The Cooking Mage & The Parchment Prankster Part One by Eric Alan Westfall

Author:Eric Alan Westfall [Westfall, Eric Alan]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 0000000000000
Published: 2022-10-16T21:00:00+00:00

14 July 1890. London. 9:00 a.m.

The Board Conference Room.

British Airships, PLC

The “ongoing” reached Friday, and Saturday, without a Company response. And despite everything, Mouse still had to get to Berlin for the Crown Prince’s birthday on the 19th of July, as someone—he suspected the Inquisition was behind it—had made him something of an actual junior-level diplomat, formally representing Her Majesty at the birthday ball. Mouse had had enough. His own inquiries, assisted with no demur by friends in high places, led to the knowledge the British Airships Board was meeting at nine, on Monday, 14 July, with the captain in attendance.

Yes. It could be done. His flight to Berlin wasn’t until two o’clock. A Berlin arrival around nine p.m., present his credentials to the King the next morning, and in the following three days, despite the undoubted socializing made mandatory by his deities-damned credentials, he could find time for his other task. His real task. Trying to find out the “who” behind The Hindenburg. And if there was a relationship, the “who” behind the banquet attempt. And what it all had to do with him being in Berlin.

The “it” which Mouse decided could be done was his appearance in the anteroom outside the Board’s main conference room, at ten in the morning, his investigations having uncovered the fact the Board meetings were both long and liquid-filled. Mouse set his arrival time in the hope it was before they could achieve full liquidity.

From head to toe, Mouse was in full black, including top hat and armband. It was the type of mourning the Ton mandated only for royalty or close family. Harris and Chamberlain had become his family and he would render them appropriate honors.

As did those who accompanied him, though they had never had the honor of meeting the two heroes. The Inquisitor-General of the United Kingdom of Great Britain, Ireland, and the American Duchies, was in full uniform, with all his medals and honors on display, plus a black armband. Chief Deputy Inquisitor-General Kinkaid and Deputy Inquisitor-General Rotherthwaite were also in their most formal uniforms, and also wore black armbands.

All of which explained why the young man at the desk outside the double doors looked at the quartet, gulped, and didn’t attempt even a feeble, “You can’t go in there! That’s a private meeting” as they walked past him.

When Liam pushed on the door to the right, and Thomas the door to the left, the doors were far too discreet to do anything so common and un-Tonnish as to fling themselves wide and bang on anything, preferring a quiet glide aside, over the thick carpet.

The silent gliding was why the men seated at the long conference table running the length of the conference room, at least twelve chairs to a side, all filled, didn’t hear the doors opening. The chair-fillers were all enjoying their whiskeys or whatever was in the many decanters and poured into vastly expensive Waterford crystal glasses, as well as enjoying their quietly disputatious conversations between and across each other.

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