It's often remarked that diplomacy is just warfare by other means. Our battles are no
less desperate for being bloodless, but at least we get wine and finger food.'
- Tollen Ferlang, Imperial Envoy to the Realm of Ultramar, 564-603 M41.
'ARE YOU SURE you're fit enough?' Kasteen asked, a faint frown of concern appearing
between her eyebrows. I nodded, and adjusted the sling I'd adopted for dramatic
effect. It was black silk, matching the ebony hues of my dress uniform, and made me
look tolerably dashing, I thought.
'I'm fine,' I said, smiling bravely. 'The other fellows got the worst of it, thank the
Emperor.' In the day or two since the brawl with the heretics, my arm had more or less
healed, the medicae assuring me that I'd suffered nothing worse than severe bruising.
It was still stiff, and ached a little, but all in all I thought I'd come off lightly. Far
better than Divas had, anyway. He'd spent the night in the infirmary, and still walked
with a stick. For all that, though, he was as irritatingly cheerful as ever, and I'd been
finding as many duties as I could to keep me out of the way whenever he suggested
socialising again.
Luckily for me, he'd lost consciousness before the kroot turned up, so my reputation
had received another unmerited embellishment. He assumed I'd seen off our assailants
single-handed, and I saw no good reason to disabuse him. Besides, the conversation
I'd had with the creature had been curiously unsettling, and I found myself reluctant to
think about it too hard. I noticed Divas's account had tactfully glossed over the reason
why we were in the thick of the tau sympathizers' heartland, so maybe they'd finally
knocked a little common sense into him. Knowing Divas, though, I doubted it.
'Well, that's what they get for picking on the Imperium's finest,' Kasteen said, eager to
buy the generally accepted version of events, as the latest evidence of my exceptional
martial abilities reflected well on the regiment she led. She adjusted her own dress
uniform, tugging the ochre greatcoat into place with every sign of discomfort. Like
most Valhallans, she had an iceworlder's tolerance for cold, and found even the
mildest of temperate climates a little uncomfortable. Having spent most of my service
with Valhallan regiments, I'd long become inured to their habit of air conditioning
their quarters to temperatures which left the breath smoking, and tended to wear my
commissarial greatcoat at all times, but they were still adjusting to the local conditions
here with some difficulty.
'If I might suggest, colonel.' I said, 'tropical order would be perfectly acceptable.'
'Would it?' She hovered indecisively, reminding me again how young she was to be in
such an elevated position, and I felt an unaccustomed pang of sympathy. The prestige
of the regiment was in her hands, and it was easy to forget how heavily the
responsibility weighed on her.
'It would,' I assured her. She discarded the heavy fur cap, disordering her hair, and began to unfasten the coat. Then she hesitated.
'I don't know,' she said. 'If they think I'm too informal it'll reflect badly on all of us.'
'For the Emperor's sake, Regina,' Broklaw said, his voice amused. 'What sort of
impression do you think you'll make if you're sweating like an ork all evening?' I
noted his use of her given name, the first time I'd heard him do so, with quiet
satisfaction. Another milestone on the 597th's march towards full integration. The real
test would come with their first taste of combat, of course, and all too soon at that, but
it was a good omen. 'The commissar's right'
'The commissar's always right,' I said, smiling. 'It says so in the regulations.'
'Well, I can't argue with that.' Kasteen pulled off the coat with evident relief, and
smoothed the jacket beneath it. It was severely cut, emphasising her figure in ways that
I was sure would attract the attention of most of the men in the room. Broklaw nodded
approvingly.
'I don't think you need to worry about making an impression,' he said, proffering a
comb.
'So long as it's a good one.' She smoothed her hair into place, and began buckling her
weapon belt. Like mine it held a chainsword, but hers was ornately gilded, and worked
with devotional scenes that decorated scabbard and hilt alike. The contrast with my
own functional model, chipped and battered with far too much use for my liking, was
striking. The holster at her other hip was immaculate too, the glossy black leather
holding a bolt pistol which also gleamed from every highly polished surface and
which was intricately engraved with icons of the saints.
'No doubt about that,' I assured her.
