hydrobac tool…wash。
I pulled my back…up weapon from the ankle…holster built into the side of my boot。 It was a compact； short…frame auto with a muzzle so
short it barely extended beyond the trigger guard。 The handgrip was actually longer than the barrel； and contained a slide…magazine of
twenty small…calibre rounds。
Selecting single…fire； I cracked off a couple of shots。 The aim was lousy and the power poor。 It really was meant to be a close…range
last ditch。
The gunman down the line； undeterred by my pathetic display； switched over to full auto and raked the deck area and working space
beside the stationary belt。 Workers； all pressing themselves into cover； began to scream and yell。
The shooting stopped。 I dared a look out。 There was a clunk and a whirr and the conveyor started moving again。
The gunman was following his departing master again。 Lyko was almost out of sight； pushing his captive ahead of him。
Why was Esarhaddon a captive； I wondered？ I still didn't understand the relationship between Lyko； the psyker and Cherubael。
I RAN ON。 The gunman； Lyko and his captive psyker had all disappeared through a bulkhead door。 To follow them； I'd have to go in
blind。 And if I'd been in Lyko's place； I'd have used the bulkhead as a point to turn and wait。
My gut readings of his actions had not been wrong so far。
I leapt up onto the wide conveyor belt； ignoring the shouts of the cowering work crew； and slithered across it through the matted；
sticky crop load。 The sap and the moving belt made it nigh on impossible to stay upright。 For a moment； I thought I might slip and be
carried along under the nearest roller press。
I leapt off the far side onto the solid deck； dripping with green mush and vegetal fluid。 Now I was following the work…line down the
other side of the wide conveyor； which divided the harvester centrally。
There was a bulkhead door on this side； too。
I went through it； low。
The gunman was waiting behind the other door on the far side of the moving belt。 He saw me； cursed； and turned with his autocannon。
I was firing already。 Even at this shorter range； the pathetic stopping power of my auto was evident。 His drum…barrelled autocannon
was about to roar out my doom。
I dived headlong； thumbing my weapon to auto and ripped off the entire clip of small slugs in a shrill； high…pitched chatter。
What I lacked in power I made up for in numbers。 I hit him six or seven times in the left arm and collar and staggered him backwards；
his bonded armour torn open。 The heavy cannon flew out of his hands and landed on the moving belt between us to be carried out of
view。
He was far from dead； though he was bleeding profusely from the multiple small calibre grazes and impacts。 He was probably
glanding some stimm that kept his edge。
Snarling a Necromundan oath； he drew a military…issue las…pistol from his webbing； and climbed up on the work…line foot rail on his
side of the rolling belt to get a better angle at me。 I threw the empty gun at him and made him duck； and then grabbed one of the hosesuspended
work lances hanging by the line…edge。
He got off a shot that barely missed my shoulder。 I swung the lance at him； the chain…blade tip chittering； reaching out across the belt。
But it was hard to manipulate it with one wrist smashed。
So I turned the swing into a throw and launched the long tool like a harpoon。
The chain…tip impaled him and he died still screaming and trying to drag the industrial cutter from his chest。 As he went limp； the
tension in the rubberised power…hose pulled the lance back towards its rest hook on my side of the line； dragging the body onto the
conveyor。 The belt carried it along as far as the hose would allow； and then it stuck fast； the belt moving under it。
Piles of wet plant fibre began damming up against it and spilling over onto the floor。
Eisenhorn； a voice said in my mind。
I wheeled round and saw Lyko standing on a grilled gantry that formed a walk…bridge over the belt。 The plasma gun he had used to
burn the fake Esarhaddon was aimed at me。 I could see the battered psyker； his head still masked and visored； lashed to a wall…pipe on
the far side of the line。
You should have left well alone； Eisenhorn。 You should never have come after me。
I'm doing my job； you bastard。 What were you doing？
What had to be done。 What needs to be done。
He came down the walk…bridge and stepped towards me。 There was a hunted； terrified look in his face。
And what needs to be done？
Silence。
Why； Lyko？ The atrocity on Thracian… how could you have allowed that？ Been part of it？
I… I didn't know！ I didn't know what they were going to do。
Who？
He squashed my cheek with the muzzle of his potent weapon。
'No more；' he said； speaking for the first time。
'If you're going to kill me； just do it。 I'm surprised you haven't already。'
'I need to know something first。 Who knows？ Who knows what you know？'
'About you and your little pact with the daemonscum？ About your theft of an alpha…plus class psyker？ That you stood by while
millions died on Thracian？ Hah！' Everyone。 I added the answer psychically for emphasis。 Everyone。 I informed Rorken and Orsini
himself before I left on your trail
'No！ There would have been more than just you after me…'
'There is。'
'You're lying！ You're alone…'
You're doomed。
He stormed his mind into mine； frantic to tear the truth out of me。 I think he was truly realising how far into damnation he had cast
himself。
I blocked his feverish mind…assault； and countered； driving an augur of psychic rage into his hind brain。 It was in there。 I could feel it。
His true master。 The face； the name…
