Cardinal Crimson Read online

  He now realised that the juves had all been reading when he came in. Francks looked at the books on the table in front of him and recognised a couple of titles: The Universal Path and Questioning the Truth. Bowdie had forced him to read these when he was just a juve. They had been sacrilegious works even then. One said that the Undying Emperor was more an ideal – a universal force – than a god, and that all would be saved if they just walked the path of a virtuous man. The other taught that reason and forgiveness were the supreme qualities of man, that intolerance and hatred were the hallmarks of a limited mind.

  Francks could see now why the Universal Saviours had run afoul of other Cawdor. They were espousing heretical ideas. It was a wonder they had survived this long. ‘Where is the meeting?’ he asked.

  The long-haired juve looked at Francks and then at his fellow Saviours. They all shrugged, leaving the decision up to him. ‘At an abandoned factory not too far from here,’ he said. ‘I can show you the way.’

  Francks shook his head. ‘No. You stay here and keep your brothers safe until I return,’ he said. ‘Don’t open that door unless you hear the password, and hide these books somewhere safe. They’re worth more than your lives. Any of our lives.’

  Markel Bobo was taking it easy. He’d been out of work for days, which suited him just fine. The life of an intelligence gatherer tended to be stressful and he’d been in dire need of some downtime. So, for the last few days, he’d hardly moved from the parlour of Madam Noritake’s House of Fun – at least not until Jenn Strings finished her last client of the day. Then the two of them would retire to Bobo’s room upstairs, which was paid up for another month at least.

  Officially, Bobo was on the payroll of House Helmawr, but he’d just finished one job and was waiting for new orders. In the meantime, he had decided to forego freelance work and spend more time with Jenn.

  So, Bobo sat in an overstuffed chair, drink at his elbow and cigar in his hand, watching the unending parade of flesh that passed back and forth through the parlour. None of the girls paid any attention to Bobo – they all knew he belonged to Jenn – and none of the clients even noticed him. A small, nondescript man, Bobo stood well short of two metres and weighed little more than the slightest of Madam Noritake’s girls. He had a forgettable face topped by short, thinning hair of an unremarkable colour.

  As always, Markel wore slightly rumpled, loose-fitting, beige and grey clothes. He blended into every background, an effect he worked quite hard to perfect. While there were no weapons visible on or near Bobo’s body, he could disembowel a man in a second with any number of sharp implements secreted away within easy reach.

  He didn’t expect any trouble but, as a general rule, Bobo knew that was exactly when trouble sought you out. Right now, he was waiting for trouble, hopefully of the paying kind, but he wouldn’t bet on it.

  ‘Good morning, Markel,’ said a familiar voice from the doorway.

  ‘Morning, Kal,’ replied Bobo between puffs on his cigar. ‘Sit down. I’ve already ordered you a drink.’

  Kal dropped into the chair opposite Bobo, picked up the glass, and downed its contents. ‘How’d you know I was coming?’

  ‘Word travels fast in the Underhive, Kal,’ said Bobo. ‘Plus, your friend there does tend to announce himself well before he arrives.’ He pointed at Scabbs, who had sprawled on a couch, sending a cloud of dirt, dried skin, and noxious fumes into the air.

  ‘I need your help,’ said Kal. He waved at the bartender to get another drink.

  ‘So I gathered,’ said Bobo. ‘You never come around just to drink.’

  Kal smiled. ‘I drank, and I’ll drink again.’ He took the glass from the bartender, downed it in a single gulp, and then slammed it on the table beside him. ‘But, I also came to warn you that Nemo seems to be collecting on old debts.’

  Bobo took a long drag on his cigar and puffed an intricate series of smoke rings that practically danced in and around each other. ‘Hasn’t forgiven you for beating him to Armand’s stolen intel, eh?’ he asked. ‘Or is he still sore about what we did to his two thugs?’

  ‘The twins?’ asked Kal with a smirk. ‘They were hardly thugs. More like clowns with guns. What did they call themselves?’

  Bobo thought for a moment and then smiled as well. ‘Seek and Destroy. I remember Wotan sat on one of them.’

  ‘Good times,’ said Kal with a chuckle, but his smile faded quickly. ‘And now Wotan is paying for it. Nemo’s taken my cyber-mastiff hostage and is forcing me to bring in a bounty to trade for him. If I know Nemo, it won’t be an even trade. We may be next.’

