‘Not me. But I saw the bodies.’

  ‘Fine. Any of your other enemies want you dead?’

  ‘Of course,’ Caleb replied. ‘But I don’t think many care enough to send bounty hunters this far downhive.’

  ‘Any other suspects? I’m guessing there wasn’t much to that story about the Blood River massacre?’

  ‘No, that was true. For the most part.’

  There was silence. Caleb turned to face his gaoler. Stone fixed him with his piercing glare. Caleb stared back.

  ‘Is that right?’ Stone said. ‘You fought against those unspeakable creatures and somehow prevailed?’

  ‘I wouldn’t say I fought them. Fended off a couple perhaps. But they were already leaving. I hid for most of it.’

  ‘And the child?’

  ‘What about her?’

  ‘In the story you said you carried her on your back for one hundred miles through the Ash Wastes.’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Why?’

  The question was asked so casually. For a moment Caleb wasn’t sure how to answer.

  ‘Because she was a child?’ he said. ‘What else could I do?’

  Stone didn’t reply straight away. Caleb could tell they were getting closer. He was starting to recognise landmarks, the piles of debris and tunnels running through the dunes. Ahead lay the shale mound where the ambush should have been sprung.

  ‘So, we’ve ruled out monsters and gangers seeking vengeance,’ Stone continued. ‘Who else has reason to hate you?’

  ‘Present company excluded?’ Caleb coughed, then cleared his throat. ‘Well, I… there was an incident in the Spire. Have you ever heard of the Hand of Harrow?’

  ‘I’ve heard of it,’ Stone replied. ‘But I thought it was just a myth.’

  ‘Yeah, that’s the funny thing,’ Caleb said. ‘Myths always seem to have a little grain of truth.’

  ‘You’re saying you stole the Hand of Harrow?’ Stone frowned. ‘You broke into the Spire, stole a treasured artefact, and somehow escaped with your life?

  ‘Lives. And yes. Sort of.’

  ‘Then it sounds like we have a suspect. I’m just surprised you’re not already dead.’

  ‘I don’t think I’m a priority at present. The whole incident caused something of a succession crisis. The House is on the brink of civil war – until that’s dealt with I doubt they care much about seeking restitution.’

  ‘How do you know all this?’

  ‘I have an info broker.’

  ‘House Delaque?’

  ‘Aren’t they always?’

  Stone rolled his eyes. ‘Snakes, the whole bunch of them. Why would you trust this one?’

  ‘That’s a question I’ve asked myself more than once. But he’s honest more often than he lies.’

  ‘You sure about that?’

  ‘I keep a ledger. Besides, he was the one who tipped me off that the hunters were coming.’

  ‘But not who hired them?’

  ‘No.’

  Stone rubbed his chin. ‘Well, someone holds a grudge. And they don’t care about people getting caught in the crossfire.’

  A cloud of oily smoke hung over the mine, the dome’s extractor fans failing to clear the fumes from the fire, but at ground level they could see well enough. The fires had died now, but bodies were strewn about the compound. There was no point checking for signs of life; most were badly burnt.

  While Stone checked the bodies Caleb examined the extraction site. The workers had found something, that much was clear from the gaping hole. The winch had also been brought into place. Whatever it was must have been large as well as heavy. Yet now it was gone.

  He heard Stone curse and looked up. The older man was examining one of the bodies.

  ‘Headshot,’ he sighed. ‘Another one over here too. This was no accident.’

  ‘You believe me then?’

  ‘I’m starting to,’ the old man said. ‘But I still don’t understand why these people had to die.’

  ‘I think I have some idea about that,’ Caleb replied, nodding to the extraction site. ‘Someone has dug an Ambot-sized hole. But there’s no actual Ambot. I’m not much of a detective, but I think I see a pattern here.’

  ‘Could be.’ Stone nodded, approaching the pit. ‘Something’s been taken all right. Something heavy.’

  ‘Then where is it?’

