by Sales, Ian
For several long minutes, Ahasz stared unseeing at the block of shadow cast by the tower. He did not move, ignored the fire from the Imperial Palace, the low rattle of trains on the tracks in the valley behind him. At length, he slowly lifted his gaze to the heavens. A clear night, the stars glittered and sparkled in the heavens, oblivious to the carnage below. One blinking constellation crossed the sky at a discernible pace: Triumphant and her support ships. As for the other stars… Each constellation had its name, its little history. There was the Waterfall, and there the Bird of Peace. Shuti names, Shuti mythology. Some had been applied by the Chianist faith; others predated it. Ahasz himself was an Henoticist. The Vonshuans had never converted to the Chianist Church, even during the turbulent years of the Intolerance. And to Henoticists, the stars were not manifestations of the Hidden God, but physical phenomena put there by Henos to light humanity’s way.
Ahasz had no idea which of the stars he could see was Syrena’s. If indeed it could be seen from Shuto. Topologic travel did not map onto the real universe. What was two weeks away through the toposphere could be clear across the galaxy. And what was four weeks away might be a stellar neighbour.
History could be seen in the same light. What actually happened did not map onto what was written. The Vonshuan secret history told Ahasz that much. And every noble house and institution in the Empire had its secret history.
And here he was making history himself. How, he wondered, would it be recorded?
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
Inspector Finesz was in the control cupola when Lantern arrived in the Yuotos system. One moment she looked out onto featureless grey, the next star-speckled black filled the view. And dead centre in it floated serenely the pearlescent blue globe of the planetary system’s gas giant.
“I want to stay no longer than is necessary. Do whatever you need to make this ship ready to leave and then we’re off,” Finesz told the sloop’s captain. “Tell the local registrations office we’re on important OPI business.”
She turned to go.
A signalman looked up from from his console and held out a piece of paper to her.
Puzzled, she took the signal. No one could know she was due in the Yuotos system—she had taken the fastest route from Linna and her departure from there had been decided very quickly. When she saw the signal header, she felt both relief and chagrin. A frigate on picket duty.
“Damn,” she said. She glanced across at Captain Parol. “No doubt word of the fleet gathering at Linna has reached them and they’ve calculated we’re just come from there.” She swore again and crumpled up the paper in her hand. “I’d hoped to get to Shuto without any trouble.”
“What do they want, ma’am?” Parol asked.
“To come aboard, of course. We’re to heave to or they’ll fire on us.” She gestured resignedly. “Better do as they say. I’ll be —”
She broke off. Of course. She had a serving Imperial Navy officer aboard: Commander Mubariz. If she could persuade him to play along, she could claim she was on urgent Navy business. It was not common for the OPI to assist the Navy, but she was sure she could come up with some plausible excuse.
She clambered down the ladder from the control cupola and hurried aft along the central gangway. Mubariz was not in the wardroom. She continued along the passageway to the passenger cabins. For the sake of propriety—although the crew undoubtedly knew of their relationship—Finesz and Mubariz occupied separate cabins.
She knocked on the door of his cabin, heard his gruff “Enter”, and pushed the door open.
“I have favour to ask, Abad,” she began immediately.
Mubariz pushed the chair back from the cabin’s desk and spun it to face Finesz. He put his hands on his knees and gazed at her patiently.
She stared back at him, once again wondering what it was she saw in this huge dark-skinned man with his immovable sense of honour. “I’m not interrupting, am I?” she asked. Although she felt comfortable in Mubariz’s presence, she also felt an uncharacteristic urge to be courteous.
“No,” he replied. “I was merely reading.”
“Oh?” She could see text on the desk’s glass, but could not read it.
“A History of the Pacification Campaigns by Poer Kwamatsz.”
“We have that in the ship’s data-pool?” Abruptly remembering why she had come to his cabin, she said, “We’re about to be boarded by a frigate. They’ve obviously worked out we’ve just come from Linna. Could you pretend to be an important passenger? We’ll say we’re ferrying you to Shuto in order to report to the Lords of the Admiralty on the Admiral’s fleet.”
