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She hears the screams with her mind before her ears pick up on it—her augmentations hum, the unpleasant buzz running through her skull. Beyond her, the Motive Force currents that light the temple are almost pleasant, synchronized and steady. Whoever is in that closed room is decidedly not having a good time. Something must have shown in her demeanor, because Abelard walks up to her and stands a foot ahead, a shield to whatever is inside that room.
When Aconitum opens the door, the sharp decline of consciousness makes itself known to her. Whoever that unlucky person was, they’re far too brain-damaged to be saved now.
The room is dark, almost oppressive in its atmosphere when she and her retinue step in. A few bodies are twisted on the ground, rigor mortis beginning to set in unpleasantly. She feels eyes on her, following the trail to see a tall man with dark hair, with a red cloak trailing behind him. Gold thread, embroidered onto his jacket, glimmers in the dim and frosty air.
When Aconitum’s eyes land on the golden rosette hanging from his neck, she has to reign back her telepathy from broadcasting her reaction.
Still, this is no time to reminisce about the past. Aconitum von Valancius keeps her voice steady, almost haughty in its confidence when she addresses Abelard.
“Seneschal! Isn’t this the man we’re supposed to find for the Lord Inquisitor?” She raises her head as she speaks—lets the wires that crown her hair glimmer in the dark light.
“Hm. I dare say it is, Lord Captain. Now if it were possible for the gentleman to properly introduce himself and dispel any doubts—“
She huffs out a laugh at Abelard’s indignation.
His voice is the next thing that attracts her attention. Deep and smooth, practiced and polished. Such a contrast to the bloody scene they’re currently standing in. “‘Seneschal’? ‘Lord Captain’? Do I have the pleasure of speaking to a Rogue Trader? Allow me to introduce myself—Interrogator Heinrix van Calox of the Imperial Inquisition’s esteemed Ordo Xenos. I must confess, I am perplexed to meet someone of your standing in a place like this.”
A strange thought makes itself known in the corner of her head. What would it be like to have that voice, those eyes directed by her? Aconitum minutely shakes her head, flicking away the notion like a droplet of water.
“I’m here to collect you,” the wording of the statement feeds into her head, “I am under orders from the Lord Inquisitor to offer any assistance you may require. Afterwards, I am to provide you safe passage to Footfall aboard my ship.”
Heinrix places a gloved hand on his chin—surprisingly, no bloodstains are left on his face. “Then the timing of our meeting is fortuitous. I am requisitioning you and your retinue for my task.”
“Requisitioning! Young man, your choice of words are unseemly to the point of insult—you are addressing a Rogue Trader!” Abelard steps forward once more, half-shielding her with his person.
“I don’t imagine you’ll be any happier if I say ‘taking into Inquisitorial custody.’”
Before either men could continue, Aconitum claps her hands, drawing attention to herself once more. “Speaking of addressing, Abelard, how about you do the honors?”
Thankfully, the Seneschal reigns himself in. “You are speaking to Aconitum von Valancius, Rogue Trader, holder of the Warrant of Trade, and the Emperor’s Anointed.”
Heinrix seems to get the message, as he gestures towards the door and walks with them. As they do, Aconitum looks back—she meets his eyes, cold gray amongst the bright blue lighting, before running her gaze down his person. A force sword and vox-caster hang from his belt, the weapon thoroughly bloodied by combat. Despite the reddish brown stains on his pants and boots, his hands remain strangely clean. Most curious of all, a psyker staff is strapped to his back.
She makes a show of it, pursing her lips, blatantly letting her eyes roam, before simply stating, “You are immaculately clean for someone who just killed a man.”
His response is succinct, with just the right amount of bait for most people to begin talking. “My abilities allow me a certain amount of luxury when doing my work. I’m certain you could say the same for yours.”
Aconitum rolls her eyes—her being a psyker isn’t not a hard guess to make, not when the implants for it literally connect to her skull.
When she catches a glimpse of that rosette, something sparks in her chest. Jealousy? Annoyance? Indignation? Whatever it is, it causes her to stride right up to him and poke a finger on his chest, right above where the piece of gold sits prettily.
“I wasn’t talking about my own abilities. If the Inquisition is as thorough as it is rumored to be, then you can probably figure it out.” As she speaks, the urge to yank the rosette grows.
“No need to worry yourself about that. I am to work alongside you, not against you.” He says, almost placating.
Distantly, she’s aware that Abelard would probably give her a stern talking to when they dock on the bridge once more. Presently, Aconitum runs her finger across the plane of Heinrix’s chest, a self-satisfied smile blooming on her face. “If you are to work alongside me, then you’ll be worrying about me as well then.”
Then, she dusts herself off, leading her retinue (plus one Interrogator) onto the rest of the chambers once more. She doesn’t deign to look back again—she swirl of thoughts behind her means she doesn’t need to.
When Aconitum returns to her chambers, barely finished with cleaning herself up, the vox-caster on her desk buzzes. Three short ones; a non-urgent transmission from Vigdis. She sits at her desk, leaning back with a sigh before pressing on the receiver.
“Lord Captain, I’m contacting you in order to relay a meeting request from Master van Calox.”
Her eyes automatically land on the blade shard in one of the drawers—after it was embedded onto her skin during Voigtvir’s mutiny, the idea of disposing it was painful, with her mind screaming at her whenever she seriously considers the idea. Now though, after destroying the second shard at the reactor, the voice that lies in her head remains silent, weakened without its other half. Aconitum’s no fool; keeping that thing would be an inherent risk, even if having to hand it over means getting scrutinized by the Interrogator.
