In addition to fatigue and the pain of my wounds, what darkened my mood was the news about Gideon Ravenor. Now, of course, we all understand what a priceless and brilliant contribution he was to make to Imperial learning, and how that would never have happened if he had not been confined to a life of mental rumination.
But back then, in that stinking hospice ward off the Street of Prescients, all I saw was a young man, burned and crippled and physically paralysed, a brilliant inquisitor ruined before he could fulfill his potential.
Ravenor, in the eyes of some, had been lucky. He had not been amongst the one hundred and ninety-eight Inquisition personnel killed outright by the crashing fighter that fell into the Great Triumph beyond the Spatian Gate.
He, like fifty others, had been caught on the edge of the explosion and lived.
My pupil was barely recognisable. A blood-wet bundle of charred flesh. One hundred per cent burns. Blind, deaf, mute, his face so melted that an incision had been made in the fused meat where his mouth should have been so he could breathe.
The loss touched me acutely. The waste even more. Gideon Ravenor had been the greatest, most promising pupil I had ever taught. I stood by his plastic-sheeted cot, listening to the suck and drool of his ventilator and fluid drains and remembered what Commodus Voke had said in the arbites sector house on Blammerside Street.
'I will make amends. I will not rest until every one of these wretches is destroyed and order restored. And then I will not rest until I find who and what was behind it.'
Right then, there, for Ravenor's sake, I made that promise to myself too.
At that time, I had little idea what that would mean or where it would take me.
I returned то the Ocean House at last on what would have been the ninth and final day of the Holy Novena. There was no one to greet me, and the place seemed empty and forlorn.
I stalked into my study, poured a too-large measure of vintage amasec and flopped down into an armchair. It felt like an eternity since I had sat here with Titus Endor, worrying over speculations that seemed now so insignificant and remote.
A door opened. From the instant chill in the air, I knew at once it was Bequin.
'We didn't know you'd returned, Gregor.'
'Well, I have, Alizebeth.'
'So I see. Are you alright?'
I shrugged. Where is everybody?'
'When the…' she paused, considering her words. 'When the tragedy occurred, there was a great public commotion. Jarat and Kircher took the staff into the secure bunkers for safety, and I locked myself away with the Distaff in the west wing, waiting, hoping for your call.'
'Channels were out.'
'Yes. For eight days.'
'But everyone is safe?'
Yes.'
I leaned out of my chair and looked at her. Her face was pale and drawn from too many nights of fear.
Where's Aemos?'
'Outside, with Betancore, Kircher and Nayl. Von Baigg's around too. Is… is it true what we've heard about Gideon?'
'Alizebeth… it's…'
She crouched down and put her arms around me. It is difficult for a psyker to be hugged by an untouchable, no matter how long and close their personal history. But her intentions were good, and I tolerated the contact for as long as seemed polite. When I gently pushed her back, I said, 'Send them in. In fact, send everyone in here.'
They won't all fit, Gregor'
The sea terrace, then. One last time.'
Sitting or standing around in the lime glow of the sea terrace, the numerous members of my faithful band looked at me expectantly. The place was packed. Jarat had fussed around, bringing out drinks and sweetmeats until I had pressed a glass of amasec into her gnarled hands and forced her down into a chair.
'I'm closing the Ocean House/ I said.
There was a murmur.
'I'm retaining the lease, but I have little wish to live here any more. In fact, I have little wish to be on Thracian any more. Not after this… Holy Novena. There seems no point maintaining a staff here.'
'But, sir, the library?' Psullus said from the back.
I held up a finger.
'I will take up a contract arrangement with one of the hive accommodation bureaux to keep the house in working order with servitors. Who knows, sometime I might have need of a place here again.'
