Uprising, page 13
He staggered, head bowed.
A knee slammed into his face and he fell to the ground. His assailant seized his shoulder, rolling him onto his back, something sharp and cold pressing to his throat. As his vision swam into view he found himself staring at his attacker’s forearm, and the silver vambrace on their wrist. He could feel breath on his cheek, short, ragged gasps of hate.
Footsteps.
His attacker turned. One of the miners loomed over them. Caleb blinked, unsure for a moment what was happening. His assailant surged upright, the knife slipping between the miner’s ribs, twisting before it was torn clear. Blood sprayed across the dust. As the miner fell his killer sped past, vaulting over the compound wall.
Caleb could not find his feet. Instead he crawled to the miner, intent on stemming the flow of blood. But one look into the man’s lifeless eyes told him he was too late. He wanted to shout for help, but his ear was still ringing, his lungs choked by the dust. He could no longer tell in which direction the attacker had fled, or why he had been spared. His vision was failing.
Voices were drawing closer, but they too were fading.
They dragged Caleb’s unconscious body into the wagon train, dumping it alongside the motley collection of treasures exhumed from the dust. The dead miner was laid reverently in the final cart, his face covered by the foreman’s overcoat.
Elissa lay atop the broken stalactite, watching them through the rifle’s scope.
She had followed him ever since he had left Hope’s End. When the crew first departed for the mine she had been disappointed, having hoped the settlement would have elected for a more visceral punishment, like a public flogging. But she had enjoyed seeing Caleb drudging through the ash at the place of his failure, reduced to little more than a dreg hauler.
Her unease had begun when he’d entered the mine, doubt eroding her resolve. What if he overcame his guards? He could escape through one of the walkways that linked the stalactites. He could escape uphive. She would never know.
She tried to cover the entrances, her long-las trained on the causeways, but she had never been inside the mine. There could be other ways, secret paths leading to the dome above. She found herself constantly edging closer, as though her presence might draw him out.
She did not know what had happened next, only that the mine emptied suddenly, the settlers gathering in the centre of the compound. In the confusion Caleb had made a break for it, and she found herself clambering onto the ledge above him.
He’d spotted her, and ducked into the shadows, perhaps intent on warning the settlers. She had to act.
But when she struck him something had awakened inside her, the hate and fury she’d suppressed finally gifted with an outlet. Her training took over as she hammered her fists into his self-righteous face. With each blow she saw her father laid out in the family’s mausoleum. In life he had been a giant, but death diminished him to nothing more than a shell, a remnant of the man who had meant the world to her.
Her fist had struck his face and suddenly Caleb had fallen and she was atop him, her knife pressed to his throat. She could not recall drawing the weapon, as though the blade sought his death of its own volition.
She could have ended it then with a twist of her wrist. She still could end it; the convoy was well within range of the long-las. One shot would draw a close on Caleb’s sordid story. She could return to House Harrow a hero, her family’s honour restored.
But it wasn’t enough.
He needed to know why he was dying. He needed to know who was responsible. Not some hivescum whom he’d cheated at cards, or a jilted lover seeking vengeance for broken promises. He needed to know that a pitiful piece of underhiver filth could not saunter into the Spire and murder a noble without paying for it. He needed to learn that the House of Harrow would not allow such a slight to go unpunished. He had stolen both her and her family’s honour; in return she would take everything.
So she had hesitated, blade pressed to his throat.
It was then the miner had made his untimely appearance.
She could not let the man live, not after he’d seen her. News of a mysterious attacker would rouse the settlement against her. Perhaps Caleb would spin a story, try to pin his failings upon her. Perhaps he would succeed.
But the death granted her an opportunity. Caleb had been found beside the body. There were no other suspects, and now the settlers could only see him for what he truly was: a cold-hearted murderer.
Elissa watched as the convoy departed, carrying both corpse and killer to face the judgement of Hope’s End. She had intended to follow, to find some way to isolate him so she could have her final revenge, but as she stood her gaze landed on something glinting in the ash, no doubt forgotten in the chaos – a partially exhumed armour plate adorned with chevron markings.
The miners had no doubt assumed it was part of the scrap from the explosions, but she recognised the pattern on the carapace.
She had found the Ambot.
7
They hauled him into the main square, his feet trailing through the dust. He fell once, his legs giving out, but two of the miners seized his arms, dragging him upright. The others surged ahead, the foreman urging them to gather the settlers in the main square. Caleb’s ear still rang from the attack, but he caught snatches of conversation. The consensus seemed to be that he was the killer, the only debate whether the settlement should undergo the formality of a trial or simply shoot him and be done with it.
He sagged in their arms and they soon tired of holding him upright, throwing him to the ground and binding his hands to a support strut from the improvised stage. A day ago he had stood there and roused the settlement into following him into battle.
He could see the foreman screaming, gesturing towards the gaol cells.
‘What are you–’ he began, but a fist smashed into his jaw. He blinked, trying to focus. His right eye didn’t seem to be working right. He could feel the swelling in his cheek squeezing it shut. His nose was still clogged with dried blood, and he could barely move his lips.
