We followed the Reverend Hieronymus Doloroso back to his rectory — a nearby eagle's nest of sorts, the structure evidently a late addition to the Atrium's structure. Quite strikingly, an ornate pulpit set in a manner of balcony allowed for public preaching. Argenta had told me a few things about the priest and the order of saint Drusus, which he led in these parts. I wasn't sure he could be an ally yet, but his outburst before the crowd had given me a rather favourable impression.

We settled in the wide room behind the balcony, that must have been the rectory equivalent of a salon. I admit I wasn't at the time familiar with the Orders Mendicant, despite their growing popularity in the Calixis sector: the people from my homeworld usually favoured the pomp and gilded chapels of more traditional branches of the Ecclesiarchy. The room was bare to the point of extreme poverty: just as the Reverend himself wore coarse woollen frieze, disregarding both comfort and clerical fashions of the day, seats were covered in rough fabric more intent on protecting the underlying wood from visitor's posteriors than the reverse. A wooden Aquila was set on whitewashed walls, with no other decoration. And yet, despite the obvious intent of mimicking miserable planet-side dwellings, the omnipresence of wood and wool spoke of hidden wealth: these are expensive commodities on asteroids where nothing grows. There was ostentation in the Drusians' poverty.

We were offered no refreshments.

'So you are the young von Valancius. That name carries weight — a burdensome one, as Theodora encumbered it with many a transgression. I wonder, will you seek to shed them, or will you carry them onward, picking them along the way like ripe fruit and savouring their sweet poison to the soul?'

'How do you know who I am?'

The priest raised his eyebrows, as if I had asked a stupid question. 'The Emperor has blessed me with excellent hearing, and your people did the rest. How many members of your crew do you think came to confess, the moment they arrived in port yesterday? How long do you suppose it took me to piece together the truth from their words?'

'I do hope none of my crew had anything worse to confess than whatever petty squabbles occupy the enlisted,' I replied tartly.

'Worry not. Their eternal souls have not been sullied beyond the usual, despite having served under Theodora for many years.'

Abelard was veering apoplectic. The priest's manner was intriguing, so I asked: 'This is the second time in as many minutes you speak ill of the late lady Theodora. Is it your way to impart a warning to me?'

He shrugged indifferently and crossed his bony hands over his knee before deigning to answer. 'She was a woman of great gifts, but few considered virtue to be one of them. People whispered that power had corrupted her, made her believe she was entitled to anything she wanted. It is known she violated dogmas; then again, so do nearly all Rogue Traders.'

'Rogue Traders are the Emperor's anointed. I act at His command, as evidenced by His signature on my Warrant.'

'And did He grant it to you personally? The Emperor has entrusted His servants with the future of Humanity, but people are too weak and flawed to prove themselves worthy of His trust. Only suffering can cleanse us, but we fear it and thus remain sullied.'

I reflected upon my life. I should be clean enough to perform chirurgery, at this point. But now wasn't the time to debate fine theological points, and I prompted Argenta to speak. Her armour of bright metal, her pauldron, stamped with the fleur-de-lys, her bolter — herself as a whole, was at odds with the modesty of the room. She carried herself with the self-confidence of one who knows her cause to be just. Certainly no devout of the priest's flock had sat there brimming with that much eagerness. She spoke with poise, her calm clear eyes focused on Hieronymus.

'Reverend Hieronymus, I wish to join the esteemed Rogue Trader's crew and help protect the von Valancius dynasty from the forces of the Archenemy. I am divesting myself of the responsibility of guarding the Footfall reliquary.'

The priest's unmoving face would have curled milk. I openly supported Argenta's request, but neither of them heeded me. Some silent understanding appeared to pass between them, and the Reverend nodded in thought.

'Follow the call of your soul, Sister,' he said. 'The reliquary will be preserved without your contribution, as it was in all the years preceding your arrival. I know what it is that calls you to follow the Rogue Trader. You seek combat, for it helps you to forget how hollow and worthless our lives truly are. It offers the illusion of meaning. Perhaps you will relinquish this illusion one day, or perhaps you will die before that day comes. Regardless, I wish you luck on your path.'

A sad smile danced on Argenta's lips as she thanked him.

Leaving the rectory, we walked along an Atrium now devoid of blood-thirsty maniacs. I stopped several times to take in the sights; it was getting late, and I have to say I needed some time to myself after a very social day. The Reverend Doloroso had been expected. Sergeant Traigg, very much less so. Some sort of trader you are, he had said, and his words merged with the priest's question. What was my goal, now I had absolute power over a protectorate of three planets and billions of people?

