Angel of Fire

by William King

  Seventeen

  ‘What now, sir?’ I asked once we had battled our way to the edge of the crowd.

  ‘We need to find a place to hide until we can find out what is going on and make contact with our own people.’

  ‘If there are any left,’ said Anna. She did not sound too hopeful on that score.

  ‘Any suggestions?’ Macharius asked.

  She nodded and glanced at her feet. ‘The underhive,’ she said. ‘It’s a lawless place but the priests don’t hold too much sway down there. No one does.’

  She sounded as if she had first-hand experience of that. She was right too. When you’re in trouble in a hive city there is only one way to go – down. It is proverbial that everything rolls that way in a hive – poverty, excrement, crime.

  ‘Lead on,’ said Macharius. He looked drained but there was no strain in his voice.

  We made for the nearest ramp and started our trip to the bottom. No one paid too much attention to us. The city was in an uproar. Sensible people were keeping off the streets. The heretics assumed we were with them. We avoided any sounds of fighting.

  At first, we went through the prosperous areas with commercia and factorums and reasonably well-maintained hab-blocks. As we kept on with our downward progress, things started to look a little grimmer. The blocks were not so nicely built; the people were not so well-dressed. More and more trash was piled up against the walls until the heaps of rotting stuff looked like great buttresses. More and more locals stared at us and then walked on. We were wearing blood-stained robes with medical symbols on them. We were carrying weapons. It was no wonder that people stared at us and equally it was no wonder that they left us alone.

  Groundcars swept by. On the upper levels they had been well-maintained, some of them had even been luxurious: the vehicles of administrators and well-off merchants and all the vast cloud of hangers-on that surround the nobles of the upper hive. The lower we went, the less luxurious the cars became, the more dented, the less well-maintained. The paintwork was chipped and rusty, the engines squeaked and roared. More and more transit trains passed overhead and gigantic, multi-trailered buses carried the hive dwellers home from their work. It was astonishing in its way. Above us, war had come to the upper levels. Down here life went on as it always did. People had to make a living. They kept their heads down.

  I saw more priests than I had seen since we arrived in Irongrad. One or two of those give us strange looks but no one approached us although one or two headed towards the public vox communications systems. Anton wanted to chase them but the Understudy said no. I understood his logic. It would only draw attention to us and we needed to keep moving.

  Macharius looked tired and pale. For a man of his age, getting over major surgery, he was incredibly fit. It was a tribute to how well the juvenat treatments had taken but he was still recovering from his wounds. He was not at his full strength. He had come this far on willpower. It was a commodity he possessed in abundance but I wondered how long even his ferocious determination could keep driving his damaged body. He was reeling now and looked like he would have fallen over if the Understudy had not helped steady him.

  We found a huge public elevator and we rode it down as far as it would go. One by one the crowd that surrounded us thinned out – leaving through the exits that would take them to whatever hovel they called home. Every time we looked out the scene got dimmer – there were fewer lights on and whatever roads led away from the elevator door looked emptier and emptier. Eventually, a red light flashed and a warning klaxon sounded and some sort of automated speaking system told us to vacate the elevator. We obeyed and strode out into a dimly lit public thoroughfare. I could almost feel the weight of the hive pressing down upon us. We must have come down several kilometres from where we had been through multiple layers of the hive city.

  We were moving for the sake of moving, not because we had any idea of where we wanted to go. I think it was an instinctive urge to find a lair and hole up. I began to study our surroundings ever more carefully. If you grew up in a hive city, like I did, they were the sort to make you wary. Great sparking cables of ripped out wire descended from the ceilings like vines dripping from jungle trees. Stacks of rubbish and rubble piled up against the walls, narrowing the streets into funnelled walkways. Fungus grew around stagnant pools of urine and leaked sewage. Huge rats scuttled from burrow to burrow, their semi-intelligent eyes gleaming as they chittered to each other. Groups of equally hungry and feral-looking youths armed with ill-maintained weapons eyed us warily. I understood why – they were wondering who we were, if our bloodstained medical robes were the insignia of some new gang. I thought it best if they kept wondering. It provided us with some local cover.

