我的美母教师 | 乡村精品合集 | 乡村活寡 | 乡村欲爱 | 乡村春潮 | 乡村花医 | 欲望乡村（未删） | 乡村艳福 | 乡村春事 | 人妻四部曲

快捷操作: 按键盘上方向键 ← 或 → 可快速上下翻页 按键盘上的 Enter 键可回到本书目录页 按键盘上方向键 ↑ 可回到本页顶部! 如果本书没有阅读完，想下次继续接着阅读，可使用上方 "收藏到我的浏览器" 功能 和 "加入书签" 功能！

'Yes；　sir。'
'Good。　I　will　return　to　the　Gudrun　estate　no　later　than　ten　months　from　now。　I　trust　it　will　be　the　home　I　expect。'
It　was　a　promise　I　would　fail　miserably　to　keep。
'What　of　the　Distaff；　sir？'　asked　Surskova。
'I　want　to　divide　that；'　I　said。　'I　want　six　of　the　best　Distaff　members　sent　to　Gudrun　to　bide　there　at　my　wishes。　The　future　of　the
Distaff　itself　I　see　as　separate　from　my　living　arrangements。　I　have　a　lease　on　a　spire…top　residence　on　Messina。　That　will　be　the　new
official　home　of　the　Distaff。　Surskova；　you　will　supervise　the　move　and　establishment　of　the　untouchable　school　there。'
She　nodded；　shocked。　Bequin　seemed　taken　aback。
I　looked　round　at　the　hundred…plus　servants；　warriors　and　aides　crammed　into　the　room。
'That's　it。　Until　I　see　you　all　again；　may　the　God…Emperor　protect　you。'
I　WAS　LEFT　alone　edea　and　Nayl。
'Not　for　us　the　chores　of　moving　house；'　I　said。
'I　had　a　hunch　not；'　smirked　Medea。
'For　us；　two　missions。'
'For　us？'　asked　Bequin。
'Yes；　Alizebeth。　Unless　you　think　you　and　I　are　too　old　for　such　diversions？'
'No；　I…　I—'
'I've　been　too　long　at　the　back　of　things。　Too　long　relying　on　my　capable　staff。　I　yearn　for　field　work。'
'The　last　field　work　we　were　in　nearly　got　you　killed；'　scolded　Bequin　darkly。
'Proving　that　I'm　losing　my　edge；　I　think。'
'For　shame！'　muttered　Nayl　with　a　smile。
'So　we're　going　to　have　an　adventure；　all　of　us。　Just　the　few　of　us。　Remember　what　those　were　like；　Aemos？'
'Frankly；　I'm　still　not　over　them；　Gregor；　but　yes。'
'Alizebeth？'
Bequin　crossed　her　arms　ill…humouredly。　'Oh；　I'd　just　love　to　come　and　watch　you　get　killed…'
'We're　all　agreed；　then？'　I　said。　I　can't　help　being　deadpan。　Gorgone　Locke　made　sure　of　that。　But　my　delivery　was　good　enough　to　get
Nayl　and　Medea　raucous　with　laughter　and　Aemos　chuckling。
Alizebeth　Bequin　grinned　despite　herself。
'Two　missions；　as　I　said。　After　this　briefing；　I'll　allow　you　to　recruit　a　few　personnel　from　the　staff。　Nayl　…　a　fighter　or　two　you　can
count　on。　Aemos　…　an　astropath　we　can　use　without　worry。　Alizebeth　…　one　or　two　from　the　Distaff。　A　maximum　of　ten　in　the　party；　all
told。　No　more；　you　understand？　Argue　it　out　between　yourselves。　Don't　bring　me　into　it。　We　leave　in　two　days；　and　I　don't　want　to
even　hear　about　any　arguments　second　hand。'
'So　what　are　the　missions？'　asked　Medea；　lounging　back　in　her　padded　chair　and　slipping　her　long　legs　over　the　arm。　She　took　a　long
swig　of　her　weedwine　and　added；　'You　said　two；　right？'
'Two。'

I　pushed　a　stud　on　a　data　wand　in　my　hand　and　a　hololithic　screen　fogged　into　life　over　the　table。　The　words　of　the　message　I'd