He did not have to wait long for an answer.
Iktomi walked calmly from the cell block, her hands still secured by the iron manacles. She was flanked by two of the burlier settlers, each clasping her arms, pinning them to her sides. Against their bulk she looked like a child, just like when he’d first found her in the Ash Wastes.
Their eyes met. He tried to smile, but it hurt too much.
‘Both of them!’ the foreman yelled, as they tied her to the adjacent support strut. ‘We end this now!’
She glanced at him, her face expressionless.
‘It went well, then?’ she asked.
‘Why are you still here?’ he replied, his voice hoarse. ‘I thought you could escape whenever you wanted?’
For a moment she didn’t answer.
‘I thought it might be safer in the cell,’ she said. ‘What happened to your nose?’
‘I had a scuffle. Did they mention it?’
‘I overheard a little. They said you killed someone.’
‘No. I was attacked.’
‘They said you were found with the body.’
‘I didn’t kill him. You have my word. Isn’t that enough?’
‘Depends,’ she said. ‘Do you need my word that I did not slit that bounty hunter’s throat?’
‘I shouldn’t even have questioned you. I’m sorry.’
She shrugged, the chains clinking with the movement.
‘Well, I think it’s fair to say that someone is after us,’ Caleb sighed. ‘You were right. How does it feel?’
She considered the question as the miners lined up before them, loading their stubbers.
‘Not great.’
The foreman approached, eyes blazing.
‘Caleb Cursebound,’ he said, voice thick with repressed rage. ‘You destroyed our livelihood, endangered our people, and have now resorted to cold-hearted murder. Before we pass judgement on you and your accomplice, do you have any final words?’
‘Yeah. Do you offer a last meal?’ Caleb asked. ‘Because there’s this wonderful place in Port Mad Dog that serves sump jellies broiled in their own brine. It’s a bit of a journey, but I think it’s worth–’
The foreman smashed him in the face again, this time with the butt of his pistol. For a moment all he could see was stars. The man was screaming, spraying him with saliva, tears freely streaming down his face. Caleb could not hear his words though, just the ringing in his ears.
‘–barely more than a boy, you understand, you piece of grak?’ the foreman said, backhanding him across the face again before turning to face the four settlers, their stubbers drawn.
He raised his hand and they raised their pistols, the barrels aimed squarely at Caleb and Iktomi.
The shot was deafening, drowning out the crowd.
The impromptu firing squad turned in the direction of the noise. There, in the centre of the square, stood Stone, his smoking shotgun aimed at the sky. His shirt was unbuttoned and he was barefoot, the bionic toes of his right foot clearly visible. It would have been comical if not for the expression on his face.
The foreman opened his mouth to speak but was drowned out by a second shot parting the heavens.
‘What in the Emperor’s name do you think you’re doing?’ Stone roared.
A dozen voices tried to respond. All were silenced by the look in his eyes.
‘I, and most of you, are from the House of Iron,’ he said, each word striking with the force of a hammer. ‘We are not unthinking brutes like the Goliaths, or backstabbers like the snakes of Delaque. We do not administer justice from the shadows. We live by a code and our word is like iron. Now, someone tell me what is happening before I lock up the whole sorry bunch of you.’
For a moment no one spoke.
‘Grimm is dead.’
The voice came from somewhere in the crowd. Stone glanced at him, lowering his gun. He gestured and the crowd parted. Caleb vaguely recognised the man as one of the crew.
‘How?’ Stone asked.
The miner pointed at Caleb. ‘Him. He stabbed Grimm in the heart.’
Stone glanced at him. Caleb could not read his expression, his gaze as cold and hard as the steel.
‘You saw him do it?’ he asked.
The miner hesitated. ‘No,’ he admitted. ‘We found him though, right beside the body.’
‘Was he trying to escape?’
‘No. Grimm must have put up a fight. He was unconscious.’
‘He killed Grimm whilst unconscious?’ Stone asked, frowning. ‘Where’s the knife?’
‘We don’t have it.’
Stone considered this. All eyes were on him.
‘You don’t have it because I didn’t kill anyone. I don’t hurt people unless I have to, and I would never take a knife to an innocent man.’
Stone rounded on Caleb, stabbing his finger at him. ‘For once in your miserable life you will shut your mouth,’ he said. ‘I will tell you if and when you get to make your case. Until then you do not speak unless I ask you a question. You understand, boy?’
Caleb nodded.
‘I need to see the body,’ Stone said, turning back to the crowd. He seemed to be counting them. His gaze swung to the foreman. ‘Who did you leave to secure the mine?’
The man shrugged. Stone stared at him and he flinched.
‘Get a five-man crew and get back up there,’ he said. ‘Tanner – I want you on guard duty. Watch these two, keep them safe until I’m done. The rest of you, go back to your homes. Now where is the body?’
Elissa did not know how long she’d been toiling in the dirt.
