"For a monastery?"
"You said dress warm."
He sighed. "Maybe they'll give us robes. Something concealing."
As it angled down, the landing spine had unfolded like an exercise in metal origami, turning itself into a sloping corridor from the ship to ground level, set with stairs. Harrow went down them first, with Red close behind. "You remember your name?"
"Alissa Carmine. And you're Mikah Tallon."
"But you won't be saying them because?"
Red huffed. "Because I've taken a vow of silence. Jude, I'm not sure I like that part."
He had stopped at the exit hatch. "I'm sorry, holy one, but the longer you can keep your mouth closed, the better our chances of staying hidden here."
She glared at him. "What did you say? Oh, the teeth!" She flashed her fangs at him. "Sorry, Jude."
"Hush, Sister Carmine." He put a crypt-disc against the hatchway lock, and the armoured inner door slid up and out of sight.
There were breath-masks and thermocowls in the airlock. With the heavy cowl draped over her shoulders Red began to feel a slightly more normal weight, but the mask had an odd scent to it. She didn't like her sense of smell impaired—it was one of her best hunting tools.
Not that she'd have any need of that here. Both she and Harrow had agreed that, while a place of quiet study and meditation was not exactly Red's usual style, she could do with some downtime. Lavannos seemed the perfect place to rest and hide out.
All the better for Godolkin being here. It would be fun to have the big guy back as part of the team. She wouldn't order him, though. She had decided that long ago. She'd have him by her side willingly, or not at all.
Red vowed to tell him that, when he had showed her what he had found.
The outer hatch thumped heavily as its latches powered free, and then it split and swung open in two halves. Lavannos air, thin and viciously cold, rushed in.
She felt it sting her face, past the heat-flow from the thermocowl, ducked her head against it. Pyre had been cold, but this was almost pure pain. It felt like being scoured.
Harrow was already out of the lock. Red followed him onto the ferroplastic, hearing faint metallic noises behind her as the hatchway closed up. The air on Lavannos was so attenuated it made everything sound reedy and far away.
Her boots crunched on frost.
The sky was three-quarters orange, one-quarter icy blue-black. Mandus hung over her head like a ceiling, stunningly huge, its surface churning visibly as she watched. Most of the light came from the gas-giant, a lambent ochre glow, but a bright star to Red's left threw long shadows across the field. It was a weird combination; everything around her was lit in flat, dead shades of yellow, but given hard edges by the star. It all looked wrong. With the gravity so light, and air so thin and cold, it all felt wrong, too.
The horizon was startlingly close.
Harrow tensed next to her. Red saw figures were moving across the landing field towards them, clad in thermocowls even heavier than their own. "Here we go," she muttered, from the corner of her mouth.
There were five of them. At their head was a thin, angular woman, silver-white hair tugged back from her face. The four men behind her kept their faces down, and carried guttering censers on chains.
"Het Tallon, Het Carmine." The names, and a lot of other false information, had been sent on ahead by comm-linker. Their application to attend the retreat had been processed while they were in orbit. "Welcome to the sacred moon of Lavannos. Be at peace."
Harrow dipped his head. "Prior Rinaud?"
"I am. Het Tallon, we have studied your applications and pronounced them valid. The church accepts you, for as long as you require."
Red tried not to grin. Her mask was transparent. "Our thanks," said Harrow.
"The church follows the rule of Saint Lavann. Will you accept this?" The woman's voice had changed cadence, slightly. Her words sounded ritualistic.
"We will," Harrow responded. They had read the rule while still in orbit—well, Harrow had. He'd given Red the highlights.
The woman nodded. "There is no enmity between human and mutant here. We stand together as God intended. Will you accept this?"
"We will."
"You come to the church with open hands. No weapons are permitted here. Will you accept this?"
Much to her chagrin, Harrow had made Red leave her arsenal aboard the Crimson Hunter. Everything she had collected—auto-chetter, laser and plasma pistols, a really sexy particle-magnum—were stowed away under crypt-lock. "We will."
"While you are here, you are bound by these laws. Thank you, Hets. Now let's get inside before I freeze my skinny white ass off, lord pardon my foul tongue."
* * * *
There was only one way to the monastery from the landing field. The Serpent Path.
It was aptly named, winding sinuously between the rims of several huge bubble-craters. The path was nearly thirty kilometres long, too great a distance to walk in such bitter temperatures. Luckily, Rinaud and her entourage had no intention of making the trip on foot.
They had driven to the field in an ancient ground-rover; a high-sided, glassed-in construction slung between six huge spiked wheels. Any kind of suspension must have been something of an afterthought—it crunched and jolted its way back up the Serpent Path, swinging wildly left and right, sending splinters of black Lavannos stone skittering away in tall arcs as it went. Comfortable it wasn't, but it did afford an almost uninterrupted view of the strange little world's surface.
Red, hanging tightly onto her seat, preferred not to look. There was something about Lavannos that made her feel queasy—probably just the light gravity, but the appearance of it bothered her. It looked like the after-effect of some monstrous biological process, with its pockmarks and blisters and great, open wounds. At times, it reminded her more of flesh than rock.
