by Dan Abnett
‘My, but you’re beautiful,’ Teke said to me, regarding me intently. ‘As beautiful as the boy. Those eyes, that mouth. The hard absence of soul. It’s such a shame he’s been spoiled.’
‘What do you mean?’ I asked again, more urgently.
‘What is your name?’ the smile asked.
‘Tell him!’ gabbled Alace Quatorze. ‘For Throne’s sake, tell him!’
‘I am Bequin,’ I said.
Teke took a step towards me, smiling. He made a curious gesture with his left hand, and all the petals in the room flew up from the floor like a swarm of insects, encircled him, and clothed him. Suddenly, he was wearing a full bodysuit of soft pink. The sweet smell grew stronger, like some odour of sanctity.
‘Did you know,’ he asked me, ‘that of all the multifarious species of the galaxy, the human race is the only one in which nulls naturally occur?’
He looked at me.
‘The only one,’ he repeated. ‘Only the human race breeds weapons that can silence the warp.’
I did not reply.
‘You, Bequin,’ he said, ‘you will serve the Children, but Judika will not be suitable. He has come to us too late. The King has already tampered with him.’
Judika’s coughing fit had become so bad that he had fallen to his knees. Mamzel Quatorze was trying to help him.
‘Renner!’ I cried. ‘Lucrea! Please! Help me with Judika. We must make him comfortable. Help me carry him out and fetch him water!’
Lightburn, Lucrea and Shadrake were in the doorway behind us, too alarmed to fully enter.
Teke was suddenly beside me. He had moved without me seeing it. He took hold of Judika and lifted him clear off the ground as one might pick up a cat or a child.
‘He can’t leave,’ Teke said. ‘Even hurt like this, he’s too dangerous.’
‘Let him go!’ I cried.
Teke did not, but he shot a look at me. His smile remained, but there was no smile in his eyes.
‘What ails poor Judika so?’ he asked. ‘He is hurt badly, isn’t he?’
Holding him off the ground with one hand, Teke tore Judika’s coat and shirt away with his other. He stripped off Judika’s upper garments. We all suddenly saw the wound in Judika’s side.
It wasn’t a physical wound. It was a mark, a weal that seemed to run across the fabric of his reality, like a distortion in space rather than damage to flesh. It was awful to see. I wondered what manner of thing could have left such a mark on him.
Teke raised the helpless Judika up so he could stare closely at the wound. He sniffed it. He delicately extended an alarmingly long tongue and licked it.
‘Word Bearer,’ he said.
‘They are here, smiling one,’ Alace Quatorze said agitatedly. ‘I have just learned as much.’
‘Here?’ asked Teke, glancing at her. His teeth flashed white. ‘Those byblow scum are here on Sancour? Sniffing around and hungry, I’ll be bound. One of their blades did this. One of their cursed weapons. One of the edges soiled with the toxic words of their chattering sire.’
‘Please, let him go,’ I said.
Teke looked at me, shrugged diffidently, and simply let Judika go. My friend fell to the ground with a bone-bruising force. He writhed in pain, still coughing. I started forwards, but Lightburn grabbed me and pulled me back.
Teke stooped down at Judika’s side. He stroked Judika’s hair.
‘Really?’ he said. ‘Do you persist? What will it take to dislodge it? I thought a fall might have weakened its grip. Must I dash you against the ground repeatedly? Come on. Out you come. Out you come.’
Judika began to shudder and convulse. I suddenly heard the laughter of children all around us. We all heard it. It was like ghosts dancing around the walls of the room, echoes of past lives that haunted the ancient house.
A bloodshot light filled the room. It welled up out of Judika. It was the thought-form.
It was unmistakably Grael Magent.
‘Oh no you don’t,’ tutted Teke. ‘This is no time for last stands.’
He reached out his right hand without looking. One of the golden ribbons coiled over the arm of his throne whirled up into the air towards him. By the time it was in his hand, it had become a straight, slender longsword made of chased gold. Still crouched, he whirled it in his hand so he was gripping it blade-down like a dagger, and stabbed it down through Judika.