She hits the reply button of the vox. “Let him know I’m ready to receive him in my study.”
When Heinrix arrives, his head is on a swivel—seems like he’s taking no time at all to take mental notes on her living conditions. A natural impulse for someone like him, Aconitum supposes, but ultimately wasted as she hasn’t exactly had time to redecorate.
His bow is polite, short and scant. “Rogue Trader. I was someone brusque at our first meeting and I would like to make up for it by expressing my thanks for your assistance at the Electrodynamic Cenobium. Your arrival could not have come at a better time.”
At least the Inquisition didn’t completely beat out manners.
“Unfortunately, my investigation has come to a dead end. I think I will have to call upon outside resources to continue the search…” When his eyebrows knit, the urge to smooth his face out with her hands hits Aconitum.
She sighs, picking at one of the calluses on her fingers. The Inquisition’s paranoia is something to behold, and is something she’d rather not be on the end of again—especially after her brief history as a person of interest, and her subsequent banishment to the Expanse. In another life, would she be someone similar to him? Would she find herself lacking for being unable to find traces of corruption?
“I do have something to confess. I found half a blade embedded in the Cenobium’s cogitator, and decided to dispose of it right then and there.” The remaining half of the blade pulses in her mind’s eye.
A variety of expressions make themselves known on Heinrix’s face; concern, frustration, unfortunate resignation. He pinches the bridge of his nose, taking a deep breath before responding. “All right. All right. At the very least, the object of corruption—if that is indeed what it was—has been disposed of. This is a satisfactory outcome.”
How strange—despite the fact that Aconitum’s gone under his skin here, that spark of warm satisfaction didn’t bloom.
“And one more thing.” She opens the drawer, taking out the sliver of iridescent metal and sliding it towards him. “Kunrad Voigtvir had this on his person. I suspect that it’s part of what Aurora has tampered the Cenobium with.”
Heinrix adjusts his gloves, handling the artifact with caution. “Hmm. I suppose it could have some connection to the object of my search. Thank you, Aconitum—I will examine this later.”
When Heinrix puts it away, he also takes out something else; a slim capsule with a wire connected to a vox-bead. He places the curiosity with an odd care, and further examination of it shows the filigree of gold and platinum around the capsule. Whatever this is, it’s luxurious, almost certainly some sort of bribe or listening device packaged as a gift.
“There is one more thing. The Lord Inquisitor gave this to me some time ago. He must have thought it likely that I would find myself aboard this vessel sooner than he. I was instructed to deliver this device to Lady Theodora, however, given recent events, I believe I ought to present it to you.”
The device gleams in her hand. As Aconitum examines it, Heinrix continues. “This is an Elucidator, a sacred machine capable of translating the languages of remote and lost worlds into Low Gothic. It can also translate some xenos languages to a certain degree—not without infelicities, but passably well.”
A more wicked idea comes to her head as Aconitum pins the Elucidator on her collar. “A strange choice for your first love token. You’re lucky I’m not a picky lady.”
“It’s not-“ As Heinrix attempts to get the words out, that flickering satisfaction returns. “It’s not a ‘love token’, Lord Captain. It is a rare and valuable device that will be useful in the hands of a Rogue Trader.”
Despite the man’s hurry to correct the misconception, there’s something in his gaze that catches her eye. Aconitum raises an eyebrow, letting her telepathy crest like waves beneath his feet—she finds personal interest pooling around him. A realization hits her, causing her to withdraw her psykana; he likes this. It makes her want to smile, a somewhat ridiculous notion considering her first impression of him. Still, it’s not a completely unwelcome development.
Heinrix must have somewhat picked up on the withdrawal of her telepathy, as he shifts in his stance and states, “Apologies in advance if I unknowingly violate the protocol for conversing with someone of your elevated status. I think a slip of composure is to be expected when one is hosted personally in the Lord Captain’s study.”
She raises her hand in a placating gesture. “No need to apologize. I must admit, conversing with you is somewhat disconcerting.”
For entirely different reasons, but there’s no need to fully elaborate unless he gives an opening.
“After serving in the Holy Ordos all these years, I am used to people being weary of me.” Oh. Aconitum’s eyebrows nearly shoot up—he makes it too easy.
She leans forward, giving him a grin. “Perhaps if we spent a little more time together, my own pious trepidation will become more unseemly. Sit down, if you wish—I certainly want to devote more time to your visit.”
“I… will let your remark go unanswered, Aconitum… until evidence arises to confirm my suspicions about your reasons for making it.”
In the back of her head, something flares to life. Interest is one thing—even more so with her newfound hobby of poking the Interrogator in the room—but the withdrawal is another. There’s something there, in that hesitance of his to continue, of that remark about others being weary around him that tugs on some long-asleep part of her.
“Are you sure? If you need evidence, do know that my study is open for you to visit any time.” She lets off a slight bit, leaning back against her chair.
“There is no need. Under different circumstances, I would welcome the chance to speak with you at greater length, but your subjects await.” Pity. He’s not wrong, however, so Aconitum lets him go with a stiff bow.
Later, as she’s wrapping up with a pile of documents necessary to facilitate the new recruits upon the Voidtreader, Aconitum slumps over her desk, head hitting the wood with a dull thud. Small pieces of memory flit across her mind—mainly concerning her sole guest of the day and the embers of satisfaction that were kindled each time she flustered the man.
With a trepidation that is a mix of both excitement and caution, Aconitum realizes she wants to see more of it.