They'd been lucky.
Vollex took a deep breath as he stepped out of the service lift and prayed as fervently and earnestly as he had ever prayed to the God-Emperor of the Imperium of Man that their luck held. The maid had held key cards and the storeroom had held overalls and robes. So far so good. The overalls he now wore made him look like a maintenance worker or janitor-serf, while the long, lilac robes that he had hurriedly draped over Fenter's frame made his colleague look like… Well, actually, he had no idea what he looked like. But he knew he didn't look like an intruder at first glance and that was all that mattered. There were still six shots in the needle pistol to ensure the second glance never happened.
He looked around, his dark eyes glittering shrewdly. They were on the top floor now, which housed residential quarters for family members. Chances were that, with Brecht and the others stirring things up downstairs, this area should be quiet. He glanced sidelong at Fenter and sighed. Fenter was walking stiffly, his mouth open and his eyes staring wide. Pain was etched into every line of his face and Vollex shook his head slowly. Fenter was a freak to be sure, but, after working with him on a number of missions for the Inquisition, he had slowly come to regard him as a… well 'friend' seemed too strong a word, really, but it was close enough. What the tech adepts of the Mechanicum had done to Fenter was very useful for men like Brecht, but it was still a trade-off between power and comfort, between service to the Emperor and the ability to function normally as a human being. Vollex couldn't help thinking that it was Fenter who had got the raw end of the deal. At times like this, however, such considerations were easily pushed aside. The subsonic field generated by Fenter's 'voice' as he walked stiffly forwards ensured that any listening devices were rendered useless and also shrouded the machine spirits of any more sophisticated devices in a comforting blanket of meaningless sound waves. Yes, at times like this having Fenter around was very handy – just as long as you didn't look at his eyes.
Vollex took another quick step forward and paused. Everything was reassuringly quiet, but he had not survived growing up on Graltor by making easy assumptions. He assessed the area ahead thoughtfully. A long hallway, covered with carpet the colour of autumn leaves, stretched out before them with recessed doorways leading off to residential suites on both sides. At the very end of the hallway a large picture window let in the early morning sunlight, flooding the area with a brightness that he found distinctly uncomfortable. He frowned.
"Second on the left is where we need to be, Gustav," he said softly. "Come on."
Moving with practised confidence, Vollex led Fenter to the recessed doorway and reached in his pocket for the keycard. He glanced up at his partner as he fed the keycard into the recessed slot in the door. The reassuring click of the door's locking mechanism switching off followed a split second later.
Vollex sighed, as the door swung open at his gentle push. He turned to Fenter, who looked faintly ridiculous in his oversized robe, and grinned.
"Lovely," he breathed.
Elinore was watching Querin carefully when the mask slipped. Like an unseen dagger, Brecht's mildly delivered accusation hung in the air and it seemed for a moment that the lives of every person present in that room were balanced on its point. A series of emotions flickered across the under-governor's handsome features like the halting images of an aged vidcast: fear, outrage, pride and something else, something that was so out of place Elinore failed to recognise it. She glanced across at Janner, but his gaze was fixed on the bodyguard nearest him. The man hadn't made any overt move, but his eyes were darting from Brecht to his employer and his mouth was set in a grim line.
Brecht regarded the under-governor calmly, acting as if he had all the time in the world, in which to wait for Querin's reply.
The politician smiled a politician's smile. It fell light years short of his eyes. "Inquisitor Brecht, I must confess I am… disappointed. As any of the ecclesiarchy's most holy priests on this world would eloquently testify, I am a faithful and devout servant of His Eternal Excellency and have devoted myself to a lifetime in His service. To have a fellow servant cast these vile accusations is… hurtful, to say the least." He spread his arms wide in a calculated gesture of helplessness. "I… I don't know what to say…"
The arms fell slowly to his sides and Elinore tensed, suspecting that the action might be a signal to the bodyguards either side of him. But neither moved and their heavy duty laspistols remained holstered at their sides. She considered Querin's words thoughtfully. The phrase 'fellow servant', in particular, was a clever ploy. Even in a situation as precarious as this, the man was attempting to wrongfoot his opponent by reminding him of their shared purpose.
"Starting with the truth would be a good idea." Brecht's tone was mild but his eyes were hard. "How long have you known, Stendahl? When did you first notice? When she started completing sentences you hadn't spoken yet? When things began to rattle and shake when she lost her temper?"
Querin's gaze was locked on the Inquisitor and his voice dripped venom. "How disappointing…"
Brecht didn't seem to have heard, though. "Of course, she wasn't very powerful, was she? Maybe that's why you kept her. She was almost normal. So normal that you couldn't bear to lose her." He stepped forward, his voice low. "'The little foxes spoil the harvest.' Isn't that what they say? The small indulgence… the tiny sin… the word unsaid that should have been spoken. The word that would have called the Black Ships. The word that would have committed poor Arielle to the Emperor's care. And now? Now she's gone from you forever. A filthy heretic, a poor deceived child… lost and alone…"
Querin was trembling, more from anger than fear. "How… dare you?"
