There was darkness. Cyclopean walls strewn by countless crimson candles formed a vault of unthinkable height. Even a possessed madman's twisted mind wasn't able to imagine a place half as terrible at that. A place of unearthly horror and despair. Bloodcurdling voices chanted a blasphemous hymn of unwords, and a tall figure's shadow fell over me.

I lay helpless on icy cold stone, unable to move, unable to cry out. Imudon's shape loomed over me, every rune on his ancient armour echoing with dull pain in my soul. Torches of dark red warpflame burned bright on his backpack but his face was so shaded I could see but his eyes glowing with the same nightmarish light. He raised the sacrificial dagger of black flint over me, and his dreadful voice sounded in my head.

'The longer you evade me, the worse shall be your fate. The sacrifice has to be completed. You are no more yours since your heart was marked by the sign of the gods.'

'I am His,' I thought almost unconsciously, and felt the Chaos priest's cold wrath boiling inside.

'He will never get up from His throne to help you, wretched little being. You've been claimed by another power on that night. You reported the most sacred mystery to your lowly accomplices. You rejected the gift.'

'What deal are you trying to impose on me, you old freak?' I tried to cheer myself up with a cheeky smile.

'Things are serious now, petty inquisitor. If you have an ounce of wisdom, give in to your fate. Accept your destiny and give out your heart to the athame's blessing. If you stop clinging to your faith of self-deception, you will get a royal reward. If not... look around with due attention.'

Against my will my soul left the body rising higher to the colossal vault. Miles above the ground, taller than any opulent basilica on a capital planet. To the psyker-vision, that was no black stone. Uncounted millions of shattered, mutilated bodies thrown in monstrous piles, humans alongside thousands of unknown xenos species. Each candle's ethereal fire cried of torment and despair; far beneath nightmarish altars stood ready for sacrifice, and deep below the ground, uncounted captives were suffering in evernight undervaults with no hope to get free.

'The longer you evade me, the direr your sorrow shall be.' I heard his voice again. 'If you have an ounce of wisdom, call for me, and my messenger will arrive to take you here.'

'I'm on duty, old bastard.' I fought with fear as hard as I could. 'My work ethics forbid to leave the investigation because of some lousy josser's whims.'

'One day, the messenger appears at your door, and that will be the day of tears.'

I returned to my body as the athame touched the sigil over my heart, and I cried out in excruciating pain.

With a gasp I opened my eyes and sat up trying to get out of the plaid tangled around my feet. My limbs were trembling as if in fever, cold sweat and tears running down my face. The nightmarish vision of the dark shrine vanished, and I was back to the heartwarming calm of the owl. Sister stirred in her sleeping place, startled by my cry. Angel sat up and turned towards me.

'Let the Emperor's light dispel the night horrors.' He put his hand on my shoulder. 'Remember the noble virtue of Sanguinius and his sacrifice to chase away any thoughts that pester you.'

'The accursed josser.' I wiped my eyes. 'He's back to stalking me.'

'He's a cursed traitor.' I heard Sister's voice. 'The Emperor will punish him. Pray to Him to protect you from the heretic's filthy attacks.'

Fluffster's furry paw pushed the marine aside.

'This might be not that easy but you should try to remember the nightmare in detail. Some stuff can be useful for the investigation.'

'Nothing to deal with the pearls, Fluffster. Not even the cave I saw in my previous Imudon visions. The hulking traitor brute again, much creepier than in real life, red eyes glowing on a fully shaded mug.'

I could feel how alert Fluffster was now.

'Go on, Volentia.'

I retold him the visions trying not to burst out in tears.

'That's getting too disturbing quicker than we could have expected,' he grumbled back.

'He demanded to arrive there lest he does some nasty thing to me. I told him to bugger off.'

'This kind of stalkers never forgets rudeness. You call yourself a pious person but you haven't tried the obvious way.'

I could utter any simple litany or fold my hands in the holy sign of the Aquila, I thought with vexation. But I was way too used to relying on myself first.

'His Holy Name frightens daemons and their servants as fire drives off predators of the wild.' Sister nodded. 'We're weak while He is strong.'

Her trauma had erased or suppressed most of her reactions, and almost all phrases she spoke were scraps of sermons she had heard before the fateful assault. Strikingly similar, Angel was only learning to think out of the box of his Chapter indoctrination. Yet their kindness and affection were obvious even in these solemn words. For us deprived of most protective parental figures, the Emperor was no pompous golden idol secretly despised by spoiled fat cats. We truly believed in His neverending love, and the hope for His assistance helped us to live through another day of hardships.

