Chapter Text
“Beloved Interrogator, would you be so kind as not to scare my subjects?”
Groping his biceps, Isha locked eyes with Heinrix. The crevices above his nose deepened as his mouth hardened into a line as sharp as armaglass. After another tense second, he shuffled a few steps back.
“Beloved,” Idira snickered. “Iceman, you’re in trouble now.”
Leaning towards the Psyker, he motioned with his chin to Isha. “Not more than you, Mistress Tlass.”
She dismissed them both with a stern look. Then she returned her attention to the refugees huddled together in front of a shipping container. A few peered at her, unsure how to act; others displayed an obsequious gratefulness that their patroness would deign to speak with them.
“How are you? Did anyone else threaten you on your way here?”
“No, ma’am, they let us through all right,” a man said. “Probably happy to see us leave. We’re leaving with you, aren’t we?”
“If you answer my questions truthfully, I’ll show you the mercy you deserve. I give you my word as Lord Captain.”
“Tsk-tsk-tsk.”
Emperor, what was it this time?
She wrangled with the urge to whip around and ask Heinrix what he was disapproving of. Instead, she carried on as if she hadn’t heard him. She wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of seeing her rattled, despite his unexpected reappearance disquieting her. This time, he was spying on her!
Staring at the ground, the man drew a line in the dirt with the tip of his worn boot. “Ma’am, if it’s all the same to you, could you p-please ask your questions?” His voice neither cleared the barks of the dockworkers nor the stomping of the heavy loaders. “Your company is a… an Inquis–”
“Don’t worry, as long as you are with me, House von Valancius will protect you, and the Inquisition will not hurt you. Right, van Calox?”
Not a question but a command. The rustling of fabric and footsteps shifting into the background answered her.
“The Sea of Souls roils and tangles paths, making passage in the Warp treacherous even with a navigator. How did you reach Footfall from the Cranach System without one?” Cassia asked.
Glimpsing at the speaker, the group recoiled into containers bearing the von Valancius seal. They whispered among themselves until a woman with a prominent scar splitting her right cheek found the courage to answer. Rubbing her frail arms, she spoke more to her feet than to Isha.
“P-please forgive… We were f-feeling our way in the d-dark, and we had some old maps. We jumped from system to system. His light,” she made the sign of the Aquila, “must have protected us.”
“That was valiant of you. However, I still need more information on the state of affairs on Kiava Gamma. Please spare me no details.”
“We already told you everything we know… Things are rough; maybe there isn’t a Kiava Gamma any more. The heretics overran the planet, and they had some devil machines. They poisoned our vox-casts. Half the crew got mad. We did what we could. Three ships made it out of orbit, but we’re the only ones here. Emperor knows what happened to the other two.”
“Corrupted vox-casts…” Stroking his chin, Heinrix approached the speaker. The lines on his forehead had smoothed. His lips quirked upward as if he tried to appear unintimidating, although he couldn’t shrink his imperious stature to look less threatening. “A special breed of heresy that requires knowledge of unholy arts. Kiava Gamma could have fallen under the influence of corrupted Tech-Priests.”
“Unit van Calox, I refute this hypothesis,” Pasqal chastised the Interrogator, his mechadendrites hovering close to Heinrix’s face in a mimicry of snakes ready to bite. “The flesh is corruptible; the machine spirit is pure. Rogue Trader, I request that I accompany you to Kiava Gamma.”
He swiped the offending appendages away. “Do not refute the possibility out of hand, esteemed Magos. Succumbing to corruption, even the Adeptus Mechanicus could forget all limitations imposed by their faith and delve into dangerous research. I must not remind you of the heretical experiments of Illucis Grizvaldi–”
“This name is anathema! He shall not be spoken of. May the Omnissiah scorch his circuits. These units directed vituperation towards the Adeptus Mechanicus. Denial is meaningless. Lord Captain, I suggest servitorisation of the accusers.”
“No, these people are scared. Something has transpired on Kiava Gamma; otherwise, the Inquisition wouldn’t part with one of their best agents,” she locked eyes with Heinrix, “to assist our investigation.”
“I would suggest holding off on these accusations, esteemed Magos,” he added, cocking an eyebrow as though he was sharing a secret with her. “If they prove to be wrong—”
“I can transform the Interrogator into a servitor skull?”
“Let’s hold off on the alteration, will you? I might require the services of van Calox’s fully functioning body in the future.”
“And I am quite attached to the full complement of my limbs.”
Heinrix’s cheeks blossomed into a bouquet of roses. She bit her lip. Her fluttering heartbeat stoked a fire in her lungs at the sight of his blush. His surprising return had complicated her life. That he tried to match her teasing made the matter worse…
Oh, stop! He pretends to care, reassuring me that he has learned his lesson.
