The Eisenhorn TrilogyXenos(科幻战争)-第20部分

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'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　slur's　not　a
slur　if　you　use　it　on　yourself。
Labour　laws　on　Eechan　permit　twists　to　work　as　indentured　labourers　in　the　industrial　mill…farms　and　the　sap　distilleries；　provided　they
abide　by　the　local　regime　and　keep　themselves　to　the　licensed　shanty　towns　huddled　in　the　skirts　of　the　bad　end　of　Eechan　mainhive。
The　barkeep　slapped　two　heavy　shotglasses　down　on　the　counter　and　filled　them　to　the　brim　　a　spouted　flask。
I　tossed　a　couple　of　coins　down　and　reached　for　my　drink。
The　bloodshot　eyes　leered　at　me。
'What's　this？　Perial　coins？　Come　now；　twist；　you　know　we　ain't　allowed　to　trade　in　those。'
I　paused。　A　glance　down　the　counter　showed　me　that　the　rest　of　the　clientele　were　paying　in　mill…authorised　coupons　or　nuggets　of
base　metal。　And　that　they　were　all　staring　and　scowling　at　us。　A　basic　mistake；　right　off　the　bat。
My　companion　leaned　forward　and　sipped　his　drink。　'Don't　get　fret　with　two　thirsty　twists　who's　happened　to　have　lucked　into　a　good
black　score；　eh？'
The　barkeep　smiled　and　his　black　tongue　flickered。　He　scooped　up　the　coins。　'Ain't　no　fret；　twist。　You　earn　'em；　I'll　take　'em。　Just
sayin'　you　might　not　want　to　go　flashing　'em；　s'all。'
We　took　our　drinks　away　from　the　bar；　looking　for　a　table。　It　had　taken　six　weeks　to　reach　Eechan；　and　I　was　impatient　for　a　lead。
The　beat　changed。　Another　pound　number　began　pumping　through　the　underfloor　speakers；　which　to　my　untutored　ears　was　simply　a
variation　in　auditory　assault。　But　the　crowd　clapped　and　roared　approval。　The　naked　girl　with　the　grinning　stomach　began　rotating　her
hips　the　other　way。
'I　have　a　feeling　I　should　be　leaving　this　to　you；'　I　whispered　to　my　companion。
'You're　doing　fine。'
'〃Don't　get　fret；　twist…〃。　for　God…Emperor's　sake…　where　did　you　learn　to　talk　like　that？'
'You　never　hung　with　twists？'
'Not　like　this…'
'So　I'm　guessin'　you　don't　s'love　that　genejack　pound　beat；　twist？'
'Stop　it　or　I'll　shoot　you。'
Harlon　Nayl　grinned　and　blinked　with　all　his　sixteen　eyes　in　mock　offence。
'Sup　up；　twist。　If　that　ain't　Phant　Mastik；　I'll　poke　my　eyes　out。'
'Oh；　let　me；'　I　hissed；　and　slugged　back　my　shot。　'Raise　'em　and　sink　'em　and　let's　have　another！'　I　grimaced　to　myself　as　the　burning
spirit　scalded　down　my　oesophagus；　and　then　scooped　two　more　drinks　from　the　tray　of　the　porcupine　girl　as　she　sashayed　past。
Phant　Mastik　sat　with　his　cronies　in　a　side　booth。　Generations　of　rad…storm　mutation　had　made　him　an　obese　thing　with　wrinkled　flesh
and　enlarged　features。　His　ears　were　frayed　fan…like　swathes　of　veiny　skin　and　his　nose　was　a　drooping　proboscis。　An　incongruous　tuft
of　thick　red　hair　decorated　his　neanderthal　brow。
His　eyes　were　deep…set　and　black。
And　sad；　I　thought。　Tremendously　sad。

He　was　drinking　from　a　big　tankard　by　snorting　the　alcohol　up　through　his　dangling　nose。　His　mouth；　distorted　by　tusk…like　jags　of
tooth；　was　useless。　A　twist　whore；　with　an　unnecessary　number　of　arms；　was　sipping　her　drink；　smoking　an　obscura　stick；　retouching
her　makeup　and　doing　something　to　Phant　under　the　table　that　he　was　clearly　enjoying。
We　approached。
Phant's　minders　got　up　immediately　to　block　us。　A　homed　brute　and　a　twist　whose　entire　head　was　a　wrinkled　skin　hood　for　an
outsized　eye。　They　both　reached　into　their　robes。
'How　you　tonight；　twists？'　puffed　Horn…brute。
'We　fine。　No　fret；　just　s'gotta　talk　to　the　Phant；'　said　Nayl。
'Ain't　not　gonna　happen；'　said　Big…eye；　his　voice　muffled　by　his　clothing。　God…Emperor　knew　where　his　mouth　was。
'I　s'think　so；　when　we　have　us　such　a　scalding　black　score；　him　to　enjoy。'　Nayl　didn't　shrink　back。
＋＋Let　them　through＋＋　Phant　said；　his　voice　conveyed　by　an　augmetic　carry…sound　unit。　A　vox…implant。　Few　twists　had　the　money　for
that。　Phant　was　certainly　a　player。
The　minders　stepped　aside　and　allowed　us　into　the　booth。　We　sat。
＋＋Go　on＋＋
'Twist；　I　s'tell　ya；　we　be　in　the　market　for　section…alpha　brainjobs。　We　s'hear　you　got　one　for　the　begging。'
＋＋Hear？　Where？＋＋
'Round　and　around；'　said　Nayl。
＋＋Uh　huh。　And　you　are？＋＋
'Just　two　twists　s'gonna　earn　us　a　deal；'　I　said。
＋＋That　right？＋＋
We　sa