Risking glances over the top of the trench they were in, Grail and Russart briefly spotting the green skins of their targets, where they weren’t armoured, at the hands or the heads. The ivory tusks as mouths opened to let out terrifying cries as a call to arms. Urging their comrades on with mighty shouts of ‘Waaaagh!’ Wave upon wave, now that the constant bombardment of missiles had done their worst.
Not one of their comrades was sure their request for assistance had been heard, whether the signal had even reached its destination. Nobody had come yet, but they had to hold the line. Had to prevent the orks from getting past them.
Russart, to Grail’s left, was rising and moving, aiming as he went: targeting and hitting each of his targets from different angles to try to make it look like there were more men firing.
But of course some inevitably broke through. Like the pair who jumped into the trench off to their right, carving up Guardsmen with their cleavers, painting the walls bright red. Grail fired indiscriminately, hitting the enemy and, in his panic, his own men too. He would be doing them a favour by ending their suffering. Doing himself and Russart a favour by ending the enemy’s intrusion into their camp.
Then that tingling sensation, a sense… a feeling that something was–
There, above them, the rocket falling fast. Falling towards their exact location. Suddenly Grail was pushing Russart, shoving him as far away from where the explosives were about to land as possible. But still not far enough, the world turning upside down as they were flung even further.
And then… Then only blackness.
Blackness, and something moving beyond it that–
‘Sir? Sir?’
Grail looked about him, remembered where he was: back in the present, in the mine. The thoughts, the memories had returned towards the end of the tour. Probably because of the sound of the machinery, the figures – slaves and penal workers – occupying every level, going about their work in what looked like trenches, the smoke and the fire…
He shook his head, regarded the smartly dressed man with pinched features and slicked-backed hair in front of him, Lychin, who was in charge of meeting quotas. He had been in the midst of giving his report when Grail’s mind had begun to wander again. The man was frowning, as was Russart when Grail turned his head to the side.
Lychin was waiting for his superior to give the nod of approval, perhaps a word or two of praise for how they had performed in the last few weeks.
More, you can have more! You can do more!
That voice again, from the dream. Urging him on…
They were ahead of schedule though, according to Lychin, which would result in more production than ever this month. Metallic ore, rock and other minerals which formed the basis of the Imperium’s forces: guns, tanks, aircraft and even starships – there would be none of it without the raw materials that they provided.
Grail simply said: ‘Carry on.’
The man smiled weakly and nodded to himself, though it was more like a bow. He turned and walked away, boots clacking on the metallic balcony they were standing upon. Grail looked at the hour: the inspection had taken the better part of a day. There was just time enough to eat and then he and Russart needed to be somewhere else. A less formal meeting, but no less vital.
A meeting that was still work-related, yet it would not appear on any official schedules or agendas. A meeting that, if the previous ones were any indication, would prove quite lucrative indeed.
‘I thought we agreed, governor, same price as last time?’
They were in the wilderness to the east of Aranium’s capital, in a hostile terrain of mountains and rock. The figure standing in front of the governor was significantly less smartly dressed than Lychin. He wore a jacket and trousers that were faded, even torn in places, and sported a week’s worth of stubble at least. But then what was to be expected of a pirate like Sachael Dhane? Not that he ever referred to himself as such; rather he liked to think of himself as an entrepreneur, trader and all-round facilitator. Often he was a go-between, connecting people who would not necessarily associate with each other, and would never in a million years meet in person.
His principal crew were no less ragged, some wearing furs, others flak armour from several different sources. A couple sported augmetics: men and women who had been out in space, had survived out there, for far too long. Their ship, a modified Imperial transport that had been fired upon recently as the fresh blast marks testified, appeared just as sturdy, in spite of its somewhat shaky landing and the precarious way it teetered close to the edge of the cliff where they’d all gathered.
‘The agreement has been changed,’ Grail told him. ‘Twenty per cent extra; another two bags. Or you leave empty-handed.’
