The sound of violence
The supply freighter rendezvoused with the Blood Angel Sword class escort Blade of Belaphon and the Inquisitor Quaestorious waited for the connecting tunnel to be extended. He had heard many stories about Blood Angels; probably, as in most cases, about half were true, twenty percent were exaggerated, twenty more percent were understated and the rest downright lies. That they were warriors par excellence was undeniable; the two squads here had defeated the several hundred chaos worshipping heretics on the planet below and had managed to capture seventeen of their higher echelon members for his interrogation.
oOoOo
As the banging and reverberations that indicated that docking was taking place had died down, the great metal door at the junction point slid away with a hiss. On the other side Quaestorious blinked as he registered that he had been accorded quite an honour guard to meet him – a Librarian, a Chaplain and half a dozen Space Marines in their distinctive crimson armour. The sheer size of marines always took him aback, and eight of them in this relatively cramped space was almost overwhelming. Perhaps it was meant to be, he reflected wryly. There was little love lost between Space Marines and the Ecclesiarchy at the best of times, and accusations of chaos taints were always being levelled at Blood Angels. Perhaps they associated the Inquisition with the Ecclesiarchy, though in truth many of his own colleagues had been heard to mutter about the Emperor's Right Hand in such terms of which 'babbling lunatics' was one of the milder. However, he could see that the touchy marines might well be wary of the Inquisition; the presence of an Inquisitor almost implied that heresy or chaos was present, and Emperor knew, the Blood Angels had had to put up with enough implications of that kind. Reports suggested that their practices were downright unorthodox; but one could hardly expect these genetically modified soldiers to worship in the same way as knee-pad merchants and ranters with little more to do than interfere with other people. It was only natural that they should give their Primarchs a status near equal to that of the blessed Emperor, he felt; soldiers needed to feel a bond to all their commanders and to have Heroes they aspired to emulate. It was a question of psychology, and it was their strength not their weakness. It was unfortunate that his own views were not currently fashionable, but surely enlightenment would grow yearly as the Imperium stabilised under the blessed love of the Emperor as chaos was driven back. Meanwhile, Quaestorious was being regarded by the two helmet-less officers with what could only be described as an expression of icy hauteur. At least there had been a flicker in one of those cold eyes as they registered the size of his bodyguard Burdock. Burdock was big even for an Ogryn, and in his brightly coloured clothing, he made a gaudy and distinctive figure. One almost overlooked young Kiliana beside him. The young girl-woman, scarcely larger than a child, was learning more and more about the Emperor and would soon be ready to begin her training in the Inquisition Academy on Earth; but now she was standing in a strategic position half behind Burdock.
oOoOo
Junior Librarian Ancalon was not used to being made to feel small. He knew of Ogryn of course, but this was the first time he had been in close proximity to one. Judging by the quality – if not the colour co-ordination – of the clothes and the apparent cleanliness of the giant warrior the stories he had heard about the bestial nature of the big abhumans had been inaccurate. How ridiculous too that young lad looked beside him! Ancalon could not make out Kiliana's curves beneath the long dark robe she wore, and with her short untidy mop of dark red hair took her for a boy. If the Inquisitor had brought these two for effect it certainly worked. He had to concentrate on maintaining his stony faced look, and a quick sideways glance at Theontos the Chaplain showed that that normally serious individual was also having difficulty in not laughing.
"Welcome aboard, Inquisitor." Ancalon said formally.
"I thank you, Librarian" the Hawk faced Inquisitor's voice was incisive, but well modulated.
Burdock had been staring at the marines, and now said in what was evidently intended to be a whisper,
"Sah, I likes dese marines. Dey is dead pretty."
Quaestorious worked to control his face.
"I think Burdock" he said carefully "That the term you are looking for is 'resplendant.'"
Burdock cogitated visibly.
"Yes, me lud. They's red-splendid. 'cept that one at the front wot is blue-spendid and de uvver one beside him" he explained kindly. Quaestorious could not prevent a twitch of the corner of his mouth, and Killie was grinning outright.
