Anarch - Dan Abnett Page 3

  A side door led through to the small tower room that served as a study. Merity was sitting at the desk under the window. She looked small, dressed in the simple black fatigues of a Tanith trooper. When she turned to face him, he saw, despite her close-cropped hair, how much like her mother she truly looked.

  She rose to her feet, and stood like a soldier on review. Her face was pinched-pale, and there was a clean field-dressing on her forehead.

  ‘Are you all right?’ he asked.

  ‘Yes, sir,’ she said.

  ‘I’m sorry this has occurred.’

  ‘Sir.’

  ‘I’m sorry you… you felt compelled to conceal your real identity from me.’

  ‘Females do not advance on Verghast,’ she said. ‘Coming here was a chance to achieve some credibility. Some capital that rendered my gender irrelevant.’

  ‘I thought coming here was about finding your father?’ said Gaunt.

  ‘I found him,’ Merity said. ‘He was a soldier. Occupied with the war. He was not family-minded, nor do I blame him for that. I never expected a happy family reunion. I saw only political gain.’

  ‘Really?’

  Her face remained hard-set.

  ‘Who knew?’ he asked.

  ‘Only Maddalena. Then Dalin and Ludd.’

  ‘Both of them?’

  ‘I swore them to secrecy. They both honoured that.’

  ‘You could have told me,’ said Gaunt.

  She half-shrugged. ‘Not really,’ she said.

  ‘We could talk about it.’

  ‘I apologise for the problems I’ve caused. I expect to be returning to Verghast as soon as circumstances allow.’

  ‘We could talk about it now, I mean.’

  ‘You have time?’

  ‘I have… ten minutes or so.’

  ‘Ten minutes of the Lord Executor’s time. I’m honoured.’

  ‘I didn’t–’

  ‘I wasn’t being sarcastic. I’m impressed you’re even here. Honestly, I don’t want to talk about it. About any of it. I’d rather–’

  ‘What?’

  ‘No one’s really talked to me about anything for the last four days. Commissar Fazekiel has been very sensitive in her questions. But I’d rather talk about… well, absolutely anything else.’

  Gaunt took a seat.

  ‘Like what?’

  ‘This war, maybe?’

  ‘This war?’ he echoed. He gestured to the desk chair and she sat back down.

  ‘I have been shut in here for three days,’ said Merity. ‘I know nothing about anything. I’m hoping for distraction, I suppose. You have been named Lord Executor?’

  ‘I have,’ said Gaunt.

  ‘Which makes you warmaster elect. Second only to Lord Macaroth. His–’

  ‘Fixer,’ said Gaunt.

  She looked surprised.

  ‘You’re not pleased at the promotion?’

  ‘It’s a huge honour, and unexpected,’ said Gaunt. ‘But I’m not a fool. Macaroth is a private man, and his detachment from staff business has become a chronic problem. I’m supposed to bridge that gap, become his mouth. I’ve no illusions. A fair amount of dirty work will come with the role. Most of it political.’

  ‘You must learn the art of delegation,’ she said.

  ‘You’re not the first person to tell me that today.’ He smiled.

  ‘The Munitorum, the Administratum, the Officio Tacticae and the Office of the Militarum exist to take ninety per cent of that burden off your desk. Leaving you only with the command effect decisions. A warmaster elect can surely establish his own cabinet to filter and process information, just as a secretarial cabinet of the Administratum would–’

  He raised an eyebrow.

  ‘I had no idea you were so well-versed,’ he said.

  ‘Only in terms of civil administration,’ she replied. ‘I didn’t mean to speak out of turn.’

  ‘Please do,’ said Gaunt. ‘We’re only having a conversation.’

  ‘I was raised as the heir of House Chass,’ she said. ‘Civic Administration was considered a fundamental skill-set, so my primary at Vervun Didact was administrative proceeding. My mother believed any scion of House Chass needed a full grounding in housekeeping, and I say “house” in the fuller sense of the dynasty itself. I had begun to broker those qualifications into a placement with the Verghast-Vervun Munitorum as a way to acquire some military credentials. Then a more direct path appeared.’