Uncle woke up at the trailer wall and grouched at Fluffster.

'It's the middle of the damn night, you lump of fur. Leave the lassie alone, she has to get up at six.'

'Visions are clues,' Fluffster said. 'I've already heard all things important, and I won't disturb Volentia anymore.'

We all got back to our sleeping places, and luckily the nightmare didn't repeat on that night as well as the following one.

Nothing happened during my first working week. Wages were paid daily, and Maia suspected nothing when I volunteered to take overtime job in the weekend without any days off. Sometimes in the lazy hours between breakfast and lunch, sometimes in the evening rush, when both coffeeshop ladies were too busy, I tried to observe the place here and there.

All the other workers had been the owner's acquaintances since her old days in the underhive, so they were quite reluctant to accept season employees into their close-knit company. Friendly in general but never eager to talk to me save a few brief phrases and, unfortunately, avoiding any personal conversations in my presence.

Victor, a hulking brute looking like a typical slur mobster, was always busy carrying crates and packages of milk, candies, food ingredients. His aunt was washing piles of plates and cups I brought to the kitchen. Ricko, a teen boy who lived in the same district and happened to be Calvin Rourke's younger brother, often took errands for Madam Atlas.

Having an only confirmed clue about the cafe, I paid most attention to candy packages displayed on the cash desk. As they were quite expensive, Maia and her ward were the only ones who handled them, forbidding the others to even touch them. Some packages had smooth ribbons, the other ribbons were wrinkled. As for the package colours, there were seven of them. Usually Pimenta didn't let customers enter behind the desk and chose a package herself.

After a few days I noticed that every customer who took pink and purple packages with wrinkled ribbons had a purple clothing detail or gemstone accessory on. Maybe just a coincidence, but the possible connection with the strange pearls seemed suspicious. Drago had got my report about the gems but was still searching for any mentioning of similar things in the archives. She wrote in her last message that she had sent a request to the sub-sector Conclave Archive.

I used every moment, when Pimenta was busy, to reach out with the psyker-sight. Though briefly, I managed to catch background disturbance concentrated around the cash desk and the back wall. I often walked along the wall and even touched its surface carrying cups to the kitchen but there were no cavities or locks. The investigation had seemingly got stuck.

During the weekend rush hours I even made up a plan to track any 'purple' customer and try to steal the candies but there was an unpleasant perspective of getting arrested and outed as an inquisitor.

The opening day of the festival began as usual. Both Maia and her ward had put on their best dresses and greeted every customer with dazzling cheerful smiles. About an hour after the opening Atlas suddenly called me to the back room. She sealed a scented envelope with pink wax and handed it to me.

'Alackaday, girl, poor Ricko has got a bad cold, and this letter has to be delivered urgently. You'll get half of your daily wage if you manage to bring it to the mansion of Master Prefectus as soon as possible.'

A great chance. A unique opportunity. I nodded eagerly with all my working enthusiasm and grabbed the envelope. A minute later I was running through the gathering festive crowd to the bus station. The weather was misty and cloudy, and I stuffed the letter to the bottom of my bag before first raindrops fell on the pavement. Colourful locals and tourists in fancy garbs were chatting, dancing, buying refreshments at large stalls with all kinds of sweets and snacks.

I felt a strong temptation to look inside the envelope in some suitable place but gave it up. Prefectus Wycke mustn't suspect anything before we get closer. I texted Uncle to rent a car at a tourist camp near the trailer park and wait for me on the station. Wycke's mansion was tricky to get by train or bus, about twenty miles from the railroad in a well-guarded gated community built for the richest merchants and top-level officials. Maybe even Drago herself hadn't visited it yet, following the unwritten code of such worlds. Sadly, the further I studied her solved cases, the more she looked like a mere district sheriff rather than an independent agent of the Throne. On the one hand, established contacts with all important groups, on the other hand, getting stuck in the planet's rigid ways of life.

When I got out of the train and ran down the platform stairway, Uncle was already there with the car. Modest but neat and solid, the steel-grey car with shaded windows would be good for both this mission and further visits to the slurs if necessary.

We turned left at the railway bridge and headed to the hills along the riverbank. It started raining, and soon we could see but a few meters of the road not shrouded by the grey impenetrable veil of drizzle.

'Do you know the way well enough?' Uncle asked nervously.

'I looked it up in the bus. Madam Atlas gave me pretty accurate coordinates and a pass.'

I got a small card with the cafe emblem and stuck it onto the windshield. Soon a few road signs appeared one by one. At the last sign we speeder down. 'Honey Vale, 2 miles.' A minute later we saw the outlines of the gated community, each villa looking more like a small castle by size and fortification.