The blade skewered him to the floor. He was pinned like a butterfly, like an insect specimen on a felt pad. The blade must have gone at least half a metre into the ground. I screamed, I think, in utter horror, but my cry was lost in the much more terrible scream that rang out. It was like the one I had heard in the brass reading room. Again, the universe shrieked. Reality squealed. It was even worse than before. The material universe split at the puncture point, and the bloodshot energy of the thought-form boiled, seethed and then blew away like dust.
Judika, impaled, went into horrible convulsions, drumming his limbs on the ground. Then he went limp. His head flopped back and his mouth lolled open. His eyes rolled dead and white. The laughter of children went away, erased in the dying echoes of the scream.
Something slipped out of his open mouth onto the floor beside his face. It rolled out, white and wet, like a spit-ball. It was the size of a rose bloom. I realised that the frothy white spittle covering it and trailing from it back to Judika’s lips was cobweb. It crackled as it moved, the web making a hard, crisp sound like vox static.
The object uncoiled, parting the web that wrapped it.
It was a spider, a blind white thing, an albino relic from some lightless cave. It had come out of Judika’s throat, out of his chest.
Its legs waved helplessly.
Teke the Smiling One rose and crushed it under his right foot. He ground it into the floor. There was a certain relish to the way he did this. I could hear the static vox crackle of the webbing as he mashed it.
‘May all the Eight perish in such fashion,’ he said.
‘The Eight?’ I whispered, my mind uncomprehending.
He smiled his smile at me.
‘Your friend was one of them. Did you not know? He would have made you one too. One of the Eight. Eight for the legs. Eight for the points. And eight because that’s what they ate.’
Teke drew the sword out. He walked back to his throne and let go of his longsword. By the time it struck the throne’s high arm, it was just a strand of golden ribbon again, and it draped across the arm-rest onto the floor. Teke stood, his back to us, and stretched his arms wide, as though he was tired and bored. I ran to Judika, and knelt by him. He was dead. He was already cold. His corpse stank of the thought-form’s psychomagic. A shadow of the bloodshot light clung to him.
I was already in a heightened, distressed state because of the murder of my friend. On top of that, I seemed to be facing incontrovertible proof that he had been Grael Magent, or that Grael Magent had somehow resided within him. Was that why the thought-form had interceded on my behalf against Sister Tharpe in the attics of the Maze Undue? Was that why it had broken in to save me from Hodi and the mediators? Jude’s warp-wound hadn’t been caused indirectly during the turmoil at the basilica. He had been at the heart of it. Scarpac’s cursed blade had done it.
He had hurt himself cruelly trying to rescue me from their clutches.
What was he? How had he become this thing? Or how had he come to be its vessel? What did that say about the secret operation, and the candidates, of the Maze Undue?
What did that say about me?
I began to focus on my tempering litany, trying desperately to hear Sister Bismillah’s voice and calmly focus my mind. I knew I would not survive if I could not.
Teke turned back to face us.
‘Now,’ he began. He stopped.
I was still kneeling at poor Judika’s side, but I was aiming Judika’s laspistol at the giant in a firm, two-handed grip.
‘Stay there,’ I said.
‘Don’t be foolish,’ the smile said.
I rose slowly, still aiming.
‘Stay there,’ I said.
‘Don’t!’ Alace Quatorze blurted. ‘Don’t anger him! Don’t provoke him. My dear, you have no idea what you’re risking–’
‘Be quiet,’ I told her without looking at her. My focus was Teke. ‘We’re leaving. You will not prevent us.’
‘Are you really so upset that I killed your friend?’ Teke’s smile asked. ‘He wasn’t your friend, you know. You do know that, don’t you? He was a bastard of the Eight, a hybrid of the King’s inner circle. A eudaemon thrall. He was no friend to you. He and his ilk wanted you to become one of them. It was your destiny.’
The smile broadened.
‘It wasn’t going to be a nice destiny,’ Teke said. ‘Though you wouldn’t have been aware of it once you were in it. It would have twisted you so much you wouldn’t have realised it was a living hell. Because of something you ate, you see? I saved you from that.’
‘Don’t expect any gratitude.’
‘I won’t,’ he said. ‘I just expect your service. You belong to the Children now. We have other, loftier destinies for you.’
