Cain's Last Stand, page 15
‘Sounds a bit risky to me,’ Rorkins said, his breath misting slightly as he spoke, almost matching the pearlescent haze of the pre-dawn light surrounding us. ‘What happens if the enemy turns up while they’re not on duty?’
‘They assemble in their training areas as soon as the alert comes,’ I said. I shrugged, tacitly admitting to a few doubts of my own. ‘Emperor knows how many will actually turn up when they know the shooting’s about to start, though.’
Rorkins favoured me with a bleak smile. ‘I thought that was your area of expertise, commissar. Keeping the cannon fodder up to the mark.’
‘Easier said than done, commander,’ I replied. ‘Soldiers are trained and disciplined, even the PDF rabble. The militia are just civilians with guns.’
‘All the more reason they shouldn’t be left to run around on their own most of the time,’ Rorkins said.
‘On the contrary,’ I demurred. ‘Being able to carry on their usual occupations gives them the illusion of normality. That’ll be a vital psychological prop for them when the reality of what they’re getting into finally hits home.’
‘If you say so,’ Rorkins said, sounding far from convinced.
Seizing the opportunity I’d so carefully contrived, I nodded thoughtfully. ‘That’s why I’m planning to make some personal inspections,’ I remarked casually. ‘It’ll be good for morale to put in an appearance at a few of the militia platoons, and I can harass the PDF field commanders at the same time.’ I glanced round the schola as I spoke, watching the freezing mist curl around the buildings as though the nearest towers were lurking in ambush. ‘I must admit I’m getting a bit twitchy hanging around here waiting for the noise to start.’
Rorkins smiled sympathetically, one old warrior to another, and nodded his agreement.
‘I know what you mean,’ he conceded. ‘If I have to sit through one more meeting with those frakwits from Rytepat I’m going to shoot somebody. Probably myself.’ He sighed, a little enviously. ‘Neither of us take too kindly to sitting on our hands.’
‘I know it’s just makework really,’ I said, gauging his reaction carefully, ‘but at least it’ll feel like doing something. And if it gives us a few more effectives in the field when it all goes ploin-shaped, that’s no bad thing.’
‘No, I suppose not.’ Rorkins shook his head. ‘When are you leaving?’
‘This morning,’ I said. Sprie had the Aquila fired up and ready, Jurgen was stuffing things into my kitbag even as I spoke, and I couldn’t see any reason to delay. ‘I just want a quick word with Brasker before I go.’
‘Brasker?’ Rorkins looked astonished. ‘What in Terra’s name for?’
‘Just some administrative stuff,’ I said blandly. Despite rechecking the intelligence data, as he’d promised, Donal had completely failed to find any plausible objectives for the enemy raiders, and it was time for a change of tack. If anyone of my acquaintance would be able to find the records I needed among the billions of pieces of superfluous verbiage the Administratum had filed away and forgotten over the years, it would be the bursar, and he was unimaginative enough not to wonder why I wanted a look at them. I hoped. ‘Any idea where he is?’
‘His quarters I suppose,’ Rorkins said, wrapping his cloak around himself as though the pre-dawn chill was intended as a personal insult. ‘At least if he’s got any sense.’
‘I’ll try there, then,’ I said. Perfect. I doubted that he’d be any too pleased to be roused this early, but that wasn’t my problem, and at least there’d be no other ears around to overhear our conversation. Of course, on the downside, I was about to confide a little of my business to the most indiscreet man in the segmentum, but I was sure a few choice phrases about martial law and the need for secrecy would persuade him to hold his tongue. After all, it wasn’t as though the source of any leak about the commission I gave him wouldn’t be obvious.
