heave from me to bring him clear of the controls. In fact, so abrupt was his departure that I almost followed him, and probably would have done if I hadn’t managed to grab the headrest of the pilot’s seat for long enough to smack the door control again.100 It closed, the air recirculators gradually mitigating the worst effects of the filth I was trying to breathe, although they seemed to be working flat out to do so, and I scrambled into the pilot’s seat – though not without some degree of difficulty, my greatcoat catching on some jagged edge of the demolished partition before giving way with a loud ripping sound.

‘Ciaphas. Can you hear me?’ Kasteen asked, an almost flattering amount of concern in her voice. ‘What’s happening?’