“You may board the flagship and serve according to your capabilities. Speak to the Seneschal; he will arrange everything else.”
“Praise to the Emperor! We’re saved! You’re a Saint, ma’am, Sanguinis’ blessing be upon you!”
A murmur spread through the group, growing in excitement with every second that the realisation had time to sink in. Bowing hastily, they grabbed their meagre possessions and hurried towards the shuttle.
“Abelard, please ensure they are treated well and don’t separate the families.”
“Lord Captain,” he huffed. Barking commands into his comm-bead, he herded the refugees up the ramp into the transport, which would ferry them to the voidship.
“Is it wise to allow potential heretics aboard, Lord Captain?”
Heinrix’s perfume wafted past her nose in a comforting mixture of incense, leather, and smoke. She wished to cloak herself with this scent.
Oh, this was a horrible idea!
“What course of action would you advise instead? And don’t say interrogate them,” she snapped, her tone hoarser than intended as it clashed with the pulse prancing in her throat.
“I dare not give the Lord Captain advice. However, hypothetically speaking, I would place them under close observation for a specified time to study them for signs of corruption. Only then would I allow them to enter the working population. Nonetheless, the choice is entirely up to Your Ladyship.”
“I’ll consider it. Perhaps.”
***
After a long but uneventful trek from the dockyards to the seedier underbelly of Footfall, they reached the end of a queue, snaking around the gutted voidship that had been converted into the dive bar on the station. The sign of the Adeptus Amasecus (a pun on the Adeptus Administratum, although the only things administered inside were headaches and heartbreaks) buzzed above them. Letters blinked in and out of existence in a hypnotic pulse of gold and red to mark the festive occasion. Isha elbowed her way through the cloud of days-old sweat, synth-meat, and cheap alcohol until she stood before two enforcers guarding the entrance to the hallowed halls. The men raised their weapons. She glared at them. Like duellists waiting for the other to flinch first, they returned her stare.
Upon recognising Heinrix, the blood drained from their faces. A moment later, her retinue clanked up the steps into a corridor pregnant with cloying smoke and potent promethium fumes. Garlands of golden and red tinsel snaked around the open piping. Further ahead, the murmur of low voices mingled with the futile churning of the air recycling units. Glasses clinked together. Metal screeched against metal. In a corner, a patron regurgitated his meal into the remains of the ship’s life support system. In another, two hooded figures traded telling glances under the watchful eye of the winged Primarch Sanguinis as they passed them by.
“See, I knew this rosette of yours has its uses.”
“I hope the future uses Your Ladyship has in mind do not involve any unsanctioned abuses of my authority.”
“Is this a challenge, van Calox?” Fluttering her eyelashes at him, she tugged at the heavy, golden symbol of the Inquisition to trace a slender, gloved finger over the prominent skull in its middle. “Because I can think of a few ways…”
“I’d rather you don’t finish your sentence or your thoughts on the matter.”
He yanked the rosette out of her hand and slipped it under his uniform jacket. With a curt bow, he stepped out of her reach. She chuckled. Ruffling his feathers was too tempting, and she succeeded every time she tried.
“I didn’t know I could see the Iceman flustered twice in one day,” Idira said.
Heinrix cleared his throat. “Let’s focus on what you came here to do. Lord. Captain.”
Rounding a corner, they wandered into the private compartments of the bar. Smoke wafted in thick plumes through the narrow booths, obscuring the scoundrels loitering around the tables, playing tan-to-lo and dark town whist and drinking the cheap alcohol Octavia served. The infectious laughter of her friend was missing among the shouts and cheers of the gamblers. Before she could retreat and continue her search elsewhere, a figure at the back of the room drew a gun. Backing away from the gunman, she bumped right into Heinrix’s chest. He didn’t hesitate to press her against his torso to shield her from the impending attack. Instead of training the weapon on her, the man shoved the barrel of the revolver into his mouth and pulled the trigger. The echo of the shot banged through the compartment like a marble in a tin can. The shooter collapsed to the ground. Bits of brain and bone and blood splattered against a poster on the iron panelling to ink Sanguinis’ pristine wings crimson.
“Oh, that’s him, right? The poor sap who got his tongue cut out by the Anvers?” one of the smugglers asked.
“That’s the one. I think he’s from the Kasballica… Well, he was anyway,” another added, and the group returned to their drinks and games.
“Acting against the Anvers could be a boon to Your Ladyship,” Heinrix said. “I can introduce you to the liege, although I guess he won’t be happy seeing me.”
