The early morning trip to the hive makes the vast structure no less imposing. Easily the size of a city itself, the massive arcology sits like a squat dome upon the landscape, with spires towering high into the air. The spaceport is connected to it, as is the rail terminal which the acolytes first began their inquiry the day before.
The gun-jeep pulls up to one of the large sally ports at the base of the irregular dome, as the thoroughfare leads deeper into the hive like a massive four-lane highway that runs through the hive and branches off. Cat asks the other two where they should begin, before entering the hive itself.
Spike's grin flashes for a moment in the shadowy depths of his hood as he yawns -- then he rests his chin on his arm again, where he's settled behind the stubber. It's been a long night.
"The primary cathedral," Havelock answers, rubbing his eyes. "Keep to the up-ramps. It'll be in the spires somewhere."
The gun-jeep roars off into the hive. Inside, it's somewhat worse than outside; the air smells (though less so as the gun-jeep travels higher into the upper-hive, and there's adequate ventilation and sewage) and a faint film of pollution seems to cling to everything (again, less so as they get higher.) Finally, after a single turn, the road suddenly bursts into the light as it winds it's way around the bases of the spires. One of the smaller spires is, in fact, the Vaxanhive Cathedral itself, soaring half a mile into the air, an edifice of flying buttresses and Gothic architecture in charcoal-grey basalt, with sharp-eyed gargoyles atop the mighty pillars and skull and eagle iconography lining it's sides. Banners flutter in the weak breeze, the sun almost concealed by the exhaust of the hive's ventilation system and factory exhaust. The cathedral-spire looks like it's about half a square kilometer around it's base.
Spike looks up curiously, shading his eyes... if this is outdoors, he thinks it's overrated. Give him a nice, enclosed Voidship any day.
Havelock straightens slowly as he exits the vehicle. Sore, he thinks. Should rest soon, if only for a little while. "All right then. The Mechanicus should stay out here. I don't know what the local Ecclesiarchy's stand on... the competitive faith might be."
Cat indicates her agreement -- the Cults Imperialis and Mechanicus have a very uneasy relationship on the best of days -- and stays with the gun-jeep. Meanwhile, the massive, twenty-foot-tall petrified wood doors stand open, revealing the darkness of the vaultlike cathedral beyond.
Spike vaults down lightly from the cupola, landing behind Havelock. "Does she need back up, or is Cat all right alone here?"
"In the spire? Safe as houses, no highborn is stupid enough to goad the Mechanicus if they value clean air to breathe. Different story down below," Havelock says, nodding toward the doors. "Let's do this quickly," he says as he walks. "The clericy won't be so easily cowed as the serfs. They'll actually read the letters and know we aren't Inquisitors ourselves... although they should be smart enough to realize that we represent Inquisitorial authority. Remind me to ask Moth for Rosettes when this is over."
As they leave the jeep, the group spots a cluster of Tech-Priests a dozen or two yards away, working on one of the mechanisms for the hive itself. Cat notes that she will park nearby them and see if they need any assistance, if for no other reason than Ecclesiarch goons would be less likely to hassle a group of servants of the Machine God.
Spike grins quietly to himself, padding silently after the cranky psyker. He considers a moment... then grins again, but ruefully this time. He can understand the psyker's impatience, really -- he wouldn't want demons constantly assaulting an outpost in his head.
The cathedral inside is much as it is outside: a bit dark, imposing, and echoing. The stained glass windows show a number of the Cult saints in their most noteworthy events; most appear to be saints who lived in Calixus Sector. There are also statues, mostly generic warriors in service to the Emperor.
There is no service at the moment, but a small ritual or service is apparently taking place. At the alter, praying in a loud and thunderous voice, calling upon the Emperor and the saints, is an Ecclesiarchy cleric in gold-trimmed white-and-dun robes and mitre. His is the voice that could possibly drive a demon to beg for mercy. A number of clerics are in attendance, and others are tending to the cathedral. One of these, a tonsured man in plain robes with a vox-grille where his throat is, comes up to the two; his voice is quiet, if tinny, since it comes from the grille; at best this is slightly disturbing, since his mouth does not move at all. "Welcome to the Cathedral of Our Emperor The Saviour. How may we help you this day?"
