Inquest

And so Wolff (who once was a Knight of the Citadel) went up onto a hill, and he looked across the Valley of Hinnom, and he saw the hosts gathered at the Time of Contact. And he, being a herald learned and efficacious, saw the portent of the messages that were sent from Inquisitor to Inquisitor — and yet the Grand Inquisitor was not there.

For his health, the rumours said, he had been sent to the Isle of Sleep. But Wolff knew he was not there. For his mind, other rumours said, he had been sent to the Isle of Peace. But Wolff knew he was not there. For his heart, yet other rumours said, he had been sent to the Isle of Forgiveness. And Wolff wondered if that might yet be the end of the story.

But at the Citadel, the Black Seat was empty, and no man sat at the head of the Black Altar of Administration. Quietly, the Ladies of the Chamber went about their tasks, although they did not speak of Michelangelo, the archangel with the flaming sword.

Wolff felt a deep melancholy, that it should have come to this. For the Citadel, headless in a time of war, and with the places of rank filled by those who could not fill them, it was an evil star indeed.

Yet, as he remembered the times of Inquisition and Trial, he felt a measure of satisfaction. For all things come to those who stand and wait, and he had stood and waited long enough.

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Note: The fictional adventures of Sir Wolff do provide much that is of interest. You can find them linked here. Just ignore the one about earwax. That was an accident.