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Red Salvage – Josh Reynolds

About the Author

An Extract from ‘Kal Jerico: Sinner’s Bounty’

A Black Library Publication

eBook license

Red Salvage

Josh Reynolds

The rapid booming of the autogun was loud in the close confines of the abandoned transit tunnel – a rhythmic thunder that doubled and redoubled itself as an ammunition drum was steadily emptied. Sheltering behind a fallen support girder, Kal Jerico closed his eyes, counting the moments until the noise finally ceased. Thunder faded. A few despairing clicks echoed through the tunnel, followed by a flurry of obscenities.

Kal grinned and stepped out into the open. ‘All done, Grisuh?’ he called out. ‘Got it out of your system now?’ The tunnel was a compact space made claustrophobic by partial collapse. Ruptured pipes spat steady streams of filthy water down through the convolutions of scattered rubble. Dead wires and torn cabling hung like vines, and the solar-powered lumen cells that provided light for the tunnel had dulled to shadowy dimness.

Despite the gloom, Kal had little difficulty spotting his quarry, high atop a collapsed heap of shattered gantries. Grisuh Battoon wore a coat the colour of jaundice, and his greying hair had been stiffened into a spiky halo about his narrow skull. The coat, like Grisuh himself, had seen better decades.

He was a narrow, stoop-shouldered old reprobate, and his hands visibly shook as he tried to reload the drum-fed autogun he’d just emptied in Kal’s general direction. ‘Scav you, Jerico,’ he shouted, fumbling with the weapon. ‘You’re not taking me back. I didn’t do anything! This is an illegal seizure.’

‘That’s for the adjurator in Girdercity to decide,’ Kal said, lazily. In contrast to his prey, Kal was relatively young, and the green, armoured coat he wore was of the highest quality despite the occasional bullet hole or scorch mark. Long hair, bound in plaits, framed a lean, wolfish face. He wore a sword sheathed at his side, and a top-shelf laspistol holstered on either hip. He let his hands rest on their grips as he strode towards Grisuh, ready to draw down if the old man decided to resist further. Not that he expected it. Battoon was at the end of his tether, and probably out of ammunition. ‘I’m just the middle man, Grisuh. This isn’t personal.’

‘They’ll send me to the mines!’

‘Maybe you should have thought of that before you robbed Honest Cabas,’ Kal drawled. He squinted, taking in the heap. It didn’t look very stable. It was amazing that it hadn’t already collapsed, given the way Grisuh was moving around. ‘Don’t do the crime and so on, and so forth.’

‘He’s a cheat,’ Grisuh snarled.

‘Obviously, especially with a name like that.’ Kal set a boot atop the lowest of the gantries. The pile creaked slightly and he paused, waiting for it to settle. ‘But he pays his tithes like everyone else. That means he’s entitled to swear out a warrant for your arrest and extradition. Which he did, and which I am now enacting. So come along quietly…’

‘That money was mine,’ Grisuh said, finally clicking the ammunition drum into place. Kal cursed and leapt to the side as Grisuh fired down at him. He scrambled through the mucky waters, ducking beneath a buckled outcropping of ferrocrete. Grisuh tried to track him, but the ferrocrete effectively hid Kal from view. ‘You hear me? It was mine!’

‘I hear you,’ Kal muttered. ‘Tried to handle this the easy way. Tried to be nice about it.’ He flinched as high-velocity rounds chewed into the outcrop, filling the air with splinters and dust. ‘Fine. Have it your way, Grisuh.’ He stuck two fingers in his mouth and loosed a piercing whistle.

There was an answering bark. Not an organic sound, but a clangorous metallic noise. Ferrocrete shifted as something heavy, but relatively small, arrowed across the field of rubble, straight towards Grisuh’s perch. Grisuh saw it coming and swung his autogun around. He unloaded the remainder of his drum on it, hitting it, but to no avail. Bullets ricocheted, careening off in whining arcs through the tunnel.

Kal peered out and watched in satisfaction as the four-legged form of his cyber-mastiff, Wotan, bounded up the pile towards the old man. Wotan was a machine construct, wrought in the form of a canid. There was nothing organic to the beast, but that hadn’t stopped Kal from treating it like a pet, rather than a tool.

Grisuh yelped in panic and flung his empty weapon at the cyber-mastiff. Wotan caught the gun in mid-air and bit through it with a loud crunch. Grisuh slid down the opposite side of the incline, cursing, just as Wotan reached the summit.

Kal moved to intercept his quarry. ‘Don’t run, Grisuh – you’ll only die tired,’ he called out. Grisuh wasn’t in the mood to listen. The old man took off like a rat, scrambling along the centre of the tunnel. Kal whistled for Wotan, and set off in pursuit.

As he followed the old man, he wondered where Grisuh thought he was going. The transit tunnel wasn’t long, and dead-ended at a vertical shaft that had once housed a lift-platform. Now it was home to various crawling things. Then, Grisuh wasn’t the sort to think ahead. Otherwise, he wouldn’t have been in the situation he was in.

Grisuh wasn’t really worth all this effort. He was just a thief, and not a particularly good one at that. And the bounty on him was probably less than what it had cost to find him. But it set a bad precedent to let a man go after he shot at you.

The tunnel was full of twists and turns, but Wotan stayed on Grisuh’s heels, herding him down one of the maintenance offshoots. Kal took it more slowly, and carefully. No reason to get winded chasing someone who wasn’t going to be running for much longer. Or worse. You had to watch where you were going down here. He’d lost more than one bounty when a scummer had broken their neck in a tunnel, or fallen into a hidden shaft.

Grisuh, on the other hand, wasn’t in the right frame of mind to pay attention to his surroundings. His bad luck. The arm came out of nowhere, long and lean-muscled, as the old man turned a corner. It caught Grisuh in the throat and he tumbled backwards, gagging. He rolled on the ground and clutched at his throat, as Wotan circled him, barking.

Kal caught up with them a moment later and pinned the old man in place with a boot. ‘I did warn you,’ he said, looking down at Grisuh. He looked up as one of his partners stepped into view. ‘And where were you while I was being shot at?’

‘Watching you get shot at,’ Yolanda Catallus said, as she holstered her autopistol. She was taller than Kal, and her bare shoulders and arms were thick with muscle. Her aristocratic features were covered by tribal gang tattoos that ran across her forehead and both cheeks, and her hair hung in long, somewhat filthy dreadlocks. She turned. ‘What about you, Scabbs?’

‘Watching you watching him get shot at,’ Scabbs said, mildly, as he stepped out into the open, from wherever he’d been lurking. He was shorter than both Kal and Yolanda. Beneath his lank, mud-coloured hair, his face was a mask of peeling eczema and various skin irritations. He carried a battered autogun in his grubby hands. He shifted the gun so that he could scratch at his scalp, causing a brief flurry of white flakes to tumble across his hunched shoulders.

‘You’re all heart, the pair of you,’ Kal said. He knocked his knuckles against Wotan’s head. ‘At least I have one friend.’

‘The automaton is literally programmed to serve you,’ Scabbs said, doubtfully.

Kal looked at him. ‘That’s what I just said.’ He holstered his pistol and looked down at Grisuh. ‘Caught your breath, Grisuh?’

‘She almost crushed my throat,’ the old man gargled. He tried to rise, but Kal shoved him back down.

‘You’re lucky I didn’t snap your spine,’ Yolanda said. ‘That’s what I usually do to people who run from me.’

‘Technically, he was running from me,’ Kal said.

Yolanda shrugged. ‘What’s the difference?’

‘Well–’ Scabbs began.

Yolanda spun, a warning finger extended towards Scabbs. ‘Don’t say it.’

Scabbs tried to look innocent. ‘Say what?’

‘Quiet, both of you,’ Kal said. ‘What are we going to do with him? Somehow, I think he’s going to be a handful to get back to Girdercity.’ Grisuh wasn’t the type to go quietly. He’d try to escape, the first chance he got.

‘You could let me go,’ Grisuh rasped, hopefully. Kal stomped on him, just hard enough to shut him up.

‘Easier just to carry his head,’ Yolanda said, looking down at the spluttering old man. She patted the chainsword sheathed on her hip meaningfully.

‘But think of the smell,’ Scabbs said.

Yolanda snorted. ‘It’s only a few days to Girdercity. It won’t even be properly juicy. Besides, we’ll wrap it in something.’ She peered down at Grisuh. ‘That coat of his looks absorbent. We’ll use that.’

Scabbs scratched his chin. ‘That might work.’

‘Sounds good to me. One of you can carry it though,’ Kal said. He stepped back and Grisuh rolled onto his back, desperation etched on his features.

‘Jerico – you can’t let them kill me,’ he said, grabbing at Kal’s legs. ‘It ain’t right!’

Kal shrugged. ‘But it’s efficient, and I’m lazy. Besides, you shot at me. I’m not really in the mood to be merciful.’ He used the toe of his boot to shove Grisuh back. ‘I gave you a chance to surrender. You chose the hard way.’

‘They always choose the hard way,’ Yolanda said, shaking her head. ‘That’s why I shoot first.’

‘Is that the reason?’ Kal asked, innocently. ‘I thought it was because you’re a back-shooting psychopath.’

Yolanda’s glare only lasted a moment, before she broke into a grin. ‘That too.’ She drew her chainsword. ‘Someone stretch his neck a bit. We want a clean cut.’

‘Wait, wait, wait!’ Grisuh cowered, his hands over his head. ‘I can make you rich!’

‘Did he say rich?’ Scabbs asked.

‘It’s a trick,’ Yolanda said, as she gave her blade a test swing.

Kal frowned. ‘Might be. Might not be.’ Grisuh was known for a lot of things. Lying wasn’t one of them. He nudged the old man with the tip of his boot. ‘Talk. Quickly.’