"I fancy you are going to find Blood Angels a pleasing culture shock all told, Burdock" the Inquisitor murmured, watching the Ogryn's fascinated gaze travel over the embroidered robes the two officers wore over their power armour, and drinking in the painted pauldrons individualised by all the marines.
"What's culture shock, me lud?"
"Just enjoy it, Burdock. Let's go" Quaestorious wanted to get on with the mission.
"Awright, me lud."
oOoOo
Evidence of the famed artistic talents of the Blood Angels was everywhere in their ship. Delicate traceries of metalwork broke up the bare, utilitarian lines of the warship's corridors, and trompe l'oeuille paintings on the walls cleverly took the appearance of the traceries and enhanced the feeling of space. So good were the effects indeed, that Quaestorious almost took a turn into a cloistered area that existed only as paint on the walls. Niches and alcoves where there were none were painted with consummate skill, some apparently partly hidden by velvet draperies that when Quaestorious touched them were also found to be painted. The pinnacle, for Quaestorious, was apparently a window on space, where lay Baal Secundus with its primary in the background and Baal Primus just visible at the edge of the 'window frame'. The frame itself was a masterpiece, an early Gothic arch with intersecting arches within it. It seemed to have been carved from light creamy stone, with inner and outer frames intertwining as arches crossed each other; and a heavier, semicircular framework around the upper curve of the arch, culminating in grotesques at the level of the arch-spring. One of these grotesques was most plainly an unkind caricature of the current Ecclesiarch; the other, Quaestorious thought was an Inquisitor he had met once who had written a scathing report on the Blood Angels. Presumably the faces were changed regularly to reflect current disapproval on the part of these fraternes militates. Quaestorious hid a smile behind his hand. Kiliana and Burdock did not recognise this subtlety; they were just awestruck.
"Say, me lud" asked Burdock "How does dey get dese stone bits to feel flat?"
"It's not stone, Burdock" Quaestorious explained. "It's called – well, let's just say the name means 'trick the eye'. It's a painting. All these niches and alcoves and galleries are paintings. Very clever, isn't it?"
"Yes, sah!" agreed Burdock with feeling. "I ain't seen anyfink like it. Say" his ugly face assumed a worried look "- we does get real food, doesn't we? Only dere was some fruit in one of dem alcove fings, an' if dat's not real…" he tailed off. Quaestorious managed not to laugh.
"Don't worry. Blood Angels have to eat too – and even if they did not, they'd provide suitable hospitality" he reassured the concerned Ogryn.
The Chaplain smiled a chilly smile.
"We find that the pursuance of excellence in art to be a good way of relaxing and clearing the mind between battles; the better to fight, refreshed, when we are needed" he said. His voice was surprisingly soft for such an immense warrior. Quaestorious asked,
"Does it form a part of…self control therapy?"
The chaplain's eyes flashed, but he answered quietly.
"Many of us find the process calming. More than that is not your concern, Inquisitor."
"I apologise. I had no intention of being unduly nosy. The tests and tribulations that strengthen each individual chapter are not the concerns of outsiders who cannot understand them. Yet I have heard that the nature of the Blood Angel Chapter leads to remarkably good practical psychologists amongst its Chaplains – and that could be of assistance to me in my quest, should you be prepared to aid me" Quaestorious too spoke quietly.
"Any aid that is proper for me to give to any servant of the Emperor is of course at your disposal."
"My approach is considered by some to be rather radical" Quaestorious began "For I believe in efficiency before dogma in serving the Emperor."
"That is radical" the Chaplain agreed gravely. Quaestorious thought that he detected a twitch at the corner of the serious mouth and allowed himself a grim smile.
"I wish to interrogate the prisoners using psychology rather than torture" he explained. "I think that we could get more information from them. I should certainly like to try. It seems to me that any dialogue we can get reveals something about the subject, which can be used to force him to reveal more without even realising he is being forced. I came upon a fragment, alas incomplete, which seemed to be an ancient treatise on the subject. And it is well known that the tortured reveal only what they think their interrogators want to know."
The Chaplain nodded.
