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Monastary of Death - Charles Stross

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MONASTERY OF DEATH

Charles Stross

Tenzig didn’t realize what was going on until he viewed the book in the crypt beneath the library, but when he did it began to come clear. And it didn’t make a nice picture.

He was still hunched over the fading screen of the viewer hours later, when the master of the secret arts passed by his booth and touched him on one shoulder with the tip of a finger. Tenzig turned in his seat, then looked up enquiringly. The master beckoned, and Tenzig forced himself to his feet. The world seemed to be spinning around his tired head as he followed the master out of the silence of the scriptorium and into the echoing brightness of the pentagon. The condition of silence was lifted, but even so his lips were too dry for speech. ‘Why?’ he croaked.

The master spared him a brief, enigmatic glance before turning back to the path. ‘White noise,’ he said, gravel crunching beneath his sandals. The day was dry and mild, the clouds overhead masking the starglare into a lambent glow that washed all trace of shadows from the scene, so that they seemed to walk through liquid light.

‘You will join me in my retreat,’ the master said, rubbing his shaven scalp with the heel of one hand, as if the enlightenment of ages required the polishing of flesh. ‘Such things are not… fit for conversation in public. Perhaps some novice, overhearing these matters, might panic. Perhaps the sky might fall…’

Perhaps, perhaps, Tenzig thought. ‘Perhaps’ was the holy word of the order, an admission of doubt in the face of overwhelming probability. The master might equally well say, perhaps not. The facts, as Tenzig saw them, were absolutely terrifying.

The Imperium was returning.

The master’s retreat was high in the north tower of the monastery, one of the oldest buildings in the complex and, indeed, one of the oldest on the planet. Cold-chiselled blocks of stone had been placed atop one another without mortar, their massive weight holding them in position. The clement weather and lack of quakes in this area had allowed them to last for a long time; hundreds of generations of monks had lived, toiled and died beneath the gaze of those high windows.

That was not to say that the retreat was austere. His master had many rooms, floored and walled in polished parm-wood that had achieved a dark, glossy finish through centuries of rubbing. The furniture was of greater antiquity than Tenzig’s ancestry. And it was into this environment that the master of the secret arts led his postulant and offered him hospitality.

‘Please be seated,’ said the master as Tenzig slid shut the screen door behind him and stood, uncertainly, in the portal. A thin smile flitted across the master’s face as he strode over to the window and looked out. With measured movements his eyes scanned the horizon; then, as if satisfied, his fingers rested for a moment on a concealed spot on the window frame. Tenzig stared with fascination as his silhouette shifted: where behind him there had been landscape and sky, now there was only a glowing plane of light.

‘A randomizer,’ his master said, still with that faintly knowing smile. ‘We are safe from eavesdroppers, for the time being.’ He moved to the wooden reading-throne beside the window and sat in it, hands resting on armrests polished black by generations of his predecessors in office. ‘Now, Tenzig. Perhaps you are ready to report to me what you have seen, so that I can convey the joyful tidings to brother abbot?’

Tenzig shifted in his seat. The cushion beneath him felt unnaturally soft after years of meditation on polished wooden floors.

‘I fear that there are scant glad tidings for the master of temporal administration,’ he said hesitantly. ‘As you suggested in your wisdom, I consulted the archives for reference to this ancient body of lore. The old paper archives, the chronicles of the ancients; not the true library. It would appear that at one time the Bodies Secular were visited on a regular basis by an overlord from beyond the sky; while he claimed high office, he claimed that others ranked higher yet than his exalted person. Such taxes as he extracted he took in their name. Insurrectionists were dealt with cruelly, but the last such visit occurred many centuries ago: before the time of the foundation of our order, even before the near stars went out. The texts say little on the matter of the Imperium he claimed to represent, save only what we already know – and that none can stand against such force.’

He fell silent, and the only noise in the retreat was the faint soughing of the north wind outside the walls. The master of the secret arts, those arts upon which the monks had depended for their defence across the centuries, bowed his head in silent contemplation. Tenzig felt fear. If he had caused even the master of the secret arts to despair, a man who possessed such awesome powers that it was whispered that he could cause a leaf to wither by blowing on it, the implications were barely worth considering.

I am a channel, he recited to himself in silence: a stream through which the water of history can flow. I cannot obstruct, I cannot distort, and with the passage of my life I enlarge the channel a little, so that my successors can expand it further. This was the catechism of the Order of the Heavenly Virtues, who defended wisdom in a world so plainly lacking in it – and that branch of the order known as the secret arts, who defended the defenders of wisdom. Tenzig shivered, feeling the roots of his being bend in an unholy tempest of doubt. For if the master could not see a solution, what hope was there for such as he?

The power from beyond the sky would brook no rivals. And, through force of circumstances, the order might almost be one…

The master’s head snapped up, and Tenzig froze before his gaze like a small bird before a snake. Eyes of utter blackness seemed to drill right through his soul. His muscles tensed in reflex and he found himself unable to move.