After a few more words with Rorkins we parted, him towards the lecture halls he’d commandeered as a makeshift headquarters, and me to the lodgings across the main quadrangle where Brasker and the other senior administrators had their rooms. As you’d expect, the pecking order was pretty well established when it came to the perceived desirability of the faculty accommodation, with the Ecclesiarchy taking what were generally thought of as the best rooms, affording them a view of the chapel and only a few metres to walk to get to the services. The Administratum adepts came next, in the heart of the schola complex, where, in theory, they could keep an eye on the smooth functioning of the institution with the minimum of effort, and out on the fringes were the pensioned-off veterans like me, Rorkins and Visiter. (Julien, of course, was in with the Emperor-botherers.) The only bunch even further removed from the centre of things was the small staff of Adeptus Mechanicus drones, who kept themselves to themselves most of the time in any case, to everyone’s relief, including their own[43].
Given my absurdly inflated status on Perlia, I could no doubt have had myself reassigned to one of the prime suites if I’d chosen to make an issue of it, but of course I did nothing of the sort. For one thing, it wouldn’t sit well with the image of modesty about my supposed achievements that I generally liked to cultivate, and for another it suited me very well to be able to sneak off on business of my own from time to time without it being too obvious that I was skiving. Most of all, though, I liked the rooms I’d been assigned; the view of the mountains was a pleasant one, the company of the ageing veterans around me congenial, and I didn’t have to put up with the bells and smells[44] from the chapel disturbing me every five minutes. Not to mention that it was close to both the shuttle pad and the transport pool, which I found a definite plus point. I’ve always slept more soundly for knowing there was an escape route close to hand if things turned bad. (Which in my experience was only a matter of time in most cases.)
This early in the morning there were few people around, apart from the schola servants trotting about the place on errands of their own, so I was able to make my way into the main lobby of the Adeptus lodgings without exciting much notice[45]. It was only as I paused at the bottom of the carved wooden staircase that I realised I had no idea where in the rambling building Brasker’s rooms were located. Fortunately a few moments’ reconnaissance was sufficient to locate a porter’s office tucked away under the rising treads, unoccupied of course at this hour of the day, along with a board of polished thornburr, into which the names of the various residents had been meticulously chased and inlaid in some lighter-coloured wood. According to the little sliding panel next to Brasker’s, which could be moved to alternately obscure two different sets of letters, the bursar was IN, so I made a careful note of the number of his suite and climbed the stairs to find it.
Out of habit I moved somewhat stealthily, since, more often than not, whenever I’ve found myself in an unfamiliar building there’s been a better than even chance that someone was lurking in ambush up ahead intending to shoot me if they got the chance. Perhaps because of that I was listening out for any change to the ambient sound a little more intently than usual, so as I raised my hand to knock, I fancied I heard movement inside Brasker’s quarters. Well, that was no bad thing; at least if he was up already he couldn’t resent me waking him.
Just before my knuckles hit the wood panels, though, I was sure I’d heard something more, a murmur of muted conversation. Before I could still the gesture I’d already rapped twice, however, so my immediate impulse, to wait and see if I’d been right, was no longer an option.
‘Yes?’ Brasker opened the door just wide enough to peer out at me, and we goggled at one another for a moment of stunned mutual astonishment. ‘Commissar Cain.’ He enunciated my name carefully, surprise making his voice seem a little bit louder than usual, before recalling his manners and dropping his tone to a more normal conversational level. ‘I thought you were one of the servants.’
‘I don’t believe so,’ I said, still reeling from the sight of his night attire. He was wearing a nightshirt of purple silk, a monogram of some sort worked in gold thread on the breast pocket. ‘I’m sorry to disturb you at this hour, but I’m about to leave the schola for a day or two, and I needed an urgent word.’
‘I see.’ He clearly didn’t, but wasn’t going to be impolite enough to admit the fact. ‘Then I suppose you’d better come in.’ He made no move to stand aside, though, just glancing at something inside the chambers, then seemed to recollect himself with an effort and pulled the door open.
I wasn’t sure what I expected to find inside; piles of paper and data-slates, probably. The reality was a small hall, leading to a neatly appointed living room roughly the size of my own, the closed doors leading off the lobby presumably those of bathroom and bedroom, although which was which I had no idea, since my own suite of rooms was laid out on a more linear pattern. The blinds were still drawn, and Brasker kindled a luminator as we entered the lounge area.