Dhane muttered something under his breath, looked around at his people, then said: ‘And what if I refuse?’
Grail could see Dhane’s crew tensing, as was Russart, the only member of his security team present for this exchange. The less people who knew about these sorts of affairs the better, and he trusted so very few with secrets like these. It was safer that way. He was confident that his bodyguard was the better shot, that he could pick off all of them before they could even raise their weapons, but he was hoping it wouldn’t come to that.
‘Well, then I suppose you had better begin looking for another supplier.’ Grail also knew that was more trouble than it was worth; they had a mutually beneficial ongoing arrangement and neither Dhane nor his buyer would want to jeopardise it. Certainly not for twenty per cent. ‘Do we have a deal?’
Dhane sighed, then nodded. ‘We do,’ he conceded.
‘Good, then let’s get on with our business.’
The pirate gestured for the payment to be brought forward and placed in front of Grail for inspection. At the same time, Dhane’s own slaves – workers he kept on board for menial labour, all dressed the same in dark grey coveralls – busied themselves loading up the containers of ore which had been deposited here earlier by servitors. Enough ore for their purposes, but not too much. No amount that would take away from the war effort, Grail said to himself. Nothing that would really be noticed, especially with their rate of production.
As Grail looked up from the payment, admiring the indigo glow of the precious stones in the bag he was holding, he thought he saw something move near the cargo bay door of Dhane’s ship; beyond, in the shadows, which had lengthened now the suns had fallen in the sky. Grail’s skin was prickling as he stepped forward, looking past the workers.
Yes, there! Definite movement. A figure, the figure from his dream. The blackness given form. Larger now than ever, bigger than a man or woman surely. Rising, writhing even; something flowing through the dark, like water in a stream. Except it was curling up and around, glistening, joined by more of its kind. Grail’s eyes narrowed and he thought he saw shapes there that looked worm-like in nature, coiling and arching, only their outlines visible. And all the while Dhane’s slaves were just getting on with their task, loading up the ore, apparently seeing nothing out of the ordinary.
More of the… tentacles, that was the only way of describing them, were joining the first. Revealing themselves slowly, letting themselves be seen as whatever had been hiding in the darkness finally came forward, catching the edges of the ship’s floodlights. Grail let out a murmur, a small cry of shock when he realised that the tentacles were emanating from the thing’s face. That they actually were the face, slipping and sliding in and out of each other, snaking out of its head. Something alien Dhane must have inadvertently brought with him, which had been clinging to the outside of the ship!
He dropped the bag he was holding and pointed over at the creature, attempting to speak, but nothing emerging. Then he looked over at Russart, jabbing his finger in the direction of the worm-headed thing as he did so, finding his voice again: ‘Don’t you… Don’t you see it?’
‘See?’ Russart looked, but as
the governor himself saw when he followed the man’s gaze, there was nothing but blackness out there now. Nothing but night. Dhane and his crew, not to mention the slaves, had stopped what they were doing and were watching the governor.
‘I…’ he said, blinking once, twice. Still there was nothing to see. No figure, no tentacles.
‘What are you gawping at? Get your people back to work!’ Russart shouted at Dhane, who scowled but passed on the command.
Finish your work!
Grail felt something touch his arm and flinched, then realised it was only his aide’s hand. ‘Tobias?’ Russart asked in hushed tones. ‘What is it?’
Grail stared at his aide, open-mouthed. ‘I-I thought I saw…’
‘What?’
Grail shook his head, then composed himself. ‘It was nothing. Absolutely nothing.’
‘But you–’
‘Russart,’ Grail said, stooping to retrieve the bag of gems, ‘I told you it was nothing. And how many times do I have to remind you to refer to me as Governor Grail?’
‘I’m sorry, but…’ It was the square-jawed man’s turn to shake his head. ‘Nobody heard me, and Dhane’s bandits don’t care.’
‘That’s not the point!’ Grail retorted. ‘It’s about authority, about respect.’