Grisuh looked up. ‘Red’s Gamble,’ he said.

‘Hunh,’ Kal said. Red’s Gamble was one of the more persistent legends of the underhive. A lost sump-trawler with a fortune of archeotech in its hold. Supposedly, it had been sunk during the mother of all hivequakes, and the treasure lost to the currents of the sump. Every so often, someone claimed to have found it, but it always turned out to be so much scav. Just another story in an underhive full of them.

Scabbs whistled. ‘That’s interesting.’

‘Definitely a trick,’ Yolanda said, dismissively. ‘Can I cut off his head now?’

‘Hold on,’ Kal said. He dropped to his haunches in front of Grisuh. ‘What about it?’

Grisuh swallowed. ‘I… I know where it is.’

‘Nobody knows where it is.’

‘Nobody but me.’

‘So why aren’t you rich?’ Kal asked, pointedly.

‘It’s not the sort of thing one man can do alone,’ Grisuh said, after a moment’s hesitation.

Kal smiled. ‘Keep talking.’

‘I was out on the sump, sifting the shallows, you know,’ Grisuh said, haltingly. Kal nodded. Lots of things wound up in the sump, from all over Hive Primus. Sometimes they even washed up close to shore. Slime-sifting was often a good way to make a quick credit, if you didn’t mind the smell. ‘Found something.’

Kal gestured. ‘Speed it up, Grisuh. We’ve got places to be, heads to deliver.’

Grisuh blanched. ‘I-I saw something. Out on the sump. Remember that hivequake a week or so back?’

‘Yeah.’ Hivequakes were a regular occurrence, this far down. Ratskins claimed it was the doing of the hive spirits. Kal wasn’t a believer in spirits. It seemed more likely that it was a result of the ever-increasing weight of the upper hive causing the lower levels to buckle and shift. Regardless, every few days, tremors would ripple through the underhive – some fairly gentle, others violent.

This last one had been violent indeed. Whole hab-zones had vanished, swallowed up by the convulsing hive. Kal had even spilled a bottle of Wild Snake during the worst of it. The thought of all that wasted alcohol still sent a pang of regret coursing through him. Sad times.

Grisuh went on. ‘There are places where the sump drained – cracks in the fundament, burst filter-caps, whatever. Lakes turned into mudflats, rivers made into gullies. You know what I mean.’ He shook his head. ‘I was out on the sump when the quake hit. I thought I was going to die. The fundament shifted, mountains of rock and pipe rose as the waters dropped.’ His voice went soft. ‘And there she was.’

‘Red’s Gamble,’ Kal said.

Grisuh nodded, and gestured. ‘Perched – no, impaled – on a spike of ferrocrete taller than a sump-tower. It rose at an angle, like, and hung over the tidal flats. Must have got hooked on the stone, invisible until the water dropped.’ He rubbed his face nervously. ‘Sump-waters are already starting to rise, though. It’ll be gone again, taken by the current, if we don’t get to it quick.’

‘There are a lot of wrecks under the sump,’ Yolanda said. ‘How do you know this one is Red’s Gamble?’

‘I saw the ident-tag, didn’t I?’ Grisuh said, sounding insulted.

‘So where is it?’ Scabbs said.

‘I’m not telling you that,’ Grisuh said quickly. ‘I need guarantees, Jerico.’ He looked pleadingly at Kal. ‘I’ll lead you there. I can’t do it alone.’ He looked around, his expression becoming sly. ‘But maybe… us together… a four-way split?’

‘Three ways, and you go free,’ Kal said, after a glance at the others.

Grisuh frowned. ‘That’s not fair.’

‘Life’s not fair. Call it a lesson and move on.’ Kal reached down and dragged him to his feet. ‘Now… where’s this boat of yours at?’

‘This place is a scumhole,’ Yolanda said, looking around.

Kal agreed, though he didn’t say it. Rickety Splits was, indeed, a scumhole. A shanty town of repurposed hab-units and tin-roof shacks made from scavenged materials, ten pipes west of Girdercity. The town slouched across the shore of a sump-tributary, partially resting on makeshift pontoon bridges that rose and fell with the steaming tides. Chem-fog clung to the streets, and a drizzle of liquid waste pattered down from a rotating vent-grid somewhere far above.

The settlement had nothing of value, and the inhabitants knew it. Even so, it was full of scummers. Desperate ones, hiding from the Guilders or from bounty hunters. Kal kept an eye on their surroundings, even as they made their way along the wharf.

‘I feel like we’re being watched,’ Scabbs muttered. He kept close to Grisuh, ensuring that the old man didn’t try to run. Kal led the way, Wotan trotting beside him.

‘We are,’ Yolanda said, from the rear. ‘Every scummer in this hole knew we were here five seconds after we arrived.’

‘Probably wondering who we’re here for.’ Kal looked around at the scows docked along the jetties. Most were small promethium craft, meant for two or three passengers at most – little more than engines attached to hulls by spare cabling and rope. Sometimes, if you looked close enough, you could make out the outline of a once-fine private hydro-craft. But like everything else in the underhive, they had been broken, abandoned and repurposed. ‘Which one of these tubs is yours, Grisuh?’

‘She’s not a tub.’ Grisuh sounded so offended, Kal almost laughed. The old man pointed at a single-mast scow with an outboard engine that looked as though it had been built from scrap. It sat suspiciously low in the water and had a single harpoon cannon mounted on the rust-riddled prow rail. ‘The Scanty Salvage is the finest shallow-scooper this side of Chem-Port. I built her myself.’

‘Doesn’t look big enough to carry all of us, let alone any salvage from this supposed wreck,’ Yolanda said.

‘If Cabas hadn’t stolen my money, I’d have bought a bigger boat to go along with her.’ Grisuh led them to the jetty where his boat was docked.

‘Why were you even in Girdercity?’ Scabbs asked, shoving the old man along the jetty. ‘If it was me, I’d have stayed close to my find.’

‘I told you, I needed help.’ Grisuh looked at them. ‘Investors. Money. Equipment.’

‘Investors,’ Kal said.

‘For the salvage operation.’

‘Did you find any?’

‘No.’ Grisuh leaned over the jetty and spat. ‘Cabas owed me those credits. I needed them to rent a junker. Maybe two.’ Junkers were scrap-vessels used by sump-sifters to dredge the deeper waters. For the right price, you could hire one from its captain. ‘Then I was going to round up a crew and head back out. But… well…’

‘You threw Cabas through a window, stole a bunch of credits and ran.’

‘The situation escalated quickly,’ Grisuh said. ‘I panicked!’

‘Funny how that keeps happening,’ Yolanda said. She drew her autopistol, turned and let off a burst into the fog. Kal spun, hands on his laspistols. She glanced at him. ‘Someone was following us.’

‘And?’

‘Now they’re not.’ She looked down at Wotan and aimed a kick at the cyber-mastiff. The beast easily avoided the blow and growled menacingly. ‘What good is he if he can’t give us any warning?’

‘It’s the chem-fog. It interferes with his sensors. Doesn’t it, boy?’ Kal sank to his haunches and scratched the cyber-mastiff’s plasteel skull. Wotan gave no sign he’d felt or appreciated the gesture, but Kal liked to think he did. He took the opportunity to have a quick look around. Yolanda was right – they were being followed. And not just by whoever she’d shot at a moment ago. He could hear muffled footsteps out in the fog. Someone was creeping along the wharf on all sides of them. He eased one of his laspistols out of its holster. ‘Grisuh – how long will it take to get that boat moving?’

‘A few minutes to let the engine warm up. Why?’ Grisuh looked at him, and then around, suddenly tense. Kal peered at him, certain that the old man had heard them too, whoever they were. And from the look on his face, Kal thought he knew – or at least suspected – who was out there.

‘We’re surrounded.’ Kal rose to his feet and fired into the fog. He was rewarded by a muffled scream. Indistinct shapes moved through the haze. An autogun roared, chewing the jetty and filling the air with splinters of wood. Yolanda spun on the balls of her feet, her autopistol barking.

Kal grabbed Grisuh and shoved him forwards. ‘Everybody on the boat – Scabbs, cover us!’

‘Why me?’ Scabbs demanded. He ducked as a stubgun boomed. The bullet tore the top off of a docking pylon.

‘Because I said so. Now light ’em up!’

Scabbs cursed, swung his autogun up and loosed a burst. He swept the weapon out in a wide arc, spraying the fog. Kal slung Grisuh onto the boat, as Yolanda and Wotan leapt aboard. Kal turned, perched on the boarding ramp, and fired his laspistol over Scabbs’ head. ‘Cast us off, Scabbs. Hurry!’ Kal drew his second laspistol as Scabbs hurried to the pylon where the boat was tied off. The little man snatched a knife from his belt and chopped at the ropes as bullets and las-bolts tore across the jetty.

Out of the corner of his eye, Kal saw Yolanda shove Grisuh into the pilot compartment. A moment later, he felt a reverberation shudder through the ramp as the boat’s engine turned over with a sputtering cough. Sump-waters roiled into a greenish froth as the propellers chopped the sludge. Smoke belched from the engine, mingling with the chem-fog in a distinctly unhealthy fashion.

‘Hurry it up, Scabbs,’ Kal called, as he snapped off a shot. It was hard to see anything, even standing out in the open. He felt a bullet pluck at his coat. More struck the ramp at his feet. Luckily, the chem-fog hampered their attackers’ aim as much as it did his.

‘I’m chopping as fast as I scavvin’ can,’ Scabbs said. He hacked at the ropes with renewed urgency. Kal felt the boarding ramp creak as Scabbs cut through the last coil.

He leapt back onto the boat as the ramp started to slide. ‘Get this thing moving!’

Scabbs gawped at him. ‘Wait!’

