Road to Redemption, page 24
‘It smells like a trap,’ Zeke said, unease stirring in his gut.
‘I must admit, I prefer a trap that doesn’t involve us walking into a heavy stubber, or having the bridge blown up beneath us,’ Alin admitted.
‘There’s still time,’ Zeke muttered, but they were over halfway across the bridge now, and there was still no sign of life on the other side. It was as though the settlement had been deserted, but that surely couldn’t be the case. Seven Sumps was one of the foulest places Zeke had ever seen; the folk who lived here would be the type to pride themselves on their hardiness, and wouldn’t abandon the homes they’d clung to against the odds for anything short of absolute disaster.
They crossed the last few dozen metres of bridge, and walked up the slight incline to step onto the solid rockcrete of the first of Seven Sump’s rooftop islands. Zeke eyed a large sheet of scrap metal distrustfully. It looked like the ideal thing to use as a barricade, or to take shelter behind in a gunfight, but no one lurked there.
‘Where are the people?’ Korvra demanded. ‘Seven Sumps has people living in it.’
‘That,’ Zeke said, looking around, ‘is a very good question.’
The buildings clustered atop the island had nothing like the sturdiness of the structure on which they stood, with most being little more than plas-sheeting and scrap riveted together, but they made up for it in numbers. Rickety structures two or three storeys high crowded around, separated by the narrowest of alleys, some of which had been effectively turned into tunnels by overhanging upper storeys coming together. Doors were shut, and windows were shuttered, but Zeke couldn’t shake the feeling that eyes were watching them. The only question was whether those eyes were hiding out of fear, or out of malice.
Only one route of any size led away from the bridge, and seemed to weave between the buildings towards the centre of the rooftop on which they all stood, past one of the intermittently-flaring chimney stacks.
‘That way?’ Alin Choll asked. Their hands were inside their coat sleeves, but Zeke didn’t need to see them to know that they were ready to draw weapons.
Zeke hesitated. Part of him wanted to find out what was going on here, and every instinct told him that the answer would be in that direction. But the other part of him was here to find Essy and Donnel, nothing else, and wanted to start hunting through the buildings one by one until they were found. What was the better course? Which was the trap? Were they both traps?
The chimney flared again, throwing sharp new shadows across the rooftop as it burned off excess gas, and suddenly there was a figure standing in the widest street, silhouetted by the light behind it.
‘Brother Zeke!’ a voice rang out. ‘I’m so glad you’ve come!’
THE FATHER
‘Wait!’ Zeke snapped, as a variety of guns came up around him and Creuf Basten’s energy shield fizzled into life.
‘Father Infernus must die!’ Markur growled.
‘And he will,’ Zeke promised, eyeing the dark, robed figure with its arms spread wide, ‘but I have to speak with him first. I have to look him in the eye, and try to find out where my children are. When we finish talking, he’s yours. If I don’t kill him first.’
‘Then Zeke must be ready to duck quickly,’ Markur advised. ‘Markur hasn’t come this far to let Father Infernus get away.’
‘I’ll bear that in mind,’ Zeke told the big Goliath acidly. ‘Everyone stay here for the moment.’ He flexed his fingers, ready to go for his pistols if he needed to, and began to walk towards the waiting figure.
He became aware after a few steps that Alin Choll was at his left shoulder.
‘Don’t bother saying anything,’ the Delaque murmured. ‘I told you I was coming to watch your back, yes?’
‘It’s appreciated,’ Zeke replied sincerely. ‘Who’s watching yours?’
‘You are assuming I am not paranoid enough to watch my own?’
Zeke snorted a laugh. ‘That would seem foolish. Fine, I’ll watch this bastard, you watch everywhere else.’
The fire from the chimney died down again, and the figure ahead of them resolved into a man, clad in a robe covered with the well-remembered red-and-yellow flame motifs of the Cult of the Red Redemption. Underneath the cowl of his robe he wore a mask that looked much older than Zeke’s new, soft one.
It wasn’t Father Infernus. Zeke could see that straight away. Even if he hadn’t killed the old devil, Infernus would have been far older than this by now.
‘Father Infernus is dead!’ he called. ‘I killed him! What manner of imposter are you?’
