Nemesis

you under again, to go through all the hypno-programming and conditioning. So we

either vent you to space and start anew with another one of your kindred, or we

find—”

“A different way?” The rage-killer gave a coughing chuckle. “If I was chosen by

my clade for whatever is planned, I’m the one you need. Can’t do it without me.”

“I’m compelled to agree.” Kell gave a thin smile. The Garantine was no mindless

thug, appearances to the contrary. “I was going to say we would find an

understanding.”

The other assassin laughed painfully. “What can you offer me that would be

richer than tearing your head from your neck, sniper?”

The Vindicare stared into the Eversor’s wide, bloodshot eyes. “Nothing has been

said yet, but the directors can only be bringing us together for one reason. One target.

And I think you’d like to be there when he dies.”

He said the name, and behind his fanged mask the Garantine grinned.

* * *

Yosef’s hands were tight fists, and it was all he could do not to haul back and smack

that weak half-smile off the face of Reeve Warden Laimner. For a giddy moment, he

pictured himself with Laimner’s greasy curls in his hand, smashing his face against

the tiled floor of the precinct house, beating him into a broken ruin. The potency of

the anger was startlingly strong, and it took an effort to rein himself in.

Laimner was waving his hand in Daig’s face and going on and on about how all

of this was Segan’s fault for not following proper channels, for not calling in backup

units. He had been singing the same song all the way back from the Blasko lodge.

“You lost the suspect,” the warden bleated, “you had him and you lost him.”

Laimner glared at Yosef. “Why didn’t you take a shot? Leg hit? Put him down,

even?”

“I could have walked Sigg in through the front door,” Daig grated. “He was going

to surrender!”

Laimner rounded on him. “Are you an idiot? Do you really believe that?” He

stabbed at a pile of crime scene picts on the desk before him. “Sigg was playing you.

He wanted to make meat-toys out of you both, and you almost let him do it!”

Yosef found his voice and bit out a question. “How did you know where we

were?”

80

“Don’t be stupid, Sabrat,” said the warden. “Do you think the High-Reeve would

let you off on a major case like this without having you tracked every second?”

Yosef saw Daig go pale at that, but he didn’t remark on it. Instead, he pressed on.

“We had a solid lead, from a… a reliable source! We could have brought Sigg to

book, but you came in mob-handed and ruined it!”

“Watch your tone, reeve!” Laimner shot back. He ran a deliberate finger down

his warrant rod to emphasise his rank. “Remember who you’re talking to!”

“If you want to run this case, then do it,” Yosef continued. “But otherwise don’t

second-guess the investigating officers!”

The warden’s sneering smile returned. “I was following Telemach’s orders.”

Yosef’s lip curled. “Well, thanks for making that clear. I thought it was just your

impatience and poor judgement that would make this case fall apart, but it seems like

the problem is further up the line.”

“You insubordinate—!”

“Sir!” Skelta burst into the wardroom before Laimner could finish his sentence.

“He’s here! The, uh, man. The baron’s man.”

Laimner’s attitude transformed in the blink of an eye. “What? But they’re not

supposed to be here until tomorrow morning.”

“Um,” Skelta gestured at the door. “Yes. No.” Yosef turned to see two figures

entering behind the jager. The first was an ebon-skinned man who matched Sabrat for

height, but was broader across the chest, with the thickset look of a scrumball player.

He had ash-coloured hair that fell to his shoulders and an oblong data monocle that

almost hid a faint scar over his right eye. At his side was a pale, thin woman with a

bald head covered in intricate tattoos. Both of them wore the same green and silver

livery Yosef had seen on Bellah Gorospe, but the man’s cuffs bore some kind of

ornate flashing that had to be indicative of rank. The woman had a golden brooch, he

noted, in the shape of an open eye. As he looked at her she raised her head to meet

his gaze and he saw the unmistakable shape of an iron collar around her neck, like

one that might be used to tether a dangerous animal. It seemed crude and out of place

on her.

The man surveyed the room; something in his manner told Yosef he had heard

every word of the argument that had preceded his entrance. The woman—it was hard

to determine her age, he noted—continued to stare at him.

Laimner recovered well and gave a shallow bow. “Operatives. It’s a pleasure to

have you here on Iesta Veracrux.”

“My name is Hyssos,” said the man. His voice was solemn. He indicated his

companion. “This is my associate, Perrig.”

Daig was gawking at the woman. “She’s a psyker,” he blurted. “The eye. That’s