by Dan Abnett
Lord Rorken raised his hand and the hubbub died away.
'Is that confirmed, Brother Eisenhorn?'
'Lord, it is. I saw it with my own eyes and felt its evil. It was the Necroteuch. As far as I have learned, the xenos breed – known as the saruthi –came upon a lost copy thousands of years ago, and through recently established lines of communication with the Glaw cabal, agreed to exchange it for certain artefacts of their own culture.'
'Preposterous!' spat Commodus Voke. 'The Necroteuch is a myth, and a wretched one at that! These twisted alien filth have fabricated this as a lure for the gullible heretics!'
I looked over at Voke and repeated, 'I saw it with my own eyes and felt its evil. It was the Necroteuch.'
Admiral Spatian looked up at Lord Rorken. This thing, this book – is it so valuable that these heretics would throw the entire sub-sector into schism to cover their attempts to retrieve it?'
'It is priceless!' cut in Molitor from across the chamber. 'Beyond worth! If the legends of it are even fractionally true, it contains lore surpassing our understanding! They would not think twice of burning worlds to get it, or of sacrificing their entire resources to acquire the power it would bring them.'
'It has always been plain/ Endor said softly, 'that the stakes in this matter have been astonishingly high. Though I am shocked by Brother Gregor's news, I am not surprised. Only an icon as potent as the Necroteuch could have set this bloodshed in motion.'
'But the Necroteuch! Such a thing!' Schongard hissed.
'Were they successful, Inquisitor Eisenhorn?' the Space Marine asked suddenly, staring directly at me.
'No, brother-captain, they were not. The effort was desperate and close ran, but my force was able to spoil their contact with the xenos saruthi. The aliens were driven off, and most of the heretics' advance guard, including Lord Glaw and a blasphemous child of the Emperor allied to his cause, were slain.'
'I read of this Mandragore in your report/ said the Marine. 'His presence was fundamental in the decision for my unit to accompany this force/
The Emperor's Children, Terra damn their souls, clearly wanted the book for themselves. They had sent Mandragore to assist Glaw in its recovery. That beings such as they took it seriously confirms the truth of my story, I believe/
The noble Marine nodded. And Mandragore is dead, you say?'
'I killed him myself/
The Deathwatch warrior sat back slightly, his brows rising gently in surprise.
'Some heretics escaped your purge?' Schongard asked.
Two key conspirators, brother. The trader, Gorgone Locke, who I believe was instrumental in forging the original contact between the saruthi and Glaw's cabal. And an ecclesiarch named Dazzo, who 1 would see as the spiritual force behind their enterprise. They fled from the fight, rejoined the waiting elements of their fleet, and left this system.'
'Destination?' asked Spatian.
'It is still being plotted, admiral/
'And how many ships? That bastard traitor Estrum ran with fifteen/
'He lost at least two frigates in that star system. A non-standard merchant ship that I believe belongs to Locke is with them/
'Have they taken to their heels and run defeated, or have they some further agenda?' Lord Rorken asked.
'I have further research to make before I can answer that, lord/
Spatian stood and looked towards the Lord Inquisitor. 'Even if they're running, we can't permit them to escape. They must be hounded down and annihilated. Permission to retask the battle-pack and prepare to pursue/
'Permission granted, admiral/
Then Molitor spoke up. 'No one has asked the most important question of our heroic Brother Eisenhorn/ he said, stressing the word 'heroic' in a way that did not flatter. 'What happened to the Necroteuch?'
I turned to face him. 'I did what any of us would have done, Brother Molitor. I burned it/
Uproar followed. Molitor was on his feet, accusing me of nothing short of heresy at the top of his reedy voice. Schongard raised his own serpentine tones in support of the accusations, while Endor and Voke shouted them down. The retinues howled and bickered across the floor. Both the Deathwatch captain and I remained seated and silent.
