The Infernal Aether Box Set: All Four Books In The Series by Peter Oxley

Author:Peter Oxley [Oxley, Peter]
Language: eng
Format: azw3
Published: 2017-09-03T04:00:00+00:00

After a short walk up Whitehall we turned right into Downing Street, stepping around the puddles, potholes and piles of horse dung as we made our way to Number 10. A pair of policemen casually watched us as we headed down the surprisingly run-down street, which was the official residence and office of state of the Prime Minister of the United Kingdom of Great Britain and Ireland.

In the entrance hall we encountered a group of bickering functionaries, who glared at us before returning to their business. A flustered official extricated himself, rushing towards us with an outstretched hand. “Mr N’yotsu, Mr Potts. We received your letter. Please follow me and I will see if he can fit you in.”

“Hang on a moment,” shouted one of the people from the other side of the room. “I have been waiting here for hours, and these two just wander in off the street and are taken straight upstairs? This is an insult, sir!”

I turned my shoulders so that the hilt of my sword became visible. “Important matters of state,” I said. “I am sure that you understand.”

The man’s eyes widened as he finally registered who we were. “Of course. My apologies.” He turned away, red-faced.

I grinned back at our official, who had watched the exchange with disguised amusement. “Shall we?” I asked.

“Thank you,” he said as he led us up the grand staircase. “Some people do not seem to understand simple English.”

I nodded. “It is the least we could do, seeing as how you are being so accommodating to our last minute request.”

“Unlike our overbearing friends down there, it is not too hard to get the Prime Minister to agree to a meeting with you. I believe that what you have to say is a lot more… stimulating than his usual fare.”

N’yotsu grunted and we shared a glance. I suspected that our enthusiastic patron might consider our latest news to be a case of ‘be careful what you wish for.’ “I do love this staircase,” I said, already regretting the words as they came out of my mouth. N’yotsu grinned at me: small talk in formal settings had never been a strength of mine.

“Indeed,” said the official. “It is currently the one part of this building that is in a half-decent state of repair. Would that we could hold all our meetings here.”

After a short wait we were ushered into a long and meanly furnished room, at the other end of which, sat behind a huge mahogany desk, was Prime Minister Benjamin Disraeli, a scrawny man with a long face topped off with a shock of curly black hair. He set down his quill and grinned at us. “The conquering heroes return,” he said, coming round to offer us an ink-stained hand in greeting. “Please, be seated. Williams, some refreshments if you would be so kind.”

“Augustus was just admiring your staircase, Mr Disraeli,” said N’yotsu in an amused tone.

“Hmm. Yes, the one section that does at least look the part, and the one

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