Her nervousness was quite understandable, as we'd been invited to a diplomatic
reception at the governor's palace. At least I had, and in the interests of protocol, the
colonel of my regiment and an appropriate honour guard would also be expected. This
sort of soiree was quite beyond her experience, and she was all too acutely aware that
she was out of her depth. I, on the other hand, was well within mine. One of the many
benefits of being a Hero of the Imperium is that you're regarded as a prime catch by a
certain type of society hostess, which meant that I'd had plenty of opportunity to enjoy
the homes, wine cellars, and daughters of the idle rich over the years, and had
developed an easy familiarity with the world in which they moved. The main thing to
remember, as I confided to Kasteen, was that they had their own idea of what soldiers
were like, which had very little to do with the reality.
'The best thing you can do,' I said, 'is not to get sucked in to all that protocol nonsense
in the first place. They'll expect us to get it wrong anyway, so to the warp with them.'
She smiled in spite of herself, and settled a little more comfortably into the upholstery
of the staff car Jurgen had found somewhere. Armed with my commissarial authority,
which let him requisition practically anything short of a battleship without argument,
he'd developed quite a talent for acquiring anything I considered necessary for my
comfort or convenience over the years. I never asked too many questions about where
they'd come from, as I suspected some of the answers might have complicated my life. 'That's easy for you to say,' she said. 'You're a hero. I'm justó'
'One of the youngest regimental commanders in the entire Guard,' I said. 'A position
that, in my opinion, you hold entirely on merit,' I smiled. 'And my confidence is not
lightly earned,' It was what she needed to hear, of course, I've always been good at
manipulating people. That's one of the reasons I'm so good at my job. She began to
look a little happier.
'So what do you suggest?' she said.
I shrugged. 'They might be rich and powerful, but they're only civilians. However hard
they try to hide it, they'll be in awe of you. I've always found it best at these things just
to be a plain, simple military man, with no interest in politics. The Emperor points,
and we obey.'
'Through the warp and far away.' She finished the old song line with a smile. 'So we
shouldn't offer any opinions, or answer questions about policy.'
'Exactly,' I said. 'If they want to talk, tell them a few stories about your old campaigns.
That's all they're interested in anyway.' That was certainly true in my case. I was sure
I'd only been invited as patriotic window-dressing, to impress the tau with the calibre
of the opposition they'd be facing if they were foolish enough to try and make a fight
of it with us. Of course, in my case, that meant they could pretty much run their flag
up the pole of the governor's palace any time they felt like it, but that was beside the
point.
'Thank you, Ciaphas.' Kasteen put her chin on her hand, and watched the street lights
flicker past outside the window. That was the first time anyone in the regiment had
addressed me in personal terms since I joined it. It felt strange, but curiously pleasant.
'You're welcomeÖ Regina,' I said, and she smiled. (I know what you're thinking, and
you're wrong. I did come to think of her as a friend in the end, and Broklaw too, but
that's as far as it went. Anything else would have made both our positions untenable.
Sometimes, looking back, I think that's a shame, but there it is.)
THE GOVERNOR'S PALACE was in what the locals called the Old Quarter, where the fad
for tau-influenced architecture which had infected the rest of the city had failed to take
hold, so the vague sense of unease which had oppressed me since we arrived began to
lift at last. The villas and mansions slipping past outside the car had taken on the
familiar blocky contours of the Imperial architecture with which I'd been familiar all
my life, and I felt my spirits begin to rise to the point where I almost began to
anticipate enjoying the evening ahead of us.
Jurgen swung the vehicle through an elaborate pair of wrought-iron gates decorated
with the Imperial aquila, and our tyres hissed over raked gravel as we progressed
down a long, curving drive lit by flickering flambeaux. Behind us the truck with our
honour guard followed, no doubt making a terrible mess of things with its heavy duty
tyres, the soldiers making the most of the grandstand view afforded by its open rear
decking to point and chatter at the sights. Beyond the flickering firelight, we could
make out a rolling landscaped lawn, dotted with shrubs and ornamental fountains -
automatically, some part of my mind was assessing the best way of using them for cover.
An audible gasp from Kasteen signalled that the palace itself had come into view from
her side window, and a moment later, the curve of the drive brought it into my field of
vision.
'Not a bad little billet,' I said, with elaborate casualness. Kasteen composed herself,
wiping the bumpkin gawp off her face.
