‘I’m… I’m all right,’ said Grail but he couldn’t convince himself, let alone Russart. ‘Just tired.’
‘The dreams?’ said Russart, rising. ‘Or something more?’ When Grail didn’t answer, he continued. ‘You know, I often think about that time on the frontline, at Fennan’s Pass. I often dream about it as well. Especially those final few moments, the waiting.’
And now, having heard that, Grail couldn’t help remembering lying there in the mud and dirt, in the aftermath of the explosion.
His body had shielded Russart’s, protecting it as if he knew he would get that protection back in return one day. Feeling the pain in his shoulder, seeing the redness there. But neither of them moving. Moments stretching out into eternity, losing track of time. Grail silently calling out for help with all his mind and soul to anyone that would listen. For them to be saved.
Then the sounds of warfare still raging up above, but something else: the distinctive sound of Thunderhawks descending, of bolter fire. The sound that meant help had finally arrived.
And now flashes of blue and white amongst the green, of giants in armour taking up the battle.
‘Down here, two Guardsmen!’ Grail heard someone shouting. Then people in the trenches with them, moving them, lifting them. Congratulating them for holding the line, for holding off the orks as long as they had; the enemies of the Imperium had lost one battle here today.
The helmeted figures in front of them. Helmets turning into horned and bony faces with lots of teeth.
Encouraging him to–
He was being shaken and Grail started, realised he was back in Russart’s quarters.
‘Governor?’ asked Russart. ‘I lost you there for a moment. What is it? Please tell me.’
Could he? Could he really confide in him? ‘I-I feel like something has finally awoken inside me. Does that make any sense?’
Russart shook his head.
‘Perhaps even something that’s always… That was set in motion long ago, a connection, that is, at last… And it wants something from me. Something important, to do with this place. You’ve heard rumours about what’s out there, as well as I. And…’ Grail put his head in his hands.
‘You’re scaring me, Tob… Governor, sir.’ Russart led him to his chair and sat him down.
‘I-I’m scaring myself!’ he admitted. Grail suddenly grabbed hold of Russart’s sleeve, clutching it, pulling him in closer. ‘My enemies, Russart, they cannot be allowed to…’
‘You’re safe, sir. You’re quite safe.’
Grail’s eyes dropped to the plans on the table Russart was examining. They were, as he’d come to expect, incredibly detailed. He would be kept safe, no one would be able to get to him.
‘If you need to postpone tomorrow…’ Russart said. ‘Or perhaps I might act in your stead?’
Grail rose again sharply, knocking over the chair. ‘Is that it?’ he cried out. ‘Is that what you want?’
‘No, it’s just–’
‘You would seek to ingratiate yourself with the dignitaries attending? I see now, I see… I thought you were happy with our arrangement, Russart?’
‘I am,’ said the man, but couldn’t look Grail in the eye. ‘That is, I mean… I work hard for you, sir. A little more acknowledgement might be–’
‘More acknowledgement!’
More, you can have more!
Grail backed away. ‘You want to broker some of the deals I have initiated myself, is that it? Take advantage of some of the contacts who are arriving?’
‘I simply meant–’
Grail held up his hand, continued to back out of his bodyguard’s room. ‘I shall be there to greet them myself, Russart! Do not worry about that!’ He would make sure of it, he’d decided; wouldn’t allow Russart or anyone else to take credit for his accomplishments.
No matter what it took, he would be there.
It had been worth it, simply to see the look on Russart’s face.
Shaved, bathed and in full dress uniform, Governor Tobias Grail had arrived at the ball in his fortress with plenty of time to spare before the first of the guests arrived: one Baron Kinnsel from the neighbouring mine-city of Forndosa, who brought with him his wife and two daughters. As the event dictated, as well as dressing in their very best finery – he in a frock-coat and breeches, the ladies in cream and white silks, satins and frills – each person was wearing a mask. The baron’s was a gold affair, which covered his eyes, while his companions had chosen delicately patterned silver façades that they held up on the end of sticks, and which constantly seemed to be getting in the way of the curly wigs they’d donned.
‘And are you not wearing a mask yourself, Governor Grail?’ asked the baron, once the introductions to his family had concluded.
It was the one thing missing from his own ‘costume’, and he explained that he preferred people to see him as he was. ‘I have nothing to hide,’ he said with a small chuckle.
‘Oh, where is the fun in that?’ tittered Lady Kinnsel.
‘Indeed!’ said the baron, then lowered his voice, leaning in. ‘In fact, I’m hoping we can have a talk later about a few… matters of business?’
Grail nodded. ‘Yes, of course. But for now, please do enjoy the hospitality on offer.’
Russart, for his part, was wearing a charcoal-coloured mask that fitted over his entire forehead, matching the colour of his own attire. He was flitting about, making sure his security teams had entrances and exits covered, not to mention everything in between, as more and more guests arrived.
‘You really have transformed this place,’ the Duchess Sillerby said to him, craning her neck to take in the pillars of the enormous room, the paintings adorning the walls of various battles from the Imperium’s history. Her puffed-up, mustard-coloured dress and mask made her look even more washed out than usual. ‘I haven’t visited in… oh, it must be four years now. You’ve done wonders, as indeed I hear you have with ore production everywhere on Aranium.’
‘You must be very proud,’ said her husband, who looked more like her father; white-grey beard flowing down from his own mask and cushioning his neck.
‘We… I am,’ said Grail, accepting the compliment gratefully.
