[Gaunt's Ghosts 02] - Ghostmaker

  Gaunt pulled out his compact and covered the room. Two hexathedral troopers and a man in long robes lay at his feet, twitching and moaning.

  The door opened.

  “Many would look with disfavour at such violence, commissar,” the figure who entered the room announced softly.

  Gaunt kept the gun trained at the intruder’s throat. “Many look on intrusion and burglary in a similar way. Identify yourself.”

  The figure moved into the light. She was tall, dressed in a simple uniform of black: boots, breeches, jacket. Her ash-fair hair was pinned tight up around her skull. Her face was calm, angular, lean, beautiful.

  “I am Lilith. Inquisitor Lilith.”

  Gaunt lowered the pistol and set it down on the side-table. “You have not requested my seal of office. You believe me then?”

  “I know of you. Pardon, ma’am; there are few females holding your rank and duty.”

  Lilith moved forward into the room and gently kicked one of the troopers. He moaned and roused. “Get yourself out of here. These two as well.”

  The bloodied trooper clambered to his feet and dragged the others out.

  “I apologise, commissar,” Lilith said. “I had been told you were in a planning session. I would not have sent my men in if I had known you were sleeping here.”

  “You’d have had my rooms searched had I been absent?”

  She turned to him and laughed. It was attractive, confident — and hard. “Of course! I’m an inquisitor, commissar. That’s what I do.”

  “What, precisely, is it you’re doing here?”

  “The boy.” She pulled out a chair and sat back, leaning against the back rest with relaxed ease. “I need to know about the boy. Your boy, commissar.”

  Gaunt stayed where he was and fixed his gaze on her. “I don’t like your tone, or your methods,” he growled. “If I continue not to like them, I can assure you the fact you are a woman won’t—”

  “Are you really threatening me, commissar?”

  Gaunt breathed deeply. “I believe I am. You saw what I did to your lackeys. I won’t stand for this unless you show me good reason.”

  Lilith sighed and steepled her long, pale fingers. Then she pointed the compact laspistol right at Gaunt.

  He started, amazed. She had not moved, but now she held a gun which had been lying right across the room from her.

  “How good a reason do I need?” she asked, smiling. Gaunt stepped back.

  “That little demonstration would seem good enough…”

  Lilith smiled and dropped the gun into her lap. She clasped her hands together again and set her head back.

  “Good. We’ll begin. By the proclamation of the Most High Emperor, governed as I am by His will, in totality, till the end of all days, as a servant of the Inquisition, I require you to furnish with me with answers of complete truth and veracity to your best knowledge. The penalties for deception are manifold and without limit. Do you understand?”

  “Get on with it.”

  She smiled again. “I like you, commissar. ‘The very devil’, they said. They were right.”

  “Who’s ‘they’?”

  Lilith didn’t answer. She rose, holding the pistol loose in her left hand. She circled Gaunt. He was unnerved by her masculine height and her unblinking stare.

  “Skipping further formalities, as you suggest, why don’t you tell me about the boy?”

  “What boy?”

  “So coy. His name is Brin Milo, a Tanith native, part of your cadre but a civilian.”

  “What do you want to know, inquisitor?”

  “Oh, everything, Ibram; everything.”

  Gaunt cleared his throat. “Milo is… here by chance. The regimental piper, mascot… my aide.”

  “Why?”

  “He’s smart, sharp, eager. The men like him. He can do the jobs I ask of him quickly and efficiently.”

  Lilith held up a finger. “Start from the beginning. Why is he here?”

  “When Chaos fell on Tanith, and consumed it, I elected to withdraw all the able bodied men I could from the world. My own exit was barred and the boy intervened, clearing my way. In gratitude, I took him with me. He’s too young for infantry, so I made him my aide.”

  “Because of his skills?”

  “Yes. And because there was nothing other to be done with him.”

  Lilith came close to Gaunt and stared into his eyes. “What are his skills?”

  “Efficiency, ability, keenness to—”

  “Really, commissar. You can admit it. Taking a liking to a clean-limbed young cabin mate and—”

  The slap resounded in the close air of the cabin. Lilith didn’t flinch. She turned away, laughing.

