The Beast Arises

‘Oh.’ Not buying it. ‘You didn’t want to speak to me on a particular subject? No desire to unburden yourself about the Inquisition’s internal politics? No?’ Veritus looked straight ahead. Vangorich matched his pace. ‘What a shame. Then I’ll have to content myself with the simple pleasure of your company.’

They reached the corner and turned north.

The grey-brown dawn trickled through skylights to the courtyard.

‘A big day,’ Vangorich commented. The embarkation was almost complete. The launch of the Merchants’ Armada was imminent.

Veritus said, ‘A dark one.’

‘On that, we can agree.’

They walked past the first of the columns.

Machtannin looked through the sights of the rifle. He had been motionless since Vangorich had entered the chapel ordinary. His finger held the trigger. He did not approve of assassinations. They were distasteful, the province of the Officio Assassinorum. They were too merciful. Targets who did not know they were about to die escaped proper retribution. Machtannin preferred to hide in plain sight, face and dress transformed to appear before the enemies of the Imperium in a guise that inspired confidence. There was a satisfying justice in making traitors feel the sting of betrayal themselves. He had undergone so many polymorphine treatments that his face now was an approximation of his original features. It was a small sacrifice. In exchange, he saw the look on the faces of the guilty as punishment came for them.

He wouldn’t see that here. But then Vangorich was no traitor. He was guilty of poor judgement. His mistakes were harming the Imperium, but he believed himself to be virtuous. He would die in that belief. Machtannin supposed he was worthy of that much mercy.

Vangorich and Veritus walked between the first set of columns. The shot was clear.

Veritus paused, as if struck by a sudden thought.

Vangorich walked another two steps, then stopped. ‘What is it?’ he asked.

Machtannin’s concentration narrowed to the centre of Vangorich’s forehead. His finger tightened.

The rifle was yanked from his grasp. The stock slammed his head backwards. He rolled into a crouch and jumped to his feet, blinking away the stun. A man stood in the shadows of the wall. He had bent the barrel of the rifle.

‘Throne save us from amateurs,’ the man said.

Strong, Machtannin thought. Maybe not fast. He leapt at the man, striking with enhanced reflexes. Speed was his weapon. He had once deflected a traitor’s bolter shell with the edge of his hand. He landed four blows to the side of the man’s neck before the other could even drop the gun.

It was like hitting a column.

The Assassin punched him in the chest. He was fast, too. The hit came before Machtannin could think to evade. Something crunched.

He entered a land of surprise. He was surprised that he wasn’t sent flying. He stumbled back from his opening. He tried to attack again, and was surprised when his legs didn’t obey his command. He was surprised when they folded up beneath him and he sat down hard. He was surprised to find he was holding his breath.

No.

Surprise: there was no breath to be had.

Surprise: the pain bursting from his chest, the pressure in his skull spreading red and black.

His head rocked forward. There was a hole in his chest. A big one.

Surprise.

Had he seen something in the man’s fist?

He couldn’t think any more. He couldn’t care any more.

No more surprises.

And after a great flare, no more pain.

Only the dark.

‘Were you waiting for someone?’ Vangorich asked as they walked on.

‘No.’ The hesitation was very brief.

Vangorich smiled. ‘Just as well. He won’t be coming.’

Later, in his quarters, Vangorich said to Beast Krule, ‘Good to have you back.’

Krule grunted. ‘This is getting messy,’ he said.

‘Can’t be helped.’ Vangorich held a bottle of amasec, debating. An Iaxian vintage, three centuries old. Was there ever the correct occasion for such a treasure? He decided there was, when there might soon be no more occasions at all. He opened the bottle and decanted two glasses. ‘Well done,’ he said, handing one to Krule.

‘Wasn’t difficult. They took the bait.’

‘Let’s not call it bait. I really had hoped Veritus wouldn’t push things this far. Think of it as a designated opportunity. If they were going to take action, better it be in a situation we could neutralise.’

Krule shrugged. ‘Call it what you like.’ He sipped the amasec, and gave an appreciative nod. ‘Do you want me to do more?’

‘Not yet. I think we have Veritus contained, at least for now. He’s running out of allies and moves. Has Wienand reached the Inquisitorial Fortress?’

‘I lost track of her before she did. But we’d know if she hadn’t.’