When Theodora's envoy had recruited me — after checking both my genetics and overall respectability — I hadn't looked further than not be a reject anymore. After that damn trial, I had scavenged a living by doing private security, but those who are willing to rent the services of a branded coward with a dodgy past and are in a legitimate business were few. At the end of the day, I had covered plenty of weddings where some in-laws were unwanted: I looked good enough in any shitty uniform to fit in the family celebration of middle class up-and-coming people with delusions of grandeur, and intimidating enough — fit to drag someone outside by their collar with minimal fuss if the need arose.

I had asked the envoy if there were weddings aboard the Emperor's Mercy. He had said the lord-captain had every latitude to forbid them. I swore to follow Theodora to the ends of the galaxy.

And then, things had gone south. Instead of enjoying the adventurous life of a Rogue Trader's heir — which I purported to be full of exploration and heroics with at most a few hundred people at my orders — I had been propelled by fate to being the thing itself.I had to fall back to survival mode. But I had prevailed, the ship was about to be fixed, and now my new responsibilities felt overwhelming. I had a retinue. I was a despot who ruled worlds. A pissy bride and groom suddenly became more appealing than they used to be.

Through slender windows — hundreds of meters tall, taller than trees, taller than waterfalls, tessellated in clever patterns of stained glass — separated from the Atrium by enough space for the promenade to appear to hang over nothingness, against the black velvet of the void, the Emperor's statue gleamed with the pale grey of asteroid pumice. It had been sculpted in the Early Gothic style; He was a forbidding figure, hooded and haloed, larger than He should have been. We slowly orbited around the statue, lofty as a mountain, and shadows played with light to accentuate either sword or cowl. The Koronus Expanse wasn't truly the Imperium: barely explored, hardly tamed, it was the realm of Rogue Traders, where Imperial law and tithe were more of a strong suggestion than an enforceable duty. Factions warred for influence, the Navis Imperialis only one amongst many and the Guard unheard of. And yet, the Emperor was here, brought by His faithful, celebrated and praised; people prayed to Him, wept to Him — killed for Him, and suffered in His name. Heretics, bound by their own limitations, sullied His memory and no other. Footfall, gateway to the Koronus Expanse, built by a Rogue Trader, was an Imperial station. There was no escaping the creeping expansion of our half-crumbling, mad with pride, empire.

What kind of Rogue Trader would I be?

The Liege's residence was a splendid affair of shining stone, gilded pillars, and frescos awash with religious imagery. Most figured a man I suspected to be Footfall founder Parsimus Dewain, engaged in various pious actions: slaying xenos, burning heretics, and being acclaimed by a crowd as he knelt before the God-Emperor. They were of exquisite execution, the patina of centuries enriching their many colours. The artist had applied a particular talent to the gory insides of a pair of tyranids.

We were ushered in by a secretary who wouldn't have been out of place in the richest worlds of the Calixis sector — powdered wig, embroidered coat of spider-silk and jewel-encrusted implants — if not for the tattoos on his hands, that spoke of piracy. The guard that followed us seemed to be your standard hired muscle. An interesting mix.

Before we could reach the Liege's office, however, we all but stumbled across an extremely irate Liege Tocara (according to his picture in Theodora's files) trying to get rid of a half-laughing woman. They were an extraordinary contrast: the man, tall, thin, clad in austere grey clothes — the woman, small and soft, in a fanciful dress of bright copper and a jacket of purple and gold. He was, so far, unsuccessful, as she patted his crossed arms and called him Vladaym in a sing-song of persuasion.

'Where's my cargo, Vladaym? Falco has it, doesn't he? Is that how you do business with your old friends these days?' She had a rich voice and a mellow accent I couldn't quite place. Despite all her efforts, the Liege remained unmoved; when he saw us, he signalled to the guard. The man walked to Tocara's persistent guest and cleared his throat, ordering her to move — which she didn't, instead electing to hit him with a sad display of puppy eyes. He gently took her elbow, and I heard him whisper: 'Jae, get going while he's letting you. Go drown your sorrows at the Amasecus and thank your lucky stars you were able to walk out the door — you won't get the chance next time.'

With a flourish of protest, the woman finally obeyed, loudly criticising the Liege's lack of courtesy and tact. As she passed us by, she gave us a quick once-over and winked at me before flouncing away in a flurry of skirts and long black curls.