Havelock holds out his scroll-tube. "Business of the Holy Orders of the Emperor's Inquisition."
The cleric hesitates a moment, then carefully takes the scroll-tube and opens it, beginning to read. "I see," he says, as he reads; his voice has not changed, but his body language is much more careful and respectful. "We of course welcome the servants of His Light who work in the shadows. Confessor Kiernov is in the middle of the Rite of Thanks for the Blessed Astronomican. I am Alexandros Mathers, one of the priests in His Eminence's attendance. Is there anything I can help you with, Acolytes?"
"We're looking for a mendicant friar by the name of Janus," Havelock answers.
Spike murmurs quietly, "Wilhelm Janus."
Mathers tilts his head to the side. "A friar named Wilhelm Janus? I do not know any friar of that name. Is he new or due to be transferred here?"
Havelock says, "Passed through some months ago. We were told by the preacher in one of the outlying towns that he was from Vaxanhive. He was supposed to be returning here."
The cleric considers for a moment. "I see. If you wish, you may inspect the records. Please allow me to inform the Confessor that you are here. I will need his permission to access the chapterhouse records."
"Don't interrupt him on our account," Havelock says. "We don't need to make a scene. We'll wait here for him to finish the sermon."
The priest pauses, then nods, smiling pleasantly. "Of course, Acolytes. Please let me approach him. The Ritual is nearly complete." And with that the priest moves towards the altar, a bit more quickly than decorum would indicate. Indeed, the thunderous prayer of the Confessor -- one part roaring assertion, one part brimstone diatribe to nobody -- is winding down.
Havelock rubs his forehead absently, eyes closed tightly.
The priest reaches the altar just as the rite completes, and has a quiet, furtive dialogue with the confessor. The Confessor does a double-take at the priest, but manages to not look over at where Havelock and Spike are standing. He draws himself up, nods, and walks -- serenely and stately, with the priest back to the acolytes. "I am Confessor Kiernov," he intones gravely, bowing. "The Ecclesiarchy's doors are always open to the servants of His Will. Whom is your master, please?"
Havelock offers him the scroll case. "My lady Andrea Moth of the Ordo Hereticus."
The Confessor takes the scroll, seeming to study the twos' faces intently before turning to the scroll. The confessor has seen many years, it seems, with his well-lined face and white, thinning hair, with a goat's-beard tuft of a beard upon his chin. He studies the scroll intently for many long moments. "Ah, Inquisitor Moth," he murmurs. "And you are her acolytes." He rolls up the scroll smartly, handing it back. "Very well. Cleric Mathers tells me you are seeking a friar, a William... what was his name again?"
"Janus," Havelock says. "Wilhelm Janus. Supposedly a mendicant of some sort."
"I see. You may of course peruse the cathedral's records. Any sort of mendicant friar who visits Vaxanide would need to visit here first."
"I take it you don't know of the individual yourself, then," Havelock says. "You wouldn't happen to know anyone who might?"
Spike's face remains half hidden in the cowl of his cloak... although the cowl does seem to watch the Confessor intently.
"I am afraid I do not, Acolyte. I do not know the names of most friars and clericus pilgrima who come through here. However, he would have visited the cathedral first to record his journey. Mathers, do help the Acolytes with their research, yes? Show them to the chapterhouse. Should you need me, Acolytes, I will be available, of course."
"We appreciate your assistance, Confessor," Havelock nods.
The Confessor nods, and moves off. Mathers, not terribly comfortable anymore, adjusts his collar. "Would the Acolytes please follow me to the records?" he asks a touch meekly.
Spike continues to watch silently, his eyes occasionally glittering within the cowl when the light catches them. He grins to himself -- looks like Mathers knows something.
"Lead the way," Havelock says, unreadable as ever.
Spike pads silently after the psyker, glancing around in his usual wary curiosity.
Mathers nods, and leads the two through the labyrinthine wings of the cathedral. The Ecclesiarchy seems to like confusing architecture as much as any other branch of the Imperium, and it takes a good ten minutes before they arrive at the starkly spartan section meant to manage mendicant and pilgrim affairs. Dozens of adepts sit at desks, scribbing and transcribing. Mathers leads the acolytes to a rack of scrolls. "Here are the records of the friars visiting, Acolytes," he says. "When did you say he arrived on Vaxanide.
