If I was afraid entries in this diary would get dull once our new routine was settled, I was sorely mistaken. First, we had that lovely drama involving governor Drivestem, whom Her Ladyship confirmed in his functions. He got to her only after three days; she got him to wait for her for two more days, standing in the throne room where she had every seat removed. When she finally granted him an audience — Clementia told me all about it — she informed him she had all his air and ground vehicles seized and sent to the Mechanicus, since they were so obviously dysfunctional they prevented his swift arrival. Clementia already liked Her Ladyship for her frankness, but she said this nearly pushed her to kiss the ground on which Her Ladyship walks. Drivestem is a competent administrator, and his coffers do not fill too fast with diverted funds, but it was high time he was reminded that he is, ultimately, only a servant to the Emperor's own anointed.

Then, we had Olever af Putnam and Mistress Heydari gang up on Her Ladyship to improve her wardrobe and also, although that was Putnam alone, pitch her with ludicrous ideas for her Magnae Accessio. He even convinced her to do a small scale test run, so to speak, for the House Orsellio representatives. The Regent — a Navigator who limits his amount of Warp-induced mutations by dabbling into politics instead of doing his Emperor-appointed job — all but ordered our dear lady Cassia to follow him home. Her Ladyship had lady Cassia sit on a stool by her side — a mark of great favour — and I was ecstatic that our dear lady Cassia chose to remain with us instead. Her arguments were flawless: to gain a better understanding of the Immaterium, to gain insight of the world outside her House in order to better lead it against coming challenges, to build strong bonds of alliance with a powerful Rogue Trader dynasty… The Regent tried to charm and coerce lady Cassia, but of course Her Ladyship had none of that, and that was it. All in all, it was an excellent diplomatic reception where Olever af Putnam's talent as showmaster really shone. The fact that it ended in bloodshed when some Orsellio wench tried to murder our dear lady Cassia only made the day better. The lord-captain had the offender, bleeding but still alive, thrown in jail to await trial on counts of unlawful aggression against a member of her retinue. The Regent whined, but finally found useful to outsource a traitor's trial.

But, lest I become complacent and too happy with my lot, Her Ladyship has drafted me in about the worse ordeal I can imagine: a trip to the Administratum palace, to fill out some forms on Mistress Heydari's behalf. We leave tomorrow at dawn. Emperor, grant me strength.

Our first day in the paper-pushers' dominion wasn't so bad. The Master of Seals was rude, yes, but only a normal amount. It was a good, good thing Her Ladyship had had the presence of mind to get her seal from Janus, otherwise we would have needed to take a trip there, and we had found another one, previously lost, in a derelict station branded with the Winterscale arms and chock full of stolen stuff. So the Master of Seals got the required two seals and we were able to get a ticket and sit in the queue. Her Ladyship's expression because quite fixed when she was told there was no cutting the queue, even when one is the Rogue Trader, as all imperial subjects are equal before the eyes of Him Who Sits On Earth.

The waiting hall is as colourful as I remembered. I was there twice in the past: once to register my transition from the Imperial Navy to Lady Theodora's service which, funnily enough, was considered civilian, and in the wake of my beloved Quatharina's passing to get her will opened. Although many years have passed, the smell remains the same; I suspect it so deeply penetrates the building that nothing short of a promethium fire could remove it. It made Her Ladyship cough; perhaps her lungs are still sensitive, but in any case I had brought a small incense burner which I lost in lighting. The fresh, healthy smell soon displaced the many flavours of body odour and stale sweat piqued with just a hint of urine. Of course, Mistress Heydari was with us, as it was all for her. Master van Calox had tagged along, ostensibly at Her Ladyship's request but I think he would have come anyway; Sister Argenta was there too, and that surprised me, because Mistress Heydari was the one who roped her in. More company is always welcome in trying times.

When we first stepped in and Her Ladyship took in the importance of the crowd (which was at least several hundred strong, perhaps more), she craned her neck around and, after an unsatisfactory inspection, remarked she only saw one booth in the wall.

'Abelard, tell me there's more than one clerk for all these people,' she said in the even tone I now know conceals great depths of irritation.

'Absolutely, lord-captain. There are two.'

She looked at the number on the slip we had taken at the door. She compared it to the number displayed high over the booth in bright red numbers. She turned to Mistress Heydari and said: 'Jae, if you knew about this, I'll abandon you on the first frozen asteroid we pass.'

