The Magos Page 47

  ‘To hide?’

  ‘Yes, and now I know they can do it, I realise they may have other such boltholes across the Imperium, in other bad places. Which is why they have always been so damned elusive. But here, there is a secondary purpose.’

  ‘Because we’re in the warp?’ asked Drusher.

  ‘We’re in an interstitial space between reality and the warp,’ Eisenhorn replied. ‘It’s called an extimate zone. But yes. It is a laboratory-perfect environment in which to build an Immaterium Loom and set it running without risk of real space contamination interfering with its function.’

  ‘That’s all speculation, I take it?’ asked Drusher.

  ‘For now. Let’s ask Jaff about it,’ said Eisenhorn. ‘Hold her.’

  He stepped back.

  +Audla.+

  Drusher shivered. He felt the woman quiver in his arms. Her head snapped upright.

  ‘Should you be doing that?’ he asked nervously. ‘I mean, if your powers are limited and–’

  ‘I need information,’ said Eisenhorn. ‘Let her go and step away.’

  Drusher moved to Eisenhorn’s side. Audla Jaff was standing upright, clenched stiffly and awkwardly. Her eyes were open, but she was looking at nothing.

  ‘Please…’ she whispered.

  +I trusted you.+

  Frost crystals began to form on the metal decking around her feet.

  +You brought us into a trap.+

  ‘You brought yourself, Eisenhorn,’ she whispered. ‘Inshabel sniffed out the traces of our work here on Gershom. It was an ideal opportunity to entice you here and remove your persistent opposition.’

  +A trap. To silence me.+

  ‘And your retinue,’ she said. ‘All loose ends.’

  +You never expected us to get inside this place, though, did you? You meant to kill me… all of us… at Helter.+

  Jaff’s eyes narrowed.

  ‘You got further than expected,’ she said. ‘Thanks to Drusher. I animated the revenant at Helter, but it was not sufficient. I was regrouping to make another attempt. You pushed on despite my efforts to divert you. You opened Keshtre’s doors. But we have adjusted. We improvise well.’

  ‘Is this the truth?’ Drusher whispered to Eisenhorn.

  Eisenhorn was concentrating hard. He looked sick. His cheeks were flushed, and there was sweat on his forehead.

  ‘She can’t lie,’ he grunted. ‘Not given the psionic coercion I am using.’

  ‘Is Macks alive?’ Drusher asked Jaff. ‘Have you killed her? Have you killed the others?’

  ‘Don’t interrupt,’ snapped Eisenhorn. He was struggling to focus.

  +Is this an Immaterium Loom?+

  ‘Yes.’ Jaff shivered, every word tight and unwilling.

  +How long has it been here?+

  ‘Sixteen centuries, since it was built. Watched over by a succession of magi.’

  +Of which Draven Sark is the latest?+

  ‘The greatest. He found his grandfather’s samples. The Torment. The Chaos disease. From it, he refined an inoculation. A viral enhancement that would render test subjects immune to etheric corruption. Thus they might withstand the first stages of transformation by the Loom.’

  +Has this worked?+

  ‘There is a high wastage of test subjects,’ said Jaff. Drusher could see the horrified look in her eyes. She was fighting not to say these things, and they were coming out anyway. ‘A high wastage. But the process has now worked. It worked on Sark. Such devotion. Such self-sacrifice. Such perfection. He has made it work. He has made it work the way Lilean wanted it to.’

  +To do what?+

  ‘To construct vessels,’ gasped Jaff. Blood was beginning to seep from her left nostril. ‘Flesh is weak. What we wish to accomplish surpasses the limits of the human form. We are building better vessels. Vessels that can survive the stresses involved. We call them graels. They are precious, but hard to make.’

  +I have met a grael before. Grael Ochre.+

  Jaff shook as if the name hurt her.

  +It said it was the Yellow King. Or that it served the Yellow King.+

  ‘It does,’ whined Jaff.

  +And Orpheus? Is that this King’s name?+

  ‘Please stop this!’ she wailed. Drusher glanced at Eisenhorn in alarm. Eisenhorn was trembling. His lips had peeled back to reveal his clenched teeth. He looked to be in as much pain as Jaff.

  +Tell me.+

  ‘Lilean is making the grael vessels to serve the King in Yellow,’ she moaned.