“That won’t be necessary; I’m already well acquainted with Tocara. We dined together before we picked you up. I asked for your advice on how to deal with him. Don’t you remember?” After untangling herself from his grasp, she brushed over her coat where he had held her close as if to clean away specks of invisible lint. Her body yearned for him to drag her back into his embrace. It was unsettling. Heat crept as insidiously as a heretic sentiment over her neck into her face. “Before you threaten to interrogate me, I will spare you no details once we return to the ship.”
“I… Well, I won’t object to a chat with you, but you must not fear an interrogation. What are you looking for here?”
“A friend in trouble. And a stiff drink. By the look of it, you need one, too.”
Resuming their hunt for Jae Heydari, they reached the last room in the row. Inside couches stained with the remnants of bygone parties stood scattered around low tables. Shadowed lights tinted the thick, clove-scented smoke a ruddy hue. In the back corner, an enormous number eight covered up an Administratum symbol. She gasped. She had committed a terrible mistake! They had strolled into Ryzza’s den, the pirate who had owned her once and would have sold her to the Tutors if Jae hadn’t rescued her. She probed the space behind her back until she clutched the butt of her Long-Las. The time for a graceful retreat had passed them by when the green glare of a prosthetic eye scanned her face.
“Are you lost, little girl? Or are you looking for something specific?” the unofficial pirate queen of the Koronus Expanse snarled. “My boys will fetch you anything your heart desires!”
She glanced over her shoulder, where Heinrix leaned against the door frame, his face as unreadable as his mind. Inhaling a cloying breath, she forced her quavering voice into obedience.
“Have your boys heard anything ‘bout the Fiery Reckoning? Ship left Footfall ‘bout six months ago.”
It was worth a shot. Perhaps Ryzza would boast about a recent haul, and she could exact immediate revenge for her friends’ demise and for the hardship she had endured at the pirate’s hands ten years ago. And if not now, well, she could wait. One day, she would eradicate the foul brood, and the Tutors next. She counted heads. Five against five. With a quick draw, they would have finished before the rest of the bar realised something was happening. It wouldn’t be the first negotiation to turn sour in the Amasecus.
“Heard about how the Clipper Saint Cognatius got hit recently?” Ryzza lowered her head. “Well, that’s my boys’ handiwork!”
“An ill-considered confession,” Heinrix stated, stepping beside her.
“Confession? Old Ryzza just likes to embellish when she wants to make an impression! Pay it no heed…”
“You’ve seen Heydari?”
“The Cold Trader? Best you look at the bar. If she hasn’t fallen off the barstool, she’ll be drinking there.”
“Then we’ll be on our way,” she said, nudging Heinrix through the door. “Don’t start a fight. It is not worth it…”
Rubbing shoulders with him launched another excited shiver down her spine. Neither broke contact until the narrowing space left them no other choice but to separate.
“Where is this leniency towards pirates stemming from?”
Her heart fluttered with the huffs of breath tickling her ear as her mind conjured up a different scene where his lips had been this close.
Concentrate! He’s a spy sent to report on your every move; ingratiating himself with you helps him fulfil his job. He’s a Psyker and a professional torturer.
I want him to be this close!
No, you don’t! And that’s the end of it!
“I’m still looking for my friend.”
“And that drink?”
“Don’t.”
Shoving him down the hallway, she petted his back, right above his buttocks. His muscles tensed under her palm. A cold like she had grabbed an icicle without gloves pierced her skin. She yanked her hand away to bury it inside her coat pocket, and the numbness in her fingers slowly receded.
For the time of night, the main attraction of the Amasecus was unusually empty. Still, the stale lho-smoke, lingering in every crevice and behind each pipe and duct adorned with garish Sanguinala decorations, failed to mask the rank body odours of the guests. In the middle of the room, the gigantic bar stood enthroned in place of the galley. Above its spigots loomed another sign in gothic lettering with the establishment’s name stencilled onto it. Behind the counter ruled the mistress of mayhem, a tiny but fierce woman with flame-red hair, a tongue as sharp as glassite and a jaw forged from steel. Before the bar, Jae lounged on a barstool. Beside her, a Calixian classic, “Fly me to the moons of Scintilla,” tooted from the speakers to weave itself into the muted conversations.
Dangerously close to slipping off her seat, Jae downed her drink. Tapping the tumbler on the counter, her friend motioned for Octavia to refill the glass with whatever poison she had chosen to drown her troubles in tonight. But the barkeeper ignored her. Before she could greet Jae, three armed men muscled through a group of patrons too drunk to walk straight. Heinrix grabbed her elbow. Placing a finger on her lips, stifling her protests, he pointed with his chin to a low table.
“What do you think you are doing?” she hissed.
“Helping, Lord Captain. Duck behind it and ready your rifle. Your friend is in no position to shoot straight.”
