It was an eerie experience to walk alone through the great house. Sel had a scouts memory for twists and turns but could appreciate how easy it would be to get lost. She moved down hallways with plush carpets and across rooms tiled in party colored marble, heading for the front of the house where Kayden had last been seen. As minutes passed and she saw no staff she began to grow wary. In the hive the idea that such a large space should be empty of people seemed almost blasphemous, an impression that hadn’t been corrected by guard billets or troopships. It made her feel uneasy and there was a killer on the loose somewhere afterall. Instinctively Sel unslung her las gun and replaced the power cell taking some comfort from the familiar movement. She hadn’t fired it but the cold of the patrol could easily have drained the pack and the indicator lights weren’t always reliable no matter how diligently one might perform the Litany of Armaments. The loss of the shield was beginning to be felt, not so much in the temperature but in the dull hum of whatever back up heating systems kept the floors and rooms warm. It was probably piped hot water as in some places the marble walls were damp with condensate giving the disturbing impression that the building itself was sweating.


Perhaps because of this when Sel heard people approaching she stepped into an alcove in which an antique suit of armor stood with a double handed sword. Two figures entered from the end of the hall, their boots ringing on the marble floors.

“...lock down the house if there is a murderer on the loose,” the first voice was saying.

“It is probably just some of the Guard serfs settling scores,” the other man said, “little more than criminals and whoever can be swept up to meet the tithe.”

“They will try to blame it on us, probably part of that Colonel’s attempt to get into her ladyship’s boudoir,” the first voice replied acidly. It took a moment for Sel to realize that the ‘Colonel’ in question was Kayden. Emperor save her from these stiff shirts that couldn’t read an insignia.

“That isn’t exactly an accomplishment now is it?” Second Voice replied. There was a sudden grunt of exertion and the boots stopped moving.

“You go too far Joachim!” the first voice snapped, his words bitten out through clenched teeth. 

“Appologies my Lord, I forgot myself,” the first grunted. There was a moment's silence and then the footsteps began again. Sel pressed herself back into the alcove, fighting off the urge to sneeze from the dust as the two men passed. One was the mustachioed Captain of the Guard she had been briefly introduced to, the other was a younger more heavily set man she didn’t recognise, presumably the Joachim she had heard mentioned. They were both in their polished breast plates and ridiculous tasseled uniforms complete with gilt handled sabers and sabertashes like they were off to an Emperor’s Day parade. They passed by and Sel waited in position for another two minutes to be sure they were gone before stepping out into the hallway. There was no way the killer was someone in the platoon, whatever those peacocks might think. The unit had been through a lot together, even before Sel had been forcibly welded to it and a guard platoon was no place for secrets. You couldn’t be a guardsman and be alone, you had to trust someone, and eventually word of whatever your vice was would get out, even if the audience for that gossip was small. It had to be someone from the houseguards or the staff but that didn’t narrow it down much. Sel did not much relish playing amateur sleuth, but neither did she care for the idea of waiting for someone to bring an axe down on the back of her head, she very much wanted to believe that Kayden would be able to figure it out before more people died.


 It was with these maudlin thoughts in mind that she noticed a slight scuff of red on the floor as she passed a doorway that had been garishly decorated with a coat of arms. She paused, considering her options, then crossed to it and knelt down, tentatively touching her finger to the stain. They came away wet with blood. Standing quickly she pressed herself up against the wall, then reached for the door handle. With a jerk she ripped it open and went in low, the barrel of her carbine sweeping the room from left to right just like in Crispin’s endless room clearance drills. The room was a library of some kind, the walls laden with books bound in dark leather. Various trinkets were scattered around on plinths and stands, all looked valuable, all looked old. A man lay sprawled across a reading desk beside a fireplace flanked by marble carnadons. He wore the brown robes of a savant, complete with an impressive white beard and implanted oculars mounted on the bridge of his nose. He was thoroughly dead, his collarbone and upper chest carved open as though with the blow of a great axe. Bright blood from his lungs stained his robe and pooled on the desk top in a tacky pool. Sel advanced carefully, carbine leveled, though she supposed the chances that the man was about to pop up with half his guts hanging out were limited. The room was cool enough that a steam was rising from the body, which also suggested he hadn’t been dead that long. There were red marks on the carpet where the killer had clearly wiped the blood off their feet before exiting, though not quite enough to escape Sel’s attention. 


“Frak this for a game of soldiers,” she muttered to herself as she approached the desk. Perhaps a medicae mortis might reveal more but all Sel could determine was that the old man was very dead. It looked as though he had been sitting at the desk when he died, perhaps reading… only there were no books or scrolls to be seen, not even scattered on the floor. There was an area free of blood that shouldn’t have been though, as though there had been a book there… but it had been removed.

“What in the Emperor’s name…” she looked up at the bookshelf and saw a hole in the line of shelved books. There should have been a volume there but it was gone. She touched her comm bead.


“Kolcek, I need back up, I’m…” 

“Under arrest,” a voice came from the door. Sel spun to find herself staring down the barrel of an ornate but very functional las pistol. One of the officers who had derided the guardsmen as serfs was standing in the doorway, behind him another uniformed man with an electro-halberd. The gunman stepped into the room to make space for his minion. Sel was fast but there was no way she was going to be able to swing her weapon to bear before the twitchy looking officer lit her up.

“Drop the rifle nice and slow,” the officer demanded. Sel was tempted for a moment, but to drop a las gun with its safety off wasn’t a good idea, if it went off there was an excellent chance the officer would reflexively pull the trigger and at this range even a half trained parade ground dunce might score a hit. Instead, she set the carbine slowly down on the table top, carefully avoiding the blood, then raised her hands.

“I don’t know what you are thinking but…” the electro-halbered sparked as it’s point struck Sel in the flak armored chest. Her body convulsed and pitched her across the room into the book shelf with a crash. She fell to the carpet, fingers twitching desperately as several books rained down on top of her. There was a voice yelling in her ear but it was difficult to make out, as though it were coming from impossibly far away. Her eyes were on the spine of one of the books, more by luck than judgement. The Complete Genealogy of the Ancient and Honorable Line of Arsenault Volume 37. Strange, that her mind should pick that up. There was a taste of blood and burning hair in her mouth and her fingers and toes felt like they were on fire. A pair of polished boots came into her peripheral vision but try as she might, Sel couldn’t make her eyes track to the wearer. She tried to speak but an overwhelming pain in her chest rendered it as a high pitched whine. Then the boot came down on her head and she knew nothing more.