  +And they are vessels for what?+

  ‘To contain the truth of the warp. To be strong enough to speak not one word of Enuncia, but all the words. A fluency in the first language that would shatter human form.’

  +Like daemonhosts? But in reverse? A human soul wrapped in an etheric body, rather than an etheric force bound in human flesh?+

  ‘Exactly. They are eudaemonic beings.’

  +‘Good daemons’? I would take issue with your terminology.+

  Jaff snorted, amused. Blood bubbled at her nostrils.

  ‘They are the future and they are hope,’ she said. ‘Through the graels, the truth may be whispered in the ear of the Rot-God-King and end His domination.’

  ‘Well, that makes so much sense now she puts it like that,’ said Drusher.

  ‘Please be quiet,’ said Eisenhorn with considerable effort. Jaff was starting to tremble. Blood dripped from her nose, and the drops froze in the ice around her feet.

  +How many has he made? How many of these graels has he built?+

  ‘The f-first eight. Th-they have gone to the Yellow King to be deployed.’

  +Where?+

  Jaff coughed. Blood frothed over her lip. Blood was dribbling from her nose and running from her tear ducts.

  ‘Please stop…’ she spluttered.

  +WHERE?+

  ‘Qu-queen Mab.’

  +Where is that?+

  ‘S-sancour, i-in Angelus.’

  +Where is Lilean Chase?+

  Jaff began to choke.

  +Where is she?+

  Jaff was quivering wildly. She vomited blood down her front.

  +What is the King in Yellow?+

  ‘P-p-please…’ Jaff gurgled.

  Her left eyeball burst.

  ‘Is Macks alive?’ Drusher yelled.

  She shrieked the word ‘yes’ as she died.

  SEVENTEEN

  One Word

  Drusher turned away. He leant on the platform’s rail and stared at the slowly turning cog systems of the Great Machine. He didn’t want to be sick. He was afraid that if he started he wouldn’t be able to stop.

  ‘That was barbaric,’ he said quietly.

  ‘It was necessary,’ replied Eisenhorn, his breathing ragged and rapid. ‘And Jaff was a heretic. A murderer. A traitor to me.’

  Drusher turned around slowly. Eisenhorn was crouching over Jaff’s steaming remains.

  ‘No one deserves that,’ Drusher said.

  ‘You have lived a very sheltered life, magos,’ said Eisenhorn. ‘This galaxy is more cruel and dangerous than you can imagine. When you fight against it, you cannot afford to be sentimental or squeamish.’

  ‘I know about you,’ said Drusher.

  ‘I resent your interruption,’ said Eisenhorn. ‘I was interrogating, at great cost to myself. There were a few seconds left. You jumped in with your question–’

  ‘I needed to know about Germaine–’

  ‘You are fond of the marshal,’ said Eisenhorn. ‘I understand. You must understand she is an insignificant part of this. So are you, and so am I. Your sentiment betrays you. A life or two, a hundred, a thousand, they are collateral in this war.’

  ‘I am quite content to remain a creature of sentiment for the rest of my life,’ replied Drusher. ‘I am very glad I am not like you. I told you, I know about you. You chose to ignore the remark.’

  Eisenhorn rose to face him. He looked drawn and deathly pale.

  ‘What is it you think you know, magos?’


  ‘You are no inquisitor,’ said Drusher. ‘Perhaps once, but not now. You are a rogue, disavowed by your own kind. Whatever war you are waging, whatever quest you’re on, it’s yours alone. You are not sanctioned. There is no official support.’

  ‘There is truth in that,’ said Eisenhorn. ‘But it only serves to demonstrate that the Holy Ordos don’t appreciate the extremity or scale of this threat. I have warned them. They have ignored the warning. Therefore, I must act alone, or no one will stand against it.’

  ‘But it bothers you,’ said Drusher. ‘You lied. You and Voriet, you maintain the pretence that you are of the ordos. That you still have that authority. You used that lie to recruit me and to drum up the support of Macks and her deputies.’

  ‘The rosette of the Inquisition has clout,’ said Eisenhorn. ‘It has influence. You would not have assisted me otherwise… or it would have taken a great deal more persuasion. The guise of inquisitor is expedient in my work.’

  ‘So it’s a useful lie? That’s all you have to say on the matter?’

