If nothing else could be said for Ashnan, at least this could: a dead body in an alley really wasn't unusual enough to garner much attention. Not, that is, unless the Pact made it clear that they cared about that body. Then suddenly it would be the most interesting thing in the whole damned hive. Dayyānu would have to be careful in how she approached the crime scene; the Arnogaur herself making it the first place she went upon arriving back from top-side, would no doubt invite questions. And the rebel elements that Dayyānu knew full well operated in the under-hive with near impugnity might get some big ideas upon learning the most significant figure in the occupation had died under mysterious circumstances. Anyway, typically one wanted to secure the crime scene as soon as possible in order to prevent it being tampered with, but Tammuz Sirdar had already put paid to that.

So Dayyānu was going to play her cards close to her chest. She sent Rab-Karri back out with Tammuz, with orders to surruptitiously watch over the body and see that it wasn't disturbed any further until she could organise a proper forensic evaluation of the area. (The sound of an infuriated Rab-Karri rising to Tammuz' deadpan needling as they left her office was the first thing in months to bring a genuine smile to Dayyānu's face.) For her part, she would head over to OSR to see if they had any security-pict footage of the area that might confirm or deny Tammuz' story. That is, after she'd called this in to command. Warily, after checking Tammuz and Rab-Karri had entirely left her office, she tuned in her private vox set.

Walking into the well-ventilated building that served as the Office for Social Reproduction's local HQ was like stepping off-world. The place was clean, for one thing, definitely a rarity round these parts. It was also quiet -- audio-dampeners preventing sound leaking out or in. Besides a couple of armed guards standing conspicuously on raised platforms directly above the inner-entrance, the room was empty besides the receptionist's desk. A polished marble hall, devoid of distinguishing features, that deliberately left a lot of empty space between the public-entrance and the inner-entrace to the building it guarded. It was clearly a waiting area, yet designed to give no indication of what exactly one would be waiting for should you find yourself therein.

Sleek minimalism was a flex in Ashnan lower-hive. The only people who could requisition a large space and then afford to keep it empty were either themselves very powerful, or very well connected to those who were. And anyone powerful enough to do all that in the Sanguinary Utnapishtim would probably rather enjoy killing you. Or, at least, it wasn't safe to assume otherwise for anyone in Ashnan lower-hive.

The ante-chamber of the OSR was saying a lot by containing very little. And it's not like anybody could see anything besides this ante-chamber; the building had no windows.

Dayyānu scoffed. She was sure all this would be very impressive if you hadn't spent more than five minutes with these rat bastards when they were off duty. A more corrupt bunch of snivelling cowards one could not find in the entire Sanguinary Utnapishtim, she was quite sure. As Arnogaur her jurisdiction technically only concerned members of the military, and so despite being well aware of their various crimes and inefficiencies she had no cause to act on them. Not her arena, not her ambulls.

But they disgusted her. Anyone staffing the OSR had to have been, according to the tests oh-so-rigorously applied in youth, counted among the Mighty. But they were largely drawn from those who'd somehow passed the tests and survived basic, yet made it clear they were utterly unsuited to actual warzones. So, instead of being sent to the front, after completing their training they got sent to watch over the slaves of the occupied territories, resentful bullies and losers tasked with ensuring the social order was reproduced - i.e. that no slaves got any ideas beyond their station. In her more thoughtful moments Dayyānu had to concede that there was something rather poetically fitting about that, the spirit of the Sanguinary Utnapishtim quite adequately expressed in who it chose to police its way of life.

"Ah, Arnogaur, eightfold blessings upon you. To what do we owe the anger of a visit from you?"

The receptionist gave Dayyānu a smile that was, she was sure, not the mannerism she'd normally adopt with entrants to this building. It was only when she'd noticed Dayyānu's badge that she'd felt the need to shift her expression from surly to faux-deferential. Dayyānu didn't bother stopping to address the receptionist, replying as she walked by towards the door leading into the building proper:

"I'm here to review security-pict tapes, have last night's footage for Dilbat Underpass brought to me. I'll be in the comptroller's office."

Scrambling up from her desk and scurrying to follow Dayyānu, the receptionist absurdly tried to maintain the pretence of this being a polite professional interaction, saying in faux-concerned tones:

"And may I ask if you have an appointment? I'm afraid the comptroller is a busy ma-"

She was cut short by Dayyānu suddenly rounding on her and conspicuously placing her hand on her sidearm.

"I'm sorry but I forgot to make a booking. If needs be I can establish through trial of Might that I have the right to be anywhere I damned well please, however, should that be necessary?"

Suddenly pale, the receptionist stammered "I... I am sure that won't be necessary, I'll buzz you through"... before retreating back to her desk. Dayyānu had to suppress a smirk as she gave a curt nod and continued back on her way to the comptroller's office.

The halls leading to the comptroller's office were far less impressive than the entrance hall. Almost anyone not employed by OSR who found themselves back here would almost certainly have a black-bag over their head anyway, Dayyānu supposed, so it wasn't worth fronting the expense. Squalid grey halls with dingy little offices branching off them. The only variety provided by the occasional stairway leading downstairs, from whence screams could usually be heard. Dayyānu quickened her pace.

She didn't bother knocking when she entered the comptroller's office; he knew she was coming, and he'd only make her wait if given the chance. Stepping in she saw the place was neater than when last she'd visited. As she went to sit in the chair opposite the comptroller's she saw that not only had he actually filed his paperwork, but he had daubed the sigils adorning the walls with fresh vitae. And, what was that smell -- some incense? It was, the bastard was actually burning scented candles mounted in a freshly polished skull. Bugger. This sudden professional piety could only mean one thing.