  ‘Coming here?’ asked Gaunt.

  ‘Coming here,’ she agreed. ‘Clearly, now, an idiotic plan. But the rivals of House Chass, House Anko, for instance, barely tolerate my ­mother’s seniority. To accommodate, when the time came, a second female successor… well, that successor would need exemplary credentials. Significant military experience, of any sort. And even then–’

  ‘You’re ambitious?’

  Merity stared at him.

  ‘Of course,’ she replied. ‘Like my mother. Like my father.’

  ‘I don’t know how ambitious your father is,’ he said.

  ‘It doesn’t really matter, does it?’ she replied. ‘Given the lofty position he now finds himself in.’

  There was a long silence.

  ‘Is Sek defeated?’ she asked. ‘The raids have subsided.’

  ‘That is the question,’ said Gaunt. ‘The assaults on Eltath and Zarak­ppan have been repulsed for now, but there is considerable enemy activity in the surrounding zones. Fresh assault could begin at any time. Our forces under the Beati have dealt the Archenemy a considerable blow at Ghereppan. In fact, we don’t know how badly the Saint has hurt Sek. He may even be dead. Certainly his death, or serious incapacity, could explain the sudden collapse of the assaults at Eltath. Then again, he could be regrouping. Intel operations are in progress. The next few days will show us. Either we’re approaching the final battle with the Anarch’s forces, or we’re facing a long suppression and purge of surviving enemy elements. Whichever, Urdesh is far from won.’

  ‘Why do you believe he could be regrouping?’ she asked.

  Gaunt paused, then allowed himself a small smile.

  ‘That’s the question I keep asking,’ he said. ‘Sek could be wounded and running, or even dead. But the nature of his breakaway in Eltath has… I just have a feeling about it. It didn’t feel to me like a burn-out. Like an assault that had lost momentum. It felt like a deliberate cessation. As if some objective, unknown to us, had been achieved. The halt was deliberate, as though a phase was over. We don’t know what the next phase is.’

  ‘But you have suspicions?’

  ‘Yes, I do.’

  ‘Concerning?’

  ‘That, I’m afraid, is entirely classified. I’m sorry.’

  ‘Of course,’ she said, dismissively. ‘Though I wager it connects to the materials recovered during the Salvation’s Reach operation.’

  ‘I couldn’t comment,’ said Gaunt. ‘But I am impressed by your appreciation of the circumstances.’

  ‘I was there, at the Reach.’

  ‘You were.’

  ‘Do others share your appraisal? Other lords, I mean? Macaroth himself?’

  ‘There is some dispute,’ said Gaunt. ‘At staff level, there is seldom consensus. I’m going to have to work hard to keep everyone who matters convinced of the critical danger we may be facing.’

  ‘You don’t have to convince anyone,’ she said. ‘You are Lord Executor. If you believe there’s a present danger, you order them to fall in line. They are obliged. Isn’t that the point of a Lord Executor?’

  ‘You would think so,’ he agreed. ‘In practice…’

  He shrugged.

  ‘This is the Imperial Guard,’ he said. ‘Orders are supposed to be orders, not points of debate. I fear the problem is that there are too many chiefs her
e. Too much authority, concentrated in one place.’

  ‘And you’re an unknown factor. Untested. They’re not used to your supreme authority.’

  ‘There’s that,’ he agreed.

  ‘Then you should exercise it. Demonstrate it. Make an example of someone.’

  ‘I don’t think–’

  ‘Before everything else, you were a commissar. You need a little of that, perhaps.’

  He nodded. ‘Perhaps so.’

  ‘What about Van Voytz?’ she asked.

  ‘What about him?’

  ‘He is disgraced,’ she said.

  ‘Who told you that?’

  She winced. ‘Your adjutant mentioned–’

  ‘Beltayn’s wrong,’ Gaunt said gently. ‘Van Voytz took action he deemed was right for the crusade. It was misguided. He has been reprimanded.’

  ‘But not disgraced. Have you sent him away to some fourth tier duty?’

  ‘No. I thought it better to keep him at hand. Punishment sometimes sends the wrong message. I’ve taken the Fifth Army off him for my own division, and charged him with preparation for the Saint’s arrival.’

