Black Library Events Anthology 2018-19 Page 5

  'Can't offend me.'

  'Yeah, well you're offending my nose.'

  Shoam chuckled. It was hard to upset the Savlar, which was good, as he had a habit of shanking people that managed to.

  'Too hot, eh? Sweaty pinky, sticky oil, grumpy Meggen.' Shoam shook his head. 'You think this is hot? You not been on Savlar in summertime. That'd fry your bones.'

  'I'm sure it would.'

  'Been looking for you.'

  'Yeah?' Gollph went back to scrubbing the oil-streaked shell.

  'Yeah,' said Shoam, leaning in. 'Old Shoam hears some whispers, so he follows the whispers and hears some rumours. Rumours become little hints. Little hints lead to big orders.' He sat back. 'We're leaving,' he said, with great gravity.

  Gollph looked up at him. 'Seriously?'

  Shoam nodded.

  'Six months in the heat, no action, we're really moving on?'

  'Yes. Am I not clear?'

  'You're clear.' Gollph stopped scrubbing. 'I don't know how I feel about this. I'm bored as hell, but being bored beats being dead.'

  'What you feel don't matter,' said Shoam. 'You're a Guardsman. Do as you're told. Go where you're told. But not right now. Right now, you got something else to do.'

  Gollph looked at him quizzically a moment. Realisation lit up his face with dismay.

  'Oh, no, no, no, no. You're going to hold me to that, are you?'

  'Foolproof plan, little man, it's got to be now, before they break the camp, before the logisters come in and count up all the nuts and the bolts and the ammopacks. Easy to lose things, breaking camp. Things go missing all the time. We want to do it, we do it now.'

  'Right, right,' said Gollph. 'But do we have to do it that way?'

  Shoam grinned a rotten-toothed smile and nodded slowly. 'Only way there is.'

  Meggen came strolling back. He was looking over the instructive text printed on a can of oil, and did not see their visitor at first. 'Hey, Gollph, Brasslock finally coughed up some of the better lubricant, the stuff they burn in the votive bowls, I told him the machine—' He stopped. 'Hello, hello. Karlock? Why are you lurking back there?'

  'It's time,' said Shoam.

  'It is?' said Meggen. He dropped the can of lubricant and sighed in relief. 'You mean we're finally getting off this steam-bath planet?'

  Shoam nodded. 'You know what else that means?'

  'Oh, yeah!' A gleam came into Meggen's eyes that matched Shoam's in wickedness. He looked at Gollph.

  'Not you as well! I'm not doing it!' said Gollph. He set to scrubbing his shell furiously.

  'Yes, you are,' said Meggen. 'You agreed months ago. You said you would. You promised. As soon as we were moving out - that's what he said, isn't it, Karlock?'

  'That's what he said,' said the Savlar.

  'I was drunk!' moaned Gollph.

  'It still counts,' said Meggen. 'Think of all the things he's done for us. There are worse commanding officers. A lot worse. He deserves it.'

  Gollph hunched over and scrubbed at the shell harder. 'You're so going to owe me for this.'

  At his elbow, Karlock Shoam sniggered. It wasn't a pretty sound.

  Omdurman continued its rapid spin. The day turned to night as if someone had doused a light. A horde of insects burst from hiding the moment the sun was gone, with a keen interest in human blood. Gollph swatted at them in irritation as he, Meggen and Shoam hid in a thicket and watched the galley store.

  'Look at this.' Gollph lifted up the breastplate of hollow reedstalks hanging over his chest.

  'Where did you find it?'

  'I made it,' said Meggen.

  'I can tell. No Bosovar wears anything like this!' The rest of his costume matched the breastplate in ridiculousness.

  'They don't know that,' said Meggen, watching the guards on the store. 'Big tent,' he said, lowering his magnoculars from his face.

  'This will be easy,' said Shoam.

  'You sound disappointed,' said Meggen.

  Shoam shrugged.

  'This is stupid,' said Gollph. 'I've had enough of pinky this and pinky that. Why are you making me do this? This will make things worse!'

  Meggen looked over his shoulder. 'People say Shoam's a criminal, and they don't trust him, just because he's from Savlar. You try being him, that'd stop your whining about people treating you badly,' he said sagely.

  'But he is a criminal!' Gollph whispered back.

  'I believe that's discriminatory, Gollph,' said Meggen with mock severity.

  'He's from Savlar, they're known for it!'

  'Is that so?' said Meggen, lifting his magnoculars back up to his face. 'Aren't Bosovar known for being a bit slow on the uptake?'

