The Mata Hari Institute of Culinary Excellence

[Pleater]

Just how I would have proceeded if left to my own devices I do not know, but as all the explosives from the missile and the electronics of its guidance system had been removed for reasons of safety and security before the camper van was moved into the garage, so all that was left was the propellant, I was bluffing on a hand that held no trumps.

I was quite relieved to hear heavy boots approaching from several directions, and in half a minute I was talking to a masked individual who grasped the situation rapidly.

'You could give him what he wants.'
'Yes, but it would mean the loss of over twenty years of work.'
The Zeppelin came around the corner of the house again, and he looked at it much as a cat might look up at a particularly plump and inept pigeon.

[Pleater]

Some of the men had a look at the missile and reported on its condition. They were all masked - so not Royals. I could only assume that they were special forces.

The airship was now emitting strange sounds and I deduced that the alcoholic vapors from the gin had induced a state of drunkenness in its Captain. There were thuds and crashes, and one of the gondola windows flew open and someone almost fell out, several bottles fell to earth and smashed impressively. Slowly the Captain pulled himself back inside, but he seemed to have come to no harm as there were some incoherent shouts, the only work I could discern being 'rabbit'.

I was rather impressed by the way the men worked - they forced open the panel I could not remove and adjusted the amount of propellant to what the officer looked up on a rather nifty hand set. They then attached a line to it, and moved the camper van slightly.

Lots of men were arriving, some carrying equipment, Royals and others, and they were finding it difficult to conceal themselves, though the Captain seemed to have vanished from the window. Just as the men seemed to have their plan set there came a number of explosions from the other side of the House.
'More canisters from the airship.' said the officer 'Pull back to the boundary wall everyone not involved.'
No one moved. He pretended not to notice as he was checking the firing system they'd improvised.
I recognised the strains of Fingal's cave as the airship reappeared, the music was punctuated by explosions. Majestically it came around in its course, and I heard someone counting down. At zero there was a 'wooomph' and the missile shot skywards, over the top of the airship as it powered onwards. Its flight was brief, it fizzled, then dropped, and swung around the great floating structure, then flipped neatly in through the open window.
'Good shot.' I said.
'Thank you, Ma'am.' he said, then lept down and ran off to put the second part of the plan into effect. I ran off to the House and pelted up to the belvedere, just in time to see a dark figure climb in through the gondola window. He must have been the last of maybe four or five. Two were struggling with the Captain, the airship was so low I could see down into the gondola. Two were heading for the controls, but then turned and ran aft, and there emerged a great gout of steam and a strong smell of hot rowan berries.

It took almost an hour to secure the Saltire as it had to have the fixing points put back, and the gin vapor had affected the intrepid captors so they were quite rascally drunk in charge of a dirigible.

The Saltires had done stirling work in dousing the flames of the various fires, so we were able to go into the House and take stock. The Captain had been taken to the snooker room where he lay on the table singing uninhibitedly. Tea and wedges of sponge cake with cream and apple were handed out to the military, whilst the students and staff readied the tables for dinner and the Saltires went to shower and change their clothes.

As all the windows and doors had been flung open the better to watch the proceedings the temperature inside had fallen to that of outdoors, so I took the stoles I had made and gave them to the ladies. Although undoubtedly pink the colour is soft with a blue cast, and rather to my surprise it suited everyone no matter what their complexion. The warmth of the fibre made my gift all the more welcome and I rather wished that I'd had time to make one for myself, but when I returned to our house I found the hat and muff made for me, and so I put them on with a white shirt, and my black jacket and the heavy cotton kilt, which had taken so long to reshape the pleats. I twisted and turned before the mirror to be sure it was once more correct, for Hamish was to join us. I added a gray velvet bow, and gray lace hose with black dance shoes. In the artificial light the dark fur appeared black with a wonderful iridescent sheen.

I tucked my hands inside the muff as I left our door, for it was really bitterly cold, and I hurried to the House door, but just before I got there I pause, for a white flake had floated between me and the lit window. I turned around and looked up. Other flakes were falling, only a few, but it was definitely snowing.

[Pleater]

The Saltires were apologetic about their leader's actions, for he had seemed to have recovered from the original attempt to aquire the rabbit fur to being his usual self. I assured them that it was an ideal opportunity to redesign the gardens and that the military were always happy to have something to fire off and if the target was moving it was all to the good.

