THE WARMASTER Read online

  ‘V Company isn’t just a marching band!’ Wilder protested. ‘This is simply another insult to our soldiering–’

  ‘Enough, captain, enough,’ said Blenner. He tried to sound stern, but secretly, he was pleased. His attachment to V Company meant that he wouldn’t be advancing into the field.

  ‘How long is this babysitting going to last?’ asked Meryn.

  Rawne glanced at him.

  ‘An hour or two. Maybe slightly longer. Transport is being arranged to bring the retinue to safety inside the palace precinct. When it arrives, your job will be to escort the transit. Is E Company lodging a complaint too?’

  Meryn shook his head. He was perfectly content to sit out the fight. And he knew full well why Rawne had made the call. If E Company stayed at the billet, then Felyx Chass would stay at the billet, and Rawne could sideline the boy from front-line deployment without making an obvious exception.

  ‘Request permission to remain on station with E Company,’ said Ludd. His concerns for Felyx’s welfare were all too obvious again. Rawne saw Dalin glance at Ludd with a frown.

  ‘Denied, commissar,’ said Rawne.

  ‘But–’

  ‘I said denied. Hark and Fazekiel are basically missing in action. I need a competent commissar at the line with us.’

  Blenner thought about objecting, but he kept his mouth shut. If he said anything, he might end up switching out with Ludd. Better to live with an insult to his abilities than to get himself a walk to the line.

  ‘All right, that’s it,’ said Rawne. ‘Get ready to move. This is going to get ugly. I won’t dress it up. Chances are, whatever we’re heading to won’t be prepped. We’ll have to hit the ground and improvise. Maintain contact at all times – we’re going to need coordination. But vox discipline too, you hear me?’

  He paused.

  ‘One last point,’ he said, reluctantly. ‘I’ve been given the rank of colonel for the duration of this. I don’t like it, but it may be useful authority if we’re dealing with allied units.’

  ‘You are our second in command anyway, sir,’ said Pasha.

  Rawne nodded.

  ‘And now I have the rank to match,’ he said. ‘I probably should finish with some uplifting remark, but I’m fethed if I can think of anything. Get moving. Don’t feth this up.’

  Gaunt’s Ghosts exited the billet camp rapidly, heading out along the access road and then turning south. Blenner stood and watched them fade into the rain, first the marching lines of troopers, then the half a dozen transports laden with munitions and heavier gear.

  He heard Meryn shout, ‘Get the site secure! Come on now!’ The buffeting slap and thump rolling across the city from the Great Hill was growing more intense. Lightning laced the rain clouds, and it was hard to tell where the lightning stopped and the furious aerial bombardment began.

  Blenner glanced around the yard. Wilder was talking to the hired mourners who staffed the funeral transports. The gloss black vehicles were still parked at the edge of the yard, glistening with raindrops. Death was clinging to Gaunt’s men. Urdesh should have been a deliverance for them, a well-earned respite after the struggles of the Reach, but it was dismal.

  He wandered over to the abandoned cook tents. Water pattered from the edges of the canopy. He could still smell smoke, but the stoves had been put out, and the food was cold. There would be no feast now, no celebration. Blenner doubted Gaunt would care. Gaunt had come home to glory, to the insulating sanctity of high rank. His friend Gaunt. His old, dear friend. How many of his friends would Gaunt remember now he was ascending the dizzy heights? How many would he take with him?

  Few at best, Blenner reckoned. Gaunt had made that snake Rawne a colonel, but that wasn’t anything. Just a field promotion so that the Ghosts had a leader. It was a way for Gaunt to wash his hands of the regiment. The Ghosts were just a historical footnote now, a minor citation in the history book entries on the career of Lord Militant Ibram Gaunt.

  Blenner found the pills in his pocket, scooped up a ladle of water from an abandoned steamer, and washed down a handful. When he got to the safety of the palace, he’d work hard, make a few contacts, maybe inveigle his way into the good graces of a more agreeable commander. He’d secure himself a more comfortable future with some ceremonial company or honour guard, and he’d do it fast before Gaunt made good on his threat and transferred Blenner to some mud-bath line company.

  He could do it. He was charming and persuasive. He’d always been able to work the arcane systems of the Astra Militarum to his own benefit.

  ‘Do you know where the keys are?’

  He looked around. Wilder had come over.

