stop me.'
That's outrageous!'
'No, that's Osma. You've met him surely? One of Orsini's. Bezier's right-hand man. Thorian to the marrow. He makes a point of getting what he's after'
'And what did he get?'
'From me?' Endor laughed. 'Not a thing, except for a glowing character reference! He allowed me to leave after an hour. The bastard even suggested we might meet and dine together, socially, during the Novena.'
'Osma is a skilled operator. Slippery. So… that begs the question, what did he want?'
'He wanted you. He was interested in our friendship and our history. He asked me about you, like he wanted me to let something personal and damning slip. He didn't give away much of anything, but it was clear he had dirt. Some report had been filed that compromised you, directly or indirectly. By the end of it, I knew that the rumours I had been hearing were just the surface ripples of a secret inquiry. I knew then that I had to warn you… without anyone knowing we'd spoken.'
'It's all lies/1 told him.
'What is?'
'I don't know. Whatever they think. Whatever they fear. I've done nothing that deserves the attention of the Ordo Malleus.'
'I believe you, Gregor/ Endor said, in a way that suggested to me he undoubtedly did not.
We took fresh drinks onto the sea terrace. He looked out at the kalaedo-scopic swirls of luminous plankton and said, They've only just begun.'
I nodded and looked down at the drink cradled in my hands.
'On Lethe… Tantalid came after me. I supposed at the time it was old scores, but from what you've said tonight, I doubt that now.'
'Be careful,' he murmured. 'Look, Gregor, I should go. This should have been a better reunion of old friends.'
'I want to thank you for the chance you took. The effort you made to bring this to me.'
'You'd do the same.'
'I would. One last thing… how did you get in?'
He looked round at me sharply.
What?'
'In here? Tonight?'
'I used a code scrambler on the door.'
'You diverted the alarms.'
Tm not a novice, Gregor. My scrambler was set to trigger a nulling cascade effect through the system.'
That's quite a piece of kit. May I see it?'
He took a small black pad from his hip-pocket and passed it to me.
'An Amplox model/1 noted. 'Quite advanced/
'I only use the best/
'Me too. I've employed these before. They seem… just in my experience. .. to work best after a few tests/
'How so?'
'A dry run or two, I mean. To assess the system you're trying to penetrate. A few soft passes to gauge the security and let the scrambler assimilate and learn what it's up against/
Teah, I've done that, when I've had the luxury of time. These suckers learn fast. Still, they do the job on the spot when time is tight/
'Like tonight?' I handed the device back to him.
'Yes… what do you mean?'
'It got you in tonight from cold? No test runs necessary?'
'No, of course not. This visit was spur of the moment. And until that pretty bitch of yours kicked me in the face, I had thought myself very lucky to have gotten so far/
'So you haven't been here before? You haven't been in before?'
'No/ he said sharply. Either I had offended him or…
'Go if you have to/ I said.
'Goodnight, Gregor/
'Goodnight, Titus. I'd offer to show you out, but I think you know the way well enough/
He grinned, raised his glass and finished it in a single swig.
'Raise 'em and sink 'em and let's have another!'
'I hope so/1 replied.
The Palace of the Inquisition on Thracian Primaris is high in the cloud tiers of Hive Forty-Four. The size of a small city itself, it is the chief office of the Inquisition in the Helican sub-sector, maintaining a permanent staff of sixty thousand. I make no excuses for its black staetite facings, its darkened windows, its protective spines of iron spikes. Critics of the Inquisition may regard its architecture as almost comically overdone, playing directly to the general public's worst fears about the nature of the Inquisition with its deliberate, black menace. That, I would say, is precisely the point. Fear keeps the populace in line, fear of an institution so terrible it will not hesitate to punish them for transgressions.
At the start of the next day cycle, I went to the Palace, escorted by Aemos, von Baigg and Thula Surskova. Ironically, I felt vulnerable with only three companions at my side. 1 had grown too used to a large retinue these last few decades. I had to remind myself that there had been a time when my entire retinue would have numbered three such people.
The Palace of me Inquisition is not a place for casual or accidental meetings. Inside, it is a dark maze of shadowy halls, void screens and opaquing fields. The staff and visitors move privately behind masking energy fields, their business confidential. On entry to the echoing main hall, my party was issued with a drone cyber-skull that hovered at our shoulders and projected an insulating cone of silence around us. We were offered an astropath adept too to further ensure our privacy, but I declined. Surskova, with her untouchable quality, was all I needed.
The hooded Inquisitorial guards, their burgundy armour threaded with gold leaf and emblazoned with the seal of our Office, led us across the black marble floor, their double-handed powerblades held upright before mem. Glinting brown opaquing fields swirled into being on either side, forming a solid, buzzing corridor of energy that divorced us from our surroundings.
Alain von Baigg played with his high collar distractedly as we walked. He was nervous. The oppressive threat of the palace affected even its own servants.
Lord Rorken awaited us in his private chambers. A void shield dissipated to allow us through the circular doorway and flickered back to life once we were inside. The guards did not accompany us. I told my trio to wait for me in the austere vestibule where there were two cast iron benches piled with white satin bolsters.
I went in through the inner door.
I had come wearing black, with a three-quarter cloak of dark brown leather. My inquisitorial crest was pinned at my throat. My companions were all formally robed too. One did not call on Master of the Ordo Xenos in casual attire.
The reception chamber was dazzlingly bright. The walls were mirrors, framed in ormolu gilt, and the floor was a polished cream marble. Thousands of candles burned all around, on stands, on forked candelabras, or simply placed directly on the floor. The mirrors reflected their glare. It was like standing in a prism that was catching golden sunlight.