The young chefs brought in wood to light a fire in the hearth, and there was a slight reduction in the cold, but it was still possible to see our breath when we sat down to dinner.

We did try to get the captain to eat, but when placed in a chair he flowed off it to the floor, and giggled.

Daphne rose to make a speach after dinner, and she was most entertaining, so it was rather alarming when, as the sporrans were carried in for the men to make their choice, they lept to their feet and sent chairs clattering. I have never seen a man sober up so rapidly as the Captain did when he realised that there was irridescent white fur in the room. It was quite painful to watch him, and many of the others, try to decide which one to pick - all the more so as I had a daylight simulating lamp brought in so they could see the blue of the darker fur.

I was asked how I had obtained the fur of the animal they called the acryli-beast, which was believed to be extinct. I explained that it was being hunted in the northenmost parts of the former soviet union but some had been captured and moved far enough south to make study easier, and the two forms of the adult fur had been discovered, and not long after that the first litters had been born and the beautiful soft fibre the young ones grew was noted.

When I took the men who had made their choice out to the workshop to have their names engraved I found that everything was covered in a light fall of snow beneath a clear moonlit sky, they exclaimed, and I have to say it was a very pretty sight. We returned to find that a few more choices had been made, so I went back with them.

The poor captain was entirely unable to choose between the two, and several others were in the same state. I am perhaps a little harsh in only giving them one, and not telling them that arctos fur sporrans will be for sale shortly. I was, however, really rather fond of that gazebo.

Although not planned, after dinner we danced, for it was too cold to sit around, even with the fire throwing out quite a heat. I confiscated the sporrans still unselected and put them under lock and key until morning.

The security team promised to stand guard to prevent any further incidents, but I moved the young buck from his pen into our wash house just to be sure he was safe.

[Panache]

The Captain of the Saltire extends his apologies for his erratic behavior, unlike another officer* of the Zeppelin he does not believe in casually bombing civilian targets.

He strongly suspects that the cause of this is linked to the rubber chicken found in his quarters that seems to have been filled with some sort of airborne drug. The brave and enthusiastic Security team of the Saltire are conducting an investigation.

Cheers

Panache

Captain, XMTS Airship Saltire



* That would be you David!

[davedove]

The Captain of the Saltire extends his apologies for his erratic behavior, unlike another officer* of the Zeppelin he does not believe in casually bombing civilian targets.

* That would be you David!

Right, one must have a purpose for bombing civilian targets, like as a diversion, etc.

[Panache]

Right, one must have a purpose for bombing civilian targets, like as a diversion, etc.

I have told David numerous times that this does not qualify as a sport.

But then again he also loves peasant hunting. I had to carefully explain that he was in fact missing an all important "h" from this favorite pastime of his.

I only hope that in my drugged delirium I didn't use the Tanqueray!

Cheers

Jamie

[Pleater]

I returned the buck to the rabbit house next morning, the air was crisp and clear and the scent of juniper, corriander and angelica wafted lightly over the snow.

Another fall of snow had occured during the night, so the burnt areas were covered over. After checking that the rabbits all had sufficient straw, hay, water and food pellets I went up to the belvedere to get an aerial view of the damage. The impacts formed an almost perfect circle around the House, fortunately no one had been hurt except for one sprained ankle sustained running along a corridor to keep the Saltaire in view. The countryside covered in snow was rather lovely.

I went down to breakfast and found the captain looking very fragile and trying to eat a slice of dry toast without making a noise.
'How are you this beautiful morning?' I asked unsolicitously.
'Did I really use gin to bombard the garden?'
'Yes, It was quite spectacular. You must tell me how you contrived gin bombs.'
'I don't remember - except that it seemed like a good idea at the time.'
I found some kedgeree, and carried my plate to the table, at which point the captain uttered a small distressed sound and left, followed by one of the security team. Other members of staff appeared. Madam Fifi was very taken with the officer who had coordinated the daring ascent to the gondola.
'Who was that masked man? Do we know his name?'
'I suspect that he wished to remain anonymous. He was rather dashing though.'
'The way he climbed up that rope, it was most astonishing, but than he climbed inside and I could not see any more - then there was the great poof of gin - really 'orrible.'
'It was still there when I went out this morning.'
'It is so cold still - is the heating broken?'
'No - it is just that everyone opened windows and let out all the heat from the building last night. Perhaps we should get some steam from the Saltire to warm the place up again.'
'Oh that would be good. I am always cold here.'
'Are you? I did not realise - I will make you something warm to wear.'
'Ah but the things you make - I am sorry, but they are not stylish.'
'They are only intended to be warm - but if you show me what you would wear I will try to make it for you before the really cold weather arrives.'
Madam Fifi shuddered, but I finished eating quickly and went to find out who amongst the Saltires would be able to engineer a steam hose from the air ship to the House.

