The rail-cruiser is a little slower, but the road the gun-jeep takes is a little more roundabout, so after about an hour's travel, the rail-cruiser is finally slowing so it can serve as the headquarters for the operation. Meanwhile the gun-jeep trundles on along the ramshackle road with the monolith-like stone mile-markers pointing them in the direction of Morgansburg. It takes another hour and a half before the gun-jeep, following both the rail line and the mile-markers, turns to drive over the tracks and heads up the slightly steep road to the sprawling village of Morgansburg. As expected, the village is surrounded by a wall of wooden logs, and for about half a mile around the walls the forest has been clear-cut to prevent larger predators from sneaking up. Coming up to the main gates, a pair of peasants -- one carrying a hefty spear, the other a lasgun, wave the gun-jeep to stop.
Spike blinks, initially startled by and then enjoying the feeling of wind in his hair. He doesn't usually get that sensation in the void ships. Bouncy machine, though... he thinks he prefers the ships themselves to get places.
Cat yields to the peasants. There's a moment after Cat stops that she once again thanks the machine-spirit for bringing them safely so far.
Spike rests an arm on the stubber, looking down curiously at the peasants.
This close to the walls, the features on it are clear: there are a variety of skulls from local predators, including several that look like the saber-tooth emu Kirkland mentioned. They apparently are there as totems or as simple scarecrows to frighten off predators.
The peasant with the spear comes up to the side of the jeep; the other remains nearby, a little nervous but not aiming his lasgun threateningly. "What can we do for you folks?" the spear-carrier asks, pleasantly but directly; his tone is wary. The dialect is fairly standard Low Gothic, without much of an accent or euphemisms, which makes sense considering how close it is to Vaxanhive.
Spike glances around idly as the peasants talk to the Tech-priest and the psyker... then he straightens a bit, pulling his hood up to shadow his face so he's not light-blinded at all. Hmm... looks like Morgansburg has a sniper in their churchtower! Excellent view of the front gate. The sniper doesn't appear to be aiming his hunting rifle at them, though. Probably just a backup in case of gatecrashers. Nevertheless, Spike makes sure his rifle is easily to hand, and he can duck down quickly if necessary.
Havelock says, "We're here to investigate the animal attacks."
The peasant looks between the three acolytes. "Aye, and the Lord's sent his arbiters and chirurgeons here a'ready. Who're you that he's sent now?" He looks suspicious; not surprising, a lot of provincials distrust anyone outside their community.
"The Holy Orders of the Emperor's Inquisition," Havelock answers. "I take it that answers your question."
Spike grins relaxedly from within his hood down at the peasants.
Cat stays, as usual, quiet.
The peasant's expression pales. "I'll get the town proctor," he rasps hurriedly. "Uh... uh, please wait right here while I get him, if you would, m'Lords!" And with but a startled and hasty murmur to the lasgun peasant, who also pales, and doffs his broad-brimmed hat in respect, the spear-peasant scrambles through the streets to what looks like the nearby town hall.
Havelock mutters, "Do keep an eye on that sniper just in case the proctor decides not to welcome us with open arms."
Cat asks, simply, "Do we wait or do we follow?"
"We'll wait. For now," Havelock says, folding his arms over his chest.
Spike cheerfully says, "Already am, psyker!"
Havelock closes his eyes a moment, hiding the wince. "You might keep *that* detail to yourself in the future. My kind is not well-liked."
Spike nods, considering... then grins again, "Got it, Havelock!"
Shortly, the group can almost see the ripple of surprise, shock, dismay, and fear sweep out among the people with the town hall as the epicenter, shortly before a stocky, older peasant emerges from the town hall, a gaggle of others in tow. They look like typical fishermen, or at least once were fishermen, with the various accoutrements and scars from such a life done with minimal assistance from machines or technology. They also show scars of a more land-based nature, with one of the women walking with a peg leg, and another man having a hook for a hand, and a number of other grievous, well-healed wounds.
While the news of the Inquisitors' arrival spreads throughout the village, and villagers start to make themselves scarce, a couple scramble down the hill towards the chapel, calling out, apparently, to the local missionary of the Imperial Creed.
The proctor comes up to the gun-jeep, bowing politely and deeply. It doesn't take one learned in reading people to tell that he's terrified, though covering it reasonably well. "We are of course honored by your visit, Inquisitors. And surprised, so please f-forgive us any social slights, we've... we've never had any of the Holy Orders visit -- I mean, have need to visit."
Spike studies the proctor idly, then goes back to regarding the sniper.
"We're here about your problem with... animal attacks," Havelock says, rising out of the vehicle and smoothing his tunic out.
This does little to assuage the proctor. "Ah... of course, Inquisitor, we are... glad at your attentions and grateful for the Emperor's guidance." He fumbles for a bit, then gestures to the town hall. "Shall.... Er, We may retire to the town hall if you with, m'Lords?"
"I'd prefer to hear what you know about the attacks, proctor, and then I would like to be shown the site of the most recent attack. Not to refuse your hospitality," he offers with a thin smiles, "But I'm sure you'd prefer us to be on about our business as soon as possible, just as we would."
The street has become decidedly empty once it was pretty well public that the visitors are Inquisitors. Only a few curious souls are watching from behind shuttered windows or around corners. Even the sniper is no longer visioble, probably crouched out of sight in the tower and praying to the Throne that the Inquisitors don't see fit to ask who the guy pointing a hunting rifle at them was.
The proctor nods, still shakilly. "Of course, Inquisitor. Ah... let me have someone get a map, then." He takes a slow breath, trying to be as unflappable as possible. He fails. "The... forgive me, m'Lords. The attacks began five months ago. That is, the unusual attacks began five months ago. There've always been the occasional vicious animal attack. Ah, Kathrinus here," he indicates the woman, "had her leg bit off by a titankiwi three years ago.
"Er... but these attacks were worse. They're on individuals or small groups, and leave none alive. They look like they've been clawed and shredded and gored, like a predator might do; but most predators will go after only one person at a time, letting the rest flee once it has fed to it's content. whatever this beast is.. it does not do that."
"Savaged, but not eaten, as an animal might?"
"Eaten, but with a savagry that I would not have thought possible. Like it... like it kills all it can first before gorging itself. It is shy if this is what it does. Groups of four or five appear to be safe and never spot the beast, but three or fewer, or several young or infirm, are targets."
"I see," Havelock nods. "Have you made note of the locations? A pattern?"
Cat listens impassively.
A page comes up carrying a large, rolled-up sheet of paper. The proctor accepts it, nodding as he unrolls the map. "We've noted the locations, but there are no patterns we could discern....."
The town is in plan, a rough ovoid, oriented north to south; one half of the ovoid sits on the water, with piers and docks for the fishing boats. The entry gate is in the center of the curved wall. A scattering of houses and homesteads are outside the village itself, as is the local chapel to the Cult Imperialis, which sits a bit north of the entry gate down the road about a hundred yards. The map is marked with the attacks; they seem to start to the north-east, along the shoreline outside the walls, and work their way over the next several months in frequency and heading west towards the general direction of the hive.
"Three months ago," the proctor says, "there was a large attack about an hour's journey from here to Vaxanhive. Big one, bigger than we'd yet seen. Seven people, mauled, killed, and gored. The upperhive lords got antsy, then, and finally started to address the issue--" He breaks off, paling. "I-I mean, they finally deemed it needful of attention. I mean, after all, it was a very large attack, and brutal, vicious. I understand they are sending household troops to the area to secure it...."
Havelock brushes a gloved fingertip along the map's face. "They appear to be migrating."