‘Stop staring and get aboard, Scabbs,’ Kal snarled. Bullets slammed into the rail of the boat and the water. ‘Boat’s leaving with or without you.’ The chem-fog billowed and thinned as half a dozen scummers wearing rebreathers and carrying a variety of weapons raced across the wharf towards them. Kal shot the legs out from under the fastest as Scabbs scrambled for the boarding ramp.

The ramp gave way with a groan of bending metal as Scabbs tried to cross it. It hit the sump with a splash, and Scabbs was only prevented from following it by Kal’s quick thinking. Kal shot out a hand and grabbed a handful of Scabbs’ hair, and hauled his partner into the boat by the scalp even as the ramp vanished.

Kal sniffed his fingers. ‘Is this… is this gun oil?’

‘It helps with my dandruff,’ Scabbs said, as he hauled himself to his feet.

‘It’s not working.’ Kal grimaced and wiped his hand on his coat. ‘Next time use a dab of promethium and a lit match.’ Scabbs patted his hair protectively, as Kal watched the wharf shrink into the distance. Whatever else it was, Grisuh’s boat was surprisingly fast.

‘Who were they?’ Scabbs asked. ‘Anybody get a look?’

‘Scummers looking for easy meat,’ Yolanda said, dismissively.

‘No,’ Kal said. ‘That was an ambush. They were waiting for us.’ He looked at Grisuh. The old man stood at the wheel. ‘Waiting for you, I should say.’

Grisuh swallowed and hunched his shoulders. ‘I don’t know what you’re talking about. I don’t know who they were.’

Kal caught him and dragged him around. Grisuh squawked and flailed at the wheel. ‘I thought you said you didn’t tell anyone, Grisuh,’ Kal said, glaring at the old man. Grisuh cowered back into the pilot compartment.

‘I might have mentioned it, when I was drunk, maybe,’ Grisuh whined. ‘Can’t fault a man for what he says when he’s drunk, can you?’

‘I can,’ Yolanda said, grabbing the back of his neck and wrenching him around. She dragged him out of the compartment and towards the rail. ‘Should I toss him out?’

‘No. We need someone to pilot this heap. Besides, we still need to know where we’re going. And like it or not, Grisuh is our only lead.’

‘Maybe it’s Cabas,’ Grisuh continued, babbling. ‘He knew why I needed the credits – maybe he’s decided to cut out the middle man? Maybe… maybe he sent people, just in case I made it back!’

‘Doesn’t matter,’ Kal said, cutting him off. ‘As long as we get there first, it’s our claim.’ Finders keepers was the oldest law in the underhive. If you found it – and could keep it – it was yours. And Kal intended to keep whatever was aboard Red’s Gamble.

The hours slid by. The sump trembled from seismic contortions, and oily waves chopped at the sides of the Scanty Salvage. In the distance, Kal heard the sounds of ancient structures collapsing into the waters. The air stank of rotten rubber and rust. Reefs of congealed waste jutted from the depths like tombstones.

‘This was all under the sump up until a few weeks ago,’ Grisuh called out, over the roar of the engine. ‘Probably will be again, in a day or three. Nothing lasts long, down here.’ The old man stood in the square box of the pilot compartment, his hands on the wheel. The compartment was made from repurposed scrap metal, and held the basic but functional cogitator system that ran the scow. Gauges and valves jutted from every available space, and pipes of all sizes and hues extended out and down, into the hold. Occasionally, a valve would vent a whistle of pressurised air.

‘Not as many wrecks as I expected,’ Scabbs said. He rubbed his stomach as the scow caught a wave. Kal hoped he wasn’t planning to vomit again. Scabbs didn’t travel well.

Grisuh laughed. ‘Most of them get salvaged. Lots of credits in salvage.’ He glanced back at them. ‘But you got to have the tools.’

‘Speaking of which, how are we planning to do this?’ Yolanda sat at the back of the boat, her arms stretched across the rail and her feet crossed on Wotan’s head. The cyber-mastiff didn’t seem to mind. ‘Because all we have is this tub.’

‘She’s not a tub,’ Grisuh said. ‘I told you, she’s the finest–’

‘Shut up,’ Kal said. He looked at Yolanda. ‘We take what we can carry.’ He peered at the waves. ‘From the way the water is surging I doubt we’ll have time for anything else.’

‘So we’re just going to leave it?’

‘Greedy is as greedy does,’ Kal said piously, hands pressed together as if in prayer. Yolanda drew a knife and threw it at him. The blade thudded into the deck at Kal’s feet, causing him to jump back with a yelp. He shook his head. ‘You nearly took my toe off.’

‘Next time I’ll aim higher. Answer my question.’

‘What would you like me to do? Drag the wreck to shore?’

Yolanda brightened. ‘Is that possible?’

Grisuh laughed. ‘That wreck outweighs this ol’ gal by a week and a day. It’d pull us under, if we tried. Besides, I told you, Red’s Gamble is up high, pierced through like a sheen bird on a thorn-tower.’ He flapped a hand for emphasis, and the boat lurched in the current.

‘Both hands on the wheel,’ Kal snapped. Scabbs shoved past him, face puckered up and pale. The little man bent over the edge of the boat and vomited. Kal winced. ‘Wonderful.’

Scabbs groaned and looked up. ‘Is that… is that it?’ he gulped.

Kal turned. In the distance, illuminated by reefs of phosphorescent waste-coral, a fang of congealed detritus and ferrocrete thrust upwards like the spire of a hive city. Water cascaded in steady rivers down its winding surface. At its top, resting at a steep angle, was a creaking bastion of waterlogged iron.

The ship’s prow was pointed up, its rear decks hanging down, over the sump. As the Scanty Salvage drew closer, Kal spotted the faded ident-tag on the vessel’s prow: a string of numbers and, above it, what had once been a pair of crimson dice. Kal knew those dice. Everyone did. ‘Red’s Gamble,’ he murmured. ‘So it is real.’

‘I told you!’ Grisuh leaned out of the pilot compartment. ‘I said I’d found it, and there it is, real as the nose on your face.’

‘Yeah, yeah, get us closer,’ Kal said, without turning. The ship was bigger than he’d thought – larger than any sump-ferry or slime-trawler, big enough to carry a crew of sixty or seventy, and cargo. It was a proper ship, made to sail the deep oceans at the bottom of the world, from under-port to under-port. The hull was likely older than most of the settlements in the underhive, and from a time before Hive Primus had begun to eat its own roots.

Even at a distance, he could tell that the vessel had been repaired and patched and rebuilt more than once. There weren’t many like it left in the depths. Most got broken up into spare parts when they ran aground or came into the possession of someone more interested in credits than in captaining a ship.

‘I’ve seen pictures of boats like that,’ Scabbs said. He wiped his mouth, dislodging a few errant chunks of regurgitated rat-paste. ‘Never realised how big they were.’

‘Ship,’ Kal said.

‘What?’

‘It’s a ship, not a boat.’

‘There’s a difference?’

‘No,’ Yolanda said, as she joined them. ‘I’ve never heard the same story twice about what they were carrying. I assume it was valuable. And non-perishable.’

Kal scratched his chin and grinned at her. ‘We won’t know until we get aboard. Exciting, isn’t it?’

‘This better not be a wasted trip, Jerico. Or else you’re swimming back.’

‘Duly noted.’

Grisuh guided the Scanty Salvage in close, around reefs of sediment and waste matter. Shoals of strange fish scattered as the scow passed over them, trailing glimmers of corposant in their wake. Puffballs of shimmering spores danced across the surface, casting long shadows. Unseen vermin slid noisily into the waters as the scow prowled towards its destination.

When they’d reached the shallows around the rock, Grisuh manhandled an anchor – an old engine block wrapped in chain – over the side, with some grudging help from Scabbs. The scow listed slightly as the anchor caught on something semi-solid, but soon righted itself. Grisuh made to put on a gun belt, but Kal took it from him and tossed it over the side.

‘Damn it, that pistol cost me fifty credits,’ Grisuh protested.

‘Buy a new one,’ Kal said. ‘For now, I don’t want you with a gun at my back, old man. Now get swimming.’ He shoved Grisuh over the side. The old man tumbled into the shallows with a yelp. Things with too many legs and wispy antennae shot away from him as he splashed to the base of the rock, cursing the entire way.

Kal made to follow him but paused, one foot on the rail. He looked down at Wotan. ‘Stay. Guard.’ The cyber-mastiff barked once and then settled back, sensors flickering.

‘Are you sure that’s a good idea?’ Yolanda asked.

‘No. But I don’t trust Grisuh, and I’d like to make sure the boat’s here when we get back,’ Kal said, as he dropped into the water. ‘Stay with him, if you’re worried.’

‘And let you get to whatever this wreck is holding without me?’ Yolanda laughed. ‘That’ll be the day.’ She leapt into the water and strode past him, all but shoving him out of her path. Kal heard Scabbs snicker. He turned and grabbed the little man by the collar, dragging him close.

‘And what’s so funny?’

‘Nothing, nothing,’ Scabbs said, hurriedly.

‘I didn’t think so.’ Kal let him fall into the water and followed Yolanda. Scabbs spluttered and floundered after him.

Waterfalls of effluvial liquid drained from the perforated ship and gushed down through the cracks and crevices of the rock. The air was full of water vapour, making it hard to see much of anything. Grisuh seemed to know where he was going, however. He quickly led them to what the charitable might have called a path. ‘I saw this last time,’ Grisuh said, squinting through the vapour. ‘We’ll have to climb a bit.’

‘Lead the way,’ Kal said. ‘And no tricks.’ He patted one of his laspistols meaningfully. ‘Or else.’

