terminal building. The gesture was not lost on Ormuz. The marquis wanted to pass the information to his fellow knights of the Order of the Left Hand. He would not be given the opportunity.
“Be careful, Casimir.”
“Sliva, I’ll be fighting a battle.”
“Well, yes… But don’t take any foolish chances. Without you, all this —” She swung out an arm, indicating all about and above them—“means nothing.”
“I’ll not let Ahasz take the Throne,” Ormuz assured her.
“Neither will I,” she replied.
“You’ll not get the opportunity to arrest him, Sliva. Events have gone too far for that.”
“We’ll see.” She grinned. “Never underestimate the OPI.” To Mubariz, she added, “We always get our man, don’t we, Abad?”
Ormuz smiled in return. “I’m not. But I think you’re underestimating Ahasz.”
It was time to go. They said their goodbyes. Finesz hugged Ormuz, and pecked him on the cheek. She did the same to Varä and whispered in his ear. Finesz would not plot against him, of that Ormuz was confident. Some private message of well-being, perhaps. He would ask the marquis later. He shook hands with Assaun, although he barely knew the man. He suspected Finesz knew him no better. The troop-sergeant, however, clearly knew the inspector well. Surprisingly, Mubariz proffered Ormuz a bow as to equals. While the lieutenant-commander had never agreed with the Admiral’s mutiny, he seemed to have no such qualms about Ormuz’s arrogation.
Varä and Ormuz watched the three of them climb the ladder into Lantern ’s belly. Moments later, the ladder was withdrawn and the hatch swung shut. The sloop’s gas-rockets lit with a hiss and a roar.
“We’d best move back,” Varä said.
Ormuz let himself be led across the apron to Vengeful ’s launch. He stood by the boat’s hatch and watched Lantern manoeuvre onto the aerodrome’s runway. For several long minutes, the sloop waited at the runway’s end, while the gas-rockets built up sufficient thrust to take her into the air. Their noise grew loud, the steadily increasing crescendo oddly muted by the snow which lay over everything. Slowly, ponderously, Lantern began to roll forwards. She accelerated, rushing the length of the runway until, at the last possible moment, she left the ground.
Ormuz turned and climbed into the launch. It would be many weeks before he saw Finesz again.
If ever.
CHAPTER SEVEN
Rinharte found Kordelasz and Alus on the troop-deck. She sighed as she approached them. The marine-captain was inspecting the lock on the armoury’s door, while the boat-sergeant offered suggestions. A selection of tools beside them, some damaged—Petty Officer Silnik was not going to be happy about that bent crowbar—indicated the fruitless attempts they had already made. Kordelasz prodded the rods and gears of the lock, but he was no mechanician. Rinharte doubted he knew how the lock worked.
“Any luck?” she asked, amused.
Kordelasz straightened and turned about. “No, damn it,” he replied. “Not even the artificers have seen this type of lock before. We’ve no idea how to open it.”
“Is there any real need to do so?”
“The controls for the clones’ sarcophagi,” Kordelasz said slowly, as if Rinharte were mad.
“We don’t know they’re in there.”
“Then where are they?”
Boat-Sergeant Alus gave a slight nod.
The marine-captain continued, “We’ve searched from one end of this tub to the other, and not found so much as a switch that looks to control those damned coffins.” He swung a fist and thunked the armoury door. “It has to be in here.”
Rinharte crossed her arms, and smiled—not indulgently, she hoped, although it certainly felt that way. “There could well be no controls aboard. We’ve no clues as to the sarcophagi’s purpose, so why should we suppose we understand their workings? Perhaps they’re controlled remotely.”
Kordelasz laughed. “Remotely?” he parroted.
“Be careful, Casimir.”
“Sliva, I’ll be fighting a battle.”
“Well, yes… But don’t take any foolish chances. Without you, all this —” She swung out an arm, indicating all about and above them—“means nothing.”
“I’ll not let Ahasz take the Throne,” Ormuz assured her.
“Neither will I,” she replied.
“You’ll not get the opportunity to arrest him, Sliva. Events have gone too far for that.”
“We’ll see.” She grinned. “Never underestimate the OPI.” To Mubariz, she added, “We always get our man, don’t we, Abad?”
Ormuz smiled in return. “I’m not. But I think you’re underestimating Ahasz.”
It was time to go. They said their goodbyes. Finesz hugged Ormuz, and pecked him on the cheek. She did the same to Varä and whispered in his ear. Finesz would not plot against him, of that Ormuz was confident. Some private message of well-being, perhaps. He would ask the marquis later. He shook hands with Assaun, although he barely knew the man. He suspected Finesz knew him no better. The troop-sergeant, however, clearly knew the inspector well. Surprisingly, Mubariz proffered Ormuz a bow as to equals. While the lieutenant-commander had never agreed with the Admiral’s mutiny, he seemed to have no such qualms about Ormuz’s arrogation.
Varä and Ormuz watched the three of them climb the ladder into Lantern ’s belly. Moments later, the ladder was withdrawn and the hatch swung shut. The sloop’s gas-rockets lit with a hiss and a roar.
“We’d best move back,” Varä said.
Ormuz let himself be led across the apron to Vengeful ’s launch. He stood by the boat’s hatch and watched Lantern manoeuvre onto the aerodrome’s runway. For several long minutes, the sloop waited at the runway’s end, while the gas-rockets built up sufficient thrust to take her into the air. Their noise grew loud, the steadily increasing crescendo oddly muted by the snow which lay over everything. Slowly, ponderously, Lantern began to roll forwards. She accelerated, rushing the length of the runway until, at the last possible moment, she left the ground.
Ormuz turned and climbed into the launch. It would be many weeks before he saw Finesz again.
If ever.
CHAPTER SEVEN
Rinharte found Kordelasz and Alus on the troop-deck. She sighed as she approached them. The marine-captain was inspecting the lock on the armoury’s door, while the boat-sergeant offered suggestions. A selection of tools beside them, some damaged—Petty Officer Silnik was not going to be happy about that bent crowbar—indicated the fruitless attempts they had already made. Kordelasz prodded the rods and gears of the lock, but he was no mechanician. Rinharte doubted he knew how the lock worked.
“Any luck?” she asked, amused.
Kordelasz straightened and turned about. “No, damn it,” he replied. “Not even the artificers have seen this type of lock before. We’ve no idea how to open it.”
“Is there any real need to do so?”
“The controls for the clones’ sarcophagi,” Kordelasz said slowly, as if Rinharte were mad.
“We don’t know they’re in there.”
“Then where are they?”
Boat-Sergeant Alus gave a slight nod.
The marine-captain continued, “We’ve searched from one end of this tub to the other, and not found so much as a switch that looks to control those damned coffins.” He swung a fist and thunked the armoury door. “It has to be in here.”
Rinharte crossed her arms, and smiled—not indulgently, she hoped, although it certainly felt that way. “There could well be no controls aboard. We’ve no clues as to the sarcophagi’s purpose, so why should we suppose we understand their workings? Perhaps they’re controlled remotely.”
Kordelasz laughed. “Remotely?” he parroted.
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