‘I feel that you and I may have differing opinions on that, prefect,’ Chetta replied dryly. ‘In a similar vein to how we each view matters like “urgent”, or even “critical to planetary security”.’

‘If the matter is as critical as you say, and somehow linked to the awful events at Gallimo, then why am I speaking to you, and not to Judge Arctos?’ Gurrit demanded.

‘Judge Arctos is, I’m certain, pursuing his own investigations into this matter,’ Chetta said. At least, I certainly hope so. ‘However, the Adeptus Arbites have many things to occupy their attention. I am in the position of being extremely intelligent, extremely worried and in need of something to occupy my brain in the aftermath of my husband’s death. I can assist the judge, if you assist me.’

‘That would be quite impossible,’ Gurrit snorted. ‘Passenger records are strictly controlled and may only be accessed by adepts of appropriate rank within the Administratum, or by law enforcement officials upon the presentation of appropriate documentation. You are neither, high lady, and I strongly suggest that you keep your nose out of that which does not concern you.’ He glanced at the gilt-chased chrono which hung on the wall, making an obnoxious ticking noise. ‘Thus far you have taken up three minutes and forty-nine seconds of my time. I can allow no more. Data waits for no man, and nor may I.’

Chetta was in the mood for a blazing row with someone, and this dried-up jigfruit of a man would have served admirably, but it would achieve nothing. She sighed pointedly and hauled herself to her feet, leaning heavily on her cane and wincing at a twinge in her elbow. That was all she needed: her hip wasn’t so bad today, but if her main supporting arm decided to start playing up as well then she might as well get a grav-chair like Kennevario Xudine and have done with.

Not today, she thought fiercely as she turned to leave Gurrit’s chambers without dignifying him with a farewell, flanked by two of Krane’s best and preceded by obsequious, black-robed menials of the Administratum whose only purpose appeared to be making Gurrit and his visitors feel important. Not today, and not tomorrow. After that… we’ll see. She’d repeated the same mantra for the last fifteen years, and it had kept her going so far. It seemed you really could fool yourself, even if you knew you were doing it.

She allowed herself to be ushered through the grand doors of bronze-plated Catachan teak, and out of the presence of the man whom countless adjuncts had breathlessly told her she was so unbelievably lucky to be able to see at such short notice, at her request, and what a grand honour was being afforded to her in recognition of her rank as spouse of the former Novator of House Brobantis…