I blinked, and raised my hand to shield my eyes. I saw a hundred other men in cloaks do the same. My reflections. Multiplied Gregor Eisenhorns, framed by twinkling candles. I saw I looked edgy.
That would not do.
'None may escape the penetrating glare of the Inquisition's light,' said a voice.
'For to do so means perforce they embrace the outer darkness/ I finished.
Rorken strode towards me. 'You know your Catuldynas, Eisenhorn.'
'His apopthegms please me. I have never much liked his later allegories.'
Too dry?'
Too arch. Too mannered. For my taste, Sathescine has a superior voice. Less… bombastic/
Rorken smiled and took my hand. 'So you rate poetic beauty over content?'
'Beauty is truth, and tram beauty/
He raised an eyebrow. 'What is that?'
'A pre-Imperial fragment I once read. Anonymous. As to your first question, I would read Sathescine over Catuldynas for pleasure, and insist that my neophytes read Catuldynas repeatedly until they can quote it as well as I/
Rorken nodded. He was a compact man, his head shaved but for a short goatee, and he wore crimson robes over black clothes and gloves. It was impossible to guess his age, but he must have been at least mree hundred years old, for he had held his high office for a century and a half. Thanks to augmentation and juvenatus processes, he looked like a man in his late forties.
'Can I offer you refreshment?' he asked.
Thank you, no, sir. The nunciature has organised a busy schedule for me through the Novena, so I would be grateful if we could deal with things directly/
The Ministorum's nuncios have set busy schedules for us all. The Lord Commander has charged them with arranging as much pomp as possible for this celebration. And the Gregor Eisenhorn I know won't be sticking to their appointments if he can help it/
I made no reply. That was a telling remark.
I became wary. Rorken and I had a good working relationship, and I felt he had trusted me ever since the affair wim the Necroteuch ninety-eight years before. Since then he had been pleased to lead me, guide me, and oversee my cases personally. But one did not become anything like friends with the Master of the Ordo Xenos Helican.
'Have a seat. You can spare me a little time, I think/
We sat on high-backed chairs either side of a low table, and he gave me chilled water imported from the chalybeate springs of Gidmos.
A restorative tonic. I understand the Beldame tested you hard on Lethe Eleven/
I slid a data-slate out of my cloak.
'A preliminary draft of my full report/ I said, handing it to him. He took it and put it, unread, on the table.
'Do you know why I have asked to see you?'
I paused, and took a calculated gamble.
'Because of the stories that I am unsound/
He cocked his head in interest. You've heard them?'
They've been brought to my attention. Recently/
'Your reaction?'
'In all honesty? Puzzlement. I don't know the matter of the stories themselves. I feel someone must have a grudge.'
'Against you?'
'Against me personally/
He sipped his water. 'Before we go any further, I must ask you… Is there any reason, any reason at all, that you think this story has arisen?'
As I said, a grudge is the-'
'No,' he said quietly. 'You know what I'm asking you.'
'I've done nothing,' I said.
'I'll take your word for that. If at a later time I discover you're lying, or even hiding something from me, I will… be displeased.'
'I have done nothing,' I repeated.
He steepled his hands and looked out across the sea of candles. 'Here is the way of it. An inquisitor – who, it does not matter – reported to me in confidence a disturbing encounter. A daemonhost made a show of sparing a man's life, because it thought he was you.'
I was fascinated and horrified at the thought.
'I am not able to confirm it, but the daemonhost has been identified as Cherubael.'
Now my blood ran cold.
'You've had no contact with that entity since 56-Izar?'
I shook my head. 'No, sir. And that was almost a century ago.'
'But you've been looking for it ever since?'
'I've made no secret of that, sir. Cherubael is the agency of an invisible enemy, one whose machinations involved even a member of our Office.'
'Molitor.'
'Yes, Konrad Molitor. I have spent a great deal of time and effort trying to uncover the truth about Cherubael and its unseen master, but it has been fruitless. Ten decades, and only the barest few hints/
'The matter of Cherubael's involvement in the Necroteuch affair was passed to the Ordo Malleus, as you know. They too have failed to turn up a trace of it/
'Where was this alleged encounter?'
He paused. 'Vogel Passionata/
'And it thought it was sparing me?'
'The implication was the daemonhost had better things in mind for you. There was a strong suggestion of… a compact between you and it/
'Nonsense!'
'I hope so-'
'Really, nonsense, sir!'
'I hope so, Eisenhorn. Grandmaster Orsini has no time for radical elements in the Inquisition. Even if he wasn't so hardline, I'd not stand for it. Ordo Xenos Helican has no place for those who consort with Chaos/
'I understand/
'Make sure you do/ Rorken's face was dark and stern now. 'Your search for this entity continues?'
'Even now I have agents in the field hunting for it/
'With any signs of success?'
I thought of the Glossia-coded message I had received the night before. 'No/ I said, my first and only lie in the conversation.
'The inquisitor in question urged me to take the matter to the Ordo Malleus. I'll not throw one of my best men to the mercy of Bezier's dogs. I kept the matter internal to our ordo/
Then why the stories?'
That's what troubled me too. Word has got out anyway. I thought it prudent to