Lord Rorken rose. 'Enough!' He turned to the glowering Molitor. 'State your objection, Brother Molitor, quickly and simply/
Molitor nodded, and licked his lips, his yellow eyes darting around the room. 'Eisenhorn must suffer our sternest censure for this act of vandalism! The Necroteuch may be a foul and proscribed work, but we are the Inquisition, lord. By what right did he simply destroy it? Such a thing should have been sequestered and brought before our most learned savants for study! To obliterate it out of hand robs us of knowledge, of wisdom, of secrets unimaginable! The contents of the Necroteuch might have given us insight into the archenemy of mankind, incalculable insight! How might it have strengthened us and armed us for the ceaseless fight? Eisenhorn has disgraced the very heart of our sacred Inquisition!'
'Brother Schongard?'
'My lord, I agree. It was a desperate and rash action by Eisenhorn. Carefully handled, the Necroteuch would have provided us with all measure of advantageous knowledge. Its arcane secrets would have been weapons
against the foe. I may applaud his rigorous efforts in thwarting Glaw and his conspirators, but this erasure of occult lore earns only my opprobrium/
'Brother Voke? What s-' Lord Rorken began, but I cut him off.
'Is this a court, my lord? Am I on trial?'
'No, brother, you are not. But the magnitude of your actions must be analysed and considered. Brother Voke?'
Voke rose. 'Eisenhorn was right. The Necroteuch was an abomination. It would have been heresy to permit its continued existence!'
'Brother Endor?'
Titus did not rise. He turned in his seat and looked down the hall at Konrad Molitor. 'Gregor Eisenhorn has my full support. From your moaning, Molitor, I wonder what kind of man I am listening to. A radical, certainly. An inquisitor? I have my doubts/
Molitor leapt up again, raging. 'You knave! You whoreson bastard knave! How dare you?'
Very easily/ replied Endor, leaning back and folding his arms. And you, Schongard, you are no better. Shame on you! What secrets did you both think we could learn, except perhaps how to pollute our minds and boil away our sanity? The Necroteuch has been forbidden since before our foundation. We need not know what's in it to accept that prohibition! All we need is the precious knowledge that it should be destroyed, unread, on sight. Tell me, do you need to actually contract Uhlren's Pox yourself to know that it is fatal?'
Lord Rorken smiled at this. He glanced at the Space Marine. 'Brother-Captain Cynewolf?'
The captain made a modest shrug. 'I command kill-teams charged with the extermination of aliens, mutants and heretics, lord. The ethics of scholarship and book-learning I leave to the savants. For whatever it's worth, though, I would have burned it without a second thought/
There was a long silence. Sometimes I was almost glad no one could tell when I was smiling.
Lord Rorken sat back. 'The objections of my brothers are noted. I myself commend Eisenhorn. Given the extremity of his situation, he made the best decision/
Thank you, my lord/
'Let us retire now and consider this matter. I want to hear proposals for our next course of action in four hours/
'What now?' Titus Endor asked as we sat in his private suite aboard the Saint Scyihus. A female servitor brought us glasses of vintage amasec, matured in nalwood casks.
'The remnants must be purged/ I said. 'Dazzo and the rest of the heretic fleet. They may have been cheated of their prize, and they may be running now. Perhaps they'll run for years. But they have the resources
of a battlegroup at their disposal, and the will to use it. I will recommend we hunt them down and finish this sorry matter once and for all/
Aemos entered the chamber, made a respectful nod to Endor, and handed me a data-slate.
The
admiral's astronavigators have finished plotting the course of the heretic fleet. It matches the estimations Maxilla has just sent me/
I scanned the data. 'Do you have a chart, Titus?'
He nodded and engaged the functions of a glass-topped cogitator unit. The surface glowed, and he entered the reference codes from the slate.
'So… they're not running back into Imperial space. No surprise. Nor out to the lawless distances of the Halo Stars/
'Their course takes them here: 56-Izar. Ten weeks away/
'In saruthi territory/
'Right in the heart of saruthi territory/
Lord Inquisitor Rorken nodded gravely. 'As you say, brother, this business may be less finished than we thought/
They cannot hope to count the saruthi as allies, or believe they would give them safe haven. The entente between Glaw's forces and the xenos breed was fragile and tenuous to say the least, and what peace existed between them was rained by the violence. Dazzo must have some other reason to head there/
Lord Rorken paced the floor of his state chamber, brooding, toying with the signet ring of office on his gloved finger. His flock of cherubs roosted uneasily along the backs of armchairs and couches around the room. Twitching their gargoyle heads from one side to another, they watched me keenly as I stood waiting for a reply. 'My imagination runs wild, Eisen-horn/ he said at last.
