The foreman scratched at his beard and stared at the floor. ‘I don’t rightly know, Mr Tavis,’ he said. ‘The slaves found a dead body and revolted. Several of my men got hurt in the riot.’
‘If they can’t defend themselves against unarmed slaves, why am I even paying them?’ Tavis once again questioned the choice of Grondle as foreman. He’d come highly recommended, but the man was obviously incompetent. Perhaps his information had been tainted by jealousy. Not every guilder could afford his own dome and his rivals would love to see him fail.
‘They did defend themselves, sir,’ said Grondle. He began to stammer. ‘They… they killed many of the slaves. It was horrible.’
‘Why did they stop?’ asked Tavis.
‘Sir?’
Tavis drummed his fingers on the desk. ‘Why did your men stop killing the slaves?’ Grondle’s face showed Tavis the answer. His eyes went wide and his mouth opened in astonishment. The fat man obviously didn’t have the stomach for it.
Tavis rolled his eyes and sighed. ‘You ordered them to cease fire, didn’t you?’ he asked.
Surprisingly, Grondle shook his head. ‘No, sir,’ he said. ‘No. Mr Tavis.’ Grondle wrung his hands together. His discomfort was more pronounced than usual. ‘It was the body,’ he continued. ‘Everyone just stopped when it started to glow.’
Tavis stared at Grondle, unsure he had heard that last bit correctly. ‘Which body did what?’
Grondle started talking very fast, as if Tavis had pulled a cork from his mouth, and the whole story of the miracle body and the riot came pouring out. ‘After that,’ he said, wringing his hands again, ‘I told Ander to just keep an eye on the slaves while I come talk to you. I figure with a show of force, we can get the slaves working again. They have us outnumbered right now and seem willing to fight to the death over this miracle body.’
Tavis nodded and smiled. ‘I’m glad you came here personally to bring this to my attention,’ he said.
Grondle wiped one meaty paw across his forehead and Tavis watched in dismay as sweat trickled off the large man’s palm onto the recently-cleaned rug. ‘This gives me a chance to tell you two things,’ continued Tavis. ‘First, you’re an idiot. And second, you’re fired.’
Tavis stood and looked at the door. ‘Meru?’ he called. ‘Come in here!’
His assistant entered. ‘Escort this poor excuse for a human being from the premises, and then contact the captain of my guards. I will need several squads at my disposal within the quarter hour.’
Grondle looked at him with a furrowed brow, as if to say, ‘That was my idea.’
Tavis shook his head. ‘Your problem, Grondle, is thinking you can fix the problem by simply adding more guards to the site. That so-called miracle body has ruined the slaves, given them hope. You can never crush that out of them. No. We must kill them all – wipe the slate clean – and start over.’
As Grondle left the room, Tavis called after him, ‘And don’t come around looking for severance pay. If I see you again, you’ll be the one slaving away in chains.’
Bobo halted in the dark and waited. He’d been following Crimson and his men for quite some time and it was getting tougher to stay close enough to see them without giving himself away. Long dark tunnels were great when you had to hide; not so great when you had to follow someone through them.
It seemed like his steps echoed for miles like claps of thunder. He didn’t dare light his torch in the unfamiliar tunnel, so he had to pick his way through, keeping a hand on the tunnel wall, with only the bobbing torches up ahead to guide him.
It had been easier at first. When Crimson stormed out of his office and ordered his personal guard to follow, Bobo had retreated into a side tunnel and found a hidey hole. Crimson and the gang marched by moments later with all the stealth of a Scaly.
He’d followed from a safe distance through the tunnel, comfortable that there was only one exit they were likely to use, as all others in the area led to the wilds – and the mutants who lived there – or back to Redemptionist holdings. Crimson was on the warpath, which meant heading into or through Dust Falls.
Tailing through a settlement was even easier. With people around, Bobo always disappeared into the background. He was so nondescript as to be nearly invisible in any group larger than two.
From there, Crimson headed into a tunnel that Bobo had heard was abandoned. After a while he realised why. The walls even near the settlement were badly cracked. Dust – jarred loose from his passing – dropped from cracks and settled on his head and shoulders. After the first ten metres, the tunnel got so dark he had to slow to a crawl.