'Reminds me of a bordello we used to visit when I was an officer cadet,' she replied,
determined to match my blase exterior. I grinned.
'Good,' I said. 'Remember we're soldiers. We're not impressed by this sort of thing.'
'Absolutely not,' she agreed, straightening her jacket unnecessarily.
There was a lot of the building not to be impressed by. It must have covered over a
kilometre from end to end, although of course much of that area would be given over
to courtyards and interior gardens currently hidden behind the outer wall. Buttresses
and crenellations protruded like acne from every surface, encrusted with statuary
commemorating previous governors and other local notables no one could now
remember the names of, and vast areas had been gilded, reflecting the firelight from
outside in a manner which was to prove eerily prophetic had we but known. At the
time, though, it simply struck me as one of the most stridently vulgar piles of masonry
I'd ever encountered. Jurgen pulled up outside the main entrance, halting at the end of
a red carpet as skilfully as a shuttle pilot entering a docking port. After a moment the
truck pulled up behind us and our honour guard piled out, deploying on either side of
it a full squad, five pairs of troopers facing each other across the crimson weave,
lasguns at the port.
'Shall we?' I extended an arm to Kasteen as a flunkey dressed as a wedding cake
bustled up to open the door for us.
'Thank you, commissar.' She took it as we emerged, and I stopped for a moment to
have a word with Jurgen.
'Any further orders, sir?'
I shook my head. 'Just find somewhere to park, and get yourself something to eat,' I
said. Strictly speaking I could have had my aide accompany us, but the thought of
Jurgen mingling with the cream of the Gravalaxian aristocracy was almost too hideous
to contemplate. I turned to the noncom in charge of the honour guard, a Sergeant
Lustig, and tapped the combead I'd slipped into my ear. 'You too,' I added. 'You might
as well be comfortable while you wait for us. I'll contact you when we're ready to
leave.'
'Yes sir.' A faint smile tried to form on his broad face before discipline reasserted
itself, and he inhaled.
'SquadÖ AttenÖ Shun!' he bellowed, and they snapped to it with nanosecond
precision. No surprise that they'd won the extra drink ration this week, I thought. The
crash of synchronised heels caused heads to turn all around us, minor local nobles
looking mightily impressed, and their chauffeurs even more so.
'I think we've made an impression,' Kasteen murmured as we gained the elaborately
carved entrance doors.
'That was the idea,' I agreed.
Inside, it was exactly as I'd anticipated, the kind of vulgar ostentation too many of the
wealthy mistake for good taste, with crystal and gilt and garish tapestries of historic
battles and smug-looking primarchs strewn around the place like a pirate's warehouse.
The high arched ceiling was supported by pillars artfully carved to mimic the bark of
some species of local tree, and my feet sank into the carpet as though it were a swamp.
It took me a moment to realise that the weave would form a vast portrait, presumably
of the governor himself, if viewed from the upper landing, and I noted with faint
amusement that someone had trodden on a dropped canape making it look as though
his nose was running. Whether it was a genuine accident, or the act of a disgruntled
servant, who could say? Kasteen's lips quirked as she absorbed the full opulence of
our surroundings.
'I take it back,' she said quietly. 'A bordello would have been done out in far better
taste.' I suppressed a smile of my own as another flunkey ushered us forward.
'Commissar Ciaphas Cain,' he announced. 'And Colonel Regina Kasteen.' Which at
least established who we were. It was pretty obvious who the unhealthy-looking
individual sitting on a raised dais at the end of the room was. I've met a good few
planetary governors in my day, and they all tend towards inbred imbecility1
, but this
specimen looked like he should take the prize. He somehow contrived to look both
undernourished and flabby at the same time, and his skin was the pallor of a dead fish.
Watery eyes of no particular colour goggled at us from under a fringe of thinning grey
hair.
'Governor Grice,' I said, bowing formally. 'A pleasure.'
'On the contrary,' he said, his voice quivering a little. 'The pleasure's entirely mine.'
Well, he wasn't wrong on that account, but he was ignoring me entirely. He stood, and
bowed to Kasteen. 'You honour us all with your presence, colonel.'
