Nemesis

palace of the rogue trader who led it. A handful of other smaller ships attended the

Iubar like handmaidens around a queen; and Yosef only thought of them as smaller

because the flagship was so huge. The support craft were easily a match for the

tonnage of the largest of the system cruisers belonging to the Iestan PDF.

The psyker Perrig remained on the surface, having insisted on being taken to the

Blasko lodge to take a sensing. Hyssos explained that the woman had the ability to

divine the recent past of objects by the laying on of hands, and it was hoped that she

would find Erno Sigg’s telepathic spoor at the location. Skelta drew the job of being

her escort, and the silent panic on the jager’s face had been clear as daylight. The

reeve marvelled how Hyssos seemed completely unconcerned by Perrig’s

preternatural powers. He spoke of her as Yosef or Daig would discuss the skills of

the documentary officers at a crime scene—as no more than a fellow investigator

with unique talents all their own.

In the hours after his arrival—and his blunt dismissal of Laimner—Hyssos had

thrown himself fully into the serial murder case, absorbing every piece of

information he could get his hands on. Yosef knew that the man had already been

briefed as fully as the Eurotas Consortium could—how else could he have known the

names of everyone in the precinct without prior instruction from Gorospe and her

offices?—but he was still forming his view of the situation.

Daig took a few hours to sleep in the shift room, but Yosef was caught up by

Hyssos’ quiet intensity and sat with him, repeating his thoughts and impressions to

him. The operative’s questions were all insightful and without artifice. He made the

reeve think again on points of evidence and supposition, and Yosef found himself

warming to the man. He liked Hyssos’ lack of pretence, his direct manner… and he

liked the man for the way he had seen right through Berts Laimner at first glance.

“There’s more to this,” Hyssos had said, over a steaming cup of recaf. “Sigg

murdering and playing artist with the corpses… That doesn’t add up.”

Yosef had agreed; but then the message had come down from command. The

Void Baron had arrived, and the Governor was in a fit. Normally, a visitation from

someone of Baron Eurotas’ rank would be a day of great import, a trade festival for

Iesta’s merchants and moneyed classes, a diversion for her workers and

commoners—but there had been no time to prepare. Even as the shuttle had taken

them up to meet Hyssos’ summons, the government was in turmoil trying to throw

together some hasty pomp and ceremony in order to make it seem like this had been

planned all along.

Laimner tried one last time to get a foot on the shuttle. He said that Telemach had

ordered him to give the baron the briefing, that he could not in good conscience

remain behind and let a lesser officer take the responsibility. He’d looked at Yosef

when he said those words. Yosef imagined that Telemach was probably unaware of

the shuttle or the summons, probably too busy fretting with the Landgrave and the

Imperial Governor and the Lord Marshal to notice. But again, Hyssos had firmly

blocked the Reeve Warden from using this as any way to aggrandise himself, and left

him behind as he took the two lowly reeves up into orbit.

93

It was an experience that Daig was never to forget; it was his first time off-world,

and his usual manner had been replaced with something that approximated stoic

dread.

Hyssos beckoned them towards the far end of the wide gallery, where a dais and

audience chairs were arranged before a broad archway. Inside the arch was a carved

frieze made of red Dolanthian jade. The artwork, easily the size of the front of

Yosef’s house, showed a montage of interstellar merchants about their business,

travelling from world to world, trading and spreading the light of the Imperium. In

the centre, a sculpture of the Emperor of Mankind towered over everything. He was

leaning forward, holding out his hand with the palm down. Kneeling before him was

a man in the garb of a rogue trader patriarch, who held up an open book beneath the

Emperor’s hand.

Daig saw the artwork and gasped. “Who… Who is that?”

“The first of the Eurotas,” said Hyssos. “He was the commander of a warship that

served the Emperor many centuries ago, a man of great diligence and courage. As a

mark of respect, for his service, the Emperor granted him the freedom of space and

made him a rogue trader.”

“But the book…” said Daig, pointing. “What is he doing with the book?”

Yosef looked closer and saw what Daig was talking about. The artwork clearly

showed what could only be a cut upon the Emperor’s downturned palm and a drip of

blood—rendered here from a single faceted ruby—falling down towards the page of

the open tome.

“That is the Warrant of Trade,” said a new voice, as footsteps approached from

behind them. Yosef turned to see a hawkish, imperious man in the same cut of robes