  Trash fires burned in the gloom. For the first time the metal angels with their fiery wings showed signs of being defaced. What was all the more impressive was that sometimes their gaseous pinions were the only source of illumination in what were increasingly becoming mere tunnels.

  And yet if you knew what you were looking for there were the signs of a culture of sorts and even an economy. Vendors sold skewered rat-meat roasted on braziers. Street sellers hawked ammunition and holy symbols. They had spread their wares out on rotting tapestries resting on fallen columns, broken plinths and what looked like looted pews from Temples. Their makeshift shops were set up under the arches of overhead viaducts.

  We came across a vast bazaar where second-hand clothes were sold alongside all of the necessities of underhive life – synthetic proteins and carbofoods, ammunition, war-gear, toys and amulets. Fortune tellers did a thriving business and hooded figures scuttled round the edges. Once I caught sight of a face so disfigured it was difficult to tell whether it had been marred by mutation, radiation burns or some exotic disease. Possibly it was all three.

  The most reassuring thing, strange to say, was that there were no priests visible, and mad-eyed preachers ranted all manner of strange and unsettling sermons as the crowd passed by. We had local currency and we bought food and what the seller claimed was purified water. Our money went a lot further down here than it had closer to the surface and I realised how much we off-world invaders had been overcharged compared to the locals.

  No one paid any attention to my accent when I spoke. No one seemed too curious as to where we had come from. I realised that if we wanted we could most likely begin new lives down here. Our life expectancy would most likely be greater than if we remained soldiers of the Emperor on the surface.

  It’s not as hard as you would think finding a place to stay in the underhive. There are plenty of holes in the wall and abandoned hovels that you can take over but there are also plenty of gangs who have an interest – they have territory to defend, tithes to extract and simple bullying fun to be had with their victims.

  We found a burned-out shopfront that no one seemed interested in and we made camp there. To tell the truth, it was considerably better than some of the places I have slept while on campaign.

  Macharius lay inside, his back against a wall, his weapons close at hand. He did not look well. It seemed as if the strain of fighting his way clear of the hospice and then finding the way down here had taken a greater toll on him than I at first realised.

  Anna sat beside him applying chemicals from the medical pack. She did this with all the competence of a real nurse or a medical adept. She even had some sort of sensor-altar which she attached to him and invoked. Macharius lay there watching her. Sometimes he closed his eyes as if asleep. I wondered if he was ever going to open them again.

  The Understudy watched her. Corporal Hesse stood by the door and smiled at passers-by in a menacing fashion. Anton and Ivan were with him. The New Boy stood in a darkened corner. Sensibly, he had a lasgun in his hands.

  Naturally, the arrival of a group of well-armed men did not go unnoticed by the local youth. A deputation arrived to enquire as to our business and find out how much we were willing to pay for the privilege of their protection.

  I
stood back in the shadows with my shotgun in my hand and I observed the newcomers. They were typical underhive scum of the sort that were all too familiar on Belial. Of course, here they were dressed differently. On Belial they might have worn long leather trenchcoats and goggle masks. Here they favoured flowing robes and rebreathers all in varying shades of red. Most of them had facial tattoos depicting flames. They had similar tattoos on their arms and shaven heads. Some of them had skeletons in burning cages as well. The basic message seemed to be, as it is on every world, that they were alienated outsiders who were not afraid to die. Which was good, I thought, because I was perfectly prepared to kill them.

  ‘You must pay,’ said the tall burly one who was obviously the leader. His shaven head was marked with a flaming skull. It made a nice target for me to point my shotgun at. ‘You must pay and you must swear allegiance to the Khan of the Flames. If you do not, you will die.’ He slapped the autogun holstered at his side for emphasis.

  ‘That’s all very well,’ the Understudy said. ‘Ask the Khan to come here and we will see if he is worthy of our fealty.’

