“Yes, Leopold my eldest,” Volantus replied, a slightly pained look crossing his aristocratic visage. A slight tinge of grief and hopelessness slipped from his mind like a vapor from a closing refrigeration unit. The walked through a hall flanked by large statues of various saints.

“Is that why you are here?” Lady Sarkonad asked, her voice brittle with hope she knew to be oh so fragile. Her eyes flicked to Silvana as she spoke, the slight pressure of her regard obvious to the astropath in the same way a guardsman might feel the eyes of an enemy upon him.

“I am Sister Silvana,” she said with a demure bow to the grieving noblewoman. Lady Sarkonad’s eyes widened in surprise.

“Adeptus Sororitas?” she asked slightly incredulously. The Sororitas was a broad organisation, though the Battle Sisters were the most recognisable arm they had many other functions. Over the years Silvana had found it to be the best cover for her to use, providing easy explanation for her tendency to cover her face and eye sockets.

“I am a Magos Medicae Pathologika,” she expanded nodding her head towards Hironomoys.

“You study the insane sister?” Volantus asked, his tone cooling several degrees at the notion. Silvana nodded her head placidly.

“In simple terms my lord,” she responded.

“Are you implying that my boy was mad?” he asked, teeth clenched and evidently upset. Silvana shook her head in calm contradiction.

“No lord Sarkonad, but whoever kidnapped him may have been. I understand there has been no demand for ransom as yet,” she inquired politely. The emotional temperature in the room fell to more comfortable levels and the Lord’s tone grew more contrite.

“Ah, forgive me, of course,” he apologised. It was a simple trick used to inspire cooperation, deliberately leading a subject to a conclusion that would make angry and then undercutting that anger with good and pure intentions. When it came to emotional manipulation, subtlety was the watchword.

“Sometimes in cases as strange as this, the Administratum seeks counsel from specialists, the right piece of data can often be overlooked in the course of a normal investigation,” Hieronymus chimed in amplifying her statement and drawing a sage nod from Volantus.

“Where was your son last seen my Lady?” Silvana asked. They were entering an indoor garden in which a marble fountain gushed fresh water. Exotic shrubs about the size of a man rippled with color, chemical changes in the leaves triggered by the minute variations in sound.

“He retired to his room after dinner,” Lady Sarkonad informed her, voice trembling as though on the verge of tears.

“In the morning he was gone, no one saw him leave, at first we thought he had just snuck away for some privacy but not a single security picter or servant saw him.”

“May I see his room please?” Silvana asked. She made a clandestine gesture to Hieronymus indicating that he should go on with Lord Volantus. There would doubtless be valuable information to be gained there and what she intended to do was best done alone. The signalling system was something all of Alrik’s adepts learned. Silvana could have spoken directly to the Interrogators mind, but such things were not usually done without the permission of the other party and there was no time to ask.

“Of course Sister,” Lady Sarkonad replied, “we will leave you gentlemen to your discussions.”

Leopold Sarkonad had evidently had pretensions to artistic talent. His quarters, a dozen rooms and galleries, all sealed with Arbites crime streamers, were filled with paintings and sculptures many of them only partially completed. Silvana dismissed the mother with a vauge comment about needing time and solitude to work. She was starting to regret that decision as she moved from room to room. Her psychic vision was adequate for most tasks but it was a poor choice in an environment so visual. Perhaps she would need to ask Blademar for his opinion on the pieces which were propped up on various easels and hanging from the walls. Leopold’s enthusiasm and creativity were much more real to her than the actual brush strokes were.

In the main bedroom, a chamber large enough to rival the great state rooms aboard the corvette which had conveyed them, she found a single painting. It was a massive thing, six feet tall and four wide, it stood out to her for the attention that had been lavished upon it. She reached out with her fingertips to brush the canvas. There was nothing there, her fingers passed through empty air. She frowned perplexed. That something so vivid in her minds eye was absent was unusual. Normally sensations and feeling clung to the physical object, not the space it had occupied. Something tickled the back of her throat unpleasantly and she felt the hair on the back of her neck rise. The smell of paint and pigments swelled suddenly and then dyed away. Something was very wrong here.

For a minute or two she considered her options. The smart move was to call Hieronymus, although what was the Interrogator going to be able to contribute to the situation? There were no security picters in this room to have recorded what transpired nor were there likely any witnesses that he could speak to. His best chance of uncovering information was elsewhere, speaking to Lord Volantus and the rest of the household. Her best chance was here. Crossing back to the entry chambers she methodically sealed several doors against unwelcome intrusions.

With privacy assured she drew several small items from her satchel and set to work. 




[@POOHEAD189]