  'That's different! They think we're fools only because we don't know any better.'

  'There you go. It's a misunderstanding. You can't write a whole planet off because of your prejudices, Gollph. Karlock here is an honest operator.'

  Shoam chuckled throatily behind them.

  'I'm hardly doing my bit to dispel misconceptions about my people with this act!' said Gollph.

  'Never mind that, we need what's in there. Here's the requisition chit.' Meggen pushed a crumpled sheet of paper at Gollph.

  Gollph read it. 'This is nonsense,' said Gollph.

  'It's supposed to look bad. The more they think some idiot pinkskin has it all wrong, the further they'll be off our trail. I had to get Apranian soused to sign that. Cost me a good bottle of gleece,' said Meggen.

  'I'm not happy about this,' said Gollph darkly. 'Apranian's got five Bosovar on his personal staff. They could hang one of them.'

  'No hanging, brave warrior,' whispered Shoam, which wasn't at all unusual - he barely ever spoke above a sinister hiss. 'Too many of them. These Atraxians and others, they can't tell your kind apart. They won't kill for this.'

  'Could we stop it with the "all Bosovar are stupid and look the same",' said Gollph. He sniffed and pulled a face, and looked down. 'Throne! I think someone's been using this bush as an ablutorial.' He swore in his native, clicking tongue 'It's all over my Throne-damned feet!'

  'Shut up, or we'll be heard,' said Meggen. 'Shh!' Two guards had come to the tent to relieve the others. Meggen leaned forwards and peered at them. 'Yeah, yeah!' he said eagerly. 'There we are, that's Kollopian. He's the one we're waiting for. He's dim as they come. Right then, off you go.'

  'I really don't want to do this,' said Gollph.

  'Needs must,' said Meggen. He shoved Gollph forwards. 'Get to it, little savage, you know what to do. Keep them occupied. If you think about it, we're doing the hard work.'

  'All right! I know.' Gollph walked a few steps, then stopped and shot them a dirty look.

  'And don't kill anyone!' whispered Meggen.

  'I'll try not to,' said Gollph.

  'Go on now, shoo shoo!' said Shoam flapping his hands.

  'This is so undignified,' muttered Gollph as he headed down to the storage tent.

  Gollph didn't try to stay hidden, but it took a moment for the guards to notice him once he'd stepped into the wide, yellow pool of light around the galley store entrance. 'Halt, who goes there!' shouted the guard who wasn't Kollopian, levelling his lasrifle bayonet as stiffly as a conscript on the first day of drill.

  Kollopian slapped the weapon aside. He was a tall, mean, ugly-looking man. Rangy, but only dangerous to those smaller than himself, no real threat to a proper fighter. Gollph had his measure in half a second. Kollopian was a bully.

  'Put up your spear, stupid. It's just a pinkhide, creeping about. What do you want, pinky?' Kollopian's challenge was heavy with glee. He sensed sport ahead. 'Lone little man like you out in the night - not safe! Savvy?'

  Gollph affected an expression of cringing subservience and approached. Outside the circle of light, Shoam and Meggen ran silently past, heading for the rear of the store. It was vital the guards paid total attention to Gollph.

  'Please! Help! Have here me order from Captain Apranian, Paragon four-seven foot. Need now, very quick. P
lease!' He waved the form under Kollopian's nose upside down. Kollopian snatched it. His face darkened.

  'What? What by Terra is this?'

  Gollph blinked at him in a sham of incomprehension. Inside, he seethed.

  'Good form, yes?'

  'No, bad form,' said Kollopian slowly and loudly. 'Wrong form, savvy? No read-y read? Get it?'

  'What?' said the other man.

  'Idiot's got his officer to sign the wrong form, hasn't he?' said Kollopian over his shoulder. 'This one's for resupply, not special requisition.' He shook his head at the childlike writing on the list of required supplies. 'None of these little basdacks can read or write. What's the point of them? They're cowards, child-minded fools. Waste of rations.' Kollopian handed his gun back to his fellow and crumpled the requisition form slowly in front of Gollph's face.

  'Go away.'

  'Need flour ration, now?' Gollph said quietly.

  'Throne they can't even speak properly,' said Kollopian. He dropped the screwed up form onto the ground. 'Get out of here.'

  Gollph looked at the form, then looked at Kollopian. 'No get?' He acted fearful. 'No get, pinky get the whip!'