received　before　the　start　of　the　tumult　on　Thracian　were　displayed　in　shimmering　letters：　'Scalpel　cuts　quickly；　eager　tongues　revealed。
At　Cadia；　by　terce。　Hound　wishes　Thorn。　Thorn　should　be　sharp。'
'Shit！'　cried　Nayl。
'Is　that　authentic？'　Medea　asked；　looking　at　me。
'It　is。'
'God…Emperor；　he's　in　trouble；　he　needs　us…'　Bequin　murmured。
'Very　probably。　Medea；　you　have　to　arrange　transit　for　us　to　Cadia。　That's　the　first　port　of　call。'
'What's　the　second？'　asked　Aemos。
'The　second？'
'The　second　mission？'
I　looked　at　them　all。　'We　all　know　how　serious　the　Cadian　matter　is。　But　I　made　a　vow　to　Gideon。　I　want　to　find　out　what　was　behind
the　outrage　here。　I　want　to　find　it；　hunt　it　out　and　punish　it。'
You　know；　it's　funny　how　things　turn　out。
IT　WAS　LATE；　and　we　were　devouring　a　splendid　meal　Jarat　had　prepared　for　us。　Nayl　was　telling　a　devastatingly　crude　joke　to　Aemos；
Medea　and　Bequin　and　I　were　talking　over　the　rearrangement　of　the　Distaff　and　the　missions　ahead。
I　think　she　was　feeling　excited。　Like　me；　she'd　been　taking　a　back　seat　for　too　long。
Kircher　came　up　the　terrace；　entering　the　filmy　green　light。
'Sir；　you　have　a　visitor。'
'At　this　hour；　who？'
'He　says　his　name　is　Inshabel；　sir。　Interrogator　Nathun　Inshabel。'
Inshabel　was　waiting　for　me　in　the　library。
'Interrogator。　Has　my　staff　offered　you　refreshment？'
'None　needed；　sir。'
'Very　well…　so　to　what　do　I　owe　this　visit？'
Inshabel；　no　more　than　twenty…five；　pushed　his　thick　blond　hair　out　of　his　eyes　and　looked　at　me　fiercely。　'I…　I　am　masterless。　Roban
is　dead…'
'God…Emperor　rest　him。　He　will　be　missed。'
'Sir；　do　you　ever　think　what　it　would　be　like　if　you　died？'
The　notion　stopped　me　in　my　tracks。　I　had；　in　all　honesty；　never　considered　it。
'No；　Inshabel。　I　haven't。'
'It's　a　terrible　thing；　sir。　As　Roban's　senior　acolyte　it　falls　to　me　to　disburse　his　staff；　his　fortune；　his　knowledge。　I'm　left　to　tidy　up；　as　it
were。　I　have　to　make　sense　of　Roban's　estate。'
'You　will　not　fail　in　that　duty；　interrogator；　of　that　I'm　sure。'
He　smiled　weakly。　'Thank　you；　sir。　I　had…　I　had　thought　to　come　to　you；　and　beg　you　to　take　me　on。　I　so　very　much　want　to　be　an
inquisitor。　My　master　is　dead；　and　I　know　that　your　own…　your　own　interrogator　is…'
'Indeed。　I　choose　my　own　staff；　of　course。　I—'
'Inquisitor　Eisenhorn。　Begging　you　to　take　me　on　as　a　driftwood　student　was　not　why　I　came　here。　As　I　said；　I　had　to　close　up　Roban's
estate。　That　meant　filing　and　authorising　the　pathologica　statement　of　his　death。　Inquisitor　Roban　was　killed　by　a　cargo　servitor
manipulated　by　a　rogue　psyker。'
'Yes？'
'So　to　complete　the　papers；　I　had　to　review　the　death　notice　of　Esarhaddon　so　as　to　establish　causal　motive。'
'That　is　the　procedure；'　I　admitted。
