“Guilty,” the fat Ecclesiarch declared, his flab wobbled as he pounded his fist on the table. Each finger of the rotund man's hand glittered with jewelry. It would have been difficult for a slender man to make a fist but the sausage like digits flowed easily into a mass. Floating servoskulls obediently jotted the word on the transcription scrolls that spooled from their mouths, quills skittering audible even over the murmur of the crowd.

The Theatre of the Graces was attached to the Governor’s mansion and in practice, if not in public record, had been his private auditorium. The massive neogothic collesueum seated twenty thousand and had exceptional acoustics. The steep rise of its tiers allowed anyone present an excellent view of the central stage, it’s cold marble seats cushioned for the comfort of spectators. All of these attributes made it a perfect setting for the First, and perhaps the last, Inquisitorial Court of Pavoins. 

Hundreds of people were seated on the first few tiers. It was an odd group, many wore grey Administratium robes, legal experts and functionaries, or perhaps expert witnesses. Other figures wore the gray black uniforms of the Arbities, officially the keepers of law but with no authority beyond that extended by courteously in these proceedings. Occasionally the red robed and heavily augmented figures of Tech Priests could be seen, though their role was to keep the equipment working rather than any active participations. The Ecclesiarchy was also very well represented, white robes with brilliant gold or scarlet ornamentation. Several processions held Icons of local saints or awkwardly positioned jeweled reliquaries. The remainder of the figures were in official Inquisition black, though most were Adepts. Full Inquisitors could be picked out by the instantly recognizeable rosettes that were pinned to their right shoulders. Many of these wore veils or distorter fields to blur their visages. Still more black clad figures were security, hard faced men and women with hellguns or other, less recogniseable weapons.

The Courts had been conveend to deal with charges of Heresy too wide spread for the normal mechanisms to handle. This was a fairly typical procedure on worlds which had recently been bought back into the Imperial Fold, or had, like Pavonis, suffered a major insurrection. The focus of the even were seven podiums arrayed around the central stage, and a single chair in its center. The chair held the accused, presently a terrified looking man of middle age who stood accused of trying to purchase sorcerous help to settle some petty business rivalry. The seven podiums were given over to seven judges. Each of the five central podiums displayed an inquisitorial rosette at its edge, though the judges that sat behind them might or might not be themselves of Inquisitorial rank. It was not uncommon for authority to be delegated in situations such as this, nor was it uncommon for an Adept to fill the position while communicating with their principle via vox, or more esoteric means of communication. The last podium was for the Marshall of the Adeptus Arbites and the first for the high Ecclesiarch.  While both of these had a vote, neither of them carried any weight and were purely another example of offical courtesy. That was good, because the fat Ecclesiarch had voted guilty for every  single one of the three hundred and twenty two cases they had thus far reviewed.

“Guilty,” seconded a bored looking Interrogator with thinning blonde hair.  

“Not guilty,” a palsied savant answered in a querulous tone. 

“Guilty,” declared a straight backed man with close cropped hair and a military background. 

“Not guilty,” hissed a hooded figure with an augmetic voice. He was bulky but that might have been armor rather than physique.

The fifth judge was a young looking woman in a white dress of conservative cut. Her figure though generous, was slightly distorted, input jacks were visible at her wrists and hinted at by slight irregularity in the hang of the fabric. A white cowl, stitched with intricate verses from the the Litany of Saint Emilia in fine gold thread, framed a smooth face of sharp angular features. Silvana Magdalena Euphrati was not quite as young as she looked. Juvenant treatments concealed the fact that she was approaching her fortieth year and it was always difficult to tell someone's age when you couldn’t see their eyes. Her eyes were concealed by a broad strip of black silk, similarly inscribed with the Litany of the Saint. In truth the blindfold concealed not eyes but empty sockets. Years before, on Holy Terra, she had undergone the shattering initiation rites of the Adeptus Astra Telepathicus. The memories of that time were mercifully vague, though she could still recall with crystal clarity the moment here eyes had been burned away. Medicae treatments had removed the scars but her optic nerves were too badly burned to ever admit of augmetics.

Silvana’s podium bore the rosette of her master, Inquisitor Alrik, whos authority she had borne since the beginning of the Court.  Three hundred and twenty two judgements of life and death which the Inquisitor had entrusted to her. Seventy three of those men and women had been ushered to the rear of the theatre and unceremoniously shot. There was no time for traditional fires, much to the irritation of the rotund Ecclesiarch.  Alrik had found her years ago on Caravagio, she had deserted her post and had been working on the black market. An unregistered astropath was a powerful draw for businessmen and nobles who wanted to send and receive messages without official records.That same lure had made her attractive to heretical cults that wanted to speak with others of their ilk off world. Astropaths could transmit a message without understanding it by means of various codes and ciphers and there was no way to know what they contained. That fact alone had spared her from the fires when Alrik had closed the noose on the cult he had been hunting on Caravagio. That and the fact that she had retained the sending datum of every transmission she had made. With her help he had been able to follow those datum to other cults within the sector. He had forgiven her and taken her into his service, using her psyonic gifts to serve the Imperium. Inquisitorial medicae surgeons had removed her sanctioning brands, repaired her scars and made her whole again for one purpose.

Silvana reached out with her mind, delicately brushing the mind of the bound prisoner. He mewled slightly and would have lost bladder control if he hadn’t already. The impression wasn’t precise. Any cases which could so easily have been solved had been executed or freed days ago. The mans mind was filled with terror, but it was the terror of a man holding onto something. A tiny something that he was trying to conceal. She teased at it trying to fathom it. Whatever it was it was old guilt, predating the uprising.

“Guilty,” she said in a clear voice that carried through the theatre. The man shouted in agonized terror, drowning out the Arbites ceremonial vote, but black clad Inquisitorial troops were already dragging the man from the stage. The Ecclesiarch nodded at her, rolls of fat rolling around his bejeweled pendants. She fought the urge to frown with distaste, even a broken chronometer was right once a millenia. 

They recessed after that. It was midday and time for her to meet with Inquisitor Alrik as she had been directed. Despite her blindness, her abilities allowed her to move without aid. Many astropaths choose to ignore the physical word entirely but if one had the patience the psychometric image was close to what true sight could provide. She reached the Goveneros office without incident and knocked on the door. A moment later livery clad servants swung the ponderous door open.

Inside she saw Governor Shoani, looking nervous, as well he might, as well as three Inquisitors including Alrik himself. She stepped inside and curtsied to her Lord. The waves of discomfort rolling off Shoani were palpable. No one liked to be in the presence of a psyker, much less a telepath. A fifth man stood in the room a tall healthy looking man with startling blue eyes. She recognised him as Hieronymus Baldemar. Baldemar had been an Adept for several years. During that time she had glimpsed him only from afar. Most of her duties had been detached from Alrik, running lesser operations further afield, her gifts made her the perfect choice for such assignments.

“Ah Silvana my dear, I would like to officially introduce you to young Hieronymus,” the Inquisitor declared, slapping the Governer’s eyes away with a glance.

“She is formerly of the Astra Telepathica but had been my servant for over a decade now.”

“You are my most trusted servants, I would not order you to this task if it were not of the utmost importance.”
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