Legion (15 page)

Soneka woke. ‘What?’

‘We’re late. It’s started. We should get out there, het. The regiments have assembled to greet the Astartes.’

Soneka sat up. He was in the hospital wing of the terracotta palace, where he’d taken a cot to be with the last of his men, the last ten Dancers. The wing was sweltering hot and smelled of stale urine.

‘You all right, het?’ asked Shah.

‘Yes, I’m fine.’

‘We may not be a company any more,’ said Lon, ‘but I say we go out there and stand in the line like men. Like Dancers.’

‘Yeah!’ agreed Gin.

‘You got the flag?’ asked Lon.

Shah nodded. He’d been carrying the Dancers’ tattered standard like a bedroll since Visages.

‘Good,’ said Lon. ‘Let’s go. You coming, het?’

Soneka was busy getting dressed. He was sweating. He couldn’t find his socks.

‘Yes, I’m coming, all right?’

‘The Astartes have already landed,’ said Sallom, gazing out of the chamber window. ‘Hell, there’s an awful lot of flag waving and how d’ye do going on out there.’

‘Well, it’s Astartes, isn’t it?’ said Shah. ‘What do you expect?’

Soneka reached his good hand under his stained pillow in search of his socks. His fingers struck something hard.

‘Did one of you put this here?’ he asked. ‘Put what where?’ asked Lon.

Soneka held up a small, diorite head, one of the many hundreds of thousands that had given Visages its name.

The last of the Dancers all shrugged. ‘Must have been me, then,’ Soneka decided.

H
E ALREADY REGRETTED
the note. The note had been stupid. Cocky. Yes, cocky was the word. Gahet had forever been reproving Grammaticus for his arrogance and his over-confidence in his logokine powers. A Cabal agent should never bait the killers stalking him, especially if those killers were good at their job. Grammaticus knew enough about the Lucifer Blacks to realise they were
terribly
good at their job. He’d been a fool to taunt them like that. What had he been thinking?

That I’m immortal and nothing can kill me? Mon Lo had shown him how spurious that assumption was.
You just can’t resist it, can you, John? That’s all it is. You can’t resist showing off?

They’re not that good, Grammaticus thought. Not compared to me.

‘You can’t come in,’ the aide was insisting. ‘Uxor Rukhsana is away at the Grand Welcome. Her quarters are private.’

Grammaticus stepped back into the shadows of the colonnade and listened. He had been slipping his way back to the sanctuary of Rukhsana’s private quarters, the only place he felt safe. The palace was quiet, with almost everyone outside for the arrival of the Alpha Legion. Coming back along the hallway, he’d heard the voices ahead.

Three cowled and robed men stood at the door of Rukhsana’s quarters, confronting the aide. Their leader was saying, ‘You don’t understand, aide. I am Tinkas, surveyor of fabric for the expedition fleet. It’s my duty to systematically assess and evaluate all properties captured or commandeered by the expedition. I am in the process of surveying this palace. The work must be done, by order of the Fleet Master.’

He showed the aide some kind of paperwork.

Don’t let them in, Tuvi,
Grammaticus willed.

The girl wavered. ‘This really isn’t a good time, sir. My uxor’s privacy is—’

‘I simply need a moment to scan and assess. It’s quite un-invasive. A measurement or two. We’re not interested in the contents of the chambers. We will be discreet.’

Tuvi, they’re not who they say they are. Be cautious! I’ve met Tinkas, and he doesn’t wear a robe nor is he anywhere close to that height. You’re being deceived.

‘Well, I suppose,’ Tuvi said.

Damn it, Tuvi!
Grammaticus began to move. As the hooded men shuffled into the uxor’s quarters past the aide, Grammaticus headed back down the colonnade and climbed out through the last archway. He clambered up onto the roof, and crossed the tiles, running low, heading for the far side of the block.

‘Give us a moment,’ the surveyor of fabric told Tuvi, and she nodded, waiting outside.

The door pulled shut behind her. Franco Boone pulled back his cowl. ‘Two minutes,’ he told his fellow genewhips. ‘Two minutes before that little bitch suspects something. Quick and clean, no messing about.’ The men, Roke and Pharon, spread out and began to search the apartment area.

‘Boone!’ one of them hissed. Boone hurried into the bedchamber. Pharon was holding up a canvas jacket, soiled and dirty.

‘Since when does an uxor wear something like this?’

‘Bag it and hide it under your robe,’ Boone replied. ‘We’ll test it for gene elements.’

‘Here!’ the other genewhip called urgently. Boone went into the dressing room, and found Roke staring at a dresser top crowded with bowls and dishes of water.

