A Ghosts story to begin with. To me the Gaunt’s Ghosts novels have always been as much about character narrative as they have about war. I don’t think the series would have lasted fourteen (and counting) books if it hadn’t been so strongly character-driven. People always complain when I kill characters off: surely, that’s because those characters count for something? So, despite the fact that the Sabbat Worlds Crusade is a nightmarish sprawl of warfare, I’ve decided to start with something much quieter. Of all the interpersonal dynamics in the regiment, there is one particular nexus of characters that is especially poignant and complex, and a story examining it is long overdue. Pay attention. This may be a quieter story, but it’s important. It’s set six days after the end of Salvation’s Reach. Dan Abnett Family Dan Abnett The Highness Ser Armaduke, six days out from Salvation’s Reach, 782.M41 (the 27th year of the Sabbat Worlds Crusade) I Earlier that day, in the old ship’s canteen, they’d had a conversation. Gol Kolea and Dalin Criid, father and son. A father and a son who had been estranged and then brought back together by the fluid circumstances of war, and who seldom liked to acknowledge their blood connection. The hellweather fight for Salvation’s Reach was just six days behind everyone, fresh in the regimental thoughts, fresh as the healing wounds and the grieving memories. The Ghosts were bedded down again, locked into shipboard trudge routines, enduring the span of another long-haul passage to wherever their next home would be. Nowhere pleasant, that was Gol’s guess. No one had told them, not Gaunt, not Hark, not Fazekiel. There had been talk of a resupply stop at some depot, because munitions were fething low, but no one had announced their final destination. Nowhere pleasant; it never was. That was Guard life. One storm to the next, with weeks of tedium in between. Hurry up and wait. Wait, then hurry up. Gol had filled the containers in his mess tray with slab and bean slop from the dispensary, and then looked for a seat. He caught Dalin’s eye, saw the boy gesture. There was a space next to him. Next to his son. The one he had thought dead for so very long. The fight they had waged at the Reach had been bitter and costly, but it had been nothing compared to Vervunhive. Bedded down with the scratch companies, facing the Zoican hordes every hour of every day, knowing your family were dead– Until it turned out some of them weren’t. Gol sat. He was a big man. Even though there was a spare seat, Baskevyl and Luffrey had to scrunch up to accommodate him. ‘How’s the food?’ Gol asked Dalin. ‘Wet, sir,’ Dalin smiled. ‘Don’t “sir” me, Dal,’ said Gol, twiddling his fork and looking for a promising target on the tray in front of him. ‘You’re a major, major,’ said Dalin. Gol shrugged. ‘All right. I thought you were doing that “son to father” thing.’ Dalin forked up some beans. ‘We’ve never really done that,’ he said. ‘Had a chance to, I mean. I’m not being funny. Not blaming. I mean, we just… our relationship is–’ ‘I get it.’ ‘All right. Good.’ ‘How are you, Dal?’ asked Kolea. ‘Pretty good, all things considered. The Reach. That was a feth-storm.’ ‘It was a victory.’ ‘I know,’ said Dalin. ‘But the people we lost… Merrt. And the Doc. And–’ Kolea put his fork down. ‘Something wrong?’ asked Dalin. ‘This food is terrible,’ said Gol. ‘I’m sort of getting used to it,’ said Dalin, chewing. ‘I mean, it is shit, but we’ve been on this hulk so long, it almost feels like home.’ ‘Won’t be home for long,’ said Kolea. ‘No, I suppose… No.’ ‘It feel like home to you, Dal?’ ‘I don’t know what home’s supposed to feel like, so I suppose it does, sir.’ Gol looked at him. ‘Gol,’ said Kolea. ‘You can call me Gol when we’re not in the line or on parade.’ ‘Yeah?’ asked Dalin. ‘Yeah,’ said Gol. ‘My pa made me call him Gyn. Said he wanted me to know his name, not his function. Or something.’ ‘Your pa was called Gyn?’ asked Dalin. Gol Kolea sighed. ‘You didn’t know your grandpa’s name? So much you don’t know.’ ‘You should tell me some time,’ Dalin said. He paused. ‘You should tell me some time, Gol,’ he corrected. Gol nodded. He resumed eating. He stopped again after a few moments. ‘This stuff really is shit,’ he said. Dalin moved beans around his tray. ‘Tona–’ ‘What?’ asked Gol. ‘Tona, she’s cooking tonight,’ said Dalin. ‘She can proper cook, too. Family meal. Why don’t you come along?’ ‘Ah, I don’t think–’ Gol shrugged. ‘Why don’t you?’ asked Dalin. ‘Tona and I, we have an understanding,’ said Gol. ‘I stay out of it. She’s your family now, and she won that right.’ ‘Caff was my family, too, and he’s gone,’ said Dalin. ‘We’re all family, aren’t we? Us Ghosts? All of us. Hey-hey! Major Kolea’s coming for supper. Where’s the harm in that? I’ll have a word with mum–’ ‘Mum? You call her mum?’ ‘Yeah? Why?’ asked Dalin. ‘No reason you wouldn’t,’ said Gol. ‘Sorry.’ ‘I’ll have a word with Tona,’ said Dalin. ‘She’ll be fine about it. Decent food, all right? A nice conversation. Yoncy will love to see her Uncle Gol.’ ‘I’m not going to step back into something I was better off staying out of,’ said Gol. Dalin looked down at his food, disappointed. ‘You won’t be,’ he said. ‘You’d be very welcome.’ ‘Well, I’ll come then,’ said Gol. Dalin looked up, smiling. ‘Mum serves up at fifth bell, sharp,’ he said. ‘Check with her, for gak’s sake,’ Kolea said, ‘and let me know if I’m not welcome. I’ll understand.’ Dalin nodded. ‘You will be,’ he said. Gol sighed. ‘Dal?’ ‘Yes, sir?’ ‘Does Yoncy know?’ ‘She was too young. I didn’t even know my grandpa’s name till just then. You’re her Uncle Gol.’ Dalin got up. ‘Gonna police my tray,’ he said. ‘I’ll see you at fifth.’ ‘Unless you tell me otherwise. And for feth’s sake tell me otherwise.’ Dalin nodded and walked away. ‘Couldn’t help overhearing that,’ said Baskevyl. ‘Really?’ asked Gol. ‘Well, you’re practically sitting in my lap,’ Bask smiled. Gol smiled back and shook his head. ‘Go have supper with your son, Kolea,’ said Baskevyl. ‘He’d like that. If you want my advice.’ ‘I really don’t,’ replied Gol Kolea. II Fifth bell. There was a distant thrum of the old ship’s engines, labouring, propelling them through the empyrean. The hab bays smelled of stale, recycled air and disinfectant. They smelled like armpit. Kolea hesitated, then knocked on the compartment door. Tona Criid opened the hatch and looked out at him. Kolea suddenly smelled the cooking. It made his mouth water. ‘Hello, Gol,’ she said. ‘Dal said you were coming.’ ‘If it’s not an imposition.’ ‘Are you a fething idiot? Come in.’ The cabin was warm and steamy. Criid was wearing combat-issue trousers and a white tee-shirt. ‘Larks and Varl, they both come here all the time,’ she said. ‘Rerval too. And Shoggy. It’s ridiculous that you don’t. And regularly, too. You should see them, Gol. You should be in their lives, at least a little.’ ‘Food smells good,’ Gol said. ‘I’ve got actual ground meat, and actual legumes. Plus actual spices. Scared them all up from the Navy mess. To be fair, Gaunt put a word in. The Navy eats better than we do.’ ‘Gaunt put a word in?’ asked Gol. ‘He takes an interest in morale.’ ‘I’ve got this,’ said Gol, producing a bottle of amasec. ‘Oh, good boy,’ Tona smiled. ‘Stole it from the Navy wardroom.’ ‘Even better.’ She was a handsome woman, tall and lean, with short hair. She had been a ganger on Verghast, and had somehow managed to save and look after Gol’s kids during the siege. The siege had killed Gol’s wife, Livy, and occupied Gol’s entire attention. He had believed he had lost his whole family in the murder-war until, by odd chance, he had discovered that his children had not just been rescued, they had actually been adopted as part of the Ghost entourage. A child ran into the room, zooming a doll. She was small, pretty, oddly intent, her hair in pigtails. Yoncy. ‘Hello, Yoncy,’ said Gol. ‘Hello to you, Uncle Gol. Are you coming for supper?’ ‘I am.’ She laughed, and screamed out of the room again. ‘She… she seems very small for her age,’ Gol said. ‘I feed her well enough,’ said Criid, stirring something in a pot. ‘I wasn’t saying you didn’t,’ said Gol. ‘All right.’ ‘Dalin is a grown man now,’ Gol said. ‘Yoncy’s only a few years behind him, but he seems like a child.’ ‘“He”?’ ‘What?’ said Gol. ‘You said “he”,’ said Tona, confused. Gol paused. ‘Did I?’ he asked. ‘Yes.’ ‘Then I misspoke,’ said Gol. ‘She seems like a child still.’ ‘That happens with girls,’ Criid replied. ‘They seem young… then a sudden growth spurt. Six months from now, you mark my words, she’s going to be a nightmare. The young troopers will be dying at her feet. I’ll be fending them off with a crew-served weapon. Every mother’s nightmare.’ ‘Tona?’ ‘Yeah?’ she replied. ‘I think we’ve all seen enough nightmares in our years together to know what a real one looks like,’ said Gol. She nodded, shrugging. ‘That’s the fething truth,’ she replied. ‘That said,’ Gol smiled, ‘I’ll be right beside you with an axe-rake.’ She laughed. ‘Tona?’ ‘What?’ she asked. ‘I’ll never be able to properly thank you for what you’ve done,’ he said. ‘Saving my children. Looking after them.’ ‘Don’t, Gol.’ Tona put the wooden spoon down and looked away. ‘I mean it.’ ‘Gol–’ ‘That’s why I stay apart,’ Gol said. ‘I was no father to them. Ever. I worked long hours, then the war came… You did all this, Tona. You built this, despite the circumstances. You know I need to stay away so as not to spoil everything you’ve done.’ ‘Eat with us, once in a while,’ said Tona. ‘Be present. It doesn’t have to be like this for you. And they will benefit. After all, Dalin knows who you are.’ ‘Dal’s a grown man,’ said Gol. ‘Yoncy will be grown, too, very soon,’ she replied. ‘I just wanted you to know that I appreciate everything. More than I can say.’ He hugged her. It was involuntary. ‘Uncle Gol? Are you mum’s boyfriend?’ asked Yoncy from behind them. The embrace broke quickly. ‘I’m not,’ he said. ‘Of course he’s not,’ laughed Tona, turning back to the stove. III They were a third of the way down the amasec. Gol had just taken second helpings of the stew. ‘Swear to feth,’ he said. ‘This is the best food I’ve eaten in years.’ ‘Told you,’ said Dalin. ‘It’s ’ummy,’ said Yoncy. ‘So I hear Gaunt has put you on companion duty with Meritous,’ Gol said to Dalin. Dalin nodded. ‘That’s a career advancement,’ said Tona. ‘Just doing my job,’ Dalin smiled. ‘Watching over Gaunt’s son?’ asked Gol. ‘There’s an advantage there. You should exploit it.’ ‘Just doing my job,’ repeated Dalin. ‘You like him, though?’ asked Tona. ‘He’s all right.’ ‘Opportunities don’t come often,’ Gol said, forking up another mouthful. ‘Use every chance you get. Be visible. Be conspicuous. Be vital. Felyx Meritous Chass is going to be a big noise in the Guard one day. Bloodline. Father and son. Use that to your advantage. Rising officers remember those who help them on the way up.’ ‘Father and son, bloodline,’ Dalin nodded. ‘All right then.’ Gol put his fork down. ‘Sorry, Dal,’ he said. ‘I… That was feth-dumb of me. I see the irony.’ ‘No, it was good advice,’ Dalin smiled back, ‘for everyone to take.’ Gol returned the smile. ‘I stand corrected,’ he said. ‘Here, here,’ said Tona quietly. She picked up her glass. ‘To bloodlines,’ she toasted. ‘To the fething bloody Guard and the family it makes for us.’ Dalin, Tona and Gol clinked glasses. ‘Bloodlines,’ said Dalin. ‘Family,’ said Tona. ‘May the Guard guard them all,’ said Gol. They knocked the drink back. Yoncy watched them, then picked up her water glass, mimicked Tona’s toasting gesture, and guzzled a mouthful. ‘May the Guard guard them all,’ she declared, sing-song. Tona smiled. Gol poured more amasec. ‘Yon?’ Dalin said, looking over at her. ‘Where’s the medal I gave you? The badge of the Sabbat Beati? You always wear it.’ ‘It got lost,’ Yoncy said. ‘When the nasty man attacked me. It got torn off. I never found it.’ ‘Oh,’ said Dalin. ‘I’ll get you a new one.’ ‘I don’t want a new one.’ ‘No?’ ‘It used to hurt me,’ said Yoncy, eating. Dalin frowned at Tona. Tona touched her fingertips to the hollow of her throat. ‘Yoncy sometimes got a rash,’ she said, ‘from the metal. Contact eczema, Dorden called it–’ She went quiet. Gol and Dalin looked down at their plates. The casual mention of the old medicae’s name had reminded them of a loss none of them were yet used to. Yoncy kept eating, oblivious. ‘Contact eczema,’ Dalin said, anxious to break the silence. ‘Well, we can’t have that. I’ll find you something else, Yon. Something else to watch over you and keep you safe.’ Yoncy paused and studied her food. ‘I have everyone to watch over me and keep me safe,’ she said, earnestly. ‘I realised that when I lost the medal. It’s like I woke up and remembered who I was.’ ‘What, honey?’ asked Tona, frowning. ‘Like in the morning?’ said Yoncy. ‘When you wake up and remember who you are and where you are? Like that.’ ‘What does that mean?’ asked Gol. ‘I’m a ghost, aren’t I?’ the girl asked, looking at him. ‘We’re all ghosts, aren’t we?’ Gol nodded. ‘Can I have seconds, mum?’ Yoncy asked. Her darting mind didn’t seem to stay on a subject for very long. ‘Can I, mum? I like the stew.’ ‘Haven’t you had enough?’ smiled Tona. ‘I’m not full,’ Yoncy said. ‘I’m growing!’ Tona grinned at Gol and went off to fetch the pot from the stove. Yoncy had gravy around her mouth. She tapped her spoon, then looked back at Gol. ‘Uncle Gol?’ she said. ‘Yes, Yoncy?’ ‘Are you my dad?’ Gol looked at Dalin, who, with some effort, didn’t react. Tona turned from the stove with a fierce stare. ‘Why would you ask me that, Yoncy?’ Gol asked. He had a tight feeling in his chest. ‘Because people say you are,’ said Yoncy. ‘What people?’ asked Tona, coming forward and dishing out a ladle of food onto Yoncy’s plate. ‘The ghosts,’ said Yoncy. ‘The ghosts I hear around me. They say it all the time. Are you? Are you, Gol?’ Gol Kolea took a breath. ‘No, Yoncy,’ he said. ‘I’m not.’ She suddenly slithered off her seat and ran out of the room. ‘I forgot!’ she cried. ‘Yoncy! You wanted seconds!’ Tona called after her. ‘I will eat them all up! Just wait!’ Yoncy called back. She returned to the table with a crumpled sheet of paper and handed it to Gol. ‘I made this,’ she said. ‘I made this picture for you.’ Gol took the paper and looked at it. Yoncy resumed eating, with great resolve. The picture had been done in coloured chalk. There were spiky things, several figures, and two sickle shapes in what Gol presumed was the sky. There was something else too, a triangle and a furious, heartfelt black squiggle inside it. The squiggle had been ground into the paper, and it was clear that the chalk stick had broken several times during the rendering. There was something filthy and malicious about it, as if the child had been trying to punish the paper. ‘Are these trees?’ Gol asked, pointing. ‘Muhm,’ agreed Yoncy, eating, mouth full. ‘Who’s this?’ asked Gol, pointing to the figures. ‘That’s you, silly. You and Uncle Rerval and Uncle Bask and Uncle Luffrey.’ ‘What about this?’ Gol asked, indicating the sickle shapes. Yoncy shrugged, too busy eating. ‘And this?’ Gol asked, pointing to the squiggle. Yoncy pushed her plate away. It was empty. ‘I didn’t mean to draw that. I tried to scribble it out. I didn’t want it in the picture.’ ‘What was it, Yon?’ asked Tona. ‘I was going to draw more trees, but I picked up black instead of green by accident, and it made a bad shadow shape, and I didn’t like it so I scribbled it out.’ Yoncy shrugged. ‘Did I spoil the picture, Uncle Gol?’ she asked. ‘No,’ said Gol. ‘It’s a great picture.’ Dalin reached over and pointed to the squiggle. ‘How can a shadow be bad?’ Dalin asked. ‘It’s just a drawing,’ Yoncy replied, as if that were obvious. ‘Yes, but bad how?’ Dalin asked again. She wiggled her hands and picked up her dolly. ‘A bit like a monster,’ she replied. She leaned over on her seat and pointed at the drawing in Gol’s hands. ‘See? Look? You’re killing it. Those jaggy lines? Per-chew chew chew chew chew! You’re shooting it with your gun. Per-chew chew! I used yellow chalk.’ ‘Is it dead now?’ Gol asked. ‘Silly Gol! It wasn’t ever alive. It’s just a drawing. I thought you’d like it. I drew it for you.’ ‘I… I love it,’ he said. IV Tona put Yoncy to bed. She and Gol and Dalin sat up for a while afterwards, drinking the amasec. ‘She’s very creative,’ said Gol. ‘Always has been. Always drawing,’ said Dalin. ‘I ought to go,’ Gol said, rising. ‘There’s still amasec,’ said Tona. ‘I ought to go.’ ‘You ought to come back again soon, too,’ said Tona. ‘The food was great,’ said Gol. ‘Hey,’ Tona said. She held out the drawing. ‘Don’t forget this. She’ll be cross if she finds out you left it behind. She drew it for you.’ Gol took the drawing. He folded it up and put it in the inside pocket of his jacket. It stayed there until the day he died. ‘Goodnight,’ he said. ‘Goodnight,’ said Tona. ‘Goodnight, Gol,’ Dalin smiled. Gol closed the door behind him. He was about ten steps down the companionway when the tears came. They weren’t necessarily bad tears.