Well, that was a new experience, being ignored in favour of a slip of a girl, but I
suppose if you'd ever met her you'd understand it. She was pretty striking, if redheads
were your thing, and I supposed the old fool didn't get out much. Anyway, it enabled
me to fade out of the picture and go looking for some amusement of my own, which I
did with all due dispatch.
As was my habit I circulated widely, keeping my eyes and ears open as you never know
what useful little snippets of information will come in handy, although the main thing
that caught my attention was the entertainment. A young woman was standing on a
podium at the end of the room, surrounded by musicians who sounded almost as well
rehearsed as our regimental band, but they could have been playing ork wardrums for all I cared because her voice was extraordinary. She was singing old sentimental
favourites, like The Night Before You Left and The Love We Share, and even an old cynic
like me could appreciate the emotion she put into them, and feel that, just this once,
the trite words were ringing true. Snatches of her husky contralto carried through the
room wherever I was, cutting through the backbiting and the small talk, and I felt my
eyes drifting in her direction every time the crowd parted enough to afford me a view.
And the view was well worth it. She was tail and slim, with shoulder-length hair of a
shade of blonde I've never seen on anyone else before or since, hanging loose to frame
a face which nearly stopped my heart. Her eyes were the hazy blue of a far horizon,
and seemed to transfix me whenever I looked in her direction. Her dress was the same
colour, almost exactly, and clung to her figure like mist.
Now, I've never believed in sentimental nonsense like love at first sight, but I can say
without a word of a lie that, even now, after almost a century, I can close my eyes and
picture her as she was then, and hear those songs as though she's still in the same
room.
But I wasn't there to listen to cabaret singers, however enchanting, so I tried my best
to mingle and pick up whatever gossip I could that would help us fight the tau if we
had to, and keep me out of it, if at all possible.
'So you're the famous Commissar Cain,' someone said, passing me a fresh drink. I took
it automatically, turning a little to use my right hand and emphasize the sling, and
found myself looking at a narrow-faced fellow in an expensive but understated robe
which positively screamed diplomat. He glanced at the sling. 'I hear you nearly started
the war early.'
'Not from choice, I can assure you.' I said. 'Just defending an officer who lacked the
self-restraint to ignore a blatant piece of sedition.'
'I see.' He eyed me narrowly, trying to size me up. I kept my expression neutral. 'I take
it your self-restraint is a little stronger.'
'At the moment,' I said, choosing my words with care, 'we're still at peace with the tau.
The internal situation here is, I'll admit, a little disturbing, but unless the Guard is
ordered to intervene, that's purely a matter for the Arbites, the PDF, and His
Excellency,' I nodded at Grice, who was listening to Kasteen explain the best way of
disembowelling a termagant with every sign of interest, although his retinue of
sycophants was beginning to look a little green around the gills. 'I'm not averse to
fighting if I have to, but that's a decision for wiser heads than mine to take.'
'I see.' He nodded, and stuck out a hand for me to shake. After a moment's juggling,
more to put him off balance than anything, I transferred the glass to my other hand and
took it. 'Erasmus Donali, Imperial Envoy.'
'I thought as much.' I smiled in return. 'You have the look of a diplomat about you.'
'Whereas you seem quite exceptional for a soldier.' Donali sipped his drink, and I
followed suit, finding it a very pleasant vintage. 'Most of them can't wait for the
shooting to start.'
'They're Imperial Guard,' I said. 'They live to fight for the Emperor. I'm a commissar, I'm supposed to consider the bigger picture.'
'Which includes avoiding combat? You surprise me.'
'As I said before,' I told him, 'that's not my decision to make. But if people like you
can solve the conflict by negotiation, and keep troopers who would have died here
alive to fight another enemy another day, and maybe tip the balance in a more
important battle, then it seems to me that you're serving the best interests of the
Imperium.' And keeping my skin whole into the bargain, of course, which was far
more important to me. Donali looked surprised, and a little gratified.
'I can see your reputation is far from exaggerated,' he said. 'And I hope I can oblige
you. But it may not be easy.'
That wasn't what I wanted to hear, you can be sure. But I shrugged, and sipped my
drink.
