Varens held up his hand to shield his eyes. ‘I came to see my friend, Bolus. He’s in there. Patient 900018/43A?’ He waved at the scratched glass partition. A large ‘XVI’ was stencilled onto it.

‘What do you think you are doing? No visitors,’ said the orderly. He looked back at his pamphlet.

‘Please,’ said Varens. ‘It’s not for him so much as for me. I… I have these nightmares. If I could see he’s all right then I’ll sleep better. If I sleep better, then I’ll get out of here quicker, and be back to the fight.’

The orderly sighed and set his pamphlet aside and looked up and down the corridor. He was the only man on duty. Unoccupied chairs sat outside the other wards.

‘Alright – just this once. No one’s looking. But if I see you around here again, I’m reporting you. Do you understand?’

Varens nodded gratefully. ‘Yes. Yes, thank you.’

The orderly took a heavy ring of keys from his belt and unlocked the door. Checking they were unobserved again, he held it wide and ushered Varens in.

‘One minute. Any disturbance, I’ll see you shot.’

The halls for the psych cases were much smaller than those where the physically injured rested. During the day they were bedlams, but at night merciful drugs brought dreamless sleep. Machines pumped soporifics into arms chained to the sides of sturdy beds. Varens came to Bolus in eerie silence.

Varens looked down. In sleep, Bolus wore a scowl that made him look like the hard man he had been. He was peaceful. Varens let out a sigh of relief.

On the way back to the door, he heard Bolus speaking. He should not have been able to, not with the drugs, but he was.

‘Forty-nine,’ he mumbled. ‘Forty-nine.’

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Twelve

The Cawl Inferior

There was a place upon the Macragge’s Honour where none were allowed to go but Roboute Guilliman, and he went by invitation only.

Guilliman’s shuttle landed in his personal hangar. From there, the primarch went straight to the depths of his quarters. Located in a hidden space was a gene-locked elevator whose inbuilt weapons were primed to kill any other who attempted to access it. A simple retinal scan allowed him inside, but once he was within the elevator, the security protocols Guilliman underwent were extensive. Arcane devices on armatures extended from the walls to test his body, mental state and spiritual aura. One by one, the machines croaked or twittered their approval, and the last withdrew into its recess. The elevator activated smoothly, descending two hundred decks in a matter of seconds. It stopped nowhere else. At the bottom, its rear doors opened onto a chamber lit by rubicund false light. His primarch’s eyes struggled with the illumination. A mortal man would have been virtually blind.