But Brecht wasn't finished. His face contorted with savage anger. "How dare I? You have the temerity to question my authority? I dare because I am charged with a holy purpose from which no man or daemon or alien can deflect me. I dare because I have walked the dark places of the galaxy and seen for myself the unspeakable corruption that threatens to engulf the worlds of man. I dare because…" Brecht controlled himself with a visible effort and his voice was low once more, though it throbbed with a barely restrained rage. "Because if I do not, the heresy that has taken root and grown on this world right under your nose will swell and consume everything in its path until nothing is left but a cancerous pus-filled husk of a planet." He half-turned away. "Yes. I dare."
"You're insane. Consumed with a zeal that has robbed you of your reason. You offer no proof of your accusations…"
Brecht whirled on him, eyes blazing. "I don't need any!"
Querin stared at the Inquisitor for a moment and then his eyes swept around the room, taking in its elaborate furnishings and dark bookshelves, the tiny motes of dust dancing in the golden light streaming from its windows. It seemed to Elinore that his gaze was one of regret and pity. It was in that instant that she at last identified the final feeling that had quickly flickered across Querin's face. The last emotion before the mask had fallen back into place: relief.
She was already bringing her bolter to bear as the under-governor sighed and then said, softly, "Kill them."
The sound of the bottom of the door brushing against thick carpet seemed to Vollex like a sigh of contentment. With Fenter at his shoulder, he stepped through into a wide room saturated in sunlight. Pausing just within the doorway, he took in the elaborately carved furniture, the delicate drapes concealing a pair of small windows set high up on one wall and the large white dressing table in the far corner, complete with a wide mirror set in an ornately worked brass frame. He smirked and felt a familiar sensation crawl through his gut. It had been some time since he'd last visited a lady's… Now, what was the word again? 'Boudoir'. That's what the maidservants of House Vanadir had called it. Yes, 'boudoir'. That was it.
He took a few more steps. If he hadn't been on a job, he might have taken off his boots and let his toes sink into the carpet, but he had more pressing matters to take care of. The schematics said that this was the first of a suite of two rooms. Back on Graltor, this room alone could have housed three or four families. He scowled. Now, why was he thinking about that now? He edged forward quietly, sniffing curiously. The air was scented – not, he realised, a single smell, but rather a number of scents blended together. They imbued the air with a delicate pretty freshness that seemed to complement perfectly the widely spaced furniture and clean, bright décor. The morning sun shone through a large skylight, coating the room and its contents in a watery amber light. Vollex felt a sudden stab of envy infect the excitement that shivered in his gut. As he and Fenter walked forwards, he was struck by the unfairness of it all. He saw in the large lacquered chests and richly upholstered divan a subtle mockery of the squalid lower hive habs in which he had grown up.
He glanced back at his colleague and saw a hint of wonder in his eyes, lurking fearfully behind the ever-present pain. With a short decisive motion, he removed Fenter's incongruous lilac robes, screwed them into a large ball and hurled them into a corner.
He shrugged. "Not your colour really, Gustav."
He then reached into Fenter's greatcoat and depressed the button he knew he'd find there. Fenter's mouth closed and the taller man looked at Vollex gratefully, the pain receding from his wide brown eyes.
"Let's give you a rest, eh?" Vollex said, knowing that any surveillance devices in the room would remain scrambled for some time now. He made his way quickly to the dressing table.
With a light practised hand, he opened the small drawers swiftly, rummaging through the trinkets and jewellery, but finding nothing of interest. He glanced at the table's surface, giving the hand mirror and brushes a cursory examination. Still nothing.
Seeing that Fenter was still standing near the doorway, staring around him like a peasant on a paradise planet, he moved over to a tall chest of drawers, its lacquered surface more or less covered with small vials of ointment and perfume. Ignoring them, he began to open the drawers. A small smile creased his face and he paused as he opened the second one, his hand poised over it like a mantahawk above its prey and then it swooped down. Slowly, he drew out his prize, holding it up in the sunlight and admiring it with lascivious eyes.
"Lovely," he murmured.
It was a woman's undergarment, a small thing of blood red satin and delicate lace. Almost as if entranced, he brought it up to his face and inhaled deeply, crushing it to his nose and lips. After a moment or two, he let it brush against his mouth and sparsely stubbled chin as he lowered it again. The sourness in his gut had lessened a little.
A shadow fell across him and he turned, scowling. Fenter was standing next to him, his eyes full of urgency and more than a hint of disapproval.
"Alright, alright! Can't a man enjoy the finer things in life?" He chuckled humourlessly and put the item of clothing back in the drawer. Fenter strode past him, heading towards the far wall, where a second doorway led to the other room in the suite – the bedroom.
Fenter's hand rested on the handle and he turned, one eyebrow raised in a silent query. Vollex turned to check the door through which they'd entered, but there was no sign of movement. He glanced back at Fenter and shrugged.
"Sure. Why not? Be my guest."
Smiling shyly back at him, Fenter turned the handle and pushed, swinging the door open wide.
From over his shoulder, Vollex stared into the bedroom. He was dimly aware of Fenter turning his head to look back at him, seeking some kind of explanation for what they were both seeing. But he didn't really have one and, in any case, he couldn't have torn his eyes away even if he had.
"Bloody hell," he whispered.