'As the Emperor wills,' I said, a phrase I'd picked up from Jurgen over the course of
our long association. Of course when he says it he means every word, from me it's just
the verbal equivalent of a shrug. I've never really bought the idea that His Divine
Majesty can spare some attention from the job of preventing the entire galaxy from
sliding into damnation to look out for my interests, too, or anyone else's for that
matter, which is why I'm so diligent about doing it for myself. 'The difficulty, I take it,
being the public support for the tau in certain quarters.'
'Exactly.' My new friend nodded gloomily. 'For which you can thank the imbecile over
there talking to your colonel.' He indicated Grice with a tilt of his head. 'He got so
carried away counting his bribes from the likes of himÖ' another tilt of the head to the
far corner of the room, 'that he hardly even noticed his planet slipping out from under
him.'
I turned in the direction he'd indicated. A cadaverous, hawk-nosed individual dressed
in unwise scarlet hose and a burgundy tabard was holding forth to a knot of the local
aristocracy. Flanking him were a couple of servants in livery, who looked about as
comfortable as an ork in evening dress, hired guns if I'd ever seen them. A scribe
hovered next to him, making notes.
'One of the rogue traders we've heard so much about,' I said. Donali shrugged.
'So he says. But no one here is entirely what they seem, commissar. You can certainly
depend on that.'
Well he was right on the money so far as I was concerned. So I exchanged a few more
inconsequential words and resumed circulating. After a few more conversations with
local dignitaries whose names I never quite caught, my glass was in need of
replenishment, and I headed towards the table at the far end of the room where an
enticing display of delicacies had been laid out. On the way, I noticed Kasteen had
managed to extricate herself from the governor's presence, and was working the room
as though she'd been a habitue of high society since she could walk. The air of
confidence she now radiated was remarkable, especially set against her earlier
nervousness, but the ability to seem calm and in control whatever the circumstances is
a vital quality in a leader, and for all I knew, she was shamming it as shamelessly as I was. It certainly looked as though she was enjoying herself, though, and I gave her a
light-hearted salute as our eyes briefly met. She responded with a flashing grin, and
whirled away towards the dance floor with a couple of aristocratic fops in tow.
'It looks like you've lost your date,' a voice said behind me. I turned, and found myself
falling into the wide blue eyes of the singer I'd been watching before.
Uncharacteristically for me, I was momentarily at a loss for words. She was smiling, a
plate of finger food in her hand.
'She's, ah, just a colleague,' I said. 'A fellow officer. Nothing like that between us.
Strictly against regulations, for one thing. And anyway, we're notó'
She laughed, a warm, smoky chuckle which warmed me like amasec, and I realised
she was pulling my leg.
'I know,' she said. 'No time for romance in the Imperial Guard. It must be grim for
you.'
'We have our duty to the Emperor,' I said. 'For a soldier, that's enough.' It's the sort of
thing I usually say, and most civilians lap it up, but my beautiful singer was looking at
me quizzically, the ghost of a smile quirking at the corner of her mouth, and I
suddenly got the feeling that she could see right through me to the core of deceit and
self-interest I normally keep concealed from the world. It was an unnerving sensation.
'For some, maybe. But I think there's more to you than meets the eye.' She picked up a
bottle from the nearby table with her free hand, and topped up my glass.
'There's more to everyone than meets the eye,' I said, more to deflect the conversation
than anything else. She smiled again.
'That's very astute, commissar.' She extended a hand, slim and cool to the touch, the
middle finger ornamented with a large and finely wrought ring of unusual
workmanship. Evidently she was extremely successful in her profession, or had at
least one wealthy admirer, I would have laid money on both. I kissed it formally, as
etiquette demanded, and to my astonishment she giggled.
'A gentleman as well as an officer. You are full of surprises.' Then she surprised me by
dropping a curtsey, in imitation of the bovine debutantes surrounding us, the light of
mischief in her dazzling eyes. 'I'm Amberley Vail, by the way. I sing a bit.'
'I know,' I said. 'And very well too.' She acknowledged the compliment with a tilt of
her head. I bowed formally, entering into the game. 'Ciaphas Cain,' I said, 'at your
service. Currently attached to the Valhallan 597th.' Her eyes widened a little as I
introduced myself.