  “Very good. Very direct. So we can cut the crap, can we? I have notice that the boy is a witch. How do you respond?”

  “He is not.” Gaunt swallowed. “The poison of the warp turns my guts. You think I would have truck with it for a second?” He paused. “Present company excepted, naturally.”

  Lilith circled him. “But he’s useful. I’ve done my ground work, Gaunt. He predicts things, guesses them before they happen… attacks, incidents, what files the commissar needs. What the commissar wants for breakfast—”

  “That’s no witchcraft. He’s smart. He anticipates.”

  “There was a game… a scam… in the lower decks. He was a key part of it. He knew how to win it. He was perfect in his guesses. What do you say to that?”

  “I say: who put you up to this?”

  “Does it matter?”

  “It was Sturm, wasn’t it? And his pet ox, Gilbear. They have an agenda; how can you trust their word?”

  She faced him and fixed him with her eyes. “But of course. They cannot hide it from me. Sturm and Gilbear hate you and despise your Ghosts. They tried to obliterate you on Voltemand and failed. Now they seek to bring you down by whatever means they have.”

  Gaunt was almost speechless. “You know this and still you come here?”

  “I’m an inquisitor, Ibram,” she replied with a smile. “Sturm and his men are brutes. I have no interest in their internecine hatred for you and your men. But Lord Militant General Bulledin has brought me here to assess and sanction the dangers of witchcraft during the liberation of Monthax. Enemy witchcraft… and also that which lurks within like a cancer. The boy has been brought to my attention and I am duty bound to examine the evidence. They say he’s a witch. I don’t care why they say it or what they hope to earn from such accusations. But if they’re right… That’s why I’m here. Is Milo touched? Is he psyker? Don’t protect him, Gaunt. It will be so much the worse for you if you do.”

  “He isn’t. This is all political nonsense. The Bluebloods have seen a potential weakness they wish to exploit.”

  “We’ll sec. I need to speak with this Milo. Now.”

  To be summoned by his commissar during night cycle was not, I new experience for Brill Milo; there were often out-of-hours errands to be run. But as soon as he arrived outside Gaunt’s quarters, he realised something was wrong. Gaunt was in full dress uniform, with jacket and cap, and his face was grim. A tall woman in black with an oddly malevolent air about her waited to the side.

  “This servant of the Emperor has some questions for you,” Gaunt explained. He refrained from using the loaded word ‘inquisitor’. “Answer her honestly and directly.”

  Wordlessly, Lilith led them down the long deck hall and into the docking ring. They crossed over into the hexathedral itself Milo was apprehensive. He had not set foot on the great docking craft before. The air smelled different, sacred and cool after the stuffy humidity of the troop transport, and the scale of the chambers they passed through startled him. The only people they met were deacons in robes, brown-armoured troopers and small groups of ranking officers. It was another world.

  Lilith led the way on a route that took twenty minutes to walk and passed through several main chapels and chambers of the hexathedral, including the Orrery. Gaunt understood her tact
ics. The route was overlong and unnecessary, except it would disarm and over-awe the boy and make his psychological reserve weaker. She was clever to the point of cruel.

  They reached an iris shutter at the end of a long corridor flanked by windows of stained glass. Lilith made a slight gesture with her hand and the hatch spiralled open. She waved the boy inside and turned on the threshold to speak with Gaunt.

  “You may attend, but make no interruption. Gaunt, you’re a valuable officer, and if this boy turns out to be tainted, I can make it so you suffer nothing more than a slight reprimand for being unaware of his status.”

  “A generous suggestion. What are the conditions?”

  Lilith smiled. “We are complementary instruments, commissar, you and I. My duty is to worm out corruption, yours is to punish it. If Milo is corrupt, you will exonerate yourself by performing summary execution yourself. It will reflect your outrage and determination to clean house.”

  Gaunt was silent. The possibility clawed at his mind.