‘You think I don’t respect you?’
Grail sighed. ‘Let the matter be, Russart. Please.’ He handed him the bag of gems. ‘Take all of these to the shuttle and prepare for departure. I’ll join you in a moment.’
Russart nodded reluctantly, turning to leave when Grail added: ‘And be happy, my friend – we will have much to celebrate this coming weekend. Other business to attend to.’ Another nod, and Russart left the governor alone, to watch the last of the containers being loaded up onto Dhane’s ship. To watch the vessel itself rise, just as awkwardly as it had landed, and sail off into the night sky.
Grail stared at the space where he’d seen… imagined he’d seen the monstrous thing for a few more moments, then he too turned and entered the shuttle, ready to return home.
Grail’s usual celebrations, at least the ones he enjoyed most, were always of a more private nature.
Gambling, yes, but his tastes were wide-ranging. And nowhere was this more in evidence than at an establishment run by a woman by the name of Madame Ellada. Located up yet another of those run-down back alleys, her place guaranteed discretion. Ellada’s skilled employees were most accommodating, especially if the price was right. A business transaction of a different kind.
Grail had left Russart to his own devices in a room not far away, while he indulged himself. Intoxicants were always readily available, as well. Stimulants, relaxants… They were all on hand to ensure maximum pleasure, washed down with wine or spirits.
Consequently, much of the evening’s entertainment went by in a blur. Desires were sated – Grail’s anyway, which was all that counted – and it was only towards the end of the allotted time he’d paid for that Grail began to get a sense that something was wrong. Very wrong indeed, actually. The stimms and alcohol had dulled it, but the tingling was still there. That warning sign he always felt before–
His first clue was some sort of flapping noise, as if a bird had found its way into the room and was unable to get out again. The lighting was subdued – not pitch black, but not particularly bright either – so when Grail attempted to trace the sound, clumsily climbing over pillows and flesh alike, he could see very little of what might be responsible for it.
‘Where… where are you going?’ asked one of the girls with him, and exchanged glances with her companions.
Grail did not reply, he just continued to search, the flapping growing louder and louder. He whirled when he heard something else behind him, a swishing this time, followed by a thrashing noise. As if someone was wielding a whip; the kind that were often used on his workforce if they were falling behind.
What’s in here with us? he asked himself.
Grail had the distinct feeling he was being watched. No matter which way he crawled or where he tried to hide, he couldn’t escape the scrutiny of whatever was out there in the shadows. He swallowed dryly, backing away up the bed; almost falling off before regaining his balance.
‘No! Keep them… Keep them away!’ he said, his gaze flitting from girl to girl as he pleaded for their help. They just looked confused, had no idea what he was talking about. Couldn’t hear what he heard, didn’t have that selfsame feeling of being observed. They just thought he was mad.
But he wasn’t. Grail knew he wasn’t. There was something else in this room with them, a presence.
Then he saw it, an eye opening in the darkness. It was normal-sized, but instead of white it was pink, and the iris was as blue as an ocean. He sucked in a breath, then gasped when another eye opened alongside it. Followed swiftly by another, then another, and still another.
‘N-no, it can’t be!’
Several eyes, all inspecting him, belonging to something huge, lumpen and misshapen that was emerging from that murk, its skin – the colour of a bruise – rippling and undulating.
‘Keep b-back! No!’
Grail averted his eyes, and lunged away, knocking one of the girls out of his path. Only to come face-to-face with what had been making the flapping sound earlier. The wings belonged not to a bird, but something much larger. Much more deadly. They opened up like huge fans, spines running the length of them and downwards at equidistant points, which stretched the leathery material taut. The body of the thing was well-muscled, in a way that would have put even his second-in-command to shame, while its head sported a huge beak. Iridescent blue in colour, the closer this creature drew the more Grail could smell of its foetid breath, drool cascading from its massive maw. He pulled a face, then retched.