  ‘What keys?’ asked Blenner.

  ‘The keys to the medicae trailer. The funeral staff want to be gone, and I don’t blame them. They won’t take the coffin with them. I said we’d store it in the trailer.’

  Blenner nodded.

  ‘I think Meryn has them,’ he said. He called Meryn’s name across the yard.

  Wilder took out a hip flask, and took a swig while they waited for Meryn to join them. He offered it to Blenner, who knocked some back, too.

  ‘I was talking to them,’ said Wilder.

  ‘Who?’

  ‘The mourners,’ said Wilder. ‘The paid mourners.’

  ‘They can’t really leave the woman’s body here. It has to be buried.’

  Wilder shrugged.

  ‘I hardly care,’ he replied.

  ‘Will they come back tomorrow?’ Blenner asked. ‘Will they reschedule the service?’

  ‘Ask them yourself,’ said Wilder. ‘I said, I don’t care.’

  ‘Maybe we can take the coffin with us to the palace…’ Blenner mused.

  ‘I was talking to them, anyway,’ said Wilder.

  ‘And?’

  ‘I asked how much this service and everything was costing.’

  ‘The boy’s paying for it all. Private funds. I told you that.’

  Wilder nodded. He took another swig.

  ‘You did. You have any idea what it costs?’

  Blenner shook his head. Wilder mentioned a figure.

  Blenner looked at him, his eyes wide. He took the flask from Wilder and drank again.

  ‘Are you joking?’

  Wilder shook his head.

  ‘The boy’s loaded,’ he said. ‘He just drew down that kind of money. It was triple rate because of the short notice.’

  ‘Holy Throne,’ murmured Blenner.

  ‘Them and us, Blenner,’ said Wilder. ‘The great and eternal divide between the dog-soldiers like us who crawl through the mud and the high-born who can do anything they fething want.’

  ‘You two talking social politics again?’ asked Meryn, wandering into the cook tent with Gendler.

  ‘Oh, you know, the usual,’ said Blenner.

  ‘I was just telling the commissar how deep that brat’s pockets are,’ said Wilder.

  ‘You can spare them the details, Jakub,’ said Blenner.

  Wilder didn’t. He repeated the figure to Meryn and Gendler. Meryn whistled. Gendler’s face turned red with rage.

  ‘Makes me want to slit that little bastard’s throat,’ he said.

  ‘Now, now, Didi,’ said Meryn.

  ‘Come on, Flyn. He’s a rancid little toerag. He’s so gakking arrogant.’

  ‘Didi, we all know the axe you have to grind against the Vervunhive elite,’ said Meryn.

  ‘And Gaunt,’ said Wilder bluntly.

  ‘Look at you,’ Meryn laughed, nodding to Wilder and Gendler. ‘Didi, robbed of his wealth and birthright by the war, and the captain here, seething with animus towards the man he blames for his brother’s death… Or at least, his brother’s lost reputation. You’re both pathetic.’

  ‘You despise Gaunt too,’ Gendler snapped. ‘He cost you your world.’

  Meryn nodded.

  ‘He did. And I’d love to see him suffer. But bitching and moaning behind his back is hardly productive. You should do what I do. Take that
hate and make it work for you.’

  ‘Yeah?’ sneered Wilder. ‘And how do you do that?’

  ‘Well,’ said Meryn with a shrug, ‘for a start, I don’t openly discuss vengeance against Gaunt, or his arse-wipe son, or the high spires of Verghast aristocracy, or any other iniquity, in front of a fething commissar.’

  He looked at Blenner.

  ‘Probably wise,’ said Blenner. ‘He is my friend.’

  ‘Is he?’ asked Gendler. ‘Is he? He seems to treat you like crap on a regular basis.’

  Blenner opened his mouth to reply, then decided to say nothing.

  ‘You’re all missing the point,’ said Meryn quietly. ‘You’re all too worked up with your own grievances. You need to learn the long game.’

  He walked over to one of the stoves, and sampled the contents of a cook-pot. He wrinkled his face and spat it out again.

  ‘Gaunt’s at the palace,’ he said. ‘Out of the way, and probably too good to mingle with the likes of us any more. The company’s moving to the front line, and feth knows if they’ll come back alive. We’re here alone. We’re in charge.’

  He smiled at them. It was a dangerous expression.