The climb proved to be equal parts dull and arduous. The rock was slippery with centuries of slime and algae caked to it. Kal was sweating freely beneath his coat by the time they reached the ship’s keel. A breeze from a bank of circulation fans somewhere far above parted the water vapour, revealing the full immensity of their destination. They stopped, awestruck. Even Kal, who’d grown up in the spire, and seen ships arriving at the orbital dockyards from his nursery window, was impressed.

The hull rose above them like the battlements of some lost fortress, and Kal could hear avians screeching as they circled the comms towers of the upper decks. Scabbs stared up at the enormous vessel in growing horror. ‘We’re not going to try to climb all the way to the top, are we? Only I don’t think I can make it.’

‘No. We’re heading for the hole there,’ Grisuh said, with a laugh. He pointed to where the pinnacle of the rock pierced the ship. ‘The rock cuts through amidships. That puts us right where we need to go.’

‘Is it safe?’ Scabbs asked.

‘No, but it’s stable, and that’s close enough.’ Grisuh started up the last few feet, moving spryly for one of his advanced years. Watching him, Kal felt a twinge of suspicion. He leaned close to Scabbs.

‘Is it just me, or does he seem to know an awful lot about where he’s going for someone who didn’t even get off the boat?’

Scabbs nodded. ‘Think he’s playing stupid?’

‘No, I think he is stupid. That doesn’t mean he won’t have a trick up his sleeve. Watch him. If he runs–’

‘Shoot him?’

‘No. Catch him.’ Kal glanced at their other partner. ‘Before Yolanda shoots him.’

Scabbs snorted, and Yolanda gave them both a suspicious glare. Kal waved her on, and she replied with an obscene gesture.

The hole in the hull reminded Kal of the mouth of one of the caves deep downhive. The rock had torn through the reinforced metal with slow surety, popping rivets and dislodging plates. Everything was at an awkward angle, thanks to the ship’s current, precarious positioning. It made getting inside difficult, but not impossible.

Once inside, it was more of the same. Torn wiring hung down in tangled curtains. Broken valves dribbled water into the ankle-deep pool that sloshed amidships. It was draining out, but slowly. Skewed corridors branched away from them, extending deeper into the ship. And it was cold, as if the metal of the hull still held the chill of forgotten depths.

‘Well?’ Yolanda said, her breath fogging the air in short bursts. ‘Where to now, old man? Up? Down?’

Grisuh looked around, his gaze calculating. ‘The ship’s big. It had three holds – two that were obvious. And then a hidden one. That’s the one we want.’

Yolanda made an impatient gesture. ‘We all know the story, old man. You know how to find the third hold?’

Grisuh nodded jerkily. ‘I do. But you have to go through the others to get to it.’ He pointed. ‘Right down the central transit shaft. Doesn’t look big from outside, but–’ A broken pipe fell suddenly, startling all of them, and the groan of abused metal echoed through the ship. Kal felt something shudder beneath his feet.

‘It’s a long way to walk in a rust heap that could slide back into the sump at any moment,’ Kal said. He looked around. Metal creaked occasionally. The ship settling – or maybe something else. ‘Not to mention whatever has decided to make this wreck a home.’

Scabbs looked around nervously. ‘Maybe everything abandoned ship when it surfaced,’ he said, tightening his grip on his autogun.

‘Maybe something new moved in,’ Yolanda said, nudging him aside. She started towards the nearest access hatch, moving quickly despite the slime and water that swirled about her calves. ‘Either way, I want that treasure and I don’t care what sort of beastie I have to gut to get it. Come on.’

Kal lost track of time as they clambered down through the hatches and shafts of the ship’s interior. Everything had shifted when the vessel had sunk, and in the years since as the currents dragged it from one end of the sump to the other. Nothing was where it should be, according to his limited experience with craft of this type.

Whole passages were flooded, the isolated corridors acting like stoppered bottles. Whenever they had to wrench open a hatch, sump-water invariably gushed out in a momentary flood. Often, things that might have been fish flopped in it, or squirmed away through holes eaten into the walls or deck.

Grisuh seemed certain of the way, and he led them steadily down, until they came to a central node-shaft that branched off in multiple directions. Grisuh squinted down one of the shafts, raising a battery-powered lumen high. ‘One of these is the one we want.’

‘How do you know?’ Kal asked.

‘Experience,’ the old man said. ‘I used to be a boiler-dandy on a slime-scow out of Port Junker. Those old buckets were built to the same specs as these cargo-haulers, just smaller.’ He shone the lumen at one of the hatches. ‘This one.’

‘You sure?’

‘Yes?’

‘You don’t sound sure.’

‘We can always come back up and turn around,’ Grisuh said, defensively.

Yolanda drew a knife and tapped him on the nose with the tip. ‘Some of us can, at any rate,’ she said, sweetly. Grisuh blanched and swung the lumen around.

‘Maybe… maybe it’s this one?’

‘That sounds like a question,’ Kal said.

‘Or… or this one,’ Grisuh said, turning to another hatch.

‘Decisive,’ Scabbs murmured. He sniffed. ‘What is that?’

Kal ignored him. He took a step towards the farthest hatch. He’d heard something – or thought he had. As he drew close to the hatch, he heard it again. The sound was small. Distant. Muffled by layers of rusting plasteel. A whisper, as of many voices, echoing upwards through the deck. Kal glanced at the others. ‘Anyone else hear that?’

Scabbs sniffed the air. ‘No. But I smell it. Somebody’s cooking.’ He rubbed his stomach. ‘Smells good.’

Kal waved him to silence. The sound came again. Yolanda’s eyes widened. ‘I hear it now. There’s something down there.’

‘It’s probably just water,’ Grisuh said, not looking at anyone. ‘This whole wreck is full of water.’ He turned, muttering to himself.

Kal peered into the dark of the hatch for a moment. He looked at Grisuh. ‘What’s at the end of that shaft?’

Grisuh shrugged. ‘Cargo hold, I expect.’ He looked around, his expression uncertain. ‘One of them, anyway.’

‘The third hold?’ Yolanda asked.

‘Maybe?’ Grisuh gave a helpless gesture. ‘It’s all twisted up. Nothing is where it should be in here. I’m getting turned around.’ He swung the light, nearly clocking Scabbs. Scabbs caught it and pushed it away.

‘Figure it out,’ Kal said. ‘In the meantime, I’ll check it out. You two watch Grisuh.’

‘Try not to get eaten by rats,’ Yolanda said.

Kal didn’t dignify that with a reply. He ducked through the hatch and paused, listening. He heard the drip of water, and the creak of settling metal. And then the sound came again – far off and down. Kal followed it.

He didn’t have far to go. The access shaft wasn’t very long. The walls pressed close, and lines of pipe and crumbling cables ran along either side. Busted pressure gauges stuck out at all angles, forcing him to duck and weave as he made his descent.

He found himself creeping along a busted gantry-ramp, using the rails to guide his steps in the gloom. Glimmers of light were just visible, poking through the slats of the gantry – ancient lumens, or the phosphorescent fungus, he couldn’t say which. Thick, ropy strands of cobweb clung to every large surface. The underhive was home to around twenty thousand different species of arachnid – at least, according to the tutors he’d had as a boy.

He tore aside one of the cobwebs, and felt a tremor run through the gantry. As if the destruction of the fragile strands had reverberated through the rest. Or maybe the wreck was simply starting to collapse in on itself.

The air stank of sump-water, but not as badly as it should have. Somehow, portions of the ship’s interior had remained dry despite its sinking. That boded well, at least for the purposes of looting. He didn’t have to endure the stench for long. Soon enough, a new smell intruded – the aroma of cooking meat. And the odour of unwashed bodies, in an enclosed space. He could hear voices. Singing.

The gantry came to an end at a second hatch. A second gantry extended along the circumference of the cargo hold. It was shrouded in cobwebs and cascades of spilled wires and fallen pipes. Kal stopped at the hatch and crouched, so as to get a better view of what was going on below, in the hold.

He bit back a curse. The hold was occupied – not by sump-beasts, but by men. To use the term loosely, at any rate. Hunched figures moved among the towers of rotting cargo, or tended weak fires, burning in fuel drums. ‘Scavvies,’ he muttered. ‘That’s just perfect.’

There weren’t many of them. No more than a few dozen. They were in bad shape. Scavvies weren’t known for being in good shape, particularly, but these looked worse than most. Half-starved, covered in strange yellowish boils. They moved slowly, as if drugged. Only their war-chief, and his cadre of guards, moved with anything like alacrity, but even they were covered in the mustard-hued welts.

Kal spotted the chief easily enough, because he was the one wearing the fanciest hat. Scavvies liked hats. It made questions of authority easy to answer. His guards were the biggest, most well-fed-looking of the group. The rest of the scavvies were thin, hunched wrecks, missing limbs and other bits of their anatomy.

They’d made the hold into a lair, and had already been at the cargo – or what was left of it. Mouldering silks and water-damaged clothing were scattered about. A towering pyramid of empty ration-packs, now covered in black mould, were heaped in one corner. Elsewhere, a young scavvy, little more than a child, Kal thought, crafted something from what might have been the bones of the ship’s crew.

The other scavvies had a fire going, near one of the circulation fans set into the lower hull. As one scavvy turned the fan with a long, metal pole, the rest oversaw the cooking and butchery of one of their own. A human torso turned slowly over a fire. Scavvies crouched, flensing meat from dismembered arms and legs. A head was scalped, and plunked into a bubbling pot. There was an air of boredom about the process that only made the whole thing worse. The smell lingered in the upper reaches of the hold, and Kal’s stomach threatened to rebel. He’d been hungry, starving even, but never hungry enough to go that far.

Slightly sickened, he made his way back along the overhang, moving as quietly as he could. No sense alerting the scavvies to their visitors, until there was no other choice. He joined the others at the access hatch.

‘So? What’s down there?’ Yolanda whispered.

