The Eisenhorn TrilogyXenos(科幻战争)-第29部分

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Twenty　Cadian　APCs　crested　the　brow；　their　floods　beaming　down　at　us。　Cadian　shock　troops　scrambled　down　the　slope；　covering　us
with　their　guns。
'What　the　hell？'　Nayl　cried。
I　was　stunned。　This　was　the　last　thing　I　had　expected。

'Inquisitor　Eisenhorn；'　boomed　a　vox…amped　voice　from　the　lead　APC。　'For　crimes　against　the　Imperium；　for　the　atrocity　at　Thracian；
for　consorting　with　daemonhosts；　you　are　hereby　arrested　and　condemned　to　death。'
I　recognised　the　voice。
It　was　Osma。
SIXTEEN
THE　HAMMER　OF　WITCHES。
THREE　MONTHS　IN　THE　CARNIFICINA。
FLIGHT　FROM　CADIA。
FLANKED　BY　SIX　robed　interrogators　reading　aloud　from　the　Books　of　Pain　and　the　Chapters　of　Punishment；　Inquisitor　Leonid　Osma
came　down　the　moorland　slope　towards　me。　Pink　dawn　light　was　beginning　to　spear　lengthways　across　the　bleak　heath；　and　the　gorse
and　bracken　was　stirred　by　the　early　morning　breeze。　Distantly；　heath　grouse　and　ptarcerns　were　whooping　and　calling　to　the
midwinter　sun。
Osma　was　a　well…built；　broad…shouldered　man　in　his　one　fifties。　He　wore　brass　power　armour　that　glowed　almost　orange　in　the　ruddy
dawn。　Ornate　Malleus　crests　decorated　his　armour's　besagews　and　poleyns　and　six　purity　seals　were　threaded　around　his　bevor　like　a
floral　wreath。　A　long　cloak　of　white　fur　played　out　behind　him；　brushing　the　tops　of　the　heather　and　gorse。
His　face　was　blunt　and　pugnacious。　His　eyes　were　glinting　dots　set　in　puffy　lids；　fringed　by　heavy；　grey　eyebrows。　His　bowl…cut　hair
was　the　colour　of　sword…metal。　Some　years　before；　he　had　lost　his　lower　jaw　during　a　fight　with　a　Khornate　berserker。　The　augmetic
replacement　was　a　jutting　chin　of　chrome；　linked　into　his　skull　by　feed　tubes　and　micro…servos。　The　emblem　of　the　Inquisition　rose
above　his　head　on　a　standard　mounted　between　his　shoulder　blades。　In　one　hand　he　carried　a　power　hammer；　the　mark　of　his　ordo。
In　the　other；　a　sealed　ebony　scroll　tube。　I　recognised　it　at　once。　A　carta　extremis。
'This　is　insanity！'　Fischig　growled。　The　Cadians　around　us　stiffened　and　jabbed　with　their　weapons。
'Enough！'　I　warned　Fischig。　I　turned　to　my　companions。　They　looked　so　lost；　so　miserable；　so　dismayed。
'We　will　not　fight　our　own；'　I　told　them。　'Surrender　your　weapons。　I　will　soon　have　this　laughable　error　resolved。'
Bequin　and　Inshabel　handed　their　weapons　to　the　Cadian　guards。　Fischig　reluctantly　allowed　the　storm　troopers　to　divorce　him　from
his　riot…gun。　Nayl　undipped　his　drum…cannon's　ammo　feed；　slid　out　the　magazine　box　and　passed　that　to　the　waiting　troops；　leaving　the
disabled　heavy　weapon　strapped　around　his　torso　on　its　harness。
I　nodded；　satisfied。　'Thorn　bids　Aegis；　by　cool　water；　soft；'　I　whispered　into　my　vox　and　then　turned　to　meet　Osma。
He　raised　his　power　hammer　in　a　brief　gesture　and　the　mumbling　interrogators　fell　silent　and　closed　their　books。　'Gregor　Eisenhorn；'
he　said　in　precisely　enunciated　High　Formal　Gothic；　'In　fealty　to　the　God…Emperor；　our　undying　lord；　and　by　the　grace　of　the　Golden
Throne；　in　the　name　of　the　Ordo　Malleus　and　the　Inquisition；　I　call　thee　diabolus；　and　in　the　testimony　of　thy　crimes；　I　submit　this
carta。　May　Imperial　justice　account　in　all　balance。　The　Emperor　protects。'
I　slid　my　storm…gun　out　of　its　holster；　ejected　the　clip　and　handed　it　to　him　grip　first。
'I　hear　full　well　thy　charge　and　thy　words；　and　make　my　submission；'　I　responded　in　the　ancient　form。　'May　Imperial　justice　account　in
all　balance。　The　Emperor　protects。'
'Dost　thou　accept　this　carta　from　my　hand？'
'I　accept　it　into　mine；　for　that　I　may　prove　it　thrice　false。'
'Dost　thou　state　thy　innocence　now；　at　the　going　off？'
'I　state　it　true　and　clear。　May　it　be　so　writ　down。'