He’d pressed on for a while, through twists and turns, stumbling on fallen debris and once running into a wall. After a moment, he realised the tunnel must have slid to the side about a metre during a hivequake.
So, now he waited. It was time to use the torch. The dust was still falling. He had to shake it out of his hair every few minutes or it mixed with his sweat and got into his eyes. He figured he could wait for Crimson’s gang to get out of torch sight and then follow their trail through the dust.
The light ahead finally winked out, so Bobo flicked a switch and his torch flared to life. The cracks in the walls were far worse in this section. In fact the cracks had become gaping holes where the concrete had failed completely, leaving nothing but a lattice of reinforced iron bars running through metal beams. Beyond that was a black emptiness that even his torch couldn’t penetrate.
‘This is fun,’ said Bobo, feeling less secure about his situation now than he did with the lights off. ‘Sure, Kal, I’ll help. No problem.’ Bobo shook off the feeling of dread and moved forward, following the scuffling trail through the dust. He kept one eye on the floor and the other off in the distance, watching for Crimson’s light.
Bobo made good time for a while until the trail disappeared. He flashed his torch ahead of him, but the tunnel simply ended in a huge, gaping hole. The floor fell away, leaving a jagged line of concrete and twisted rebar bent down into the inky blackness.
He inched his way to the edge and aimed his light all around. Past the walls and the shredded ends of reinforced bars, he couldn’t see anything within the range of his light. If Crimson and his gang had descended into the gaping blackness, Bobo couldn’t tell how.
Bobo decided it was time to call Kal. In fact, he probably should have let him know Crimson was on the move long ago. He tapped his ear to activate the communication device. ‘Um… Kal?’ he said. ‘Kal? Do you hear me? Tap your ear to respond.’
‘Bobo,’ said Kal in his ear. ‘What’s going on?’
‘I don’t know how to tell you this,’ said Bobo. ‘But I just lost Crimson.’
Kal found it disconcerting to hear a voice inside his head and walk through the Underhive at the same time, so he stepped behind a pile of collapsed masonry as they talked. Bobo told him how Crimson and his goon squad had left the Redemptionist caverns and trudged halfway through the Underhive, and how he’d come to a dead end somewhere past Dust Falls.
‘Well, I’m in Glory Hole now,’ said Kal. ‘It seems our Mr Francks was also on the move this morning, which may explain Crimson’s march. I suspect Crimson hired your two assassin friends to kill Francks. I found the second one dead, by the way.’
‘Why does Crimson want Francks dead?’ asked Bobo, ‘And why is Nemo so interested in keeping him alive?’
‘I think the answer to both questions is information,’ said Kal. ‘This all has something to do with a body from Crimson’s past. The Cardinal wants to keep the past dead and Nemo wants to dig it up.’
‘Where does Francks come in?’
‘I don’t have all the pieces yet,’ said Kal. He thought he heard a commotion from down the street, but it might have come from Bobo’s side of the conversation. It was difficult to discern internal from external. ‘I need to get to Francks before Crimson, though.’
‘Do you need some help?’ asked Bobo. ‘I can probably get to Glory Hole in thirty m
inutes.’
‘No. Francks is leaving quite a trail, so I doubt I’ll have much trouble finding him.’
‘There he is!’
‘Did you find Crimson?’ asked Kal. ‘Or Francks?’
‘What?’ said Bobo.
‘You just said there he is,’ replied Kal.
‘No I didn’t,’ said Bobo.
‘Get him!’
‘Helmawr’s rump,’ said Kal. ‘Gotta run!’
Kal glanced down the street to see a dozen Goliaths heading straight toward him. They were armed with everything from laspistols and shotguns to what he swore was his grenade launcher.
‘How in the Spire did they get that?’ he cried as he bolted out of the alley and down the street away from them.
‘What’s going on?’ asked Bobo in his head. ‘How did who get what?’
Kal panted as he ran. ‘Can’t talk,’ he said. ‘Goliaths.’ Kal tapped his ear, hoping that would turn off the stupid device.
The sound of weapons fire behind him made Kal dive to the side. Bullets pinged the ground at his feet while dirt and concrete shards flew into the air where the las-blasts hit. He rolled to his feet and darted around a corner.
