‘The Suicide King,’ growled the big man.
‘And what’s your name?’ Blenner asked.
‘Brostin,’ he said.
‘You know what, Trooper Brostin?’ said Blenner. ‘I think you should get up off your arse and show me some civility.’
Brostin got up. He looked down at Blenner. He stank of fire-grease.
‘Don’t you like my ink?’ he asked.
‘I don’t like your attitude,’ replied Blenner.
‘Life’s full of disappointments,’ said Brostin. ‘Sir,’ he added.
‘What does it signify, the King?’ Blenner asked.
‘It’s what I’m going to be, isn’t it?’ said Brostin. ‘B Company, first platoon. We’re going to be the Suicide Kings.’
B Company, Blenner thought.
‘You’re one of Rawne’s?’
‘I belong to Rawne and I belong to the fire,’ said Brostin. ‘I have done since before I belonged to the Guard.’
Blenner looked at Lesp.
‘This isn’t a suitable place to conduct this kind of business,’ he said.
‘Sir.’
‘I should have you both up on a damn charge.’
‘Is there a problem?’ asked a quiet voice.
Blenner turned, and found himself face to face with the regiment’s new medicae. The man had joined the company at Balhaut, just like Blenner. Blenner didn’t have much time for him. The man’s name was Kolding, a civilian drafted in by Gaunt. He was an albino, which Blenner had a little trouble with. It was off-putting. Kolding’s skin was pale, and his eyes were always hidden behind dark glasses. His voice was soft and colourless too.
Blenner’s main problem with Kolding was that the man was a death doctor, a mortician, an examiner of corpses. In Blenner’s considerable opinion, Kolding had no business practising on the living. Blenner couldn’t fathom what Gaunt saw in the man.
‘I came in here,’ said Blenner, ‘and I found this activity going on. It’s not good enough.’
‘Why?’ asked Kolding quietly.
‘Because–’ Blenner began. ‘Because.’
Doctor Curth came into the room behind the albino.
‘Lesp is one of the regiment’s most sought-after inkers, commissar,’ she said.
Doctor Curth had entered carrying a stainless steel tray of clean instruments. She was looking at him intently. Blenner liked her. She was a handsome, slender woman. He’d often imagined her looking at him with that sort of intensity. Except that this felt uncomfortable, as though she was deciding where to make an incision.
‘This is filthy and unauthorised, doctor,’ Blenner said.
‘I’ll handle this, doctor,’ she said to Kolding, who nodded and walked out of the room.
‘Let’s talk about it in here,’ Curth told Blenner. She glanced back at Lesp and Brostin, and said, ‘You two, get on. Finish later.’
She led Blenner into her small consulting room.
‘Lesp is an artist. Ink is important, especially to the Tanith, though the Verghast and Belladon men are taking to it.’
‘There is a matter of uniform code–’
‘Certain regulations have always been overlooked when it comes to the Tanith and their ink,’ she said. ‘There is a long established precedent. To make a discipline issue out of it now would be unwise.’
‘There is a health issue,’ he replied. ‘Ink and needles… This is supposed to be a hygienic area.’
‘I can’t think of a better place to keep the tools sterile, can you?’ she asked. ‘I’d rather they did it here, where needles can be boiled and tattoos dressed than have to treat men for infections caught from filthy backroom work.’
Blenner opened his mouth, and then closed it again.
‘I… see I have a good deal yet to learn about the operation of this regiment, doctor. Can I call you Ana?’
‘No, commissar. That wouldn’t be seemly. Now, how can I help you?’
‘I just stopped by for a moment.’
‘You did,’ she said. ‘You look stressed. Troubled.’
‘Is that a medical opinion?’
‘It’s the only kind I give.’
‘I was hoping to see the doctor.’
Curth hesitated, and pursed her lips.
‘I am a doctor, commissar.’
‘And quite the most fragrant I’ve ever seen,’ he said. ‘But I wanted to consult with a male doctor. Privately.’
Curth nodded. She wasn’t surprised, especially a lizard like Blenner. She honestly had no idea why Gaunt tolerated him. He undoubtedly needed powder for some pox he’d picked up, and was too ashamed to let her examine his pathetic genitals.
‘Doctor Kolding is–’
‘Doctor Dorden,’ said Blenner firmly.
‘I don’t really want to disturb Doctor Dorden,’ she said.
‘I do,’ he replied.
Curth sighed, and got up. She went to the door of Dorden’s room and knocked.
‘Commissar Blenner wants to see you,’ she called.
‘One moment. I was just about to step out.’
‘He says it won’t take long,’ said Curth. She looked at Blenner, who nodded his head to concur.
‘Send him in.’
Dorden, the regiment’s chief medicae, was sitting behind his desk swallowing, with the aid of a glass of water, the last of the six pills he took every two hours. There was no longer any disguising his weight loss and the thinning of his hair. His illness was not a secret, but it was not discussed. All Blenner knew was that the man had already out-lived every prognosis.
Blenner closed the door behind him.
‘How can I help you?’ asked Dorden.
‘I would like you to give me something,’ said Blenner.
‘What, exactly?’
‘A tonic, sir, a remedy.’
‘For what, commissar?’
‘That which ails me, doctor.’ Blenner forced out a merry laugh.
Dorden did not smile.
‘I don’t have all day,’ Dorden said. ‘Well, I hope I do, but I don’t know how many more days after that I’ll get. So if you’d cut to the matter directly.’
Blenner cleared his throat.
‘I’m afraid,’ he said.
‘We’re all afraid. Throne, I know I am.’
‘Forgive me, but I am serious. I am quite un-manned by it.’
‘So get a grip.’
‘Doctor, I have to lead these men.’
‘You’ve led men before,’ said Dorden. ‘You’ve had a long career. Who were you with before us? The Greygorians? You’ve seen action.’
‘Look, between you and me,’ said Blenner, sitting down opposite Dorden and leaning forwards, ‘life with the Greygorians was pretty charmed. I mean, Throne! It was a ceremonial detail. We did marching and pomp and colour drills. It was a life of bloody luxury!’
‘I’ve heard you talk, at length, about your exploits under fire,’ said Dorden.
‘Yes, well. I tell a good story.’
‘Does Gaunt know this? He brought you into our company.’
‘He must know. Throne, I don’t know. He knew what I was like back when we were at scholam. I haven’t changed. He must know.’
Dorden steepled his thin, white fingers.
‘Vaynom,’ he said, ‘we are on the eve of making shift on a mission so significant, we haven’t even been told the parameters yet. Everyone is apprehensive. It’s perfectly natural.’
‘But–’
‘Vaynom, what are you scared of? Is it dying?’
‘Throne, I’m not ready to die!’ Blenner spluttered. ‘I haven’t made my peace yet! You might be braced for it, but I surely–’
He stopped and looked at the doctor.
‘That was a terrible thing to say. I apologise.’
‘No need. You’re right. I’m ready. What we’re heading for doesn’t frighten me at all.’
‘Well, I’d like a little of whatever you’re having, then,’ said Blenner.
‘That can be arranged,’ said Dorden. ‘Look, Vaynom, I wonder if this is actually not about dying. I wonder if what you’re really afraid of is being found out. I wonder if you’re scared about being put in the line of fire and letting him down.’