Mistress Heydari made a comical face. 'As long as I am stranded in the company of my Mercatum Tabula Officiale, I won't hold it against you, beacon of hope of the Koronus Expanse. But no, I didn't know, unlike your Seneschal who, in his great foresight, appears to have prepared for the very contingency we face.'

'All right,' sighed Her Ladyship. 'Can we buy someone else's ticket?

I cleared my throat. 'No, lord-captain. You will not have failed to notice tickets are nominative. But there is something that I am sure would greatly shorten our waiting time. May I?'

Her Ladyship having waved me her assent, I took a step forward and loudly announced: 'Here comes Her Ladyship Katov Leifnir von Valancius, Rogue Trader by the grace of the God-Emperor, mistress of Dargonus, saviour of Janus and Kiava Gamma, vanquisher of heresy, enlightened despot holding the threads of your fates in her benevolent hands! Make way for her on her glorious path to the Administratum booth!'

A few people looked up. A few less bowed or saluted. One man got up and left. Master van Calox, hands clasped behind his back, congratulated me on inducing such an effective reaction in the crowd. That the populace holds dearer their place in the queue than the scion of the greatest Rogue Trader dynasty in the Expanse left me flummoxed.

Her Ladyship sighed and steered us to a row of empty seats. Those had once, perhaps, been filled with plush and other soft things, at a time when the Emperor was still running around in diapers, but now they were nothing but wire frames that moulded themselves in a most uncomfortable and intimate manner around our nether regions. Her Ladyship gingerly settled in her seat and, looking around, said:

'You know, when I was a Commissar, I've often been harsh against the Departmento Munitorum. I mean, they once sent boats made for water landings to a regiment that never even knew what the sea was. They came from a desert world, for the Throne's sake! And getting a request, any request, to stick, required treasures of patience and a personal acquaintance with whomever was in charge that week. I've been known to call them a fucking collection of ambull droppings, as efficient as rotting cadavers on a warm day and about as friendly. Today, I feel that I owe them an apology.' She took a deep breath. 'But then. Let's lead by example and fucking wait. Where are the toilets?'

'Ah,' I replied. 'You will not have failed to notice, lord-captain, that most people here do wait both for the clerk and the use of the facilities, although for the former there are no tickets but a honour system. I believe our turn for those will come after the gentleman in green over there.'

Her Ladyship buried her face in her hands and sighed again. She muttered something I couldn't hear. Master van Calox, however, replied: 'No, Katov, biomancy cannot vanish pee from your bladder.'

When a chime rang Vesper on the large clock on the wall, two little statues blessed by the Adeptus Mechanicus went out and mimicked the beheading of saint Morchella by a heretic, and then the crushing of said heretic beneath a falling bookshelf. Three petitioners had been heard in eight hours; a fair rate of work, but the Administratum working day was now over. Iron curtains were rolled down, preserving the clerks' abode in their secrecy for the rest of the afternoon and the following night. People relaxed, much like I had witnessed in my previous stays in those halls. Her Ladyship relented and voxed for someone to bring us cots, proper seats, food, wine, and portable facilities — the bare necessities of life. We had tea and cakes; the populace gave us elbow room, at the very least. Mistress Heydari left and proceeded to befriend some unsavoury figures.

'At this rate,' considered Her Ladyship, 'we'll be here for a month. It's a good thing I don't have a multi-planetary protectorate to run. I've got half a mind to leave you fellows and come back later.'

'That would forfeit your place in the queue,' pointed out Master van Calox. 'The ticket is in your name alone.'

A thick smell of burning coal drifted to us, together with a cloud of grey smoke that made my eyes water. A man had started a barbecue about twenty meters away. Many gathered round, chatting and laughing. Sausages, bacon, and something unidentifiable were being readied nearby. A baby cried. Bottles of cheap amasec were opened and began circulating.

'Abelard, I want to send a message to the Departmento Munitorum general headquarters in the Calixis sector.'

I fished out a strip of paper and readied the very same quill with which I am writing those lines, and asked Her Ladyship what the message was to say. Gloomily, she said: 'I am sorry for everything, and apologise for breaking in three times to put my forms on top of the pile. No need to sign, they'll know who sent it.'

Considering her with great surprise, I asked: 'Three times, lord-captain?'

She shrugged. Sister Argenta's hand went to her rosary.

An hour later, the barbecue was ready and the sounds and smells of sizzling meat filled the hall. The unidentified shape proved to be some sort of fish. The lord-captain's orderlies, who had decided to stick around about setting up our spot, sent death glares in the revellers' general direction, but those people had thick skin, and as long as Her Ladyship didn't officially protest, none of the orderlies dared make a move. Sister Argenta suggested that we all pray for salvation and offer our discomfort and suffering to the God-Emperor, as we shared a sliver of His ineffable pain offered in sacrifice for the good of humankind.

