She nodded, and he disappeared into the shuffling crowd, scouting ahead.
‘He must know you want to reach the Inquisitorial Fortress,’ Rendenstein said.
‘Of course he does. But knowing that and seeing its location are not the same thing.’
‘What do you intend?’
‘We’ll have to lose him at some point.’
‘Permanently?’
Wienand shook her head. She wasn’t interested in testing Rendenstein’s killing prowess against Krule’s. No matter the outcome, Veritus would be the only winner of that battle. Krule had cost her a valued operative, but he had also saved her life. Her allies were in short supply. Vangorich was one she could count on with more certainty than her fellow inquisitors for the moment.
‘If the opportunity arises to part with his company, we’ll take it.’
‘And if that moment doesn’t come?’
‘We’ll deal with that when and if we have to.’ She sighed, thinking of what she had seen in the sky. ‘We’re at a stage where having Krule in the heart of the Fortress wouldn’t be the worst of all scenarios. We have to reach it.’ Shoring up her political strength against Veritus was no longer the most important consideration. Nor was her survival. What mattered was the contingency that she could authorise. It was needed now. She cursed the High Lords for having let things reach this pass.
Krule returned after a few minutes. ‘Looks clear,’ he said.
They headed off down the walkway, moving as quickly as they could through the crowds, the floor carrying them on for several kilometres.
‘It would be useful to know the extent of Veritus’ control,’ said Krule.
Wienand had been thinking that through. ‘The attempt to kill me is actually a good sign.’
‘You’re still a threat,’ Rendenstein said.
‘Yes. If my influence had been neutralised, he wouldn’t have bothered. I don’t think Veritus likes needless internecine killing any more than I do.’
Krule’s grin was not a reassuring one. ‘So more attacks would be a good omen.’
‘They would be delightful.’
At the next intersection, Wienand went right. An elevator platform large enough to hold a hundred at once took them down. At the third level, they got off, and she chose another walkway, still heading south. The crowds were thinner here. This route served fewer active centres. Krule offered to recon ahead again. ‘No point,’ Wienand told him. His earlier absence had given her the few minutes she’d wanted to speak alone with Rendenstein. ‘If there’s an ambush, we’re better off together.’
The downside to taking the routes she knew was that they might also be familiar to other, hostile elements of the Inquisition. She couldn’t lose herself forever in the mazes of the outer reaches of the Imperial Palace, and she couldn’t hand over her agency to Krule. She might well not reach the southern ice cap in time as it was. Her best hope was to catch another sub-orbital from a point where Veritus wasn’t looking. Another few hours of travel, if all went well, would take her to the next flight hub.
All did not go well. After ten minutes, the walkway they were on ground to a halt. The serfs using it groaned, then carried on trudging. A few hundred metres on, at the next junction, there was another mechanical conveyor moving at an uneven, jerking pace in about the same direction.
‘That will do,’ Wienand told the other two, and they took it.
The walkway passed almost immediately under a low, narrow arch. Krule and Rendenstein had to duck. On the other side they emerged in a long hall formed by rockcrete foundations on either side, and coming to a rounded vault a dozen metres overhead. There was a floor here, just below the level of the walkway. It was covered with the detritus of centuries, though at first glance, Wienand thought she was looking at a disused cemetery.
The space was filled with statuary. There were warriors and ecclesiarchs, Adeptus Astartes and High Lords of the past, and many imposing figures that likely had been intended to be the Emperor. None were complete. Many were unfinished, flawed material betraying the artists with splits and cracks. Others had been damaged beyond restoration. There was a vagueness to them all, whether their features had been destroyed or never set down. They were not gigantic. No single piece was so large that it could not have been transported by a group of unaided humans. Some of the chunks, though, were fragments of huge works. A finger two metres tall thrust from one heap, pointing at the walkway in accusation. A head as big as a man lay face-down on the dark floor.