‘Never think that we are endangered, Postulant Tenzig,’ said the master, mildly. ‘There are no absolutes, even for gods. I have much thinking to do, and little time left. Tell me,’ he added, his hands fiddling with the bulbous armrests, ‘what do we know of the theosophy of those who come from the stars?’

Tenzig blinked. ‘They believe in absolutes,’ he said. ‘Absolute power and absolute evil, and absolute ignorance. They are trapped in the cycle of their own eternal turmoil, and they will subject us to it if they can. They accept only mindless accession to their cant… with which our uncertain dogmas might be–’

‘Stop.’ The master held up his right hand. ‘Your bias is becoming intrusive. Have you learned nothing?’

‘No, master.’ Humbled, Tenzig bowed his head; rueful self-doubt tugged at him. Have I been colouring them with my own daemons, he wondered?

‘The Imperials are undoubtedly inimical to the order,’ pronounced the master, ‘but to act in haste is worse than not to act at all.’ He stood. ‘There will be a concillium of the masters, when brother abbot will make his determination. And then we shall see how to deal with the outsiders.’ He smiled. ‘Perhaps, even with the Imperium, there will be a way.’

Judit glanced from the swirl of stars to the planet through the observation deck window, indescribable thoughts circulating in her head. A billiard-ball of white mist, it was totally featureless from orbit; it reminded her of her home-world, except that Neuss-Four had been grey rather than creamy white, and everyone on it had died shortly after her departure. Her abduction. Recruitment, rather. She grimaced at the recollection and looked back to the globular cluster, shifting her grip on the free-fall grabrail.

The starswarm was magnificent, a diadem of stars that gleamed across half the sky and drowned the Milky Way with its brilliance; but it was the magnificence of a jewelled catacomb. During the Age of Strife, entire suns had disappeared into warp space: the frozen husks of a thousand civilizations drifted between the stars. How this world had escaped was beyond understanding, but now that it had been rediscovered, it would be the job of this mission to purge it of deviationists and mutants, and then install puppet rulers to support the Imperial demands.

‘Another dirtball, eh?’ said Joachim Ahriman, grinning humourlessly at her. He stood behind her, a slim figure clothed entirely in form-fitting blackness, the lightweight armour of a member of the Adeptus Arbites, the order of judges. ‘Just another flyblown wasteland full of nomads, I shouldn’t wonder.’

‘Possibly not,’ she murmured. ‘When’s the report from the preliminary probe due in?’

‘Shortly.’ Joachim fell silent, also contemplating the world – but from his own perspective of elevated disdain. Joachim considered any world not of the Imperium to be barbaric, its inhabitants barely more than animals. It was a failing, Judit thought. Even barbarians could display sophistication and indirection… which was why they were here. An assassin and a martial priest of the Adeptus Arbites, sent to support the Inquisitor in his reassertion of power over the lost worlds of this cluster, of which Hito was but the seventh in priority.

She pursed her lips as she glanced at him. Why did they have to saddle me with an intolerant fanatic like this? she thought. Surely no one could be this crude? Perhaps it’s an attempt to discredit me…

A tone rang out from the annunciator: Joachim answered it. ‘Yes?’ he said impatiently.

‘This is the Holy Office – we have cleared the preliminary probe. Reports are coming in of an indigenous civilization, some techlore, a native government. Would you care to examine them?’

Joachim snorted, but Judit spoke over his shoulder, ‘I’ll be up shortly.’

‘Tell me if they can talk,’ he called out after her as she went up the tube into the body of the ship. ‘Tell me if they look human!’

She shook her head as she climbed the decks towards the Holy Mission. A government to deal with delicately, and she was going to have to do it saddled with a blunt instrument like Joachim. What kind of bloody mess was he going to make of this one? Then a different thought occurred to her. Perhaps it could be turned to her advantage.

On leaving the presence of the master, Tenzig returned to his cell. He changed his loose, dark habit for the white woollen surplice of a postulant, then composed himself for meditation. He was not surprised when, presently, a visitor knocked on his door; moving to open it, he was confronted by a young novice.

‘The abbot would see you,’ he stammered at Tenzig, eyes wide at the prospect of attracting such attention. ‘I am to take you…‘

‘Then lead.’

Deep in thought, Tenzig followed the boy through the passages of the monastery, out into the open pentagon at the heart of it, and across to the white tower where brother abbot and his staff controlled the day-to-day destiny of the order.

The burden of foreknowledge was heavy on Tenzig as the novice brought him to a halt outside the wide, thick doors of the tower. The boy stopped and looked up at him. ‘I am not allowed to go any further,’ he said. ‘You are to proceed from here alone.’

Tenzig paused, nonplussed. Presently he grinned. Not waiting to see if the boy would go, he turned to the door and rapped hard on the rough surface with his right hand. Invisible eyes stared at him, and presently the door opened.