  “There would be no other way to salvage your reputation, command or career. Indeed your very life may be forfeit if it is thought you conspired to protect a pawn of the Darkness. Do you hear me, Gaunt?”

  “I hear your threat to my life and its future. I deal with threats as a profession.”

  “Then I’ll be blunter. Sturm has initiated this process because he sees it as a way of bringing you and the Ghosts down. If Milo is corrupt and you do not distance yourself from him and act like a commissar, your life will be over — and Sturm will make sure the Ghosts are dismantled. He has already seeded the idea in Bulledin’s mind that if one Ghost is a witch, so might others be. The Tanith first would be taken, to a man, by the Inquisition and they would all suffer extreme investigation. Most would die. The rest would be cast aside as no longer fit to serve the Imperial Guard. I am bound by duty to investigate Sturm’s claim. I do not wish to be party to his vendetta against the Tanith, but I will become so if you do not act accommodatingly, willingly and honourably.”

  “I see. Thank you for your candour.”

  “Chaos is the greatest threat mankind faces, Gaunt. We cannot allow psychic power to exist within any untrained mind. If the boy is touched, he must be destroyed.”

  “Not evaluated by the Black Ships… as you were?”

  She looked at him with a sharp frown. “Not this time. The political situation is too delicate. If Milo is a witch, he must be put to death to appease all parties.”

  “I see.”

  She nodded and stepped inside. Gaunt paused and found himself looking down at his holstered bolt pistol. Could he do it? The life of every Ghost might depend on the sacrifice of Milo, and to have struggled to bring them so far, to save them and give them purpose was not something Gaunt felt he could throw aside. He owed it to the Tanith to do all he could to safeguard them. But to execute Brin… the boy who had selflessly saved his life, selflessly served… it went so against his personal honour the thought crushed his chest.

  Yet if the boy really was touched, really was tainted with the unbearable stain of Chaos…

  His face grim and cold, he ducked inside, and the iris hatch whispered shut behind him.

  The room was wide and high, lacking windows in its walls but sporting a great circular port in the roof. Stars gleamed down from above and their light was almost all there was, except for small, dim lamps set around the edges of the floor. There was a carpet on the floor, a thick, coloured weave that bore the Imperial eagle crest. Two seats, facing each other, sat in the centre of the carpet — a high-backed wooden throne with knurled armrests, and a smaller wooden stool. Lilith sat on the stool and motioned Milo to occupy the huge throne. Its wooden embrace seemed to swallow him up. Gaunt stood back, watching uneasily.

  “Your name?”

  “Brin Milo.”

  “I am Lilith. I am an inquisitor.” That word now, finally, biting the air with its menace and threat. Milo’s eyes were wide and fearful.

  She asked him about Tanith, his past, his life there. He answered, halting at first, but as her questions flowed — innocent, innocuous questions about his memories — he spoke more confidently.

  She asked him to recount his first meeting with Gaunt, his memories of the fall of Tanith, the choice he had made to fight for Gaunt there.

  “Why? You were not a soldier. You are not a soldier now. Why did you defend this off-worlder you hardly knew?”

  Milo glanced at Gaunt briefly. “The Elector of Tanith, whose household I served as musician and attendant, ordered me to stay with the commissar and see to his needs. His needs at that point were mortal. He was being attacked and had little chance of survival. I was doing as I had been ordered.”

  She sat back, drumming her fingers on her knees. “It interests me, Milo, that you have not yet asked why this interrogation is happening. Most brought before me usually express outrage and protest innocence, wondering why this should be happening to them. But you do not. In my experience, the guilty always know why they’re here and seldom ask. Do you know why you’re here?”

  “I can guess.”

  Gaunt froze. Wrong answer, Brin, wrong answer…“Guess out loud,” she invited. “I hear you’re remarkably good at guessing.”

  Milo seemed to tremble. “I am considered by many to be a misfit. Some of the Tanith don’t like to have me around. I am not like them.”

  “Feth, Milo! I said answer honestly, but there’s honest and there’s this! Gaunt thought darkly. His heart raced. What do you mean? How are you not like them?”

  “I… I’m different. It makes them uneasy.”