‘Scavvies,’ Kal murmured. ‘Dozens of them.’ He looked at Grisuh, who shrank back.

‘Another thing you forgot to mention,’ Yolanda growled. She caught the old man and shook him slightly.

‘I didn’t know they were here,’ Grisuh protested, in a hushed voice. ‘I swear on the Emperor’s Throne, I didn’t know…’

‘Doesn’t matter. They’re here. And that means we have to deal with them.’ Kal turned as a deep, thudding sound echoed up out of the hold.

‘What the scav was that?’ Scabbs hissed.

‘No clue. Let’s find out.’

‘What? You mean go back down there?’ Scabbs shook his head. ‘We should cut our losses. If there’s anything here, the scavvies probably already found it. And ate it. Or worse.’

‘We’re already here. Seems a shame to let a little thing like a few scavvies stop us now.’ Kal sank down and pressed his palm to the deck. It was trembling slightly. He glanced at Grisuh. The old man looked nervous – no, frightened. ‘Isn’t that right, Grisuh?’

‘What?’ Grisuh blinked owlishly at him.

‘I said, we’re here. We may as well do what we came for, right?’

Grisuh licked his lips. ‘Yeah, sure.’

‘Good. Come on. And be quiet. I’d like to get the drop on them, if it comes to a fight.’

Kal led the others back down the shaft and out along the darkened gantry. Down in the hold, something was happening. Scavvies were beating improvised drums, made from canvas and fuel containers. Others were dancing in a peculiar fashion, hopping on all fours or scuttling weirdly across the deck, while those watching stamped their feet and made eerie ululations. Kal gestured for the others to spread out. Most of the scavvies appeared armed, but only with hand weapons, and a few scattered pistols of dubious functionality.

‘What are they doing?’ Yolanda hissed.

‘Celebrating, maybe,’ Kal said.

‘Celebrating what?’

‘How should I know? Feel free to go ask them.’ Kal leaned gingerly against the gantry rail, trying to get a better view.

‘This isn’t right,’ Scabbs murmured.

‘You’re telling me,’ Kal said. The stink from the cooking fires was making his eyes water. It clogged the air with the stench of burnt meat.

‘No. I mean – look at this place. This isn’t the work of a few weeks. This is… months. Years. But that should be impossible, if this wreck were under water.’

‘The holds are airtight,’ Grisuh said. Kal and the others looked at him. Grisuh gestured in frustration. ‘Of course they’re airtight. How else would there be anything to find – to salvage on this heap? What would be the point?’

Kal looked at the others. Yolanda shrugged. ‘I wasn’t thinking about it, honestly.’

‘Me neither,’ Scabbs added.

Kal shook his head. ‘So they’re airtight. Scavvies must have got on board at some point and… just made themselves at home.’ It wasn’t a pleasant thought. How long had they been aboard? Long enough to start eating themselves, at least.

‘That’s what scavvies do,’ Yolanda said. She tapped the hilt of her chainsword. ‘The question now is, what are we going to do?’

‘Nothing, for the moment,’ Kal said. Below, the scavvies had gathered as the war-chief led a procession across the deck. Several of his bodyguards followed him, carrying a frame of metal and scrap. Stretched on the frame was something white and hideous. Kal felt a chill go through him as he realised what it was.

‘Is that…?’ Scabbs whispered.

‘A spider-husk. I think they’re worshipping it.’ Kal shook his head. ‘Worshipping them, rather,’ he added, a moment later. ‘Look.’ More scavvies followed in the procession, carrying smaller frames on their backs, each decorated with an arachnid husk.

The dancing became more frenetic as the procession approached. The drumming grew louder as well. At the centre of the hold, several of the larger scavvies had begun to pry at a deck plate with various tools. From the look of that part of the deck, it wasn’t the first time they had done so. ‘There it is,’ Grisuh said. He pointed frantically, and the gantry creaked slightly beneath his weight. Kal grabbed him and forced him to remain still.

‘Stop moving. Let’s not interrupt them, shall we?’

‘The entrance to the hidden hold,’ the old man hissed. ‘That’s it!’

‘Down there?’

‘Yes!’

Kal motioned for him to be quiet. ‘Okay.’ He scanned the gantry, until he found what he was looking for. ‘There… See that section of the walkway? The one that’s fallen away on one side? We can use that as a ramp to climb down.’

‘And what then?’ Yolanda asked.

Kal turned to Scabbs. ‘Do you still have one of those flash bombs we used that time in Black Vent?’

Scabbs frowned. ‘Maybe. Why?’

‘We need a distraction.’

‘Those flash bombs were expensive.’

‘Take it out of my share.’ Kal made an impatient gesture. ‘Give me one. Or two.’

‘I only have two.’

‘Then give them both to me.’

‘Don’t you have frag grenades?’

‘I want to blind them, not blow up the hold.’ He snapped his fingers urgently. ‘Hand them over. Now.’

Scabbs did so, grudgingly. He was right – grenades were expensive, and hard to come by down here, unless you had the right contacts – but there was no sense in having them and not using them, to Kal’s way of thinking.

‘Right. Follow me.’ Kal stuffed the grenades into his coat and started towards the fallen part of the gantry. The others followed, Scabbs and Yolanda trapping Grisuh between them. The climb down was slow. Water beaded on the metal, making it treacherous. Kal nearly slipped a few times, and once, Grisuh dislodged a piece of metal. They froze as it clattered down, but luckily the noise was hidden beneath the thud of the scavvy drums.

When Kal reached the floor, he crept through the stacks of rotting crates and mouldering tarps, palming one of the flash grenades. He gestured for the others to split up. He didn’t bother to watch – they knew their business as well as he did. If he hadn’t trusted them, he wouldn’t have worked with them. You had to trust your partners, otherwise what was the point?

When he reached the edge of the light cast by the fires, he sank into a crouch and peered around a fallen crate. The celebration, or ceremony, or whatever it was, was still going. And the secret hold had been successfully pried open. The war-chief had a bowl and was anointing several of the dishevelled mutants with some dark liquid. Kal wondered what it was for – scavvies were strange. They were broken in some fundamental way, and no right-thinking hiver could understand them. Even the ratskins thought scavvies were insane.

‘Well, I hate to interrupt, but needs must,’ he murmured. He thumbed the activation rune on the grenade and gently rolled it across the deck, into the centre of the gathering. Silently, Kal counted. At the last moment, he shaded his eyes. Even so, the flash, when it came, was nearly blinding. Screams erupted from the cannibals, and Kal gave them no time to recover. Blade in one hand, pistol in the other, he leapt into action. He raced across the deck, cutting down any mutant who got in his way. He heard the chatter of Scabbs’ autogun, and the roar of Yolanda’s chainsword to either side of him.

A scavvy lunged towards him, blindly swinging an axe made from a buzzsaw blade. Kal parried the wild blow, and shot the cannibal in the head. He saw the rest of the scavvies scattering, fleeing into the stacks of crates. A few bodies littered the deck. They had a clear run at the open hold.

The others joined him as he made his way towards the opening. Grisuh was looking around, eyes wide. He had a metal pipe in his hands. The end was encrusted with gore. Grisuh met his gaze and shrugged. ‘You threw away my gun.’

‘So I did. Didn’t realise there’d be scavvies,’ Kal said, pointedly. Grisuh smiled weakly and hunched away. Kal shook his head, and turned his attentions to the deck. The opening was larger than he’d thought. Tools lay scattered about, forgotten by the scavvies in their haste. He sheathed his blade, but kept his pistol to hand.

‘What’s that smell?’ Scabbs asked, sniffing the air.

Kal grimaced. ‘Standing water. Rust.’ There was something else as well. Something musky, and acrid. ‘We need some light.’

‘Hang on.’ Yolanda fumbled a handheld lumen off her belt and flicked it on. ‘There.’ She aimed the lumen down into the hidden hold. Kal saw pallid strands that stretched wet and glistening in the light. They filled the space and the dark, and he could smell them from where he crouched.

‘Scav,’ he said.

‘Are those… spider webs?’ Scabbs muttered.

‘Big ones,’ Kal said, thinking of all the similar webs they’d seen in their descent.

Yolanda lowered the light. Gleaming orbs, resembling immense, milky pearls, hung suspended among the visible strands. ‘What are those?’ she murmured.

‘Eggs,’ Kal said, slowly. ‘Spider eggs.’ He’d seen similar sights before, in the far dark places of the underhive. But never this close. His skin crawled as the pearls seemed to pulse and twitch as Yolanda’s light passed over them.

A drumbeat suddenly filled the hold. A second joined it, and then a third. Kal looked around warily, but saw no sign of the scavvies. Where had they gone? He thought of the husks on their frames, and an unconscious shiver ran through him. The scavvies had to have got them from somewhere. Yolanda frowned. ‘What was that?’

Kal turned back. ‘What was what?’

‘I thought I saw something down there. Something moving.’

Kal was about to reply, when he heard a clang of metal. He looked up. Shapes moved on the gantries above. A pistol barked, and Kal jerked back as the shot struck the edge of the hole. ‘Scav!’ More shots followed, striking the deck all around them. Kal and the others scattered, looking for cover. Out of the corner of his eye, Kal saw Grisuh running for the stacks of cargo. Kal cursed and took off after him.

‘Get back here, Grisuh,’ he shouted. As he ran, he glimpsed shapes moving across the gantries, heading for the deck – whoever the newcomers were, they seemed to have the same goal in mind as Kal and the others. He heard Scabbs’ autogun roar, and Yolanda’s autopistol chatter, in reply to the fire from above.

He caught up with Grisuh a moment later, and tackled the old man. They rolled across the deck, and Kal whipped his laspistol across Grisuh’s head, stunning him. He pinned Grisuh to the deck and pressed the barrel of his laspistol between the old man’s eyes. ‘Where do you think you’re going?’

