Sabbat Crusade

by Dan Abnett

  Finally, this is the first time I’ve allowed somebody else to write actual Ghosts characters. Yes, as you know, Nik’s my wife, so I trust her. I very much admire her writing, and we work in the same room, so I could look over her shoulder as she composed. We discussed the story at length, and I was close by to advise her about what certain characters would do or say.

  Not that she needed hand-holding at all.

  Oh no, not at fething all…

  Dan Abnett

  Viduity

  Nik Vincent

  The Highness Ser Armaduke, six days out from Salvation’s Reach, 782.M41

  (the 27th year of the Sabbat Worlds Crusade)

  I

  Elodie passed Gol Kolea on the companionway a couple of hundred metres from Tona Criid’s compartment. His head was down, and when she tried to greet him, he appeared not to notice her. She kept walking. He probably had stuff on his mind. She did too. Everyone did.

  Elodie had spent the afternoon sitting with Ban for as long as Curth and Lesp would allow. It had been six days since he’d been carried out of Salvation’s Reach. Six days since the surgeries to his legs and abdomen that had saved his life.

  Today, Ban had walked for the first time. It had felt like a miracle. Ana Curth had also told Elodie that there had been other damage. Ban Daur would be a soldier again; he would fight with the Guard for as long as they wanted him or until he died for the Emperor. There was only a very small chance that Elodie’s husband would ever be a father. There was only a very small chance that Ban would ever be able to give her a child.

  Elodie knocked gently on Tona Criid’s compartment door. Dalin opened the hatch.

  ‘Mum,’ he called, stepping aside to let Elodie in. ‘Someone to see you.’

  ‘Who is it?’ asked Tona, impatient. She was doing pull-ups, hanging from a maintenance duct that ran the length of the narrow living quarters. She swung one arm free so that she turned in the air to catch a glimpse of the woman entering. She flexed her single supporting arm when she saw Elodie and dropped to the floor.

  ‘Elodie,’ she said, surprise and regret in her voice. ‘Sorry, I wasn’t expecting you.’

  ‘No, I’m sorry,’ said Elodie. ‘I shouldn’t have come. You’re busy and it’s late.’

  ‘I’m glad you did. Sit down.’ She picked up the bottle of amasec that Gol had brought to supper and tilted it. ‘I think the Guard owes you a couple of drinks. I know it owes me.’

  ‘Thanks,’ said Elodie, smiling for the first time.

  ‘I’ll get glasses,’ said Dalin, ‘and then I should get back to my bunk.’

  ‘Are the accommodation decks as bad as they say?’ asked Elodie.

  Dalin laughed. ‘We’re Guard,’ he said. ‘Are the non-com hab decks as bad as they say?’

  ‘Don’t tell Ban, but if I’d had to live there I wouldn’t have waited for him to ask me to get married, I’d have got on my knees myself,’ said Elodie.

  ‘And they call me mercenary,’ said Tona.

  Dalin said goodnight and left the women to talk.

  ‘How is Ban?’ asked Tona.

  ‘He walked today,’ said Elodie.

  ‘That’s good news,’ said Tona. ‘Good for us, anyway.’

  ‘It is good,’ said Elodie. ‘Good for all of us. Good for him. I wanted to talk about something else, though. If that’s all right?’

  ‘What’s going on, Elodie?’ asked Tona, aware of a tone in the other woman’s voice.

  ‘That’s just it,’ said Elodie. ‘I’m not sure. I don’t really know. Except that I know something’s going on.’

  ‘And you can’t talk to Ban because he’s in recovery?’

  ‘I can’t talk to Ban because he’s a man… and because he’s Guard.’

  ‘I’m Guard,’ said Tona.

  ‘Yes,’ said Elodie. ‘Can we forget that, just for now?’

  ‘Something’s obviously bothering you, Elodie. I think you’d better start talking,’ said Tona.

  II

  ‘Is this a disciplinary, sir?’ asked Harjeon.

  ‘Are you being petulant?’ asked Captain Meryn. He didn’t have the privacy of the cabin for long; the ship was crowded and even the captains were doubling up and sharing office space. Besides, he wanted to get this over with.

