walls to either side and small, blue flowers budded from fruit trees in the avenue that led to the doorway. He took out the token-seal and fitted it into a knurled slot in the door lock.
The great doors swung inwards silently. There was a fanfare of choral voices. He stepped inside, entering a high vault that was lit blue by the light falling through stained-glass oriels high above. The walls were mosaics, depicting incidents and histories that were unknown to him. The Chass crest was repeated at intervals in the mosaic.
“Welcome, honoured visitor, to the enclave of House Chass. Your use of a token emblem signifies you to be an invited and worthy guest. Please wait in the anteroom and refreshments will be sent while his lordship is informed of your arrival.”
The servitor’s voice was smooth and warm, and it issued from the air itself. The great doors hushed closed behind Gaunt. He removed his cap and gloves and set them on a teak side table.
A second later, the inner doors opened and three figures entered. Two were house guards dressed in body armour identical to that of the one who had accosted Gaunt outside the Privy Council. They had satin shrouds over their handweapons and nodded to him stiffly. The third, a female servitor, her enhancement implants and plugs made of inlaid gold, carried a tray of refreshments on long, silver, jointed arms which supplemented her natural limbs.
She stopped before Gaunt. “Water, joiliq, berry wine, sweetmeats. Please help yourself, worthy guest. Or if nothing pleases you, tell me, and I will attend your special needs.”
“This is fine,” Gaunt said. “A measure of that local liquor.”
Holding the salver with her extra arms, the female servitor gracefully poured Gaunt a shot of joiliq into a crystal glass and handed it to him.
He took it with a nod and the servitor withdrew to the side of the room. Gaunt sipped the drink thoughtfully. He was beginning to wonder why he had come. It was clear there was a universe of difference between himself and Chass. What could they have in common?
“To be here you must have been invited, but I do not know you.”
Gaunt turned and faced a young noblewoman who had entered from the far side of the anteroom. She wore a long gown of yellow silk, with a fur stole and an ornate headdress of silver wire and jewels. She was almost painfully beautiful and Gaunt saw cunning intelligence in her perfect face.
He nodded respectfully, with a click of his heels.
“I am Gaunt, lady.”
“The off-world commissar?”
“One of them. Several of my stripe arrived with the Guard.”
“But you’re the famous one: Ibram Gaunt. They say the People’s Hero Kowle was beside himself with rage when he heard the famous Gaunt was coming to Vervunhive.”
“Do they?”
The girl circled him. Gaunt remained facing the way he was.
“Indeed they do. War heroes Kowle can manage to stomach, so they report, but a commissar war hero? Famous for his actions on Balhaut, Fortis Binary, the Menazoid Clasp, Monthax? Too much for Kowle. You might eclipse him. Vervunhive is large, but there can be only one famous, dashing commissar hero, can’t there?”
“Perhaps. I’m not interested in rivalry. So… you’re versed in recent military history, lady?”
“No, but my maids are.” She smiled dangerously.
“Your maids have taken an interest in my record?”
“Deeply, you and your—what was it they said? Your ‘scruffy, courageous Ghost warriors’. Apparently, they are so much more exciting than the starchy Volpone Bluebloods.”
“That I can vouch for,” he replied. Though she was lovely, he had already had enough of her superior manner and courtly flirting. Responding to such things could get a man shot.
“I’ve six scruffy, courageous Ghost warriors right outside if you’d like me to introduce them to your maids,” he smiled, “or to you.”
She paused. Outrage tried to escape her composed expression. She contained it well. “What do you want, Gaunt?” she asked instead, her tone harder.
“Lord Chass summoned me.”
“My father.”
“I thought so. That would make you.
“Merity Chass, of House Chass.”
Gaunt bowed gently again. He took another sip of the drink.
“What do you know of my father?” she asked crisply, still circling like a gaud-cock in a mating ritual.
“Master of one of the nine noble houses of Vervunhive. One of the three who opposed General Sturm’s tactical policy. One who took an interest in my counterproposals. An ally, I suppose.”
“Don’t use him. Don’t dare use him!” she said fiercely.
“Use him? Lady—”
“Don’t play games! Chass is one of the most powerful noble houses and one of the oldest, but it is part of the minority. Croe and Anko hold power and opposition. Anko especially. My father is what they call a liberal. He has… lofty ideals and is a generous and honest man. But he is also guileless, vulnerable. A crafty political agent could use his honesty and betray him. It has happened before.”
“Lady Chass, I have no designs on your father’s position. He summoned me here. I have no idea what he wants. I am a warmaker, a leader of soldiers. I’d rather cut off my right arm than get involved in house politics.”
She thought about this. “Promise me, Gaunt. Promise me you won’t use him. Lord Anko would love to see my noble house and its illustrious lineage overthrown.”
He studied her face. She was serious about this—guileless, to use her own word.
“I’m no intriguer. Leave that to Kowle. Simple, honest promises are something I can do. They are what soldiers live by. So I promise you, lady.”
“Swear it!”
“I swear it on the life of the beloved Emperor and the light of the Ray of Hope.”
She swallowed, looked away, and then said, “Come with me.”
With her bodyguards trailing at a respectful distance, she led Gaunt out of the anteroom, along a hallway where soft, gauzy draperies billowed in a cool breeze and out onto a terrace.
The terrace projected from the outer wall of the Main Spine
