I ducked her gaze, taking a nervous sip of my increasingly questionable wine, its bitterness heavy on the palate. Was she the sort of noble who preferred to express their displeasure in private? Perhaps somewhere dark and hidden, where blood could be easily wiped clean?

‘Yes, there has been a cut in production,’ she said, glancing to the window. ‘Regrettably, we must cater for the needs of the God-Emperor’s armies. But it’s comforting to know that this only makes our produce more desirable.’

‘Quite so,’ I nodded, though if a noble on Hedon had tasted that particular wine they would have tossed the bottle from the nearest window. ‘It must be difficult running the estate with the military present,’ I ventured.

She nodded. ‘Indeed. Of course, I am happy to offer the Imperium’s forces whatever assistance I can provide. But I confess surprise at how long it takes to resolve a trivial conflict such as ours. Frankly, were I in command, I would simply dispatch a platoon into the swamps and drive those filthy greenskins out. I am sure you have seen how inhospitable the terrain is. How many can truly scratch a living out there?’

‘How long have they troubled you?’

‘I have no idea,’ she replied, her ignorance brandished like a shield. ‘There have been stories of a few subsisting in the outskirts of the swamps for as long as I remember, though how much faith you place in those tales is your own business. But I do know a bunch of spear-wielding xenos should pose little challenge to the might of the Imperium.’

‘They do seem a trifle better equipped than that. My escort was shot down on arrival, and I was lucky to escape.’

‘Unfortunate,’ she said. ‘But an isolated incident. Those vile creatures have snatched a few craft lost by our more careless pilots. They are talented thieves, coveting our superior weapons even as they adorn them with crude glyphs. But a handful of ork fighters is a non-factor. To defeat them we merely need fewer planes to steal and more boots on the ground.’

Bile had crept into her voice, and it was not just directed at the greenskins. But she caught herself, masking her resentments beneath a well-honed smile.

‘But I digress,’ she said. ‘We’re really here to talk about you! Propagandist Simlex. A man with such vision that he enjoys the patronage of our cousin, Planetary Governor Zanwich. We are honoured to accommodate you, though I am a little perplexed as to why you are here. Charming as it is, I would not think Bacchus would hold much interest to the wider Imperium. Other than for our wines of course!’

She laughed, a braying sound reminiscent of a rutting grox. I smiled and took a sip to hide my discomfort, praying that the question was rhetorical. But the way she stared at me suggested that an answer was needed.