‘Postulant Tenzig,’ said the sallow-faced monk behind it, ‘you are bidden enter. May your stay bring honour to the order.’

‘And may its days be long,’ Tenzig replied with an inclination of his head. The door-keeper stepped back, admitting him, and shut the portal. Tenzig looked around, ignoring the strangely fashioned weapon that the monk held loosely. Bare, polished stone and solid black iron: an architecture of war. But of course. The knowledge of the Order of the Heavenly Virtues was its treasure, and during times of trouble the order’s reputation was not always an adequate defence.

‘You are to come this way,’ said the gatekeeper, beckoning Tenzig towards a staircase. They made their way up winding flights of steps and along landings floored in wood that creaked loudly, beneath narrow slots in the ceiling; Tenzig marvelled at how vulnerable the tower was. Presently they arrived in a surprisingly small room, and the gate-keeper took his leave. In all this time, Tenzig had seen not one other person, but now the door slid open and brother abbot himself entered the room.

‘Tenzig,’ the abbot said, voice grave and totally assured. ‘The master of the secret arts has assured me that you aspire to membership of his branch of the order, and all that that entails – to membership, moreover, with mastery. You know that such rank can only be earned?’

‘I do,’ he replied, throat suddenly dry and tight. The room seemed to be closing in, constricting his chest so that the beat of his heart pressed against the walls themselves.

‘Then know this,’ said the abbot, ‘if you succeed, today, you will achieve just such mastery with glory. But if you fail, far more than this order will revile you. The world will curse your name; legions unborn will suffer for your failure.’ He looked away, a half-amused expression on his face. ‘I have confidence in you, Tenzig. Your master says that it is justified. Will you accept this burden, at risk of your life?’

Tenzig paused, and the room seemed to focus on him with a thunderous silence. ‘I will,’ he heard someone say in the near-distance, and realized that it was himself. The abbot smiled grimly.

‘Good. Then this is how we shall deal with the dragon…’

The scribe read from a text that flopped across his lectern like an expired snake, limp but still fanged and deadly. ‘The planet is in a state of intermediate civilization, supported by the presence of records left over from an STC source. Only one continent supports a human population, and there are no nations as such, but a number of warring factions and duchies. A broadly feudal system pertains outside of the religious orders, with homage paid to a ceremonial king by the warlords, who compete for temporal leadership. The tech-records are maintained by a monastery: the Order of the Heavenly Virtues.’

The scribe paused, frowning as if the taste of the words which were to follow were bitter in his mouth. ‘The cult of the Emperor is extinct on this world, if indeed it ever existed here. Two religions coexist; one is a superstitious animism based on the sky and the forces of nature, while the other is a broadly philosophical cult which maintains the monasteries – our scouts, to their credit, were unable to understand the basic tenets of the heresy. The cults are both widely respected and the monastic orders in particular are large and almost as powerful as the warlords – perhaps because they control the supply of advanced goods on this world.’

He glanced up from his scroll. ‘It would be a mistake to assume because the predominant level of civilization is primitive that these people have no subtlety or machinery. The complexity of their life may hide many details, and I would advise extreme caution in dealing with them, other than from a position of unassailable power.’

He looked down and, presentation at an end, began to roll up his scroll. Judit glanced round at the rest of the audience. Inquisitor Rathman, charged with the responsibility of returning the worlds of this cluster to Imperial rule, looked abstracted; gloved fingers twisted his signet ring from side to side as he waited for the scribe to finish.

‘A question,’ he said, tapping his fingers on the arm of his chair. ‘The STC source – how much do we know about that?’

The scribe shook his head. ‘Very little, I’m afraid. The natives refused to talk about it to our agents. But this is a primitive world, by and large. All the libraries of tech-information that we know of were destroyed during the Age of Strife. The odds say that these monks work from records of parchment – but they could contain details of devices long forgotten, bizarre arcana beyond the ken of any – save only the Emperor himself,‘ he added piously.

Joachim, present as head of the detachment of Adeptus Arbites aboard the fleet, shook his head angrily. ‘This whole world is like a can of worms,’ he said. ‘Little warlord wrigglers waiting to go on the hook one by one. Unless there’s a faster way to bag them we could be here forever!’

The inquisitor shook his head. ‘That’s not acceptable, Joachim. Not at all. We must establish control over this backwater, and swiftly. We need a weak point.’

‘There is anarchy down there,’ said the clerk. ‘The scouts could find no integrated hierarchy – kill one warlord, and another will rise to take their place.’

Judit was staring into space. An opening, she mused; yes, I need an opening. Secret knowledge. A library… The STC library, if there really was one here, would be ideal. Such computerized libraries, relics of the Dark Age of Technology, contained incalculable wisdom vital to the works of the Adeptus Mechanicus – but all the known ones were damaged in some way, and there were so few of them left. If she could find one…

‘Our assassin would appear to be lost in a pleasant dream,’ Joachim said drily. ‘Perhaps our esteemed colleague would be prepared to give us the benefit of her insight?’