  ‘No, sir,’ said Harjeon.

  ‘I’ve lost half of E Company. If I have to lose one more infantryman, how much do you think I’ll miss you, Harjeon?’

  Harjeon squirmed. He was an uncomfortable man. He had never learned the social graces that seemed to come easily to other people. He wasn’t funny and he had no small talk. It made him an angry man.

  He bent too easily to authority, and then took out his frustrations on the people beneath him. Except that he was the lowest of the low in the Guard. He had never progressed through the ranks. He was not a career soldier. He was barely a competent soldier.

  ‘I was a solicitor’s clerk,’ said Harjeon. ‘My first lesson was on confidentiality. I know how to keep my mouth shut, sir.’

  He’d known how to mock up the paperwork for the viduity scam, too. They’d liked him well enough when they could use him.

  ‘If it’s not over,’ said Meryn, ‘if the Commissariat starts asking questions again, just remember who falsified the documents for all those pensions. I’m not going down for this.’

  ‘No, sir,’ said Harjeon.

  ‘Now, get out of my sight,’ said Meryn.

  Harjeon hated his captain’s contempt. He despised the contempt he felt for himself.

  Harjeon saluted Meryn and left the cabin, closing the hatch behind him.

  It was fifth bell and time for his meal rotation in the canteen, but his stomach was twisted in a hard knot and he could feel the bile in his throat. He descended two decks and took a short cut through the maintenance ducts. He’d done it hundreds of times on dozens of troop ships. Everyone found some privacy somewhere. It wasn’t hard to come up with an excuse for being somewhere you shouldn’t be, especially if you were too old to be a private, but you weren’t dead yet. Especially if you could look stupid.

  Harjeon liked the hab decks. He liked the chaos. The Guard were important down here. All Guard. Any Guard. He liked women, too. Not hard women, not killers like Criid or clever women like that Doctor Curth. He liked sad, soft, lonely women.

  He could feel contempt for women like that, more contempt than he felt for himself.

  III

  ‘It’s the women,’ said Elodie.

  ‘What about the women?’ asked Tona. ‘You’re not telling me anything. You’re going to have to give me something if you want my help.’

  ‘It’s little things,’ said Elodie. ‘I know a lot of women, a lot of wives, and a lot of girlfriends, and some of the working girls.’

  ‘Of course you do,’ said Tona. ‘It stands to reason that they respect you, that they come to you. You have status among them, and you’re everyone’s friend. You mustn’t let them use you, Elodie.’

  ‘No, it’s not like that,’ said Elodie. ‘They’re talking, mostly to each other, but I’m hearing things… Things that worry me.’

  ‘What things?’ asked Tona.

  ‘There are a lot of broken women down there,’ said Elodie. ‘It’s a community, and everyone looks out for each other, but a lot of women are alone, struggling to raise kids. Some have got grown kids in the Guard. Some have even lost husbands and children in the campaigns.’

  ‘It’s always been like that,’ said Tona. ‘I don’t know how they get by, but they always have.’

  ‘That’s just it,’ said Elodie. ‘Something’s happening. They’re not getting by any more.’

  ‘What do you mean?’ asked Tona.

  ‘They’re frightened,’ said Elodie. ‘They’re shutting themselves away. There have been accidents, too.’

&nb
sp; ‘They’re hurting themselves?’ asked Tona.

  ‘That’s what some of the younger women are saying,’ said Elodie.

  ‘But it’s rumours?’ asked Tona.

  ‘The women are gossiping, and they’re worried, but something’s going on,’ said Elodie.

  Tona took a swig of Gol’s amasec.

  ‘Salvation’s Reach was bad,’ she said. ‘There were big losses. Half of E Company was wiped out. Things are always unsettled for a while after something like that.’

  ‘You think it’ll be all right?’ asked Elodie.

  ‘I hope so,’ said Tona. ‘You haven’t told me anything that I can take to Gaunt.’

  Elodie gasped.

  ‘I wouldn’t want you to do that,’ she said. ‘I just…’

  ‘I know,’ said Tona. ‘You’re worried. Why don’t you see if you can find anything out? Talk to one of the older women. One of the leaders, you know who they are. Come back to me in a few days.’