‘I refuse,’ I said.
‘You don’t get to refuse,’ replied Teke.
‘Oh, my Throne, stop provoking him!’ Quatorze wailed.
‘We are leaving,’ I stated firmly. I began to back towards the door. The smiling giant took a step forwards.
At the door, Lightburn swept out his man-stopping revolver and aimed it with a hammer-clack. Shadrake and Lucrea cowered behind him.
Now covered by two steadily-aimed weapons, the giant chuckled.
‘A hard-round revolver and a laspistol? Oh my. Whatever will I do?’
‘Shut up and bleed out?’ the Curst suggested.
Teke was looking at me. He took another provocative step.
‘I don’t want to hurt you, Bequin,’ he said.
He paused.
‘Well, of course, I do. Very much. Right up to the unthinkable point where it becomes a pleasure for both of us. But I can’t. I’m not allowed to. You’re too valuable.’
He paused again.
‘So put the gun down. I can’t hurt you, but I will detain you.’
He stopped smiling for a second. In less time than it takes for a human heart to beat, I knew that the talking was done.
He started to move, a blur. Alace Quatorze screamed. I fired.
The las-round, a dart of hard white light, split Teke’s left cheek and left a scorched groove. Lightburn’s first round tore into the giant’s ribcage from the side.
Neither stopped him.
He reached me, grabbed me, and threw me aside. I fell, rolled and tried to hold on to my weapon. Lightburn was still firing, emptying every chamber of his gun. Flattened lumps of metal, the impact-squashed remains of his bullets, fell off Teke’s soft, pink bodyglove and rang off the floor like coins.
Teke gestured at the Curst. A storm of pink rose petals flew from his arm, reducing the length of the sleeve and baring his skin. The petals swirled at Renner. He staggered and tried to fight them off, but they swept him to the ground. He struggled and fought, trying to protect his face and ears, like a man being attacked by a cloud of angry bees.
Teke was half-turned from me. Still prone, I started to fire again, punching las-round after las-round into his long, broad back. I saw burned black punctures appear like craters on a pink-dust moonscape. He snapped around at me. His smile was back. As he leapt towards me, he reached out his right hand, and a gold ribbon flew into it from the throne. The ribbon became a golden longsword. The sword became a blur. My laspistol became two pieces of destroyed laspistol, the snout and muzzle severed from the grip. The cut edges of the metal were bright and sharp, sliced with impossible precision.
He reached for me. I punched what was left of the pistol I was holding into his chest, so that the razor-sharp cut edges sheared into him. It drew blood. Still smiling, he looked surprised. He back-hand slapped me and the blow threw me across the floor towards the door. I heard him padding forwards after me to sweep me up.
I set my cuff to dead.
He snarled and staggered back, momentarily pinched by my blankness.
‘Run!’ I yelled. Shadrake, Lucrea and Alace Quatorze were already running back through the aula magna. Lightburn scrambled up. The swarm attacking him had turned back into rose petals and had fallen off him, dead. I caught his arm and we ran together. Behind us, Teke raged out a furious cry of frustration.
We reached the end of the aula magna’s nightmare gallery, following Lucrea, Shadrake and Quatorze into the rest of the gloomy house. I looked back.
I could see Teke standing in the bright room where we had found him. My blankness was receding from him. I was far enough away for his psychomagic to return. He clothed himself. The pink petals swirled around him, and formed a new suit of more robust shape. The black oil in the ceramic basin on the floor became a living, gleaming ooze that splashed up his body, wrapped it, and turned several parts of his form glossy black. The two gold ribbons fluttered into his waiting hands and became a pair of long, slender swords.
I saw his true form. It was beautiful and awful where Scarpac’s had been grotesque and beautiful, but it was the same.
Teke was a Traitor Marine. He was magnificent, like a true predator. Gleaming pink and glossy black and shimmering gold, he sprang after us.
CHAPTER 34
Which concerns transition
We ran, slamming doors behind us. The old, dark house shook. He was behind us, howling in a feral, sing-song voice.
Screams echoed from other parts of Feverfugue, out of the darkness of night and trees that enclosed the place. I imagined it was servants and household staff, woken in terror by involuntary nightmares.
