by William King
‘We are playing a game now, are we?’
‘A very serious one, as you well know, Lord High Commander.’
‘Ah, you use my title, that must mean you are getting ready to slide the blade into my ribs. Metaphorically speaking, of course.’
Drake just looked at him.
‘You were about to slowly and painfully belabour your point,’ Macharius said. He was smiling, bringing the full force of his charm to bear to take the sting out of his words.
‘My point is a very simple one. The men you blame for the corruption are just doing the things that have always been done. They did not set up the system. They grew up with it. They are merely doing what their fathers did before them and their grandfathers before that, and on and on, back perhaps to the time when the Emperor was first immured within his Throne.’
‘So I am to forgive them their incompetence and corruption because their fathers and grandfathers were incompetent and corrupt too?’
Drake sighed, a theatrical display of patience. ‘No, but you should accept that they are only doing what everyone else does and has always done. You are making enemies you don’t need. The people you call corrupt think you are changing the rules simply to suit yourself. They think you are stripping them of their livelihoods and prerogatives for your own self-aggrandisement. They see you reassigning their rights to your own people and think you are worse than they are. They think you are the corrupt one and that you are taking what is theirs.’
‘They are wrong.’
‘From your point of view that is correct. From theirs…’
‘You’re saying I should just accept their corruption?’ Macharius sounded a little annoyed now, which was rare for him.
‘You should accept the reality we live in. You are making enemies, Macharius, where you don’t need to. You sow dragon’s teeth where you could be making friends and allies. Provoke those people enough and they will destroy you. They have power.’
‘So do I.’
‘Yes. At the moment. At this moment you are most likely the most powerful man on the face of creation. You might not always be. Then you will need allies, all the allies you can get. A man who has risen so high has so much further to fall.’
‘That sounded almost like a threat,’ said Macharius.
‘A word of advice is all,’ said Drake.
The great lock of the military shuttle slid open with a hiss of equalising air pressure. Wisps of mist rose as the internal atmosphere mingled with that of Emperor’s Glory.
A large, stocky figure stood framed in the exit. He raised both his arms in greeting and strode down to meet Macharius. General Sejanus had arrived.
He was a broad, powerful man. His hair was starting to fall out and was combed over. His moustache was even more luxuriant than it had been when I first met him, as were his sideburns. His face was red. His nose was snub. He carried himself with a jaunty air, but you did not doubt for a moment that he could be ferocious when called upon to be so. I had opportunity to fight alongside him on many occasions and I knew what a deadly combatant he could be.
He walked forwards on his own, unaccompanied by any troops or bodyguards. They had all been told to wait within the craft until he had greeted Macharius.
‘General Macharius,’ he bellowed, and then he laughed. ‘And who is that tall, skinny bastard I see with you? Surely it can’t be the famous High Inquisitor Drake?’
He embraced Macharius, then the inquisitor, with a startling lack of formality in an officer so senior. He pushed Macharius back to arm’s length and held him there in a vice-like grip. Macharius smiled, seemingly as pleased to see Sejanus as Sejanus was to see him. They had been friends and allies for a very long time, since before either of them became famous.
Drake ignored this blast of bonhomie. ‘You look well,’ he said.
‘I can’t complain. This one…’ he tapped Macharius on the arm with a familiarity few others would have managed, ‘keeps me busy, running all over the sector, crushing insurgents here, smashing xenos there. What are you doing here? I cannot believe it is merely to greet me?’ The question was as sudden, slashing and direct as one of the campaigns for which he was so famous.
‘Apparently he has decided to lecture me on the futility of trying to weed out corruption,’ said Macharius. He made a slight warning hand-signal with his left hand. Obviously this was not the place to be discussing anything secret. If Sejanus noticed it he gave no sign, but in his way he was just as skilled at maintaining a front as Macharius.
‘The administrators count the loot, whine that the Imperium is not getting enough and carry tales back to the toads in the heart worlds, you mean,’ said Sejanus. ‘They line their own pockets while they do so as well, I expect.’
