‘I am glad to hear it.’
‘But Phaelias did, didn’t he?’
The Custodian paused before an obsidian plinth, upon which had been placed a sculpture of Saint Katarina of the Miraculous Shroud. ‘Phaelias was a lord of the Ordo Xenos. He earned his privileges.’
‘And he wasn’t resident on Terra,’ said Crowl, looking sourly at the overwrought lines of the statue. ‘What was he doing here at all?’
‘We had some communication.’
‘He was working for you?’
‘He was working for the Throne. But we shared certain concerns, that is true.’
Navradaran started walking again, a heavy, metronomic stride that seemed to match pace with the rhythms of the world itself. If Crowl hadn’t seen him in combat, he might have assumed the Custodian’s movements to be ponderous, but the heaviness was all part of the deception.
‘There is a common misconception,’ Navradaran said, ‘that the guardians of the Palace are somehow insulated here, that we see little and hear less. We would be poor wardens if that were so. Your orders are not the only ones to have agents throughout the Imperium — we hear much, in our own way, brought to us on the tides of dreams and the chatter of vox-traffic.’ ‘Something has happened, then, hasn’t it?’
Navradaran turned to face him, still moving. His winged helm burned a deep gold, its lenses catching the dawn light and glittering like rubies. ‘Say what you came here to say. My duties are many and the day will be long.’ Crowl reached into a pouch at his belt, withdrew the vox-capsule and handed it to the Custodian. ‘Listen to it. It’ll tell you what happened to Phaelias. He says much about what he thinks has been happening. He mentions Quantrain. You know the name? Everyone seems to. He’s here, somewhere. I must find him.’
Navradaran stowed the bead within his armour and kept walking. ‘Quantrain is a powerful man. What are the accusations?’
‘That a weapon has been brought to Terra, and that members of the High Council are involved.’ Crowl smiled dryly. ‘He was serious. He was very concerned about it, and I think you know why. In any case, we have to speak to him. There’s blood all over the hab-zones, some of it inquisitors’. Quantrain would have the nerve, and the power, to do this. You have the testimony, listen to it.’
Navradaran reached a greater window, set under a tall arch. The panes were open, letting tox-pungent air waft in from over the temple roofs. He walked out, and Crowl followed him. The two of them stood before the balcony railing, looking east at the rising sun. Pale shadows crept across the sea of spires and cupolas, a meagre lightening of what remained a grey and soulless vista.
‘You think I can deliver you Quantrain easily,’ said Navradaran. ‘You are mistaken.’
‘Where is he, then?’
‘I do not follow every courtier around, and the lord inquisitor’s reputation gives me no reason to track him.’
‘That’s why he can do this. He’s got his agents active in the underhives — my interrogator ran into one of them. Phaelias said this weapon — or warrior, or whatever — has gone wrong, has got out, and they’re hunting it just as we are. You know what it is, don’t you?’
‘I give you my word I do not.’
‘Then what do you know?’ Crowl’s exasperation made him strident. ‘There’s no purpose in keeping secrets from me now.’
The Custodian’s cloak lifted in the breeze. Ahead of them rose the campaniles of a soaring, aquila-crowned cathedral, one of dozens, its interior flickering from devotional fires and its chimney stacks active from burned offerings.
‘There is a certain irony,’ he said, ‘in an inquisitor saying this to me. You are an unusual man, Crowl. You are an unusual example of your breed.’
‘That’s been said by others. Tell me.’
For a moment longer, the gilded helm remained silent.
‘It was Phaelias who came to me,’ the Custodian said finally. ‘He had been hunting a rogue trader named Naaman Vinal out in the Laurentis subsector. Phaelias believed Vinal had been misusing his Letter of Marque to acquire proscribed xenotech weaponry for his own arsenal, rather than for delivery to the Mechanicus depots at Laurentis Prime, and so had placed him under interdict. Locating him was not trivial, and Phaelias was never able to substantiate the matter of the accusation, for when he finally caught the trader’s galleon off the Torquatus Nebula, the ship was empty, stripped of all life and drifting without power. The hull was badly damaged with energy patterns Phaelias recognised as used by xenos corsairs, and his first instinct was to record the loss and move on. Only further analysis revealed underlaid Imperial-signature damage, and so he quarantined it for scrutiny.’ Crowl listened carefully, committing every point to memory.
‘Beyond the contradictory damage traces, there was nothing,’ said Navradaran, ‘save for a ciphered communication log sequestered in Vinal’s personal store. It remains unclear how this survived when all else was scoured — it may have been Vinal’s intention to preserve it. The contents could not be retrieved, but the intended subject could — a senior astropath named Cassandara Glucher working in the service of the Speaker of the Chartist Captains. For a rogue trader to be in personal contact with such an exalted official at regular intervals was unusual enough for Phaelias to make the warp stage to Terra, where he discovered that Glucher had been dead for five years. Any attempt to discover the circumstances of her demise met first with obfuscation and then with hostility.
‘After several months of enquiry he finally came to me. I will not disclose the reason for our acquaintance, and there is much detail on Phaelias’ enquiry that was never clear to me, but he had seemingly made alliance with the Provost Marshal and had arranged for those searches. I put this down to some game within the Council — it would not be unusual for one High Lord to seek to embarrass another, and there is well-known animus between the Marshal and the Speaker. But the accusation was striking — that whatever Vinal had acquired had passed into the hands of agents working on behalf of a High Lord of Terra and was making its way under secrecy to the Throneworld. That was the last time we spoke, he and I.’
‘And you did not place much credence in his testimony.’
‘Many plots come to our ears.’
‘But now something has changed.’
‘You can see it yourself.’
‘Cargo was landed at Skhallax from a void-hauler,’ said Crowl. ‘There had been fighting — I saw the damage — and it’s made the tech-priests frenzied.
This is no longer supposition. It is here, and it is loose, and Quantrain was prepared to kill to keep the trail hidden.’
‘Quantrain will be found, but you surprise me, Crowl — he is of your order, and you tell me you cannot locate him?’
‘I’ve been in Salvator a long time. Here’s the nub of it — you told me yourself of the Feast reaching the Gate. I didn’t know why then, but Phaelias said the same thing. That’s the fear, isn’t it? There are gangs organising the underhives and a billion pilgrims marching towards the causeways, and no one could possibly screen them all. It only takes one to reach the Gate, and there’s no Angel to guard it, and something has been brought here that will light the inferno, and you can’t find it in time.’ Navradaran took his gauntlet from the balcony’s railing. He turned away from Crowl, radiating distaste. It might have been impolitic, thought Crowl a little late, to invoke the name of a Holy Primarch quite so lightly.
‘You speak of things you do not understand,’ the Custodian said. ‘Perhaps you have been in the shadows for so long you have forgotten what it is to perceive the light.’
Crowl watched him go. ‘So what now?’ he called after. ‘You’re leaving the hunt to me?’