“Jae Heydari, Falco sends his regards!”
One of the thugs brandished his gun in front of Jae’s face.
She sucked in a breath. Following Heinrix’s advice, she cowered down and slipped the Long-Las off her shoulder. The sounds of the bar vanished behind the rush of blood in her ears when she inched forward until the weapon rested on a stool. If she missed the moment, her friend could be seriously injured. Or worse. And if she acted too soon, the stand-off could escalate into a bloody shoot-out.
“And what does that unholy scion of a grox and a brahan want from me this time?” Jae slid her empty glass over the counter and her augmetic hand to the pistol at her side. “Oh, wait… I don’t really care. I’m waiting for my fabulous friend to join me in drowning my sorrows in a sea of amasec.”
Jae swivelled on the barstool to face the thugs. Tipping two fingers at her temples in a mock salute, she slipped off the chair. With a flair not often seen seconds before a shoot-out, she brushed her luscious black locks off her shoulder.
“Oh, look, she’s already here and brought some beefy support. Very, very beefy. If you had any brains and not just grox shite filling your head, you’d back off now, because only an idiot threatens an agent of the Inquisition.”
“Oh, we’ll give you grief, alright!”
The thugs opened fire, and the bullets pulverised a row of dirty glasses on the bar. Then they ricocheted off the counter to strike a screen. It died in a shower of sparks. A speaker was hit next. Unimpressed by the shoot-out, the music tootled on. Shouts of the patrons seeking cover mixed into the song as another salvo zipped past their heads. Panic spread around them. Jae ducked away under the hail of bullets to resurface behind the table.
“Way to make an entrance, shereen!” Jae greeted her with a peck on the cheek. “Care to help your friend out?”
“Always.”
She fired. The shot struck the thug in the chest. He staggered backwards until he stumbled over a stool, and Jae emptied her magazine into him. His head exploded in a scarlet shower. His headless rump slumped to the ground to collapse in a puddle of the deepest crimson. The second attacker clutched his throat. Eyes bulging, he sank to his knees. Jae blasted her xenos pistol, and he fell to the side. A hole inside his stomach. Calculating his chances of survival, the third thug chucked his weapon away and dashed out of the line of fire. And the Amasecus.
“Don’t think so, ashmag!” After brushing a spec of invisible dirt off her royal purple coat, befitting a princess from Efreet, Jae holstered her pistol. “And tell Falco to come himself next time!”
With another jaunty tune blaring from the speakers – All I want for Sanguinala is you, one of her favourites – Heinrix offered her a hand. Slipping the Long-Las back over her shoulder, she let herself be helped to her feet.
“That is your friend, Lord Captain?”
“My best friend for the last ten years. What?” She raised an eyebrow. “You aren’t jealous, van Calox, are you? You may question her; she’s talkative, but I wouldn’t believe half of her stories if I were you.”
“Heydari, I’m tired of your antics! Out!” The barkeeper cut off the reply Heinrix had to her accusation. “Get some sleep. We’ll talk about settling up later!”
“If you excuse me, I must interfere here. An angry Octavia is more dangerous than Falco’s thugs. You don’t want to get on her bad side.”
She had known the fiery mistress of the Amasecus since the early days of her arrival on Footfall. With Jae she had nursed more than a few hangovers at the bar, most of which had resulted from guzzling too much local hooch the night before at the same establishment.
“Octy, shereen, light of my eyes, can’t you see my soul is full of darkness? And have you not noticed who’s gracing us with her illustrious presence? Lady’s back, and she surely needs a drink!”
Jae waved her closer. Sauntering to the bar, she stepped around bits of brain and coagulating blood to embrace her friend. They kissed each other on both cheeks.
“Fancy seeing you here and already in trouble.” A waft of woodsmoke and lho-tobacco caressed her nose. “Sorry about the mess…” she said to Octavia, cocking her head at the corpses, but the barkeeper didn’t peek up from swiping up the glass shards.
“Welcome to the Adeptus Amasecus, ma’am. What can Octavia get you? Amasec? Lho? Something more… interesting?”
“Octy, is this a way to greet a friend?”
At last, the bartender looked up. Stepping away from the counter, Octavia appraised her as if she were the latest batch of hooch brewed up in Footfalls’ amateur distilleries.
“No way, say it isn’t so? Where’ve you been, Lady? And who’re the peeps following you?” She nodded to Heinrix. “You aren’t in trouble, are you? Or is this a business meeting?”
“Oh, pay him no heed. He’s my pet interrogator.” She patted Heinrix’s biceps, who observed the exchange with his mouth agape. “And I’m strictly here on pleasure.”