‘I see time and distance have not blunted your pretence of bluff honesty,’ said Drake. He did not sound offended. He sounded like an adult listening to the banter of children, faintly amused and a little weary. ‘I have often admired the perfection of the act.’
Sejanus reached out and slapped him on the back. The impact was as loud as the snap of gunfire. Drake winced.
‘It is good to have you back, Sejanus,’ said Macharius. Clearly he was not going to discuss anything important here and now. ‘I read your dispatches from the front with interest.’
‘Glad you enjoyed them,’ said Sejanus. ‘Dictated them to my secretary while I was storming a heretic citadel. I trust I made myself look good enough to justify some new decorations?’
‘You appeared profoundly heroic,’ said Macharius.
‘Good. My scribe is doing his job then. I should hope so too. I pay the man enough.’ He shot a look at Drake. ‘You still writing those reports of yours?’
‘I confess I am,’ said the inquisitor ‘And I fully intend to write one about this section of our glorious crusade.’
‘Just remember to make me look like a hero then,’ said Sejanus.
‘I shall make you look exactly like you are,’ said Drake with some satisfaction.
‘I can see I am going to need to write my own memoirs, to make sure my true heroism is revealed then,’ said Sejanus. He obviously understood as well. He was a lot sharper than he chose to appear.
‘So the Imperium is getting restless about our conquests, and Drake is getting nervous,’ said Sejanus. He lounged at his ease in a great overstuffed leather armchair and stared around with considerable appreciation at the furnishings of Macharius’s apartments.
There was a lot to appreciate: intricate statues from Silate of Xen showing soldiers in uniforms that were out of fashion when the Emperor had walked among men, three-dimensional holo-paintings of battle scenes depicting Macharius winning his victories on a hundred worlds. I recognised myself in a few of them, an ordinary enough looking face staring out in suspicion and fear, a uniformed man with a shotgun clutched in his hands. The strange thought occurred to me that folk would be looking upon these paintings and seeing me in a thousand years, just as I had looked upon men long dead depicted in paintings in the Museum of Chalcedony Angels on Husk.
‘He thinks I am moving too fast. There is intrigue with the local nobles and governors. The Navy is being uncooperative. The Administratum is becoming suspicious.’
Sejanus lifted his glass of brandy and swirled it. ‘So we can expect a swirl of intrigue and assassinations.’
‘We’ve always had that. We can just expect it to intensify.’ There was silence for a moment, then Macharius spoke. ‘How did it go with the Adeptus Astartes?’
I kept my face bland. I could not keep the shock from my face at his next statement, though.
‘House Belisarius came through. They are interested,’ said Sejanus. ‘Representatives will be arriving soon.’
‘Good. It would be good if they arrived as spectacularly as possible. It will give the spies something interesting to report back to the High Lords.’
Macharius looked at me. ‘You may want to close your mouth now, Lemuel. You look as if you are trying to catch flie
s in it.’
‘You sure he said that?’ Anton asked. He sounded as excited as a child who had been told he would get glowberry cake for his Name Day. ‘You sure he said the Adeptus Astartes?’
‘As certain as I am that I am talking to an idiot,’ I said.
‘You shouldn’t speak about Ivan like that.’
We were on the roof. It was night. The cold stars glittered overhead. Macharius had summoned a new contingent of guards and dismissed me. I looked down. Below us I could see the great geodesic jungle dome Macharius had built for his private hunting parties. Ivan unzipped his fly and pissed down on it. ‘Only rain those poor creatures will see on this world,’ he said, as if that explained everything. The metal half of his face was unreadable as always, but when he turned his head I could see the human side was frowning.
‘What’s on your mind?’ I asked.
‘Macharius and Sejanus would not talk about this in front of the inquisitor but would in front of you,’ he said. ‘It doesn’t add up.’
‘You’ve developed a nasty, suspicious mind,’ I said.