‘That’s a strange welcome for an old friend, Brother Zeke,’ the man calling himself Father Infernus replied. His robes were the very image of a Redemptionist priest, hung with tokens of devotion and piety, and ostentatious enough to give the lie to those notions. However, his mask didn’t fit with the rest of his apparel. In fact, it was… familiar.
It had been more richly decorated since Zeke had last seen it, with metal prayer plates added, and it had clearly taken some wear as well, but he recognised it nonetheless.
It had once been his.
Zeke’s steps faltered. Age could change many things, and a mask could hide them, but now he was closer he knew that mouth, that chin. He’d gone to sleep opposite them often enough.
And there, sitting on the man’s chest and almost lost amidst the other relics and bones decorating his robes, was a sumpkroc tooth bearing a poorly-carved image of a saint.
‘Lukas?!’
Lukas smiled, and the memories dragged up by that simple action were like a stub gun round into Zeke’s chest. ‘May the Emperor be praised, Zeke! It’s been so many years! I can’t believe you’re alive, although I prayed for it. Truly, the Emperor is merciful.’
‘I… What do you mean, you prayed for it?!’ Zeke spluttered. It was as though the world had shifted ninety degrees, and everything he’d thought was stable was slipping away beneath his feet. ‘You sold me out, you little snake! You nearly got me burned alive!’
Lukas’ mouth twitched. ‘He was going to kill both of us, Zeke, surely you realised that? We could both die, or one of us could die… if my plan didn’t work.’
Zeke gaped at him. ‘Your plan?’
‘Who tied your hands, Zeke?’ Lukas demanded, taking a step closer. Zeke dimly sensed Alin Choll stiffening beside him, although Lukas appeared to be completely ignoring the Delaque. ‘Who made sure you could reach the knot, if you had the wit to try? Which, praise the Emperor, you did.’
‘You said you wanted my blood,’ Zeke growled.
‘To fool the old bastard into letting me tie your ropes instead!’ Lukas protested, anger starting to creep into his voice. ‘Throne of Terra, you mean you… you actually thought I wanted you to burn? You thought that little of me?’ He pointed at his face. ‘I saved your damned mask, so I had something to remember you by!’
Zeke just blinked at him, stunned.
‘I mean, I wasn’t expecting you to actually shoot the old man down,’ Lukas said. ‘That part was a bonus, but I thought you’d at least be able to get away. Even if Bella had to help you, Emperor bless her soul.’
‘B-Bella?’ Zeke stammered, and Lukas placed his head in his hands.
‘Zeke, you don’t think that Bella actually missed you, do you?’ he asked, his voice slightly muffled. ‘Bella? Kabriel was about to cut you in two. Bella took her down and pretended she’d been aiming for you, but we’d both seen her make more difficult shots than that a hundred times.’ He lifted his head again, and shook it in disbelief. ‘Bella could see which way the fans were blowing. With Infernus dead, Kabriel would have taken over, and then there wouldn’t have been a soul left alive on the entire level. The old man was moderate compared to her.’
Lukas was telling the truth on that much at least, Zeke conceded numbly to himself. Kabriel had essentially associated breathing with heresy, or so it had sometimes seemed. She’d more or less worshipped Father Infernus, and it was only his restraining influence that had kept her fanaticism in some sort of check.
‘So what happened?’ he managed. ‘You took on his name?’
‘Not straight away,’ Lukas said. His initial joy at seeing Zeke looked to have subsided somewhat, and there was a sharpness in his tone and his eyes that hadn’t been there at first. ‘Garrow tried to take over, but he didn’t last long. It’s harder to hide your drinking when everyone’s looking to you to be the voice of the Emperor. We’d have been turned on by our own followers, and then all our work would have been undone.’
Zeke felt his lip twisting. ‘So you killed him?’
‘Razeel did, actually,’ Lukas replied. ‘And then we killed him, because you can’t just let the killing of a priest go, even if the priest was a bit pathetic. We needed a new leader, a new figurehead.’ He spread his arms again. ‘Father Infernus’ name already commanded fear and respect across the levels, and the memory of him hadn’t faded much. It just needed someone new to step into the role.’