  “How are you different?” she asked, almost eager. Here it comes, thought Gaunt. “I’m not a soldier.”

  “You’re… what?”

  They’re all soldiers. “That’s why they’re here, that’s why they survived the fall of Tanith. They were all new-founded Guards, mustered to leave Tanith anyway, and the commissar only evacuated them because of their worth to the Emperor. But I’m not. I’m a civilian. I shouldn’t be here. I shouldn’t have survived. The Tanith see me and they think ‘Why did that boy survive? Why is he here? If he’s here, why not my brother, my daughter, my father, my wife?’

  “I represent a possibility of survival denied to them all.”

  She was silent for a moment.

  It was all Gaunt could do to stop himself smiling. Milo’s answer had been perfect, as had the way he had allowed it to seem she was leading him into a trap. It made his response seem all the more honest.

  Lilith got to her feet and crossed to Gaunt’s side. He could see the fierce annoyance in her face. She whispered, “Have you briefed the boy? Coached him in good answers for just such an event?”

  Gaunt shook his head. “No, and if I had, don’t you suppose such an admission might make it look as if I knew Milo had something to hide?”

  She hissed a curse and thought for a moment.

  “Why this charade of questions?” Gaunt asked. “Why not just probe his mind? You have the gift, don’t you?”

  She looked and him and nodded. “You know I do. But a good psyker, a dangerous psyker, can hide his power. The questions are an effective method of opening up his guard and winkling out the truth. And if his mind is the seething furnace we fear, I have no wish to touch it directly.”

  She turned back, pacing around Milo’s throne, from behind him, she said. “Tell me about the game.”

  “Game?”

  “The game you and your Tanith friends play in the troop decks.”

  She paced round in front of him and held out her right hand, palm down, balled in a fist. She turned it over and opened it. A grain-louse sat in the palm, twitching and alive.

  “This game.”

  “Oh,” Milo said. “It’s a betting game. You bet on which hole the bug will come out.”

  She put the bug on his knee and it made no effort to jump away. Milo looked down at it with fascination. Lilith crossed to the side of the room and took something from a wa
ll cupboard. The object was covered in a velvet cloth. When she unveiled it, it was like a magician about to perform a conjuring trick. But not half as much as when Varl did it.

  She gave the rusty censer ball to Milo. “Open it. Put the bug inside.”

  He obeyed.

  “Now, Milo. This isn’t a game, is it? It’s a scam. It’s a trick the Tanith use to win cash from the other Guards. And if it’s a scam, it needs a sting. It needs a foolproof method to make it a sure thing the Tanith will win. You’re the sting, aren’t you? On demand, you can guess right… because that’s what you do, isn’t it? Your mind does the trick and makes it a certainty.”

  Milo shook his head. “It’s just a game…”

  “I have it on good authority that it is not. If it’s a game, why do you play it with unsuspecting troops from other regiments? By my own investigation, you and your friends have earned a small fortune from other men in these last few days. More than you would expect to win if it was just chance.”

  “Lucky, I gu — I suppose.”

  “You cannot run a scam on such wide odds. How do you really ensure the bug emerges from the right hole?”

  Brin lifted the censer. The bug ticked inside. “Okay… if it matters so much, I’ll show you. Pick a hole.”

  “Sixteen,” she said, sitting down on the stool facing him, apparently eager.

  “I say nine.” He set it down. The bug emerged from hole twenty.

  “You win. You were closer.”

  She shrugged.

  He opened the censer and put the bug back inside. “That was round one. You’re more confident now. You’ll play again. Pick.”

  “Seven.”

  “Twenty-five,” said Milo. They waited, and then the bug wriggled out of hole six and hopped across the carpet.

  “Again you win. You’re feeling good now, aren’t you? Two wins. On the troop deck, you might have a pile of coins now, and you might wager the lot. You put the bug in.”

  She did so and handed the censer back to Milo.

  “Pick?” he said.

  “Nineteen. All my money and all the cash my comrades-in arms have on nineteen.” He smiled. “One,” he said. The bug squirmed out of hole one.