She wanted to ask how long it would be before they reached the church, but of course she couldn't.
"That one to the left we call the Great Scour," Rinaud was saying, pointing to a vast, shallow depression filled with gleaming white frost. "It's shallow, much more so than the others, so the wind just whistles across it. The Scour is where the church gets most of its weather from."
"What's that on the other side?" Harrow asked. The terrain seemed to fascinate him. He was moving around the rover's empty seats, trying to get better views of the features as they passed. Red, hunched up in the back, gave him the sour eye and wondered if she shouldn't have brought the kid a packed lunch.
"The Hourglass," Rinaud replied. "Two linked craters, very smooth but very deep. One of the brothers fell into it a few years ago, poor beggar. He hit the bottom alive, that was the hard part. Just slid down the slope."
"Did he get out?"
"From two kilometres down?" Rinaud shook her head. "The supply tender only arrives every three months, and we have very few vehicles here. Nothing that could go into the Hourglass and come back up again." She shrugged. "We rolled food down the slope for a time, but after a couple of weeks he stopped shouting. Thermocowls can only keep going for so long without a charge. Oh, here we are…"
The vehicle had rounded the flanks of an unbroken blister. Beyond, shining a piercing white against the blackness of Lavannos, was the Church of the Arch.
Compared to most of the constructions Red had seen in this time, it seemed pitifully small, a roughly U-shaped congress of boxlike structures clad in brilliant white stone. The roofs were steeply angled, presumably to defend against the build-up of frost, and Red could see a broad dome towards the back of the building. Just behind that was a tall, slope-sided tower.
The rover ground its way up alongside the church and shivered to a halt.
Rinaud got up. "Welcome to the retreat, Hets. I have things to attend to, but if you'll follow Samnas here, he'll show you to your rooms and then take you to the abbot. He'll answer any questions you might have."
Red only hoped that was true.
* * * *
At least the gravity inside the monastery was something close to normal. Enclosed within the plain white walls of the place, Red started to feel much better. She could probably stand being here for a few days, she decided, as long as she didn't have to look outside. Given that the monastery lacked windows, that didn't seem like an option anyway.
The abbot's room, somewhat surprisingly, was barely more furnished than her own. For some reason she had imagined the leader of the monastery to live in more luxury than his charges, but this wasn't the case. He had more space, and a few rugs on the floor and that was pretty much it. And the tea, of course.
Durham Red hadn't drunk tea for a very long time, and hadn't expected to ever again. Her favourite hot drink was something quite different, of course, but that didn't mean she couldn't enjoy other foods.
"I'm afraid I'm out of Earl Grey," the abbot was telling them. "I only have the one plant, although I have some of the brothers working on cuttings. These leaves are largely synthesised, protein manufacture, but they produce a passable brew."
"This is a strange drink," said Harrow, cradling his cup as though he wasn't entirely sure how to hold it. "But warming."
Red, as one of the silent order, had been given a little dataslate. She scribbled on it with one finger and held it up to show the abbot: Great tea.
"Thank you, Het." He cocked his head to the side, quizzically. "I am told you took a vow of silence before you arrived."
She dropped her gaze and tried to look demure. Harrow, perched in the chair beside hers, leaned closer to the abbot. "My companion took the vow at another retreat. She chooses to keep it, as long as nothing else is required."
"No, no. That is quite acceptable. Many of our attendants have similar restrictions."
"She has suffered much, in the past year," Harrow said quietly.
"I see." The abbot's forehead creased slightly. "Erm, her attire—"
"Covers scars. She was with the Thanatos sect for some time."
"Ah!" The man put his hands together, and if in a moment's prayer. "Poor child. Het Carmine, I hope you find your time at the Church of the Arch more restful."
She gave a nod of thanks, then raised an eyebrow at Harrow. He blinked at her for a second before realising what she wanted.
"Oh yes! Het Abbot, there is one more thing. We were recommended to the church by a friend of ours, a fellow pilgrim by the name of Godolkin?"
The abbot smiled broadly. "Matteus Godolkin, of course. Large fellow, particularly fond of the Earl Grey."
"Would we be permitted to speak with him? We'd like to let him know we arrived here safely."
"I'm afraid Matteus has moved on, Het." The abbot spread his hands. "The supply tender arrived not many days ago, and he chose to leave Lavannos at that time. I fear the peace he sought here eluded him."
* * * *
"Shit," Red hissed. "Snecking, snecking, snecking shit. We missed him."
They were on their way back to the accommodation block, both draped in grey attendants' cloaks. The abbot, sensing their distress at his revelation, had suggested they spend some time in quiet meditation, perhaps wander the halls of the church for a while. The open areas of the monastery, he said, were open to them, and it was still two hours until Compline.
It was late afternoon and there were few people about; they passed a small number of attendants, and one or two monks. Red had just about managed to contain her outburst until she was sure they were alone.
Harrow winced, and took her to one side. They were just outside the long cloister, to the east of the building. "Sister," he whispered, looking left and right. "Remember your vow!"
"Screw the vow, Jude! Why would he tell us to come here and then scoot? Anyone would think he didn't want to see us, or something!"