He thumped his sternum to stifle the cough lodged in his chest. With little success. The longer he tried to suppress the coughing, the ruddier his face became until his cheeks glowed a fiery red. The colour awarded him boyish charm, incompatible with the stern expression he usually wore. Unfortunately for her, it suited him.
“Are you not well, van Calox?” she inquired innocuously. “Do you need a drink?”
“Ignore me…” he expelled between clipped breaths. “I’m merely tagging along this time.”
Jae tugged on her coat. “Are you going to introduce me to the blonde angel over there or not, shereen?”
“To whom?”
“To the holy Sister.”
“Sister Argenta?”
“So that’s the name of the angel of the God-Emperor? She can work her retribution on me every day. Every. Day.”
“Before I do that, we must speak about your transgressions. May I offer you an actual, real-life Interrogator for your confessions?”
“And a handsome one at that.” Jae ogled Heinrix, whose glare couldn’t hide his discomfort at being judged for his appearance. “What’s the story behind that? Are you in trouble?”
“All in due time.” She tapped a dirty glass on the counter. “What must a girl like me do to get a decent drink in a bar like this?”
Octavia pointed to the row of bottles behind her. “What do you want, Lady?”
“Footfall’s special for me and our dear Interrogator. Only the best for the rest of my retinue. Lady Cassia, I can recommend a fine amasec.”
The bartender lifted a half-full flask, labelled with an ornate script framed by a clutch of skulls, from the shelf and uncorked it. After polishing two shot glasses with a dirty dishcloth, she filled them with the transparent liquid. The antiseptic scent (pungent yet enticingly sweet) rising from the drinks launched a direct assault on her nostrils, clobbering them into submission.
“The alchemical composition of the substance is known to me,” Pasqal’s respirator hissed with the acrid fumes passing through its filter. “Never before have I encountered such an unusual application: an exquisite path of martyrdom in honour of the Omnissiah.”
“Don’t make such a fuss. This is the finest moonshine Footfall has to offer. Are you not an Explorator, Pasqal? Must you not try everything at least once?”
“Request denied. My implants might liquefy if I imbibe this.”
Placing a hand on her forearm, Heinrix nudged it down. “I speak from personal experience, Isha. Don’t.”
Locking eyes with him, she toasted Footfall’s brightest minds and emptied the shot. Although she knew what was coming, it still hit her like a dreadnought. She had to force herself to swallow. The drink blazed in a trail of molten glass down her throat to her stomach. However, warmth spread through her body once the moonshine had finished glazing her intestines, and the world became a few degrees brighter and rosier.
“Haven’t forgotten about it,” Octavia clicked her tongue in approval, “when you left us behind to become fancy.”
“Your turn, van Calox,” she said, offering him the second glass.
Heinrix grimaced as if he had already imbibed the infernal concoction distilled from spent Promethium, then he thrust his chin out and knocked the shot back. Shaking his head, he set the empty glass down.
“An acquired taste, for sure.” He brushed over his mouth as if to wipe away the caustic aftertaste. “I might have misjudged Your Ladyship and your tastes.”
“What are you insinuating?”
“Oh, nothing… This is merely an unknown side of you, Lord Captain, and fascinating to observe.”
“That’s it? A new data point to mention in your spy report?” she retorted before resuming her conversation with Octavia with a warmth that had been absent from her voice earlier. “Do you have something special for our reunion, Octy? The stuff you keep for Winterscale and his band?”
His words prickled on her skin. Of course, he would surveil her. His lone mission was to win her confidence and report his observations back to the Inquisition. She would be foolish to believe otherwise. Still, having it spelt out (from the man himself, nonetheless), hurt in her stomach more than downing a bottle of Footfall’s worst hooch.
“I’ve got just the thing set aside for such an occasion…” Octavia motioned to Heinrix. “Does he get another drink, too?”
“Jae, me, and anyone wishing to join us. And don’t say Heydari can’t have another drink. It’s the last one, and we’re off. I promise.”
“I’ll hold you to it, Lady.”
Lady.
Her nickname, her friends, the Amasecus! Here, she wasn’t the Rogue Trader of the von Valancius dynasty or the Princess Royal of Fydea, but a regular patron, drowning her sorrows as she had done so often before. No more worries than where their next gig was coming from. Not the expectations of a whole dynasty resting on her shoulders, nor an Inquisition watchdog (a handsome one to make it worse) surveilling her every step.
After Octavia had placed two clean glasses on the counter, she retrieved a bottle from under the bar. The handwritten label named the flask the property of Calligos Winterscale. The barkeeper filled both tumblers with the amber liquid, and a delicate aroma of sweet spices and aged leather rose from the drinks. Thanking Octavia, she nudged Jae to a table at the back of the bar where they eased into the flimsy chairs. They toasted each other with the amasec. Each sip of smoke and honeyed sweetness wiped away the caustic remnants of the moonshine stuck to her tongue.