A dangerous light awoke in the lord-captain's eye, but she didn't decline our Sister's suggestion and, for about fifteen minutes, we had something else to do than scratch our armpits in boredom. That was two hours ago. I am the last one of our party still up, finishing this entry. The orderlies are nearly done cleaning up the light supper we shared. I can hear snores coming from every part of the hall and cannot say I am not eager to join in their choir. Waiting on a chair is surprisingly tiring business.

When Her Ladyship and, by extension, us all, awoke, the change in her mood was immediately noticeable. She was definitely perky and hummed a jaunty tune mangled beyond recognition. She drank her tea, ate her toast, brushed her teeth and gave Mistress Heydari a go-forward sign. Now, our Cold Trader gave her a conspiratorial wink, took a few steps backs, and exclaimed: 'O Exalted One, could today be my lucky day? No longer will I have to stand in this hall, waiting day and night for my turn to come, for the kind ruler of House von Valancius is a benefactress of the downtrodden, and she has solved my problem!'

Now that garnered the crowd's attention. Mistress Heydari had barely stepped down that a young man in excellent clothes rushed to Her Ladyship and knelt, grovelling. Before she could tell him to rise, though, an older woman had followed suite and begged the lord-captain not to listen to her impudent son's impudent request. Her Ladyship sat, took a new cup of tea, offered by Master van Calox's hand, crossed her legs, sipped, and signalled for the young man to speak. His noble mother's face was dimly familiar; as for him, he wasn't at court, but a student in the art of surgery. So already a problem child, and it turned out he wanted to marry a commoner. Such unions being forbidden, he was now applying for an exemption, and his lady mother had taken to dog his every step while he waited for the Administratum clerk, and endlessly beg him not to fall in such a misalliance. For twenty-four moons he had waited. Her Ladyship's eyebrows had hiked halfway up to her hairline while the mother explained her side at great length.

'It seems to me,' coolly said Her Ladyship, 'that the young lady in question, as an already practising healer, is respectable in her own right. Is truly your one objection to their union the fact that she is a commoner?'

'Yes,' cried the mother. 'No good can come from such stock, born and bred in the hives!'

'Excellent,' replied Her Ladyship. She turned to Peri and said: 'Make a note, Peri, that the Mistress Zazi Cormic is, as of now, raised to the rank of lady of the court, attached to my person, and shall be granted a pension as well as the title of Knight of Dargonus Health.' Looking at the young man, who was gushing thanks, she added: 'There. You won't be marrying a commoner. No need for an exemption anymore, go back to your hospital and free your spot in the queue. Who's next?'

But the overbearing mother wasn't done. 'Your Ladyship,' she protested, 'I am begging you! Do not condone this union! It is against nature!'

She shrivelled under Her Ladyship's cold glare. 'Be happy,' said the lord-captain, 'that I do not strip you of your wealth and title and give them to your daughter-in-law. Next!'

Next was a lady in a widow's clothes, that must once have been rich but were now threadbare. She proclaimed that her late husband's small manufactorum had burned down, leaving her to dwell in misery, alone, in a cold, deserted manor, and she was seeking for permission to remarry. Not out of love, but out of need.

'Seems to me that tying your wealth to your spouse is a risky business,' remarked Her Ladyship. 'Why don't you try to do something by yourself?'

'Alas, Your Highness, that I could! But I have nothing to invest, no education, and no connections anymore as all shun the destitute I have become!' She looked properly dejected when she recognised that, as a lady of good breeding, marriage was her only option.

The lord-captain called to Sister Argenta. 'Do not the Orders Pronatus sometimes welcome the indigent in their service? Say, lady, do you have faith?'

Sister Argenta looked doubtful, but she seemed to mellow when the lady professed a strong belief in all things religious. 'The Orders do, on occasion, require the assistance of the lay,' she explained. 'There are sacred duties that a Sister cannot perform, as she is not taught in them. If this lady knows how to read and write and does not shirk from hard work… but there is no chapter on Dargonus.'

'Yes, I read and write!' The lady almost shouted with renewed hope. 'What do I want with a tumbledown manor house full of rats and a depressing view from the windows? My whole life I have dreamt of interplanetary travel! A pilgrimage, that's it! I'll sell the house and all that I have left, and buy a one-way ticket to wherever you point me, Sister! Emperor willing, I will die happy doing something useful for once in my life! And I will have seen the stars!'