Judit turned her eyes on him. For the entire voyage he’d been sniping, little abusive derogations, nasty gibes at the expense of the Assassins’ Guild. Relations between the monolithic Adeptus Arbites and their secretive, independent rivals – the Imperial assassins – were far from friendly. She stared at him, pupils narrowing to the semblance of gunsights, until he looked away.

‘There is a weakness,’ she said determinedly, ‘and one which is wide open to action by my team. My team, you understand.’ She looked at the inquisitor, who watched her with saturnine interest. ‘I can deliver this world to you on a platter,’ she said. ‘Along with the library, which won’t be of use to anyone if we wind up bombing it from orbit!’ She glanced at Joachim. ‘It should be obvious that we have a perfect lever to bring them into line, of their own accord. Of course it’ll take a while, but I believe as few as two kills might be sufficient.’

‘I hope you can deliver on that promise,’ Joachim said with a smirk. ‘If not…’

He left it unsaid, but she knew what he was thinking. There were those amongst the Arbites who would love to adopt the functions of the assassins in addition to their own – and augment the considerable power of the Judges within the priesthood. And Joachim clearly felt that the assassins were not entirely to be trusted; as a secular arm they were a sharp but treacherous blade that might twist in the wielder’s hand. Judit had not failed to notice that while she was aboard the flagship Joachim wore his black carapace of armour everywhere.

Inquisitor Rathman nodded at the scribe, who activated a recorder. ‘Let it be entered,’ he intoned, ‘that on this day Assassin Judit Bjarnesdottir did avow that by action under her leadership she could bring the administration of the planet Hito into line with Imperial governance.’ He looked at Judit knowingly, a lethal twinkle in his eyes; she suddenly felt a shaft of coldness run through her stomach. Yes, the inquisitor knew how to play off the bureaucracy against itself.

‘Let it further be entered that with the power vested in us,’ he added, ‘that we hold her to her promise and instruct her to work in conjunction with Joachim Ahriman of the Adeptus Arbites to ensure that the rule of this planet passes into our hands within thirty standard days.

‘In the name of the Emperor, let it be so.’

When Tenzig returned to his cell after his meeting with the abbot, he spent an unquiet night worrying about the task which he had been set. Brother abbot had been firm: word of the proceedings of the meeting must not travel any further. Secrecy was essential. As the junior member of the order present, execution of the task must devolve on him; it was an awesome responsibility.

He lay, staring at the ceiling, and remembered the abbot’s words.

As master of the Order of the Heavenly Virtues, the abbot was wise in the ways of the world, just as the master of the secret arts was educated in the dark sciences of death.

‘They come from far away, but we must not assume that they are naïve about the sources of power. They will seek us out and try to manipulate the order, to use us as a tool with which to control the warriors. They will try to make it look attractive to us… for they know of our library, do they not?’

How could they not know, Tenzig had thought? The order’s cunning artefacts were everywhere, beyond hiding in the possession of the selfish nobles.

‘So,’ the abbot had continued inexorably, ‘something will be done. They must be led to believe what they want to – that we will do as they wish. They will not believe that if they understand our strengths as well as they understand our weakness. And so–’ he smiled wolfishly– ’we must conceal our strength. It falls to one of us to stem their representatives’ investigations at the source. One of us adept in the secret arts. Tenzig, you will meet with the Imperials. You will be presented to them as the most august personage of the abbey. The master of the secret arts will be with you; the day of his liberation from pain draws near, and it is better that he should die proudly than by the wasting sickness. And then you will do what you have been trained to do.’

Lying sleeplessly on his cot, Tenzig seemed to sense his entire life at his fingertips. It was a painful feeling, coming to terms with the embarrassments and grief of a life which had been – if not harsh – at least full of unasked-for surprises. From the farm of his father to the monastery, by way of bloody turmoil during the War of the Marching Sevens, only to find that in this time of peace there was no call for those who wished to rise.Long life and prosperity meant that there were no vacancies for the rank of master, a rank to which he aspired, for it would put his ambition to rest.

But this was not the holy mission for which he had purified his soul, he reminded himself. This was apocalypse; the future status of the world might rest on his shoulders. Too strong a resistance would bring the wrath of the Imperium down on the shoulders of the people, while too easy an acquiescence would invite tyranny. Responsibility for the secrets of his order was a grey curse, weighing down heavily on his soul until he felt as if the very foundations of his mind were creaking with protest.