A few courtesies later, my entourage was shown to a comfortable waiting room while Liege Tocara and I sat before a lavish afternoon tea. We at first engaged in small talk; he asked my first impressions of Footfall, and I congratulated him on his residence. I chose restraint and did not comment on the misery about the streets — the hungry people, if my old sergeant was to be trusted, and the slums I had glimpsed myself. His demeanour was aloof and polite, his gestures curt and firm: a man used to his orders being followed without a fuss. He presented me his condolences without emotion; I accepted them with a nod.

Tocara's eyes were hidden behind dark glasses fitted with round lenses. I wondered if it was affectation or the mark of some disease. He didn't fit in the residence luxury. He was a sharp battle sword in a pampered youth's drawing room. He also didn't flinch before my examination, and carefully joined his fingertips on the table before cutting to the chase.

'As you may have noticed, Footfall is currently in a state of crisis. Its people would benefit from the patronage of a figure such as yourself.'

Honesty. Well, he had waited for me for half the day while I renewed ancient acquaintances, played the tourist, and dealt with Argenta's business — and he had promptly welcomed me without a second's wait. He certainly wanted something from me. I asked what kind of patronage.

A thin half-smile stretched Tocara's lips as he replied. 'Protection. Not of the military kind, that the Navy obligingly provides. You have, of course, already encountered difficulties with Warp navigation on your way here.' If he meant the incursion that had claimed a good chunk of my crew and disabled my ship, he was right, and I noted to ask Cassia about the rest of it. He continued, his monotonous voice talking about disrupted routes and ships vanishing without a trace across the entire sector. Not a single vessel that had dived into what he called the Maw, towards the Calixis sector, had made it back in recent months — apart from the Emperor's Mercy.

I hadn't known that. Theodora must have been desperate to find her heirs — but she hadn't been that old — well, she had been, but rejuvenat treatments and a good health work wonders. If she hadn't been murdered, she could have looked towards several decades more of rule over her protectorate, long enough for Warp tempests to subside. I certainly wouldn't have gone anywhere, and I didn't think the others I had met aboard would have disappeared either. It had been a hazardous gambit: either die herself in attempting to twice cross the Maw, or come back with us. So, desperate to find her heirs, but why? Looking for people to trust, people from outside the Koronus Expanse, people who knew nothing of whatever she had run into? And she had come back only to find orders to ferry an inquisitor's acolyte around, while no one should have ordered her.

Abelard, that old fox, had never hinted at any of this. Unless he never knew in the first place. Despite his obvious adoration for Theodora, I wondered if she ever told him anything that wasn't related to ship operations.

While I had been lost in my thoughts, Liege Tocara had gone on about his main issue: barren asteroids used as shipyard, trading post and failed vanity architectural project all in one are absolutely dependent on incoming food shipments. I awoke when he asked if House von Valancius would consider signing a contract for food deliveries.

'Surely, I cannot be the only one you've asked for help.'

The Liege showed no embarrassment when he replied. 'Naturally. I tried contacting other Rogue Traders — but the terms of House Chorda would have bled Footfall dry and, as for the esteemed Calligos Winterscale, he sent us a shipment of refugees instead. I had to send them off to Foulstone — too many extra mouths to feed. And so I put my faith in you, the third and last of Footfall's allies.'

My affection for House Winterscale took another drop. As for House Chorda? Good working friends of the Inquisition, and fond of predatory deals. I clicked my tongue in disapproval, but Tocara misunderstood my meaning and rushed to placate me.

'Should you decide to offer your support, you'll forget other trading hubs even exist. Delivery of food shipments from your fertile worlds — such as Janus, the jewel of your protectorate — would be exchanged for fair payment. And just as importantly, you won't have more loyal friends than Footfall anywhere in the sector.'

Once again, that question: what kind of Rogue Trader did I want to be? Tocara was in a hopeless situation. The people of Footfall were in a hopeless situation. Food riots, disease, even cannibalism, threatened, and Chaos and heresy would be in tow. If the numbers I had perused were right, Janus produced enough surplus to feed a small planet each year, and that was after removing what was already exported to the rest of the protectorate. Stasis fields in large underground warehouses held it safe, until needed.

'I will help Footfall,' I slowly said. 'But not out of desire for profit: I have enough of this already. I also have no interest in obtaining favours in kind, or becoming your patron — only in saving people's lives.'