Then we got a boy in need of emancipation from a difficult family. Her Ladyship circumvented his need of the Administratum by drafting him to serve aboard The Emperor's Mercy until he came of age. There was a pair of women, a married couple, with adoption-related issues, as well as a few more petitioners with less interesting problems that I shall not bother to consign here. Just as I thought the rest of the patiently waiting throng either really needed the holy grail of an Administratum stamp, or dared not get close, an old man drew near. He was a hunched, decrepit thing, clad in rags, and when he spoke a bow wave of putrefaction issued from his near-toothless mouth. Half of his face was contorted as if by an old stroke.

'D… death for life… ma'am.'

Her Ladyship, puzzled, looked at him and then us. She was, perhaps, unfamiliar with this custom that, it is true, I never saw in the Calixis sector but only here in the Koronus Expanse where medicae are harder to come by. Mistress Heydari, however, understood and peered curiously at the old man's crumpled form, and asked in confirmation:

'You are here to request mortification, so that your organs may go to your next of kin as inheritance? They will hardly want your worn-out body parts, old-timer…'

'My grand-daughter,' he said. 'S… Servitor… disposal!' His hands shook with the effort to speak.

'Your grand-daughter is a servitor? She was condemned to Servitude Imperpituis?'

'Ye…s… sixteen years ago.'

'Oh, Exalted One,' exclaimed Mistress Heydari, closing her eyes and shivering in horror. 'I think I understand. There was some accident, she is listed for disposal, and now this old man is volunteering to be spare parts for a soulless tin can… May His favour keep me from such a fate.'

Her Ladyship's face was moved by compassion the like of which I have rarely seen. Very gently, she asked the old man if he understood that his sacrifice would mean nothing to a servitor. He nodded, quite energetically too. Oh, what a pitiful sight he made! His grand-daughter! How strong is the love born out of the bonds of family! If Clementia, or any other of my grand-children, were condemned to such a terrible fate — death of the person and eternal servitude of the body — would I shun their empty husks for their crimes? It would be the proper way… but to see them, every day, walk and obey their new programming, purging their sentence, and not believe something of them, a spark, a memory, still lingers deep in their mangled brain? Ah, I understood the old man. But Her Ladyship, how could she understand? She has no family — raised in the Schola, sent to battlefields where friendships and loves are, by nature, transitory, cut short by enemy fire and reassignments? Was it that she understood that missing those attachments, for a human being, is like missing a limb? The old man must have been a hiver, the lowest of the low, and perhaps he helped the servitor that once was his grand-daughter accomplish her duties, watching out for accidents in the dangerous levels of the Dargonus slums. We do repair our servitors on the Emperor's Mercy, if only because it gives the cog-boys something to do in those long nights spent at Warp, but many consider them an expendable resource. Her Ladyship's decision came as a balm on my turmoil.

'I will have my people buy your grand-daughter's release and see to your welfare,' she said. Yes, with proper care and a rejuvenat, that old man might be able to cherish the flesh of his flesh for many years to come! It made me yearn, suddenly, for… not retirement, but for staying on Dargonus, for good, and be close to my own family, upon whose face I see many happy memories of old. I barely know Clementia's children — which is a shame, as she tells me they are more than talented individuals with excellent morals — and one of her nephews is already a father himself!

After this sad affair, it was time for us to partake in a late lunch. The hall was markedly emptier than before and I guessed we had gained several days — probably half a week, perhaps a bit more. Her Ladyship's calculating gaze had fallen upon Sister Argenta; when we were done cleaning the last crumbs, she asked, quite innocently, if the Sister could engage the people in a prayer, or tell a story about a saint, for their edification.

'I do worry, as their spiritual shepherd as well as their temporal one,' further argued Her Ladyship, 'that because of waiting these people have been gripped by despondency, which is a grievous sin. A sermon from one of the Emperor's daughters could restore to them their determination.'

While I do believe the Sister can be a fine preacher at times, her homilies do tend to run on the long side and are not to everyone's taste. Tempting her with a captive audience was a low blow, I felt, that amounted to give catnip to a lacerax. I must confess, I wasn't exactly enthused at the lord-captain's proposal! At her behest, the orderlies (who, by the way, did a stellar job of hiding their feelings) brought out two benches in a makeshift pulpit that Sister Argenta was quick to climb. After slipping a few coins to the nearby guards so they would enforce silence in the hall, Mistress Heydari pulled out a chair to better see Sister Argenta, dishing out encouragement to 'her silver-voiced angel' and looking up at her with adoration. Her Ladyship got an Administratum lackey to tinker with a servo-skull so it could be used as a repeater, enabling the Sister's words to carry all the way across the large, majestic hall.