  Stone did not answer. He was reading the impressions left in the ash. They made little sense to Caleb, contaminated by footprints, but the older man seemed to know what he was looking for.

  ‘Minecart’s gone,’ he said, nodding to the ground. There was something: parallel lines running through the dust. Stone dipped his finger into the ash and brought it up, metal filings clinging to his armoured gloves. ‘Magnetised,’ he said, retrieving a small device from his pocket.

  He raised it, the needle spinning before being drawn to one of the distant stalactites.

  ‘There,’ he said, pointing.

  Caleb shrugged, not following.

  ‘The cart,’ Stone continued. ‘Someone took it. That way, according to the compass.’

  ‘But there are no rails?’

  ‘There don’t need to be,’ Stone replied. ‘There is enough ferrous ore in the bedrock to move the cart, at least for a time. It wouldn’t get far though, especially if it was carrying something heavy.’

  ‘Can you track it?’

  ‘Yeah,’ Stone nodded. ‘You interested in some payback?’

  ‘I could be persuaded.’

  ‘Then maybe it’s time we took those cuffs off you and gave you a weapon. I think this–’

  The las-pulse struck Stone in the shoulder, the blast hurling him from his feet. He tumbled as he fell, landing heavily. A second shot punched into the side of his head.

  Caleb turned.

  She stood at the compound entrance, rifle braced against her shoulder, clad in an exquisite leather and mesh underskin, though the material was worn, spoiled by exposure to the toxic underhive. A silver vambrace adorned her left arm, the metal curiously untouched. Her hair was tightly bound behind her head, though strands had worked their way clear of the bun and hung loose about her face. But it was her eyes that most troubled him. He’d seen madness and hatred; both were common within the underhive. But her eyes held the deranged glint of the zealot, like the fana­tics of House Cawdor. There was a manic joy in her hate that engulfed all reason.

  ‘Never where you’re supposed to be,’ she said. She took a step closer, the rifle aimed at his head. ‘But I think this is better. I would have found you in Hope’s End, but it would have been messy, rushed. This is better. This way I get to take my time.’

  Caleb returned her gaze, his brow furrowed. He tilted his head, like a dog struggling with a difficult command.

  ‘Sorry, have we met?’ he asked.

  The las-pulse struck the ground in front of him, singeing his boot. He took a step back.

  ‘You met my father!’ she snapped, voice shaking, the quiver creeping into her arm.

  She slowed and took a deep breath, finding her centre. The tremble ceased.

  ‘My name is Elissa Harrow,’ she said, calmer now, though her eyes still brimmed with hate. ‘You broke into my home, murdered my father, and mutilated his body.’

  ‘Well, that certainly narrows it down a bit,’ Caleb replied, shuffling his feet a hair’s breadth closer to the mine. ‘Was this recently, or–’

  The shot was placed perfectly between his legs, barely singeing his crotch in passing, and striking the ground behind him.

  ‘You do so enjoy the sound of your own voice, don’t you?’ she continued, drawing closer, her mouth split in a zealot’s grin. ‘Everywhere you go you tell all these stories. About who you killed and where you went and what you did. How you even scaled the heights of the Spire, like you’re some kind of hero of the underhive. Well, do you know how your story will end?’

  He shook his head.

  ‘In ignominy,’ she said. ‘They will say how a petty slight caused you to unleash a murder-machine on the innocent people of Hope’s End. They will tell how it tore their settlement apart, almost wiping them out in the process. But fortunately Caleb the Hivescum will be stopped at the last moment by a brave warrior from the upper hive, who avenges her father’s death and puts the pitiful thief in the ground like the dog he is. Caleb the Cursebringer is what they will call you from now on – how does that sound for a send-off?’

  ‘Not bad,’ he conceded after a moment’s thought. ‘I mean, purely from a narrative point of view – on a personal level it’s not ideal. I take it this murder-machine you’re referring to is the Ambot?’