  ‘Is that…’ she paused. ‘With respect, is that wise? His insubordination was a slim legal definition away from treason. The two of you were close, in times past. Could this not be read as you going easy on an old ally?’

  ‘Where making an example of him would demonstrate my authority shows no one favours?’ he asked.

  Merity nodded.

  ‘I was a commissar, as you said,’ said Gaunt, ‘then a line officer too. My whole career, I have tried to temper the ruthlessness of the former role with the consideration of the other. A balance. To be unswervingly strict when necessary, but also not to make enemies needlessly. There are more than enough of those in this galaxy as it is.’

  ‘Yet you are, in fact, neither of those things now,’ she said. ‘You are First Lord Executor. You don’t need to make enemies or friends.’

  He looked at her quizzically.

  ‘Have I amused you, sir?’ she asked.

  ‘No,’ he said.

  ‘I was just talking,’ she said. ‘Chattering, I suppose. I have felt very isolated. I am…’

  ‘What?’

  ‘I am sorry they died. Ezra, and even those men.’

  Gaunt was about to respond when someone knocked hard at the outer door. It opened.

  ‘My lord?’ Sancto called.

  Gaunt rose, and motioned Merity to stay. He walked through the bedchamber. The Scion Sancto stood in the doorway, Beltayn hovering behind him.

  ‘I told him you were busy,’ Beltayn said.

  ‘Be quiet,’ Sancto said to Beltayn, sidelong. He looked at Gaunt. ‘Inquisitor Laksheema requests immediate audience, my lord,’ he said.

  ‘Inquisitor Laksheema was instructed to go through channels,’ said Gaunt.

  Sancto didn’t reply, as if his part in the entire exchange was complete. Behind him, Beltayn grimaced.

  ‘I think this is her idea of going through channels, sir,’ he said.

  Gaunt pushed past them. The inquisitor awaited him in the outer room, flanked by Colonel Grae of the Intelligence Service and members of Laksheema’s retinue. Ban Daur was standing in the corner of the room, glaring at Laksheema.

  Behind Laksheema, in the doorway, stood Viktor Hark and Gol Kolea.

  ‘Lord Executor,’ said Laksheema, nodding her head in a quick bow of deference.

  ‘What’s this about?’ Gaunt growled.

  Three: The Effects of the Dead

  The alarms went off, screeching through the halls of the palace undercroft. Then they cut out again, just as sharply.

  ‘Feth’s sake,’ Baskevyl muttered. That was the sixth time it had happened in the last two hours. The Tanith personnel and retinue billeted in the cold cellars of the Urdeshic Palace were getting seriously spooked. They were well below ground in arched basement chambers beneath the palace’s Hexagonal Court, spaces once used to store wine and grain. There were no windows to look out of, no windows through which they could see if an actual attack was underway. Baskevyl was sick of asking the Munitorum work crews what the problem was, and sick of their vague answer of ‘probably faulty wiring’.

  He set aside his half-finished cup of cold caffeine and got up to take another stroll through the billet and calm some nerves.

  Blenner was standing in the archway of his billet area.

  ‘False alarm?’ Blenner asked.

  ‘Seems so,’ replied Baskevyl.

  ‘Again?’

  Baskevyl pulled on his coat, and didn’t reply.

  ‘Are you, ah…’ Blenner began.

  ‘Am I what, commissar?’ Baskevyl asked.

  ‘You seem to be giving me the cold shoulder a little, Bask,’ said Blenner, trying a friendly smile.

  Baskevyl turned and looked at the commissar as he buttoned up his jacket. His look did not return the friendship.

  ‘Not everything is about you, Vaynom,’ he said.

  ‘No. Obviously.’

  ‘We’re the personal company of the First Lord Executor,’ said Baskevyl. ‘Privileged and elevated. And this is what our privilege gets us. Stuck here in a wine cellar. There are matters to deal with that aren’t being dealt with. I have feth-all idea what’s going on, and I’m itching to re-join my company, which is out in Millgate somewhere, facing Throne knows what. So that might account for my demeanour.’