'I've heard of you,' she said, a little breathlessly. 'Didn't you fight the genestealers on
Keffia?' Well I had, if you count hanging around drinking recaf while the artillery unit I
was with dropped shells on the biggest concentrations of stealers we could find from
kloms away as fighting. I'd been in at the death, so to speak, and emerged with a great
deal of the credit, more by luck than good judgement. It was one of the early incidents
that had laid the foundations of my undeserved reputation for heroism, but my
misadventures since had tended to overshadow what most of the galaxy still regarded as
a minor incident on a backwater agriworld. 'Not entirely alone,' I said, slipping easily into the modest hero demeanour I could
adopt without thinking. 'There was an Imperial battlefleet in orbit at the time.'
'And two full divisions of Imperial Guard on planet.' She laughed again at my
astonished expression. 'I have relatives in Skandaburg.1
You're still talked about back
there.'
'I can't think why,' I said. 'I was just doing my job.'
'Of course.' Amberley nodded, and again I got the feeling that she wasn't fooled for a
moment. 'You're an Imperial commissar. Duty before everything, right?'
'Absolutely,' I said. 'And right now, I think it's my duty to ask you to dance.' It was a
transparent attempt to change the subject, which I hoped she'd put down to modest
embarrassment, and I half expected her to refuse. But she smiled, discarding her plate
of half-eaten delicacies, and took my uninjured arm.
'I'd love to,' she said. 'I've a few minutes before my second set.'
So we drifted across to the dance floor, and I spent a very pleasant few minutes with
her head on my shoulder as we spun around to an old waltz I never learned the name
of. Kasteen galloped past a couple of times, a different swain in tow on each occasion,
raising an eyebrow in a way which forewarned me of some relentless leg-pulling on
our drive back to the compound, but just at that moment I couldn't have cared less.
Eventually, Amberley pulled away, with what seemed like reluctance unless I was
succumbing to wishful thinking, and began to return to the stage. I walked with her,
chatting to no purpose, intent simply on prolonging a pleasant interlude in what
otherwise promised to be a dull evening, and it was thus that I noticed a quiet,
vehement altercation between Grice and the hawk-faced rogue trader.
'Do you know who that is?' I asked, not really expecting an answer, but it seemed my
companion was well-versed in the intricacies of Gravalaxian politics. It came with
performing for the aristocracy, I supposed. She nodded, looking surprised.
'His name's Orelius. A rogue trader here to deal with the tau. So he says.' The
qualification was delivered in precisely the same tone of scepticism as Donali's had
been, and for some reason I found myself remembering Divas's cloak-and-dagger
fantasies from our night in the Eagle's Wing.
'Why do you say that?' I asked. Amberley shrugged.
'The tau have been dealing with the same traders for more than a century. Orelius
arrived from nowhere a month or two ago, and tried opening negotiations with them,
through Grice. It may just be a coincidence, butÖ' She shrugged, her dress slipping
across her slim shoulders.
'Why now, with the political situation destabilising?' I asked. She nodded.
'It does seem a little unusual.'
'Perhaps he's hoping to take advantage of the confusion to strike a better deal,' I said.
Orelius turned on his heel as I watched, and marched away trailed by his bodyguards. Grice was pale and sweating, even more than usual, and reached out to pluck a drink
from a nearby servitor with a trembling hand. 'He's thrown a scare into our illustrious
governor, at any event.'
'Has he?' Amberley watched him go. 'That seems a little presumptuous, even for a
rogue trader.'
'If that's what he really is.' I said, without thinking. Those depthless blue eyes turned
on me again.
'What else would he be?'
'An inquisitor,' I said, the idea taking firmer root in my head even as I said it.
Amberley's eyes widened.
'An inquisitor? Here?' Her voice became a little tremulous, as though the enormity of
the idea were too huge to grasp. 'What makes you think that?'
The urge to impress her was almost irresistible, I have to confess, and if you could
only know how bewitching she was, I know you'd have felt the same. So I looked my
most commissarial.
'All I can say,' I told her, lowering my voice for dramatic effect, 'is that I've heard from
a reliable military source' - which sounded a lot better than ''from a drunken idiot'' I'm
sure you'll agree - 'that there are Inquisition agents active on Gravalax.'
'Surely not.' She shook her head, blonde tresses flying in confusion. 'And even if there
were, why would you suspect Orelius?'