"There is much of interest in your words" he admitted cautiously. "I will accompany you to the planet when you go to interrogate the heretics."
Quaestorious' face mirrored his shock.
"They are not held aboard your ship?"
The Librarian answered.
"No. Inquisitor, they are not. The Governor insisted on holding the heretics in his own dungeons. He said you would agree."
Quaestorious' expression darkened.
"I will be interested to hear his explanation" he growled. "When will we go down?"
"Not until their morning, another 14 hours" said the Librarian. "Perhaps you and your, uh, assistants would care to join us at a service in the meantime?"
Quaestorious chafed at the delay, but he nodded.
"We should be honoured" it was no less than the truth.
"Then if you would care to make use of my chambers to freshen up and prepare, I should be most pleased" the Librarian waved a hand to usher them onward.
oOoOo
It became clear from the Librarian's rooms that the man leaned toward sculpture as a means of self expression. Burdock asked,
"Are dese statyoos painted or real sah?" in such a baffled tone of voice that Quaestorious took pity on him and explained that trompe l'oeille was employed largely to make small spaces look bigger.
"When we go to the chapel, I expect there will be many fine examples" he said. "But there will probably also be real statues too."
Burdock gave up – but it was all very pretty, so it was best to just enjoy it. Blood Angels were, it, seemed, very complicated people!
The service was simple and moving. It was taken by the Chaplain. Quaestorious knew that normally such duties were, in this chapter, undertaken by Sanguinary Priests, not Chaplains as was more common under the Fraternes Astartes; but there were only a few brothers here, less than the two squads he had understood to have been sent. Losses must have been surprisingly heavy. Admittedly the numbers were swelled by the chapter servants, those who had not been good enough to make the grade as Space Marines; and though they were not as large as the marines themselves, their high protein diet made them intimidatingly large men.
As Quaestorious had expected, much emphasis was placed on the praise of Sanguinius, Primarch of the Blood Angels, and he felt as much as saw a few covert glances his way to see if he disapproved. Quaestorious was amused that even the mighty Space Marines peered in concern at the reactions of an Inquisitor; he was careful to keep his face bland. It was perhaps wrong to play for points against the studiously icy Librarian, but Quaestorious felt like it. After all, seven foot armoured figures made him feel nervous. It was only fair to reciprocate a little in kind. Meanwhile, he enjoyed the beauty of the chapel, painted to the glory of the Emperor and Sanguinius. The ceiling was painted to resemble a great dome, made up of hexagons and pentagons in the semblance of a mighty geodesic dome. Its supports seemed to run to the floor in great columns and beyond them seemed to be great aisles with windows redolent with stained glass showing scenes of saints and heroes of the chapter. The altarpiece was the piece de resistance, a real stained glass window, Quaestorious thought, lit softly from behind, and showing Sanguinious, noble and dignified in death as the Emperor stood by his body, making a fatal blow at the traitor Horus. The moment of sacrifice, vengeance and love was frozen for all time in the glowing glass picture, Horus the unworthy held always in that agonising moment of death. It seemed meet. Surely no one could accuse these marines of heresy if they only looked at the love and dedication in these works!
oOoOo
Quaestorious was taken aback after the well delivered sermon when the Chaplain nodded in his direction.
"As we have a distinguished visitor, perhaps the Inquisitor would be kind enough to give us a closing address and lead final prayers" his frosty smile was perhaps a little malicious. Quaestorious smiled back with as little warmth. This was a test. A man might be judged by the ad hoc speeches he made. This Chaplain knew his psychology! Quaestorious got to his feet and moved forward. He paused facing the altar to make the ritual obeisance with his hands and thumbs crossed against his chest to make the double headed eagle sign. He used the personal worship form with the backs of the hands outwards rather than the blessing form with the palms outward and the arms extended as was affected all the time by the Ecclesiarchy; and there was a murmur of approval. Quaestorious took a deep breath and turned to face the congregation.