“No,” said Mubariz.
Finesz frowned. “Why not?”
“It would be a lie, Sliva. I will no longer aid or abet the Admiral and especially not by being dishonest.”
“But otherwise they’ll commandeer Lantern and we’ll never get to Shuto.”
“Then so be it.”
He was maddening. “But you spent six years aiding and abetting the Admiral,” she pointed out. “You were her executive officer!”
The commander rose to his feet. In the small cabin, he seemed even larger than usual. Rather than being forced to step back into the gangway by his presence, Finesz found herself moving forwards.
“Precisely. They will also know I served under the Admiral and will imagine I am one of the mutineers. They will not believe you.”
“You think I should tell them you’re my prisoner?”
“Perhaps. They might allow you to continue your journey. They might equally well chose to take me into custody themselves.” He put out a hand. Finesz was close enough for it to fall on her shoulder. “Sliva, you would be best served by the truth. An honourable person should have nothing to fear from the truth.”
“You’d never make a good OPI inspector, Abad,” she returned, her smile taking the sting from her words.
The frigate, which had identified herself as Cave Wolf, approached to within a handful of miles of Lantern. She then put out a launch which, after crossing the short gap between the two ships, was winched into Lantern’s cramped boat-bay. Inspector Finesz and Captain Parol were on hand to greet the frigate’s officers as they clambered from the boat’s hatch. There were only two, accompanied by a pair of hulking rateds carrying billy-clubs. Sloops of the Office of the Procurator Imperial did not carry troopers of the Provost branch, and so Finesz interpreted the pair of Navy bully boys as a veiled insult.
The senior of the two officers, a lieutenant by his insignia, introduced himself with little grace and even less politesse: “Compliments of Captain Murë, Viscount Inugo.” He gave a brief bow, as to a social inferior and directed somewhere between Finesz and Parol. He possessed the thuggish build and features fitted to his attitude. “My name,” he said, “is Bandogge. You will relinquish command of this vessel to myself.”
“Sorry,” replied Finesz. She had been expecting something like this but even so the man’s bluntness came as a surprise. No, not his “bluntness”, his complete lack of interest in her own wants or wishes. “I can’t do that,” she said. “I need to get to Shuto.”
Bandogge’s expression did not change. “It was not a request, ma’am. You are under our gun. It would be wise to acquiesce.”
“And it would be wise, “ returned the inspector, “not to interrupt an OPI officer in carrying out her duties.”
The lieutenant was not to be swayed. “This vessel has just arrived from Linna. There is a rebellious fleet gathering there.”
Finesz stepped forward. Pitching her voice lower, she said, “I have been gathering intelligence on the, ah, rebel fleet. I need to get it to my superiors on Shuto.”
“My orders are clear, ma’am. You are to be taken into custody.” Bandogge gestured his two rateds forward.
“Who gave you these orders?” demanded Finesz.
“My captain,” replied Bandogge, as if the answer were obvious.
“Then I wish to
speak to him.”
Bandogge’s fellow officer, a midshipman, looked to the lieutenant, then put up a hand to halt the two rateds. “Sir?” he asked.
“My orders,” Bandogge repeated, “are clear.”
Finesz straightened. She put a hand to the hilt of her sword. “Then I shall have to arrest you.”
That gave Bandogge cause for thought. He frowned, peered at Finesz and then opened his mouth—
Finesz relaxed. The moment the lieutenant’s blind obstinacy had become apparent—and he seemed the sort to ride over objections with violence—she’d felt worry. It manifested as a tremor in her hands: too slight to be noticeable, too pronounced not to affect her swordsmanship. As if that mattered! She was barely dangerous with a sword. Now, however… She had the measure of Lieutenant Bandogge. He still had the power—through Cave Wolf—to cause her harm but she knew she was the more… astute. So, before he could speak, Finesz added,
“For obstructing an OPI inspector in the pursuit of her duties.” She gave a winning smile. “Give me time and I’m sure I’ll remember the relevant statute.”
“You can’t arrest me,” Bandogge retorted. “I’m under orders from Captain Murë.”