‘We need to get away from here!’ I yelled at Alace Quatorze. ‘Where are your motor carriages kept?’
‘There’s no time for that!’ she wailed in reply. ‘Teke is too fleet! He is too quick and clever! We’d never even get off the grounds.’
I believed she was right.
‘Why would you consort with a being like that?’ Lightburn raged. He was trying to reload his revolver as he ran, but the effort was doomed.
‘For the gifts he bestows,’ Alace Quatorze cried. ‘For the promises he makes!’
We ran into another room and slammed the heavy doors. I looked at Alace Quatorze.
‘That doesn’t seem enough,’ I said.
‘You haven’t seen the gifts,’ said Shadrake. He was breathing very hard, already out of breath.
‘My family was great once,’ said Alace Quatorze. ‘The name Glaw was respected across subsectors. We had power and influence, but we were brought low. An alliance with the Children could restore our fortunes. In return for our help in the materium, they would favour us in the immaterium. I could–’
‘You’re insane,’ I pointed out.
We doubled back into another wing, hoping to confuse or even shake off the pursuit. The walls were red plaster and the floors were black marble, all picked out by the vague glow of the occasional candle or sconce. Some rooms had furniture, but there was no sign of life or proper habitation. Feverfugue was a structure that resembled a grand home, but only superficially. No actual life dwelt there. It was like a stage set.
Screams still echoed from rooms above. We could hear doors being smashed.
‘Is there a way out of here?’ I asked. ‘Can we hide in the woods?’
‘You cannot hide from him,’ Alace Quatorze said emphatically.
‘Perhaps,’ I said. ‘But he cannot hide from us, either.’
I turned to Shadrake, grabbed him, and searched his pockets until I found his sighting glass. He protested feebly, and tried to fight me off.
I raised the glass, and, through it, saw the skeletal ghost of the house, the imprint of its structures and walls upon reality, and the folds that these made where they conjoined with other spaces. I saw deranged geometries inside the spatial engine
ering of the world I understood.
And I saw Teke. He was visible as a hot white silhouette. He was racing from room to room, from hall to hall, searching for us. My blankness was, I believe, disconcerting him, and making him unable to trust his transhuman senses and his armour’s formidable sensory apparatus, not to mention the warp-magic that came so easily to him. He seemed frustrated and enraged. He kept stopping to vent his anger on doors or walls or even furniture by shredding them with his twinned blades.
He also, I felt with a cold dismay, seemed to be enjoying it. He was enjoying the hunt. It was prolonging the pleasure of achieving the kill.
Every time he turned our way, or seemed to sense where we were, I guided us in an opposite or contradictory direction. The glass led me. We were able, several times, to double-back and even pass very close by him, without him realising, sometimes at no greater distance of separation than a wall. We heard him, snorting and hissing, laughing and bewailing. We heard his swords rend and slice. We stayed a few steps away from him, and kept him at bay.
Or was he, I wondered after a while, just playing with us?
We suddenly found ourselves in a small courtyard. We’d opened a door and it had led us out. It was cold and dark. Black trees hissed against a black sky beyond the black eaves. The air smelled wet. I could see a faint hint of moon-glow behind the trees.
‘Oh, you dangerous witch!’ Alace Quatorze cried. ‘Look what you’ve done! Look where you’ve led us!’
‘Where?’ I asked.
‘You’ve taken us through!’ Shadrake laughed, startled.
‘You’ve taken us too far,’ spat Alace Quatorze. ‘You’ve taken us to the City of Dust.’
I turned and looked at her.
‘That’s nonsense. A myth,’ I said.
‘No myth,’ said Shadrake.
‘If there is a City of Dust at all,’ I insisted, ‘then it is out beyond the Sunderland in the desert. Not here, through a door in your miserable old house.’
‘But it is, that is the point,’ said Alace Quatorze. ‘In the long ago, Orphaeus moved the twin city sideways, out of line with Queen Mab, so that it stood like a dusty shadow cast by one city into the other. It is the extimate shadow of Queen Mab. It was the first step in his construction of a bridgehead in the immaterium.’