the sleeves of my shirt. The sun was warming the drawing room. I had just taken the pistol out of my belt to check it when Crezia came into the room. She was peeling off surgical gloves and when she saw the gun in my hands, her already sour look became fiercer. She pointed sharply at me and then gestured outside.
'Now/ she said, curtly.
I pushed the weapon into the folds of the cloak on the table and followed her out, across the hall into a sitting room hung with oil paintings and hololithic prints. The shutters in here were still shut and she made no attempt to open them. She turned up the lamp instead.
'Shut the door/ she instructed.
I pushed the door shut. 'Crezia-' I began.
She held up a strong, warning finger. 'Don't start, Eisenhorn. Just don't. I'm this damn close to throwing you out! How dare you c-'
'Medea/ I interrupted firmly. 'How is she?'
'Stable. Just about. She was shot in the back with a laser weapon and the wound was left untreated for several hours. How do you think she is?'
'She'll survive?'
'Unless there are complications. She's on life support in the basement suite/
Thank you, Crezia. I'm in your debt/
'Yes, you damn well are. You're unbelievable, Eisenhorn. Twenty-five years. Twenty-five years! I don't see you, I don't hear from you and then you turn up, unannounced, uninvited, armed and on the ran, so it would appear, with one of your party shot. And you expect me just to take this in my stride?'
'Not really, I know it's a terrible imposition. But the Crezia Berschilde I knew could cope with an emergency now and then. And she always had time for a friend in need/
'A friend?'
Yes. You're the only person I can turn to, Crezia/
She snorted scornfully and tugged off her apron. All those years, I was happy to be the one you could turn to, Gregor. And you never did. You kept me at arm's length. You never wanted me involved in your business. And now…' She let the words trail off and shrugged unhappily.
'I'm sorry/
You bring guns into my house-' she hissed.
'I probably shouldn't tell you about the mercenary tied up in my speeder then/ I said.
She snapped round to look at me, incredulous, and then shook her head with a grim smile. 'Unbelievable. Twenty-five years and you roll up at dawn, bringing trouble with you/
'No. No one knows I'm here. That's one of the reasons I came/
'Are you sure?'
I nodded. 'Someone raided my residence last night. Razed it. Murdered my staff/
'I don't want to hear this!'
4Ve barely got out alive. I needed sanctuary and medical help for Medea. I needed to find somewhere I knew would be safe/
'I don't want to hear any more!' she snarled. 'I don't want to be tangled up in your battles. I don't want to be involved! I have a nice life here and-'
'You do need to hear it. You need to know what's going on/
'Why? I'm not going to get involved! Why the hell didn't you go to the arbites?'
'I can't trust anyone. Not even the authorities, right now/
'Damnation, Eisenhorn! Why me? Why here?'
'Because I trust you. Because my enemies may have every known associate of mine on the planet under observation, every arbites precinct, every office of the Ministorum and the Imperial Administratum. But our relationship is secret. Even my closest friends don't know we were ever associated/
'Associated? Associated? You know how to flatter, you pig!'
'Please, Crezia. There a few things I need to do. A few things I need to arrange. A little help I need to ask of you. Then we'll be gone and you'll never have to worry about this again.'
She sat down on a chaise and rubbed her hands together anxiously.
'What do you need?'
'To begin with, your forbearance. After that… access to a private vox-link. I'll need you to summon an astropath, if that's in any way possible, and also have your man purchase clothes and other items for us.'
'The town tailors will be closed today'
'I can wait.'
There may be clothes here.'
'Very well.'
There's a vox-link in my study.'
I went то look in on Medea, who was sleeping peacefully in the scrubbed medical suite built into the basement of Crezia's town house, and then retired to the room Phabes had prepared for me. Eleena and Aemos were in adjoining rooms, resting.
1 bathed and shaved, doing both activities on automatic as my mind worked things through. I discovered my body had acquired several new bruises since the day before and a las-graze across the thigh I hadn't even noticed. My clothes were dirty, torn and smoke-damaged, and the breeches were covered in burrs and sticky grass seeds.
Phabes had laid some clothes out in my room, several changes of male attire. I recognised they were my own. I'd kept clothes here over the years, mostly soft, informal wear to change into when I visited. Crezia had stored them. I didn't know whether to be delighted or alarmed. All these years, and she hadn't thrown out the possessions I'd left in her territory. They were fresh too, as if aired or laundered regularly. I realised that Crezia Berschilde had always expected me to return one day.
Perhaps it was the manner of my return that had upset her – that I came back for her help and not simply for her. I couldn't blame her for that. I wouldn't be pleased to see me now, considering the trouble I was in. And not if I had broken all links of friendship two and a half decades before.
The chapel bells were ringing in the town below, calling the faithful for worship. Lakeside inns were opening up, and the smells of roasting and herbs were carried on the breeze.
I chose a dark blue cotton shirt with a thin collar, a pair of black twill trousers and a short flat-fronted summer jacket of black suede. The boots I had been wearing the night before would have to make do, but I scrubbed them clean with a cloth. I wanted to tuck the pistol into my jacket, but I knew how Crezia felt about guns, so I left it, with Barbarisater and the runestaff, under the mattress of my bed. The sacks of scrolls and manuscripts Aemos and I had rescued from Spaeton were with him in his room.
I had little else with me: my signet ring, a short-range hand vox, some coins and my warrant of office – a metal seal in a leather wallet. It was the
first time since Durer that I missed my rosette. Fischig still had that, wherever he was.
As I hung my leather coat up in the wardrobe, I felt a weight in it and remembered I did have something else.
The
It was an infernal book, thrice damned. I knew of no other copy in existence. One half of the Inquisition would kill me to get their hands on it, the other half would burn me for having it in my possession.
Quixos, the corrupt veteran inquisitor I had finally brought to account on Farness Beta, had built his power upon it. I should have destroyed it when I destroyed him or at least surrendered it to the ordo. I had done neither. Using it, secretly studying it, I had increased my abilities. I had captured and bound