“What has angered Tocara?”
“No, shereen, you go first. What happened to you?” Jae buttressed her elbows on the table, interlaced her fingers, and placed her chin in the cradle of her hands, her look saying, “Tell me all about it; I’m dying to know, and you won’t leave until I know every little detail.” “Your Ladyship? Did you inherit?”
Nursing the drink in her hand, she leaned back in the chair. “Well, I’m a Rogue Trader now.”
“No way.” Jae covered her mouth. “Tell me all about it.”
“You first. And we must be careful what we say around here.”
She motioned in Heinrix’s direction, who entertained Lady Cassia at the back of the bar. Jae wiggled her eyebrows, which now doubled as two overexcited caterpillars on the way to their final feast, and angled herself to keep the Interrogator in her view.
“How did you catch that handsome fish?”
“You consider him handsome?” She raised her voice on the last word to ensure Heinrix would hear her. “Do you know what a fish is? Most of them are loathsome-looking.”
“What can I say? I’m your princess from the desert. I only know them from your description, and that you’re ace at catching them. But let me tell you, he seems pretty caught up in you.”
The birds fluttered in her chest. Could she trust her friend’s judgment that Heinrix was smitten with her?! Had her teasing struck his heart as hard as hers? Or was that simply wishful thinking on her part?
“To business then: I need your help. You know I’m the most honest dealer on Footfall, and you're not the kind of person who would let me stew in this predicament, are you?”
“She is a Cold Trader.” The baritone injected tersely before she could consider Jae’s request. “Apart from this heresy, I know of no other grave crimes she has committed.”
“Who asked for your opinion?” She flinched at her harsh tone. The stark lines on his forehead deepening, Heinrix drew back from the table as if she had sucker-punched him in the gut. When she grasped his wrist, she caught the edge of his vambrace. “Excuse me,” she continued, softer (and would have interlaced their fingers had they been alone), “this is a conversation between friends.”
“Of course, Lord Captain,” he mumbled, his tight-knit expression unravelling as he retreated to the back of the bar.
“Very well, where were we?” Jae said. “Ah, yes, someone got some serious green eyes about my success and started throwing wrenches, small ones here and there, into my business deals. But now they’ve decided to put their backs into it. Some rats have stolen my cargo.”
“Is it Falco? Again? What do you want to do?”
“Since Vladaym has forgotten his duties as guardian of business and free trade, I desperately need a new one. And you fit the bill just right, shereen. So,” Jae batted her eyelashes at her, “will you meet me in a dark alley and remind them that taking Jae Heydari’s property carries certain risks.”
“I still have a few questions.”
“Ask as many as you wish. Trust is the key to any successful endeavour.”
The warmth in her stomach had left her limbs leaden, but Jae’s words breached the comfortable numbness. Stifling a yawn, she righted herself in the uncomfortable chair. Was Jae this desperate?
Of course, she would support her friend. She would walk into fire for her, although explaining more how misfortune had struck her would help clarify the extent of their later troubles. And she must clear her head. She wouldn’t charge into a gunfight stark drunk.
“What cargo are we talking about?”
Leaning over the table, Jae whispered, “Goods of incredible rarity and value. Two dozen of my people lost their lives–”
“Jae, don’t lie to me. There are xeno-artefacts in that warehouse, aren’t there?”
“If I had told you directly, Isha, you would have become… shall we say, complicit. Since those illicit words didn’t slip my lips, you would merely agree to help me recapture a few containers. I thought it wise, given that you’re currently under the most attentive eye of the Inquisition.”
“Pay Heinrix no heed. I am a Rogue Trader, and the God-Emperor signed my Warrant of Trade. I have it on excellent authority that consorting with xenos and obtaining their goods is within the remit of my mandate, isn’t that so, my dear Interrogator?”
“Pardon? I didn’t follow your conversation, Lord Captain,” Heinrix asserted, emphasising the last two words. “You might possess certain liberties in dealing with xenos; however, they aren’t as universal as you might believe.”
“Is this a threat?”
“Merely an observation, Your Ladyship.”
After affording her a curt bow, he resumed his muted conversation with Lady Cassia.
“Are you two… You know… doing the horizontal tango? Because that tension…” Jae blew on her hand like she had burned her fingers. “He’s going to pin you to the wall any moment, mark my words.”
“Ha, if the Iceman only could lose his inhibitions,” Idira injected, “we would all be sleeping better.”
“Oh, shereen, this is a woman after my heart. A glass for my new friend here…”
Jae signalled Octavia.