  Kollopian smiled nastily. 'Yeah, wouldn't that be a shame.' He bent low, so his black-toothed mouth leered right in Gollph's face. 'If it were up to me, you'd all be whipped, every day, make you work harder and stop you running away, good-for-nothing little savages.' He prodded Gollph hard in the chest Gollph whimpered, while simultaneously calculating how to break every bone in Kollopian's fist.

  'Get out of here, now.'

  Gollph forced himself not to look over the guard's shoulder at the tent. How long did the others need to get the stuff? Another minute? Two?

  'Please! Please, good sir,' wailed Gollph at the top of his voice. 'Must need have flour and foods for lieutenant! Is an order. Need now, please!'

  'For the Emperor's sake, keep it down!' Kollopian said. 'Need now!'

  Gollph saw Kollopian's blow coming a mile away. His jaw set before his muscles in his arms tensed. He set his feet badly. Gollph could have had him on the ground with a dislocated shoulder before Kollopian could blink. He forced himself to take the blow.

  'Why good sir do that?' said Gollph. His jaw stung. Kollopian was a lousy boxer, but that hurt.

  'Get out of here!' Kollopian hollered. He punched Gollph again. He was smiling, enjoying himself. Gollph took a few more hits, blinking with studied incomprehension.

  'You pinkies really are stupid.' He shoved Gollph hard, knocking him to the ground.

  Gollph curled up. Kollopian laughed as he kicked him.

  'Hey! Hey! What's going on here?'

  Kollopian ceased kicking him and stood sloppily to attention. 'A pinky sir, wrong orders, trying to get into the tent!'

  Meggen sauntered over to the prone Bosovar and helped him to his feet. Gollph stood woozily. He didn't need to act that. Kollopian's comrade stood staring open-mouthed at Meggen, scared by which way the scenario might go.

  'Look at the state of you,' said Meggen to Kollopian. 'Bloody infantry, stuffed full of lackwits. Tidy yourself up!' he said, slapping at Kollopian's dishevelled uniform. 'Where's your weapon?'

  Meggen's rank of First Gunner was equal to that of an infantry sergeant, and Kollopian had no choice but to take the criticism. Gollph was right in his assessment; Kollopian didn't have the guts to stand up to Meggen.

  'Sorry, sir. I'll sort it out, sir!'

  'Get back on guard. Can't a man go out for a quiet smoke? You're a disgrace.' Meggen warmed to his role, berating the infantryman with great gusto, to the point that Gollph thought he was overdoing it.

  Over behind Kollopian and his comrade, Gollph saw a shadow carrying a heavy knapsack vanish into the dark. He tapped Meggen's foot with his own gently. Meggen took the hint.

  'See this kind of thing doesn't happen again, and you, you little pink savage, make sure you get the right damn form next time!'

  'Yes, good sir,' said Gollph, bowing and cringing.

  'Come with me,' Meggen said, and took Gollph by the arm. Once they were away from the tent, he grinned.

  'That went excellently,' he said.

  Gollph threw off Meggen's arm. 'You're a Throne-damned basdack, you know that?'

  'Indeed I do,' said Meggen happily. 'Indeed I do.'

  'Every time, redeployment is sprung on us at the last moment. You would think that the Departmento could give us, of all people, a little more warning,' said Colaron Bannick to his cousin, Jonas, as they walked through the files of tents back to Bannick's quarters. 'You can't pack up and move a superheavy company overnight. It's ridiculous. They must have known about this for days, if not weeks. We're out of an active warzone, there's no risk of espionage. We don't even know where we're going. It's needless!'

  Jonas, who was a calmer character than his cousin, shrugged. 'That's the Guard for you, Col.'

  'This whole posting's been a disaster, Jonas. No enemy, no rebellion, barely any population to fend for and them all happy as can be with the Imperium. Half a year wasted on bad intelligence.'

  'I disagree there,' said Jonas. 'I wouldn't say wasted, not at all. You have to make the best of cock-ups like this. Personally, I've enjoyed our little holiday.'

  Activity was picking up in the camp as the first stages of packing commenced. The larger installations were the first to be dismantled, and the roads between the tents were busy with light haulers towing steel crates towards the landing fields.

  'Have you, now?' Colaron said.

  'I have. As should you, Honoured Captain,' said Jonas. 'We're both still alive. We aren't all as wedded to duty as you, cousin,' said Jonas.

  Colaron scowled.

  They reached the Seventh's mess tent. Despite the heat, it was laced up tight.