"May I first say how honoured I am to have been invited to give this address" he began, gathering his thoughts. "I have to make a confession, however" he paused. "I fear I was only partly paying attention to your chaplain's excellent sermon, because I was carried away by the wonderful exuberance of the talent of the sons of Sanguinious in your celebration of your love for Sanguinious and the Emperor. I find myself humbled by such expression of love and joy. How can I follow that with any kind of address? Truly, there is no greater way of showing love and adoration than through joy in the love of the Emperor; for by the honest enjoyment of beauty and truth thus is chaos not only denied but made too ridiculous to contemplate. No one who carries true joy in his heart can ever become a heretic. This ship is a confirmation of this – and I trust you will join me in prayer."
He raised his hands, palm out with the thumbs crossed in benediction.
"In the name of our eternal father the Blessed Emperor." he began. "Let Your love and peace fill our hearts; may You fill us with joy at your gifts and show us in our hearts how to make the most of our talents to glorify You, and to glorify all mankind under your beneficent wisdom. May we know when is the time to fight and when is the time to take stock and refresh our spirits; and may we never mistake the one for the other. In Your name."
"In Your name" the response rumbled from the throats of those present. The Marines and servants filed out and the Chaplain leaned toward Quaestorious.
"Short and sweet, Inquisitor" he murmured. "I even think you meant it."
"I did" Quaestorious said abruptly. "The name is Quaestorious."
"I am Theontos. Quaestorious? The one who solves mysteries?"
Quaestorious knew it was ridiculous to feel pleased.
"I've been known to bring logic and observation to a few little problems in the past." He said self-deprecatingly.
"Come and see Ancalon – our Librarian. Maybe you can help us before you go down on planet."
"As you yourself said – any aid that it is proper for me to give to a servant of the Emperor is at your disposal."
A real and rather rueful smile broke out on Theontos' face.
"Touché" he conceded. The Librarian Ancalon approached, and Theontos addressed him, "Ancalon, this is the same Quaestorious who solves mysteries. Should we ask him to solve ours?"
Ancalon frowned, then shrugged.
"It can do no harm."
"You raise my curiosity, I fear" Quaestorious said. "Though of course I cannot guarantee to be of any use – and certainly not without more information."
Ancalon motioned with his head for the Inquisitor to follow him, and Quaestorious went, his aides a short way behind. The passages they traversed were less well decorated, and there were more servitors going about their programmed business. Quaestorious suppressed a shudder at the thought of the magnitude of the crimes that these men must have committed to be condemned to the living death of programmed cyborg.
Presently the party reached a room which was apparently where the marines stored their dead for transport back to Baal. Several bodies lay on biers draped with embroidered cloths, and stirring scenes of battle covered the walls. The hazy glow of a stasis field surrounded each body. Ancalon spoke in hushed tones.
"These are our dead from the battle" he explained unnecessarily. "Four died of natural causes – bolter wounds, blade damage, the usual. But three died without a mark on them – and with an expression of agony on their faces. That is our mystery – we would like to know what happened."
"You have not performed the Mortis Investigatus?" asked Quaestorious. Ancalon shook his head.
"We have no-one here who is qualified to do so" he explained.
"I have your permission?"
The Librarian nodded, and Quaestorious continued,
"In that case I will require some of my equipment that is left in your quarters. The child will show you which it is – she and Burdock might as well remain there if you will escort them. If you will turn of the stasis field in the meantime I can begin a superficial examination."
Ancalon bristled a little at Quaestorious' taking command; but he bowed acquiescence. Killie whispered,
"Don't be cross, Mr Librarian, My Lord Quaestorious is awf'ly clever and he'll soon find out. He's only pompous when he's thinking hard" she had sufficiently overcome her awe of the Space Marines by this time to regain her tongue.
"Thank you for your concern." Ancalon said dryly. He was unused to youngsters trying to reassure him – normally with the neophytes it was the other way round!
"Kiliana, you will behave yourself and treat the Librarian with the same respect – with as much respect as you ought to treat me" Quaestorious modified as he made the remark over his shoulder.