“Not a defence, I’m afraid.” Finesz turned and crossed the boat-bay to the nearest wall-mounted caster. Clicking the switch, she put her mouth to speaker/microphone grill and said, “Prepare the brig for four prisoners.”
“Ma’am!” protested Bandogge. He no longer seemed so sure of himself. “You cannot arrest me!”
“I’m an inspector in the Office of the Procurator Imperial,” returned Finesz. “I can arrest whomever I choose.”
“You will relinquish command of this vessel.” Bandogge had fallen back on his orders.
Finesz turned back to the caster. She spoke into it: “Make a signal to Cave Wolf. Tell them I’ve arrested Lieutenant Bandogge.”
The launch flew under the twin drive-tubes of the frigate, great long pipes extending from the rear of the warship. After an abrupt yaw, the launch arrowed up to the opening of the boat-deck at Cave Wolf’s stern, an open rectangle at the foot of the grey slab-sided tower that was the frigate’s superstructure. Once the boat had penetrated the force-curtain, rateds ran forward and attached hawsers. The launch was quickly winched down into its berth and umbilicals attached. Finesz watched this through a scuttle, but it was a procedure she had seen many times before. A noise for’ard caught her attention and she looked round to see Bandogge unbuckling from his seat.
It had taken a great deal of argument but Bandogge had finally submitted to Finesz’s demand to talk with his captain. But rather than do so via signals, a face-to-face meeting had been arranged. The lieutenant had ferried Finesz across to Cave Wolf in the frigate’s launch.
The hatch swung open and Bandogge stepped down onto the wooden jetty surrounding the dock. Finesz followed him. As she looked up from placing her feet, she saw a trio of ship’s corporals armed with billy-clubs waiting for her. Troop-Sergeant Assaun had asked to accompany her. She had refused. Now she wished she hadn’t. Throwing her shoulders back, she pretended to confidence and strode towards them.
“Take me to your captain,” she demanded.
The most senior of the ship’s corporals, a petty officer, replied, “This way, ma’am”, and set off towards the hatch leading from the boat-deck. The other two took position either side of Finesz.
In this fashion, she was escorted along the frigate’s gangways, up into her superstructure and up a ramp onto the lowest deck of Cave Wolf’s conning-tower. Two ship’s corporals, also armed with billy-clubs, stood guard outside an entrance hatch and Finesz guessed this was the captain’s suite. She wondered why he would need sentries aboard his own ship. One sentry knocked on the hatch and then pushed it open. Finesz’s escort gestured for her to enter. Doffing her cap and tucking it under her arm, she ducked her head and stepped over the coaming.
Captain Murë, Viscount Inugo, was seated behind a desk to Finesz’s right. She turned to face him. Behind her, she heard the hatch swing close.
“Ah, inspector. Welcome aboard.” Murë rose from his chair and strolled around his desk. He approached Finesz, both hands held out to greet her.
Releasing her grip on her sword’s hilt, Finesz held out a hand. He shook it in both of his. “A pleasure to meet you,” he said.
After Lieutenant Bandogge, Murë was something of a surprise. A small man, slim, with sharp features and a palpable air of urbanity. His uniform was immaculately cut, his boots polished to a mirror-bright sheen, and his sword with its ornate hilt was plainly the work of a master armourer.
Finesz returned his greeting. “I’m glad you agreed to see me, my lord.” She looked about the cabin. She had been aboard Imperial Navy frigates before, although not, she believed, one of this particular class. However, the quarters of a frigate’s captain were much the same—a day cabin which doubled as sitting-room and office, and a sleeping cabin depending from it. But that desk… An antique from the Fourth Century, if Finesz did not miss her guess. And the sofa and arm-chair at the other end of the cabin were equally expensive. Captain Murë clearly enjoyed the trappings of his noble rank. A pair of paintings on one wood-panelled bulkhead were, if original, each worth more than Finesz’s entire holdings. Surprisingly, the subject of neither was appropriately martial. One depicted three people posing before a tomb. The tableau was based on some ancient Genezi legend, although she did not remember the details. The second was a portrait of a woman in garb that had not been worn for more than two thousand years. The identity of the subject was unknown to Finesz.