The pass on the windshield allowed us to enter the automatic gate, but inside two armed guards stopped us to ask a few regular questions about our destination and purpose, than pointed at a cumbersome grey mansion towering over its neighbours in the end of the street.

'One of the newest here,' Uncle chuckled when we drove closer to the villa's massive concrete fence. 'The newer, the more imposing.'

'He's got to his high position a few years ago. Now trying to intimidate the others not to feel like an outsider in this snobbish village.'

'A letter from Madam Atlas,' I said into the intercom microphone at the entrance. 'Master Ricko is ill, and Madam sent me instead.'

'Hold the pass to the scanner under the mic,' a grumpy voice answered.

'Where shall I park the car?'

'Garage number two, stack eight. To the right, next to the shed.'

The massive gate opened slowly. While Uncle was dealing with the parking, I walked towards the house past a few pompous ironwork lamps and withering flowerbeds. Even trees are no more than yearlings here. A large, neat yard with nobody seen or heard around. Red eyes of cameras stared at me from every lamp post, the porch, the windows. I prayed to the Emperor he had no means to find out who I am by these vid-logs.

I pressed on the doorbell button. The door opened almost instantly, and a surly woman looked out at me.

'From Madam Atlas? Master Prefectus is busy right now. You'll have to wait for the answer in the hall. Give me the envelope.'

I handed over the letter and followed her through the tastelessly decorated hall with gilded columns and gaudy paintings. She pointed at a sofa next to a monumental door. When she left, I sat down and looked around just to kill time and maybe get a few new clues or hints.

A stupendous portrait of the owner whom the painter had flatteringly depicted with almost primarch-level majesty. A few plain forest landscapes. Doors and columns with whimsically carved ornaments of legendary beasts and arabesque patterns.

The vox-slate tinkled in my pocket. I shielded the screen from the cameras and opened the message. Domna Drago's reserve account. 'Interesting news. See you after your workday.' Most likely, the Archive had provided data on the request. If I'm lucky enough, my first case will be solved soon.

Another quarter of an hour passed in silence, then I heard voices from behind the door. Either an argument or an agitated discussion. The voices got closer and louder, and I could make up a few words.

'Just made it to... Your business... Dilly-dally...' grouched one.

'An order... Hasn't dispensed...' snapped the other.

'All in?'

'We lose nothing. They don't have time.'

The door opened, and a stout man walked out quickly, his face red with anger. Prefectus Wycke himself. I stood up and bowed my head.

'The answer for my dear Madam,' he said dryly. 'And your tip.'

He didn't even look at me when I took the envelope from his hand. The purple pearl in the ring seemed to glow in the lamplight. With the other hand he still held a vox-slate to his ear, and he hurried to a side corridor loudly discussing quarry shares.

I left the hall and went down the porch. The envelope was simpler than the lady's, parchment paper sealed with golden wax. I recalled the circus lads chattering about their romantic mesalliance affair. Not incredible but still extravagant to send errand boys and girls with love letters. If these are love letters at all, of course. Some criminals or cultists tend to use paper letters to avoid data hacking and destroy the letter right after reading it. Some even coat the sheets with special poison in case the courier is tempted to open the envelope.

One thing was intuitively disturbing - Drago's message arrived at the same time something startled Wycke. 'Hasn't dispersed.' I put the envelope in my bag and examined the tip - a wrinkled ten-credit banknote. He was a generous man, I had to admit. The note had neither strange stains nor any warp traces, so I put it in to the letter. Let Fluffster examine it, and then it would become a good adding to our unsound budget.

When I sat into the car, Uncle was quite gloomy and started talking only after we left Honey Vale and drove closer to the railroad bridge.

'Quite a fishy place, lassie. Have you heard anything?'

'Drago has found out something. I'll meet her in the evening.'

'I didn't waste time while waiting. Found good use for the cyber-moth Corydoras gave us before the landing.'

'The storehouse?'

'Exactly. No one will suspect a cornmeal moth flying in and out. Warp presence confirmed, that's all I can say. I bet he stores his drugs there. Let's see the logs on your slate.'

Blurred images were hard to examine in detail on the small screen but I saw long rows of shelves. Lots of crates and cardboard boxes. Warp-tainted ones were marked with red dots in the analysis app. Some were even familiar.

'Victor has brought in at least a dozen crates like this one. I'll take the moth to work tomorrow.'

'Risky, lassie. It's easier to notice a moth in the cafe. Just try to use your sight from time to time.'

'That might work when the place is crowded.'

