Luneberg raised the goblet, golden candlelight glinting from its finely engraved surfaces. The servant stationed behind Lucian's seat appeared, proffering a goblet of the same type that Luneberg raised, although somewhat smaller.
'My dear and loyal subjects, I welcome you to my table. Let us feast!
A resounding chorus of affirmation filled the dining hall, echoing from the high ceiling. Luneberg drained his goblet in one motion. An instant later, the guests did likewise, waiting for Luneberg to lower his bulk into his seat before sitting themselves.
'Now then' said Luneberg, looking across at Lucian. Lucian met his gaze, noting how it flitted for an instant to Brielle's empty seat. 'Our esteemed Arcadius finds himself at a disadvantage, and I myself remiss as a host. Naal? Luneberg's functionary, seated next to his master, nodded, and stood.
Lucian had noted how this Naal appeared to fulfil the role of advisor or chancellor to the Imperial Commander, and was curious as to how much power he really held. Lucian had met with men who held title over worlds, over entire systems, who nonetheless devolved power to their advisors, to their military chiefs, to their favourite mistresses or, in one memorable case, to a favoured pet ptera-squirrel. He knew that Luneberg was no fool, but determined to gain the measure of his inner circle.
Naal bowed deeply, first to his master, and then to the diners as a whole. His hood was back, revealing him to be a man perhaps in his thirties, with High Gothic script tattooed across his left cheek and the elaborate coat of arms of Luneberg's dynasty, the Harrid, upon his forehead.
Naal turned to his left, clearing his throat before addressing the man seated there, 'My lord, I introduce to you the Lord Arcadius, Lucian Gerrit, rogue trader. The grandee, a stolid man formally attired in what was, very obviously, a military uniform denoting the highest rank, nodded impassively to Lucian. 'My Lord Gerrit, High Colonel Hugost revelyan-Constance the Third, General Officer Commanding the Legions Chasmatus'
By the man's uniform, Lucian deduced that the general staff of the Mundus Chasmata Planetary Defence Force thought very highly of themselves. Lucian had dined with Lords Militant who wore finery that was far more restrained. He was the type of man, Lucian thought, who would use every political trick in the book to avoid service in the Imperium's armies, preferring instead to remain on his own world, lording it up over his small military kingdom.
Naal turned his attention to a man three seats down from Lucian, repeating his earlier introduction of the rogue trader. 'My Lord Voltemoth, Supreme High Comptroller to the House of Luneberg' The man was wizened and ascetic, one eye, his nose and an ear replaced by cybernetic implants that no doubt facilitated his role within Luneberg's bureaucracy.
Voltemoth regarded Lucian down his mighty, hawk like nose, his bushy grey eyebrows creasing as he appeared to Lucian to consider whether or not acknowledging the rogue trader was an efficient use of his time. He evidently decided some acknowledgement was in fact required, crossing his hands across his chest in the sign of the aquila.
A third introduction followed, this time to the fellow sitting on Lucian's left. The Lord Procreator General, Theodulf Raffenswine' Lucian stifled a cough. Had Naal really just introduced the man as what he thought he had? He remained impassive, bowing politely as Raffenswine nodded back, his jewel-like cybernetic eyes twinkling.
Lucian's estimation of the court of Luneberg was being refined with each introduction. The Imperial Commander appeared to have surrounded himself with the effete and the ineffectual: highborn autocrats, all, to Lucian's practiced eye, lords and masters of their small world, yet ultimately, entirely subservient to the will of their overlord. It appeared to Lucian that either Luneberg, or perhaps some ancestor who had instigated such a system, had concocted a very good way of controlling his world's ruling class.
Another introduction interrupted Lucian's chain of thought. 'My Lady, Madam Clarimonde Vulviniam-Clancy' Lucian was unsure whether that was the woman's rank or her name, but bowed politely to her nonetheless. She nodded back, her tall hairpiece threatening to topple as she did so.
A round of introductions to diners of apparently lesser rank followed, Naal passing over each with increasing brevity, until, finally, Lucian was introduced to every guest he could at least see, for the far ends of the table were still obscured in gloom. Lucian had noted throughout the introductions that at no point had even the lowest-ranked diner been introduced to him, it was always the other way around. He pondered whether this was an intentional, conscious snub on Luneberg's part, or a more generalised condescension towards outsiders manifested in the court's customs.
Luneberg snapped his fingers, and Naal bent at the waist to attend his words. From his position, Lucian could not hear the exchange, but it resulted in Naal standing straight once more, and clapping his hands together once.
A tangible sense of anticipation swept the hall. The shadows behind Naal stirred, and a procession of servants appeared, each holding a silver dish covered by a tall dome. The train snaked around the table, until a servant stood at the right side of each diner. At some unspoken command, each servant bent forward and lifted the heavy dome, holding forth the silver plate for the diners' inspection.
The guests let out a collective gasp, part thrill, part horror. Lucian studied their faces. Each diner bore an expression that sat somewhere between rapture and pain, while Luneberg regarded Lucian intently, seeking, Lucian deduced, any sign of uncertainty that might be turned to the Imperial Commander's advantage.
Luneberg spread his arms wide and addressed the table. 'My loyal friends, we have the honour of the presence of a great guest, and it is my intention to honour him and his kin in return by serving the very finest of delicacies! My agents, at prodigious expense to myself, and extreme personal danger to themselves, have procured from the distant world of Catachan' — a murmur of appreciation — 'the most exquisite dish in the quadrant: The Catachan face eater!
The servant at Lucian's side proffered him the plate. Lucian looked down. Upon it was a colourless, shapeless slab of twitching muscle.
The servant waited for a response. When none was immediately forthcoming, he addressed Lucian. 'Is the creature to my lord's satisfaction?
Lucian nodded to the servant, who covered the dish once more, and withdrew. He swallowed hard, these people were utterly, irredeemably, mad.
Brielle seethed as Goanna brought the shuttle down upon the landing pad at Chasmata Capitalis. She had foregone the Chasmatans' planetary shuttle, boarding her own and ordering her pilot to breach the non-existent blockade. The journey to the capital had taken less than an hour, but she had fallen into a deep brooding during the flight, during which she had come to the conclusion that her father and her stepbrother must be stopped from dragging the dynasty into oblivion. She knew they would not listen to her warnings, so she had determined to impress her will in any way she was able.
She unbuckled her safety harness, and was out of her seat before the shuttle had finished touching down. She struck the ramp release, striking it a second time when it failed to engage. The shuttle safely down and the lockouts disengaged, her third strike caused the ramp to lower, and she stormed down it, into the cold evening air of Mundus Chasmata. 'My lady, I must ask that you halt immediately! A squad of Luneberg's household guard stood blocking Brielle's path from the pad, their white armour ghostly in the dim light of the dusk. She stopped, and stood before them, looking them over mockingly.