What can be said of Sister Argenta's sermon? It lasted for three hours and was full of the value of faith and humility in adversity, but also of fire, brimstone, flowery sentences, running metaphors and lengthy citations from theologians who wrote at a time paper was certainly not a rare commodity. I did learn a few things (about saint Justina, mostly) and considered a few others as well, but perhaps what I took home from Sister Argenta's sermon was that the lord-captain is nothing but a devious schemer who willingly condemned us to listen so that about half of the remaining petitioners fled. Thirty minutes in, the less patient began pulling out. After an hour, a steady trickle of people ran through the door. An hour and a half in? Throne, they were queuing to get out. However, once the second hour was underway, only the deaf or very stubborn remained — and probably a few truly devout in the middle. And so, when Sister Argenta asked for a glass of water early in the third hour, Mistress Heydari instead pulled her down from her perch, congratulating her on her performance with brilliant eyes and hugging her effusively.

'You have invigorated them with the fires of faith,' proclaimed Mistress Heydari. 'Look how many have abandoned their fruitless wait, choosing instead to head back into the world and enact some change in their life for the good of their souls! That was at least a week's worth of petitioners! There truly is no star more coveted than that which points to the Exalted One!'

Her Ladyship's congratulations were a bit more subdued. Master van Calox watched the scene with a strange expression — half-impressed, half-exasperated if I had to guess — and was quite startled when the lord-captain turned and cast a sidelong glance in his direction.

'Heinrix, this is a perfect opportunity to make use of your privileged status. After all, you do not wish to suspend your investigation for several days, do you?'

He pursed his lips and protested it would be quite an abuse of his position, but his tone somewhat lacked conviction. Her Ladyship pointed at the clock, saying that there was only an hour left before the booths closed, and that the barbecue people were still there. Master van Calox thought about it, and agreed it would be unpardonable for him to waste so much time in a waiting room while the Enemies of Humanity conspired at every turn.

With almost loving care, Her Ladyship adjusted his collar, straightened the parchments of his many devotional seals, tapped the rosette hanging from its chain again his chest, bodily turned him around, and pushed him away with a word of encouragement. The man did make for an impressive sight, with his bulky cape and his ceremonial garments of red and black, trimmed with gold! He took a few steps forward and, his voice echoing under the rafters, exclaimed: 'In the name of the Holy Inquisition, I order you to let this lady through! It is your sacred duty to the Imperium to comply!'

Those words were followed by him glaring after each and every remaining petitioner, striking fear in their hearts. A cool draft informed me that, maybe, he was using psychic tricks to create physical anguish on top of the very natural feeling of dread that comes with hearing the name of the Holy Ordos. At first, there was no reaction, but the silence had become so thick one could have cut it with a knife. A woman gathered her dress and left in a hurry, muttering something about maybe coming back next month when she passed us by; this acted like a signal. The uncomfortable chairs emptied in a surprisingly orderly manner. Most bowed to van Calox on their way out. He, however, stood still like a marble statue, and glowered.

Once the last straggler had hurried through the door, Master van Calox walked back to Her Ladyship and dryly said: 'Do not ever ask me to resort to such dodgy ploys again.' She gave him one of her rare beaming smiles and pressed his hand, assuring him that she wouldn't. I felt she was lying when she apologised.

And so, we became next in line. Half an hour before closing, Her Ladyship and Mistress Heydari sat at the ranking prefect's booth so that he could check all the paperwork was in order, countersign the forms and apply the Administratum's own seal. It took long enough; the man did overtime, which never happens, but he must have felt the Rogue Trader deserved this small favour. Unless he spotted Master van Calox hovering menacingly behind her — which these days seems to be his baseline mood — rosette at the ready, or was afraid that Sister Argenta chastised him for committing the sin of sloth and launched in another sermon.

In any case, we were able to leave the Administratum palace soon enough that the shuttle brought us back to Her Ladyship's own palace by supper, accounting for time zones. Mistress Heydari is, needless to say, ecstatic. I myself am a bit tired still and have retired early, just in time to have tea with Clementia before she herself headed to bed. I have heard Her Ladyship rope in Master van Calox to play regicide in her study. What a shame her board is still in orbit aboard the Emperor's Mercy; I shall get Peri to bring it down first thing tomorrow morning, so that their paltry excuses stand a chance to fool the host of palace spies.