Spike leans forward, resting his arms on the stubber so he can see the map as well. "Gettin' bigger and hungrier too, from the look of it."
Cat looks at the map, head tilted to the side as she examines it. This is a bit beyond her ken.
Spike grins at the proctor's stuttering, then goes to idly scanning what he can see of the forested areas nearby from his elevated viewpoint. That's where the attacks are coming from... his curious gaze sweeps slowly back and forth as he half listens to the Savant and the proctor.
The proctor nods soberly to Spike. "Yes, m'Lord. We were informed by the chirurgeons that the large attack displayed unforseen strength that the beast... or beasts... did not show before."
Havelock raises his head and nods to the assassin, "You're welcome to make a survey from the walls if you wish."
Spike grins at that, shouldering his hunting rifle and visually checking the walls to see if he can easily leap to them from his current position on the gun-jeep's cupola.
From within the village, there are several ramps or steps that lead up to rudimentary battlements that line the village walls, and jumping up to them from the gun-jeep would be easy enough for him.
Spike scrambles out onto the cupola, crouching on the edge for a second -- then he leaps lightly forward, cloak fluttering around him, and lands on one of the ramps. He straightens, trotting up the stairs to the top of the wall and putting back the hood of his cloak to improve his peripheral vision. After that he walks slowly along the wall, pausing frequently and taking his time to scan the forested areas thoroughly. Tracks, other marks, damaged limbs, circling birds, even just deeper than usual holes in the ground... he searches for all of it.
From this vantage point at the walls, Spike has a good view of the surrounding countryside. The map is a little deceptive; the east side of the village is on a steep hill that goes down to the water. The top of the hill is at the town hall and the watchtower, and the road leads down from the entry gate to the main road. The chapel with it's humble but solid construction and the twin-headed Imperial Aquila on the spire is visible, beside the road below and about a hundred yards north of where the road from the village meets the main road. The clearcut around the village has rendered the ground into a dusty, stony cake, which does not show tracks well. But with a moment of excellent clarity, Spike spots the scene of the first attack; it's been several months, and it's surprisingly close to the walls, but the ground shows some evidence of the attack, imprints and depressions. There is a black discoloration on the ground, making Spike think that there was a really intense fire there.
From his vanage point, too, comparing it with the map, Spike can see that the other attacks took place within the forest. More recent attacks, within the past two or three months, are not visible to where he is.
Spike calls back to the gun-jeep, "Hey!" He points down to the ground, "This was the location of the first attack? What were you burning?!"
Havelock raises his head, then looks expectantly at the proctor.
The proctor looks up at Spike, calling back. "We burned the remains! The chirurgeons and Pater Jerobal suggested it, just in case there was some sort of evil taint upon the body... or what was left of it."
"You've done this with all the bodies, then," Havelock says.
Cat murmurs, "Which may be drawing more of the creatures."
The Proctor nods. "We did, yes. After the chirurgeons examined the remains, they burned the remains with a flamer." He blinks to Cat. "Ah... how do you mean, M'Lord?"
Havelock straightens, glancing at the Tech-Priest.
Spike hms at that... then crouches on the edge of the wall, staring curiously down at the spot. It's a good bet there's nothing much left... unless the fearful peasants somehow left bones or something due to not stirring the ashes... or something?
There doesn't appear to be any bones or other remains; the chirurgeons and peasants were quite thorough, it seems.
Spike nods to himself, rising and turning his gaze inwards, into the village, as he paces back to the gun-jeep. Could there be something in here that's drawing the attention of the attacking creatures? Some taint, some heresy?
The Tech-Priest says, "I am no expert in animals, but would the burning bodies have drawn the creatures as the scent of a roasted beast might draw people to a harvest celebration."
The proctor considers. "If so, then why would it happen now? There have been humans on this planet for two thousand years."
"Perhaps your predator has not been here quite so long," Havelock says.
Cat shrugs noncomittally, "I make no guess as to the cause of the first attack. I speak only of subsequent ones."
"And we observe all of the feasts of the God-Emperor assiduously -- Oh, I see." Both Cat's and Havelock's observations clearly make the proctor thoughtful.
Havelock takes a deep breath, considering. "Is there aught else, proctor?"
The proctor shake his head, regretful. "I fear not, Inquisitor, lest you wish to question any of the villagers."
Havelock nods. "I take it we have no survivors to give descriptions."
Spike shakes his head once he's on the wall by the gun-jeep again. The village is incredibly dull looking -- a place for ground-grubbers. He studies the church tower one last time, [Aim your rifle at me, will you?!], his cocky grin a pale flash within his hood... then he turns and leaps easily to the side of the gun-jeep again, swarming swiftly back into place in the cupola.
The proctor shakes his head. "No, only those who came upon the remains--"
"The foul taint of Chaos has left it's hand upon this world!" comes shouting up from the road. Without thinking, the proctor grimaces and murmurs more to himself, "Speak of the psyker...."
Coming up through the gate is a lean man, with shaven pate and the heavy robes of a missionary of the Cult Imperialis, leaning heavily on a skull-headed crozier, a revolver entwined with a rosarius shoved into his sash. He appears young -- which is to say, he has no visible bionics augmentations and his face does not seem to have crushing decades of age upon it. He gestures to the clearcut outside the village. "I tell you again, proctor, Chaos comes to our land and threatens now the idle and apostates of the underhive!"
Spike coughs amusedly at the proctor's murmur, then looks curiously at the missionary.
Oh, saints f***ing preserve us, the psyker thinks, and straightens slowly.
Spike leans down to murmur to his companions, "So... we done here?"
The Proctor takes a slow breath. "My Lords, Pater Jerobal, here at the behest of the Ecclesiarchy to save our souls by the grace of the Emperor. He tends the chapel down the road, and was the first person to find the... scene of the first attack."
"Indeed," Havelock nods. "Well then... the Emperor smiles twice on us today."
Spike rolls his eyes in amusement and settles back in the cupola. The psyker's the best one to talk to the missionary, he thinks -- he's never had much patience for them on shipboard.
The Tech-Priest has gone back to her reverent admiration of the way Leviticus has taken care of the gun-jeep, leaving the dealings with the townfolk once again to the psyker.
The missionary draws himself up. "Indeed!" he lambasts. "The Emperor will always smile upon those faithful to him! For surely we are not so completely lost to his light if he has seen fit to send his faithful to aid us!"
"Indeed," Havelock echoes, quite a bit more softly. "I understand you witnessed the aftermath of the first attack?"
Spike raises an eyebrow deep within his hood. Interesting. Despite his bombast, this is the sanest missionary Spike's ever seen! Also curious: why is the missionary scared? Admittedly, not as terrified as the proctor and the townsfolk, but still... this man's working hard to hide his fear. Which brings up the interesting question -- who told the missionary who the visitors were?
Spike amends slightly to himself -- well... sane and missionary in the same breath is relative. This missionary, though, doesn't look mad at all.
Spike casually leans his crossed arms on the stubber as he stares down interestedly at the missionary. The free-swinging weapon shifts around with a small creak due to the weight on it and ends up pointing in the general direction of the missionary. Spike doesn't correct it. He waits for the missionary to answer... should be worth hearing!
The Missionary makes a quiet sound. "Yes, I was the unfortunate soul who came upon the remains of the beast's strike. 'Twas a horrific realization mingled with the despair of realizing a beast of Chaos is upon us." His gaze flicks to the creak of the gun-mount, but does not linger.
The proctor provides quietly, "Jerobal's sister went missing a few weeks before the first attack, and we suspect now that she was the first victim of the beast."
"A tragedy to be sure," Havelock says, without taking his eyes off the preacher.
