Author's Note: I got a review a while back saying I'd replicated the first chapter in the second so I swear that I fixed it but it seems its regressed back, GRRR!
"It's the middle of nowhere of the middle of nowhere," said constable Duval as he struggled with the wheel of the dirty, beaten old Magistratum Jeep. "The shit hole of this shit hole of a planet."
As he sat in the passenger seat, Attelus nodded absently, watching the dank, thick grey-green bush go by outside. It reminded him somewhat of his homeworld, but deader and more depressing. He understood Duval's sentiment more than the constable could know.
"I've seen worse," said Attelus and he had, during his years as a Throne Agent and before that his years as a mercenary, he'd travelled the length and breadth of the Calixis sector and beyond: he'd seen war worlds, dead worlds and the worst of all, worlds locked under the yoke of the ruinous powers.
"I'm sure you have," said Duval. "When we were waiting for you and her to collate the files Fennington had told me that you were Inquisition."
Attelus looked sidelong at Fennington, his eyebrow raised, "and you're not at all scared?"
"Nope," said Duval. "If I had anything to be scared about I'd already be dead."
Attelus couldn't help but laugh and even Adelana let a little chuckle from the backseat.
"Believe, we're not mind readers," said Attelus. "Or not all of us, at least."
"So it's true," stated Duval. "You do use witch-minds, then?"
"We do," said Attelus. "Some of the most effective Throne Agents and even Inquisitors are psykers. The Imperium of Mankind need them easily just as much as we hate them and despise them. I wouldn't be here today if it wasn't for a psyker friend of mine saving my sorry arse on countless occasions."
After that declaration a weighted silence followed which Attelus in all honesty didn't mind at all and he found himself retreating into his thoughts.
Had he been a bit too obvious with the Sheriff? Vex Carpompter had earlier hacked in the vox networks up to and including interpersonal microbeads: so if any one sent word of their arrival, they'd know.
There's a conspiracy here, Attelus was sure. When they'd first arrived a week ago, Vex had tried to hack into the main cogitator network of Koliath's capital city, Allantar. But had found it was encrypted. Very encrypted, so much so it was going to take the young genius a good two weeks to crack the code. There was no way in hell that such a backwater world could afford such advanced data security.
Then they'd accidentally intercepted sheriff Kolmar's call for aid. What he'd described sounded evil, sounded occult. But not like any cult Attelus had ever encountered in all his research or first hand.
They'd come here initially because Taryst had a hand in setting up this world. Three hundred years ago the first settlers had been transported here in the Rogue Trader's ships and since then he'd invested hundreds of thousands of throne gelts on Koliath's fledging mining industry: which started out strong but didn't take long to die out. The planet's economy had broken down completely after Taryst's death two years ago and since then the planet had fallen on hard times.
But with these deaths...
Attelus doubted they'd be connected to the supposed conspiracy, let alone it having something to do with Taryst or their shadowy enemy. But something didn't feel right.
Something felt very, very wrong.
"We're here," said Duval as the dull, green, grey, grim bush abruptly melted away and the bumpy rough road became somewhat smoother. "The arse end of arse ends."
Attelus had seen the picts but they didn't do the poverty and ruin of the village justice and he couldn't help but agree with the pessimistic constable.
The numerous, scattered old wooden houses were in such disrepair it reminded Attelus of the dead, bombed out ruins of his home city: Varander. Windows were broken, verandahs were missing boards, some verandahs were sunken and angled upward, some were rotted away. There were holes, holes in walls, holes in terribly thatched roofs, some were large enough to walk through. One house had half caved in. Paint was flaking off some and the others had long ago lost the paint, now reduced to a rusty, rotten brown. Old, rusting vehicles and parts of vehicles as well as numerous other things that not even Attelus' sharp eyes could begin to identify laid all through out the overgrown grass like toys dispatched by a petulant child.
Attelus didn't have to wonder how people could live in such a state of disrepair. He'd lived this, he'd survived this. No, he wondered how the hell the population of over two thousand souls could allow for it to perpetuate. It didn't take him long for him to find an answer, this was all they knew, this was their normal and it was enough. Every day they'd go to their run down little church and pray to their God-Emperor for their crops to grow and their dozen or so children to behave. For generations people had lived and died this, not even knowing of the vast galaxy out there. Perhaps not even knowing about the city only one hundred kilometres north of them.
For all intents and purposes, this was their home and it was hard to leave your old life, hard to push on; to go somewhere where you can become someone.
Attelus knew this more than most.
He pitied them and his pity couldn't help be edged with contempt, but in all honesty he also envied them: Attelus had found a long time ago that in this cosmos, ignorance was bliss.
Although, after these murders, perhaps they weren't so ignorant now.
Or, perhaps, weren't ignorant to begin with.
The thought made him shudder.
Mostly to his detriment, Attelus had a thirst for knowledge well beyond that of the average Imperial citizen and that was one of the many reasons why he was a Throne Agent and they weren't.
As far as he was aware of, anyway.
It took ten minutes of driving through the sad, depressing village before Duval reached the turn off. The road was in even worse condition than the one headed here and despite being jostled by the horrid bouncing and struggling of the jeep. Adelana tried to peruse the picts yet again, but her stomach quickly lurched sickeningly with the effort.
Sitting next to her, Fennington sat as stiff as a board. She could tell right from the very first second they'd met, he was attracted to her. He hadn't said a word since they'd started the three hour drive through the hills and valleys here and that was fine with her. Adelana was used to used such treatment from men now and she couldn't help wonder how he could've even been considered for Magistratum recruitment; but all she had to do was gaze out the window to get her answer.
The road, if one could call it that, began to ascend a steep hill and the bouncing and jarring somehow became even worse. Twice, Attelus and Fennington were to get out to push the jeep from being caught up in the sloppy, sticky mud.
"So, the woman who found the bodies lives just here, right?" said Attelus, pointing as they passed yet another run down, ruined house. It was set on a small plateau on the left, barely visible through the overgrown vegetation surrounding it. "I just can't remember her name though, I'm sorry."
"Mamzel Soul Kletchen," answered Duval. "I'm guessing you'll want to talk to her after examining the crime scene? Don't know how much help she'll be to you…"
Duval's words hung, they all knew how badly the sight had effected the poor woman.
The poor, poor woman.
It was only a minute later they turned off the road.
"Here we are," said, Duval, pulling on the hand break.
The ancient, worn down barn seemed to loom over them. The side houses had long ago collapsed into ruin and destroyed farm equipment littered the landscape. The branches of the black, ancient, gnarled, almost eldritch in aspect trees surrounding the barn, seemed to claw at its walls with desperate, painful fingers. For a good half a minute they sat in silence, just looking at it with horrid wonder and it took Adelana all of that time to realise that a light mist surrounded the place. A mist which was disturbingly absent everywhere else in the village and surrounding valley.
Adelana couldn't help but bite her lip as the fear began to grow throughout her like cold tendrils.
No wonder the locals abhorred the place.
The first to get out was Fennington whose act of doing it, forced everyone back into reality.
"You want to see or not?" he said, looking at them intensely through the open door.
No, thought Adelana, but even still, she opened her door and stepped out onto the slushy mud. The horrific heat and humidity hit her like a kick to the jaw, causing her to stagger slightly. She was followed by Attelus then Duval and their doors closed in order of their exiting, then slowly, hesitantly they began to approach the large, old barn.