By noon the heat was percolating through the building, and I went to the cellars to make sure that the cold room was not being affected. The chill was unchanged, so I returned to the ground floor and noted that it was snowing again. The last of the Saltires who had not chosen between the two colours of fur for their sporrans came to me with a request to see them again, in daylight this time, and before long they had all made a decision except the captain, who seemed unable to decide. I suggested that he consult Hamish, and he carried the sporrans off to the appartment. He was looking a little less wan by then.
I checked that the gels were practising innocent Christmas fare and looked in on the trainee chefs, who were working on croissants.

[Pleater]

The captain returned with a look of resolve in his eye, though only after some hours of deep discussion, first with Hamish, then with various members of the Saltire's crew. He also wore the dark version of the sporran, already engraved with his name. I was practicing katas in the old Library - which has no books, and is normally too cold to use in the colder months, but thanks to the Saltire's most excellent heating system was now quite pleasant. He waited until I had finished and then he walked across the floor with a light step and lifted chin, as though he already proposed to cross vast distances.

'You intend to hunt the Giant Arctic Flying Squirrel again.' I said - it was not a question, I knew that a man so driven would never give up the quest to wear the pelt of the Acryli-beast he had killed himself.
He bowed gracefully, and smiled, but absently, already he was thinking of the hunt. He had changed from the maroon kilt of the Saltires into a handsome kilt of a mainly blue tartan, with a deep blue jacket, a light blue tie with a gold pattern, - his attire could not have been better chosen if it had been selected by Hamish - and perhaps it had.

'I was so foolish to think that any other pelt could satisfy me. The rabbit fur is excellent, and I will one day return to purchase a sporran, should the buck prove to be able to pass on his appearance to his progeny. Henceforth I will be proud to wear the blue arctos fur sporran made to commemorate Hamish's return as it is the most elegant accessory to our tartan. However, though I will return home with the Saltire - I vow that one day soon I will again seek out an Acryli-beast and slay it by my own efforts, in the far North, and in the white form, as nothing else will suffice.'

I bowed in return.

'I wish you good luck and success in your endeavor. I have - however, to tell you of what might be a small impediment to your plans.'
'Not the Saltire! Surely my moment of madness has not damaged that most-'

I held up my hand reassuringly. 'She is entirely undamaged, except for a tiny scorch mark on the deck of the gondola which even now is being expunged by your excellent technicians, caused by the hot metal of the missile's exhaust. Even now she is safe at her moorings and being readied for your return home. No - it is something more personal. All the stocks of gin are gone.'
He rallied from the blow most nobly.
'How?' he enquired, his voice tremulous, and he turned away his face to hide his eyes.
'I can't be certain - perhaps it was used to make the exploding canisters, perhaps it was dispersed in the release of the build up of steam pressure which threatened the airship, or perhaps it was drunk by the marines and others who came to offer assistance. All I can be certain of is that there is no gin aboard the Saltire, though the wormwood liquor, olives and the rest are untouched.'
He straightened up, cleared his throat.
'It is a most dreadful blow, but the vermouth is safe?'
I nodded, touched by his fortitude in the face of loss.
'Then I will send out for new stocks, I will replenish my supplies, it will be restored.' he declared, his eyes flashed, he was resolved to overcome this disaster entirely.
'Bravo!' I responded. 'However - it might be wise to check that the Saltire can cope with the weight. You have bought so much on your tour that the lifting power of the Helium might not be sufficient to carry you home safely.'
He nodded. 'You are wise to caution me, it might indeed be necessary to discard a few items in order to ensure a safe passage home.'
'There are the flour scales in the pantry if you wish to ascertain the weight of the various parcels.' I offered.
'Can it weigh persons too?'
'Easily - you wish to ensure the safety of your crew?'
'Something like that.' he said, smiling that far away smile again. 'Now - please excuse me - I have much to organise.'
I nodded, and he turned with a swirl of deep pleats and strode away, to whatever fate awaited him.