Spike rests his chin on his fist, still watching interestedly, "How did you know it was a beast of Chaos?"
The proctor glances to Jerobal. "There have been other missing folk over the years, and we are unsure who might have been taken by the beast." From the way he looks at the missionary, unspoken is his belief that the horror of the discovery, and the fate of his sister, has unhinged the man.
Jerobal looks sharply up to Spike. "Would it not be obvious?! What else could it be? Something, some evil, vicious beast, strikes down and devours the faithful of the Emperor's flock, like a wolf waiting but for the right moment to strike! Even a sabre-toothed emu would not do such a thing! Nay, Inquisitor, this was a foul beast that is oft written in the scriptures, warning us of!"
Spike's voice is almost cheerful, "How did you know we were Inquisitors?"
The preacher indicates some of the scattered, distant and not townsfolk. "One of these blessed souls came down to the chapel, to inform me of your arrival. And I am uplifted and my soul finds hope that the Emperor's will has seen fit to guide you here."
Spike nods slowly, regarding the missionary for a few moments... then he adds, "And you've dealt with Inquisitors before?"
The missionary draws himself up. "I have not! I have never had the honor of meeting one of the Emperor's beloved, nor of having need to; my life has been blessed with the grace of never having had to deal with witch, heretic, or daemon before these foul times!"
The proctor looks like he wants to sink through the ground, not merely out of fear but of embarrassment. "Pater Jerobal... perhaps... you should rest.... You are under a lot of strain...."
Havelock holds up one gloved hand. "A moment, please."
The proctor immediately blanches. "Ah... ah, of course, Inquisitor, I beg your forgiveness....."
Spike glances curiously down at Havelock, wondering if the Savant has spotted it too... whatever 'it' may be.
"No need," Havelock says, "On the contrary, you're quite right. If the Pater would be willing to accompany us to the site of the first attack, we can move this investigation beyond the walls. Which, I'm sure, is what we all want."
Spike grins, swinging agilely out of the cupola, "Lead th' way, Pater!"
Cat raises her head at news of moving the investigation.
The psyker glances at the Tech-Priest and adds, "See if you can vox the guard column. If you're able to make contact, I want it made known that we are to be informed *at once* of any hostile encounters." She merely nods and immediately starts trying to make contact.
Havelock nods and turns back to the preacher. "If you would, Pater."
Spike unslings his rifle, glancing at the proctor -- then he looks back at Havelock, "You want him along?" Spike jerks a thumb to indicate the proctor.
"The map, if the proctor has no objections," Havelock says. "Other than that, I think we've taken quite enough time out of the good sir's day."
Spike grins and paces lightly towards the missionary, rifle in hand; he leaves the proctor and map-reading to the Savant.
The proctor relaxes, almost visibly. "Yes... yes, of course, m'Lords."
The priest pauses, then draws himself up again. "I would be honored!" he declares. "Come, come then!" THen in an almost chanting tone, "Praise be the Emperor for bringing us his servants! May the Light of the Emperor guide your sight to divine the essence of this evil!" He leads them down the road to the clearcut past and around the chapel itself. The proctor hands over the map, looking much, much relieved at not hving to accompany them.
As they leave the village, the village starts to regain normality and activity, with people milling about a touch nervously and going about their normal work.
Shortly, Cat gets in touch with the regiment. "First regiment, aye. Ah... Inquisitor? Sir! Inquisitor, sir! What can we do for you, Lord?"
Spike rolls his eyes at the missionary, pausing to wait for Havelock. He calls over to the hastily departing proctor, "Tell yer people to stay away from the gun-jeep!" To the psyker he murmurs quietly, "So, it just me or is this the first non-mad missionary you've ever seen too?"
Being called sir seems not to strike the Tech-Priest as odd, or it just doesn't register, "It is requested that you report to us with any sightings of these creatures. It is quite imperative."
"I'd be careful how loud I said that," Havelock murmurs back. "The Ecclesiarchy is not to be trifled with. This one doesn't appear to be a Redemptionist zealot. Don't complain."
Spike tilts his head, staring after the missionary for a moment, then looks back up at the psyker, "Then why's he scared of us?"
The vox-man is almost breathless, partly in fear and in his bracing to follow whatever orders the Inquisitor gives. "Ah -- yes! Yes, Inquisitor! We will do so immediately!"
"I don't think it's necessarily us he's frightened of," Havelock answers. "He's young. It's possible messire Jerobal is having his faith tested."
"Immediately, yes. We wish to know of it in the instant it happens. That will be all." It is odd to hear abstraction in such an inhuman voice.
Spike frowns, considering... then just shakes his head and paces silently after the psyker. Seems strange to him, but then he's likely not as good at reading people as an Imperial psyker would be.
"I'm not ruling it out," Havelock adds. "Only considering additional angles. That's my job."
Spike nods, his hooded head tilting towards the psyker for a moment, then going back to his usual careful scanning of the surroundings.
Very shortly, Jerobal has led the group to the scene of the first attack. Thankfully, his bombastic oratory has ceased a bit, and he remains respectfully quiet. The scene of the attack is marked, first and foremost, by the blackened ground where the chirurgeons had burned the remains. There are some indicators of struggle -- faint and blurred tracks and footprints, that the months have worn away, and a few depressions where the final moments of the struggle -- if there was a struggle -- took place on the ground.
This is what Havelock is looking for. He kneels down by the depressions, cloak trailing in the dust.
Spike stands still, looking around slowly. It's been months, but he might as well see if he can spot any indicator whatsoever of where the creature or creatures slipped in and out of the forest... or... he looks at the wall in sudden suspicion. Could it have come from the village? Crawled over the wall itself?
Havelock kneels, peeling his gloves off, and holding his bare hands open over the depressions. He closes his eyes, taking in a deep breath, and shutting out the material sensation of the waking world... extending his senses into the Empyrean, probing it for disturbances, for traces of bleed. Something metallic glints off of his palms.
Jerobal frowns a little as Havelock kneels, then his eyes widen a little... but he remains silent, holding his breath as he watches, at least a little awe-struck.
Spike glances at Havelock, then suddenly realizes what the psyker must be doing. He casually shifts so he's between the missionary and Havelock.
Havelock gets nothing from the site. No breakthrough, no ripple in the Immaterium, nothing at all to suggest that it was a daemon that did this. It's as if this spot of ground was no different than any other spot where someone died rather horribly a few months before.
"Hmn." Havelock sits back on his heels, flexing his fingers. "Well... not to disappoint you, Pater, but this ground's not been trod by the daemon."
Spike raises an eyebrow, watching the missionary curiously from within his hood.
Jerobal blinks again, his mouth dropping open. Then a moment later he blusters weakly, "But... but that's not possible! No creature of nature born could do what the beast did to its victims! I saw the remains, they were... they were gored as if forming a feast for some foul creature!"
Spike wonders suddenly if this is actually a human of some sort doing this, and using the goring and clawing and all to hide the actual means of death... and the missionary knows. Something to do with his sister?
Spike hms. No, the pater did seem genuinely surprised to hear Havelock's news.
Jerobal's words fade, and he murmurs, "You mean, this was not done by a creature of foul Chaos, Inquisitor? Then... then what?"
Havelock shows him his palm; there is a five-pointed star encircled there, and scribed around with maddeningly small, spidery script, all of it in bright silver somehow set flush with the flesh of his hand. "Pater, I'm sure I don't need to tell you that there is a door inside my own head that I must watch very, very conscientiously at every moment, for my sake and the sake of the living universe. I am telling you that if Chaos walks this world, it has yet to stride this particular barren patch."