  ‘No, actually.’ Eisenhorn looked at him. There was a fierce gleam in his eyes. ‘I am an inquisitor. It has been my life. I know I am true in the defence of the Golden Throne. If the echelons of the Inquisition, and the other august institutions of the Imperium choose – in their ignorance – to deem me otherwise, then it is they who are wrong, not me.’

  ‘One might describe that as a terrifying level of self-delusion, sir,’ said Drusher.

  ‘You can describe it however you like, magos,’ Eisenhorn replied.

  He glanced over his shoulder.

  ‘Someone’s coming,’ he whispered. ‘A psykanic event like this… and Jaff’s screams… will not have gone unnoticed.’

  Drusher followed Eisenhorn across the platform. He didn’t really want to, but he wanted to stay put even less. He glanced back at Jaff’s remains.

  ‘Do we just leave her there?’

  ‘Hurry,’ Eisenhorn replied.

  They moved down some steps to the next platform stage and hid in the shadows of one of the great cogs. From concealment, they could see the stage they had just left. Eisenhorn reached into his coat and drew a large and ornate autopistol. It looked the size of a standard carbine to Drusher.

  ‘What do we–’ Drusher began.

  +Remain silent.+

  A man appeared on the platform above. It was the tall man with florid tattoos that Drusher had seen before. He hurried to Jaff’s body, recoiled in disgust, then anxiously began to look around, a laspistol raised.

  ‘Blayg!’ he called.

  The heavy man appeared a moment later, out of breath.

  ‘What did you find? What was that cry?’ he asked.

  ‘Jaff’s done for.’

  ‘Damn,’ the fat man gasped, seeing the corpse.

  ‘Eisenhorn’s handiwork,’ replied the tattooed man. ‘He’s here, and he’s loose.’

  ‘What did he do to her?’ the fat man asked, tilting his head in ghastly fascination as he stared at Jaff’s body.

  ‘Who cares, Blayg? We have to find him before he does worse.’

  ‘Streekal’s already hunting,’ said Blayg, running a pudgy hand through his thin grey hair. He hefted up the heavy combat las he was carrying.

  ‘Streekal’s efficient, but she’ll need help,’ replied the tattooed man. ‘This bastard is as dangerous as his reputation suggests. Go up to the cage. Tell Gobleka what’s happened.’

  ‘He’ll be furious, Davinch.’

  ‘Of course he will. So tell him gently.’

  Davinch, the tattooed man, glanced at his portly colleague.

  ‘Go on!’

  ‘Where are you going?’ Blayg asked.

  ‘I’ll check down from here,’ said Davinch. ‘Right down to the cellar. I want to see if Jaff put that magos fool in a cage before this happened to her. Otherwise, we’ve got two interlopers loose. And tell Gobleka someone needs to get outside. There’s the other loose end, the Betancore woman. She needs to be tidied up too.’

  Blayg nodded. He walked away and began to climb the steps.

  ‘Hurry!’ Davinch shouted after him. ‘Gobleka may even want to request an outside assist to get this squared away.’

  Blayg disappeared out of sight. Davinch had drawn both pistols. He circled the platform and began to move towards the steps close to Eisenhorn and Drusher.

  Eisenhorn placed a hand on Drusher’s arm.

  Drusher felt an uncomfortable psykanic tap. The tattooed man suddenly looked around as if he’d heard someone call his name. He made off in the opposite direction and quickly vanished behind the gears of the Great Machine.

  ‘You could have shot him,’ said Drusher quietly.

  ‘I could,’ said Eisenhorn, ‘but I don’t want to bring the whole place down on us. We are the last two, Drusher. Silence and shadows are our friends.’

  ‘Our friends while we do what exactly?’

  ‘He mentioned Sark. And Gobleka.’

  ‘I’ve seen them both,’ said Drusher. ‘A long way above us, there’s a cage on a gantry. A psychometric monitor. Is that the right term? Magos Sark is in it. Caged like an animal. He’s become the… I don’t know… focus of this machine. He’s part of it. It’s working because of him.’

  ‘So Jaff said.’

  ‘But his mind is gone,’ said Drusher. ‘He’s very damaged. This Gobleka fellow, he seems to be the one running the operation now.’

  ‘Goran Gobleka is an expert fixer. The Cognitae value his skills. But Sark is the primary target. We have to stop him. Stop this Loom manufacturing any more graels for the King in Yellow.’

  ‘I didn’t understand any of what Jaff told you,’ said Drusher. ‘What are they trying to achieve?’

