I wondered how often she visited this site. I had thought our prior excursion for my benefit, to present a favourable view of Bacchus in rather trying circumstances. But perhaps it was more than that. Many planetary governors had their own bizarre hobbies. I had heard tell of some who enjoyed stepping into the arena, trading blows with hardened cyber-gladiators for the chance to bask in the elation of the crowd. Such contests were rigged of course, whether the governor knew it or not, but it was not uncommon for nobles to develop such eccentricities, to treat the toil of lower ranks as a pleasant diversion from the business of running a planet. Perhaps Dolos enjoyed playing the provincial wine maker, running her private boat out to this rustic but spruced refinery, taking her turn pressing the vine-fruit and then retiring with a glass in the evening.

It would certainly explain the room. Too refined for any labourer, it could only belong to Dolos.

I must have drifted, as I was woken by a commotion outside. Iwazar was already at the window, its lenses focused on the scene. Flight Commander Gradeolous was dressing down a man who, from his uniform, I took to be one of the refinery’s overseers. I could not quite make out their exchange through the glass, but Gradeolous’ fury was palpable. He stood inches from the man, towering over him and forcing the slighter figure to crane his neck just to maintain eye contact. The pilot’s finger stabbed at the man’s chest, each thrust accompanied by another exclamation of fury.

Beside him stood a figure in simple white robes, adorned with the twin-snaked symbol of the Officio Medicae. He was a physician, though clearly one of higher rank and standing than the poor fellow who had tended my wounds, and was accompanied by a medi-servitor, as well as two guards adorned in Governor Dolos’ livery.

They had come for me.

Chapter twenty-six

CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

By the time I was presented to Governor Dolos I had begun to suspect they had nursed me back to health merely so I could be formally sentenced and executed.

There was little conversation on the journey back to the château. At least, none with me. Governor Dolos’ physician inspected my wounds and dressings, scanning them with a diagnosticator. For the first time I saw my twisted leg, the flesh vivisected by the surgeon’s blade in his desperation to clear the taint. But there was no sign of the blight, and I felt only a sense of relief.