  Bobo stamped his cigar out in the empty glass, leaned forward, and lowered his voice. ‘That might explain some odd news I heard yesterday,’ he said.

  Kal leaned in as well. ‘What was that?’

  ‘Business first,’ said Bobo. ‘I assume you can pay for my services, right?’ Bobo actually assumed just the opposite, but it was fun to watch Kal try to squirm out of paying his debts.

  ‘Well, actually, I’m a bit tight at the moment,’ said Kal with a sheepish green. ‘You know how it is.’

  ‘I do,’ said Bobo. ‘Probably better than most. So, what are you offering?’

  Kal looked almost upset at Bobo’s gruff, business-like manner. ‘Do you talk to all members of the royal line of House Helmawr like that?’ he asked.

  Bobo took another long puff on his cigar. ‘You’re like, what? Forty-second in line?’

  Kal looked almost completely deflated. Bobo could tell he was off his game today. Nemo must really have him worried. ‘Look,’ said the little spy, ‘put in a good word with your cousin Valtin the next time you talk and I’m all yours.’

  Kal smiled. ‘You are too good to me,’ he said.

  ‘You’re right,’ said Bobo. ‘But as you say, I do need to keep the royal line happy.’ He handed Kal one of his cigars.

  ‘So what was this odd news you heard?’ said Kal as he took the cigar and lit it up.

  ‘It seems someone is hiring assassins on the QT,’ replied Bobo. ‘I don’t know who or why, or who’s being targeted.’

  Kal puffed on his cigar and pondered the news. ‘What does that have to do with me?’

  ‘Perhaps this bounty hunt is just an elaborate setup to get you killed,’ said Bobo. ‘It’s just the kind of complex setup Nemo loves.’

  ‘Great,’ said Kal. ‘Just what I need. Not only do I have to deal with Nemo and Crimson, but now assassins? This case just gets better and better.’

  ‘Crimson?’ said Bobo, his eyebrow arching. ‘Cardinal Crimson?’

  ‘That’s the thing,’ said Kal. ‘Nemo’s bounty is some sort of Cawdor prophet. One of Crimson’s crew, I guess. Only we can’t get close to his holiness…’

  ‘Yeah,’ said Scabbs. ‘He wants Kal dead even more than Nemo. Probably because Kal dropped him in that pool of acid.’

  Kal blew a cloud of smoke into Scabbs’s face. ‘…so we were hoping you could watch his craziness for us.’

  ‘You want me to get close to Crimson?’ said Bobo. ‘That rates more than just a mention to cousin Valtin,’ but Bobo was smiling now. This actually sounded like fun and he was getting bored. ‘But this goes into the debt column should you ever advance those forty-one steps up to the throne. I’ll even put out some feelers to see if I can track down who’s hiring those assassins.’

  ‘Great,’ said Kal. ‘Thanks. Yolanda’s out checking her gang contacts to see if we can flush out this prophet. We’ll follow up with her and contact you later.’

  Bobo stared at Kal. ‘She’s out there alone? Isn’t that kind of risky if Nemo’s on the warpath?’

  ‘Oh I wouldn’t worry about Yolanda,’ said Kal. ‘She can take care of herself.’

  ‘Damn that Jerico,’ grumbled Yolanda as she trudged through a tunnel connecting two domes. She hardly looked where she was walking, letting her legs take her on the all-too-familiar path back to her roots – back to the lair of the Wildcats – while her mind wandered back to a l
ife that was, but wasn’t, her own.

  Yolanda, daughter of House Catallus, had long ago given up the boring, phoney, political life of a Spire brat to go live downhive where she could enjoy life on the edge. There, her fiery temper found her on the wrong side of one too many arguments with the Underhive’s male-dominated society, which led her to the Escher, a House of strong women and subjugated men.

  But even the Hive City Houses were too tame for Yolanda Catallus, and so she pushed her way down into the dark places where only the strongest survive, where men and women are forced to fight to survive. The Wildcats took her in, nurtured her violent nature and eventually made her their leader. Yolanda had finally found her home. Until Kal Jerico came to take her back.

  ‘That was the day you ruined my life, Jerico,’ she called out to no one.