And there was the ship’s crest: a snarling wolf, incongruously gold, and the legend, “‘Ware the Wolf”. Finesz thought the implication of ferocity somewhat juvenile but said nothing.
Turning back to Murë, Finesz gave a smile and said, “Nice place you have here.”
“A small place but mine own,” Murë replied. “Come.” He gestured at the comfortable chairs at the other end of the cabin. “Have a seat.”
Once they were seated, the captain steepled his fingers and gazed across them at Finesz. He smiled. It was the smile of a man used to getting his own way. “I will confess to some annoyance when people choose to disobey me,” he said. “However, I am more than magnanimous; so if you would care to explain?”
“Explain what?” returned Finesz. She did not like this noble captain, and saw no reason to pander to his arrogance. “It’s quite simple: I am on OPI business. You have no authority to detain me.” Seeing Murë’s smile congeal and his eyes harden, she added, “My lord.”
“Inspector, this is a Mountain Hunter class frigate. She is armed with torpedos and a main gun with an aperture of two feet. My weaponry is my authority.”
Finesz wondered if she had over-estimated her own confidence. Bearding the wolf in his lair, so to speak. As Murë himself had pointed out, what defence was a piece of paper against an armed crew? She must tread carefully. “Point taken.”
“So, tell me: what do you know of this rebel fleet gathering at Linna?”
“Gathered,” corrected Finesz. “Past tense. It’s left. Heading for Geneza.”
Murë frowned. “Geneza? But there’s nothing there. Parkland and a town of significance only to Henotics.”
“She didn’t see fit to tell me why,” Finesz lied. “Perhaps she hopes to meet reinforcements?”
“She?” Murë frowned.
“The Admiral.”
“Ah. That is what Captain Shutan calls herself?”
“So I have been, ah, informed.”
Murë dropped his hands and gripped the arms of the chair in which he sat. “You must explain why I should permit you to continue. How do I know you are not part of this rebel fleet?”
“You don’t,” Finesz admitted. She was beginning to regret this interview. Perhaps she should have just persuaded Parol to make a run for it. Cave Wolf would never dare fire on Lantern. She hoped.
&nbs
p; She continued, “I was on Linna, following a line of enquiry in an ongoing investigation, when the Admiral arrived. I thought it best to keep my presence, ah, on a need-to-know basis. Once her fleet had departed, I commandeered Lantern.”
“With the intention of doing what?”
“Telling what I had learnt to the knights signet.”
The captain nodded. “So,” he said, “you know the Admiral’s plans?”
Finesz nodded. She did indeed. To Murë’s questioning look, she only smiled mysteriously. When his expression turned to irritation, she added, “I see no reason to tell them to you.”
“And the name of the person to whom you will tell?”
Ah. Finesz winced inwardly. She had no way of knowing if Murë had visited Imperial Court recently. While she knew plenty of nobles, both from her days as a courtesan and since joining the OPI, she had been away from Shuto for a year. They could be dead or in disgrace by now. And if she gave the wrong name…
“I don’t know his name,” she said, thinking fast. “He’ll identify himself using a password.”
Murë was not convinced. “This all sounds very cloak-and-daggerish —”
“Do you know what the Admiral intends?” put in Finesz.
“She’s after the Imperial Throne. She has never said as much, but it’s as clear as the nose on your face. She’s had enough of taking orders—damn it, she mutinied more than six years ago! She’ll not live that down unless she makes the rules herself.”
This was a dilemma. If Finesz agreed with Murë, then perhaps he would swallow her tale of spying for the Throne that much easier. But if she told the truth, that the Admiral was set on defending the Throne against the Serpent… Murë was plainly none too imaginative and would likely find such a story impossible to credit. He would never let Finesz go.
She chose to agree. “Indeed. So you see how vital my intelligence is.”
Cave Wolf’s captain leaned back and crossed one leg over the other. “Then perhaps,” he suggested, “you should apprise me of the —” He gestured vaguely—“the generalities. And should I encounter a knight signet, I can pass them on.”