He sighs a bit, standing carefully and pulling his gloves back on. "As to 'then what,' I don't know yet. I want to examine the most recent site as well. Perhaps a stronger trace can be had there."
Jarobal nods, still dazed, and passes a hand over his face, rubbing his eyes. "I... I see. This is... this is surprising, Inquisitor. I am... I am very much at a loss, then. If it was not Chaos...." He lets his words trail off, and he looks up. "That would be... where the House troops are now, aye?"
Spike glances with curious interest at Havelock's palm, but most of his attention is on the missionary.
To Spike the missionary seems much calmer now... sort of wan and confused -- almost withdrawn. There's no bluster in him. He curiously asks, "Wouldn't it be better for you and the people here that this not be of Chaos?"
Jarobal nods, slowly, still a bit shaken. "Yes, I... I know it is. it is much better, aye. But as the scriptures say, 'Far better to face the evil you know, than the evil you know not.'"
The psyker says, "I understand you have a personal stake in this investigation, Pater. If you're willing to take the risk anent encountering whatever the culprit may be, I'm willing to include you for the nonce."
Spike considers silently as he looks around slowly. If this was done by humans... how easy would it be to get back to the road quickly and quietly from here? Spike's guess is that one could fairly easily get to the road, or the forest, fairly quickly after peforming any sort of perfidy at this spot. It is not readily visible from most of the positions on the battlements, he notices from here.
The pater considers, finally closing his eyes. "Please.. give me some time to consider your gracious offer, Inquisitor. Aye, this strikes close to my heart, but I worry now what evil it is that has visited our home."
"Perhaps you should see to your flock, then, Pater," Havelock says, with... suggestive inflection.
Jerobal pauses, catching the inflection, and a note of fear enters his voice. "Ah... y-yes, Inquisitor. That... that is an excellent suggestion, my Lord, I shall do so." He bows, though trying not to look like he's trying to escape the Inquisitors' presence too quickly. "The Emperor's light shine upon you all."
Havelock watches him go. And once he's out of sight, the psyker rubs his face with gloved hands and mutters, "Throne blind me."
Spike watches the Pater leave, then his hooded head tilts to look up at Havelock again, "If it's not Chaos, that'd explain why the troop commander wasn't afraid of us -- he knows there's no Chaos here for us to burn out." He waves a hand, adding, "This spot would be good to beat someone to death if you didn't want to be seen easily from the walls... and you can get back to the road or the forest quick and easy, and be pretty sure of not being seen. Burning the bodies to remove taint means there's nothing for Inquisitors to see, of course." He grins, adding, "You okay?" And cheerfully adds, "Having fun yet?"
"I will be," he says. "Let's check on one of the forested sites," he indicates the map, "And then we'll head for the most recent site. I am beginning to think we'll not get any answers until the next attack... but the Emperor employs us for our due diligence."
Spike nods, turning to head back to the gun-jeep with the psyker. He glances at the map the psyker has, "Which?"
"The closest, for now. We'll follow them out to the most recent."
Spike nods silently again, trotting ahead a bit so he can swing himself easily back up into the cupola and be ready by the time the psyker is settled. To Cat he says, "Fire it up! We're going to the next closest attack site."
The next closest attack is also the second-oldest, and is out in the forest. The three acolytes have perhaps five minutes' drive before they reach the location. It's easy enough to spot; like the first one, there is a large scorch mark on the ground where the chirurgeons burned the remains.
Spike stays in the cupola this time when they stop, staring around him with intense curiosity. If his speculation is correct, there should be an easy but relatively hidden path leading to the attack site... he searches visually for that.
"Not Chaos," Havelock murmurs. "At least, not a powerful pskyer nor a creature of Outside. A human cultist is not out of the question." Climbing from the vehicle, he frowns at the piles of ash and says, "But one does wonder... if the victims displayed no signs of corruption, why burn the remains?" He glances at Spike, "Unless of course, one has a vested interest in seeing the remains destroyed."
Cat climbs from the jeep this time and walks with Havelock to the second scorched site, "Would the chirurgeons be hiding signs of misdeeds?"
"I wonder that myself, O Priest."
Spike nods to Havelock silently, continuing to stare around him carefully. "Occurs to me too that someone truly mad might be willing to attack us too, my fellows!"
There is no sign of a path, though this part of the forest is not hard to traverse on foot.
"It would be an answer, at least," Havelock says. "But yes. Let's follow the trail on... so far we've only two sites to compare. Perhaps the others will evince some common trait."
One site after another, through the score-plus as they follow the map. The long day is helping them, but as they reach the site of the large attack that got the attention of Lord Vaxanide, the sun is starting to approach the horizon, and they are seeing squads of House troops now and then, as they spread out seeking the beasts.
This was a large attack, and the splotch of burnt ground is much more visible here, as well as larger and irregular; seven people at once, and it being a particularly gory attack at that, left the remains spread out. Still there is no hint of daemonic foot treading upon this ground. However, because of the mess and the large area, the incineration was not complete; it looks like some fragments of bone and such survived the assumed-cleansing fires of the chirurgeons' flamers.
"I'm afraid the forensick is not my field," Havelock says, glancing at Cat. "Know anything?"
Cat paces the last site, bending now and then to peruse what remains. "It looks like a midden heap." She considers for a moment, "Given the right equipment, I could ken something."
Havelock curses, quietly. "Take whatever you think you might be able to use, then."
Cat begins gathering some of the not-completely-destroyed remains. She studies them as if they were unusual gears, analytical mind wondering just what part of a human she holds.
The sun is going down, and it's starting to be hard to see. However, Spike spots something in the dying light: yellowish in the blackened dirt, disturbed by the movements the three acolytes have made. At the same time, while she is gathering the bone fragments, Cat comes upon a small shred of cloth. It looks weathered, a little scorched by flames, but otherwise untouched. It has splotches of blood on it, as well as a yellowish, dried ichor of some kind. Nearby, Havelock spots what looks like a small, melted mass of what might have been silver once -- a necklace or bracelet of some kind, before the flamers puddled it and buried it in ash.
Someone clearly at this point was more interested in putting the remains to the torch than being thorough about it. Perhaps the chirurgeons had done this so much with the past attacks that they had slipped dangerously into routine.
"Sloppy," Havelock murmurs, holding the lump of silver up to the light.
Spike paces over and crouches by the yellowish thing, picking up a twig and poking it gently to break it clear of the ash. He glances up at Havelock... then blinks, "Peasants wear silver here?!"
"No," the psyker answers, "No, they surely don't."
"It would seem the proctor chose to neglect a few details," Havelock says, "Though this might explain Vaxanhive's sudden interest."
The little yellowish thing Spike finds is a tooth. Human-sized -- nothing that would come from the kind of beast suggested by names such as 'sabre-toothed emu' and 'titankiwi' -- but long in the tooth. An elongated canine of some sort.
Spike ews quietly, "Found a tooth. Think it's human." He pulls the glove of his suit over his hand, then holds it up.
"Long," Havelock muses. "Hmmmmm."
Cat examines the cloth, holding it to her nose to see if she picks up any familiar scent off the ichor. It's a mechanical thing. This is information that may help, so she will try to process it.
The psyker narrows his eyes, a new theory beginning to percolate.
Cat detects no noticable or recognizable scent. If it's some sort of bodily humour, it's none she's seen before. Or smelled, rather.
"Perhaps we've been looking too much outside. Perhaps what plagues Vaxanide is the Enemy Within," Havelock murmurs. "And perhaps the chirurgeons are seeking to suppress the information. And--" Another thought occurs to Havelock and he pauses.
Cat puts the cloth with the other bits and pieces. The tooth makes her narrow her eyes slightly, "Would that not cause someone to bite their own mouth?"