  The Wildcats wouldn’t take her back once they found out who she really was. A Spire brat had no place leading an Escher gang. Not even one as bloodthirsty as Yolanda Catallus. But life changes. It’s the only constant in the Underhive.

  ‘You either move when the acid comes pouring down or you get washed away as so much detritus,’ said Yolanda, repeating an old, Underhive proverb.

  So, Yolanda became a bounty hunter. It was really the only life left to her. Her main skills all involved violence and death, and this allowed her to stay at least a hair’s breadth on the right side of legal. How she became partners with Kal Jerico, though, even Yolanda didn’t truly understand and she bemoaned her fate nearly every day.

  ‘Kal Jerico will be the death of me yet,’ she grumbled.

  ‘I think you’re wrong about that,’ replied a booming voice from behind her.

  ‘Helmawr’s rump!’ said Yolanda, snapping out of her reverie. ‘How could I have been so stupid?’

  The tunnel she’d been walking through had long ago fallen into disrepair. I-beams, pipes and metal plates had been scavenged from the domes at both ends to shore up the walls and repair cave-ins. It was like walking though a metallic jungle. Yolanda had even had to push strands of tin piping out of her way several times as she walked through. She had done so automatically, without thinking – without keeping an eye out for the hidden dangers.

  Now she would pay the price for her daydreaming. Two Goliaths stepped out from behind a sheet of steel ahead of her. Chains dangling from metallic shoulder pads stretched across their massive chests to thick, leather ammo belts at their waists. Other than bits of metal armour and chains, both were practically naked. Their muscles rippled, glistening with sweat in the dim light of the tunnel.

  One pulled the ripcord on his chainsword and it screamed to life. The other raised an autocannon up to his hip, hardly even needing his second hand to steady the monstrous weapon.

  ‘Maybe it’s us Goliaths who are so smart, eh?’ the booming voice behind her was still audible over the grinding metal-on-metal screech of the chainsword.

  Yolanda turned her head just enough to look back down the tunnel without taking her eyes off the two gangers ahead of her. The speaker, a Goliath by the name of Gonth, stood with his massive hands on his hips. Yolanda saw what looked like a meltagun slung at his waist, just below one hand.

  She recognised Gonth by his bright red mohawk and by the one missing ear. A nasty-looking gash ran from the scabbed-over wound all the way down and across his jaw line to his chin. Blood seeped from the wound, staining his iron shoulder armour with streaks of red. Gonth had been Grak’s second-in-command until yesterday when she and Kal turned Grak’s head in for the bounty.

  Gonth was flanked by two more Goliaths. Both held shotguns ready and aimed at her. The three of them had apparently been standing behind a mass of beams and pipes waiting for her to pass. Now she was caught in the middle. Five on one, she thought. Hardly sporting odds. She decided to handle the situation in her normal manner – by turning up the heat.

  ‘Sorry about the ear,’ said Yolanda. She turned her body to the side to give both sides a smaller target and allow her to see all five without turning her head too far. As she turned, Yolanda moved her hands toward the pistols at her waist. ‘I was aiming for your neck.’

  The firefight had already started by the time Jobe got to the factory. He could hear laspistols and bolters blasting as he slipped inside. Most of the metal sheeting that formed the walls of the factory had been stripped off long ago, leaving just a maze of support beams at ground level.

  Jobe darted from beam to beam, working his way ever closer to the action. He passed a makeshift ladder – pipes screwed into a beam – which led to a second level, and decided to climb up to gain the high ground. Of course, high ground usually also meant higher visibility to the enemy but Jobe felt a sudden urgency to find the Universal Saviours quickly.

  The second level looked much like the first, only with less flooring. There were far fewer support beams to hide behind up top as well. Apparently, this had been a wide-open section of the factory. Perhaps an assembling room or mass storage. The bigger problem was the floor, or rather the lack of one. It was a patchwork metal grating and wide open areas criss-crossed by beams.

  Jobe dropped to his hands and knees and crawled forward. He wasn’t worried about falling so much as staying undetected, especially since all he brought to this gunfight was a knife. A stray slug whizzed overhead as he crouched and he could smell the acrid, electrical odour of burnt ozone. He was definitely getting close to the action. A little further along he began to hear voices.

  ‘Quit hiding, you heretics,’ yelled a nasal voice. ‘Come out and accept your salvation like men.’