  ‘You’re talking to him,’ said the ganger. ‘You want to swear or you want to die.’

  The Understudy looked at the small troop of tattooed maniacs following the Khan. I could see the calculation he was doing in his head. They outnumbered us but not by much. They were well armed but not as well armed as we were.

  ‘I propose an alternative,’ said the Understudy.

  ‘What is that? the Khan asked.

  ‘You can swear allegiance to me and I won’t kill you.’ The Khan went for his gun. I stepped forwards and pulled the trigger. Where the Khan’s head had been was only a bloody stump of neck. Anton and Ivan raised their lasguns and suddenly the Understudy was there with a pistol in one hand and a grenade in the other.

  The gangers just looked at us as if not quite understanding what had happened. They were used to bullying tradespeople and other underhive feebs. I don’t think they were used to people who were even more ruthless than they were. ‘Go away and don’t bother us,’ the Understudy said. ‘And don’t come back unless there are more than a hundred of you. I’d like some target practice.’

  It was terrifying the way he said it. There was no emotion in it. He was simply stating a fact. It made me shiver and I was not the one he was threatening. The gangers turned on their heels and ran and I can’t say I blamed them.

  ‘What to do now?’ Corporal Hesse asked in a parody of the Khan’s speech style. We stood in a small group by the entrance, watching the street. It was dark save for the light of angels’ wings. Small groups of people lurked in the pools of shadow, watching us watching them.

  Anton looked pointedly over at where the wounded Macharius lay. ‘I think we wait for the man to tell us that.’

  ‘What if he can’t?’ Hesse asked.

  ‘Then he will,’ Anton nodded at the Understudy.

  ‘Chain of command,’ said Ivan. ‘I am surprised you need us to tell you that.’

  ‘I was more thinking of foraging for food and keeping the priests off our back,’ said Hesse. ‘And maybe being ready in case some of the local gangers decide to pay us a return visit.’

  ‘We’re as ready as we are ever going to be,’ I said.

  ‘We need to find out what is going on,’ Hesse said. ‘How it is going with our lads on the surface. How the war is going.’

  ‘Our lads are most likely being herded into cages and set alight,’ said Anton.

  ‘That’s going to make things a bit difficult,’ said Hesse. He slumped down thoughtfully with his back to the wall and his lasgun in front of him. He looked at us and then the Understudy and Macharius then back at the street. ‘It’s a pretty small fighting force to take back a world but I suppose it can be done.’

  ‘Your faith is touching,’ said a cold voice from near the doorway. All of us went for our weapons. None of us were sure how such a large man could have snuck up on us without us noticing. The figure was tall and lean and his face was covered by a cowl and yet there was something familiar about his manner and those features we could see.

  ‘Put the guns down,’ he said. ‘You are not going to shoot me.’

  Anna had her weapon pointed directly at his head. He made some sort of gesture with his hand and she lowered it slowly. I told myself it was not some form of psychic control. It was merely an understood signal.

  He said it with the same sort of utter certainty that Macharius might have done but there was none of Macharius’s warmth in his voice. He pulled down the cowl so we could get a look at his face. All of us recognised his features. We had seen him accompanying Macharius on the very first day of campaign.

  ‘I am High Inquisitor Drake,’ he said. I shuddered; back then I had heard only the vaguest of rumours about the Inquisition, the sort of scuttlebutt you picked up from people who knew people who knew people who had heard something once on a campaign three systems away. The Inquisition was feared by men who feared almost nothing else. I was destined to understand why. At the time, I found Drake frightening enough and I did not even know one tenth of the reasons I ought to be afraid.

  The Understudy looked up at him. He had not lowered his gun but he did not look like he was planning on using it either.

  ‘How did you find us?’ he asked. Drake’s fingers stabbed out at Macharius. ‘I found the Lord High Commander. He has a most distinctive aura. You should be grateful that none of the Angel’s more devout worshippers are as familiar with it as I am.’