"A few months recent," Havelock answers.
Spike glances around curiously again, then studies the somewhat nervous seeming Mathers intently again.
Mathers nods, and looks through the scrolls starting form the one nearest to the edge of the shelf. "Ah, here," he says, taking up one scroll and setting it on a table, opening it and unrolling it. "Let's see... ah, here we are. Wilhelm Janus, mendicant friar of the Order of the Great Name of Emperor and Omnissiah. Oh, yes. I remember now. An unusual name for a mendicant order. For any order, for that matter." He seems a little more at ease. "He arrived six months ago, and said he was going to walk amongst the rural areas, to preach and broaden his experiences."
Spike says, "Has he returned here? Any further news of him?"
Mathers purses his lips in concernation. "With an order such as that, I would be sure to remember...." He takes out the remaining scrolls, going through them. After several minutes. "No. Nothing at all about his returning to Vaxanhive to continue his pilgrimage."
Spike glances at Havelock, murmuring, "So... he's still out there."
"Mmhmm," Havelock nods.
Mathers considers thoughtfully for several moments. "If I may ask, Inquisitors... what is this in relation to?"
"The trouble at Morgansburg," Havelock answers. "The maimings."
Spike leaves that for the psyker to answer -- he knows how people seem to react to him! He frowns, considering... the trouble has only been in Morgansburg, not across the planet... and the monk isn't there any more. Could the taint have come, not from the monk, but from something strictly local?
Mathers nods slowly, sighing audibly even through his vox-grille. "I had thought as much. If he is a suspect, it is possible that he has chosen not to check in with the cathedral, and is instead still somewhere in the hive. Or, Emperor forbid, sought passage off the planet." He thinks for a moment. "Fortunately, to do that he would need travel papers, so unless he has forged excellent papers, that would not be an option for him lest he found very unscrupulous passage."
Spike says, "So he's likely still on the planet. Any way to track him?"
Havelock is silent, thinking a moment. The attacks were heading back toward the hive. Could it be some sort of plague, like those carried by rats who transmit but never contract the deadly contagion? Is this friar some kind of plague-dog? Or is it something more sinister?
Mathers thinks. "He must have documents of some sort if he is in the hive or has done any sort of travel. I shall inquire of the rail authority, and see if any friar by that name has travelled by rail-coach.
Spike blinks, straightening up suddenly at a thought! He catches himself and waits -- he'll talk to Havelock later, in private.
Havelock suggests, suddenly, "Check with central Administratum as well. If he's tried to acquire food his Cognomen will have been in the system. Unless he's gone down to the Underhive."
Mathers nods, and moves to a voxphone nearby, contacting the appropriate agencies and giving Havelock and Spike a chance to talk privately if they so choose.
Spike murmurs quietly to Havelock, "What if there's no record of Janus at all? Maybe he's one of the dead also -- and the last thought in his living mind was to head back to the Hive. So... he is. Very slowly, and with attacks on the way -- but heading back nonetheless."
"It's possible," Havelock nods, "But we still don't understand what spreads this contagion. If this Janus isn't actually a lead, we're back to start with no leads."
Spike says, "Well, if there's no record of him, and he actually is out there, dead and still attacking people... maybe he's slowly backtracking the route he took out to Morgansburg. So we could follow his route back one, and wait for him to arrive."
"But we don't know if he's the root cause-- if he's living-dead himself, he must not be. And that leaves us with the problem unsolved."
Spike shrugs silently, fading back to his previous position behind Havelock. He's out of ideas.
Mathers returns, looking intrigued. "The rail authority shows a 'Friar Wilhelm Janus' coming to Vaxanhive last week. He did not check in with the Cathedral, however. His name has not shown up on any regular paperwork nor has he applied for a cognomen or other identification papers. That leaves just one place he can be."
"The Underhive," Havelock murmurs, "That figures, somehow."
Spike watches silently.
Mathers nods. "Vaxanhive is a young hive, Acolyte. You will find it's Underhive... gentler than some other planets' hives. I fear that is not saying much, however."