‘What the hell is this about?’ Roke asked.

‘Is that you, Rukhsana?’ Grammaticus called, walking out of the wash room into the bedchamber, naked. He froze at the sight of Boone and his men, and grabbed at the bedspread to cover himself.

‘Who are you?’ Grammaticus yelped.

Boone hesitated, startled. ‘Uhm, surveyor of fabric, we—’

‘Genewhip Boone? Is that you?’ Grammaticus growled.

‘Do I know you, sir?’ Boone asked, quite taken aback.

‘I should think so!’ Grammaticus snapped. ‘Kaido Pius!’

‘Oh, good grief! Yes! Sorry, Hetman Pius,’ Boone stumbled. ‘Sorry, sorry, didn’t recognise you with your clothes off.’

‘What the hell are you doing in my uxor’s chambers, Genewhip? Sniffing around?’

‘We had a lead, a lead about a—’

‘A what?’

Boone paused. He smiled. ‘All right, you got me, het. My hands go up. I wanted to check on Uxor Rukhsana because of information received.’

‘What sort of information?’

‘That she might be carrying on.’

‘She is,’ smiled Grammaticus. ‘With me. It isn’t just the aides who like to put it about, you know?’

‘Shouldn’t you be out at the Great Welcome, het?’ Pharon ventured.

‘Yes, I should,’ Grammaticus grinned. ‘But it’s much more fun being in here. Shouldn’t
you
be out at the Great Welcome?’

The genewhip looked at his feet.

‘Well, I believe we’ve just embarrassed each other,’ Grammaticus said. ‘Me being here and you… coming in here unauthorised. So what say we forget this ever happened?’

Boone nodded. ‘That’s a splendid notion, het.’

‘Is that my jacket?’ Grammaticus asked. ‘Toss it over here. I’ve been looking for that.’ Pharon threw the jacket to him. ‘All good?’ Grammaticus asked. ‘All good,’ Boone nodded.

‘Good. Now get the hell out of here and I’ll forget you ever tried this.’

‘You won’t tell the uxor?’ Boone asked. ‘Would I?’

Boone and his men left fast.

Grammaticus sighed and sat down on the bed. In looks and build, he was nothing like Kaido Pius, het of the Carnivales. It was amazing what a confident, clear tone of voice could do. Such was the strength of a logokine. A logokine’s voice could tell you what you were seeing in defiance of your eyes and your better judgement.

But it had cost him. Exhausted, Grammaticus flopped back on the bed and stared at the ceiling. He knew a blackout was coming.

He embraced it, even though he knew there would be dragons in it.

O
UTSIDE, THE
G
REAT
Welcome was dispersing. Namatjira, with all ceremony, was leading Alpharius and the senior commanders towards his pavilion to discuss forward planning. The vast troop marshals were spilling back towards their billets and positions.

Coming out into the sunlight, Franco Boone paused. Walking back through the palace, he’d had a mind to find Uxor Mu and remonstrate with her for sending him on a fool’s errand. How clumsy to have embarrassed a distinguished het like that!

Now he was in the open, a mist of doubt filled his head. The encounter in the uxor’s quarters took on a disquieting, dream-like gloss. He found he could barely remember the actual exchange.

‘Something the matter?’ asked Roke, walking at his side.

‘Kaido Pius, right?’ Boone asked.

Roke nodded. ‘Bare-assed. Takes all sorts, I suppose.’

‘Rukhsana is a tempting prospect,’ put in Pharon, the other genewhip.

Boone nodded. There wasn’t a man in the Chiliad who’d disagree with Pharon’s appraisal. ‘But it
was
Pius, wasn’t it?’

Roke and Pharon looked at the senior genewhip and laughed.

‘Are you getting peck that’s stronger than we get?’ Roke chuckled.

‘The question stands,’ said Boone. ‘Was that Kaido Pius?’

‘Yes, Franco!’ Pharon laughed.

‘Then explain that to me, would you?’ Boone asked, pointing.

Through the crowds of dispersing troopers, a hundred metres away, the Chiliad company of Carnivales was breaking ranks to head for their station. Pikes and banners had lowered, the men moving in easy groups, chatting, laughing, taking pinches of peck from their golden boxes.

In the midst of the huddle, joking with his bashaws, was Kaido Pius.

‘P
ETO
? P
ETO
!’ K
AIDO
Pius cried in delight. He pushed past his bashaws to embrace Soneka.

‘Good to see you,’ Soneka gasped, clenched in a serious bear hug.