Spike straightens, listening to Havelock as he scans slowly around them.
Spike hands the tooth to Cat with a grin and a shrug, "Past my expertise, Priest Cat."
"If it didn't *originate* in the Hive... Throne blind me, if it escapes into the Underhive...!"
Spike murmurs to the psyker, as he continues to scan, "What if it's from the Underhive? Or... maybe a rogue noble playing?"
"Playing? At what?"
Spike glances over his shoulder at Havelock and shrugs again, "What would make someone brutally tear apart seven people? Maybe he's playing at being an Inquisitor."
"I don't think this is the work of a human, mad or otherwise," Havelock says. "I think we're dealing with the mutant here.
"We should make haste. I want to discuss this with the Pater and the proctor-- provided they've not taken the opportunity to disappear-- and we'll just have to pray the Emperor grant there isn't another attack in the meantime."
Spike nods, going back to carefully scanning around them, "Well, that doesn't preclude them being a noble, but... I don't know. Never met a mutant, you know?"
"I have," Havelock murmurs, grimly.
Spike nods again at that, scrambling back up into the cupola.
Havelock slides into the passenger seat. "All haste then, Cat. I mislike our odds if there is a pack of mutants at large here."
It takes Cat a moment to gather up the things she wants to examine and slide into the driver's seat of the gun-jeep. She finds herself happy they have firepower.
The psyker would be lying to himself if he didn't concede that the heavy stubber was a comfort to him as well.
Spike swings the stubber around into ready position and remains alert on the way back.
The gun-jeep trundles carefully through the increasingly-darkening forest -- Cat simply can't drive any faster without swerving and hitting trees, and the gun-jeep is good for straight-line driving or going up rough hills, not doing slaloms. Interesting; for a world that's supposed to have vicious wildlife, there's not been hide or hair of it as the sun goes down....
Havelock sits up suddenly with a shudder, and reaches under his cloak; he comes up with a Guard-standard laspistol. "Something's wrong," the psyker murmurs.
Spike is lounging as relaxedly as he can on the bouncy cupola. He glances down at the abrupt movement, though, casually reaching a hand out to rest it on the stubber and calling down, "See something?"
"No," Havelock answers. "...Bad feeling."
Spike's gaze starts roving thoughtfully around him. He doesn't know much about psykers, but... bad feelings are listened to on the big Voidships.
Cat looks over at Havelock and asks, "Should I stop?"
"Absolutely not." Havelock frowns, looking around. Something... there's something....
Suddenly from out of a brush that the gun-jeep trundles by, explodes a small bevy of what could be some kind of local crow, cawing and wracking fit to rouse the Emperor.
The heavy stubber's muzzle swings around swiftly -- but Spike swears and relaxes when he sees they're just birds. He frowns, taking a few deep breaths, then double-checking his rifle and the stubber are both ready to go.
Despite her warnings that her driving isn't something perfect, Cat does a decent job of keeping the gun-jeep on course, even though she does jump just a little at the appearance of the crows.
"Throne blind me!" Havelock covers his head with one arm, keeping the gun-hand free, "Bloody rooks...!"
The crows flock off into the night, disappearing into the twilight canopy.
As the crows disappear, the headlamps of the gun-jeep catch a figure about a hundred yards ahead.
At sight of the figure, the Tech-Priest starts trying to steer slightly to one side and slow. If for no other reason than to keep from damaging the gun-jeep.
Spike leans over and calls down to the others, "Hey, is it just me or would you have to be crazy to be alone here at night?"
"Or supremely guilty," Havelock answers.
Spike grins, "Want me to shoot it now?"
"I want to know what it is first." The psyker frowns, tapping his finger against the trigger guard of his gun. "If only so I know what to put in the report."
Spike casually aims at the figure... then sighs and glances around again.
As Cat slows, it's clear that the figure is not standing well. They look to have just been attacked. As they trundle past abreast of it, about fifteen yards away, the figure in fact looks to me a villager from Morgansburg. In fact it's shuffling towards the jeep, dazed and confused, even as the jeep starts to pass.
Spike glances at it, then continues scanning around the jeep even more alertly. If the villager was just attacked... then the attackers have to be around somewhere close.
"Injured," Havelock says, "There were no injured before. Eyes open, this is almost certainly a trap..."
Spike calls down, "So do we leave it, shoot it -- what?"
Cat glances to Havelock for directions.
Havelock curses quietly. "Slow it down but don't stop, I'll try and get them into the back of the jeep."
Cat nods to Havelock and slows down to a crawl. The gun-jeep is now going barely three miles per hour. A fit person could easily run and get in.
Spike leans carefully, ready to grab Havelock and keep him in the jeep if the zombie-like villager is aggressive.
The person is obviously not fit, as they just keep walking towards the jeep.
Havelock swears. "Throne preserve me. All right, keep it running."
The psyker undoes the clasp on his cloak and leaves it draped over the passenger seat, then hops out of the jeep.
Spike swears, then snarls, "Havelock! Dammit!" He swings the stubber around, aiming at the villager, waiting grimly for the damaged villager to attack.
At five yards, with Havelock out of the jeep, the three get a good look at the villager: Eyes glassy, blood and gore about the shoulder, a distinct pallor and bluish tinge to the skin and no color to the lips. As Havelock steps out, the villager makes an incohate groan, and lurches for Havelock as it raises it's arms to embrace the psyker.
Cat watches dispassionately, but she doesn't stop the vehicle moving. She moves as if to circle around Havelock and the wounded villager.
Spike snaps, "Havelock, it's *dead*! I'm shooting -- get back in the jeep!"
Havelock lurches backward into the passenger seat, raising the lasgun. "So much for the saints' ****ing mercy...!"
Spike, relieved Havelock isn't anywhere near his line of fire, shoots the villager before it gets any nearer.
The staccato roar of the stubber throws lead into the zombie villager's body, shredding it. Though there is dried blood on the villager what comes out onto the ground is less blood and more some sort of ichor. No heart beats in this body, it seems. The villager collapses into a heap on the ground, oozing and making no further sound, one of the rounds finding the thing's head.
The stubber's shots echo through the forest as the thing hits the ground.
Havelock stares a moment-- then nods to Cat, "Help me get it in the back."
Spike snarls wordlessly, then swings the weapon around to follow his wary scanning of the surrounding forest. He says, "Havelock, in the jeep?! What if it gets up again?!"
Only the slightest hesitation shows before Cat nods to the psyker and starts to slide out of the jeep, eyes flicking around the forest. She is beginning to think she will need to upgrade her eyes.
"We'll kick it OUT, for the Emperor's sake, but until it stands up again this is evidence we can bring before the chirurgeons!"
Havelock slides out of his seat. "I'll keep my eye on it, if it'll put you at ease."
Spike looks unhappy but says nothing, simply nodding at the psyker's words. He keeps a very wary eye on the surrounding forest.
The zombie smells awful, and looks far less than anything remotely resembling wholesome. It is, however, dressed in rags which clearly look to be that of a village peasant. A crude wood locket on a rawhide thong is about it's neck.
Havelock pulls it away from the dessicated neck-- and is silently grateful that the Emperor didn't see fit to grant him psychometry.
Spike growls about the smell, but doesn't pause his nervous scanning.
As Cat and Havelock raise it into the gun-jeep's back deck, Spike hears the rustling of leaves, and sees three shuffling figures emerging form the shaodows, approaching the gun-jeep. They all come from about the same direction, from the front of the jeep.
Cat is stolid. Even if she were wrinkling her nose, it would be difficult to see through the grill over the lower half of her face.
Spike snaps, "Three more coming from the front!" as he spins the stubber around and opens fire.