‘I-I-I…’

‘That’s a good question,’ a new voice interjected. ‘Where do you think you’re going, Grisuh? And without your partners?’

Kal turned slowly, and looked up into the barrels of several guns. Scummers grinned at him. Kal sighed and holstered his weapon. Grisuh shoved him aside and climbed to his feet. ‘Fundt! Thank the Emperor you’re here. I–’

One of the scummers – Fundt – drove a fist into Grisuh’s belly, doubling him over. ‘Shut up, Grisuh. You flap your mouth so much, a man can’t hear himself think.’ The scummer was a short man, built barrel-thick with arms and shoulders that would have put a Goliath to shame. He looked at Kal and grinned. He was missing several teeth. Others were capped with gold. ‘I know you, don’t I?’

‘Do you?’

‘Yeah. You’re that bounty hunter. Hal Jerko.’

‘Kal Jerico,’ Kal corrected, tersely. He looked around. The drums had stopped. And there was no sign of the scavvies. Were they watching? Waiting to see what happened?

Fundt laughed, and the other scummers laughed with him. ‘Yeah, that’s the one. Get up. You too, Grisuh.’ He reached down and roughly hauled Grisuh to his feet. Kal was divested of his weapons and, along with Grisuh, prodded back the way they’d come. When they reached the hole in the deck, he saw Scabbs standing surrounded by scummers, his hands raised. All told, there were around twenty of them. Not good odds. No wonder the scavvies were keeping quiet. Yolanda? Kal mouthed silently. Scabbs shrugged.

Fundt went to the hole and looked down. He rubbed his chin and spat. ‘This it, then?’ he asked, glancing at Grisuh. Grisuh nodded hesitantly.

‘I… I think so, yeah.’

‘You think, or you know?’

Grisuh swallowed. ‘It should be down there.’

Fundt grunted. ‘Not good enough.’ He hit Grisuh again, knocking him down. Kal winced and leaned over to Scabbs.

‘Do they look familiar to you?’ he murmured.

‘Who?’

‘The scavvies,’ Kal deadpanned. ‘The idiots holding us at gunpoint, obviously.’

Scabbs squinted at the scummers. ‘No.’

‘Are you sure?’

‘No.’

Kal sighed. ‘Then what good are you?’

Scabbs scratched his chin. ‘I’m good with money.’

‘Quiet,’ Fundt snarled, glaring at them. ‘On your feet, Grisuh. Me and you need to have words.’ He snapped his fingers and one of the others jerked the old man to his feet. ‘What do you have to say for yourself?’

‘Fundt, listen, I can explain,’ Grisuh began. ‘I’m not–’

‘You’re an idiot is what you are, old man,’ Fundt said. He drew a stub pistol from a shoulder holster. ‘You sold us out to save your own hide.’ The scummer cocked his pistol. ‘You promised this score to me.’

‘Us,’ one of the other scummers murmured.

Fundt hesitated, but didn’t break eye contact. ‘Us,’ he corrected.

As Fundt continued to berate Grisuh, Kal glanced up, and spotted Yolanda peering over the top of a crate. There was blood on her face and arm, but she didn’t seem badly injured. He twitched two fingers, gesturing for her to circle around. She frowned and gestured. Kal gave a surreptitious shake of his head. She nodded. He motioned again, more firmly. Her frown deepened, but she slid back out of sight. He wasn’t certain, but he suspected that she’d rolled her eyes.

Scabbs was looking at him. ‘Are you trying to get us killed?’ he hissed.

‘If I were trying, we’d already be dead,’ Kal replied. He cleared his throat. ‘So that was you in Rickety Splits, then?’

Fundt looked at him, frowning at the interruption. ‘Yeah. What about it?’

‘Just wondering how you managed to get here, is all.’

Fundt grinned. ‘Put a tracker on that heap Grisuh calls a boat, obviously. Just in case he decided to double-cross me.’

‘Us,’ another scummer corrected.

Fundt turned. ‘I’m trying to make a point here. Do you mind?’

‘No, boss,’ the scummer said, contritely.

Fundt turned back. ‘Thank you. Where was I?’ He tapped his head. ‘Right. We followed you. Figured you’d lead us right to this find of yours. And you did. You even left all the hatches open, showing us which way you’d gone when you got aboard.’

Kal glared at Grisuh. ‘He’s all heart.’

‘I didn’t know he was following us,’ Grisuh said. Fundt shook his head.

‘That’s Grisuh for you.’

Grisuh turned. ‘We can still make a deal, can’t we? It ain’t got to end like this.’

‘Oh, it does. You double-crossed me, old man. Now I’m going to kill you.’

‘Darklight, come on,’ Grisuh pleaded. ‘I had no choice!’

Kal laughed suddenly. Fundt blinked and transferred his reptilian gaze to the bounty hunter. ‘What are you laughing about, Jerko?’

‘Jerico,’ Kal corrected. ‘And I just realised who you are. Delray Fundt. Darklight Delray himself.’

Fundt grinned nastily. ‘You heard of me, then?’

‘Biggest, baddest wrecker this side of Chem-Port? Yeah, every bounty hunter has. The Shipping Guild wants your head on a spike.’ Kal smiled. ‘They say no one has ever broken your record – thirty-seven sump-ferries scuttled in a single month. That’s pretty good for a man named Darklight.’

Fundt’s grin faded. ‘You saying there’s something wrong with my name?’

Kal peered at him. ‘You think there’s not?’

Fundt looked around. Several of the other scummers were snickering. Fundt flushed. He turned back to Kal. ‘I think I’m just going to shoot you, Jerko. How about that?’

‘I wouldn’t.’

‘No?’ Fundt was smiling again.

‘It’s a bad idea.’

‘Really? You don’t say.’ He looked around again, and the others were grinning and chuckling. ‘Well, I’ll take it under advisement.’ He lifted his weapon, and took aim.

‘Now,’ Kal shouted. He lunged forward, tackling Grisuh to the ground. There was no shot. Kal looked around. Everyone – Scabbs included – was staring at him. Kal sighed and slowly got to his feet. ‘Scav me,’ he muttered.

‘What was that?’ Scabbs asked.

Kal shrugged. ‘I thought she’d be in position by now.’

Even as he spoke, an autopistol roared. Scummers jittered in the rain of fire. The survivors scattered, looking for cover. Fundt spun wildly, trying to spot where the shots were coming from.

Kal leapt for him. They struggled back and forth across the rusty deck, grunting and cursing. Fundt clawed for Kal’s throat with his free hand. Kal slammed his head into Fundt’s own, causing them both to stagger apart. The deck creaked beneath their feet. Kal heard the sound of shouting, and screams. The drums had started up again. The hold seemed to echo with the beat of doom.

Kal saw a scavvy plunging a knife into a scummer’s back. The scummers were firing in all directions now, at the sudden swarm of enemies. The scavvies had obviously decided to take advantage of the distraction Yolanda had provided. He caught sight of Scabbs going for a dead scummer’s weapon, as a scavvy charged towards him. He was starting to wish he hadn’t left Wotan on the boat.

He turned, and saw Grisuh scrambling towards the hole in the deck. ‘Where do you think you’re going?’ he said, taking a step after the old man. But before he could go far, a shot creased the hem of his coat. He spun, and saw Fundt shoving towards him through the confusion. A scavvy lunged at Fundt, momentarily distracting the big man. As Fundt shot the mutant between the eyes, Kal went for him.

Both men cursed under their breaths, every vile oath and off-world vulgarity they knew, as they struggled for the weapon. The battle – such as it was – spun around them, and the drums beat on and on, the sound reverberating through the deck. Time seemed to slow, for Kal. Fundt was stronger, and more desperate, and the barrel of the pistol was twisting back towards Kal no matter how hard he fought.

And then, as if fate had suddenly remembered who it favoured, they went backwards into the hole. Fundt yelped and caught hold of the edge of the deck, dropping his weapon in the process. Kal caught Fundt’s leg a moment later, as he plummeted past, nearly dragging the scummer from the edge. They dangled there for a moment, panting, hearts racing. The thunder of the drums seemed impossibly loud, down here.

Fundt glared down at him. ‘Let go of me.’

‘No,’ Kal said, and meant it.

Fundt cursed and tried to kick him off, but Kal only tightened his grip. The bottoms of his boots brushed the webs that filled the hold. ‘Let go, let go, let go,’ Fundt howled.

Kal reached up and caught hold of the other man’s belt. Slowly, methodically, he began to climb up Fundt, towards the edge of the deck. As he reached Fundt’s shoulders, the scummer elbowed him in the gut. Kal reeled back, dragging Fundt with him. They tumbled down into the webs below.

The webs were stronger than they looked, and they caught at Kal’s clothes and hair and limbs as he floundered upright. After some effort, he managed to tear himself free. He saw Fundt struggling close by. The scummer was having a harder time of it, having fallen where the webs were thickest. ‘Help me, damn you,’ he snarled. He fumbled a knife from his belt and began to chop at the webs.

Kal laughed. ‘No chance.’ He began to look for a way out. If he could climb the strands, he might get close enough to the edge of the hole to pull himself up. Or at least to one of the gantries that ran above the hold. He spotted movement – Grisuh. There was a ladder descending from the network of gantries, leading into the hold, and the old man was clambering down it as quickly as he could.

‘Even if you get away, there’s nowhere to go,’ Fundt said as he hacked at the webs. ‘I sent men to guard that scow of Grisuh’s. You think they’ll let you back on without my say-so? You’re dead without me, Jerko. You hear me? You’re–’

Fundt’s threat was lost in the sudden sound of something large moving very swiftly. Both men turned and peered down through the webs. Kal felt the strands tremble, not from his movements, or Fundt’s thrashing, but something else. Something was climbing up. ‘What was that?’ Fundt demanded. ‘Jerko, what is it?’