‘It comes from having hung around with all these officers and nobles for the past ten years,’ said Ivan. ‘And from not being stupid.’
‘Anton has enough of that for all three of us,’ I said.
‘He must know you would tell us and maybe even your fancy woman,’ Ivan said. I considered the thing, turning it over in my mind. I had not needed to tell Anna. She had already known. So had a lot of other people it seemed. ‘Yes.’
‘And if you tell us, he must know that Anton will tell his highborn bint.’
‘She’s not a bint,’ Anton said. ‘She’s a lady.’
‘You think he wants word to get out?’ I said.
‘That he’s negotiating in secret with the Space Marines?’
‘Did he say which Chapter?’ Anton asked. He was still excited by the prospect of Space Marines.
‘Yes, Anton,’ I said. ‘He drew me pictures of their captains as well. In crayon.’
‘Can I see them?’
Anton was mocking me now, turning my assumption of his stupidity around on me. I walked over to the edge and took a leak myself. The stream of piss became invisible a long way before it hit the dome. It was a long way to fall. I thought about what Drake had said to Macharius.
‘You think it’s going to happen then?’ Ivan asked.
‘I think Sejanus was sent on a secret mission to contact the Adeptus Astartes. That’s what all of those private chats with Belisarius in the past were about. His House has connections with the Adeptus Astartes.’
‘It’ll be the Space Wolves, then,’ said Anton. ‘That’s who it will be.’
‘Most likely, Anton,’ I said.
‘Why? It’s not like Macharius. He avoids contact with the Space Marines if he can. They are the only men in the known galaxy who can steal his thunder.’
‘He doesn’t tell me these things,’ I said. ‘I am guessing it’s because he must feel he needs their help.’
‘Since when has Macharius ever needed anybody’s help?’
‘Since now I guess.’ It was a troubling thought. Macharius was not a man who sought aid from anyone. He was always utterly confident in his own ability to deal with any contingency. That he was reaching out to the Emperor’s Angels told us that something deeply worrying was going on.
‘Maybe he’s looking for allies against the Administratum,’ Ivan said. ‘Maybe he has his eyes on something bigger.’
‘That sounds dangerously like treason, Ivan.’
He answered obliquely. ‘You know the Space Marines will intervene when and where they like. They always do. Maybe he just wants to make sure they see him in the right light.’
‘What could Macharius offer Space Marines?’ Anton asked.
It was a good question. The Chapters of the Adeptus Astartes already had everything they needed. I thought about the Fist and Macharius’s anger at its loss. ‘I think he wanted to make them a gift of the artefact we picked up on Demetrius.’
‘It would explain why he was so worked up about it going missing. I’ve never seen him so annoyed about anything.’ Somehow Ivan’s metal features looked thoughtful. It was something about the eyes.
‘I thought generals like Macharius were not supposed to have anything to do with Space Marines. Separation of powers?’ Anton said.
I imagined what would happen when the lords of the Administratum found out about this, as they surely would if they had not already. I had not spent ten years watching Macharius manoeuvre without learning something about Imperial politics.
‘You ever feel like you have just got into a pool full of piranha-gators? You just don’t know how many or where they are?’ Ivan said. ‘I’m starting to feel that way.’
I knew what he meant.
‘Well,’ said Ivan. ‘It’s getting late, and we’ve got duty tomorrow. It’s the triumph, you know.’
‘As if we could forget.’
Chapter Eleven
The day of Macharius’s triumph dawned.
The crowds roared. Flower petals, paper aquilas and prayer scrolls rained down around us, turning the platform on top of the Baneblade into an altar for the people’s offerings to Macharius. They greeted him like a prophet as well as a conqueror, and I wondered how many were starting to believe the rumours we had been hearing ever since we had returned to Emperor’s Glory: that Macharius was a saint made invincible by the Emperor’s Light and Blessing, fated to reunite humanity under the rule of the Golden Throne.