Eventually he drifted into a troubled sleep, from which he was awakened by the thunder of the morning drums. He opened the shutters over his window to the same pearlescent glow they had closed on, the night before – it was never truly dark on Hito, cloud-shrouded from a million suns. And then he offered prayers for guidance. It was going to be a long day…

The shuttle circled the walls of the monastery before it landed, by arrangement, in the valley. Judit watched impassively as Joachim brought it in smoothly, almost contemptuously. The savages – as he insisted on calling them – showed no sign of running in terror; evidently they had been warned, at the very least.

‘The list,’ Judit told him. Grunting, he powered down the drive unit and released the loading bay door. Unthinkably high above the clouds, the fleet was waiting; but down here there was no sign of it. The isolation was complete.

Followed by the judge, she made her way down to the bay. The crawler was already powered up. She climbed into the driver’s compartment, followed by Joachim, and the doors latched behind them.

‘You told Sanjit what to do?’ she asked, barely expecting confirmation as the engines of the vehicle roared their power behind her.

‘I did,’ Joachim said amenably enough. ‘She agreed. Two of us should be enough.’

‘And for your part…?’ She paused delicately.

Joachim snorted. ‘For my part, I won’t sneer at them to their faces, or curse them. So this abbot person–’

‘The abbot,’ she said with marked self-restraint, ‘is possibly the most powerful person on the planet. You know what it is within our power to offer him? Imperial justice is only called for if he defies us.’

Joachim’s hands, sheathed in slick black gloves, flexed as if at a throat. Good, she thought. Just as long as your prejudices continue to blind you; just as long as you don’t ask any more questions about the ignorant natives…

‘So are we agreed? We don’t want to kill him arbitrarily. We merely wish to instil an… appropriate attitude among the natives.’

Joachim laughed coarsely. ‘You should have been a diplomat,’ he said. ‘The famous black widow…’

And you, she thought venomously, as she steered the crawler towards the tall walls of the monastery, will make a beautiful corpse!

The gate-captain stared down from the walls of the monastery at the vehicle that was approaching; his eyes narrowed, as if he was ranging it. His smile was not a pleasant one. People who came to the order flaunting their power usually left it in small pieces. The holiest shrine of the most powerful sect on the planet was not to be treated lightly.

Below him, the vast gates slid open on their runners, teams of sweating slaves pushing them out of the path of the crawler. It rolled forwards smoothly, drifting to a halt within the outer wall. Similar meetings were taking place at four other cities around the continent, to conceal the singularity of this particular one. The gate-captain stared down at the metal carapace, then slapped the tympanum beside him; rushing to avoid the lash, the slaves began to slide the doors shut again.

‘The walls,’ Judit murmured, ‘they’re quite thick. Not just ceremonial. Suppose people hereabouts have a different attitude to the priesthood?’

Joachim snorted. ‘From what? Priests are priests. Commoners don’t mess with them, whatever. If there’s anything I’ve ever learned, that’s it. Why mess around?’

Judit bit back her reply and glanced at him slyly. Yes, but these priests are no servants of the Emperor. They have knowledge that is priceless by the standards of their world. So why are they left alone? If Joachim couldn’t figure it out, she wasn’t going to help him.

She set the crawler brakes and left the power on standby. Not that they’d have much chance of making a quick getaway; she’d seen the power-bows on the walls, and the automatic rifles. Symptoms of a tech incursion. Joachim cracked the hatch and lowered the ramp; and out they stepped, onto alien soil.

A party of black-robed men was approaching them, their faces almost chalky-white beneath their cowls. Junior clerics swinging censers preceded them, aromatic smoke falling gently in the still air. It was humid but cool, as if they stood on clouds. Judit waited just ahead of Joachim to greet them, keeping her hands concealed in her cloak. She bit the inside of her cheek, feeling the familiar excitement: the rush of action. Every nerve on fire as her syn-skin sensed her mood and responded to it, interfacing with her nervous system and feeding her amplified senses with data.

The monks stopped just before they reached the crawler and stood there expectantly. ‘Greetings,’ Judit said in the native tongue, surprised at the ease with which the words came – earlier, she had donned a hypno-casque in order to learn the local language. ‘I am the Imperial representative. I have come to speak to your abbot, as agreed with our earlier contact.’

The monks seemed slightly confused by the presence of a female. Presently one of them spoke. ‘Where is the one who came to us before?’ he asked in a clear, high voice.

‘He was a messenger of low importance,’ said Judit. ‘I am an Imperial diplomat, and it is my honour to talk to your leaders.’

The monk nodded. ‘We are in turn honoured by your estimable presence,’ he said mellifluously. ‘If you would be pleased to come this way…’

Judit moved in the direction indicated. Joachim followed her, his eyes roving contemptuously over the natives. None of the monks were armed – but that meant nothing. She felt her hair twitching at the thought of it. Monks with guns could only mean trouble. Monks without guns could mean anything.

The inner wall, unlike the outer, had no large doors. Instead, a third of the way around the walls from where the crawler had entered, the monks led her to a small portal. As she passed within she noted that it was of hardwood bound in iron, and it was thick, but nothing like as thick as the walls. She glanced up, and her boosted vision noted the narrow slits in the ceiling. Monastery, hell, she thought, this is a fortress!