‘Good to see you? Good to see you, he says!’ Pius cried to the bashaws. ‘We thought you were dead!’

Soneka smiled, and embraced each of the bashaws in turn. ‘I very nearly was,’ he said.

‘You got out of Visages, then?’ Pius asked.

Soneka nodded. ‘I did. Just.’

‘Where have you been hiding yourself?’

‘The hospital wing. I’m staying there with Lon and the others. Hey, Lon, Shah! Come over here!’

Pius shook his head. ‘Shameful, that’s what it was. When we heard about Visages, we were shocked. My boys have drunk to the Dancers’ memory several times.’

‘Thanks for that, Kai,’ said Soneka. ‘Glory, it’s good to see you.’

Pius looked at Soneka. ‘Come back with us to our billet. We’ll drink and talk of old times.’

‘Later, Kai, I’ll come and find you. Where are you posted?’

‘Line fifteen north, under Uxor Sanzi’s ’cept.’

‘I’ll join you later, all right?’

‘We’ll look out for you, Peto!’ Pius cried, already disappearing in the moving mass. Soneka was pushing on, through the shambling ranks, past the banners of the Threshers and the Arachne.

He could see another banner, up ahead, above the moving tide of troopers.

The Jokers.

Soneka pushed his way forwards until he reached the ranks of the Jokers. He had a terrible, queasy feeling.

‘Hurtado?’ he whispered.

Fifty metres away, through the flowing throng, Bronzi turned and looked back at him. The Jokers’ het was flanked by Tche and Leng, his massive bashaws.

For a moment, through the moving crowd, their eyes locked. Soneka and Bronzi.

‘Hurt? You’re alive! For Terra’s sake! Hurt!’

Bronzi frowned. Then he turned away and was lost in the tide of bodies.

‘Hurt?’ Soneka stood still, as the river of soldiers flowed around him. He wondered if he should follow Bronzi.

He decided that was probably a very bad idea.

SEVEN

Mon Lo Harbour, Nurth, the evening of the day

D
INAS
C
HAYNE HAD
been intent on scouring the palace for the author of the insolent, provocative note. He had not risen to its bait, or allowed himself the distraction of anger, but it had usefully focused his mind. Chayne held a frightening grip over his emotions, a skill he’d mastered between the ages of twelve and thirteen. He did not allow emotions to rule his behaviour, ever. Instead, he channelled them as fuel for his actions.

He returned to the security post to review all the feeds from the palace’s sensor lattice, but one of the adepts had brought him a coded message from the Lord Commander, summoning him with immediate effect. The Lord Commander was holding his first meeting with the Master of the Alpha Legion in his pavilion, and wanted the Lucifer Black bajolur to witness and observe the proceedings.

‘Have this run through full gene and biometric testing,’ he told the adept, handing him the note. ‘Report to me, directly on my link. Misplace this evidence, and I’ll have you shot.’

The adept hurried off to do Chayne’s bidding, a sick and anxious expression on his face.

Chayne made his way to the pavilion. A vast edifice of void-shielded silk marquees, it had been erected on a low tel south of the palace precinct. The first streaks of evening were discolouring the sky, and the shadows had gone soft and long, as if they were melting. Thousands of filament lights, in crystal shades, had been strung like climbing ivy around the structure of the pavilion, and they twinkled in the dusk like the lights of a distant hive. They reminded Chayne of the god-walls of the Imperial Palace on Terra, the mountainside bastions and soaring ramparts illuminated by billions of slit windows, and the great beacons of light that sent vast beams of radiance into the top of the sky. That was a monument no man could see without experiencing an emotional response, not even Chayne. In the older days, it was said that the antique Great Wall of Zhongguo could be seen from near orbit. The Imperial Palace could be seen from Mars.

Chayne entered the pavilion via the security portal, and submitted himself for checking and searches. On Sameranth, two years earlier, a security detail at the pavilion portal had waved him through, not wishing to interfere with a Lucifer Black. Chayne had ordered the detail’s immediate execution. A Lucifer Black uniform could be stolen or copied. No one could be given access to the Lord Commander until he had proved he was who he appeared to be.

Chayne paused briefly in one of the outer tents to converse with Eiman and Belloc, two of his most trusted Lucifers. He explained the business of the note to them, and told them to return to the palace and continue the search. Their conversation, to an outsider, would have seemed odd. There was nothing convivial or comradely about it. Brief statements and instructions were exchanged or given. Lucifer Blacks related to one another in a dry, utilitarian shorthand, dealing only in facts. They expected one another to fill in any speculative blanks, and make their own conjectures.