"Well, as I recall he still regards you as a blasphemous, satanic demon, the anathema of everything he holds dear, and the creature that stole his very soul. So it's a possibility…"
"Oh, cheers."
"However, I'm not so sure. The abbot is lying to us."
"What, that old tea head?"
"Holy one, I grew up in the cult-temples of the Tenebrae. I have studied under numerous abbots, priors and pilgrims—one gets a feel for their ways." He grimaced. "It is hard to explain, but there is something in his manner that sets me on edge."
Red pondered. "Okay, Jude. You might well be right. I think we should take tea boy up on his offer and have a look round," she winked. "And I mean a good look, you follow?"
He grinned. "Anywhere, holy one."
* * * *
They split up. It would be faster searching that way, as they only had a couple of hours before the chapel would fill up for Compline. They would be expected to attend, especially on their first day.
Besides, Red wanted some time alone.
She headed back the way they had come, through the refectory, while Harrow went onwards into the cloister. Coming through it the first time she had been so furious at missing Godolkin she had hardly noticed it.
It was the third largest building in the church, beaten only by the great library and the chapel itself. Rows of rough wooden benches and tables were arranged along the walls, leaving the centre open. At the northern end, a raised table was reserved for the abbot and senior members of the church hierarchy.
Red slowed as she walked past the benches; they were very old, worn smooth from use. They could easily have been there for as long as the monastery itself, almost five hundred years. Things in this day, she had learned, were often built to last.
There was no one else in the refectory.
She paused near one table. Deep cuts marred its surface at one end, long scours and gouges out of the wood, smoothed down by time. She found herself staring at them, as though they might reveal some hidden meaning if she looked long enough.
Her breathing made an odd sound in the high, vaulted hall, echoing softly around her. As though she were surrounded by faint whispers, distant chants. She shivered under the cloak, and put her gloved hand down to the scratched wooden table.
If she spread her fingers, just so, her fingernails might fit into some of the grooves.
If someone slightly larger than her scraped a clawed hand across the wood, their nails, just before they tore free, might leave marks that looked a little like—Behind her, the door groaned softly on its hinges.
She gasped and span around. The entrance to the refectory was empty. The doors were still.
Red had noticed that the doors were very large, and could be locked securely from the inside. Why would anyone need to do that?
Maybe they dated from an earlier time, when the church might have to defend itself from attack. Not that a good set of locks would do much against antimat guns, but her grasp of Accord history was slim, at best.
Red moved on, up past the abbot's raised table. She glanced at it, wondering if similar scratches might show up there, too, but the surface was smooth and well polished. The abbot was more careful with his furniture than his charges.
There was a door from the refectory to the chapel. It was closed, but when Red pushed, it swung open. She stepped through.
The interior of the chapel was deliriously cool.
The main doorway to the structure led into the unpressurised courtyard: Red could imagine ceremonial processions, on high and holy days, lines of monks and attendants making their way under the baleful eye of Mandus and into this silent, vaulted space.
She had come out into the eastern transept. Walls of white marble surrounded her, carved with ridged columns and lofty, gothic arches. Her boot heels clicked softly on smooth red stone as she wandered towards the nave. There was an altar there, a wide block of white stone, raised on a rectangular dais. Steps led to the altar on either side, and wooden pews were ranked before it.
Above her was the dome
she had seen from outside. She had to crick her neck back to see it properly. It was gilded, set with painted stars.
The sense of peace here was amazing. It had been a long, long time since Red had been anywhere so tranquil.
There was a doorway behind the altar, covered from behind with a curtain of black satin. Red glanced quickly around the chapel, making sure she was alone, and then peeked behind it.
The Arch of Saint Lavann lay before her.
It was surrounded by walls entirely panelled in beaten gold. The floor was lower than that of the rest of the chapel, and was of uneven, glossy black stone; the surface of Lavannos itself. From this, at a slightly skewed angle, protruded the Arch.
Red ducked past the curtain. The Arch rose above her head by a metre or more, a slender span of dull, silvery metal. As she walked around it she could see that it formed just over half a perfect circle, but was leaning slightly backwards, towards the northern end of the chapel. Behind it was a painted panel, three metres high, coloured discs arranged on a field of flaking gold leaf.
Mandus was there, yellow banded with dull orange, and a bright blue dot among the stars for Shantima. Near Mandus was another disc, small, and painted a glowing scarlet.
Red looked back to the Arch. There were ridges arranged around its inner surface, faint markings along its sides.
Something about it pricked her memory and she reached out to touch it.
"Please don't do that."
She started, and span around. The abbot was standing behind her, his back to the curtain.
He smiled. "No one told you that it's not to be touched, I'm sorry." He walked forwards. "It's very old, you see. We're not sure how old, but it was here before the church. If we had to wipe away the finger-marks of everyone who wanted to feel the metal, it would have worn down to nothing by now."
Red held up her gloved hand and shrugged.
"I know," the abbot said. "But it's something of a tradition." He pointed past the Arch, to the painted panel. "This was done by Lavann himself, before he even came to this system. It was what he dreamed of. He always said that he saw Lavannos in a dream, and came here to find it."
Durham Red: The Unquiet Grave Page 9