The storm covered us almost all the way to Idalium, the howling sleet of snow and ice only abating as we ran slowly down into the alpine valley that formed a grove on the back side of the pass. Despite my misgivings, and the Chief Magos’ constant attention to his arcane machinery, there were no interruptions in the line. I had to suppose that the assassins had gambled everything they had on the bombing and landspeeder assault and were not paranoid enough to go for triple redundancy. I wasn’t entirely sure if that was a comfort or not. A bombing and a follow up assault team in an isolated mountain pass probably seemed more than enough to eliminate two individuals, even if one of them was an inquisitor.


By the time we reached the station, the walls of the valley had cut the snow to gentle flakes that might have been quite romantic under the right circumstances. The sputtering bullet riddled train that pulled in didn’t exactly project that image. The shocked reaction of the locals proved that no news had reached them, not a surprising outcome given that our vox units had been thoroughly sabotaged during the attack and that personal units had trouble penetrating the mountain valley. Still it didn’t take long for the local probators and medicare personnel to arrive. They looked completely overwhelmed by the situation, as well the might be. Idalim was a tiny settlement by Imperial standards, less than a hundred thousand people in a city of terraced half timbered homes centered around the volcanic head waters of the Dranabse river. There was some local industry, mostly logging for specialty timber, but the primary employer was tourism. It was a getaway spot for those wealthy Pacitians who enjoyed hot springs, as well as ski getaways and other alpine pursuits. It also boasted a rather prestigious university that was renowned for its courses of rhetoric. That was immediately apparent from the numerous ornately carved porticos under which students whose affiliations were proclaimed by colorful sashes worn atop their black robes. They declaimed at each other in practiced oratorical tones, debating this and that point of logic, history, or law.


If Hadrian had arrived at any plan he had not yet shared it with me when we stepped off the train and into the crowd of milling emergency workers. The wounded had been triaged and those with the most severe injuries were being loaded into heavy ground cars for transportation to the medicae facility. As discussed I left Hadrian to talk matters over with the rather overwhelmed looking Castellian and walked the two blocks to the local Astropathicus Annex. I hired an astropath and dictated several coded messages that would be delivered to Agesilaea, then arranged for banking transfers from several well concealed accounts. The Astropathicus balked at providing me credit on the basis of these transfers until I produced my adept rosette. That triggered an appropriate bowing and scraping reflex and before the hour was out I had several credit bars, all but untraceable behind the byzantine procedures of the Guild Astrotelepathicus. Worryingly I received no reply from Clara and the rest of the staff. Astropathic communications were occasionally unreliable but over such a short distance there should be no difficulty in getting through. I left instructions that I was to be voxed if any reply came through and returned to Hadrian who had by now extracteated himself from the local red tape.

“Any word?” he asked, though he must have known there wasn’t, I would certainly have voxed him if there had been any update.

“None,” I replied, “I tried the vox net as well but my calls are all being marked as undeliverable.” Hadrian frowned at this news, for one or the other system to be glitchy might have been understandable but for both to be out was troubling.


“We will have to assume we are on our own for now,” he decided as we headed through the streets towards the local hotel.


“Should we send word off world, contact the Ordos?” I suggested. Hadrian shook his head.


“What would I report, that someone tried to kill me?” he asked, his tone wry.

“Why Inquisitor, if only there were some crack investigator we could get to look into that,” he wheezed in a sepulchral voice that was meant to be an imitation of the Grand Master. I had met the old monster once and he wasn’t exactly the sort I was comfortable making jokes about, but it did make me grin in a grim kind of way.

“I suppose there is that,” I agreed. My vox beeped and I drew the little ivory unit from my purse and answered.
“Mademoiselle, this is Kyrgan from the Astropathicus…”

“Yes, has there been any reply to my messages?” I asked impatiently. Kyrgan had been the secretary I had arranged credit with, an officious but effective man with a sallow unhealthy complexion. He had a Gudranite accent that was clearly put on to make him sound sophisticated, a piece of conwork that I found professionally endearing if a little inept. 


“No… I’m afraid… the banks you contacted have all sent me inquiries. They stated that your accounts have been frozen due to internal audits,” he continued.

“This is new since I made the withdrawals?” I asked.

“Yes ma’am, i'm not a moneylender but I suspect they were flagged and frozen because you accessed them,” he added a trifle apologetically.

“I see. You will tell them nothing other than I asked for credit and you denied it,” I instructed him. “You do not know where I am or what my plans were after I left the annex.”

“Yes Mademoiselle, is there anything else I can do for you?” he asked hopefully. I wondered if he was naturally helpful or if he were still in awe of the rosette I had flashed.


“No, nothing. May the Emperor keep you,” I replied and terminated the call.

“Trouble?” Hadrian asked.

“Someone is burning my accounts as fast as I can access them, whatever is happening, I think it is just getting started.”