"Throne," Havelock mutters. "Spike, show these unfortunates the Emperor's mercy!"
Spike laughs at the carte blanche from Havelock, "You got it, Savant!"
Without putting too fine a point on it, the stubber shots do rather permanent decapitation of the center villager. If there was any doubt as to what these things are, the other two continue their shambling approach even as their comrade crumples to the forest ground. Just as Havelock and Cat get the body into the jeep, and the echoes from the stubber's roar echo away, two more of the villagers emerge from the deepening shadows of the trees behind the jeep.
"It would seem appropriate to leave with much haste." Cat observe, heading for the driver's side door.
Havelock frowns and climbs onto the back deck, to eject the "captive" if necessary. "We can't stay here, we're going to empty the stubber at this rate." He adds, "Don't let my cloak fly away."
Spike snaps, "Got more coming behind!" and turns the stubber slightly to open fire again on the closest zombies -- the ones in front.
Without thinking if it might be the appropriate thing to do, Cat grabs the cloak and puts it in her seat, sitting down on it as she prepares to start the gun-jeep moving.
The two zombies in front burst into an ugly mess of ichor just as Cat throws the jeep into drive and Havelock gets purchase on the rear deck.
"Right," Havelock says, wrapping his free arm around one of the roll-bars, "Now drive like Horus was on our heels!"
Spike barks a cheerful, "Hah! Emperor's blessing on ya all!" as he swings the stubber around to aim at the final two zombies.
While she is devoted to the Machine-god and the care of the machine-spirits, Cat is not a whiz with operating all of the machines she knows how to keep happy. Still, one does one's best when faced with the concept of abominations such as this and she follows Havelock's orders, the lines of her face tensing as she pushes the gun-jeep perhaps a little faster than she is truly comfortable with.
Havelock takes the best shot he's able while grappling the back of a gun-jeep for safety, and squeezes off a passable hit on one of the creatures' limbs.
Havelock's shot takes one of the last two zombies in the arm, searing it off as only a las weapon can... but aside from a stagger, that zombie is still shuffling after the gun-jeep.
Spike goes to full auto, laughing again as he swings the heavy stubber between the two remaining zombies -- this is a man who enjoys his job.
Both of the zombies burst at the multiple bullets striking them, collapsing and being left behind as Cat flings the gun-jeep through the now-dark forest. As the stubber shots fade into the silence, there is, for the time being, just the sound of the jeep's engine, and at the moment nothing else in sight.
Spike whews softly, then leans down to call to the others, "So... what made them *do* that?"
Havelock frowns. "I don't think they need a reason."
Spike sounds confused, "Wait... you're saying all the villagers are damaged like this?"
Cat says, "I believe he was speaking of mechanism rather than motivation."
Spike says, "Right. I mean... if someone else made this happen -- where's the someone else?"
"The Enemy," Havelock answers.
Spike rests his arms on the edge of the cupola, "Disease? Mutation?"
Spike says, "I mean, we have to tell the Inquisitor something, right?"
"Either," Havelock answers, "Possibly both. Get us back to the village, Cat. We need to speak to the Pater."
The voice from Cat's grill is strangely nonchalant, though the lines of her body speak otherwise, "I need some navigation assistance."
"Just get us out of the forest. We need to be out of ambush."
Spike glances over at Cat, then grins, "Does that translate to 'we're lost,' Priest?"
"It would mean that I am not cognizant of our current location and therefore am unable to get a fix on the proper path to our next location," is Cat's answer.
Spike mutters amusedly, "Throne blind all of us!" then glances down at Havelock, "Savant? Suggestions?" He looks up consideringly, wondering if he can see the stars. Most of the forest canopy conceals the constellations, but some few occasional points of light are visible,
Havelock answers, "Just get us out of the woods. We can't navigate without the sky and I'm not stopping to consult the map until we're on open ground."
Cat nods once and keeps going forward, reckoning that they will come to the forest's edge in any direction. She tries to tend toward thinner stands of trees.
After a few hours of travel, the gun-jeep finally emerges from the forest. From this vantage, they can see that they're about halfway between Vandinhive and Morgansburg, about two hours away from either of them, and at least some of that getting to the road or rail. From here, they can see the swaths of light cutting through the night forest from the squads of soldiers coming around the borders of the hive.
Spike sighs in relief, then glances back and forth for which location is closer, since he's got the slightly higher vantage point.
Havelock frowns. "We need to get the Guard on the vox, Cat. We have a Moral Threat on Vaxanide."
The psyker sucks in his breath with a hiss, and sways visibly, sitting back down hard on the deck.
Spike looks down abruptly, worried, "Havelock? What's up?"
Cat nods and contacts the Guard, waiting for Havelock's exact words to transmit.
The psyker rubs his forehead with a gloved hand, eyes closed. "Nothing. Nothing. I just..." He shakes his head. "...no, nevermind." He straightens up and says to Cat, "Inform the Major that the Guard is now facing a moral threat-- make the Colonel and the Commissar both aware. Let all unit commanders know that their men must avoid being bitten or carried off at all costs."
Interestingly, the initial call that Cat makes to the guard is taken up directly, after a brief routing, by the Commissar himself. "Yes?" he asks, never a man for many words.
The message coming from Cat's mechanized voice sounds somehow cold and detached. "Commissar, your men must be aware that they are under a moral threat. The creatures must not be allowed to bite or carry off your men." She lets the sound of the Commissar's words become audible to her companions.
The Commissar is quiet for a moment. "I see," he says finally. "What is it you suspect, Inquisitor?"
"Tell him..." Havelock trails off, and looks at the locket he pulled off the corpse. "Tell him the dead are rising."
Cat's lens-morphed eyes glance toward Havelock and she nods once, "Commissar, the dead are rising. This is a severe moral threat."
"I understand." The Commissar is quiet again. "I shall inform the Colonel forthwith and pass orders out to the troops immediately. It shall be delt with. If I may ask, what are your intentions?"
"What else," Havelock asks with a rueful smile. "We're the Inquisition. We're going to find the source."
The message that goes to the Commissar is, "We will do our jobs, Commissar. We will find the source. And it will be dealh with."
"Of course. If that will be all, I will contact the Colonel immediately. Emperor guide you."
Havelock nods to Cat. "That'll do."
Cat ends the transmission.
"We need to get to Morgansburg. We need to talk to the Pater, first... then the chirurgeons. They," he says, grimly, "Will be very lucky if all I do is throw a very. Serious. Wobbly."
The trip to Morgansburg is quick enough, taking a couple of hours. By the nightwatch's calls, it is about midnight. A single light burns within the shrine to the Saviour Emperor, casting a faint light out of the stained-glass windows.
On the way, Havelock takes the time to more closely examine the charm the corpse was wearing.
Spike pats the stubber affectionately as they turn onto the last road into the town, then grins down at Cat, "Nice flying, Priest Cat!"
Without looking away from the roat, Cat says, "We are all blessed by the Machine-God to not be a hole now."
Spike chuckles at that, then grins down at the stubber, murmuring quietly to himself, "And by the Throne itself, yes."
The locket is simple, the sort of thing you find peasants carrying, at least those who can't afford metal. In it, is a pair of small, simple lithographs on polymyrous, a kind of waterproof, plastic-based paper popular in the use of scrip, notes, and other times where paper would get wet and become unusable. The lithographs each have a couple on them; one is older than the other, possibly parents; the other shows a young, delicate man and a strong-looking woman who stands almost head-and-shoulders over him; the man looks to be about the right build for the shambling zombie whose head had to be removed before it stopped moving.
"It's a start," Havelock murmurs.