  ‘Are you sure?’ asked Elodie. ‘I don’t want to waste your time.’

  ‘There’s nothing to do here, anyway,’ said Tona. ‘I’m going so crazy that I’m doing pull-ups from the ceiling.’

  ‘Thank you,’ said Elodie.

  IV

  Harjeon held Elavia hard by the throat until her lips turned blue. He watched the skin of her neck around his fingers turn white as he increased the pressure. Her eyes bulged as she tried to plead with him.

  There was barely space for two people to move around each other in the cramped space, let alone fight. He had to keep control. The bunks were divided by plasteel sheets. There were curtains instead of hatches, and only the compartments at the ends of rows, against bulkheads, offered any kind of privacy at all.

  ‘Understand this,’ he said in a hard whisper to avoid being overheard by the non-coms milling around the hab-deck. ‘If you ever mention my name to anyone, I will kill you. You know that I can do it.’

  The woman finally went limp, and the weight of her body was too much for Harjeon to hold up. He let her fall awkwardly to the ground. He heard the hard crack of an elbow and then of her brow. The arm was broken. Her head would be badly bruised.

  Harjeon sat down and waited for Elavia to come round. After a minute or two, just as he was becoming impatient, she coughed and gasped, and then moaned with the pain in her elbow. As she sat up, her left arm hung limp at her side. She brought her right arm up to her head. It was bleeding.

  ‘You’re a mess,’ said Harjeon. ‘You’re not entitled to the stipend. I got it for you and I can take it away. If you go to the authorities, you’ll implicate yourself. Do you know what that means?’

  Elavia hardly dared to look at him. She shook her head.

  ‘Stealing from the Guard is a capital offence. If you tell them about the stipend they’ll know you’re stealing. They’ll put a round through your stupid skull. Understand that.’

  Elavia understood it very well. She understood that her man had died on Jago. He had belonged to her and that was enough for them. Other people had something they called marriage, but it wasn’t their way. Harjeon had explained it to her. She had paid him a percentage so she could keep her pension. All she wanted was to stay with the Guard, to go where her man would have gone, to try to live the life without him that she could have lived with him.

  Harjeon pulled up the collar of his fatigues, pulled down the back of his jacket and walked away.

  His captain could silence him, and he could even humiliate him, but there was only one of him to bully. There were dozens of women for Harjeon to torment, dozens he had been extorting. He’d had his own lucrative little sideline during the viduity scam, and it was ripe for exploitation.

  V

  ‘Leaving so soon?’ asked Ban.

  ‘Do you mind?’ asked Elodie. ‘I promised someone…’ She tailed off. She didn’t want to lie to her husband, but she couldn’t involve him in what she was doing.

  ‘Are you on one of your missions, again?’ asked Ban, smiling at his wife. ‘You’re too sweet for your own good. Who are you trying to help now?’

  ‘It’s nothing, really,’ said Elodie, ‘just one of the widows. She lost her husband and you’re safe.’

  ‘I am,’ said Ban, squeezing his wife’s hand. ‘And Doctor Curth wants me back in that walking frame in five minutes, so go. Do your good deed. I’ll see you tomorrow.’

  Elodie leaned in to kiss her husband. It was not enough, and he cupped the back of her neck and pulled her closer. The kiss lingered for long moments.

  ‘No agitating the patient,’ said Ana Curth, walking up the ward towards them. ‘He’s got work to do.’

  ‘Sorry, doctor,’ said Elodie.

  ‘For the Emperor’s sake, Elodie, call me Ana,’ said Ana Curth. ‘And I’m teasing. Kiss your man while you can. It’s good for both of you.’

  ‘I’m going,’ said Elodie, rising from beside the cot with a broad smile on her face. ‘Ban… Ana.’

  Half an hour later she was in the hab decks, drinking something that had been offered as caffeine, but which was, at best, its second cousin once removed.

  ‘Thank you for seeing me, Honne,’ she said, putting her mug down.

  ‘A captain’s wife asks to see me, what choice do I have?’ said Honne.

  ‘I’d never force you to talk,’ said Elodie. ‘You need to know that. But I hope you will.’