Joachim was becoming increasingly twitchy. This was the first mission he had gone along on without massive fire support. Good, she thought. Maybe for once you’ll see what it’s like to do an honest day of work… It gave her a warm glow of triumph to see him discomfited.

They passed out of the inner wall of the monastery and came into a vast open space in the shape of a pentagonal figure. At each corner tall towers reared high into the sky, and yet there was a squat solidity to them that screamed fortification. In the distance, Judit could see monks going about their daily business; the party she was in the midst of seemed to attract no particular attention.

‘How much further have we to go?’ she asked. The monk with the high-pitched voice looked at her curiously, but censored his reply.

‘Not far,’ he said. ‘The abbot will receive you in the white tower yonder.’ He pointed out to her the tallest, most massive tower in the complex; it tapered to a needle-like spire, yet it possessed no windows less than ten metres from the ground.

They proceeded in silence to the foot of the tower. At this point, the censer-bearers stopped; they turned as one to face the east, and raised their voices in a strange chant. Joachim reached out and gripped Judit’s arm. ‘What’s that?’ he whispered.

‘I don’t know.’ She shook off his hand in irritation. ‘Some ritual. The star rises in that direction on this world, doesn’t it? Even if they never see it.’ Joachim nodded imperceptibly and stood, listening, while Judit’s mind ran in overdrive.

Presently the door at the foot of the tower swung open on a hallway lit by torchlight. ‘You may enter now,’ said the monk. ‘We are forbidden from the tower.’ Judit looked at him askance, but no further guidance was coming: his face was a shut book. She stepped forward, and entered the belly of the beast.

Within the tower the evidence of siege readiness was, if anything, greater than without. Even Joachim must be noticing this, she realized. The man who thought that the ideal defence was a strike force of Space Marines and a sterilized planet at the other end, no matter how delicate the prize to be won. Paper and bombs! Which of these narrow steps were mounted on concealed pivots? What of the polished, creaking floor? She felt a creeping admiration for whoever had designed this tower. You could lose an army in a frontal assault on this heap, unless you stood back and bombed it out. The opener of the door beckoned them in silently, then led them up the treacherous steps in perfect safety.

On the landing at the top of the second flight of stairs the monk paused and rapped twice on a sliding door. It slid open with a hiss of well-greased runners, and he bowed deeply before turning to descend the stairs. ‘You may enter,’ said a voice from within. Joachim caught Judit’s eye and nodded imperceptibly. All right. He knows what to do. Contented and ready, she stepped across the threshold.

Tenzig looked up, breathing in shallow, controlled sips to calm his racing heart. He straightened in his chair. ‘You may enter,’ he called, as authoritatively as he could. Standing by his side, the master of the secret arts nodded approvingly, then froze into stillness.

Tenzig sweated in the heavy, embroidered robes that had been prepared to impress the ambassadors, trying to look dignified. There were two of them; the minimum requisite number for the display, should it be necessary. And here they came.

The diplomats entered. With a nervous flop of his heart, Tenzig thought: why, one of them is a woman! That was not something to which he was accustomed – not something he worried about unduly however, celibacy being no part of a Hitonian monk’s vows. They were both dressed from head to foot in a tight, form-fitting black garment that glistened like oil on water; and above that, a cloak and boots and other accoutrements of an exotic nature. She, the leader, was nondescript, short-haired, instantly forgettable; unlike her companion, who affected a bush of flaming red hair, and a face of brutal demeanour. That one is meant to look like the warrior, Tenzig thought, instantly deciding to concentrate on the woman.

The master opened his lips. ‘The brother abbot will receive you now if you should speak your rank and praenomen,’ he said stiffly. Tenzig sat attentively, fingers clenched within his deep, long sleeves.

The woman spoke, lightly and intelligibly. ‘I am Judit Bjarnesdottir, diplomat of the Adeptus Terra and aide to Inquisitor Rathman, head of the Imperial expedition to this cluster. This is Joachim Ahriman, an Imperial judge. I bring you greetings in the name of the Imperium, and in the name of Inquisitor Rathman who wishes me to express his sincerest wishes for peace and understanding between us.’

Tenzig kept a straight face. Stripped of the diplomatic argot, the meaning was as cold and simple as a naked blade. Imperial expedition. Peace and understanding. There was understanding, all right.

‘Thank you kindly for your greetings. May I, too, express my sincere desire for peace and understanding between the Order of the Heavenly Virtues and your Imperium. However, the order being of a purely religious nature, I am filled with some curiosity as to why you might bring greetings from a secular institution to a humble monk such as myself?’ And now the confirmation. The fingertips of his left hand fiddled inconspicuously with his sleeve, and he felt the presence of the master beside him, as tense as a coiled spring.