Kal realised then, with a sickening clarity, what the drums meant. And why the scavvies had been anointing their fellows. Sacrifices – to feed what the mutants were calling up out of the dark of that hidden hold. The thing that had spun the webs, left the husks and laid the eggs.

The webs twitched. Something gleamed in the darkness. Several somethings. Eyes. Eyes the size of headlamps. Great, segmented legs rose like girders through the webs. Something hissed and a stinking, acidic wind gusted upwards. Fundt looked down and screamed.

‘The name’s Jerico,’ Kal called out, as the massive arachnid burst upwards, Fundt caught fast in its spiked pedipalps. The monstrosity surged towards the opening in the deck, moving more swiftly than a mag-train.

Kal was knocked headlong by the creature’s passage. He fell down through the web, catching himself where he could to slow his descent. He heard screams and gunfire from above, and spared a moment’s thought for his partners. He hoped they were smart enough to keep their heads down until the monster had eaten its fill.

He slid slowly down through the webs, until his boots could just touch the bottom. He landed with a jolt that he felt in his neck, and fell onto his hands and knees, panting slightly. The hold wasn’t as large as it had seemed at first glance. The webs filled it, even down low, and he wondered how long the creature had been here. Perhaps it had been meant for some spire menagerie and had got loose in the storm that sank the ship. Trapped down here, it had grown and hibernated, maybe until the scavvies had awoken it.

Cocoons hung low over him. The bodies of men and vermin, and even other spiders, webbed and drained to brittle husks by the giant over the long years. How many others had found Red’s Gamble when it surfaced, and fallen prey to the beast while seeking out the lost treasure-hold? The thought reminded him of Grisuh. He’d seen the old man coming down here. Kal cleared his throat and called out, ‘Grisuh?’

He moved carefully across the deck, through a labyrinth of indistinct cargo – all of it shrouded in webbing and stinking of damp and spider-musk. There was no telling what any of it was. What might have been broken pottery and spent pistol shells clattered underfoot. Fallen husks crunched softly as he trod on them.

Briefly, he considered searching through it, before discarding the idea as a bad one. He found a loose pipe, and used it to prod himself a path. The webbing glistened in the light from above, allowing him to see, if just barely. ‘I know you’re down here, Grisuh. Better down here than up there, hunh?’ Kal forced a laugh. ‘I knew you were sneaky, but, honestly, I have to compliment you on this.’

Still no reply. He heard the whisper of movement, but couldn’t pinpoint it. He knew Grisuh could hear him, even with the racket going on above. ‘See, I think you planned this pretty well for a three-time loser,’ Kal continued. ‘You needed men to scare off the scavvies, and keep that eight-legged freak busy. Or even kill it. Then you could salvage this heap safely. Only Cabas wouldn’t deal. Probably smart, on his part.’

Kal used his pipe to part a strand. ‘You got in trouble, and then you got caught.’ Glistening spider eggs wobbled overhead as he stepped beneath them. ‘So you improvised. Decided something was better than nothing. And if we got killed in the process, so much the better. That about cover it?’

The sword came down on Kal’s pipe, and sent it clattering away. Kal flung himself aside as another blow whistled past his head. Grisuh emerged from the webs, a snarl on his face. ‘That covers it, yeah,’ he said. He lunged, and Kal scrambled back. The blade slammed against a bulkhead, and the echoes sang through the hull. A second, wilder blow set more reverberations shivering through the hold.

‘Is that my sword?’ Kal demanded.

Grisuh grinned and lifted the weapon. ‘You’re not getting between me and this score. And I’m not sharing it with someone who was planning to turn me over to the Guilders afterwards.’

Kal considered protesting his innocence, but didn’t see the point. Grisuh had him dead to rights on that score. ‘Well, I am an officer of the law,’ he said.

‘You ain’t nothing but dead,’ Grisuh said. The sword lashed out, dangerous in such close quarters. Kal barely managed to duck in time as the blow pulped one of the pulsating egg sacs. A milky-white substance spattered his coat as he dived aside. Grisuh followed him, slashing wildly. The blade cut through webs and egg sacs alike, spilling their contents onto the deck. Kal saw small shapes squirming in the liquid – spiders. Hundreds of them.

From above came a monstrous scream. The webs quavered, as if in sympathy. Kal heard the scuttle-soft padding of many hairy feet. Shapes the size of canids slunk among the stacks and webs. Grisuh hadn’t noticed them yet, or if he had, he didn’t care. Kal backed away, looking around for any sign of a ladder.

‘How are you planning to get out of here, Grisuh? Still scavvies left. Spiders. Fundt’s men. Me. Lot of obstacles there.’

‘They’ll all kill each other, or as good as. And as for you – ha!’ Grisuh lunged, and Kal just barely twisted aside in time. The blade tore through his coat. Grisuh was faster than he looked. Kal ducked beneath a bobbing array of egg sacs and tried to put some distance between them. Heavy, arachnid shapes scuttled along the webs, ghosting after the two men. Another scream echoed down from above, followed by the rattle of gunfire. Kal wondered who was winning.

‘You can’t salvage this ship by yourself,’ he said.

‘I don’t need to salvage the ship. Just what’s in these crates. A fortune in archeotech, meant for some spire noble’s collection. But it’s mine now. It’ll buy me a new boat, a crew – I might even come back out here, and see about the rest…’

He slashed at Kal again, driving him back. Grisuh pursued him, more confident now. ‘Not so tough now, are you, Jerico? Not so brave without your weapons, or your friends.’

‘There’s brave, and then there’s stupid,’ Kal said, avoiding another wild sweep. ‘Which are you?’ He spotted the ladder then. Not far away. If he could reach it…

As if reading his thoughts, Grisuh cut him off. ‘Oh no, you’re not getting out of here. Can’t let anyone know about this. This is my salvage – mine!’ The sword looped out, and Kal ducked under it. The blade chopped into a crate, and stuck. Grisuh cursed and jerked at it, trying to pull it loose. Kal scrambled out of the way as the stack tottered and fell atop Grisuh with a loud crash. The mouldering crates burst open, spilling their contents across the deck.

Kal stopped a rolling object with his foot. A piece of broken machinery – rusted into an unidentifiable lump. One of thousands that now lay scattered about. As he bent to pick it up, he saw the hilt of his sword protruding from the wreckage of the crates.

Grisuh floundered from beneath the broken containers, bloody and battered. He lunged desperately for the sword, but Kal was quicker. He caught it up and pressed the tip to Grisuh’s throat. Grisuh sank back with a groan. ‘My leg – it’s busted,’ he moaned.

‘That’s your own fault,’ Kal said. He lifted the mechanism. ‘Is this what you were after?’

‘That’s– Give it to me!’ Grisuh reached for the metal. ‘The treasure is mine.’

‘Some treasure,’ Kal said. ‘It’s worthless.’ He tossed it over his shoulder. Grisuh gawped at him.

‘What?’

‘It’s nothing but rust and scrap. All of it. See for yourself.’

Grisuh scrabbled at the piles of junk, pulling up handfuls and tossing it aside. ‘No. No, no, no. It can’t be. The archeotech – the treasure…’

Kal turned as something clattered, deep within the webs. Eight-legged shapes shuffled across the deck, creeping closer. The webs were trembling. He heard a wet gushing sound, and saw a nearby egg sac spill its contents onto the ground. Another followed. And another. Hundreds, thousands of tiny shapes scuttled hungrily along the wet strands of the web.

Grisuh saw them now. He clawed at Kal’s coat. ‘Jerico – you got to get me out of here. Take me to the Guilders. I’ll go quietly, I swear!’

Kal looked up. The shooting had stopped. Whatever was going on in the hold above was over. It was time to go. He bent to grab Grisuh, to haul him to his feet. Something hissed and leapt. Kal thrust his sword out, pinning a spider the size of his head to the hull. More hisses came. They sounded hungry. Or angry. Or both. And the little ones were speeding across the floor in a living carpet of tiny, hairy bodies.

Too many of them, all around him. He’d never make it to the ladder, not carrying Grisuh. Kal wrenched his sword loose from the twitching arachnid and stepped back. He looked down at Grisuh. ‘You tried to kill me twice, Grisuh. I’m not a big believer in third chances. Enjoy your treasure. You earned it.’

‘Wait! Jerico – wait!’ Grisuh called out, crawling after him. But Kal was already clambering up the ladder as quickly as possible. As he climbed, he saw the webs shaking as the largest eggs cracked and spewed more of that white, milky substance.

Grisuh stared to scream. Kal didn’t look back.

By the time he got to the top, the screaming had stopped. The spider’s exit had torn most of the webbing, but enough of it was intact to allow him to climb up and out of the hole. The air was thick with the mingled odour of spider-ichor, blood and cordite. Bodies lay everywhere, scummer and scavvy alike.

The giant spider was dead, as well. It lay on its back in the centre of the hold, massive legs curled over its body, as if in prayer. Yolanda sat on a crate, her ichor-drenched chainsword planted in the deck at her feet. She grinned when she saw him. ‘Where were you, then?’

‘Trying to find Grisuh.’

‘And?’ That from Scabbs, who limped towards them, carrying too many weapons, and a sack of something that dripped suspiciously.

Kal glanced at the hole, and then sheathed his sword. ‘I found him.’

Yolanda rose to her feet. ‘What about the treasure?’

Before Kal could reply, the drums started again. The scavvies probably weren’t going to take the death of their god well. Not to mention the spiders, which were going to be very hungry. He doubted Grisuh would make much of a meal. He looked at Yolanda. ‘Feel free to stick around and find out for yourself. I’m tired of the smell of spider.’