  ‘I sent it to liberate you,’ she said, still smiling. ‘It was going to tear open that cell and let you both walk free. Of course, I would then have switched the inhibitors off and allowed it to vent some of my frustration on that cesspool of a town. Since you’re here I suppose I’ll need to change my story a little. I think we’ll say I arrived in time to stop you, but too late to prevent you taking the life of another poor settler.’

  ‘One small point,’ Caleb said as she aimed her weapon at his face. ‘I didn’t actually kill your father. Or mutilate him. The person responsible for that is currently residing in that cesspool. You may kill me, but she will come for you.’

  Elissa’s smile twitched. ‘You’re lying.’

  ‘Why should I?’ he said. ‘You’ll still kill me. I just wanted you to know before I die that this is not over. You must have seen her in action. Who do you think is more capable of defeating your father, her or me?’

  Caleb saw movement behind Elissa. Stone had risen to an elbow. His face was a bloodied mess, the skin burnt away on one side, revealing a steel skullplate. He raised his stubber.

  She hadn’t moved, her weapon still trained on Caleb.

  ‘Even if that were true, it doesn’t matter,’ she said. ‘The Ambot will–’

  ‘She will beat it. Just like she did before. And then she will come for you. And there will be no soliloquies, no elaborate schemes or convoluted plots. She will simply find you, kill you, and carve out your heart.’

  Elissa didn’t reply, but her finger tightened on the trigger.

  Stone fired, the stub-round clipping her side, the mesh armour absorbing the worst of the shot. She swayed but stayed on her feet, swinging the rifle round to return fire.

  Caleb turned, darting towards the mine’s entrance, his movements hampered by the iron manacles. Behind him he heard the pistol fire once more before it was silenced by a las-pulse. He threw himself into the cage, another pulse soaring over his head, and slammed his fist on the controls. Slowly the cage doors ground shut. As the cage ascended the mineshaft he could just make out the figure of Elissa Harrow on the ground below, rifle levelled at Stone’s prone figure.

  9

  Iktomi watched from the cell’s narrow window. Her hands were unbound, though the right clasped the left, stemming the trickle of blood.

  She’d seen the settlers move out after Stone and Caleb left, setting up guards to patrol the perimeter, two more ascending to the main building, acting as spotters for the ground forces.

  Now she watched the main square.

  Small groups would pass, always alert, weapons drawn. She caught snatches of conversations that gave away little; they did not know what was coming, only that they must be wary. Her gaze fell on the bedrock at the centre of the square, where the pebbles had started to dance, the movement almost imperceptible, like the beating of a fly’s wings.

  She frowned.

  More miners passed but she ignored them, her focus reserved for the tiny vibrating stones. She could feel the force that shook them now, like distant thunder beneath her feet.

  A crack crept though the rock, no thicker than a knife’s edge.

  She turned from the window. Her chains were wound in a circle by the iron grate, the bloodstained manacles beside them, a bone chip still lodged in the lock. She picked up the chain, ignoring the ache in her bandaged hand.

  Voices. They were running towards the square. She could not make out their words beneath the thunder rising through the rock.

  The Ambot burst from the main square, wading from the crumbling bedrock as though it were a shallow stream. Its steel mandibles clicked and it surveyed the settlements, sensors glinting a sickly amber as it searched for its target.

  Gunfire. The settlers closed in on the machine, unloading their shotguns. The shells pattered from its carapace, like shingle against steel. It paid them no heed, advancing towards her cell. It did not move like she remembered; each step was slow and deliberate, like a clockwork toy. There was no fury in its eyes, merely a cold purpose. As it drew near it raised its claws, the underslung meltapods flaring.

  Iktomi retreated to the far end of the cell, the chain clasped tight. She could feel the heat radiating from the wall, the metal smoking at the weapon’s caress. The Ambot’s claws sank into the iron, sparks flying from its sawblades as it peeled the wall open, tearing a doorway the width of a bulkhead.

  It stepped back, as though inviting her to pass.

  She did not move.

  The miners were drawing closer, weapons trained. The machine did not respond, its purpose apparently fulfilled.

  Then it stiffened, servos locked.

