Silvana observed the by play without comment. Some Inquisitors had psychic gifts but they were often looked at with suspicion by the more puritanical factions. The Holy Ordos was riven with internal politics and division which would have dismayed any Imperial citizen who could attempt to fathom the arcane workings of the Inquisition. Alrik himself rode the line between the Amathian and Monodomiant parties and his tolerance for psykers in general was low, if it hadn’t been for her long ago Soul Binding, she didn’t think he would trust her. Little wonder his student had similar misgivings.

Crossing the room she took the intricate Inquisitorial Rosette from her pouch and passed it wordlessly to Alrik who secreted away in a pocket in his vest. The implicit gesture of trust more impactful than any words of confidence might have been. She also withdrew a small data slate containing the transcription of the three hundred and twenty three cases she had thus far adjudicated and passed it to the inquisitor who set it atop a small table of brightly polished wood. 

“Yes my Lord,” she said in a neutral tone, not pleased to be placed under the command of the newly minted Interrogator even if it were only titular. Years of careful training made it possible for her to keep it from her voice. Silvana wondered if Alrik really thought her Psykanna abilities would be needed or if he merely wanted to have a convenient channel to communicate with his apprentice. It could be either or both. If nothing else it was likely to be more interesting than sitting through the next several thousand cases here. She glanced at the sweating govenor wondering if the court would conclude with his case. No man was so without sin that the Inquisition didn’t make him nervous. 

“Good, good,” the Inquisitor declared clapping them both on the shoulders.

“Gather what supplies you will require and get some rest there will be a lighter to carry you to the Certatus at dawn, the Throne go with you.”

It took two hours for the shaking to stop. The Certatus’ transition into the Immaterium, like all such transitions, was traumatic for Silvana. In ordinary circumstances an Astropath entering the warp would do so in a warded sanctum that would cushion the worst of the psychic shock but that chamber was reserved for the ships official astropath who might be needed to receive messages at a moments notice. A knock sounded at the door of the stateroom. It wasn’t the first such interruption but she had ignored the first several attempts. With a groan she pushed herself out of the large four poster bed and took a few unsteady steps to the porcelain wash basin. Splashing the cold water on her face didn’t help exactly but it did wash away the worst of the sweat.

The state rooms they had been given were baroque and luxurious. The carpet was of an expensive natural fibre, intricately woven into a geometric pattern. Large paintings, mostly oils of landscapes and various saints, hung in gilt edged frames. One of the paintings was a copy of Darsari’s Gethsemane and was particularly fine, clearly reproduced by one of the Master’s acolytes rather than a reprinted pict. Ignoring the knocking, Silvana seized a crystal decanter of amasec and filled one of the small glass, knocking back the expensive liquor in a single shot. It burned down her throat and warmed her belly steadying her.

The parlour attached to the bedroom was even more grandiose. Hand embroidered divans were placed strategically around the room each one worth more than the yearly income of most Imperial citizens. A large table of polished firestone stood in the center of the room surrounded by a dozen chairs and overhung by a large chandelier meant to suggest a saint borne aloft by wings of crystal. Discrete controls bespoke a holoprojector set into the table, but the transmission heads would have been invisible even to someone with organic eyes to see. One corner was a library, lined fine wooden shelves housing leatherbound books of ponderous antiquity and a smaller table that held a regicide board which had been carved from veined obsidian and electrum flecked quartz. The effect was somewhat spoiled by five large wooden crates which sat where the servitors had put them. Each one secured with purity seals to discourage the curious from exploring their contents. The journey to Meridian was to be five weeks if the Warp currents held. Not enough time to justify Silvana unpacking the crates herself.

The infernal knocking continued. Multiplied within her aching skull it sounded like the drum beats of damnation. She wanted to lash out with her gifts and drive the visitor away but that would have been an inexcusable abuse. She opened one of the finger seals on a crate and slid it open. Her wardrobe lay inside, neatly folded by the staff on Pavonis. She withdrew a black body glove and let her silk dressing gown fall to the ground. Naked her form was voluptuous and ripe but somewhat spoiled by the input jacks fused into the base of her spine and between her shoulder blades. She almost didn’t recognise herself as the emaciated scarred woman she had been before she began her association with the Inquisition. Her augmetics had been far larger and cruder then, replaced at Alrik’s orders to make her less conspicuous. It wasn’t perfect, it couldn’t be if she were to retain her ability to practice, in mute testament transmission wires, partially grown into her flesh, ran downwards from the shoulder jack before disappearing beneath the scapula. Old scar tissue puckered around the entry point, ugly and rough.

The body glove went on with the ease of long practice and she closed the seals on the front with a soft click. The garment hugged her body while still allowing her freedom of movement. Like all her garments it had been specifically tailored to conceal the augmetic input jacks. She ignored the knocking for a minute longer as she pulled on black dress boots and a long half duster of dark brown leather. Finally she added a utility belt though she neglected to add her holster and las pistol. It was mostly for show in any case. As an afterthought she wound the silk blindfold over her empty sockets. When she reached Meridian a more complete disguise would be needed but this was only for the comfort of others.

Moving to the door she waited until the knocking began again and deliberately pulled it open between blows so that a second knock fell on empty air. Baldemar stood there, one hand in the air and the other clutching a large data slate. He looked irritated at having been kept waiting but was struggling manfully to conceal the fact. A good instinct in an Interrogator. She felt a little jealous of Heironymus  Baldemar. If Alrik were a little less hard line she might have been able to dream of a Rosette of her own oneday but there was little use in  ignoring a field of blessings for the one ploin that had turned.

“Come in Interrogator,” she invited, making a gesture to the large table in the center of the room. THey hadn’t seen each other except for the ten minute shuttle ride to the ship and there had been too many naval personnel present to allow them to converse on sensitive matters. His surface thoughts skittered beneath mental shields, unreadable and opaque to her without serious attempts to probe. That would have been beyond inappropriate.

“You have come to discuss the case I take it?” she asked closing the door as he stepped inside.
 




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