'Well, just look at him,' I said. 'Everyone knows that undercover inquisitors disguise
themselves as rogue traders most of the time1
. It's by far the easiest way of travelling
incognito with the rabble of hangers-on they all seem to attract.'
'You could be right,' she said, with a delicate shiver. 'But it's no concern of ours.'
Well, I couldn't agree more, of course, but that's not what my heroic reputation leads
people to expect of me, so I put on my best dutiful expression and said: 'The security
of the Imperium is the concern of all of His Majesty's loyal servants.' Well, that's true
too, and it lets me out, but no one needs to know that. Amberley nodded, sombrely,
and trotted back to the stage, and I watched her go, cursing myself for an idiot for
puncturing the mood.
As you'll no doubt appreciate, the rest of the evening promised to be anticlimactic, so I
drifted back to the food and drink. Our rations back at the compound were adequate
enough, but I wasn't going to pass up the opportunity to savour a few delicacies while
they were there for the taking, and it was as good a vantage point as any to enjoy
Amberley's performance from. It was also, as I'd learned from uncountable similar
affairs, the best spot from which to cull gossip, since everyone gravitated there sooner
or later.
Thus it was that I made the acquaintance of Orelius, without the faintest presentiment
of the trouble that innocent conversation would lead to. If anything, I suppose, it was the sling that was to blame. It had seemed a good idea at
the time, but now I came to fill a plate the damn thing got in the way, preventing me
from reaching out for the palovine pastries perched on the opposite side of the table. If
I transferred the plate to my left hand I was turned awkwardly, my centre of mass
shifted, so I still couldn't reach. I was trying to work out a way of getting to them
when a thin arm reached across to pick up the dish.
'Allow me.' The voice was dry and cultured. I transferred a couple of the delicacies to
my plate, and found myself addressing the man I'd almost convinced myself was an
inquisitorial agent. It was ridiculous, of course, but stillÖ
'Thank you, sieur Orelius,' I said. 'You're most kind.'
'Have we met?' His eyes were shadowed, the irises were almost black, and had an
unnerving piercing quality that increased his resemblance to a bird of prey.
'Your reputation precedes you,' I said blandly letting him make of that what he would.
I don't mind admitting I was less relaxed than I tried to look. If he really was an
inquisitor, there was a good chance he was a psyker, too, and might know me for what I
was, but I'd encountered mindreaders before and knew that they weren't as formidable
as most people thought. Most of them can only read surface thoughts, and I was so
long practiced at dissembling that I did so without any conscious awareness of the fact.
'I'm sure it does.' He was an old hand at this game too, I realised, an essential skill
whether his profession was as it appeared or as I had surmised.
'You seem to have the ear of His Excellency,' I said, and the first momentary flicker of
emotion appeared on his face. I'd got in under his guard, it seemed.
'I have both. Unfortunately, His Excellency appears to lack anything between them.'
He took one of the pastries for himself. 'He's paralysed with indecision.'
'Indecision about what?' I asked ingenuously.
'Where his best interests lie. And those of his people, of course.' Orelius bit into the
delicacy as though it were Grice's neck. 'Unless he starts showing some leadership,
this world will go down in blood and burning. But he sits and vacillates, and hopes it
will all go away.'
'Then let's hope he comes to his senses soon,' I said. The keen eyes impaled me again.
'Indeed.' His voice was level. 'For all our sakes.' He smiled then, without warmth. 'The
Emperor be with you, Commissar Cain.' My surprise must have shown on my face,
because the smile widened a fraction. 'Your reputation precedes you too.'
And then he was gone, leaving me curiously troubled. I didn't have long to dwell on
my unease, though, because the flunkey who'd announced our arrival was back,
looking a little flustered. He'd called out a number of names since Kasteen and I had
made our entrance, but it was clear that this time he expected to be listened to. He
pounded a staff on the polished wooden floor, and the babble of voices gradually
diminished, Amberley's trailed away in mid-chorus, which was a real shame. The
flunkey's chest inflated with self-importance.
'Your Excellency. My lords, ladies, and gentlemen. O'ran Shui'sassai, Ambassador of
the tau. ' And for the first time since arriving on Gravalax, I was face to face with the enemy.