Vox…drones　idling　by　the　shoulders　of　the　interrogators　had　been　recording　all　this；　but　the　youngest　interrogator　was　transcribing　it　all
with　a　holoquill　into　a　dispositional　slate　suspended　before　him　on　a　grav　plate。　I　noted　this　detail　with　some　satisfaction。
Preposterous　though　the　charges　were；　Osma　was　prosecuting　with　total　and　precise　formality。
'I　ask　of　thee　thy　badge　of　office；'　Osma　said。
'I　deny　thy　asking。　By　the　code　of　prejudice；　I　declare　my　right　to　retain　my　rank　until　due　process　is　concluded。'
He　nodded。　His　language　changed　from　High　Formal　to　Low　Gothic。　'I　expected　as　much。　Thank　you　for　avoiding　unpleasantness。'
'I　don't　think　I've　avoided　any　unpleasantness；　Osma。　What　I　have　avoided　is　bloodshed。　This　is　ridiculous。'
'They　all　say　that；'　he　muttered　snidely；　turning　away。
'No；'　I　said　levelly；　stopping　him　dead。　'The　guilty　and　the　polluted　fight。　They　deny。　They　straggle。　In　my　lifetime；　I　have　brought
down　nine　marked　diabolus。　None　ark　that　fact　in　your　record；'　I　said　to　the　scribing　interrogator。　'If　I　was　guilty；　I
would　not　be　submitting　to　your　process　so　politely。'
'Mark　it　so！'　Osma　told　his　hesitating　scribe。
He　looked　back　at　me。　'Read　the　carta；　Eisenhorn。　You're　guilty　as　sin。　This　show　of　understanding　and　co…operation　is　exactly　what　I
would　have　expected　from　a　being　as　canny　and　clever　as　you。'
'A　compliment；　Osma？'

He　spat　into　the　bracken。　'You　were　one　of　the　best；　Eisenhorn。　Lord　Rorken　actually　pleaded　for　you。　I　acknowledge　your　past
triumphs。　But　you　have　been　turned。　You　are　Malleus。　You　are　an　abomination。　And　you　will　pay。'
'This　is　insane…'　Neve　muttered；　limping　towards　us。
'And　none　of　your　business；　inquisitor　general；'　Osma　replied。
Neve　faced　him；　her　torn　armour　wet　with　her　own　blood。
'This　is　my　province；　inquisitor。　Eisenhorn　has　proved　himself　to　me。　This　charade　is　interfering　with　Inquisition　business。'
'Read　the　carta；　inquisitor　general；'　Osma　told　her。　'And　shut　up。　Eisenhorn　is　clever　and　convincing。　He　has　fooled　you；　lady。　Be
thankful　that　you're　not　implicated。'
MY　COMPANIONS　WERE　arraigned　at　Kasr　Derth；　under　Neve's　recognizance。　No　such　luxury　for　me。　I　was　flown　south　aboard　a
Cadian　military　lighter；　through　the　dawn；　to　the　furthest　islet　of　the　Caducades　group；　to　the　infamous　Cadian　prison；　the　Carnificina。
They　had　fettered　my　hands　and　feet。　I　sat　on　a　bracket…bench　dropped　from　the　wall　of　the　lighter's　armoured　hold；　surrounded　by
Cadian　guards；　and　read　the　carta　by　the　shifting　light　that　sheared　in　through　the　window　slits。
I　could　scarcely　believe　what　I　was　reading。
'Well？'　grunted　Fischig　from　his　seat　in　the　corner。　I　had　been　allowed　one　spokesman；　and　I　had　selected　Fischig；　with　his　legal
background。
'Read　it；'　I　said；　holding　the　carta　out　to　him。
One　of　the　impassive　Cadians　took　it　from　me　and　passed　it　to　the　scowling　Hubrusian。
After　a　few　moments　spent　reviewing　the　scroll；　Fischig　blurted　out　an　incredulous　profanity。
'Just　what　I　thought；'　I　said。
THE　CARNIFICINA　JUTTED　up　from　the　thrashing　sea　like　the　molar　of　a　massive　herbivore；　the　gum　eaten　away。
It　had　not　been　built　so　much　as　hollowed　out　of　the　upthrust　crag。　There　wasn't　a　wall　on　the　prison　isle　thinner　than　five　metres。
Vicious　plungers　broke　in　white　spray　around　its　granite　base　and　the　western　aspects　were　open　to　the　worst　of　the　pelagic　abuse　from
the　oceans　beyond。　Icebergs　from　the　calving　glaciers　at　Cadu　Sound　and　the　distant　Caducades　Isthmus　jostled　and　splintered　in　the
open　water　between　the　prison　isle　and　the　barren　atolls　opposing　it。
Kelp　and　hardy；　lean　axel　trees　decorated　its　lower　slopes。
The　lighter　swung　in　over　the　eastern　ramparts　and　settled　on　a　pad　cut　from　the　stone。　I　was　marched　under　guard　out　into　the　cold