"All right," the psyker nods, "We'll get a tarp from the watch-standers at the gate, then on to the shrine, straightaway."
Spike says, "Got it!" The slight man leans out and calls to the gate-watch, as the jeep draws up, "A tarp, and quickly!"
Spike figures being mistaken for an Inquisitor should be good for at least a tarp.
The watchstanders are more than a little concerned at the sight of the thing in the back of the jeep, but fortunately none seem to recognize who it once was, and a tarp is quickly produced and given to the acolytes.
They manage to get the thing onto the tarp. Havelock nods, "One of you go and get the Pater. We're not dragging this thing inside."
Spike watches from his higher stance, still feeling faintly wary. He glances around thoughtfully, wondering how many villagers were lost tonight.
Cat takes on the task of retrieving the Pater.
The watchman goes to fetch the Pater, but then comes back. "The pater doesn't answer knocks to his door, Inquisitor!"
Havelock manages to keep the irritation out of his face. "Very well then. Wrap this thing up in the tarp-- and if it moves, sir, shoot it. We'll go and see the Pater ourselves."
Spike watches thoughtfully... then scrambles lightly down, the rifle held warily in one hand. He pads silently after the psyker, his gaze roving warily about them all.
The watchman with the lasgun nods worriedly, and shortly there are a trio of watchmen who are close-but-not-too-close to the ex-zombie, pointing various implements at it, as if pointing a rake-axe at that range could do something.
Shortly, the three acolytes are at the door to the shrine; the first knock brings a sullen and much less bombastic Pater to the door. "I had a feeling you would come here," he says, moving back from the door as he opens it. "Please, come in."
Spike raises an eyebrow at that, following the other two in and lagging behind them being led to the sitting room, to glance around very inquisitively.
"I take it there's something you don't care to discuss before the Watch," Havelock says.
Inside, the shrine is a single room, with a room at the back of the narthex leading to the rectory. In shape it is a simple rectangle, with a huge granite statue of the Emperor at the front, and of course a requisite smattering of double-headed eagles, skulls, and other iconography festooning the walls. It is humble, but its grandeur comes from it's humility. And the way the icon of the Emperor lords over the entire room. The hall has rough pews within it for the gathering of the people in service, and the single light visible from outside is in a lap hung over the narthex, lending an almost sinister light to the Emperor's features.
Jerobal gives a single, hollow laugh. "'Secrets are bet kept from the ears of those who would not understand them,'" he says, quoting scripture. "What did you find, if I may ask?"
Havelock holds up his hand, with the locket dangling from his fingers.
Spike stands silently in the shadows, listening both to the conversation... and for any sound of movement from elsewhere as well. It's a chaotic night.
Jerobal's eyes go to the locket, and he sighs. "Ah," he says. "Daniel Cavoran. I have seen him with that locket quite often. He and his wife went missing before we suspected that the attacks were more than just animal attacks.
Spike's perception is keen, in that under the conversation he hears a faint sound, distant -- but it sounds like something is really making a racket, albeit somewhere distant or behind a lot of barriers. He turns his head, pacing silently off into the shadows as he tries to orient on the noise... then he turns his head and murmurs softly but urgently, "Quiet." He adds when the others silence, "Do you hear it? Something... is wrong..."
Havelock can then hear it, and with no-one talking Spike can hear it clearly now, as well: it sounds like some sort of beast being kept below, making an unholy racket.
For his part, Jerobal sighs. "Ah," he says simply.
"Giving sanctuary, are we, Pater?" Havelock asks, arch.
Spike's shadowed face under the hood turns sharply to the Pater. "Think you better talk, Pater."
Jerobal hesiates, then nods. "I will do better than talk. Please. Let me show you." He steps to one of the pillars lining the room, reaching up to a sconce that seems, to all appearances, to be fixed firmly to the stone.
Cat merely watches.
Spike silently thumbs his fire selector over to armor piercing before he follows the Pater. He waves Cat on before him so he's last, and patters very quietly and warily along after them all.
Havelock takes a step back and closes his left hand tightly near his chest, "Go on," he murmurs, "Just be a moment."
Spike pauses, giving Havelock a worriedly inquiring tilt of his head.
Havelock waves Spike back with his other hand; a small distraction but enough to throw his hasty meditation. No matter though, he manages to extend his sight into the Warp, and pull those perceptions back with him into the Materium, as tiny sparks of life, the embers of living souls, make themselves known to him in realspace.
Jerobal pulls on the sconce and it moves, reluctantly at first, but swinging out like a lever. A section of the floor grumbles, but otherwise quietly angles downward to form a ramp leading to a door that seems situated right below the altar. The sound of beastial complaining is much more audible now, and seems to be behind the door at the base of the secret ramp. "I found it a few years ago," he says simply. "This... this secret room, that is. I think it dates to the Age of Apostasy. At any rate there are Thorian markings on the walls. But that's not important right now, really." He begins to move to the top of the ramp, heading down it to the door. he is not making any sudden moves, perhaps quite aware of the Acolytes.
To Havelock's senses, there is only them and the pater in the entire shrine, including the newly-discovered basement, depending on how big it is. Emperor save us, the psyker thinks. Nothing living is making that ruckus
Spike watches silently, glancing back and forth between the Pater and his companions -- then he throws a sudden stare after the Pater, "Ah... his sister..."
Jerobal pauses; the others cannot see his face at the moment. But the moment passes, and his shoulders droop even more. "Yes," he says weakly. "Ava, my sister. Come. It is best that His Inquisitors see this, and decide what must be done...."
"Go on," Havelock says, "We're here. Let's see."
Spike nods, following cautiously downstairs.
Jerobal nods, his face still hidden, as he goes down to the door. He opens the heavy wooden door, stepping inside; it remains open for the others.
The room within is low-ceilinged, brightly lit by several oil lanterns and a glow-nodule set into a wall niche. The room is divided into half, the division being made by a set of heavy iron bars, forming a sort of cell. And within that cell, bound to the far wall, is a slavering, obviously starved, and quite obviously dead if more lively version of the zombie the acolytes put down earlier. As it sees them all, it strains against the chains holding it too the wall, as if by some exercise of feral willpower it could separate it's mouth from the chains and eat them.
Jerobal stands next to a shoddy wooden desk, upon which are a number of books and papers. "After the Thorian Reformation," he says wanly, "I suspect that this was used by a missionary to.. more forcefully deliver the word of the Emperor, some time ago, to certain reprobates in the area. hence the cage. Then it was forgotten for a few thousand years, until I discovered it again." He pauses, then adds, "It has... served a different use, I imagine, now."
Spike flicks the rifle up reflexively the minute he steps into the room, and a red dot centers on the creature's forehead.
Cat has no words for what she's seeing.
"I suggest, Pater," Havelock answers, calm, "That you start explaining."
Spike growls quietly, still aiming, "Havelock... give me a reason not to immediately shoot."
"We need answers from the Pater," the psyker answers. "As to the creature, I couldn't care less."
Jerobal is about to answer, when Havelock basically gives Spike permission to shoot the zombie. He holds up his hands. "Please... if it must be done... let me. It is my task. It... it is something I should do, as her brother."
Havelock draws his pistol and extends it, grip-first, to the Pater. "Spike, if he so much as breathes crosswise, show him the Emperor's mercy."
Spike's sharp gaze flicks sideways as he considers for a heartbeat... then he nods and turns the rifle from the sister to the Pater.