  ‘Of course.’

  ‘Unless there was something else you think might be weighing on me?’

  ‘Just…’ Blenner shrugged awkwardly. ‘Just the matter of Jakub Wilder.’

  ‘Because you executed him?’

  ‘Yes, Bask. That.’

  ‘He had just committed murder, had he not?’

  ‘He had. Poor Ezra–’

  ‘So I should think your field execution was entirely justified under the discipline code. You are a commissar.’

  ‘Is that… is that what Fazekiel is writing up?’ asked Blenner eagerly.

  ‘Her investigation is ongoing,’ said Baskevyl. ‘I can’t imagine how she could find in any other way. Unless there’s something you and Meryn aren’t telling us.’

  ‘Well, no. Nothing like that.’ Blenner cleared his throat. Baskevyl got the distinct impression that Blenner was glancing around in the hope of spotting a bottle he could pour a glass from.

  ‘Look, Bask,’ said Blenner. ‘The thing of it is… the thing of it is, morale really. And confidence.’

  ‘Go on,’ said Baskevyl.

  ‘Don’t make me spell it out, Bask.’

  Baskevyl sighed. ‘Your specific assignment in V company,’ Baskevyl said. ‘A Belladon company. The colours band. Of which Wilder was c.o. You are concerned how they regard you now you’ve shot their senior. How any of us Belladon will regard you.’

  ‘Well, I mean, given the history,’ said Blenner. ‘Jakub Wilder, Lucien Wilder. An illustrious Belladon fighting family–’

  ‘Jakub Wilder was not a model soldier,’ Bask snapped. ‘He let the name down. He murdered, for feth’s sake. And attacked the person of the First Lord Executor’s daughter. You were doing your duty.’

  ‘I was.’

  ‘Then you and me, we don’t have a problem. Jakub Wilder brought shame to the Belladon contingent. Unless, as I said, there’s more to this.’

  ‘There really isn’t.’

  ‘Good.’

  ‘I’d still request,’ said Blenner cautiously, ‘reassignment.’

  ‘Reassignment?’

  ‘Attachment to another company. The boys of V Company keep looking at me like I’m a bad smell.’

  There was a bad smell, all right. The background fug of sulphur from the volcanic vent the palace straddled was particularly noxious in the undercroft area. And t
he latrines had flooded again. Another technical issue the Munitorum work crews couldn’t adequately explain.

  ‘First of all, just bring them into line,’ said Baskevyl unsympathetically. ‘It’s not a popularity contest. Second, that’s not my call.’

  ‘You’re senior officer present.’

  ‘By rank, yes. But Daur has operational oversight of the Tanith here. Take it up with him if you must. Except don’t, because Ban’s not an idiot, and he’ll give you the same answer I just did.’

  ‘Where is Captain Daur?’ Blenner asked.

  ‘Fethed if I know, Vaynom.’

  ‘Is… is the girl all right?’

  Baskevyl looked at him. ‘Gaunt’s daughter? Again, fethed if I know. Is that all?’

  Blenner nodded. Baskevyl pushed past him to exit. He paused.

  ‘Any word from Hark?’ he asked Blenner.

  ‘I’ve heard nothing.’

  ‘Nothing through Prefectus channels?’

  ‘No, Bask.’

  ‘So we have no idea where Kolea is?’

  ‘We don’t,’ Blenner agreed.

  The alarms suddenly went off again. They shrieked for a second before shutting off. Blenner flinched.

  ‘Feth that,’ said Baskevyl, and strode away.

  Alone, Blenner leant against the door jamb and breathed out slowly, trying to calm himself. His hands were shaking, so he stuffed them in the pockets of his storm coat.

  ‘Nice chat?’ Meryn whispered.

  Blenner jerked with a start. The Tanith captain was standing right beside him in the shadow of the archway.

  Meryn grinned his crooked grin.

  ‘Don’t do that,’ Blenner hissed.

  ‘I’ve got something for you, Vaynom,’ Meryn said. He took a baggie of pills and stuffed them into Blenner’s top pocket. ‘Something to take the edge off.’