'I intend to question the archeoxenologist, Malahite, directly. I am sure he can furnish us with additional intelligence. Just as I am sure he lacks the capacity to resist displayed by his aristo master Urisel/
Rorken stopped pacing and clapped his gloved hands together with a decisive smack. Startled, the cherubs flew up into the air and began mobbing around the high ceiling. 'Course will be laid for 56-Izar at once/ said Lord Rorken, ignoring their lisping squawk. 'Bring me your findings without delay/
Naval security had imprisoned Girolamo Malahite in the secure wing of the battleship's medicae facility. The injury I had given him had been treated, but no effort had been made to equip him with a prosthetic limb. I was looking forward to opening his secrets.
I passed through the coldly lit infirmary, and checked on Fischig. He was still unconscious, though a physician told me his condition was stable. The chastener lay on a plastic-tented cot, wired into wheezing life-supporting pumps and gurgling circulators, his damaged form masked by dressings, anointing charms and metal bone-clamps.
From the infirmary, I passed down an unheated main companionway, showed my identification to the duty guards, and entered the forbidding secure wing. I was at a second checkpoint, at the entrance to the gloomy cell block itself, when I heard screaming ringing from a cell beyond.
I pushed past the guards and, with them at my heels, reached the greasy iron shutters of the cell.
'Open it!' I barked, and one of the guards fumbled with his ring of electronic keys. 'Quickly, man!'
The cell shutter whirred open and locked into its open setting. Konrad Molitor and his three hooded acolytes turned to face me, outraged at the interruption. Their surgically gloved hands were wet with pink froth.
Behind them, Girolamo Malahite lay whimpering on a horizontal metal cage strung on chains from the ceiling. He was naked, and almost every centimetre of skin had been peeled from his flesh.
'Fetch surgeons and physicians. And summon Lord Rorken. Now!' I told the cell guards. 'Would you care to explain what you are doing here?' I said to Molitor.
He would, I think, have preferred not to answer me, and his trio of retainers looked set to grapple with me and hurl me from the cell.
But the muzzle of my autopistol was pressed flat against Konrad Moli-tor's perspiring brow and none of them dared move.
'I am conducting an interview with the prisoner…' he began.
'Malahite is my prisoner/
'He is in the custody of the Inquisition, Brother Eisenhorn…'
'He is my prisoner, Molitor! Inquisitorial protocol permits me the right to question him first!'
Molitor tried to back away, but I kept the pressure of the gun firm against his cranium. There was no mistaking the fury in his eyes at this treatment, but he contained it, realising provocation was the last thing I needed.
'I, I was concerned for your health, brother/ he began, trying to mollify, 'the injuries you have suffered, your fatigue. Malahite had to be interrogated with all speed, and thought I would ease your burden by commencing the-'
'Commencing? You've all but killed him! I don't believe your excuse for a moment, Molitor. If you'd truly intended to help me, you would have asked permission. You wanted his secrets for yourself/
'A damn lie!' he spat.
I cocked the pistol with my thumb. In the confines of the iron cell, the click was loud and threatening. 'Indeed? Then share what you have learned so far/
He hesitated. 'He proved resilient. We have learned little from him/
Boots clattered down the cell bay outside and the guards returned with two green robed fleet surgeons and a quartet of medicae orderlies.
Throne of Terra!' one of the surgeons cried, seeing the rained man on the rack.
'Do what you can, doctor. Stabilise him.'
The physicians hurried to work, calling for tools, apparatus and cold dressings. Malahite whimpered again.
'Threatening an Imperial inquisitor with deadly force is a capital crime,' said one of the hooded acolytes, edging forward.
'Lord Rorken will be displeased,' said another.