I typed a message to Maia, and she replied my workday would be over after I delivered the answer. I called Drago immediately. 'The vox-slate is switched off or outside the coverage area.' She'd never turned it off before and always carried powerbanks in her bag like most inquisitors. The same ten minutes later. In half an hour, after a few more unsuccessful calls, Uncle frowned with visible anxiety. He didn't like when a situation developed not as planned. I dialled the number of the main office.

Rings. A male voice answered.

'Interrogator Abelard, Lady Volentia.'

'Lady Drago has invited me to a meeting this evening, but she is out of reach for almost an hour.'

'We've been going to inform you, ma'am.' His tone was sour. 'A very troublesome accident. A reckless driver crashed into her car on the Third Park Bridge an hour ago. The car fell to the canal.'

'And she's...'

'Alive, don't worry, ma'am. Still unconscious, in our hospital. Unfortunately, her dataslates have been damaged, and our tech-priest is currently on the leave. Maybe your Magos could be of help, as you're the one in charge of the investigation while she's recovering.'

'Have you found the hotshot?'

'His car. Left in the underhive streets. The number is false. According to the base, the car belongs to the Flores.'

'I'll be at yours in about a couple hours. Please send me the exact coordinates of the car's location.'

I opened the file and quickly explained the situation to Uncle.

'Ready to bet that was the 'order' Wycke mentioned. Looks like the rivalry between the Alackaday and the Flores is no more than shadow boxing. Two heads of the same hydra, distracting Drago's attention. Take our bruisers there while me and Fluffster are trying to retrieve the sensational discovery.'

I picked up a few advertisement posters on the scrapyard near the trailer park. No one would pay attention to Fluffster if he posed as a cyber-animal mascot.

Angel and Sister met the new mission with enthusiasm after a week they had to spend idly in the owl.

'We'll deliver His justice to His foes,' the Blood Angel said solemnly.

'Grab at least one Flores goon. Loosen their tongues and try to find out as much as possible. Wycke will be next if we find confirmed connection.'

Fluffster looked at the colourful posters with cautious disgust.

'Again me going as a silly beast.'

'I've searched for a while to find ads of your favourite cheese.' I smiled and patted his shaggy paw.

Twilight was falling over the park. In the evening the fog got almost impenetrable, so I hoped no one saw them get into the car. For the third time on that day I boarded a shabby train on the station. The carriage was quiet and relatively empty, a few drowsy passengers hardly paid attention to a funny pair of street promoters. We chose a bench in the back end of the carriage.

'It's a shame to look at a cheese picture instead of having a real slice.' Fluffster sighed.

'The fellow gave me a nice tip. We'll buy some on the way back.'

The evening festivities were in full swing when we got to the Old District at last. I left Fluffster at the fair to enjoy the delicacies and hurried to the cafe. Madam Atlas wasn't content the quest had taken so long but was occupied by some private business. She listened to my 'clumsy' excuses not even looking up from her cogitator, her face unusually puzzled and weary. Pimenta was the exact opposite of her guardian, chirping into her slate, trying on long opulent necklaces before Maia's large mirror.

'Please wait a bit, Freckle.' She giggled, 'I'm ready, almost ready! Let's choose some special cute stuff for tomorrow! Just can't wait anymore. No, you'll see it tomorrow evening, honey! It's even more awesome than you can ever think!'

Fluffster was strolling along the gaudy lines of fair stalls with a few paper bags in his paws.

'I've missed quite normal places like this for years,' he told me when we crossed the bridge to the bus stop. 'It would be a total waste if it turns into a mess of tentacles and other crap because of some bunch of lowly scoundrels.'

I put my finger to my lips nervously.

'No one cares, dear. No one has cared about me being a damn two-meter rodent at the fair. I'm just another hapless dude forced to wear a stupid promotional suit by the horrors of unemployment. Better open these packages to munch something before the next part of your workday.'

Chewing the last cookies in haste, I passed through the gate and entered Drago's office. Her cabinet was now occupied by Interrogator Abelard, a sour-faced lanky man of undefined age.

'Another suspect?' He nodded at the cricetid.

'My Magos, sir. His body transfer is a special story for another day, so I had to use the posters for a credible disguise.'

'I was unable to reanimate the slates, so we have to put our hope on you, venerable Magos.' He pulled a plastic bag out of a table drawer.

'Can I see Lady Drago, sir? Direct psychic contact might be of use to extract some knowledge.'

'I wouldn't advise that, ma'am. Lady Drago's suffered a cerebral injury after the fall, and any pressure is more than likely to be fatal. With the best methods of treatment, we expect her to come to herself no earlier than tomorrow or even later.'