“Idira,” the Psyker said.
“Jae Heydari – Idira Tlass.” Rising from her chair, she introduced them to each other. “Unofficial queen of Footfall, meet my Diviner.”
After a toast, Idira knocked her glass back.
“Ah, a pleasure to make your acquaintance.”
“Shereen, I hope this was not the last time we spoke.”
“The voices never lie, and right now, they tell me that you’re fun to be around. I hope that holds, Jae Heydari,” Idira said before retreating to the bar.
“Since you’re in a tight spot here, Jae, what can you offer me as compensation?”
“A fair deal. If your heart desires, we’ll split the cargo… fifty-fifty. Should this special vintage not interest you, I’ll make it worthwhile with some bonds of equal value. You get a stake in my trading organisation. How does that sound?”
“It is a start. And I take sixty per cent of your cargo.” She held out her hand. “Do we have a deal?”
“Shereen, you have a shrewd business sense. Fifty-five, and now let’s shake on it. We shouldn’t be seen together before we reach the warehouse. I’ll go there first. You know, I have my ways of avoiding attention.” Pulling out a data-slate, Jae opened a map of Footfall and pointed to a location not far from the Amasecus. “Right… here, that’s where those ashmags keep my cargo. You know the spot?”
“Mhm.”
“I’ll be waiting nearby. You can come whenever you like, but the sooner, the better. I’ll see you, shereen.”
Jae grabbed her by the shoulders and pecked her cheek. She seized her friend’s hand.
“Wait! Are you sober enough to head there now?”
“Oh, you know I shoot better when I’m not straight.” With silver-gleaming fingers, Jae brushed a strand of hair off the lapels of her coat. “And with you at my side, what could go wrong? See you!”
***
As promised, they found Jae loitering by the warehouse with Torra and Kor in tow. A finger on her lips, her friend strolled over to her retinue, and they conferred to decide on the best tactic to retake the stolen cargo. In the end, they opted for a frontal assault.
“Aim for the fuel barrels – they light up beautifully. And then stand well back,” Jae advised.
“Is aiding a smuggler an endeavour worthy of a Rogue Trader?” Sister Argenta asked, and she expected Heinrix to agree with her objection. Instead, Idira offered her assessment.
“You're just jealous! She swigs amasec and wears revealing clothes, while your only outlet is praying.”
“It might not be an endeavour worthy of a Rogue Trader, but it is a worthy undertaking because I’m helping my friend. And now silence!”
They breached the warehouse without encountering opposition. Advancing down a vast hall, crates and containers obscured their view of the stolen cargo. And any potential guards. The yellow promethium barrels were easy enough targets. They sneaked closer to fire. On her signal, the drums burst into flames. Seconds later, hell broke loose. Poisonous fumes and angry shouts flooded the depot. Gunshots followed. A volley from Pasqal’s plasma gun scorched the ground to ignite the spilt fuel. Pungent, oily smoke blotted out her view.
This was not going as planned.
Not at all.
Laser shots and Bolter fire zipped over her head and past her shoulder. She ducked for cover when an ear-splitting scream pierced the din of battle. Torra! Had she been wounded?
Despite the fumes choking her, she lurched forward to the spot where she had seen the smuggler last. She found her lying in a scarlet, glistening puddle. She felt Torra’s pulse. It was barely there. Her face drained colour as fast as the ground gained new shades of red. Clutching the woman under the shoulders, she hauled her out of the line of fire behind a stack of crates.
Where was Heinrix?
She peeked over the container to scan the tar-black smoke for the characteristic red cape, but detected merely the crimson trail of her rescue attempt. Torra groaned. Blood seeped from a gash in her thigh. She ripped a strip of fabric from the collar of her blouse and tied it around the smuggler’s leg right above the gaping wound. It helped little to staunch the bleeding. If Torra didn’t receive proper aid, she feared, the woman would bleed to death in front of her. One man alone could help her now!
Where was Heinrix?
Scouring the billowing fumes for a welcome sign of red, a pristine white handkerchief entered her view.
“Press it to your mouth and nose. It’ll help,” Heinrix said.
After examining Torra, he discarded the shoddy bandage. Around them rose a fortress of ice as life blossomed again on the smuggler’s face. Then the woman sat up, and the cold dissipated.
“Helped by the Inquisition,” she coughed. “Not something you experience every day.”
“Ma’am, we are often misunderstood. I aim to please the Lord Captain. As her pet Interrogator, that is my most important duty.”
Cocking an eyebrow, he rocked back on his heels. She bit her cheek. The words “pet Interrogator,” spoken in that confident tone, speared her lap, and she hitched a breath that almost choked her.
Emperor, no! Was he in on the joke?