sunlight；　and　then　into　the　dank　hallways　of　the　rock。　The　white…washed　walls　sweated　and　stank　of　seawater。　Rusting　chains　ran　down
from　the　ceiling　to　the　hatches　of　forgotten　oubliettes。
I　could　hear　the　shouts　and　screams　of　prisoners。　The　demented　and　infected　of　the　Cadians　lived　here；　mostly　ex…servicemen　who　had
been　driven　mad　in　the　wars　of　the　Eye。
The　Cadian　troops　handed　me　over　to　a　squad　of　red…uniformed　prison　guards　who　reeked　of　unwashed　flesh　and　carried　pain…flails
and　leather　whips。
They　opened　up　a　fifty　centimetre…thick　hatch　cover　riven　with　studs；　and　pushed　me　into　a　cell。
It　was　four　paces　by　four；　cut　from　stone；　with　no　window。　It　stank　of　piss。　The　previous　incumbent　had　died　here…　and　never　been
removed。
I　pushed　aside　his　dry　bones　and　sat　on　the　wooden　bunk。　I　knew　nothing。　I　had　no　idea　if　the　Cadian　Interior　had　captured　that　rogue
starship；　or　if　anyone　had　managed　to　track　the　flight　of　the　thing　that　had　been　poor　Husmaan。
The　path　to　Quixos；　the　path　we　had　been　so　lucky　to　strike　at　last；　was　disappearing　by　the　second　as　we　played　these　games。　And
there　was　nothing　I　could　do　about　it。
'WHEN　DID　YOU　first　decide　to　consort　with　daemons？'　asked　Interrogator　Riggre。
'I　have　never　done　so；　or　decided　to　do　so。'
'But　the　daemonhost　Cherubael　knows　you　by　name；'　said　Interrogator　Palfir。
'Is　that　a　question？'
'It—'　Palfir　stammered。
'What　is　your　relationship　with　the　daemonhost　Cherubael？'　cut　in　Interrogator　Moyag　sternly。
'I　have　no　relationship　with　any　daemonhost；'　I　replied。
I　was　chained　to　a　wooden　chair　in　the　great　hall　of　the　Carnificina；　winter　sunlight　shafting　down　from　the　high　windows。　Osma's
three　interrogators　stalked　around　me　like　caged　beasts；　their　robes　swirling　in　the　draft。
'It　knows　your　name；'　Moyag　said　testily。
'I　know　yours；　Moyag。　Does　that　give　me　power　over　you？'
'How　did　you　orchestrate　the　atrocity　at　Thracian　Hive　Primaris？'　asked　Palfir。
'I　didn't。　Next　question。'
'Do　you　know　who　did？'　asked　Riggre。
'Not　precisely。　But　I　believe　it　was　the　being　you　have　referred　to。　Cherubael。'
'He　has　been　in　your　life　before。'
'I　have　thwarted　him　before。　One　hundred　years　ago；　at　56…Izar。　You　must　have　the　records。'
Riggre　glanced　at　his　colleagues　before　replying。　'We　do。　But　you　have　been　searching　for　him　ever　since。'

'Yes。　As　a　matter　of　duty。　Cherubael　is　a　repellent　abomination。　Do　you　wonder　that　I　would　seek　him　out？'
'Not　all　your　contacts　with　him　have　been　recorded。'
'What？'
'We　know　some　contacts　have　remained　secret；'　Moyag　rephrased。
'How？'
'The　sworn　testimony　of　an　Alain　von　Baigg。　He　states　that　you　sent　an　operative　code…named　Hound　out　to　make　contact　with
Cherubael；　one　year　ago；　and　that　you　refrained　from　telling　your　ordo　master　about　it。'
'I　didn't　think　to　bother　Lord　Rorken　with　the　matter。'
'So；　you　don't　deny　it？'
'Deny　what？　Hunting　for　Chaos？　No；　I　don't。'
'In　secret？'
'What　inquisitor　doesn't　work　in　secret？'
'Who　is　Hound？'　asked　Palfir。
I　had　no　wish　to　make　Fischig's　life　more　difficult　just　then。　I　said；　'I　don't　know　his　real　name。　He　works　clandestinely。'
I　thought　they　would　press　me；　but　instead　Moyag　said；　'Why　did　you　survive　the　Thracian　horror？'
'I　was　lucky。'
Palfir　walked　a　circle　around　me；　his　polished　boots　squeaking　on　the　worn　floor。　'Let　me　make　it　clear。　We　are　just　beginning　here。　In
respect　to　your　rank　and　career；　we　are　employing　interrogation　of　the　First　Action。　The　First　Action　is—'
I　cut　him　short。　'I　have　been　an　inquisitor　for　many　years；　Palfir。　I　know　what　the　First　Action　is。　Verbal　interview　without　duress。'
'Then　you　know　of　the　Third　and　Fifth　Actions？'　sneered　Riggre。
'Light　physical　torture　and　psychic　interrogation。　And　by　the　way；　you　just　utilised　the　Second　Action　…　verbal　threat　of　and/or
desc