He realised what I was doing； realised that I outclassed him psychically。 He tried to shoot me with his plasma gun； but by then I had
shut down his nervous system and blocked all autonomous function。 I scoured his mind。 He was frozen； helpless； unable to stop me
ransacking his memory； despite the blocks and engram locks he had placed there。 Or someone had。
There。 There。 The answer。
He uttered an agonised； oddly modulated scream。
Lyko tumbled away from me。
Cherubael hovered above us； high in the roof space of the factory chamber； casting a glow of filthy warp…light。
Choking； twitching； his limbs limp； Lyko was rising up towards him。 Smoke was coming out of his mouth and nostrils。
'Now； now； Gregor；' Cherubael said。 'Nice try； but there are some secrets that must remain。'
With a nod of his head； he tossed Lyko aside。 The traitor…inquisitor flew down to the front of the factory space； bounced hard off the
inner hull and then fell down into the churning reaper blades in the factory harvester's maw。
His body was utterly disintegrated。
Cherubael hovered lower； grabbed the comatose； bound form of Esarhaddon like a child picking up a doll。
'I won't forget what you did；' said the daemonhost； looking back at me one last time。 'You'll have to make it up to me。'
Then he was gone； and Esarhaddon。was gone with him。
TWELVE
AT CADIA； BY TERCE。
THE PYLONS。
TALKING WITH NEVE。
A BITTER AUTUMN wind was coming down off the moors； and the turning ribbon…leaves of the axeltrees were beginning to fall。 They
fluttered past me like dry strands of black kelp； and collected in slowly decomposing drifts on the windward side of the graves and the
low stone walls。
Above； the overcast sky was full of racing brown clouds。
I followed the old； overgrown path up the wooded slope； under the hissing axeltrees； and stood for a while alone； looking down at the
wide grave field and the little shrine tower that watched over it。 There was no sign of life； and； apart from the wind； no movement。
Even the air…shay that had brought me here from the landing fields at Kasr Tyrok had departed。 I almost missed the driver's grumbles
that the place was so far out of town。
Far away； almost out of sight beyond the glowering moors； I saw the nearest of the famed； mysterious pylons； an angular silhouette。
Even from this distance； I could hear the strange； moaning note the wind made as it blew through the pylons' geometries； geometries
that thousands of years of human scholarship had failed to explain。
This was my first time on the world they called the Gatehouse of the Imperium。 So far； it was not endearing itself to me。
'So； Thorn… you were none too sharp； were you？'
I turned slowly。 He had arrived behind me； as silent as the void itself。
'Well？' he asked。 'What time do you call this？'
'I consider myself suitably chastened；' I said。
He was impassive； then the scar under his milky eye twitched and he smiled。 'Welcome to Cadia； Eisenhorn；' said Fischig。
ASIDE FROM AEMOS； Godwyn Fischig was my longest serving companion； though he and Bequin often disputed that record。 I'd met
them both on Hubris； during my hunt for the Chaos…broker Eyclone； which led in turn to the whole bloody affair of the Necroteuch。
I'd actually encountered Fischig first。 He'd then been a chastener in the local arbites； ordered to keep a watch on me。 He became my
ally through circumstance。 Bequin had crossed my path； if my memory serves； about a day later； but I had co…opted her almost directly
into my service； while Fischig had remained； technically； a serving arbites officer for some considerable time before resigning to join
me。
ed the prize； and why they sometimes fell to disputing it when the hour was late and the amasec
unstoppered。
His was a big man； of my own age； his cropped blond hair now turning silver。 But he was as robust as ever； clad in a coat of black fur；
a mail sur…coat and steel…fronted boots。
He shook my hand。
'I was beginning to think you wouldn't make it。'
'I was beginning to think so too。'
He cocked his head slightly。 'Trouble？'
'Like you wouldn't believe。 Let's walk and I'll tell you。'
WE WANDERED BACK down the tree…shrouded path together。 He knew something of the atrocity on Thracian； which was by then some
seven mondis past； but he had no idea I had been caught up in it。
When I told him the details； especially about Ravenor； his face darkened。
He had admired Gideon … frankly； it had been difficult not to admire Gideon … and I sometimes felt that Gideon was the man Fischig
would have liked to have been。
Fischig's great strength was his self…knowledge。 He understood his own limitations。 His strengths were loyalty； physical power； fine
combat skills； observation and a nose for detail。 He was not quick witted； and his abhorrence of book…learning meant that even the
rank of interrogator was beyond him。 Though he would have loved to rise formally through the ranks of the Inquisition； he had never
tried； contenting himself with becoming one of the fundamental components of my staff。
To try； he knew； would have meant failure。 And Godwyn Fischig hated to fail。
WE CROSSED THE narrow funeral lane and went into the grave field by the old lychgate in the low wall。 I told him about Lyko； and
Esarhaddon。 I told him of the warnings from Endor and Lord Rorken。 I told him about the bloody； inconclusive mess on Eechan。 I told
him about Cherubael。
'I would have come as soon as I received your message。 But Rorken practically forbade me。 And then； as you have heard； matters got
out of hand。'
He nodded。 'Don't worry； I'm a patient man。'
We stood for a moment in the middle of the vast field of graves。 Se