Light in the underhive was a precious resource, with vast sections condemned to an eternal night. But the ash desert beneath the hive held to its own fractured light cycle that no longer bore any resemblance to the planet’s natural rhythms. Dawn became twilight, the long shadows clawing at the pit. She would have welcomed their aid; no matter how hard she dug the Ambot seemed forever trapped in the ashes.
But she would not stop. She had seen the destruction the machine had wrought, how it could tear a gang of armed men to pieces. With the mining robot’s schematics despatched to her vambrace there was a chance she could reactivate it, and if she was to confront Caleb one final time she needed an enforcer – something that could keep the settlers occupied, or eliminate Caleb’s accomplice if required.
She had cleared to the Ambot’s midriff. The machine lay askew in the dust, its massive frame pinned by the mine’s broken support struts. In her mind’s eye she could picture its sensors blazing back into life, servo-driven claws tearing open its tomb, but the machine was quite still, as inert as the spoiled melerithyst.
She had no means of lifting the beams clear, resolving to cut though them instead. She had just located the welding torch when she caught the hum of the minecart approaching.
She retreated behind the furthest barricades, unclicking the rifle as the sounds drew nearer. There was no way of hiding the Ambot.
Voices drew closer. The settlers.
She eased the rifle into place, adjusting the sight. They were only a few dozen yards away. She recognised the foreman, leading a handful of men.
‘We should have just ended it here,’ the foreman said. ‘Put the bastard out of his misery.’
Another shook his head. ‘Stone would never have allowed it.’
‘Stone is an old man wedded to an old code,’ the foreman replied. ‘That lying bastard Caleb has brought nothing but misery. And now one of us is dead by his hand. What more does he have to do for us to take action?’
‘Stone will get to the bottom of it.’
‘There is no bottom of it!’ the foreman snapped, spinning to face the workers. ‘That snake sank his fangs into our brother. I should never have let Stone convince me to let him join the crew. We should have granted him a stubber’s mercy when we had the chance. Him and that ratskin, too.’
The miners exchanged glances.
‘You can’t blame her for Grimm,’ one of them said. ‘She never left the cell.’
‘Didn’t she?’ the foreman said in response. ‘There’s something not right about her. Have you seen her eyes? It’s like she doesn’t see people, just looks through them. I’d wager she’s witch-born.’
‘Boss?’
One of the miners was pointing to the pit. He’d spotted the partially unearthed Ambot.
‘Emperor’s Light,’ the foreman whispered as it became apparent what had been uncovered. ‘When was this found? Why did no one tell me?’
‘I guess during the disturbance?’ one of the miners said. ‘Maybe during the evacuation?’
‘Doesn’t matter. If we can get this machine working it changes everything. We might even have a means of digging beneath the bedrock now. Someone get the torch – we need to cut it free.’
Elissa watched as they set to work, slicing though broken beams, relieved that the miners would complete her work. But their exchange troubled her. She’d believed Hope’s End passed for what was considered civilised in the underhive, but it sounded as though the civility was about to descend into barbarism. If she was to claim Caleb’s life in the name of her House she would have to move quickly.
The crew manoeuvred the crane into position, raising the slumbering machine from its tomb and easing it into a minecart. The foreman was grinning. She adjusted her gunsight, centring his beaming face in the crosshairs.
She took a deep breath, exhaling slowly. Then she squeezed the trigger.
The las-pulse exploded just above his ear. She cursed herself as he fell, the shot having pulled a fraction to the left. Her weapon made no sound, and for an instant the remainder of the crew were unsure why he had fallen. The second shot tore through a miner’s chest. The third clipped a knee, the victim tumbling to the ground, clutching his leg. The fourth missed entirely, a tremble having spoiled her aim.
She stopped, breathing slowly, steadying the weapon. The next shot finished the crippled miner. The rest of them had vanished from sight, ducking behind the carts and equipment.
She wasn’t used to this.
In training she had always excelled with the weapon, picking off her targets with a coolness that bordered on contempt. But she had been able to take her time, lining up each shot and making it count. This was not the sterile training grounds in the Spire. Now she had lost the advantage of surprise and her prey had gone to ground. The dust was still thick and the light was poor. Her window was narrowing.
Something moved behind the crane.
She brought the rifle up too sharply, the shot searing the dust a few feet from the vehicle. One of the miners broke, scrambling for the mine’s entrance. She adjusted her sight, but as she squeezed the trigger he ducked behind the barricade.
No one else moved. How many were left?
She cursed, realising that she hadn’t counted them on arrival, too preoccupied with concealing herself. She’d underestimated the crew, thinking no more of them than the scum she’d encountered back in Slag Row. But they were disciplined and hardened. Even without their leader the crew would not break.
Minutes passed. She supposed a relief team would come at some point. They would be an easy enough target, the minecart gliding slowly across the magnetic rails. But if there was more than a handful of reinforcements she could suddenly find herself surrounded, and if she returned fire it would potentially give away her position. From what she’d seen the crew only carried basic firearms, but if there was a single heavy stubber then it would be over the moment they spotted her.