'Put away your weapon and our master will co-operate/ the third added.
Tell your sycophants to be silent,' I told Molitor.
'Please, Inquisitor Eisenhorn.' The third acolyte spoke again, his soft voice issuing from the shadows of his cowl. This is an unfortunate mistake. We will make reparations. Put away your weapon.'
The voice was strangely confident, and in speaking for Molitor, displayed surprising authority. But no more than Aemos or Midas would have done for me should the situation have been reversed.
Take your assistants and get out, Molitor. We will continue this once I have spoken with Lord Rorken.'
The four of them left swiftly, and I holstered my weapon.
The chief physician came over to me, shaking his head. This man is dead, sir.'
At Lord Rorken's request, the warship's senior ecclesiarch provided a great chapel amidships for our use. I think the shipboard curia was impressed by the Lord Inquisitor's fury.
We had little time to repair the damage done by the incident, even though the medicae had placed Malahite's lamentable corpse in a stasis field.
Lord Rorken wanted to conduct the matter himself, but realised he was duty bound to offer me the opportunity first. To have denied me would have compounded Molitor's insult, even if Rorken was Lord Inquisitor.
I told Rorken I welcomed the task, adding that my working knowledge of the entire case made me the best candidate.
We assembled in the chapel. It was a long hall of fluted columns and mosaic flooring. Stained glass windows depicting the triumphs of the Emperor were backlit by the empyrean vortex outside the ship. The chamber rumbled with the through-deck vibration of the Saint Scythus's churning drive.
The facing ranks of pews and the raised stalls to either side were filling with Inquisitorial staff and ecclesiarchs. All my 'brothers' were in attendance, even Molitor, who I knew would not be able to stay away.
I walked with Lowink down the length of the nave to the raised plinth where Malahite lay in stasis. Astropaths, nearly thirty of them, drawn from the ship's complement and the inquisitorial delegation, had assembled behind it. Hooded, misshapen, some borne along on wheeled mechanical frames or carried on litters by dour servitors, they hissed and murmured among themselves. Lowink went to brief them. He seemed to relish this moment of superiority over astropaths who normally outranked him.
Lowink had not the power to manage this rite alone; his resources were enough for only the simplest psychometric audits. But his knowledge of my abilities and prac
tises made him vital in orchestrating their efforts.
I looked at Malahite, flayed and pathetic in the shimmering envelope of stasis. Grotesquely, he reminded me of the God-Emperor himself, resting for eternity in the great stasis field of the golden throne, preserved until the end of time from the death Horus had tried to bestow upon him.
Lowink nodded to me. The astropathic choir was ready.
I looked around and found Endor's face in the congregation. He had placed himself near Molitor and had promised to watch the bastard closely for me. Schongard sat near the back, disassociating himself from his fellow radical's transgression.
I saw Brother-Captain Cynewolf and two of his awe-inspiring fellow Space Marines take their place behind the altar screen. All of them were in full armour and carried storm bolters. They weren't here for the show. They were here as a safeguard.
'Proceed, brother/ Lord Rorken said from his raised seat.
The choir began to nurse the folds of the warp apart with their swelling adoration. Psychic cold swept through the vault, and some in the congregation moaned, either in fear or with involuntary empathic vibration.
Commodus Voke, helped from his seat by the baleful Heldane, shuffled forward to join me. As a concession to Lord Rorken for allowing me this honour, I had agreed that the veteran inquisitor could partake of the auto-seance at my side. The risk was great, after all. Two minds were better than one, and in truth, it would be good to have the old reptile's mental power at close hand.
'Lower the stasis field/ I said. The moaning of the astropaths grew louder. As the translucent field died away, Voke and I reached out ungloved hands and touched the oozing, skinless face.
The veil of the warp drew back. I looked as if down a pillar of smoke, ghost white, which rushed up around me. In my ears, the harrowing screams of infinity and the billion billion souls castaway therein.
Blue light, streaked with storm-fires. A sound that mingled seismic rambling and the ethereal plainsong of long decayed temples. A smell of woodsmoke, incense, saltwater, blood…