  ‘I don’t expect you to understand, magos,’ Eisenhorn replied. ‘Frankly, I don’t want you to understand. But so you grasp the vital nature of this, the Cognitae – through the King in Yellow – are working to bring down the Imperium. I believe their goal is no less than the assassination of the Emperor. So when we are done here, I will go to the Angelus Subsector, to Sancour, and I will find this place called Queen Mab, and, there, I will hunt down and destroy the King in Yellow. But first, this place must be ended so it can construct no more monsters to serve his scheme.’

  Drusher nodded. ‘Then let’s get Macks and–’

  ‘She’s not a priority,’ said Eisenhorn.

  ‘She’s alive, Eisenhorn.’

  ‘And I’m sorry for that. But she is not the priority here, magos.’

  ‘We can’t just leave her–’

  ‘We can.’

  ‘No,’ said Drusher. ‘I can’t.’

  ‘Magos, do you still not understand the importance of–’

  ‘I do,’ interrupted Drusher firmly. ‘But as you took pains to point out, I am a creature of sentiment. I won’t leave my friend to die. You can help me, or you can get on with waging your private war. I’m going to the cellars. I think that’s where she may be. If you come, we can get it done quickly, then we can both help you deal with Sark.’

  ‘There isn’t time,’ said Eisenhorn.

  ‘Then off you go, and good luck to you,’ said Drusher.

  Eisenhorn glared at him.

  ‘Don’t try and pull rank,’ said Drusher. ‘You’re not an inquisitor, and I’m not one of your lackeys.’

  ‘You are a very aggravating man, magos,’ said Eisenhorn.

  ‘One of my few real skills. Tell me, did you suspect Jaff?’

  ‘I suspect everyone,’ said Eisenhorn.

  ‘Hence the levels of secrecy and confidence you exhibited at Helter. Telling no one anything. Sharing nothing. You don’t trust anyone do you?’

  ‘I can’t afford to, magos.’

  ‘I pity you,’ said Drusher.

  ‘I trust those I’ve known a long time,’ said Eisenhorn quietly. ‘Medea… Nayl…’

  He fell silent as he spoke the name. Then he glanced back at Drusher.

  ‘I was sure th
ere was a spy in my company,’ he said, ‘even before I arrived on Gershom. That is why I kept things classified. I thought it was Voriet.’

  ‘Voriet? Really?’

  ‘He was interrogator to Inquisitor Cyriaque. He is genuinely an officer of the ordos. He came to me two years ago, saying that he wished to join me, that he believed in my cause and felt that the ordos were blind to the real threat. In effect, he went rogue and joined me.’

  ‘But you didn’t trust him?’

  ‘Voriet is very able and was a decent addition to my party. But no, I never trusted him. I believed him to be a double-agent, claiming to be a renegade, but sent by the ordos to infiltrate my operation.’

  ‘Yet you kept him close?’ asked Drusher. ‘You didn’t kill him just in case?’

  ‘Voriet was useful, and he’s a good man,’ replied Eisenhorn. ‘I was aware of his true loyalties, so I treated him warily. But I hoped… I hoped that if I let him work with me, he might see the truth. He might become convinced of the danger. That the threat was genuine.’

  ‘And side with you for real?’ Drusher paused. ‘No, you wanted more than that, didn’t you? You hoped that he would report to his masters in the ordos and convince them your cause was true. Convince them that you were no rogue. He was your way back in. Your chance to be accepted back into the folds of the Inquisition.’

  ‘You are astute.’

  ‘It’s so ironic, sir,’ said Drusher. ‘Ironic to the point of comedy. You suspect everyone. You believe there’s a spy in your midst. You think it’s Voriet, perhaps correctly, but you use him for your own ends, to rebuild the bridges you burned with the Inquisition. And then the real spy turns out to be Jaff. Not just an agent of your ex-masters but, worse, an agent of your true enemy.’

  ‘She hid it well. That’s what the Cognitae do.’

  ‘You hate that the ordos cast you out, don’t you?’ asked Drusher. ‘You hate the fact they declared you a heretic?’

  ‘I hate the fact that the ordos are blind and stubborn,’ replied Eisenhorn. ‘I could achieve a great deal more, a great deal faster, if I had their blessing, their cooperation and their not inconsiderable support.’

  ‘Or… you have no friends and you don’t like it,’ said Drusher.