Waiting to unwind in his one, eternal moment of enlightenment.

The female diplomat smiled humourlessly, without showing her teeth.

‘There is no need for confusion, I assure you,’ she said. ‘Shall we dispense with the formalities?’

Very abrupt, Tenzig thought disapprovingly. Is that what we must look forward to in future? No matter. ‘Certainly,’ he said easily, ‘by all means let us be brief. I ask again: why have you come here to trouble us for our attention?’

‘You possess a library,’ she said flatly. ‘We know this. We wish to examine it. Such libraries give the owners great power. You control the supply of certain artefacts to the warlords of this world; you, not they, are important. The Imperium needs such libraries. It will not be desecrated or destroyed – but it will be necessary for Imperial scribes to enter and copy all your records for the archives of Terra.’

Her eyes were calculating, quizzical. If that’s the worst she has in store for us, Tenzig thought, may whatever gods there are save us! ‘Ah,’ he said, extemporising hastily. ‘You ask for much, I must warn you. What can we expect of your Imperium in return?’

The Imperial judge stared at him condescendingly. ‘Ask not what the Imperium does for you,’ he said, ‘but what you can do for the Imperium. Do you not know that your very souls depend upon it? That without the divine Emperor the hordes of warp space would be upon you in an instant, bringing savagery and insanity in their wake?’

The master focused on the judge like a living gun. It will be him, thought Tenzig, the hard man, here to play against her diplomacy. Expendable. I wonder if he is aware of it?

The woman spoke up hastily, covering for her companion’s outburst. ‘Your Holiness, we prefer not to take, but to have given voluntarily. I stand before you unarmed–’ at this the master stiffened even more, if that were possible – ‘but bearing a warning. We are prepared to be merciful. In return for your cooperation, you shall be made lords of all that you survey; this expedition has other planets to attend to, and Inquisitor Rathman would be more than gratified to leave the maintenance of this world in your caring hands. I beg you, while you have the opportunity, cooperate! We have the power to destroy you in an instant…’

The judge snorted, his eyes narrowing as he focused on the master, searching for some hidden threat.

Tenzig breathed deeply, carefully. That is the dangerous one, he realised. The woman will negotiate, but that one is a fanatic… ‘Is that your final word?’ he asked, wondering when the master would act. ‘Because if, so, I must–’

It seemed to happen in slow motion. As Judit opened her mouth, the master was already moving with the grace of a striking cobra. The disc of shining steel flickered as it left his fingertips, and it was still spinning as he lunged forwards, the rod in his hands a dark promise of pain and death.

The shuriken caught Joachim full in the neck, laying open his aorta in a great gout of blood. He spasmed, the small pistol dropping from his fingers, even as the master altered course towards Judit. That was a mistake.

Her expression never changed as she raised her left index finger – but a pulse of blue light flashed from her ring, and she had merely to step aside from the corpse as it crashed to her feet.

The digital pistol was pointed squarely at Tenzig’s abdomen. He stared at it. ‘It would be very foolish of you to use that,’ he said mildly.

The master lay on the floor; a dark stain was already edging out from beneath Joachim’s corpse.

‘I know,’ said the woman. ‘What guarantee of safe conduct can you give me?’

Tenzig felt release at the knowledge that he was not yet destined to die. ‘You’re no diplomat,’ he accused.

‘And you,’ she smiled, ‘are no monk.’

‘Oh yes, I am a monk – but perhaps they do things differently in the Imperium.’

They locked eyes squarely. Her gaze was like looking into a mirror. Death in the morning. You must have wanted that one dead quite badly, he thought. You could have saved him!

‘An assassin is a kind of diplomat,’ Judit said dryly. ‘So is a judge. It was up to you to decide which of us you would negotiate with. But I would like to know what kind of monks you are, before I commit myself to anything.’

Tenzig folded his hands in his lap, very slowly. ‘Once upon a time,’ he said, ‘there was a peaceful colony, founded by a breakaway sect from old Terra. It existed in stasis for millennia, a duplicate of a long-dead civilisation. The tech wisdom was given into the hands of the monks for safe keeping… and then came the wars. And the disappearance of the stars, and the coming of madness.’

Judit nodded slowly. ‘The STC source was valuable. You had to learn to defend it. You had to fight, use influence, kill those nobles who would–’

‘What’s an STC source?’ Tenzig asked, feigning puzzlement.

Judit chewed her lower lip, watching him intently. After a long time, she said, ‘Never mind. Your archives are valuable, then. No?’

‘That is correct. Our historical archives are incomplete, but no one else on this world can equal them. There was a sect of old Terra, millennia before our ancestors boarded the starships that brought them here.’ The words tripped off his tongue with barely a hint of deception. ‘And their descendants, the followers of the heavenly virtues–’ and of the secret way. ‘What we know, we inherited from them; not just tech, but our ways. And so…’ He spread his arms.

