I waited until he was a finger’s width from it before sending an impulse to Mizar. I was not sure the unit would be responsive, but it had been crafted by the finest artisans of the Adeptus Mechanicus. The seer-skull’s unblinking eye pulsed red. Once again, it tried to liberate itself from the housing, except this time it was no longer attached to the bomber, only a carved section of wing. Its anti-gravity unit flared as the machine dragged itself skywards. It could not hold the weight, and the metal housing sliced down, almost bisecting the mechanical before embedding itself into the floorboards.

At the sight of this, Stylee near leapt from his skin, racing over to inspect the damaged floor, shoving the bleeding mechanical aside.

Mizar was not done, though, thrashing against its prison, the panel slicing deeper into the wood. Stylee skittered backwards on his hands and knees as I rushed over, whispering the deactivation rites that would power the unit down.

I glanced to the mechanical. ‘Are you well?’

The man nodded. I turned to Stylee.

‘You see the issue?’ I said. ‘This technology requires a specialist sanctioned by the Mechanicus. Without it, I will not be able to complete the governor’s pict. Unless you could restore the skull you seized?’

‘Out of the question!’

‘Then there is no solution.’ I sighed. ‘I wonder if I should just tell Governor Zanwich now. Do you think he will show mercy if I explain the circumstances?’

Stylee shifted his weight, frowning uncertainly. ‘Who completed the initial work?’ he said.

I made a point of furrowing my brow, as if struggling to recall.

‘It was one of the mechanicals of the Aeronautica Imperialis,’ I said. ‘A specialist. Plient? I think that was his name. Bright chap. Missing an arm.’

He threw up his hands. ‘Fine. I will see if he can be dispatched to complete the extraction,’ he said. ‘But cease interfering with the operations. Remember, you are the guest here. Be respectful of that.’

I was sipping tea when I heard the knock at the door. Somehow I knew it to be Plient, for the knock was both cheery and apologetic, as though he did not wish to disturb.

I rose, shuffling to the door with the assistance of a cane. Plient smiled as I opened it, before catching himself, offering a salute instead. It was good to see him up, even if one of his sleeves was tied off. Behind him, a servitor was dragging a large crate, presumably housing his equipment, my guards flanking them. They were doing their best to be suspicious of the visitors, but it was challenging; there are few faces in the universe more trustworthy than Plient’s.

‘Sir!’ he said. ‘I’m so thankful you’re alive!’

‘I share your sentiments.’ I smiled as I ushered him into the room, the servitor following. ‘And by the Throne it’s good to see a friendly face.’