  Its sensors flashed red, as though in warning, the steel mandibles snapping.

  It stared at her through artificial eyes, steam hissing from its jaws.

  She waited.

  The machine’s claw swept forwards, the meltapod flaring, but she was already moving, hurling herself to the left, the chain clasped two-handed. She spun on her heel, channelling the momentum through the weapon, and hurling it with all her strength at the machine’s faceplate. As it passed through the melta-beam the chain glowed white-hot, the metal running like wax as it struck the machine’s sensor bank.

  The Ambot’s claws flew to its faceplate, metal scraping against metal as it struggled to clear its vision. She swept past it, darting through the opening torn into the cell’s wall. In the square beyond, the settlers had formed a semicircle, their weapons aimed at the ruptured wall.

  She froze, gaze darting from one face to another, until she found their former guard, the man Stone had referred to as Tanner.

  He met her gaze.

  ‘Stone said keep us safe,’ she said. ‘And he said your word is like iron.’

  Behind her the Ambot’s engine roared in fury. It turned awkwardly, hampered by its bulk, before swinging its fist in a murderous arc. She ducked beneath the blow, fingers closing around a broken bar from the cell’s window. She smashed it into the Ambot’s faceplate, a shockwave rippling down her arm.

  The machine didn’t even flinch at the blow, sawblades spinning as it reached for her.

  A volley of stubber rounds ricocheted from its chestplate.

  The Ambot hesitated, its mandibles clicking, as though caught between conflicting protocols.

  The settlers had opened fire, Tanner at their head. She ran between the settlers as they retreated, guns still blazing, and the machine waded through the barrage in pursuit. At the far end of the settlement lay the workshop. There would be machines there, perhaps powerful enough to pierce the beast’s shell.

  She glanced back. It had fallen some way behind but was still following, its crimson sensors focused on her.

  A harpoon pierced its wrist, the projectile finding a weak point between the plates.

  The Ambot slowed, glancing from its arm to the gunner now linked to it by the steel cable. The man had a moment to realise his mistake before the machine wrenched the weapon from his grasp, dragging him from his feet. As he scrambled to rise the Ambot swept forwards, its meltapod flaring. The air was filled with the stench of burning fat. His cries were mercifully short.

  The automata slowed, sensors sweeping across the square, as though searching for something, oblivious to the gunfire. One of the settlers moved too close, trying to unload his shotgun into the machine’s relatively unprotected hip joint. It suddenly surged towards him, claw slamming down, the impact reducing the man to pulp. It immediately lost interest, returning to its search, as though seeking a trail.

  It was hunting.

  She slowed, and Tanner drew level with her.

  ‘What’s it doing?’ he said.

  ‘It remembers me,’ she murmured.

  He looked at her. ‘What?’

  ‘Look.’

  The machine had caught sight of her. Steam hissed from its jaws as it broke into a lumbering run. The miners moved with it, formed a semicircle around the beast, firing controlled bursts from their autoguns. The Ambot twitched at the impacts, but did not slow.

  She glanced back to the workshop and the lines of upturned minecarts still undergoing repairs.

  ‘Do they still work?’ she asked.

  Tanner shrugged. ‘I could get them working.’

  ‘Do it,’ she said, springing towards the workshop, the machine thundering after her, charging through the storm of bullets.

  She dived between the carts, rolling to her feet, the broken bar held in her right hand, the left trailing blood behind her.

  The Ambot lurched closer, its mandibles clicking. Perhaps some echo of the predatory creature it once was still drove the machine’s consciousness. Around it, the miners were moving into position, adjusting the levers and cranks as they slowly brought the generators to life.

  The Ambot gave no sign that it saw them, its sensors squared solely on Iktomi. It lurched forwards, claw raised, meltapod flaring. There was a hiss as water vapour was boiled from the air. She ducked beneath the blast, the heat scorching her shoulders, and swung the bar in a wide arc. It struck the barrel, the metal liquefying on impact, the molten steel cascading over the weapon. She turned just in time to avoid a blinding flash.