  ‘So, Didi, you could slice that runt’s throat. Wilder, you could put the boot in too, if you felt like it. Get a little payback for your brother. And we could ditch the body in the rubble wastes, and claim Felyx Chass was lost during the retreat operation. What would that get you? Ten minutes of private satisfaction? A temporary outlet for your resentment?’

  ‘So?’ asked Gendler.

  ‘That’s if you got away with it,’ said Blenner bleakly. ‘There’d be an inquiry…’

  ‘You’re all so dense,’ Meryn laughed. ‘We don’t need to off the boy. He’s an asset. He’s rich, you idiots.’

  ‘What are you saying?’ asked Wilder.

  ‘I’m saying the profits we’ve enjoyed over the years have reduced significantly since Daur’s bitch of a woman blew the viduity scam,’ said Meryn. ‘Booze and pharms make a little pocket change. We need a new revenue stream.’

  ‘What, we milk him?’ asked Gendler.

  ‘Deep pockets, you said,’ replied Meryn.

  ‘Are you talking extortion with menaces?’ asked Blenner. He felt very cold, suddenly.

  ‘I’m suggesting we have a quiet word with Felyx,’ said Meryn, ‘and illustrate how life will be much better for him in this regiment if he has friends looking out for him. Friends like us, who can make his existence a great deal more bearable. In exchange for, say, regular withdrawals from his family holdings. We could split it comfortably, four ways – maybe even set aside enough so that one day, not too long from now, we could just ghost ourselves away, score passage on a merchant ship and get the feth out of this life.’

  ‘Whoa, whoa,’ said Wilder. ‘I’m… I’m not comfortable with this conversation.’

  ‘Really, Jakub?’ smiled Meryn. ‘Not even the thought of screwing over the man you hate by means of his own bratty son? That not doing it for you?’

  ‘I think Captain Wilder is concerned that you’re talking about extortion with menaces, and desertion,’ said Blenner. ‘This conversation alone counts as conspiracy to commit. And as you pointed out yourself, Captain Meryn, it’s not a conversation you are wise having in my earshot. I thought you were smart, Meryn. I knew you were crooked as feth, but I thought you were meticulously careful. That you “played the long game”.’

  Meryn grinned more broadly. He took Wilder’s flask and helped himself to a swig.

  ‘I am, commissar,’ he said. ‘I plan ahead. I cover the angles. I don’t open my mouth until I’m sure it’s safe to do it. Who’s going to tell?’

  ‘This conversation ends now,’ said Blenner. ‘If you don’t think I’ll report you if you carry on with this–’

  ‘How are those pills working out for you, Vaynom?’ asked Meryn.

  Blenner hesitated.

  ‘What?’

  ‘Contraband somnia. Oh, that’s bad news. Possession, well… that would get a man flogged. And a commissar, what do we think? Execution? Or the worst possible punishment squad posting, at the least, I should think. A Delta Tau-rated posting. A death world, Vaynom. Want to end your days on a death world?’

  ‘A-are you threatening me?’ asked Blenner.

  Meryn made a casual gesture.

  ‘Me? No. You’re one of us, Vaynom. One of our inner circle. We’re all friends. We can talk freely. None of us is going to rat on the others, is he?’

  Meryn wandered across the tent and stopped face-to-face with Blenner. Blenner couldn’t meet his eyes.

  ‘We need you on this, Vaynom,’ he said. ‘The sweet, cures-all-ills protection of the Officio Prefectus. And you’d benefit too. You like your life, Vaynom. You like it comfortable.’

  ‘Damn you,’ murmured Blenner.

  ‘Oh, all right. Damn me.’

  Meryn turned away.

  ‘Your choice,’ he said. ‘But we’ve got you cold. You flip a coin on us, you’re done. You really think I would have opened my mouth in front of you if I didn’t already own you? Long game, Vaynom, long game.’

  Blenner swallowed hard. He felt unsteady. He could feel all three of them staring at him. The self-preservation that had seen him safe his entire career kicked in faultlessly.

  He lit his most charming smile.

  ‘I was just testing you, Flyn,’ he said. ‘I wanted to make sure you were serious. It’s about time we stopped picking up scraps and got ourselves a decent score.’

  ‘Are you serious?’ asked Wilder.

  ‘Throne, Jakub,’ said Blenner. ‘My only hesitation was whether to do this myself or bring you in on it.’