  ‘You don’t have to force, though, do you, mamzel? You only have to ask.’ The older woman folded her arms over her bosom and sat back in her chair.

  ‘You’re a good woman, Honne, and everybody knows it. The other women trust you. You help them birth their children. You give them solace when they grieve for their husbands. When they need you, you’re there.’

  ‘There’s nothing left for me to do. Two husbands, four sons, two daughters, all gone to the Emperor. So, I midwife and I dress scalds and I salve bruises and I dry tears, and I leave it to the Emperor to deal with the dead.’

  ‘How many bodies have you laid out, Honne?’ asked Elodie.

  ‘That’s bodies,’ said Honne, ‘and you know it. I’m talking about souls. Two husbands, four sons and two daughters all with souls, and even you can’t tell me otherwise.’

  The woman was defiant. Elodie could work with that.

  ‘The living have souls, too,’ she said. ‘You deal with them every day. Women are suffering, Honne. I know they are, but I don’t know why. If I knew why I could help.’

  ‘You don’t know why. I don’t know why,’ said Honne.

  ‘You won’t say why,’ said Elodie.

  ‘I know that I have dressed burns and I have salved bruises and I have dried tears. I know that women are hurting more than is normal. I know that their mouths are shut,’ said Honne.

  ‘They must say something,’ said Elodie. ‘Someone must have said something.’

  ‘They say they are clumsy. They say they trip and fall. They say they walk into doors. It means nothing,’ said Honne. ‘It means I am talking too much.’ She picked up her mug of caffeine and cradled it to her bosom, her arms still half crossed, defensive.

  ‘They are not hurting themselves,’ said Elodie. ‘Someone is hurting them. Who?’

  ‘They are women,’ said Honne. She held the mug to her mouth and took a long swig of caffeine.

  The two women drank. Elodie talked. Honne said nothing more. She simply nursed her empty mug until Elodie’s caffeine had gone cold. She would not leave until the captain’s wife left. She would keep the rules of etiquette, but she would not speak further on the subject. She already felt that she had betrayed the silent women.

  VI

  Harjeon had her in an armlock, her face mashed against the rough plasteel of the bulkhead, grazing her skin raw. He pushed his knee into the small of her back and wrapped his free hand in her hair.

  She was
screaming.

  He was filled with rage and panic, and he had to stop her screaming.

  When she stopped screaming, when he finally let her go, he hardly knew what he had done. He only knew that he had done what he had needed to do to keep himself safe, safe from the Commissariat, safe from Meryn’s threats, safe from this woman who could give him away.

  ‘You’re mine,’ he said. ‘You owe me. And there’ll be plenty more where that came from if you ever mention my name to anyone.’

  She tried to speak, but her nose and mouth were filled with blood and she was gasping for breath through the pain. She reached a hand up to her shoulder. That hurt, too.

  Taria would never tell anyone where she got her money. It had been one bad man after another. They’d all wanted to do what they’d wanted to do to her. None of them had wanted her enough to marry her. And, anyway, they’d all died. She’d lived on her wits for a while, but that was worse. Men had still done what they’d wanted, but they’d paid for it. It was worse, much worse.

  When Harjeon had come, after Jago, with the pension papers, she’d signed. It was a lie, a lie that meant she was tied to one bad man forever. Except Harjeon had only wanted money. Until now.

  If it cost her one broken nose in two years, she’d keep her mouth shut.

  ‘If the Commissariat finds out, they’ll put a round through your head,’ he said. ‘Scamming the pension is treason. You’re a dead woman.’

  He left her sitting against the bulkhead, blood dripping onto her dress. She could feel the bruising spreading around her eyes.

  VII

  Three days later, when Elodie knocked on the door of Tona’s compartment again, it was Yoncy who answered.

  ‘Auntie Elodie,’ she said. ‘Have you come for supper?’

  Tona came to the hatch behind her daughter.

  ‘Wash your hands, Yoncy,’ she said.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ said Elodie, ‘I forgot you eat at five bells.’

  ‘You’re welcome to join us,’ said Tona. ‘Someone always does, and there’s plenty to go around. No real meat tonight, I’m afraid, but I’m a dab hand with slab.’