The chaos spread like promethium vapor exposed to an open flame. Hundreds had been killed by the initial blast, and hundreds more as the crowds stampeded away in panic. A great cloud of dust billowed away from the blast choking and blinding the panicking pilgrims. The scribes were trying to maintain some semblance of order, using their staves as clubs as they tried to rescue surviving churchmen or simply keep the crowd at bay. Then the marksmen began firing their long las into the crowd, probably in an attempt to save the great prelates from being trampled to death. I watched in transfixed horror as the crowd went berserk with fear, surging over the Scribes, beating them down with fists and votive icons in a blind terror to flee the crowded street.
 
Things were not much better in the box we were in. Dozens of men were on their feet shouting. At least one noblewoman had fainted, and judging by the grayish pallor and convulsions a grossly overweight man was in the throes of a heart attack. Gunfire erupted below as the bodyguards were compelled to open fire to stop the mob from crashing in through the doorway like the ties.
 
“We need to get out of here,” Hadrian declared, speaking quickly into his vox bead. I could sense the frustration and anger roiling off him. He wanted to fight, but there were no enemy here, the men and women being trampled and gunned down were the Emperor’s Faithful, not minions of the arch enemy. Leibowitz was wringing one hand in the other in frantic prayer, his eyes wide and staring. I opened my mouth to reply when a second massive blast ripped through the street, the portico of a large chapel blasting outwards to scythe down hundreds of fleeing pilgrims.
 
I opened my mouth to ask him how he planned to do that, when the fans of an aircar roared down from above, hovering on dynamic thrust a few feet from the edge of the box. The pilot was white knuckled and praying, no doubt hoping that a sniper wasn’t about to blow his brains out and drop a half ton of steel and aluminum into the street below. Clara and Elektra, summoned by Hadrian, came rushing up the stairs. The guilded bodyguards made a perfunctory attempt to stop them, but quailed back from the bloodied evicisorator in Elektra’s hands and the fanatic glow in her eyes.

 “Let them pass damn you,” Hadrian yelled out, giving the men the excuse they needed to not get involved.
 
“Get her aboard,” Hadrian said, hooking a thumb at me.

 “I can get myself…” I began, but was seized by the two women and bodily carried across the gap into the passenger compartment of the car. Hadrian followed a moment later with Leibowitz, slamming the door closed and yelling at the driver to get us out of here. That worthy needed no encouragement, sending us howling upwards and into the night.
 
 
 ________
 
 
The death count was still unknown when, later that evening, we sat around our luxurious apartment. Columns of smoke rose from the city where fighting and riots were raging. Primates Hingaberg and Von Mandlebrot were both appealing for calm. Appeals which were not stopping their contingents of monks and fraternus militia from taking to the streets.
 
To make matters worth a cadre of street preachers were already whipping up the pilgrims, declaring the days events punishment for a Church which had lost its way, and that divine retribution was needed to restore the holy faith. Whether this was a result of heretical agitation, or simply the natural path of religious thought, was difficult to determine. Clashes between all three factions were spreading beyond control, accompanied as always by a fair amount of looting and the settling of personal scores.
 
“Don’t they have a PDF or Arbites or something?” Clara demanded as she stared out the window. Night had fallen and fires burning were reflected on tall cathedral towers to eerie effect.
 
“We are planet of prayer madmoislle, not a planet of war. The scribes are doing what they can, as are the Primates but … well this is dreadful,” Leibowitz moaned. The days events had hit him hard. Clearly Ratsini had been an idol of his, and the old mans violent death was a blow beyond measure.
 
I glanced at Hadrian who cocked an eyebrow at me. I knew he had been debating whether to openly play his Inquisitorial hand but was reluctant to do so for fear of driving out unseen assailants into hiding. That the bombing was their work we had no reason to doubt. It seemed likely that it had something to do with the election, though we had no idea which Primate might have been behind it, if either of them had. The problem we faced was that without flashing a rosette we had limited excuse to involve ourselves in the matter, and that was limiting our ability to gather information. I looked up at the night sky and wondered how many of the stars above were actually ships in orbit. An idea formed in my mind and I shot a glance at Hadrian. He nodded his head for me to proceed, a mark of trust given he had no idea what I might be about to say.
 
“Husband, did you not quell the riots on Secundus Finalus with men from your ship?” I asked, leaning on Hadrian’s supposed naval background before his retirement to his lordship on Gudrun.

 “Perhaps you can bring  men down from the void ships to do it?” I suggested breathily, apparently overtaken by the idea of my husband the dashing naval hero. Whether or not we ever landed any naval boarding parties, the idea that we could would give Hadrian an excuse to poke his nose in with both Primates by way of coordinating a response.