Kiliana grinned and danced away down the corridor after Ancalon, waiting until she was out of earshot of the Inquisitor before she began to pepper the Librarian with questions about the Blood Angels, admitting naively that she was only newly apprenticed to Quaestorious and needed to learn EVERYTHING.
oOoOo
Quaestorious had just finished his superficial examination of the huge, perfect bodies when Ancalon returned with his instruments. There were few marks to mar the perfection, as he had been told, but two wounds caught his eye. One was on the chest, the other on the neck, the same wounds on each of the giant bodies, in the same place; and Quaestorious suspected that they had been inflicted post mortem. He caught the Chaplain's eye.
"You have no need to know about these cuts, Inquisitor" Theontos said quietly. "It is a part of our ritual. It is something that is done routinely. There were no abnormalities in what was removed."
Quaestorious burned with curiosity; but Theontos wore a stern and stony visage. The Inquisitor knew that he would drag no answers from the implacable Chaplain unless he could prove good cause – of which he had none – and had to be content.
The skin of each of the huge warriors showed a darkening beneath it; and Quaestorious speculated that this would be an indication of the legendary Black Carapace. The several metallic modes, he deduced, must be connections to the power armour worn by every marine, and doubtless part of the source of its fabled abilities. He did not bother to check his deductions with Theontos. The Blood Angel Chaplain was rightly jealous of the secrets of his Order as well as evidently agitated at the violation of his dead brothers' bodies by an outsider. There would be time enough to ask should the questions become germane to the investigation; and Quaestorious did not think that they would. Quaestorious had a very good idea what had happened to kill these young men (were they all that young, he asked himself? After all, space marines were rumoured to be almost immortal. Appearances might be deceiving) and wanted to confirm or deny it before struggling into a morass of etiquette violation between Orders by demanding answers to centuries old secrets.
Wordlessly the Inquisitor held out his hand for his bag of instruments as he selected one of the bodies for more detailed examination. He began laying out the instruments he would need, and as he heard an involuntary gasp of outrage at the sight of a trepanning saw, turned to the two marines.
"Know" he said, coldly, taking refuge in icy professionalism, "That I would not defile the body of a brother of yours were it not necessary to confirm the truth. But" he added "Before I cut into this brother's head, I would ask two questions: the replies will determine whether I can make a minimum intrusion to confirm what I believe happened, or whether I have to make a fuller Mortis Investigatus. I am aware that when you first asked me to undertake this task , you had forgotten perhaps that some inquisitors would make it their duty to find out all they could and report on it" he saw the answer in their faces, and smiled gently. "I am not one such." He told them, and felt the relief. "I will do this as a man and an investigator who serves the Blessed Emperor even as you do; and such questions as I ask will be those to which I require an answer for clarification" he smiled again, ruefully. "I will attempt to curb my burning curiosity" he added.
Ancalon cleared his throat.
"Your promise is appreciated" he said stiffly. "Now ask what you need to know."
Quaestorious paused, formulating the questions in his mind. He did not think he was treading on dangerous ground, but the space marines seemed touchy about their rituals and were visibly prickly about the intrusive nature of the Mortis Investigatus now that it had come down to cutting, even though as rational men they accepted a necessity. Who could guess what questions would raise their ire!
"Was it noticed when they were laid out and cleaned up" he asked carefully "whether there had been any bleeding from the nose or ears?"
The Librarian and Chaplain exchanged a significant look, and Quaestorious cursed to himself in case he had inadvertently worded the question badly. Ancalon cleared his throat.
"It is very unlikely that they would" he said, flatly. "Please confirm that this will go no further, Inquisitor Quaestorious?"
Puzzled, Quaestorious nodded, and the Librarian continued.
"Larraman's organ, which we all possess, is part of the secret of the Adeptes Astartes. It causes our blood to clot immediately. No bloodflow would be apparent."
"I see" Quaestorious was taken aback and relieved in equal measure. "Then I will check for clotted blood in the nasal cavity" he continued, with an apparent calm he did not feel. Truly, these grandchildren of the Emperor were supermen! Quaestorious selected a probe and inserted it in one of the nostrils. When he withdrew it, there was dried blood on it. Quaestorious grunted in satisfaction.