Jerobal lets out a breath, and nods. "Thank you." He is very slow in his movements as he reaches for the laspistol. "Years ago," he says as he takes up the laspistol, "Ava and I moved here to see about delivering the word of the Emperor and His grace and light to these people. The Ecclesiarchy had seen fit to send a missionary here again, and so I complied. Ava came because she was naturally compassionate and caring -- she would have been a sister of the Hospitallers if she hadn't wished to remain with me.
"Several months ago, she suddenly began to grow weak and afflicted, her bodily humors becoming... ill and foul. Within the span of two nights, she became... this thing."
The missionary aims the lasgun carefully, and apparently without emotion. The zombie, of course, takes little notice except for the movement. "I had thought her affliction to be Chaos-born, and possibly reversible. But now that you say there was no Chaos involved, then it could only be some sort of plague. For which, I praise the Emperor, for then at least her soul can find peace in His light." The laspistol snaps out a flare of ruby light, skewering the zombie through the brainpain. Abruptly and suddenly, and messily, the creature goes limp and sags and, well, oozes. The stench is strong.
Spike's red dot laser stays steady on the priest. He murmurs to Havelock, "Take the las-pistol back. Don't want any suicides."
Spike gives a small snort of disgust, then goes to breathing through his mouth as he continues sighting on the priest. It doesn't help much.
Havelock holds out his hand for the gun. "If you wish to make this right, we need to trace this to its source."
Jerobal looks at Spike steadily, pulling back the laspistol, clearly moving it so the barrel is positioned beneath his chin. "I will answer your questions, I will tell you all I can, but I will prefer to die quickly rather than the days or weeks or months of torture I would suffer at the hands of the Inquisition."
"I think, Pater, that it is only fair to warn you-- you know that I am a psyker, and that I can keep you alive for a very, very long time if I need to. So I suggest you give your arm a rest for the nonce, and tell me everything you can about the time when this affliction took Ava. Where had she been? Had she gone anywhere unusual? Have any injuries? Everything, Pater, I need to know and Vaxanide itself could be at stake."
Spike lets the red dot drift gently down to center on the Pater's hand around the las-pistol. He adds quietly, "Answer the Savant; don't do anything stupid you'll regret later. Your sister wouldn't want you to leave the villagers here to die, right?"
Jerobal's glance flicks to Havelock, then back to Spike, and then he sighs, closing his eyes and extending his hand with the laspistol to Havelock. "So this is how it ends," he murmurs. "You are right. You are both right. Suicide for what I have done is selfish. The Emperor, in his divine compassion, would even find it hard to approve. Especially when so much is at stake. Very well.
"Ava spent her time in the village. We did not have many visitors from the hive, mostly a few people passing through. We entertained some of the visitors, mostly pilgrims or friars who travelled the provinces. Before she... passed on to this state, the only wound or such she spoke of was a pricking of her wrist when she had gone out into the fields. I thought nothing of it at the time, but after her affliciton I researched what I could and yet could find nothing which would lead to her becoming such. Even the Plague of Undeath requires being mauled by the undead."
Once Havelock has the pistol back, Spike relaxes slightly, to the extent of tilting up the rifle and simply listening.
Spike glances inquiringly at the psyker, wondering if he's heard of this wrist-pricking thing or not.
"Did she say which field? And... had you had any unusual visitors?"
He shakes his head. "No, just 'the fields,' where the men and women work and such. In fact I thought it was just a piece of jewelry that caught her wrist." He moves tot he side, revealing the desk's contents. Up on a shelf of it, are a small collection of gewgaws, including a small wood pendant, and a wood bracelet. "The bracelet itself is unremarkable, a gift from a friar passing by. I could find nothing about it that could have caused this, though, not even a splinter or such.
Spike says softly, "Wooden items against the skin... did the friar make the wooden locket the Savant found?"
Jerobal shakes his head. "No, Daniel had had that for years and years. And Ava had hers since before we left Scintilla Secundus for here."
Spike nods silently, still watching curiously.
Havelock frowns. "The Vaxanhive chirurgeons... they don't come here, correct?"
The missionary says, "They came here, but not normally. Inquisitor, before I fully understood what had happened to my sister, I did not contain her as well as I should have. She had escaped twice before I put her into these bindings, which was several months ago. And that, I fear, spread the... at first I had thought it to be Chaos taint, but the plague or whatever it is... spread the plague to her victims.
Spike hisses in sudden anger, "Twice! You -- how could you!?"
"She kills them, they rise," Havelock nods-- then raises a hand, "It's late in the hour for recriminations, Spike.
"Had they been here close on before the affliction?" the psyker asks.
Spike growls under his breath, but keeps his shock and anger at the Pater's slacker attitude to himself.
Jerobal says tightly, "She is -- was -- my sister." He shakes his head. "No. They were not. They came only after we discovered the first attack."
"I think we've learned all we can here," Havelock sighs, then raises his head. "Very well. Here is your sentence, Pater."
Spike's shadowed gaze is dark on the priest; he shifts his hands on the rifle again in case he needs to use it swiftly, as he listens.
Jerobal takes in a deep breath, nodding, keeping his hands folded in front of him.
"You will go up there, and you will go to the gate. You will burn the corpse there, and you will GO OUT THERE and LEAD THESE PEOPLE as the Emperor called you to do so...! You will go up there, you will TELL them what they are facing, and you will lead their defense. What the Ecclesiarchy does with you after this is over is the Ecclesiarchy's own business-- until then, there is a moral threat abroad, Pater, and these people look to you for guidance. You will guide them. Am I understood?"
Spike smiles faintly within the hood, thumbing off the laser sight. That sounds like the Emperor's justice to him.
Jerobal blinks. He'd clearly been expecting an excruciator. "I -- I--" Then he gets his wits about him, and nods, resolutely. "By the Emperor's name, I shall, Inquisitor. By his light -- and Ava's memory -- I swear it."
Jerobal bounds to his new duties quickly, scrambling up the ramp and leaving the Inquisitors in the small room.
He comes back shortly after with a keg of oil. "I realized I should start here, then attend to the other...." His resolve flaters a little as he looks upon the body of his once-sister.
Spike clears his throat pointedly.
"You might as well take her out of here, Pater," Havelock says, meeting him at the top of the ramp. "She needn't stay in this hole now... and the villagers need to know what they're facing."
Jerobal hesitates a second, then nods, setting the keg down, and moving down to the cell to gather a blanket. He manages to not weep, at all.
"Let's go, Spike," Havelock nods to the door.
Spike nods to the psyker and follows Cat out of the little dungeon, glancing back only once as they depart.
"Janus," the missionary says, as he unlocks the cell.
Havelock pauses. "Beg pardon?"
Spike pauses, the barrel of the rifle shifting under the cloak.
Jerobal says, "Wilhelm Janus. He was the friar who came by. I just remembered his name. He... I don't know if this might help, but he seemed educated and well-learned. Much more than myself. I attempted to find him after my sister was... afflicted... but I could not. I knew he was heading for the hive at some point in his travels."
"I had hoped he might know something of this, but,, well...."
Spike says, "Which hive? This is the friar who gave the bracelet to your sister several worlds ago?"
Jerobal says, "Vaxanhive, Inquisitor. And yes, it was.""
Spike's eyes narrow, "You knew he was headed here?"
"I apologize, I meant, this was the friar who gave the bracelet to my sister several months ago. He was going to travel about the provinces for a time before returning to Vaxanhive."
Spike nods slowly, then glances inquiringly at Havelock, "Try tracking him down in Vaxanhive next? Or finish off the dead first?"
"The hive. We can't hope to stem this tide until we cut the source off," Havelock says.
Spike nods again, glancing incuriously at the rotting mess in the cage before he jogs after Havelock and Tech-Priest Cat.
"Let's be off," Havelock says. "We need to make haste to Vaxanhive.