  ‘You are a psyker?’ Anton asked. He gulped as he said it but the words came out anyway. I could tell the fact that Drake was a psyker scared him in a way that the fact that Drake was an inquisitor never would.

  ‘I am overwhelmed by your powers of deduction,’ Drake said. He walked over to where Macharius lay and looked down at him. He glanced at Anna and she nodded to him. Clearly there was some sort of understanding between the two of them. Drake passed a hand through the air over Macharius’s recumbent form and nodded, as if satisfied by something that none of the rest of us understood. ‘He will recover.’

  He said it with utter certainty. It came to me then and there that I disliked the inquisitor and likely always would, even though we were on the same side. Let me rephrase that – my suspicion is that I was on the same side as him. He was on his own side, whatever that was.

  ‘How did you escape?’ I asked, just to show I was not afraid, although I was.

  ‘The heretics attacked our quarters. I departed. They did not see me.’ He said it as if it was simple. Perhaps for him it was.

  ‘You left all your people behind?’ The words just came out of my mouth before I could stop them.

  ‘You are judging me?’ There was a dangerous edge to his voice now. He was not a man used to being questioned. He was a man to be feared. The fact that he had found his way here without aid told me that. I felt like I ought to say something but I could not. Resentment was at war with fear. The cold grey eyes bored into mine. They seemed to look right through me. Perhaps they did. A tiny smile quirked his thin lips as if something he was looking at amused him.

  ‘I saved those I could,’ he said.

  ‘Where are they now?’ Anton asked. ‘We could use the reinforcements.’

  ‘They are where they will be most useful. And if an ill fate befalls us they will be useful to those who come after. There are things on this world that the Imperium must be warned of.’

  ‘And what would those be?’ The Understudy’s rasping delivery was calmer than mine would have been under the circumstances.

  ‘This world is steeped in the darkest sort of heresy.’ Anton shot me an I-told-you-so look. ‘The priests of the Angel of Fire are worse than anything you have encountered before, Private Lemuel.’

  I did not need to ask how he knew. Doubtless as an inquisitor he would have access to our campaign histories. He saw me staring at him and for once misinterpreted my thoughts.

  ‘Yes, I know who you are. I lo
oked into the backgrounds of all those assigned to guard Macharius. I know you are loyal and I know you are decorated for bravery.’

  It was an alarming thought that we had come to the attention of this cold, vain and supremely powerful man. Having an inquisitor look closely at you was worse even than having a commissar do so. I wondered if he had been in touch with Anna before this. I did not doubt that they would know each other. They were of a kind. I wondered whether she was another inquisitor.

  ‘You were saying about the priests of the Angel of Fire,’ the Understudy said.

  ‘I fear their cult is merely concealment for something older and much darker. Their use of unsanctioned psykers tends to confirm that but it is what those psykers are in touch with that troubles me.’

  ‘And what would that be, my friend?’ Macharius’s rich, powerful voice carried easily through the chamber. How long had he been awake and listening? It was possible he had been so the whole time. Macharius was a man who liked to seize whatever advantage in whatever situation he found himself.

  ‘Something daemonic,’ Drake said, without missing a beat. His gaze focused on the Lord High Commander and there was respect there and a challenge, and something else. I am not sure what. He had that look you sometimes see on the faces of the wounded when they are about to experience a religious conversion. Why an inquisitor would look at Macharius that way I do not know. I heard Anton gasp but when I looked at him he seemed secretly pleased. He was caught up in the sort of high drama he had only ever read about. I wished him luck with that. It was the sort of drama I could live without ever seeing.

  ‘You are certain?’ Macharius asked. His tone was flat and fatal.

  Drake nodded. ‘I told you as much when the reports started coming in from my agents.’

  ‘How bad is it?’ Macharius was not going to give even a high inquisitor a chance to say I told you so.

  ‘As bad as can be. There are strange currents in the air now and odd and terrible rituals are being performed. Every death those blasphemers have caused contributes to it. Something is feeding on it.’