"The second question" he said "Is to ask whether there were Chaos Marines amongst the infestation; whether the ground shook; and whether there was any kind of loudspeaker captured."
Theontos permitted himself a thin smile.
"Your second – question – seems to consist more of a plurality than a single query." He observed. Quaestorious shrugged,
"Consider me greedy" he said. Theontos smiled dryly again.
"The answer is easy enough." He said. "Yes on all three counts, most chaos marines fled. Some of our brethren are in pursuit."
Quaestorious looked up in consternat6ion.
"Brother Theontos, I beg you, communicate with them immediately and tell them to use noise dampeners. If what I suspect is true, your brothers here encountered the full effect of noise marines, and the others are in deadly danger if they continue unsuspecting!"
Theontos stared at him, the urgency of the Inquisitor's voice quieting any resentment he might feel at being issued orders by him.
"I will warn them" he said curtly, turning on his heel. "When I return you will explain your reasons."
oOoOo
Theontos returned to the Mausoleum as Quaestorious completed the cut removing part of the brain case. Ancalon watched with a demeanour of studied detachment. Quaestorious peered into the dead marine's skull, and nodded thoughtfully to himself.
"Observe, brothers" he said, pointing into the trepanned skull, "How the brain material is in a semi liquid, jellified state instead of the normal appearance of brain matter. This is an effect that can be caused to the brain – and, I suspect, any organ – by sheer noise. This is the proof. Mark it well, should you ever see such an effect again."
The two marines stared, repelled by the horrific death enacted upon their brother. Ancalon nodded.
"We will mark it – and spread word of the signs of this abomination to others of the Adeptus Astartes. The signs were on upon some of the citizenry killed by the chaos cultists, but we knew not to heed it. It will not be disregarded again."
"How did you know?" Theontos asked bluntly. "And how does it happen?"
Quaestoriou smiled gently and sadly at him as he began to sew the severed portion of the scalp back, restoring as much semblance of normality as possible.
"When I was a youngster, we used to plague the life out of the local monks by climbing their bell tower. Boyish dares and such foolishness" he paused, reflecting on the golden summer days and skinned knees of the boy Leonides Antillus that he had once been. "One boy climbed right into the bell chamber. The bells started to toll as the monks drove off his companions. The boys came back after dark to assist his escape, only to find him dead. They accused the monks; and it transpired that this was a phenomenon known to them. They were very upset, not having known that one of the boys was actually in the bell chamber as they celebrated the service" he paused. "It should have been my turn to brave the monks' wrath by creeping inside, but I had been kept home as a punishment for some transgression, I forget what" his steel grey eyes were dark as he remembered. "It made something of an impression on me. As to how it happened" he swept on, forestalling any comment by the marines, "I believe that it is to do with the frequency of the soundwaves. If they are similar in, er, size to the, er, microscopic structure of an organ within the body, that organ will shake until it is entirely broken up."
Quaestorious grimaced slightly at the thought, though not displeased at the effect his explanation had on the Librarian and Chaplain. It was not given to many to horrify the sons of Sanguinius!
oOoOo
Ancalon and the other marines took their temporary leave of Quaestorious in a much warmer fashion than they had greeted them when he left to deal with the chaos cult prisoners. Theontos seemed pleased to accompany him to aid his questioning; and if Kiliana felt mutinous about his decision to leave her with the Space Marines she was trying hard not to show it. Quaestorious had decided that she was too young to be a part of the stern duty that awaited him and had commended her into the care of the Librarian. She would soon settle in, he thought, with her insatiable thirst for knowledge. Now that he had proved to the marines that he too served the Emperor with love and was prepared to cross the bounds of Orders in the application of his talents he knew that she would be treated more warmly rather than merely tolerated. The warning about noise marines had apparently been timely – and word of a victory without loss to the Blood Marines had been sent! Quaestorious had prayed fervently to the beautiful icon of the Emperor he had been given by the dead painter's friends, thanking him that he had been able to make the revelation in time to aid his splendid (red-splendid? He smiled to himself) offspring.