  'Why are all the sides let down? Who did this?' said Colaron, tugging loose the fastening of the flap. He strode within, his irritation building to outright anger, then stopped in his tracks.

  In the muggy dark of the tent, his company were assembled around a single table laid with a white cloth, and illuminated by candles. Upon it was a meagre feast that nevertheless bettered anything Bannick had seen for some time: Patagonian cakes, fresh fruit and even a modest joint of meat.

  'What?' he said.

  'Happy name day, sir,' said Meggen.

  'What?' said Colaron Bannick again. One of the crewmen took his coat. Another, posing as waiter, led him to the head of the table. A good, thick gleece awaited him. A rather bruised-looking Gollph showed him the bottle, rested it on a white cloth draped over his forearm and poured.

  'It was my name day weeks ago,' Bannick said. 'And I've not celebrated it for years.'

  'We thought it was about time,' said Meggen, 'on account of the fact that of all the commanding officers we've known around here, you're probably the least bad.'

  'Where'd you get all this?'

  'Need-to-know basis only,' whispered Shoam, who'd gone so far as to take a bath for the occasion. 'Sorry for the delay, chief man, breaking camp is the best time to organise such affairs.'

  'Jonas? Humigen? Marteken?' Bannick looked to the other officers in the tent who were grinning like drunkards. 'You know anything about this?'

  'I didn't,' said Jonas. 'But I'll not knock a holiday or a party either. Do you mind?' He picked up a glass, which was quickly filled. He raised it cheerfully. 'Your health, cousin.'

  The timbre of the camp's noise changed as the army prepared to move on. Machines squealed about on their treads. Ships grumbled up and down from orbit on gushing plumes of exhaust. Klaxons blared out every hour, and orders issued from a dozen voxmitters, amplifying the voices of harassed officers to harsh barks. And yet, for all the noise the army made as it broke camp, all those tens of thousands of men moving and sweating and shouting, they barely made an impact on the vast silences of the savannah. If Gollph turned away from the camp, it was still possible to pretend it wasn't there, and ignore it as a momentary blot on this peaceful, unspoilt world.


  That morning, he looked back at the camp.

  In one corner of the tent city, three punishment posts had been set up in a marshalling yard. Three figures were manacled to them. They were far too far away for Gollph to make out their individual features, but their lightly pink skin was clear enough. Three Bosovar, the servants of Apranian. He watched them being whipped, a humiliation he had suffered once himself. He supposed they were lucky; if the Militarum Arbitrators had decided that one was guilty of the theft from the tent, he would have been hanged.

  All so the Seventh could honour their leader. Gollph watched the silent scene impassively. His was a world of bovid raids and honour killings, where the weak were murdered by the strong. He had killed his own kind for far less than a bottle of good liquor and a spread of food. However, his actions in this case felt dishonest. Though he thought little of the theft from the galley, it was achieved through humiliating deception, and the injustice of the punishment falling on other men bothered him.

  The tiny figures jerked as they took their lashes.

  Dying at the hand of a man who came against you openly was honourable. There was no honour in whipping, less in being judged by men who would never fight you.

  They called him a savage. He knew who the real savages were.

  Gollph looked away to distant horizons, imagining he was a free hunter again for this final dawn, before they took him up to the prisons of the voidships in orbit, and on to yet another war.

  THE CLAW OF MEMORY

  DAVID ANNANDALE

  'You are doomed to repeat history,' said Neferata, 'because you are doomed to forget it.'

  She looked out upon the conclave, watching the effect as her words sank in, waiting for the first scholar to disagree. She wondered if the objection would be shaped by reason or by fear.

  The conclave was taking place in the Ossuary of Rigour. The chamber was a domed semi-circle. Neferata presided over the gathering from a raised throne a few yards forward of the back wall. Inlaid in the dome were the interlaced bones of thousands of past Neferatian scholars. To be interred here was to be granted a singular honour, though Neferata did not bestow the gift without exacting a cost. There was no peace in the dome, no rest. Pain and a consciousness like the dreams of fevered sleep rippled through the bones. Even when it was empty, the Ossuary was not silent. From the dome came the susurrus of half-formed thoughts, of unfinished arguments, of the bitterness of fragmentary controversies. The last breath had been taken, but the last word never spoken. Sometimes, the writhing of the souls was so strong that the ceiling seemed to pulse. Now and then, the extremity of intellectual anguish reached such a peak that bone moved. Perhaps a finger twitched, or a jaw parted slightly. The motion was never great, but it was enough to make stone crack.