‘There are some that forget such truth. They believe, in no small part due to the influence of the Ministorum, that they answer a genuine calling by the Emperor. Righteous men and women make for dangerous rulers.’
‘There is another reason for your position becoming more precarious?’
‘My treatment of you, Grand Master. The Officio Assassinorum is a weapon to be deployed at the behest of the High Lords, not an organisation to sit in judgement of them. Some amongst my order wish to make an example of you and your temples.’
‘We would retaliate.’
‘If you wish to plunge the Imperium into anarchy whilst it is beset from outside by xenos of untold destructive potential. They rely upon you, Drakan, to stay true to your loyalty and duty.’
Vangorich was about to reply, but held his tongue. Could he really fall on his own sword to protect the greater stability of the Imperium? Was he that dedicated? More importantly, did these mysterious inquisitors believe that he would, and so risk everything on the presumption?
‘I see that you begin to understand the gravity of our situation.’ Wienand watched him intently as she stepped closer, dropping her voice. ‘We must indulge in a brief period of mutual preservation. That is why I have come here, to your inner sanctuary. I declare amnesty. You will have my full cooperation if you promise me yours.’
There was no way Vangorich could take her at her word, but conversely his own promise would be equally meaningless, so why did she ask for it? Was she really that scared of what the Inquisition, or at least parts of it, intended to do?
‘All right, an amnesty for the moment. Better that we exert ourselves to the frustration of Lansung’s ambitions than expend energy circling each other without effect. What did you have in mind?’
Wienand laid a hand on Vangorich’s shoulder as she stepped even closer.
‘Your aim is good, Grand Master. If we can force Lansung out into the fleet there is a chance that we can repair some of the damage he has done in the Senatorum in his absence. We might even get very lucky and he’ll be blasted by the orks. However, simple argument is not going to be enough. Events, my dear Drakan, will have to conspire to force the admiral to move his fat hindquarters onto the bridge of a starship.’
‘What events?’
‘That is what I am here to discuss…’
‘Remind my steward to use less starch in future,’ said Kulik, fidgeting with the stiff collar of his shirt.
‘I shall pass on the message,’ said Shaffenbeck, in an absent-minded way that conveyed that he would do no such thing because Kulik was never happy with the starch of his collars. Throughout their time together the captain’s shirts had always been understarched or overstarched depending on mood, as though there were some infinitesimally small sweet spot that he desired that no mortal could ever attain.
‘And remind me never to accept an invitation to one of these gatherings,’ Kulik continued. He moved his agitation to the heavy brocaded cuffs of his coat. Never comfortable in full dress uniform, the captain was sweltering, positive that rivulets of sweat were coursing down his face.
Turbine-like fans in the launch bay’s ceiling spun lazily, doing little to disperse the body heat of the hundred-or-so assembled officers who had come aboard the
‘Wine or water?’ asked Shaffenbeck, accosting a passing steward.
‘Both,’ growled Kulik. A moment later a fluted glass of bubbling white wine was in his right hand. The captain swiftly downed the contents and the empty glass was exchanged for a stein of almost clear water. Surprised, Kulik sniffed the contents. It didn’t smell of anything. He cocked an eye at Shaffenbeck. ‘Non-reclaimed hydrates? The admiral really is trying to impress us.’
‘Tenders were moving about thirty thousand litres of the stuff from Lepidus this past week,’ said Shaffenbeck. Kulik knew he could rely on the lieutenant to be abreast of everything going on around the fleet. It was the main reason he overlooked his second-in-command’s abuse of the command comms channel, which by regulations was for the ship’s captain only.
‘And what of the admiral himself?’