‘Don’t let it… Don’t let it get me!’ he managed.
Scrambling away in the opposite direction did him no good either, because Grail only narrowly avoided what he was still thinking of as a whip. Seeing it this closely, however, he soon realised his mistake. It was in fact a tail which, even as he watched, flew up wildly into the air and then came crashing back down to strike the floor with a crack! Grail jumped as it did so, startled by the sound, and he began gibbering. But he was more disturbed by the sight of what the tail was attached to, a sinuous beast with vestigial forearms and two pairs of legs, its arms ending in curved talons. This one was a sickly grey and purple in colour, but here and there were black lesions – some of them weeping – which it bore with pride as if they were medals.
‘No… No!’ screamed Grail, reaching out for help. ‘Don’t let them hurt me!’
But the girls were already fleeing from the room, throwing open the door and rushing down the hall. Seconds later Russart appeared in the doorway. He activated the main lights, and as he did so all the visions around Grail winked out of existence, leaving him kneeling and panting for breath on the mattress. The governor was mindful that he must have been staring at his bodyguard with wide eyes, and slowly blinked a few times. Before he could stop them, tears escaped and ran down his cheeks, dripping onto his bare chest.
‘Tob… Governor?’ asked Russart. ‘What happened?’
Once again, Grail felt intimidated by that man’s towering form. Pulling the sheets around him quickly, like a toga, he covered his own plump body. ‘N-Nothing. It was nothing.’ He waved his hand as if to prove his point, but Russart didn’t look convinced.
‘Those girls were terrified, screaming. What was–’
‘I said it was nothing!’ Grail raised an eyebrow. ‘Why, don’t you believe me?’
‘I… of course, of course. But–’
‘Then stop asking me such stupid questions!’ the governor barked.
It wasn’t long before Madame Ellada herself was in the room too, far from happy with the situation, and with a look on her painted face that said she wasn’t in the
mood for debate. ‘I know you are who you are,’ she said, ‘but my establishment still has a reputation to maintain.’ Grail laughed out loud at this, but she ignored it. ‘Jumping at shadows, at things that aren’t there.’
‘You will be well compensated, as always,’ Russart informed her.
‘I’d better be!’ she replied. ‘Now I think you two “gentlemen” had better get dressed and leave.’
‘With pleasure,’ Grail said as Ellada retreated, but he almost tripped on the sheets as he was clambering off the bed. Russart rushed to his side, helping him to stand, then guiding him over to where his clothes were: a simple outfit, thankfully, as they were here in secret.
‘Something did happen, didn’t it?’ said Russart, assisting him as he pulled on his trousers. ‘You can trust me, you know.’
Grail regarded him, thought about telling him exactly what had occurred, then just sighed and shook his head. ‘Overindulgence, Russart. Nothing more, I assure you. Too many stimms, too much to drink. They did not mix well together this evening.’
Russart gave him a sideways look, but Grail paid no attention. He did not want to discuss what had happened here tonight until he had been able to process it himself. And that really wasn’t going to happen while he was in this state.
In fact, the more he thought about it, the more he became convinced that it was just the effects of the drugs and alcohol, feeding into his dreams; the shapes he’d been unable to discern in the darkness. A waking nightmare?
And what of the creature at the exchange? The thing just beyond Dhane’s ship? he couldn’t help asking. He had taken nothing then, had drunk nothing alcoholic. Yet Grail could still see that putrid face, those tentacles. Still see the monster they’d belonged to.
Just as he would see those from tonight for some time to come, he felt sure.
Grail’s prediction was not an inaccurate one.
Over the course of the next week or more, he began to see more of the monstrosities not only in his dreams – when he was able to sleep, that was – but in the real world as well. They would crop up when he least expected it, sometimes as he walked down halls, and he would find himself grabbing servants and screaming into their faces; insisting that the guards do more to defend him. And were those halls less crowded these days, the staff inside growing fewer and fewer in number – or simply avoiding him?
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