If ever a man looked the part, it was Macharius that day. Tall and youthful-looking and golden, even though he was old enough to be the grandfather of most of those in the crowd. A wreath of gilded laurel was wound into his hair. His burnished chestplate glittered gold in the sunlight. He looked like he had just stepped out of one of those religious paintings in the cathedral.
Even I would not have been surprised at that moment to see a halo appear around his head. He basked in the adulation of the masses and it seemed to feed something in him. He glowed with enthusiasm and righteous joy. He raised his right hand and waved to the crowd with utter confidence. He smiled with ruthless charm. No sign of the anger and impatience that had been eating away at him since our return from Demetrius showed.
Around the Baneblade, cyber-cherubim fluttered, carrying the portable vision altars that would record this event for posterity and see it broadcast across the world and beyond. Imprints would be dispatched to every army in the field. Remembering my conversation with Anna, I could not help but imagine the gnashing of teeth among the field commanders. There would be those among them who would look upon this triumph with envy and see it as a right that Macharius’s mere presence had denied them. More and more of them were coming into the system for a great conclave. Some of them were in orbit above us, even now.
I kept my hand clutched tight on my shotgun and glanced around to make sure that Anton and Ivan and the others were equally alert.
I was in no fit state of mind for triumphal marches. I saw the use of the Baneblade for something other than the crushing of the Emperor’s enemies as mildly sacrilegious. I looked out at the crowd and every face seemed that of a potential assassin. I scanned every balcony for snipers. Every time something glittered in a window above me, I made ready to throw myself forwards and knock Macharius down and out of line of sight.
The Avenue of the Emperor was lined with statues of Imperial heroes and saints. It led all the way to the Cathedral of the Emperor’s Glory. New stone and plascrete images of Macharius arose on every intersection. Some of them were merely relics of former idols, so old that people had forgotten who they were. They were being resculpted in the image of today’s hero. Some of them were new and rose gigantically above us, largest of all, dwarfing the statues around them as the achievements of Macharius dwarfed those of his precursors.
The workmen’s platforms were still in place. Normally they would have been filled with labourers plastering and painti
ng and chipping away with chisels or working gold filigree into the statues, but today they were filled with cheering, red-faced people, waving scarves and banners, throwing offerings, chanting the name of Macharius. Perhaps it was the same workmen in their feast day finery, for a planetary holiday had been declared to celebrate the triumph.
The crowd’s cries blended together until they filled the air with their vibration. I could feel it rumble in my chest in the same way as I could the vibration of the tank’s drives beneath my feet. I must confess that gave me a certain nostalgia for older and simpler days, when Ivan and Anton and the Undertaker had merely been part of the crew of a Baneblade. It made me remember Oily and the lieutenant and Corporal Hesse and the New Boy and Snake, and all the others who had died along the march to this triumph. The thought did not make my mood any less sour.
Something flashed on a platform above us. I looked up startled, but it was just a man raising a silver drinking flask to his lips and catching the reflected light of the sun. I told myself to relax, that no one wanted to kill Macharius, that these people loved him, for leading the crusade, for returning their world to the Emperor’s Light, for restoring the stability and certainty of Imperial rule.
Anna’s words wriggled into my mind again. I thought of all the nobles who had ruled this world and the surrounding systems before the Imperium came. How did they really feel about their privileges being usurped, their absolute authority being denied? There had been those who fought to the death against it. There had been others who surrendered reluctantly. There had been others who had been only too willing to embrace the new order that Macharius had brought. Who could tell what was going on behind the smiling masks of their faces?
All of the nobles on all of these worlds were schemers. It was what they did, who they were. Their families had remained in power for millennia because of that. They had been born into a world where they plotted before they were torn from their mother’s breasts. They probably conspired against the other babies in the creche to get a bigger share of the milk. Some of them had aligned themselves with Macharius because they had seen which way the wind was blowing, where temporary advantage was to be seized. They might jump the other way if circumstances changed. Things were still fluid. How could they not be?