‘Sorry about the mess,’ he said apologetically. ‘I had a visitor last night.’ In actual fact the room seemed perfectly tidy to me, apart from a pair of abandoned goblets which, judging by the smell, still contained a few sticky dregs of amasec, standing next to a decanter on an occasional table in the corner, and a neatly stacked tarot deck on a dining table in the middle of the room, next to a couple of stained plates.
‘Sure they didn’t stay?’ I asked, unable to resist teasing him a little. ‘I thought I heard voices just before I knocked.’
‘I was watching the newspicts,’ Brasker said, colouring slightly, which clashed hideously with his nightgown. There was no sign of a pict set anywhere in the room I could see, but I let it go; whatever he was hiding (and I didn’t need much imagination to work it out) was his own affair, quite literally if I was any judge. I’d have bet half my pension his guest was still in the bedroom, waiting for me to frak off so she could get back to work in the kitchens or wherever she belonged, so out of common politeness I got straight down to business, keeping my voice as low as possible.
‘I need some old records run down,’ I said, without preamble. ‘It’s not going to be easy, but it’s important for the defence of the planet, so it has to be done by someone reliable, with wide-ranging contacts in the Administratum. You were the first man I thought of.’
‘Really.’ Brasker looked at me, an odd expression on his face. ‘I’m surprised you think I’m sufficiently trustworthy. I’m well aware I have something of a reputation for being both frivolous and indiscreet.’
‘Reputations can be misleading,’ I said. ‘And in this case yours will be a positive asset. No one will think it odd if you seem to be asking questions, and no one will suspect that you’ve been entrusted with something which has to be kept confidential.’
To my relief, the bursar was nodding slowly. I’m pretty good at reading people, it goes with the job, and I began to feel that perhaps coming to him with my little problem wasn’t such a huge gamble after all. ‘You can rely on me,’ he said after a moment. ‘But I can swear it on the aquila if you like.’
‘I’m sure that won’t be necessary,’ I said, surprised in my turn. ‘Your word’s good enough for me. After all, if you accept the commission, you’ll be acting in the name of the Commissariat.’ In other words, if he let me down I’d be entitled to shoot him, although I didn’t have to spell it out; the quick glance he gave to the weapons at my belt was enough to tell me that he’d got that particular message well enough.
‘If I can help defend this world in any way, I’m at your disposal, of course,’ Brasker said. He leaned a little closer to me. ‘Which records do you want me to research?’
‘They’re all in here,’ I said, handing him a data-slate. ‘There’s something about these locations that’s significant to the enemy, although in the name of the Throne I’ve got no idea what. I suspect that it’s something very old, though, perhaps dating back to the first colonisation. And I want to know if there are any folk tales about these places too.’
‘Folk tales?’ Brasker looked puzzled for a moment. ‘I’ll do my best. But it sounds as though the records you’re after will be fragmentary at the very least.’
‘That’s why I need someone of your calibre to make the search,’ I said, thinking a little bit of flattery wouldn’t come amiss at that stage.
‘I won’t let you down,’ Brasker assured me, looking more serious than I’d ever seen him. ‘If there’s anything there, I’ll find it.’
‘I appreciate that,’ I told him, preparing to leave. On the verge of exiting the lounge, I paused, struck by a new and unwelcome thought. ‘If I don’t make it back, or the enemy attacks before I return, take whatever you’ve managed to uncover to Colonel Rorkins or Sister Julien, and tell them I sent you. They’ll know what to do with the information.’ I hoped. Well, I wasn’t planning to get killed any time soon, so with any luck our little arrangement would just remain between the two of us. And if it all worked out, and we somehow managed to keep Perlia out of the clutches of this Varan, whoever he was, I could make good use of Brasker’s connections in the future, upgrading him from an occasional source of gossip to a prime intelligence source for Amberley. She always appreciated little surprises, and would certainly be grateful for some of the nuggets of information I could get the bursar to mine on her behalf.