Spike raises an eyebrow at that... then casually runs his hands over his knives, making sure they're all easily within reach and in place.
"A gentle death is still death," Havelock says. "Tell me, please, where are the public accesses to the Underhive? I want to know where not to look."
Mathers nods, and describes Vaxanhive's underhive as best as he can. It starts about thirty meters below the sally port and rail terminal that they first entered the hive through, and goes downward for another fifty meters of dense, unpleasant confines, interpspaced with several large open areas. "THere is a mission in the underhive," Mathers provides. "It is run by a missionary known to me, named Jennifa Halvorn. I have told her that the outcastes and underhive scum are not worth her time, but now I am glad that she has sought to minister to them and bring the light of the Emperor to them. If she is still alive, she has her hand on the pulse of the underhive. If you find her, she will be able to help you to find him." He pauses. "In the meantime, should I alert any of the authorities, such as the constables and House Vaxanide?"
Spike grins at that... oh, yeah, right, like they'll bother going down into the Underhive!
"If Janus makes his appearance, tell the Arbites. He is a suspected moral threat." Havelock frowns. "But just the Arbites. The last thing we need is a hive riot."
Mathers nods, "Yes, Acolyte. It shall be done."
"I thank you for your assistance," Havelock says. "One last question. No, two. First, if you wouldn't mind..." He holds out his data-slate and stylus, "If you could draw me a map to this mission. And second, if you could recommend a decent hotelier."
Mathers nods, drawing out the map. "Certainly, Acolyte. However, I do not... frequent the underhive, unless you were asking of a hotelier in the middle hive?"
Spike grins at that, turning his face away as he does so.
Havelock gives the cleric a look. His expression is, as usual, completely unreadable, but somehow he manages to make total lack of expression wry as can be, when he says, "I am not in the habit of sleeping anywhere in the Underhive."
Spike coughs amusedly within his cowl.
The cleric shivers a little. "I, ah, did not mean to suggest you would, Inquisitor." He finishes the map posthaste, handing it back to Havelock.
Havelock pauses a moment, then takes the data-slate. "Apologies, cleric." He pinches the bridge of his nose. "We have been chasing phantoms for two days now and not slept."
Spike sighs softly. Sleeping sounds rather wonderful just now, actually.
Mathers nods. "I understand, Inquisitor. There is a modest but clean hoteliery in the middlehive that I know of. I have written the address on your slate."
"That, sir, is the greatest service you could have extended us under the circumstances," Havelock sighs. "We thank you."
Mathers looks pleased. "We live to serve in His light."
Spike grins and nods courteously at Mathers if the cleric glances his way. He waits for Havelock to lead, swiftly following the psyker out and murmuring once they're private, "Sleep now?"
"Yes," Havelock answers. "I can't think clearly like this, and I don't dare propping myself up with stimm while we're still so far from the goal."
Spike nods and grins, "Bet Cat's almost asleep too."
Havelock shrugs, "I don't know if the Mechanicus even sleep at all. Perhaps she needs a wall socket or some such. Not my field."
Spike laughs softly at that, cheerfully greeting the Tech-Priest as he clambers swiftly up to his spot on the gun-jeep.
Cat is outside, but like all Tech-Priests any bodily weakness is cursed and avoided when possible. Even so, the days have taken their toll on the Tech-Priest, and one so young in the Mysteries of the Machine is not quite yet able -- or expected -- to discount the needs of the flesh.
The trip down to the middlehive is uneventful though it is clear that it is not as nice a place as the upperhive. The hoteliery, however, is reasonably clean if modest, and a room that can hold all three of them is granted for a reasonable price. Despite the room being apparently centuries old, it is, again, mostly clean, and the sheets and blankets are clean if somewhat moth-ridden.
Havelock locks his room's door. And then braces the one rickety chair under the knob. It won't keep out anyone determined, but the racket of it breaking should be helpful. He showers briefly, carefully places both pillows under the covers, and then promptly falls asleep with his back to the wall in the bathroom. It does not, of course, prevent him from waking up with a scream barely choked in his throat. Again. It never does.
Spike curls up in his bed in the room he's sharing with the Tech-Priest. He's tired enough he sets only a tripwire trap for anyone breaking in.