Only then did I notice how tense Tocara had been, as his shoulders suddenly relaxed. 'I am immensely obliged, Your Ladyship. I assume you're going to need time to get the shipments up and running. I can wait. On my end, I promise you complete cooperation with your endeavours.'

The rest of our meeting was unremarkable. I was told, on the sly, of the various illegal activities on Footfall that Liege Tocara disapproved of, and where to find the most profitable of them. My Warrant of Trade opened many doors.

By the time I took my leave and collected Abelard, Argenta and Cassia, nightly activities had already begun on Footfall, although the dark and sunny void outside remained much the same. On the Atrium promenade, entertainers had set their stage; there was song, music, acrobats, and a freak show or two. Before we could decide whether we went back home to the comforts of the ship or took a look around, however, a young man accosted us — me, in particular. He was clean-shaved and well-dressed in rich, but somber, fashion. A bright Aquila, obnoxiously embroidered in gold, stretched over his doublet. He bowed, neat, proper, and asked for a minute of my time before introducing himself as Bastian in Derama Bastaal-Chorda, envoy of Rogue Trader Incendia Bastaal-Chorda. I nodded for him to go on. His tone was extremely polite, although he was afflicted with the slight lilt common in the aristocracy of many worlds.

'You must be an envoy of Theodora von Valancius,' he said. 'I noticed that you arrived on the esteemed lady's ship.'

After a quick warning glance to my companions, I gave the youth the warmest smile I could muster and went to shake his hand, giving my name as Katov in Leifnir von Valancius, Her Ladyship's messenger. His manner at once became less formal; he was evidently more at ease with his peers — I couldn't fault him for it. I slid a hand under his elbow and dragged him along, asking him to show me the sights as we spoke. What business did Her Ladyship Incendia have with Her Ladyship Theodora, did I ask.

From up close, he was a young man who, not long ago, still had pimples. Tricking him felt like stealing candy from a child — although he had the sense to step away from me, slightly red in the cheeks, and decline my offer of a walk. 'It is a matter of the utmost delicacy,' he apologised, 'and it would be unfitting to discuss it before such plebeian entertainment.'

'Go on, then. I'm listening,' I said. Cassia was looking, transfixed, at the man. She had met so many new sorts of people today, it was a wonder she wasn't an exhausted shell of herself. I had probably underestimated a young Navigator's thirst for new experiences in those precious few years where mutations hadn't yet made her a recluse monster.

'You see, you've been to the residence of the Liege. Vladaym Tocara almost certainly appealed for the assistance of House von Valancius in shipping food to Footfall. It'd be odd for him not to beg the help of a protectorate famed for the abundance of its main agri-world, when Footfall is on the verge of famine.'

'Your guess is correct.'

'The Chorda dynasty pursues its own interests on Footfall. We have already announced our terms to the Liege, but he is stalling — probably in hope of getting a more favourable offer from you. The Chorda dynasty believes cooperation would be profitable to both Rogue Trader houses. If Lady Theodora was to refuse Vladaym, thereby forcing him to agree to a deal with us — we can promise you a share of the profits from the future contract, as well as other perks. Everybody benefits!'

He beamed at me.

At my side, Argenta scoffed disapprovingly. There was a nasty edge to her voice when she said the Emperor's loyal servants should be more concerned with carrying His will through the stars and less with divvying up profit among themselves.

'Particularly when the well-being of one of the Imperium's worlds is at stake, even one such as Footfall,' she added with a glare that made Bastian in Etcetera-Chorda blanch. An unhappy Sister of Battle is often met with that kind of reaction; I think it's because of the power armour.

Not one to be left out, Cassia joined the fray, her silver voice brittle with wonder. 'Behind your smile, Master Bastian, teal shadows swirl. Others may not see them, but your worry cannot escape my eye. What are you afraid of? Your house's wrath, should these negotiations prove fruitless? Or the wrath of House von Valancius?'

Well, here came the best part of having so far remained incognito: I could just slap the youth on the shoulder, tell him to disregard my companions, and that I would make sure Her Ladyship reflected upon his offer. He scuttled away and I decided we would all get straight back to the Emperor's mercy. Enough talking, enough plotting, enough politics — I just wanted my bed.

About an hour later, I crashed on the mattress and pulled up the covers. The beddings had been changed twice, but I thought I could still detect a whiff of inquisitorial fragrance from my feather pillow. It wasn't fully unpleasant.