'The　statement　was　very　brief。　Esarhadon's　corpse　was　burnt　from　the　calves　upwards　and　utterly　immolated。　As　in　the　incidents　of
spontaneous　human　combustion；　the　relics　left　by　the　plasma　weapon　were　little　more　than　the　flesh　and　bones　of　the　feet　and　ankles。
Just　bare　vestiges。'
'And？'
'There　was　no　Malleus　brand　on　the　ankle　flesh。'
'It…　What…？'
'I　don't　know　who　Inquisitor　Lyko　burned　on　the　lawns　of　the　Lange　house…　but　it　wasn't　the　heretic　Esarhaddon。'

NINE
EECHAN；　SIX　WEEKS　LATER。
A　WORD　WITH　THE　PHANT。
KNIVES　IN　THE　NIGHT。
THE　BICEPHALIC　MINDER　in　the　squalid　doorway　of　the　twist　bar　regarded　us　with　one　of　his　lice…ridden　heads；　while　the　other　glazed
out；　smoking　an　obscura　pipe。
'Not　your　place；　not　your　kind。　Get　on。'
The　sap　rain　was　falling　heavily　on　our　heads　through　the　rotten　awning；　and　I　had　little　wish　to　stand　in　it　any　longer。　I　nodded　a
sidelong　glance　to　my　companion；　who　tugged　back　his　hood　and　showed　the　minder　the　cluster　of　malformed；　winking　eyes　that
mottled　his　cheek　and　ran　down　his　pallid　throat。　I　raised　my　own　damp　cloak　and　revealed　the　knot　of　stunted　tentacles　that　sprouted
from　an　extra　sleeve　slit　under　my　right　armpit。
The　minder　got　off　his　stool；　one　head　nodding　dozily。　He　was　big；　broad　and　tall　as　an　ogryn；　and　his　greasy　skin　was　busy　with
tattoos。
'Hnh…'　he　muttered；　limping　around　us　as　he　sized　us　up。　'Maybe　then。　You　didn't　smell　like　twists。　Okay…'
We　went　inside；　down　a　few　dark　steps　into　a　nocturnal　club　room　that　was　fogged　with　obscura　smoke　and　pulsing　with　a　brand　of
harsh；　discordant　music　called　''pound''。　Panes　of　red　glass　had　been　put　over　the　lights　of　the　lanterns　and　the　place　was　a　hellish
swamp；　like　the　damnation　paintings　of　that　insane　genius　Omarmettia。
Mal…forms；　deforms；　halfbreeds　and　underscum　huddled　or　gambled　or　drank　or　danced。　On　a　raised　stage；　a　naked；　heavy…breasted；
eyeless　girl　with　a　grinning　mouth　where　her　navel　should　have　been　gyrated　to　the　pound　beat。
We　reached　the　bar；　a　soiled　curve　of　hardwood　under　a　series　of　hard　white　lights。　The　barkeep　was　a　bloated　thing　with　bloodshot
eyes　and　a　black　snake　tongue　that　flickered　between　his　wet；　slit　mouth　and　rotting　teeth。
'Hey；　twist。　What　will　it　be？'
'Two　of　those；'　I　said；　pointing　to　clear　grain…alcohol　shots　that　a　waitress　was　carrying　past　on　a　tray。　She　would　have　been　beautiful
except　for　the　yellow　quills　stippling　her　skin。
Twists。　We　were　all　twists　here。　''Mutant''　is　a　dirty　word　if　you're　a　mutant。　They　delight　in　referring　to　themselves　by　the　Imperium's
glibbest　and　most　detrimental　slang；　as　a　badge　of　honour。　It's　a　pride　thing；　a　common　habit　with　any　underclass。　Non…telepaths　do　it
when　they　call　themselves　''blunts''。　The　tall；　slender　people　of　low…grav　Sylvan　do　it　when　they　call　themselves　''sticks''。　A