About halfway down the next street Kal skidded to a stop. The well-dressed debt collector was walking right toward him.
‘Mr Jerico,’ he called. ‘You are Mr Kal Jerico, are you not?’
Kal thought the man had an oddly formal accent for a Van Saar but he didn’t have time to ponder that right now. ‘Sorry bub,’ he said as he ran past. ‘Don’t have time to talk right now. Tell the Re-Engineers I’ll have their money soon.’
The man raised a finger. ‘But I don’t understand…’ he began. The rest of his sentence was cut off by the explosion.
Kal glanced back as he ran. Part of the street behind the debt collector had become a crater. Large chunks of debris rained down all around the poor little guy. He dropped to his knees and covered his head with his hands. Kal was pretty sure he heard the man whimper.
‘Bit of a sissy for a debt collector,’ said Kal. ‘You’d think he’d have some muscle with him.’
And that, Kal realised, was exactly what he needed. It wasn’t too far. He just might make it if his luck held. The weapons fire had stopped after the explosion, and Kal risked another glance over his shoulder.
The Goliaths tromped past the debt collector, making the little man look like a rag doll lying on the street beneath the giant gangers. ‘They do have some sense,’ said Kal as he turned back to concentrate on running. ‘They’re not willing to risk a murder charge on a civilian.’
Kal turned another corner and pulled out his laspistols. He needed to slow them down a little more for this to work, and this was the perfect chance; the only chance. About halfway down the block, Kal leapt into the air, spinning around as he soared. He fired four quick shots at the apex of his leap. They all hit within centimetres of each other.
The corner building he had just passed had an odd front you didn’t often see in the hive; mostly because all the older ones had fallen during hivequakes. The corner of the building was supported by a single column providing a covered entryway underneath.
The four shots chipped away at a cracked rock slab Kal noticed near the base of the column. His spin took him back around to face down the street. He hit the ground running, but heard no building-shattering boom.
‘Scav,’ said Kal. ‘Now what?’
Laspistols and shotguns blasted behind him again, and he knew it was only a matter of time before they tossed more grenades. Then he heard a rumble. Kal glanced back. One of the Goliaths must have tried to cut the corner, because he had smacked into the column, which now lay in a pile of dust at the giant’s feet.
A crack appeared in the wall above the Goliath and started to spread upwards at an alarming rate. The rest of the gang scattered as large chunks of masonry plummeted. Kal ran on. Only a few of the Goliaths had got past the chaos.
Now he had enough time. Two more turns and he was there. Up ahead was Hagen’s Hole, best and only bar in the settlement, home to more bounty hunters than any other spot in the Underhive.
Kal still had his laspistols in hand. As he ran past Hagen’s, he shot twice at the front door. He counted under his breath as he ran. ‘Five. Four. Three. Two. One.’
The door flew open just as the remaining Goliaths ran past. Four burly men charged out, weapons in hand ‘Nobody attacks Hagen’s!’ yelled one of the men. All four opened fire on the Goliaths.
Kal ran on, never looking back. He could no longer stop to ask directions from people who might have seen the mad prophet and his flock of body worshippers, but Kal thought he had a good idea which direction to go.
Bobo lost Crimson in an unused tunnel somewhere past Dust Falls. Before the Goliaths started chasing him, Kal had been following Francks’s trail toward an unused tunnel heading out of Glory Hole. From what Kal remembered, that tunnel used to lead to Dust Falls. It seemed like too much of a coincidence.
‘I’m close,’ said Kal. ‘I can feel it. I just hope I get there in time.’
Behind him, Kal heard a huge explosion. ‘Oh scav,’ he said. ‘Those stupid Goliaths blew up Hagen’s.’
‘Do I know you?’ asked Jobe Francks. The little man didn’t look like much with his shredded shirt and pockmarked skin. Perhaps he’d been in some sort of accident. But Francks had lived most of his life trying not to pre-judge people by their appearance. Truly, after decades in the Wastes, could he do any less?
‘My name is Scabbs,’ replied the scab-covered man. ‘I’m a bounty hunter. Well, tracker actually. Kal is the real bounty hunter. Kal Jerico. I’m sure you’ve heard of him. We’re partners.’
