That's where 1 found Psullus. I'd sent him here just a few hours before. The burning pages of Boydenstyre's Lives were littered around. He'd been sitting at my desk when the missile had taken out the window bay.
'Dear Emperor… Aldemar…' Aemos was bitterly shocked at the ghastly sight.
I was simply furious by then. I pushed the needle gun, now virtually spent, into my pocket and grabbed more bolt clips from the shelf by the window.
'We have to get out of here, Aemos,' I said.
He nodded dumbly. I picked up the sack that the clown had been filling and handed it to Aemos. 'Fill it/1 said. 'You know what's valuable.'
He hurried to obey.
I typed security codes into the cases containing Barbarisater and the runestaff. The armour glass covers purred open.
Outside, there was a shrill whining noise and the beams of searchlights crossed the lawns and the orchards. My attackers had air cover.
One final necessity. I opened my encoded void-safe and took out the ancient, wretched copy of the Malus Codicium. I tucked it into my coat, but Aemos had seen it.
'Come on!' I said.
'One moment/ Aemos replied, tugging a last few scroll cases into the sack and then hoisting it onto his back.
'Now, I'm ready/ he said.
I went to the door, boltgun in one hand and Barbarisater in the other. The staff was slung across my back. I could hear a fierce bout of shooting from below, a serious firefight.
My loyal friend Jubal Kircher wasn't going without a fight.
'Follow me/ I told Aemos.
It had only been a few minutes since the comm-alarm that had disrupted the auto-seance. Already that tranquil encounter with the shade of Midas Betancore seemed like ancient history.
The house was on fire. From the east wing, flames leapt up into the cool night and filled the air with fluttering ashes and cinders. We cowered behind a wall in the yard outside the kitchen, and got a look out across the back lawn. Three heavy speeders had landed there, crouching like glossy black insects on their extending landing claws. Their side hatches were open and cabins empty. A fourth, and then a fifth, passed low overhead, searchlights sweeping down as they riddled the back of the house with cannon fire.
Five fliers. Each one was capable of carrying a dozen armed men. That meant a small army was assaulting Spaeton House. Someone wanted me and my staff eradicated. Someone wanted my precious secrets and trinkets looted. And someone had enough money and influence to make those things happen.
In truth, the house's auto-defences should have easily held off the attack, even an attack of this magnitude. Inquisitors make enemies. A fortified residence is an occupational necessity.