“Your friend will survive, Isha.” His cheeks dimpled. “Still cross with me?”
His lips were now dangerously close to her mouth. The heat in her lap spilt over and rushed up her spine to flush her face. Sweat beaded her forehead. Instead of acrid fumes, she inhaled incense and myrrh.
Was there still fighting?
She didn’t care.
Was he a spy and a Psyker?
She didn’t care.
Not at this moment.
“I was never cross with you, Heinrix. Your handkerchief…”
He folded her fingers around the fabric and sealed her fist with a kiss. The warmth of his lips seeped through the leather. She should withdraw her hand. It was foolish to indulge in her feelings amidst a raging battle with a man who embodied everything she abhorred. And yet she failed to move. Even an inch. A jolt raced up her arm to spur the birds caught in her ribcage to flap around in ever-growing excitement.
“You keep it,” he whispered. “Please.”
“What a mess!” Kor’s voice boomed across the warehouse to break the spell. “Thank the Throne, we didn’t come here, just the three of us.”
“Shut up and get moving, Kor,” Torra barked. “We need to open the passage into the tunnels and let our guys in. Jae, on your signal.”
“Two… Three… Five… Thank the Exalted One! Those ashmags haven’t had time to make off with anything yet!”
“Xenos artefacts,” Heinrix grumbled.
Stuffing the handkerchief in her coat pocket, she stood up. “Van Calox?”
It sounded wrong to use his last name after they had (almost kissed?) shared a private moment. Who was she fooling with her behaviour? Not her friend. And Heinrix?
“I know, I know.” He lifted his hands. “However…”
“…you must mention it in your report? Can’t you show leniency? Please? As a Sanguinala present? I promise I will be an open book for you to read in the future.”
“You don’t realise what you are offering, Lord Captain, and I will ignore it. This time.”
“And… done!” Jae removed a hand from her ear. “We’re good! Now, how about we relocate to a more pleasant and private space to discuss the details of our deal, specifically, payment for your efforts?”
“Would you like to join me on my ship?”
“Look at you, Isha, your own voidship.”
“You have seen nothing like it. My bath is a huge pool. With a waterfall.”
“Is that an invitation or what?”
Jae placed a hand on her shoulder, and she flashed her friend a smile.
“For you? Always. Since someone else won’t bathe with me…” She shot Heinrix a look, who tried his best to ignore her. “Are you going to abandon your priceless cargo here?”
“Nothing to worry about. After the smoke clears, I doubt anyone will go anywhere near the containers. Not on Sanguinis’ feast day.”
The staccato sound of a multitude of boots trampling down the stairs to the warehouse whipped them around. A row of guards took position at the exit, their weapons at the ready.
“Stop right there, in the name of the Liege!” a gaunt figure in grimy clerical robes commanded.
She stepped in front of Jae, both fists pressed into her waist, to glower at the spectacle unfolding before her.
“Y-y-your Excellency! Please f-forgive my vehemence, most noble Lady von Valancius… I never expected to encounter such eminent persons in this corner of Footfall…”
Staring over her shoulder, his voice petered out into a whimper of prostrations and pleas for mercy. She snorted. She knew of only one person who could reduce people to such a servile display of bootlicking: Heinrix. She motioned for the man to proceed.
“I’m Vladaym Tocara’s personal agent. I came here on the liege’s order to remove from criminal circulation a shipment, the distribution of which is banned in the lands of Footfall. I do not doubt for a moment, most noble Lady von Valancius, that your presence here is merely a misunderstanding.”
Puffing herself up to reach almost Heinrix’s height, she proclaimed, “This cargo belongs to House von Valancius. Is Lord Tocara trying to encroach upon the property of a Rogue Trader?”
As if the liege weren’t the primary dealer of xenos-artefacts on Footfall. The coincidence was too perfect for this not to be a plot of Tocara to rid himself of Jae and claim the cargo for himself.
“No, no! Your Ladyship, I beg you to forgive this wretched serf! A terrible misunderstanding… a thousand apologies,” dropping to his knees, he bawled, “I won’t disturb you further…”
She waited for him to scramble back to his feet before she waved him and his thugs away.
“I wish I could see Vladaym’s face when he finds out on whose toes he just stepped. Listen, Isha, I’m genuinely sorry about this… mess. Vladaym and I have butted heads before, but I never thought he would go this far and straight up try to kill me.”
“Good thing we came to the Amasecus when we did, or you would be orbiting the Boneyard with your crew now. What do you say we mark the occasion with one of the vintages aboard the Mercy of the Stars?”
“The Mercy of the Stars? Well, you, shereen, are certainly a mercy to me. Of course, I wouldn’t say no to marking this occasion properly.”