According to my timepiece, we stood there for the better part of an hour, until a barrage of horns proclaimed Governor Dolos’ arrival. We turned to see her striding down the tree-lined path, flanked by two guards who rivalled Adeptus Astartes in height, their lumbering frames no doubt the result of gene-forging. A score of attendants and lesser nobles followed, but I ignored these, my focus on the familiar figure of Flight Commander Gradeolous at the rear. He was clad in his dress uniform. At least, I assumed that is what it was, for I doubted the outrageously large plume adorning his cap would have fitted the cockpit of even the most spacious aircraft.

Governor Dolos had never been more radiant. Her diaphanous robes shimmered like mirrored silk, and beneath she wore an elegant gown that sparkled like starlight, her headdress tapered into two wings of spun gold. She shone so bright that to look upon her risked blindness. I bowed, averting my gaze. I hoped this was respectful; I remained fearful of Bacchus’ social mores.

‘Ah, Propagandist Simlex. You decided to join us,’ she said, as if seeing me for the first time. There was no mention of her tardiness, or the pointed invitation. She treated me as though we had blundered into each other by chance. Gradeolous simply ignored my presence, his focus on the skies above.

Stylee nudged me aside so Dolos could ascend the gangplank. I waited until her entourage had done likewise before following, the steward trailing in my wake. The moment I boarded the heat rescinded, no doubt screened by the same force field that incinerated the insects. The cool would have been refreshing if the folds of my robes weren’t sodden with sweat.

Dolos took her seat amongst the silken cushions, her courtiers and guards assuming their places around her. Gradeolous, I noted, chose to stand, hands clasped behind his back, chest puffed and chin thrust out, his whiskers bared like the horns of a beast.

Dolos glanced to me, smiling as if we were old friends.

‘Come now,’ she said, patting the cushions beside her. ‘Sit and we shall be on our way.’

I bowed again, and lowered myself to the offered spot, still mindful of the sweat clinging to my robes. I prayed to the God-Emperor there was no smell, but if there was Dolos did not acknowledge it.

Kikazar settled in my lap as our helmsman’s hands glided over hidden controls and, silently, the craft began its passage along the river.

I had not travelled south of the château before. The territory ostensibly belonged to Imperial forces, and remained relatively untouched by the conflict. We sailed through rows of neatly maintained vines, the yacht gliding across the swamp water, its anti-gravity drives offering far smoother passage than the rather frenetic aircraft with which I was so recently acquainted.