He lowered his arms again, and smiled, although it was slightly more brittle than before. ‘But enough about me. It seems you’ve been doing the Emperor’s work as well. A congregation of your own! How did that come to pass?’
Zeke’s throat was tight. ‘Every person behind me has lost friends or kin to your crusade.’
Lukas’ smile vanished. ‘I see. And you took it upon yourself to lead them, in revenge for what you thought…’ He trailed off. ‘No, wait. You didn’t know I’m Infernus now, and you must have known that you’d killed him. So if you thought I was an imposter, but you didn’t know it was me… why are you here? Just the hand of the Emperor, bringing us together again?’
Zeke forced one word out between gritted teeth.
‘Floodgrave.’
Lukas tilted his head to one side, and his eyes narrowed in the shadows of his mask. ‘Floodgrave?’
‘I lived in Floodgrave,’ Zeke bit out. ‘The only reason you and your followers didn’t kill me too is because I was sleeping off a hangover worse than any Garrow ever had. I woke up choking on smoke, Lukas. I got out of the building and found my friends and neighbours shot dead and burned, and the children I’d shared a home with had been stolen!’
He finished his sentence on a shout. Lukas’ tongue flashed out for a moment, moistening his lips.
‘Children?’
‘Essy and Donnel,’ Zeke told him. The anger that had been stoked inside him had cooled and darkened in the utter surprise of being confronted by Lukas, but now it was back, and stronger than ever. ‘Sixteen years old, and eight. The children of the two people who took me in and gave me shelter and purpose when otherwise I’d have died. The children of the people you murdered. Where are they?’
Lukas pursed his lips. ‘They’re well.’
‘Well?’ Zeke demanded. Every muscle in his body was tense, now.
‘They’re both healthy, we’ve given them food and water,’ Lukas clarified. ‘Donnel doesn’t speak much, but Essy is a fine young lady, and fair handy with a gun, as it turns out.’
Zeke’s guts turned to iced water. ‘What did you do to her?’
‘She’s been helping me,’ Lukas said. ‘And Emperor knows, Zeke, I need help!’ He shook his head. ‘This is… it’s hard, it’s so hard. I try to guide them, I try to lead them, but how can I ever be sure that I’m doing the Emperor’s will? Infernus was a miserable old man, and Kabriel was worse. I know I’m better than them, but–’
‘You burned Floodgrave to the dust!’ Zeke interrupted him furiously. ‘You burned Deadwired! You aquila’d a man and left him in a ring of fire there, I saw the corpse! You’re just as bad as they ever were!’
‘Then help me!’ Lukas hissed, and Zeke saw a sudden, genuine desperation in his eyes. ‘If I’ve lost my way, then help me find it again! The Emperor sent you to me – and walking openly to me over the bridge, not sneaking in like a thief on some dilapidated boat. You have to see His purpose in this, Zeke! I’ve been blinded by fire – everyone looks like a sinner now!’ He reached out with his right hand and took Zeke’s left arm, like he had when he’d been pulling Zeke down to avoid the shots of mutants and heretics, back in the days when they’d been young together. ‘With you to–’
Zeke yelped in pain as Lukas’ fingers dug into the harpoon wound.
Alin Choll lashed out, knocking Lukas’ right hand off Zeke’s shoulder.
Lukas’ left hand came up out of the folds of his robes, holding a bulky gun that Zeke remembered well: Father Infernus’ bolt pistol, said to have been blessed by Klovis the Redeemer himself.
Zeke drew.
Not fast enough.
Lukas’ bolt pistol roared.
Alin Choll spun backwards to the ground, their shoulder smashed and fountaining blood. Zeke’s shots tore through Lukas’ robes, and the yellow in them was abruptly stained by red; not the red of fire, but the red of blood.
Lukas sank to his knees, his eyes wide, disbelieving. ‘Zeke…?’
Zeke put his autopistol to Lukas’ forehead and put a shell through the mask that had once rested on his own head.
For the second time in his life, he killed Father Infernus.
It had all taken a second or so, at most. Seven Sumps, which felt like it had been holding its breath from the moment Zeke and his congregation had set foot on it, let it out again in a roar of rage and gunfire as it caught up with events. Shutters flew open, and doors burst outwards. The congregation of Father Infernus, along with the locals most in hock to them, began firing.