'Are there proven contacts between the Flores and the Atlas family?' I asked Abelard approaching the shelves with Drago's solved cases.

'I have to apologize I'm not a native of this city so I'm not as aware of the underhive intrigues as Lady Drago, ma'am. As far as I know, Glyceris, the current head man of the Flores, was a friend of Maia Atlas' late husband though we don't have viable proofs of their joint criminal affairs. Alackaday was a fishy place with numerous cases of drug trade but it's the concern of the Administratum, not ours to fuss about. As long as they don't meddle with the warp, of course.'

'What else can be their reason to attack Drago?'

'That's it.'

I told him about my visit to Wycke's mansion and showed the logs filmed by the cyber moth.

'An obvious sentence for Lord Prefectus,' he chuckled. 'Though the interference of the Flores seems totally weird. They have severed their ties with Maia since she left the slurs to exchange their patronage to Wycke's. And Wycke has never worked with the Flores before. Warp drugs have never been a matter of concern for them, all recent clashes with us being due to their use of unsanctioned psykers for espionage and communication.'

'That's why I've sent my hitmen there.'

'You're ready to risk your acolytes?' He narrowed his eyes.

'Let's see how they can cope with a Blood Angel.'

Time passed unbearably slowly while Fluffster was tinkering with the slates. My own slate was silent as well. No news from either side. Abelard was napping in his boss' armchair over the keyboard. I poured myself some coffee not to fall asleep.

'Done.' Fluffster wiped his forehead and handed me one of the slates. 'At last.'

'At last.' I opened the file list with a sigh.

The latest upload, a familiar inquisitorial cypher. 'Provided by the Archive of the Tagetes Sub-sector High Conclave. Crown of the Vulpine Princess of Excess. Danger level: Extremis. Forged by an unknown cultist artisan from materials retrieved from a daemonworld, this artefact is shaped in the form of a crown with six purple pearls of unusual shape and sheen. Each pearl contains a part of the vile essence of Lutetia the Vulpine Princess of Excess, a Keeper of Secrets subdued and bound by the craftsman. Previously owned by a number of notorious heretics, the last one being the Decadent Duke of Astra Mortifera who fell in a duel with a rival Chaos Lord Aphedron Pansexualis previously known as the Magnificent who strived to obtain the accursed relic. He is known to have sent the crown away to a secret place before the duel, so it did not fall into Aphedron's hands. Current location unknown.'

Abelard opened his eyes while I was reading the file and looked into the slate over my shoulder.

'Six, the number of the Dark Prince.' He frowned. 'First time in a couple of centuries, a real daemon-invoking cult. One pearl owned by Maia, you said, one by Pimenta, one by Wycke.'

'One is to be offered to Rourke on the day of his betrothal to Pimenta. One probably owned by Glyceris, the last one... probably by Lacia. I'd say she could have been sent away not only to conceal her involvement, but likely to invite some traitorous or daemonic host to this world. I've encountered with the said Aphedron Pansexualis already, and can say for sure he's ready to ravage a defenceless civilized planet like yours.'

I recalled Virgil the Drunkard's ramblings about the vulpine monster.

'By the way, sir, dispatch a few acolytes to find the mad hobo of the Old District. He's hardly aware of what he whines about but psychic examination will provide more details about this threat's nature.'

I dialled Uncle's number with impatience. Rings, no answer. I tried once more. The call was rejected but a messenger notification beeped instead. Incoming vid-log.

Not much could be seen because of the meager street lights in the slurs but I recognized Uncle's car moving towards a dark wasteland somewhere between the underhive parking stacks. A battered car had been left at the very edge next to a large pile of rubbish and corroded carcasses of fridges and bicycles. Uncle gets out of the car, approaches the left one with a gun in his hand. A hardly visible movement behind the garbage pile. Uncle draws, hiding behind the car. Two shots at the same time, the garbage slides down a little. Two tall silhouettes appear from both sides of the pile slowly advancing to Uncle's hideout. A third one, slightly shorter than the two, walks from an empty garage stack with a large stubber gun at ready.

They stall at once as the Angel gets out of the car and stands fully upright activating his power claws. Unable to withstand His mighty warrior, they drop their weapons to the ground immediately.

'So what's up now?' I typed into the chat window.

'Glyceris himself has arrived to see us, lassie. He swears he's nothing to do with the heresy of your current employer. He invites you to talk to him in private.'

Too easy to be true, I thought. But every bit of evidence could be key to the completion of our work.

'Have a well-armoured car prepared for a jolly ride, Interrogator. We go to the underhive right now.'