As the crowd cackled, Mizar’s sensors sought to pierce the cockpit. I got the impression of a large man, his face dominated by a rigid moustache. His eyes blazed, mouth drawn in a snarl so vicious that even an ork might have taken note. But the cockpit provided exemplary soundproofing, and though his mouth snapped open and shut, and his fist thumped against the armaglass, I could not discern his words. It seemed likely he objected to Shard’s comments, but trapped in the cockpit there was little he could do about it. Flight Sergeant Plient was endeavouring to assist, directing a pair of servitors to prise it open, but they were struggling.

Shard cupped her hand to her ear, as though straining to hear.

‘Sorry, what was that?’ she said with a frown. ‘You’d like to finally concede that I am the greatest fighter ace of all time? Why, Flight Commander Gradeolous, that’s very generous. Everyone else realised it ages ago, but it’s heartening that you’ve finally caught up. Shame you can’t do the same when we’re flying.’

With that closing remark she vaulted from the fighter, landing lightly beside the aircraft. As the crowd parted I saw her make for the château, her path taking her straight for me. I blinked, departing from Mizar and returning to my own body. She was a few paces from me, bantering with someone in the crowd.

I took a deep breath and stepped forward.

‘Flight Commander Shard?’ I said. ‘My name is Propagandist Simlex, and I am here to–’

‘Sorry, I don’t sign things,’ she said, barely glancing at me. But as she turned away her gaze caught the bottle still clasped in my hand. She stopped, then took it, appraising the label. ‘Hmm… Not the best but better than nothing,’ she conceded, meeting my gaze. ‘All right, I will sign one thing. Where’s the quill?’

‘Quill? No, I do not need anything signed. I am here–’

‘Oh. Then thank you for your support.’ She nodded, raising the bottle before turning away.

I called after her, brandishing a sealed scroll.

‘Wait! I have a letter of introduction from your brother!’

She froze, glancing back to me, her smile absconded.

‘Excuse me?’

‘Your brother, Commissar Tobia von Shard?’ I persisted, my voice faltering. ‘I served with him on–’

She advanced on me, snatching the scroll from my hand and tearing the seal with her thumb.

‘Hmm,’ she said, barely glancing at the page. ‘A shame. It seems illegible due to fire damage.’

‘What? But I kept–’

Flames suddenly consumed the scroll. I did not see from whence the lighter materialised, but as she tucked it into her pocket the crowd roared in approval, even if they were unaware exactly what had transpired. She then pushed past me, her well-wishers flooding after and drowning out my protestations. As she approached the château she turned one final time, raising the bottle.