  The taunt was answered by a hail of slugs, which was immediately silenced by the loud report of a laspistol.

  ‘I got one, Tyler,’ yelled another, higher pitched voice. ‘I think I got one of those lousy Unies.’

  Jobe had found the Righteous Saviours and they had the high ground. He could see at least five of them, crouching behind the few beams that extended through the second level to the roof above. Each had a patch of flooring behind them and an opening to fire through. They had chosen their spot well. It appeared the Universal Saviours had walked into a trap.

  As his gang shot down into the dark, the one called Tyler kept slinging insults at the rival gang. ‘You Unies are worse than wyrds and muties,’ he called. ‘They’re abominations, sure. But you chose to live as a Uni. The Undying Emperor will see you all burn.’

  The ganger with the high-pitched voice started to chant. ‘Muties and Unies and Wyrds,’ he began. ‘Burn. Burn. Burn.’

  Soon the entire gang, Tyler included, was chanting in between shots. ‘Muties and Unies and Wyrds – Burn. Burn. Burn.’

  The whole scene reminded Jobe of another place and time. Against his will, his eyes clouded over, turning the present-day world completely white. Then he could see again, but he was crouching next to Syris Bowdie, their backs pressed up against the crumbling wall of a burned out building!

  ‘Syris!’ he exclaimed. ‘How…?’

  ‘An ambush, that’s how,’ replied Syris. ‘Ignus knew we couldn’t turn our backs on a soul reaching out for salvation.’

  Francks remembered now. They had learned that a witch-wyrd was in trouble, physically and spiritually. She wanted salvation, but had turned to the wrong set of Cawdor for help. Jules had her tied to a stake in the centre of Acid Hole and was preparing to light her up. When Syris and his gang showed up, they were immediately caught in a crossfire as Jules’s men had taken up position on the surrounding rooftops.

  ‘Come out, come out wherever you are,’ called Ignus in his damnable sing-song voice. ‘Come out and join your wyrd pal, Bowdie! We can have a twofer.’

  Jobe tried to remember how they had got out of this ambush but his cloudy mind’s eye forced him to live through it again with no foreknowledge.

  ‘You’re going to burn in the end anyway, you blasphemous abomination,’ called Ignus. ‘Save yourself today, and save us from starting a second fire.’

  He laughed a long, cackling laugh, an
d Jobe turned and peered over the crumbling wall to try to take a shot at the arrogant ganger. At that moment, Ignus dropped a flaming torch onto the gas-soaked rags surrounding the bound wyrd. A huge gout of flame leaped up and engulfed her, sending Ignus running for cover.

  The crackling of the fire mixed with the woman’s screams to create an eerie howl. Jobe felt a tear rolling down his cheek as he witnessed the murder for a second time. The air sizzled near his head and he dropped back behind the wall as a laser blast slammed into the dirt next to him.

  Jobe looked at Syris, about to ask him what they should do, when he noticed his mentor’s eyes had clouded over like white smoke drifting across his blue orbs. A moment later, Jobe heard new screams and looked up to see several New Saviours on nearby rooftops fall to the dusty pavement.

  He looked back at Syris with a furrowed brow, a question obviously on his lips. Bowdie’s eyes had cleared and he was smiling. ‘They must have lost their footing,’ was all he said before running off.

  ‘What about the witch?’ asked Syris.

  ‘She’s with the Emperor now.’

  As Jobe stood to follow Syris, he found himself back in the factory, standing in full view of the Righteous Saviours. The tear he’d shed for the burning wyrd dropped off his cheek onto his shoulder.

  ‘Hey, old man,’ called the high-pitched ganger. He pointed his laspistol at Francks. ‘Move your shrivelled butt out of here before I frag you good.’

  Francks stared at the young ganger. He was wearing the customary orange body armour and blue cloak of his gang, but his bright red hair gave away the fact that he’d been an Orlock ganger before being converted.

  ‘We all follow a path, my son,’ said Francks, and then pointed at Tyler. ‘But that one is leading you in the wrong direction.’

  ‘Great Undying Emperor,’ exclaimed the ganger. ‘He’s another Uni.’

  ‘Must be their dad come to take them home to mommy,’ said Tyler. ‘Shoot him, Miguel, and forget him.’