Of course I wouldn’t dream of telling him who I was acting for, but even if he worked it out, that might not be too much of a problem. He’d already surprised me once today by apparently having successfully concealed an illicit affair for Emperor knew how long, so he was obviously capable of discretion if it were needed.
As I left, I couldn’t help glancing at the closed doors in the hallway, wondering which concealed his inamorata, and what she could possibly have seen in him in the first place but such speculation was fruitless, and I had a shuttle to catch.
As the dawn chill was still acute, I paused in the entrance hall of the lodgings for a few moments to vox Jurgen, and make sure that the arrangements for our departure were still proceeding as planned. He assured me that all was well, and that he was on his way to the shuttle pad, so I voxed Sprie too, to let him know I’d be with him almost at once.
‘Ready when you are, commissar,’ he assured me cheerfully.
I’d just cut the link when I became aware of footsteps descending the stairs, and, impelled by my habitual sense of discretion, I stepped into the shadows of the porter’s cubby hole. I didn’t want anyone asking awkward questions about my business in the Administratum block, especially after impressing on Brasker just how important it was that no one think anything of his enquiries on my behalf. Besides, if I’m honest, it had also occurred to me that this might be Brasker’s lady friend leaving the premises, and I couldn’t resist trying to get a glimpse of her.
Well, I did, and it was a shock, I can tell you that. After a few more echoing footfalls the unmistakable figure of Sister Julien came into view, swathed in a dark cloak which almost succeeded in blurring the outline of her scabbarded chainsword, and hurried out into the gathering brightness of the courtyard. For a moment I simply stared after her in stunned astonishment: no wonder Brasker had been so evasive. But then, I already knew that she drank and played cards, so I suppose it wasn’t too much of a stretch to find that she harboured a taste for more basic diversions as well[46].
Grinning quietly to myself, I went off to meet Jurgen and Sprie, and despite the magnitude of the task in front of me, my heart was almost light as our shuttle lifted from the pad. Just as well, too as it turned out: there’d be precious little to smile about in the days that followed.
CHAPTER TWELVE
Despite my impatience to get to the Valley of Daemons as quickly as possible, caution and the demands of my cover story meant that we took a roundabout route, dropping in on several different communities on the way. Everywhere we landed, whether in a city or a village, our reception was the same: a brass band, horribly under-rehearsed, mangling some suitably martial piece of music, a local dignitary making a platitudinous speech about how pleased they were to see me, and a muster of the new militia recruits. They all seemed keen enough, but at the moment they were still comfortably insulated from the bloody realities of combat by the imagined romanticism of it all.
Eventually, on the second day, we pitched up in Chilinvale, the closest town to my real objective, and paused for a bite of lunch before resuming my ostensible tour of inspection. It was a pleasant enough little community, nestling in the foothills of the mountain range which separated the interior of the eastern continent from its coastal plains and the narrow isthmus leading to the more populous and industrialised western one. Much of it seemed new, the architecture of its southern side surprisingly uniform, and of a style less than a century old. I remarked on the fact to our guide, a Corporal Manrin, detached from the nearest PDF garrison to take charge of the local militia recruits, and he nodded around a mouthful of bread and cheese.
‘Rebuilding work,’ he told me, swallowing hastily. ‘After the liberation.’
‘The orks made a bit of a mess of things, I take it,’ I said, having seen more than enough of the wanton destruction left in their wake on my eventful journey across the continent eight decades before.
Manrin shook his head. ‘Actually, it was you,’ he said. ‘The flood waters came through here after you blew the dam. There wasn’t a lot of the town left after that.’ Then, perhaps conscious of an implied criticism in his choice of words, he shrugged. ‘Luckily the place was full of greenies at the time, so it was a good thing if you ask me.’
