"He stands with tremendous import and stillness, as if upon some hidden but vital vertex of the enclave.
In Barathrum's name, he's conferred onto himself the tonsure of stewardship and shorn the hair from his scalp. His snout narrows in proportion to the tight corridors around him. His robe is impeccably clean. Waydroids beep and whir at him obediently as they scuffle passed."