Judit nodded again. ‘Very good. If we can verify that nothing evil exists in your archives, we may leave you to your works; but first…’ She paused.

‘Yes?’

‘There is still the matter of planetary governance,’ she added. ‘I was not exceeding my ambit when I offered you the rule of this world. Whatever he may have thought you fit for.’ She nudged the corpse by her side with a black-shod toe. ‘Your order appears to be able to enforce its desires…’

For a long instant, the world seemed to stand still in reverence. Tenzig heard the hammering of his own heart loud in his ears, a haunting from beyond the past. An offer of supreme power; security for the order, which by serving the Imperium might be ignored by it.

He looked at the slightly-built woman, and seemed to see through her to a time when things had been different; an age when absolutes were not on offer, an age more in keeping with the philosophy of the order, of the holy prophet who had stayed among men and preached of fate and the eternal cycle of being, and who had achieved enlightenment. Finally he nodded.

‘On behalf of my order, I am constrained to accept this offer. If you carry the necessary documents, you are free to leave alive. I regret–’ his eyes swept the floor– ‘the necessity of this show of force.’

‘Don’t worry,’ Judit grinned humourlessly. ‘It was a necessary formality. We cannot afford to leave planets in the hands of weaklings.’

Yes, I understand, Tenzig thought. ‘You wish to see the library, then?’ he asked.

She nodded. ‘That was what I came here for,’ she said. ‘To see it intact. Bombardment can make rather a mess of a planet. Take me there.’

‘This way, then.’ Tenzig stood, stiffly, and ushered her to the door. Together they descended the stairs, all the way to the basement.

‘Here lie records saved in ages past,’ said Tenzig, pausing at the great wooden doors. Producing a key, he turned it in the lock and pulled, heart thundering behind his ribs.

‘Lights,’ said Judit tersely.

‘Here,’ Tenzig touched a switch, rubbed the dimple in the plastic that was worn smooth by ages of fingers. A warm glow flooded the corridor and the stacks of lovingly-catalogued scrolls that covered the walls. He stepped inside.

‘Do you see?’ he asked, questioningly. ‘Do you see the source of our power?’

Judit nodded. ‘Indeed,’ she said. For here was wealth indeed, and power beyond the dreams of a barbarian warlord. ‘We shall have to arrange for scribes to visit you,’ she added, ‘but this certainly confirms my offer to you.’

So this is why you came and negotiated, instead of dictating to us from above, he realized. A strange form of taxation, indeed…

He watched as she brought out the creamy parchment of the draft treaty, embossed with the Imperial seal, and held it before him so that he might see.

‘And let us hope that this is the start of a great era in the history of your world!’

Later, after the assassin had returned to her ship in the sky.

‘And the master,’ the abbot said thoughtfully. ‘Do you believe he misinterpreted their response?’

Tenzig – now Master Tenzig – shook his head. ‘Not exactly,’ he said. ‘More accurately, he understood all too well what their response would be. They are a hard people; some display of force was inevitable, really. A balanced response.’

‘Yes,’ said the abbot presently, ‘then the reverend master fulfilled his duty. And you, Tenzig, have done your part.’

Tenzig bowed his head. ‘But they will return. And next time it might be my calling to defend the order with my life. ‘

‘Perhaps,’ the abbot said. Then he smiled. ‘But their ignorance of us has been increased to a safer level. You left them believing that the paper archives were our only source of wisdom.’

The abbot’s words seemed to hang in the air, even after he pressed the button in his pocket to trigger the teleport link to the chamber beneath the scriptorium, where the ancient, unimaginably sophisticated machines of the STC library waited patiently.

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

CHARLES STROSS

Charles Stross was born in Leeds, England. Stross knew he wanted to be a science fiction writer from the age of six, and astonishingly, nobody ever considered therapy until it was too late.He now writes fiction full-time, has sold around 16 novels, has won one Hugo award and been nominated nearly a dozen times, and has been translated into about a dozen languages.

He lives in Edinburgh, Scotland, with his wife Feorag, a couple of cats, several thousand books, and an ever-changing herd of obsolescent computers.

A BLACK LIBRARY PUBLICATION

Published in 1990 by Black Library, Games Workshop Ltd., Willow Road, Nottingham, NG7 2WS, UK

Cover illustration by Paul Dainton

© Games Workshop Limited, 1990, 2012. All rights reserved.

Black Library, the Black Library logo, Games Workshop, the Games Workshop logo and all associated marks, names, characters, illustrations and images from the Warhammer universe are either ®, TM and/or © Games Workshop Ltd 2012, variably registered in the UK and other countries around the world. All rights reserved.

A CIP record for this book is available from the British Library.

ISBN 978-0-85787-543-3

No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise except as expressly permitted under license from the publisher.

This is a work of fiction. All the characters and events portrayed in this book are fictional, and any resemblance to real people or incidents is purely coincidental.