The flight through the ship was quick and ugly. Scavvies lurked around every corner, and let the invaders know just how they felt about the intrusion. But after a significant expenditure of ammunition and effort, they found themselves breathing the noisome air of the sump again. Kal spotted what had to be Fundt’s boat, anchored nearby, but didn’t pause to take in the view. If there was anyone aboard, they had other concerns. The scavvies were all over it, either looting it, or stealing it. Kal couldn’t tell which, and didn’t much care, so long as it kept them occupied.

Despite Fundt’s assertions, the boat was where they’d left it, as was Wotan. The cyber-mastiff sat blithely atop the mangled body of a scavvy. Several more bodies – or what was left of them – floated in the water nearby. Sheen birds were already at them, pecking and cawing. Kal patted Wotan affectionately, as he boarded. ‘Good dog.’

‘Well, at least someone had fun,’ Yolanda growled, probing her wounded arm. ‘Do either of you know how to operate this heap?’

‘I watched Grisuh,’ Scabbs said. ‘Just in case.’

Kal clapped him on the back. His hand came away wet, and he wiped it on Scabbs’ shirt. He looked back at Red’s Gamble. ‘Shame about Grisuh.’

‘Scav Grisuh,’ Yolanda said, grumpily. ‘This was all a big waste of time. We didn’t find any treasure, and we don’t even have a bounty to make this trip worthwhile.’

‘Yes, we do,’ Scabbs called out, as he loosed the anchor chain and freed the boat. He pointed to the sack he’d brought aboard. Kal opened it, and pulled out a bloody head.

‘Is that–?’ Kal began, as he stared at the familiar, if mangled, features.

‘Darklight Delray himself,’ Scabbs said, as the engine sputtered to life. ‘The spider squashed most of him, but his head was still intact. I figure the Shipping Guild will pay us three times what Grisuh was worth.’

Kal laughed and tossed the head to Yolanda.

‘How’s that for treasure?’

About the Author

Josh Reynolds’ extensive Black Library back catalogue includes the Horus Heresy Primarchs novel Fulgrim: The Palatine Phoenix, and three Horus Heresy audio dramas featuring the Blackshields. His Warhammer 40,000 work includes the Space Marine Conquests novel Apocalypse, Lukas the Trickster and the Fabius Bile novels. He has written many stories set in the Age of Sigmar, including the novels Shadespire: The Mirrored City, Soul Wars, Eight Lamentations: Spear of Shadows, the Hallowed Knights novels Plague Garden and Black Pyramid, and Nagash: The Undying King. He has written the Warhammer Horror novel Dark Harvest, and novella The Beast in the Trenches, featured in the portmanteau novel The Wicked and the Damned. He has recently penned the Necromunda novel Kal Jerico: Sinner's Bounty. He lives and works in Sheffield.

An extract from Kal Jerico: Sinner’s Bounty.

‘It’s coming,’ Dozerman said.

Fenks stirred. He blinked and stretched, swinging his legs down from the chunk of broken ferrocrete, making sure to cradle his lasrifle close to his chest. The weapon was the most valuable thing he owned, and worth more than his life. Or Dozerman’s life, anyway.

‘You certain this time?’ he asked, inhaling a lungful of stale air. His yawn turned into a cough. The air had been recycled a million times, but still tasted as foul as the day it had gusted up from some forgotten vent. He looked up. Dozerman was perched halfway up the pipes, his autogun braced across his thighs. Like most scummers, Dozerman was skinny from too many missed meals, and yellow from too much rotgut.

Fenks knew he didn’t look much better, but at least the old defence force uniform he wore under his armour was clean. Dozerman wore his clothes until they rotted off.

‘Because you said the same thing over an hour ago.’

‘I’m sure. Listen.’

Fenks did. A low grinding sound permeated the ancient transit tunnel. It sounded close, but a lifetime in the cramped confines of the underhive had taught him better than to believe his ears. He dropped to his haunches and pressed a calloused palm to the cracked surface of the ground.

Dozerman looked down at him. ‘What are you doing?’

‘Feeling the vibrations. Old ratskin trick.’

‘You’re not a ratskin.’

‘Don’t have to be a ratskin to pick up some tricks,’ Fenks said, defensively. ‘Now be quiet. I’m listening.’

‘To the vibrations.’

‘Right.’

Dozerman snorted. Fenks ignored him with an ease born of experience. He’d partnered with Dozerman often enough to know how to tune him out. It took focus to be a good gunman, which Fenks liked to think he was. You had to be able to ignore anything that didn’t help you hit your mark. Granted, that was easier said than done, most days.

‘Anything yet?’ Dozerman called down.

‘I thought I told you to be quiet.’

‘I’m bored.’

‘Then maybe you should have stayed in Rickety Splits with the rest of the trash, and left this to the actual gunners,’ Fenks snapped, not looking at him. Rickety Splits was the closest settlement – a day out, as the sheen bird flew, and ten pipes west of Girdercity. It wasn’t much of anything. A candle in the dark, as a Cawdor of his acquaintance liked to say. A candle that was half-melted, with a bent wick and a funny smell coming from it.

It was the sort of place that attracted scummers like Dozerman, and Fenks, though he didn’t like to admit it. Out of reach of the enforcers, ignored by the guilders – save when they needed warm bodies. Like now.

Fenks frowned. He didn’t mind working for the guilders, normally. Caravan jobs or archeotech digs were easy money. But this was different. He could feel it in his marrow.

What he couldn’t feel was so much as a twitch beneath his hand. No vibrations, no twitch of loose stone. But that didn’t mean anything. The transit tunnels were reinforced for industrial and military haulage. When Hive Primus finally collapsed under its own weight, the tunnels would still be there. And whatever was living in them.

The thought made him glance around nervously. The tunnel was a long, lightless stretch of industrial decline. It had been built generations before Fenks’ ancestors had even drawn breath, and had been forgotten for longer than he could remember. There were thousands just like it, stretching through the dark at world’s bottom.

This one had seen better centuries, in Fenks’ opinion. The pipes that followed the curve of the roof and walls had mostly rusted through, disgorging their contents on the stone below. Old spillages had eaten craters in the ground, and become makeshift lagoons of greenish water and softly twitching fungal grasses. Support pillars slumped like fallen trees, and broken statues occupied the spaces between.

The weight of the levels above, forever pressing down, had driven great cracks through the walls, rupturing the ferrocrete and causing the ground to buckle in places. Where once there had been weighing stations and vox-points, there were now caves. And in those caves–

‘Fenks?’

Fenks jumped. He glared up at Dozerman. ‘What?’

‘Hasp wants to know what you’re doing.’

‘Then she can ask me herself,’ Fenks snarled. He pushed himself to his feet, annoyed at how easily he’d been startled. It was being out here that did it. A man wasn’t meant for the wilds. The bad zones between settlements were hungry places, where folk vanished all the time, and the tunnels especially so. Even the ratskins avoided them.

He looked around. ‘Where is she, anyway?’

‘Right here.’

Fenks jumped again and spun, a curse on his lips. Hasp tapped her own.

‘Quiet, scummer. Sound carries out here.’ She was short and stout and he thought she had some ratskin in her. Something about the eyes. Too close together and too dark. Like him, she was wearing cast-off military gear, and carrying a refurbished lasrifle scavenged from some downhive bazaar. ‘Bogdan wants to know what you’re doing,’ she added.

Fenks grimaced. Bogdan was nominally in charge, and had deep pockets. That wasn’t surprising, given that he worked for the guilders. He’d splashed his cash around Rickety Splits and hired two dozen of the most desperate gunners this side of Steelgate. Fenks knew some of them. Besides Dozerman and Hasp, there was Andrey Winks and the Two-Credit Kid. Dupes Finn and the Kettle Brothers. Even Long Sally Shakes. As motley a crew as ever was hired, all scattered across the tunnel. A part of him doubted it would be enough.

‘What’s he doing?’ a deep, bull-voice bellowed. Bogdan. He was somewhere back amid the rubble field.

‘He hasn’t said,’ Hasp shouted back. She looked at Fenks. ‘Well?’

‘He’s feeling the vibrations,’ Dozerman called down.

Hasp looked up at him. ‘What?’

‘Ratskin trick!’ Dozerman shouted.

She stared up at him a moment longer, and then looked at Fenks. ‘What?’

‘I’m trying to see if he’s getting close.’

‘By fondling the ground?’

Fenks’ reply was interrupted by the sound of someone heavy clambering through the rubble. Bogdan stepped past a fallen statue, his shotgun braced across his broad shoulders. Bogdan still wore Orlock colours, though he hadn’t fought for his Clan House in close to a decade. Bogdan’s only loyalty was to the almighty credit.

‘What is he doing?’

‘Ratskin magic,’ Hasp said.

Bogdan blinked. ‘You’re a ratskin?’

‘No!’

‘Then why are you doing magic?’

Fenks groaned. ‘I was checking for vibrations.’

‘Why?’

‘To see if they were close.’

Bogdan squinted at him. ‘We can hear them. I sent the Two-Credit Kid and Bluff Canter up to the northern shaft to give us early warning.’

‘Canter is half-blind and the Kid can’t find his arse with both hands.’

Bogdan laughed. ‘Maybe I should have had them talk to the hive spirits, hunh?’

Fenks bit back a retort. It would be a waste of breath. Bogdan shook his head and continued.

‘I’m not paying you to pat the ground, Fenks. I’m paying you to waylay and kill a man. Think you can focus, maybe?’

‘I heard he wasn’t a man at all,’ Dozerman called down.

Bogdan looked up. ‘Who?’

‘Desolation Zoon.’

The name hit the air like a gunshot. Everyone fell silent, just for a moment. Desolation Zoon had that effect on people.

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A Black Library Publication

First published in Underhive in Great Britain in 2019 by Black Library.
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