“Put yer fething gen ep! Yer have the honor of speaking to Camilla Seraphina Lucretzia Fiamenta Belladona de Trantio Dechess of Cabreze, Cap'n General of Spinward League, Hereditry Colonel of the Coldface Dragoons, Laird of Breka, Cemmedure of the Illiadyen Argosy, by the Grece ef the Immertel Emperer, Cap'n and Rogue Trader! “ Alcander announced, hooking a thumb at Camilla without actually shifting his gun from the presumed guards.

“Oh and Hierophant of Colton's World,” Jocasta added with a ‘what are you going to do shrug. The men licked their lips  uncertain as to how to proceed. As prison guards, having their authority questioned almost always led to a violent response, something that obviously wouldn’t work well for them in this case.
“Perhaps,” Camilla suggested with the weariness of aristocratic disdain, “you might convey us to whoever is in charge?”


There was a sudden booming crunch from deeper into the compound but none of the guards so much as flinched at it.

“Yes,” the man with the chainblade said after a moment, “You want Grannock.”

“Sure…” Camilla said skeptically but gestured for the men to lead on.


They past through a double line of flakboard barracks, all abandoned and in poor repair into a large invagination of the frozen bay. On the ice sheet stood a rather remarkable looking vessel. The banging they had heard clearly emanating from its many chimneys and effluent egress tubes. It was perhaps fifty meters in diameter and roughly circular, perhaps with a slight point at fore and aft. Its three tiered stories were lined with cranes and derricks and in several places industrial cutting rigs stood. Some were powerful hydraulic jaws, others were long chainsword like attachments at the end of rubberized pressure hoses. Fires glowed within and steam emitted from pipework all over the vessel in long plumes. Here and there, long dirty icicles of recondensed steam hung like the teeth of some insane predator. Nor were they the only thing. Bodies hung from improvised gibbets, naked and frostbitten. More than one were missing hands or limbs, apparently shattered when the wind drove their frozen forms against the rusted steel hull platting.


“What in Terra’s name is that?” Camilla demanded, simultaneously revolted and fascinated.


“It appears to be an urchin pattern ice fishing derrick manufactured on Sicra V sometime before 982.M38,” Jocasta provided without missing a breath.

“Extensively modified of course, It looks like they have retrofitted it with crawler tracks from a least a dozen Byrox heavy mining haulers. I wonder how they are adjusting for the axial flex, much less how they are handling synchronizing hydraulics over…”

Camilla held up her hand wishing, and not for the first time, that she had a mute button for the talkative tech adept.

“Ice fishing derrick. Got it,”

“Ats right,” the guard Camilla had clouted on the jaw replied, rubbing the bruise with a sullen look.

“We take ‘er out once a month and punch a hole in the ice, replenish our stocks,” he explained. Camilla could see men moving around on the super structure, all of them dressed in variations of what these guards were wearing, heavy masks and bits of flack armor supplemented by leather and chain mail. All carried weapons, though it looked like firearms were in somewhat short supply.

“I thought you were taking us to see your leader, Grannock was it?” Camilla asked as it became clear they were being led to an improvised boarding ramp rather than to one of the buildings.

“He always leads the hunts himself,” the guard replied, “he is already on board.” Camilla sighed, getting anything more out of the guards seemed like far more work than simply waiting a minute until she was ushered before someone with some actual authority.

“Very well, get moving then man, my time is valuable,” Camilla snapped. The guard produced what might have been a simpering smile or a sneer but led them aboard up the ramp and onto metal grilled walkways. The whole vessel stank of blood. An icy slick of it coated many of the walkways and there was more down in the bilges. Frozen it had a very metallic scent, lacking the rot that would have been present in normal environments.

“They are designed to render the carcasses of great whaleforms, cutting them into sections on the top decks which then fall to the lower decks to be broken up into increasingly finer increments. I wonder if they have the onboard cannery or if they…”

“Jocasta,” Camilla said with a sigh, “perhaps we may speak of this later?” she suggested. The tech priest pouted but fell silent. It was quite an image, some great whale, hoisted onto the upper decks, then sliced to pieces, its blood and flesh pouring down the sides of the derricks in torrents. Camilla had no doubt that even the blood was recovered to form nutrient gruel or whatever other horror the prisoners were forced to subsist on. After several interminable minutes of walking they entered a bridge area, marked out with smart yellow paint and armor crys panels that gave a breathtaking view over the frozen bay. A powerfully built man who appeared to be in his late forties stood there dressed in much the same fashion as the rest of the guards, save he had a long leather coat and a rusted iron gorget. Another man stood beside him, seemingly a dwarf at first view but closer inspection revealed him to be wizened and bent. He wore rags and the remnants of guild Astropathica ramient, the many plugs in his skull and spine were surrounded by discoloration caused by frostbite transmitted by the metal. Superation was being kept at bay by some kind of reeking ointment that smelled of animal tallow.

“Ah esteemed visitors!” the tall man boomed. His smile was probably meant to be welcoming but the effect was spoiled by the fact that his teeth were not human but rather implanted fangs, perhaps those of a shark or some other aquatic predator. How he managed to speak without ripping his lips and tongue to shred was a minor miracle.

“Are you bringing more g…prisoners, we had not heard that another batch was due for at least a month,” he said in his booming voice, his confusion evident.

“We are not, in fact I am here hunting for some specific prisoners,” Camilla replied.

“Ah of course you are welcome but by what authority?” he asked, sounding civil and genuinely interested.

“My warrant of trade gives me the right to commute sentences of prisoners to life terms aboard my vessel,” Camilla replied. Technically this was true, though the vaguely worded provision was intended to supply ratings, the lowly laboring class, rather than officers. In such a remote place however it was unlikely to be challenged.


“I see, we have dealt with several Rogue Traders before, what kind of prisoners are you interested in?” he asked. Camilla kept her face impassive but the clashing of his inhuman teeth and his gentle speech were an unpleasant combination. She would almost have preferred a snarl.


“The Porphyryn Mutineers,” Camilla supplied. Grannock nodded and looked down at the pathetic remnant of an astropath.

“Do we have records of them Berek?” he asked. The astropath reached into a pouch and began searching through several small pieces of ivory that Camilla realised must be human teeth. Each one of them had been marked in someway, perhaps with idetic encodes that helped the astropath remember.

“Two seasons ago some were taken by the Gray River, two human males and a female, they were…” Grannock cut off his advisor with a wave of his hand. Then leaned down to a brass speaking trumpet built into the bridge controls.

“Change course for Gray River!” he boomed into the device, and a moment later the deck shuddered as the vast derrick began to slowly crawl forward across the ice.


“You keep prisoners in secondary facilities then?” Camilla asked, confused. Grannock laughed.


“Facilities? Of course not, we let them run wild in the tundra, there would be no fun in it if they were stuck behind fences all the time!” Grannock chuckled.


“I see,” Camilla replied, though by the Emperor, she did no such thing.