Goliath war cries and Bonetown battle screams rose in response, and the buildings of Seven Sumps abruptly began sprouting holes the size of human heads as the huge-calibre weapons of the Furnace Lords and the Soot Devils fired back, charging through the town as they did so. Walls were no protection, and the opening volley of the Redemptionists was cut short as the furious counter-offensive drove them back.
Amidst the noise and fury, Zeke lunged for Alin Choll, grabbed their wrist and dragged them into a narrow side alley from which no gunfire was coming. They left an ugly smear of blood across the dust of the street, and one look told Zeke that the wound was bad. Bolt pistols were not subtle weapons.
Tears welled up in Zeke’s eyes, lending a merciful blurring to his sight. ‘I’m sorry, Alin. I’m so sorry. I should have been quicker.’
The Delaque’s eye lenses were as inscrutable as always, but something about the tilt of Alin’s head told Zeke that they weren’t looking at him anyway. Their breath was coming thin and fast.
‘The Emperor moves in mysterious ways,’ Alin grimaced, but gritted their teeth and continued. ‘My hands are as red… as Infernus’… yes? But in a past… you know nothing of. Perhaps… nggh! Perhaps the underhive is cleaner… without either of us.’ They reached out and grabbed Zeke’s arm. ‘Now go… and find your children.’
Zeke shook his head, even though he wasn’t sure Alin would see it. ‘I’m not leaving you!’
‘I’ll be dead soon… but you don’t… have the time…’ Alin hissed. ‘Go now… and do what we came here for!’ They extended a shaking hand and dropped a knife by his knee. ‘Take that… just in case it… helps.’
Zeke took Alin’s hand in his own. ‘I’ll come back for you.’
‘Do as you… please. I’ll be… with the Emperor…’ The Delaque managed a smile, although it was a mirthless rictus of pain. ‘I wonder how many… of those I sent to see Him… will be waiting for me?’
Zeke kissed the back of their hand. ‘Well, you wait for me there.’
‘Keep me waiting… awhile. Yes?’
Zeke released them and took up the blade they’d dropped. Then, with knife in one hand and autopistol in the other, he walked into hell.
FIRE
Confusion reigned.
Seven Sumps was a dark place; although it was much closer than usual to the great lumens in the roof, far fewer of them were working than in many domes. It was one of the worst possible locations for running gun battles between rival factions, and yet that was what was happening. Some of the locals were clearly with Lukas’ mob, whereas others were simply trying to protect their own turf from anyone who got too close. As he hunted desperately through the streets, Zeke saw a Redemptionist pulling a door open to shelter from the booming shotgun of a Goliath, only to be run through by the knife of the desperate resident within. The next alley over, a cleaver-armed Bonetowner lay dead next to an axe-wielding woman in red-and-yellow robes, both slain by a gun that neither had been carrying. Zeke hurried on to the next alley instead, in case the local responsible for the killings took exception to him as well.
Some of the rafts had clearly made it to the walls, because Zeke saw a flash of colour that he was sure was Syrun Kos’ hair, but when he looked back the lasgunner from Bad News was nowhere to be seen. He heard a familiar roar, as well: it could have been a different bolt weapon, but he strongly suspected that Grimbjorn Stonefist was in the fight too. All in all, though, he ran and ducked and jumped through the streets with little idea of what was going on around him, other than almost all of it was dangerous.
‘Essy!’ he shouted, until his throat was raw. ‘Donnel!’ But only gunfire answered him.
Whoomph
Zeke’s head whipped around to the right. He knew that sound: the noise of a flamer. He ran towards it, because he knew there were no flamers amongst his followers. It led him towards one of the edges of the rooftop, and he burst out onto what had been turned into a quay, with a sumpship tethered there. Two robed shapes were leaning over the edge to look at the water below, with a third sprinting towards them from behind.
‘No!’ shouted the runner, her voice shrill and desperate. ‘Don’t–’
One of the two at the quay’s edge squeezed the trigger on the weapon they were holding, and bright, yellow-white flame billowed out of the nozzle, angled downwards. Zeke heard screams over the noise, and his mind filled in what he couldn’t see: a raft of his followers, trying to reach the walls, bathed in sudden flame from above.
