I can't say that I slept well. I think it was being blocked by the psy baffler. I kept waking consumed by an urge to set wards or draw cards or some other psychic activity that would reassure me that my powers were still available to me. My studies in recent months had taught me some new techniques but I doubted Hadrian would react well to waking to find runes daubed in blood on the window and door frames, plus where would I get snake bile at this time of night. The attack on the train had been well organized and it was only by chance we hadn't been caught in the bombing of the ball room. In a way the fact our finances were being cut off was more worrying: any warlord could hire some mercs, even well trained ones, but the ability to penetrate Imperial banking systems was another thing altogether. Who was gunning for us? There were any number of people who would target an Inquisitor on principle of course, chaos cultists were obvious but there were other contenders: wealthy merchants trying to cover up a secret deal, nobles following some murky political logic, and of course other Inquisitors. It often surprises outsiders that the Inquisition is riven with factions. Could some rabid recongregator be gunning for Hadrian? It seemed unlikely to me. He was a stubborn man but he wasn't particularly active in the internal politics of the Inquisition, wasn't doctrinal in the sense that someone like Xandra Melitus, or Calliope Carth was. I was still turning it over when I finally fell asleep.


The Charity Gala was the social jewel in Idalim's social calendar. Although it was smaller than many events I had attended before I had crossed Hadrian's path it was surprisingly grand. It was held in the Coloviam, which had begun life as a vast theatre complex in the center of town, designed for the great councils of Imperial Law which had been held here two hundred and fifty years ago. That conference had lasted ninety nine years and codified Imperial Law across half the sector. I had heard about it in passing at various times but as my interest in Imperial laws was largely in bending them. I had to admit that the soaring arches and aerial grottos, elaborate scenes made of millions of tiles had been arranged in vast overhead domes, were impressive. They had been placed in such a way that the arial scenes appeared to be three dimensional from the ground. I suspected it might lead to rather a lot of cricks in the neck after a while though. The scenes were illuminated by soft underlighting and were largely allegorical, depicting this or that point of law. Some scenes, the Emperor declaring the Great Crusade, The Conclave at Mount Amaltha, were familiar, others were as alien to me as a Catachan fairy tale, though somewhat less gruesome. Nor was the remarkable architecture the only decoration the locals were employing. A series of raised platforms had been constructed on the stone floors. Those floors had then been flooded to create a series of artificial islands and canals, connected by hand carved bridges of staggering intricacy. Flower petals, had been scattered liberally over the water, white and blue mountain blossom and frost poppy, their soft perfume wafting up. Carved planters had been scattered liberally to bring perfectly sculpted alpine trees, pines and winter birch into Coloviam and lawns of wintergreen moss had been painstakingly installed around adelvice and other alpine blossoms. They wouldn't be able to survive inside, it was far too warm and anyway there was no sunlight, but they would live long enough for the gala. It struck me as a little ironic that millions of credits were being spent on a charity gala that could go to something like, oh I don't know, charity but Imperial society had a huge strategic surplus of dramatic irony. Perhaps the pockets of those attending were deep enough that it was a good investment, one never knew.


I arrived with Hadrian at dusk coming in by private car rather than the red carpet. Hadrian wanted it to be known that Admiral Deckard was here but he didn't want pictures of him to be splashed all over the local news outlets. Live orchestras played on small boats anchored in the artificial canals and there was a buzz of conversation from well dressed guests. Servitors bearing alabaster masks moved through the crowd dispensing drinks and finger food with mechanical solemnity. I had dressed in a gown of green silk gathered around my waist with a girdle of gold clasped emeralds. The plunging neckline displayed considerable flesh even though its real purpose was to allow me to reach a compact las snub that I had taped just below my bust where the curve of the fabric would conceal it. I wore the jeweled bangles I had bought and a series of foot long hair pins which had been arranged to create a kind of halo around my head. We had stopped short of bringing my rune staff, recovered with the rest of our weapons from the train safe, on the grounds that there might be some among the glitterati who recognized it for what it was. Fortunately Hadrian’s naval persona allowed him to carry a sword openly, though I suspect his was far more practical than the glittering toys various other men wore.


Would our mysterious assailants make another attempt on us? There were a number of discrete security men present but Hadrian had gone to some lengths to make sure this was the only location that anyone could be absolutely sure we would be at. I resisted the urge to stretch out with my mind, I didn’t want to appear too paranoid on the off chance our opponents had psykers of their own. That didn’t seem likely, if they had such resources it would have made sense to use them in the train attack, but Hadrian didn’t want to take any chances. It might rather spoil the mood if I got carried away and turned all the water to blood with a psychic backlash, which I supposed was a reasonable concern.