Searing 51, 122
~ Office of Imperial Revenue Building ~
Valentin looked down at the paper on his desk with such a chill glare of absolute disdain and spite that one could almost distinguish the expression from his usual.
It was a notification from the Office of the Imperial Inquisition, possibly his least favorite of all such missives to receive; worse yet, it was a Prerogative letter, a notice that a usual rule or regulation was being suspended by the notice's contents. Valentin only had to glance at the suspended regulation--6 O.I.R.C. § 1503(c)(1)--to know what he was being directed to do.
"Scheiße," he swore softly, frustration evident in his tone, "A training assignment."
The regulation in question established the minimum qualifications for staff or auditor assignments to in-person visits. If a full-ranking Inquisitor had decided they had some business riding along (or commandeering, as they pleased), § 1503(c)(1) would have had no bearing on the assignment. There was only one live audit scheduled this week, which meant that he'd had the disastrous fortune of being assigned to the only live case right when some ranking Inquisitor wanted their cadre to see the process in motion.
It wasn't that Valentin disliked training others. Rather, it was that he despised it. The Inquisition was, frankly, a bunch of dabblers when it came to financial investigations, heavy-handed sops who dressed everything up in the barest clothing of religious doctrine and were entirely too free with threats. Even worse, they were too smart and dangerous for him to safely mock any of them. If Valentin hated one thing more than incompetent workers, it was competent workers who he couldn't get away with shit-talking.
Still, it wasn't his first time round the Circle, as it were. He might hate to be selected, but the selection was understandable- his work was, in general, flawless. It might annoy him to be sneered at by some baby Inquisitor who hadn't yet cut their teeth on a treasoner, but it was a necessary sacrifice for the improvement of the Imperium as a whole.
(He'd conveniently forgotten that his was the only live audit on the scheduling docket.)
Valentin walked to the globe depicting the known lands of Aliziane and opened it, pulling out one of the bottles which the Leukos woman had kindly sent him a month back. He poured himself a small snifter of the wine, a sweet and pleasant vintage, and raised it to his office's ceiling.
"My sacrifice for the Emperor," he intoned, "May the rewards of good service ever be as sweet as this wine."
~ Grünwald Park ~
Thirty minutes before the appointed visit time, a small squadron of Imperial agents began to gather in Grünwald Park, off the main drag but only a block from their destination.
The agents in question were not, to be clear, Kathar. They weren't even qualified to caddy for the Imperium's elite forces. These were capitol police, deputized only to scour the streets for petty crime and follow directives from whichever government functionaries might need a bit of intimidation muscle. They were wearing uniforms and basic armor, each armed with batons and small-arms weapons, standard-issue.
Most audit visits did not require a squad, but the OIR had gotten very good at predicting the circumstances under which a business owner might... begin to consider illegal retaliation. Wealthy businesses had solicitors who ordered their affairs to avoid personal liability; they would hand over a file without complaint, but raise hell before a magistrate later. Honest brokers who had made some kind of mistake were usually inconsolable, apologizing and as cooperative as could be. Family run businesses knew that if they shot an auditor, their patrons would truss them up with ribbons and deliver them to the OIR on a silver platter to try to get back into the Imperial government's good graces.
Großepalast Salon was, in theory, a Family business, but the OIR was well-aware that the owner had taken to running hustles without reporting to his bosses- and so, in turn, without reporting them to the government. That, of course, was a bridge too far.
When the audit arrived, the Salon's owners were apt to be desperate. If they were forced to pay, the fact that they were cheating their gang was sure to come out; if they refused, the next governmental visit would be to arrest them all. Death on all sides. In times like that, the OIR calculated that unsound minds had a very high chance of taking a risk and shooting the auditor. Thus, the police.
In the moment between seconds, Valentin appeared amidst the police officers, wearing a formal suit and carrying a file.
"Alright." he called, his flat voice echoing in the market, "Everyone fall in. Is there an Inquisitorial adept here?"