Dayyānu's head swivelled to her left and right and, sure enough, skulking in the corner off to her right there he was. Comptroller Urgal was already entertaining a guest -- blood-slick cowl and everything, there was no mistaking the get up. The man in the corner was Šangītu; an agent of the Church, tasked with investigating thought-crimes against the Blood Lord.

The secret police.

"Nice incense - found Khorne have you, Urgal? Don't recall seeing you at temple lately."

Urgal's eyes flashed as they darted between Dayyānu and the Šangītu and his cheeks coloured, but he recovered surprisingly quickly. Inwardly, Dayyānu cursed to see his confidence - it meant Urgal felt in command. Knowing him, that could only mean he thought he had something over Dayyānu. Bad news whatever it was.

"Our Arnogaur jests, of course. As she often does. I am, as you well know, a faithful servant of the skull throne. One thing that has changed, however, is that I am actually happy to see you, Dayyānu Arnogaur -- we were just about to send for you."

"So, I take it you've heard about Pagru Demigaur then? Funny, since I only just heard about it myself -- how'd you find out? Unless... you wanted to confess to me personally?"

"I've had enough of your jokes you insolent little bit--"

"Enough."

The Šangītu agent's voice was deep, resonant. He didn't raise his voice, and was clearly accustomed to being heeded without the need thereof. In those same tones he continued, stepping out of the shadowed corner and into the light as he spoke:

"Comptroller Urgal's innocence is not in doubt, presently."

(Dayyānu enjoyed seeing Urgal's smile sour somewhat as that last clause was added.)

"We were calling you to inform you that I, on behalf of my brethren in the Šangītu Guard, will be taking the lead in this investigation. The comptroller and I agree that given troubling recent expressions of anti-Khornite sentiment among the wardum of Ashan lower-hive, the possibility that Pagru Demigaur's unlicensed murder was the result of pacifist agitators cannot be ignored."

So that's why that snivelling weasel Urgal is so pleased with himself, Dayyānu thought. The most significant unlicensed murder ever to happen down here and he thinks I'm off the case. To a careerist like him that would be devastating -- so the prospect of Dayyānu facing as much is like Atrahasis feast come early for Urgal.

"Pacifist murder, eh? That's your theory then? Well, interesting as that sounds, I'm afraid that's no can do, Brother -- sorry, I didn't catch your name?"

"I didn't tell you."

"Right. Well, Brother IDidntTellYou, Pagru Demigaur - his eyes upon the river aeternal - was with the Pact. And I'm the Arnogaur. That makes this my case. So just hand over the pict tapes from the underpass and I'll be on my way. If at any point it seems like I need some help with theological interpretation I'll be sure to let you know, but until then I think I can handle this."

Urgal, clearly livid at the prospect of Dayyānu avoiding her humiliation, could no longer contain himself:

"I warned you, did I not! I warned you, honoured Brother of the Šangītu Guard! She is insolent, she cares more for her quips and her jests than she does for seeing the Empire made secure! I know for a fact that she never cared for Pagru, sh-"

"Pagru Demigaur, logistician," Dayyānu cut in.

Through gritted teeth Urgal corrected himself, continuing:

"It is well known that Pagru Demigaur and the Arnogaur never get along. At the very least, I doubt her full commitment to seeing this case solved."

"What are you implying?" Dayyānu replied in an icy tone and with eyes narrowed.

"You hated Pagru Demigaur, did you not?" Urgal asked.

"Liked him about as much as I like you."

"As I said. So, of course, while your conveniently well-established alibi of being topside at the time of the murder clears you of any direct guilt, I think it is at least reasonable that I should be suspicious of your full commitment to this investigation, which is why I was advising our honoured investigator from the Šangītu that he should perhaps be wary of any offers you make to handle this by yourself."

At this point the Šangītu agent himself reentered the conversation. He had taken to leaning against the wall, his cape flowing around him, simply listening and observing. Clearly he was one to think before he spoke -- Dayyānu would have to watch her back around him.

"I do not think you were aware, Arnogaur, that Pagru Demigaur -- his eyes upon the river aeternal -- was working with us on an investigation at the time of his death. He suspected widespread infiltration of local occupation forces by anti-Khornite elements. I am here today because he failed to make his check-in last night, and my informants reported seeing a body matching his description this morning."

Dayyānu fought to keep the surprise from her face. She was not aware of this. What did it mean that she was not aware of this?

The Šangītu agent continued: "The last message we received from him was early yesterday evening, local time. He said he was going to meet an informant who might have evidence that could lead to a decisive break in our case, identifying the rebel's central ring leader."

Now it was Dayyānu who could not contain herself:

"How in the eight blesséd hells am I only hearing about this now!? I'm the Arnogaur, by Khorne, I should have been in the loop from day one!"

"Urgal," the Šangītu gestured broadly towards the comptroller without breaking eye contact with Dayyānu, "recommended against it, and I agreed. We were not sure we could trust you. But after what my informant told me this morning I no longer believe you were the target of Pagru Demigaur's investigation, or indeed involved at all."

Dayyānu sat there in sullen silence, which the Šangītu agent apparently took as reason to continue.

"For, you see, Pagru Demigaur had a notebook upon his corpse. This was recovered by my informant, and the last page contains one name circled and highlighted multiple times -- and it's the name of someone our... extensive... files upon you show you have had no contact with. At the time of his death Pagru was investigating not you, but a lowly Sirdar by the name of Tammuz."

... Fuck.

to be continued