Instinct urged Holguin to follow the Lion and be present when his lord confronted the thing that had brought the fleet here. Wisdom told him to stay where he was. The Lion in his fury would not tolerate any other presences at this encounter.

The servitor-puppet walked towards the Lion as he entered the chamber of Tuchulcha. The stench of the degrading body wafted before it. The boy-thing’s gait was stiff. The puppet was already halfway to the entrance when the doors slid back. Tuchulcha’s anticipation of his arrival was unpleasant. It was too knowing.

‘I read anger in your face,’ said the boy. ‘But that is too easy a task to count as progress, I think. Your expression at this moment is not a challenge.’

‘I told you to take me to Terra,’ the Lion said. He looked past the puppet and addressed Tuchulcha itself. The gold flecks in the black-and-grey sphere moved more quickly for a moment, as if they were the shifting thoughts of the artefact.

Cables linked Tuchulcha to the spinal implants of the servitor. A split second after the burst of movement in the gold, the boy smiled, revealing blackened gums. It had lost more teeth during the passage through the warp. A clump of lank hair dropped from its mottled scalp to the deck. ‘True,’ the boy said. ‘You did ask me to take you there.’

‘You disobeyed me,’ the Lion snarled.

‘Did I say that I would bring you to Terra?’

The question gave the Lion pause. Before every other jump, Tuchulcha’s puppet had confirmed the destination. This time, the boy had said, ‘I will make the necessary jump.’

‘Your sophistry will be your doom,’ the Lion said. He drew his chainsword and it growled. It was an ancient weapon. Too large to be wielded by any son of Caliban except the Lion, it had been forgotten in the depths of Aldurukh, waiting for the Lion to appear and claim it. Its provenance had been lost. It had had no name before his coming. For the Lion, it would always be the Wolf Blade. With it, he had carved his way through the Knights of Lupus, ending their challenge to the Order and their corrupt use of the Great Beasts. The blade was a dull black except for the silver inlay of runic teeth. The chainsword was a brutal exterminator. It had none of the beauty of the Lion Sword, and there was no artistry in its kills. There was only finality.

The Lion raised it now, a single provocation away from cutting down the servitor. He did not know how to destroy Tuchulcha, but he was ready to explore every method.

The servitor cocked its head at the snarl of the Wolf Blade. The expression on its decaying face was simple interest. ‘I did not betray you,’ Tuchulcha said.

‘Then why are we not at Terra?’