The Ascendant Stars - Michael Cobley [52]
How in all the hells did I end up in this …
Then in a rush it came back to him.
Once the coordinates for Greg’s location on Nivyesta had been sent to Gideon’s ship, Theo was on his way to his quarters to pack his gear when he was stopped by Strogalev, a trapper from Tangenberg. Strogalev said that he’d found an unusual Brolt device on the way to Tusk Mountain but couldn’t figure out if it was a weapon or what, and asked Theo if he would take a look. Theo was determined to be ready when the raiding party left – he wasn’t going to let Vashutkin out of his sight – but Strogalev’s tale snagged his curiosity so along he went to the man’s cubby room where someone clubbed him over the head, knocking him out.
Like some green cadet with his mother’s ribbon in his inside pocket, he thought. How could I just walk into that and not realise …
The barrow juddered as it passed over stones then tilted back to negotiate an incline of some kind. Theo heard the rustle of undergrowth brushing against the sides, and the soft sound of plant stalks breaking. The air was cold and damp, and he could smell a mingling of foliage and bark. They had brought him to one of the wooded gorges or narrow vales that led through the foothills to the Forest of Arawn. It could only be for one reason.
They. He was sure that there were more than one, sure that he’d heard another rhythm of footfalls.
‘Stop,’ said a man’s voice from in front. ‘Stop – there!’
The man pushing the barrow stopped. Theo heard a steady mutter from him, low and semi-audible.
‘Turn left, no, to the left – is correct. Now continue further along.’
The shaking, lurching progress resumed. The other voice belonged to Strogalev, Theo was certain of it. Strogalev was a recent arrival yet Theo had seen him in Vashutkin’s company several times, usually when Vashutkin’s supporters were not around.
Until three days ago his uncertainty about the Rus politician had rested only on intuitive suspicion, nothing more. He had heard Vashutkin’s account of the perilous mission to Giant’s Shoulder, the battle against the rogue combat mechs, how the Zyradin helped Greg survive the onslaught, then how Greg made it to the Brolturans’ fortification and took a lift down to the warp-well. Or so Vashutkin reckoned. The Rus escaped the main force of mechs by descending the southern face of Giant’s Shoulder to a natural recess in the rock from which he was rescued by the zeplin Har not long after.
Everyone who heard it marvelled at the bravery and good fortune of those involved and was impressed by Vashutkin’s modesty and charisma. But Theo remained … uncertain. He had listened with the rest, took in the same dramatic tale and found himself unconvinced. He had wondered if it stemmed from the fact that he simply didn’t like the man (or did his dislike stem from his distrust?). In any case, this nebulous suspicion had hung over Theo’s thoughts, neither intensifying nor dispersing until three days ago when he was approached by a Uvovo scholar, one of Chel’s secretive Artificers.
The Uvovo, whose name was Jofik, had asked Theo if Vashutkin suffered from any kind of mental illness, or perhaps some physical condition that would affect his personality. Mystified but intrigued, he had said he knew nothing about the man’s health or state of mind. Jofik had accepted this with a nod and seemed to consider it for a moment before explaining.
Some other Uvovo, he told Theo, had noticed oddities in Mr Vashutkin’s behaviour since his arrival at Tusk Mountain. Most Uvovo were curious to some degree about what Humans did and why, and a couple of chance observations of Mr Vashutkin had revealed an unusual trait. Nearly all Human faces, Jofik went on, were expressive of their thoughts, even when asleep. Mr Vashutkin’s face was strangely blank, though only when alone or asleep – when someone came to see him his features changed completely and were full of expression, only to lapse into slack blankness once he was alone again. And this was accompanied by long periods of inactivity, of him just sitting