As Scabbs continued talking, Francks looked past him to the glowing body of his dead friend. Bowdie had been placed on a pile of stone and metal with his arms crossed over his chest. His face looked peaceful, serene. He looked just as Francks remembered. Twenty years or more had gone by and Francks had become an old, wild-haired man, but in death, Syris Bowdie had remained young, vibrant and somehow alive.
‘Wait until I tell Kal that I found you,’ continued Scabbs. ‘Well, I guess, technically, you found me. But that can be our little secret, right?’
There was a pause in the little man’s constant stream of words. Francks looked back at Scabbs, who was now staring at him and the body.
‘Why are you here?’ he asked. ‘I mean I’m glad I found you. Kal will be happy because we need you to help get Wotan back. Wotan is Kal’s dog, you see. Well, a cyber-mastiff. But…’
Francks placed a hand on Scabbs’s shoulder, and the talkative fellow immediately went quiet. Francks looked deeply into Scabbs’s eyes and absorbed his pain and fear. The fatigue and tension of a stressful night drained away from his face, and his tired eyes cleared and brightened.
When he released Scabbs from his grip and his gaze, Francks could tell he was at peace. ‘To answer your question,’ he said. ‘I am here for my friend. I am here to bring his message to the world. I am but the messenger of hope. Syris Bowdie is that hope. His is the hope of the Universe.’
‘But he’s dead,’ said a young girl standing next to Scabbs.
‘Death is but one stage of life,’ said Francks. ‘There are others. There is more to life than simply living until you die.’
‘What do we do next?’ asked Scabbs.
Jobe Francks knelt in the dirt beside his friend, basking in the warmth of the friendship he had lost so many years before. ‘For now,’ he said. ‘We wait.’
He looked at Scabbs and saw the fear and doubt returning. ‘But we have to get out of here,’ he said, a note of hysteria creeping into his words. ‘More guards will come and then we will all join your friend in the next stage.’
Francks smiled. He could see the strength inside the little man, but knew that Scabbs still needed others to bolster that strength. ‘All will happen as it happens,’ he said. ‘Do not fear. The Universe has a plan for us all. You will not die this
day, of this I am certain.’
Scabbs smiled and heaved a sigh of relief. He began talking again as his nerves got the better of him. Francks didn’t hear a word of it. His eyes had fallen back upon Syris. The clouds began to swirl around his pupils as the glowing body filled his gaze.
In a moment, the scene in front of Francks transformed. Syris’s body lay in a crumpled heap. The bier and altar had disappeared, as had the crowd of slaves and townspeople. The pile of debris had been replaced by a steep-sided hole.
Francks looked up. He was in the basement of a blasted-out building. A light shone down upon him from the edge of the basement wall above. He squinted to look past the light. At last he could make out the shadowy face of Jules Ignus. He was smiling as he placed the explosive charge.
But when Ignus turned back to look down into the hole one last time, he transformed as well. His skin began to burn away. Huge patches across his body dissolved before Francks eyes, revealing scarred and reddened muscles and pitted bones beneath. His smiling face changed into a gruesome, lipless visage, and the skin around his eyes melted away, leaving the orbs to bob around in an empty space.
Francks felt like he was looking at the ugly spectre of death itself, but knew, somehow, that this was no dream, no metaphor for deeds from the past or visions of the future. This was the present. This was the here and now. The Universe had called him to action. This was his time to shine.
Jobe Francks stood and looked at Scabbs, who stopped talking again as he became caught in the cloudy gaze. ‘I must leave now,’ he said. Scabbs nodded his understanding. ‘We shall not meet again, but I give you this. Keep it safe until it is time.’
He pulled a leather-bound book from beneath his cloak and handed it to Scabbs.
‘Where are you going?’ asked Scabbs.
‘To meet my destiny,’ said Francks. ‘To look into the face of evil and bring it my message.’
With that, Francks walked up the pile of debris, leaving no tracks or trace of his passing.
Crimson peered through the window of the dome hatch, and then spun the wheel. As he pulled the round door open, he motioned Ralan inside. The deacon’s eyes flitted back and forth, peering into the darkness as he crept forward.
Cardinal Crimson Page 17