  Meryn nodded and smiled his crooked smile.

  ‘We have to put this in motion now,’ he said. ‘The next hour or so. Better here than once we’re inside the palace.’

  ‘We need him alone,’ said Gendler.

  ‘Everyone needs to get scrubbed and showered before we ship to the palace,’ said Blenner. ‘Carbolic soap, anti-bac. We’ll only be admitted if there’s no lice infestation. The instructions are specific.’

  ‘They are?’ asked Wilder.

  ‘They are if I say so,’ said Blenner.

  ‘What about that fether Dalin Criid?’ asked Gendler. ‘He’s shadowing Felyx.’

  ‘He’s my adjutant,’ said Meryn. ‘He’ll do exactly what I tell him to.’

  ‘But what,’ Wilder asked, haltingly, ‘but what do we use as leverage? The boy’s an arrogant little bastard. What’ll stop him telling on us?’

  ‘He’ll be too scared to talk,’ said Gendler.

  They’d already had to double back four times. The road links across the city between Gaelen quarter and Low Keen were frantically congested. Instead of taking shelter from the raid, the population of Eltath seemed to have taken to the streets. Convoys of traffic, transports laden with people and belongings. It was like an exodus. People seemed to be trying to flee north.

  Baskevyl had seen this before. It was like resignation. When a population had been beaten and deprived for too long, it finally snapped. In the face of another attack, the promise of another destructive cycle of death and dispossession, they turned their backs and fled, unable to face the danger any more.

  Ironically, this meant they were fleeing into danger.

  The main air raid was concentrated on the Great Hill. The cloudy skies above were backlit by flashes and blinks of light and fire as the Archenemy attacked the shield. Some sections of the enemy air mass had peeled off, choosing to strike at other targets in the city, strafing and unloading sticks of bombs. The constant drumming thump of anti-air batteries across the city was relentless. From the cab of the Munitorum truck they had commandeered, Baskevyl could see the glow of street fires in neighbouring blocks. The sky was stained amber.

  They had come to a halt again. Traffic choked the street ahead. Transports were lined up, stationary, drivers arguing. On the pavements, tides of people hurried northward
s, some pushing their lives in hand carts and barrows.

  ‘Back up,’ Fazekiel told the driver. ‘Go around.’

  ‘Where exactly?’ the driver complained.

  ‘Down there. That side street,’ she told him.

  ‘That’ll just take us back towards the harbour,’ the driver said.

  ‘At least we’ll be moving,’ Fazekiel snapped.

  There was a sucking rush as an enemy aircraft passed overhead. A moment later, the jarring crump of detonations shuddered from no more than three streets distant. Grit and scraps of papery debris drizzled down on the road, and people screamed and hurried for cover.

  ‘Moving is good,’ said Domor.

  The driver put the truck in reverse, swung the nose around, and edged down the sharp incline of a narrow side street. Pedestrians had to get out of the way. They yelled at the truck, and beat on its side panels. Baskevyl wasn’t sure if that was anger at the imposition of letting the truck pass through, or desperate pleas for help.

  He glanced at Fazekiel. They’d been on the road for two hours, and seemed no closer to the billet. It felt like a year had passed since they had set out for the ordos stronghold that morning.

  Baskevyl wondered if they should just stop. Stop and find cover. Stop and find somewhere with a voxcaster or some communication system. He wanted to warn Gol what was coming his way. He had a sick feeling it was already far too late.

  At the bottom of the side street, the driver turned left, and they rumbled along the service road of a hab area. They passed people hurrying to nowhere, people who didn’t turn to give them a passing look. Anti-sniper sheets and curtains, tapestries and carpets, flapped overhead like threadbare parade banners.

  Up ahead, a truck had broken down and was half blocking the service road. The engine cover was up, and people were working on it. The driver had to bump up on the pavement to try to ease around the obstruction. People shouted at them. Some clamoured for a ride.

  ‘Hey,’ said Domor. He slid down the cab’s window and craned to listen. ‘That’s artillery.’

  Baskevyl could hear the thumping, sporadic noise in the distance. Heavy shelling. That was a worse sign. If the artillery belonged to the enemy, then it meant they were facing a land assault too, one that was close enough to hear. If the artillery was Imperial, it meant that there were enemy targets close enough to warrant a bombardment.