What a day, what a day indeed! We reached, at last, Governor Medineh in his command centre; I have to admit I was worried. Lord-captain Katov had displayed great valour in battle (for which I was, admittedly, glad), but this was an encounter that would require an even greater political acumen. For a Rogue Trader to meddle in another Rogue Trader's affairs, particularly where heresy is involved, is a delicate matter. The safest way to go about this would be to turn a blind eye to what was the Winterscales' problem and content ourselves with finding our charge. I know for a fact lady Theodora would have taken great delight to do so — perhaps tipping off the Inquisition about the corruption her rivals had failed to contain, and let them deal with the fallout for good measure. Just in case, I had therefore taken the liberty to collect whatever physical evidence I could on our way there: a pamphlet, a badly printed sermon… Any of these were, on their own, incriminating enough, but together with a Rogue Trader's testimony would be damning.

The command centre was a small thing to one used to the spacious volumes of a voidship. And they say ships are stuffy. Ha! The smell alone in that badly ventilated room would have made a grox faint. A whole wall was occupied by a large cogitator, bearing many screens, built on a raised platform. Governor Medineh, when we were ushered in, was standing by it, reading reports with the haggard look of a man who has slept too little and worried too much. His uniform, I regret to say, would have needed cleaning, and that lack of self-discipline reflected poorly, in my opinion, on his Winterscale masters. A small planetary uprising is no reason to relax one's standards.

The lord-captain was gracious enough to nod to all those who bowed at her entrance, saluting her with the Aquila, and went straight to Governor Medineh. From the corner of my eye, I glimpsed the newest addition to our group — Magos Pascal Haneumann — make a beeline to a red-robed tech-priest who appeared to oversee a few group of others similarly clad. Mechadendrits were raised in respectful salutation and, as a swift discussion in binharic cant began, I averted my eyes from the mysteries of the Omnissiah's adepts.

After the usual niceties, that Her Ladyship handled with the rigid formality learnt in the Astra Militarum, the topic of our coming was brought forward. The Governor sadly informed us our charge, Master van Calox of the Inquisition, had left the capital at the beginnings of the uprising, when shuttles could still depart without risk. It may be a disrespectful observation, but I thought to notice the corner of Her Ladyship's lip curl in disdain.

'And where to might the master Interrogator have flown?' she asked, better controlling her tone than her face.

'The Hallowed Electrodynamic Cenobium,' came the reply. At that, the Magos rushed forward; it appeared the Adeptus Mechanicus held the reactor at the heart of the Cenobium as a very ancient — therefore extremely sacred — relic, and that the binharic discussion had been about the Governor's unwillingness to defend it from rebel scum. Politeness then slightly slipped from Governor Medineh's demeanour. The man was definitely an acquired taste. Did he understand that a Rogue Trader has no masters save the Emperor Himself and that if she wished, as a courtesy to the Adeptus Mechanicus, the Hallowed Electrodynamic Cenobium protected, it should better be? Unless he had other orders from House Winterscale, in which case other problems would arise, much beyond the scope of this meeting.

'Admit it,' at last snapped Her Ladyship. 'You cannot control this uprising, and would rather abandon the Cenobium than admit the Ruinous Powers have taken such a foothold in your world.'

The man scoffed. 'The Ruinous Powers? That is slander.'

'Have you walked your streets, have you seen the sightless mad who spout heretic nonsense? Have you seen the unholy rites they conduct at nightfall? Or were you too busy hiding in there?'

So much for diplomatic skill. I made a note to myself that Lord-captain Katov's patience was great, but not infinite. Not that she was wrong, of course. The governor straightened his spine; he became very red in the face and all but shouted: 'Slander! I know what you are! I will not take this from, from a coward!'

Silence became absolute. Even the cogitator appeared to hold its electronic breath. A muscle contracted at the Lord-captain's jaw; her eyes had become black pits of fire. And yet, she spoke not. She stood at parade rest, her brows knit. I had to intervene — wary as I might be of her past, the honour of House von Valancius was at stake.

'Who…' But she raised her hand, silencing me.

'It is true,' she said. 'I was put on trial, and judged guilty of having been a coward on the battlefield. The Commissariat dismissed me dishonourably.' She spoke in short words, anger barely contained. 'It means, Governor Medineh, that a coward has retaken the starport you considered lost. It means that a coward relentlessly fought her way to you — on inquisitorial command, with inquisitorial trust — uncovering secrets you are too craven to face. It means that a coward will now defend the Most Hallowed Electrodynamic Cenobium for the glory of the God-Emperor and retake it if necessary, or destroy it to prevent its downfall. What does that make you?'

I shall not lie, I was shaken to my core. So that was how one was made to leave the Officio Prefectus. Cowardice. But I had seen the Lord-captain fight; I had witnessed her bravery and dedication several times now. Yes, aboard the Emperor's Mercy, she had been scandalously lenient with the Master of Ordnance but… cowardice? Truly? Had Lady Theodora known? Of course, she must have known, unless it had been hidden from her by the treacherous Master of Whispers. Was someone trying to bring ruin to the von Valancius dynasty by replacing the late Lord-captain, ruthless, efficient, noble in body and soul, by a coward?

It was hard to shake those thoughts. When I did — it felt eons had passed, but in truth it must have been just an instant — Lord-captain Katov was looking at me, her closed face impassible. Not at Sister Argenta (who was gasping for air somewhere by my side), with whom Her Ladyship had become friends, not at Idira Tlass (who of us could be expected to be the most sympathetic to such a heretical leaning as the lack of moral fibre), nor at the priest, who probably only heard the promise to defend his relic. At me, her seneschal, sworn to her.

I clicked my heels and said: 'Orders, Lord-captain?'

'We're done here, Abelard. Let us get back to the ship.'

As we waited for the shuttle to pick us up (we had, after all, made the area secure, so there was no need for a harrowing trip back to the starport), my mind was reeling. Her Ladyship paced like a caged devilcat, murder on her face — no one would have dared speak to her. Sister Argenta's lips moved silently in prayer. And a single thought was echoing endlessly through my brain: how had the Lord-captain escaped a death sentence?