[Pleater]

The weather had changed to rain overnight, so the snow was gone and the air was warmer. We were no longer using the Saltire's steam generator for heating as the House is now at a most pleasant temperature, which it will retain for some time as long as we are careful.

At the invitation of the military several of the Saltires went over to the firing ranges to experience live firing. Luckily someone spoke them about it at breakfast, shortly before they left, and explained that it was the tanks which were the targets, so they would be wise not to be near one when the firing started. That made them quite thoughtful.

Those remaining in the House were busy readying their belongings for the journey and the laundry room was a hive of activity as new purchases were unpacked and pressed to be ready to wear.

The gardeners had inspected the damage, and were quite optimistic that in a decade or so there would be no trace of it remaining. The gazebo, under its multiple layers of paint, I had assumed was wooden, but in its burnt off state it was revealed to be rather good cast iron. The gardeners will clean it up and remake it, they say, as good as ever by the spring.

Matron has declared herself redundant now in Hamish's case, as he is holding court in his apartment apparently fully restored, though Mister Charles is seeing that he gets some beef tea mid morning just to be sure, and visitors are forbidden for several hours after lunch.

A thorough search has been made of the captain's quarters, to try to locate the rubber chicken he blames for his behaviour, but the security team reported that there is no sign of it there. However the keys to the weapons racks were found - in the sporran in his wardrobe. It was fortunate that the captain chose to wear dark leather yesterday.

I contacted the met office to request a date for the return trip of the Saltire, and they will inform me when there is an interval of settled weather predicted.

I suddenly found myself with nothing to do this afternoon, and so went home.
After some housework I sat down to sew for a while, and made good progress on a waistband until I was called to the House. The captain had been thought to be working in his rooms, but when afternoon tea was taken up he had been discovered locked in a wardrobe and somewhat rumpled. It seemed that a couple of the men had taken exception to his little joke about where to get the best view of the firing, and he had been thrown into the wardrobe shortly before their departure. He returned to the paper strewn desk and began to recalculate the weights for the flight home. He made light of what he called a prank, which was perhaps wise as he could have got several of his crew blown to pieces on the firing range.

[Pleater]

I had been vaguely aware that something odd had happened, and finally I realised that when the Saltire had arrived the first time, the captain was the one who spoke German - and then when they were away the man arrived who hated Australia due to his encounter with the sheep shears, and then the captain was the man who had wielded the shears - but then his victim was not here any longer.

I had sometimes glimpsed Mister Brown around the house and resolved to waylay him next time I saw him, but he came knocking at my office door, and when he came in he looked around anxiously. He was considerably singed.
He collapsed onto a chair. 'Thank goodness you're safe.' he cried, and then he coughed.
'That cushion is cream velvet. You might have chosen something more likely to resist stains.' I frowned.
'Sorry - the fire - the House -'
I administered water to drink.
'If you mean the Saltire, it proved possible to restrain the captain and the only damage was to the garden.'
'But the bombs?'
'The keys to the bomb racks were in his other sporran.'
He gave a great sigh and drank the water.
'You'd better get cleaned up. I'll show you where. You've been toasted - that sporran's done for.'
'It's alright, I'll not stop -'
'I have a question.'
'Er - yes?'
'Things have changed - people were here and now they aren't, and people are here that were not.'
'Ah. Yes. Well - you're on, or at what we call a pivot. Things happen around here.'
'They didn't use to.'
'Well - actually they did but until I pulled you into this stream, you were not aware of them. It's like taking a side step so you can see around a corner.'
'I bet it isn't.'
'Well it is sort of.'
'Never mind the flim-flam. What might have happened?'
'The House might have burned down, you might have fired the missile at the airship with the explosive still in it, or nothing at all, not here.'
'So is that man with the rubber chicken still on the loose and off his head? Is the other one still looking for the man who cut off his hair?'
'Ah - I know that one. The hair was never cut off - the captain is still the captain because he collided with a couple just before he reached the man dancing with his wife, and the shears went skidding away and were lost in the confusion. He was, therefore, not carted away in a strait jacket but available to come here.'
'But not at first.'
'Only after someone went along to get in his way.'
'Is this going to happen all the time?' I enquired sternly.
'Well - that is one of the difficult questions - however - you seem to be the one to deal with these things. It is a relief to be able to incorporate you into the time stream. I wasn't sure about the marines - but they seem to come with the territory.'
'If you are going to be around then it might be as well for you to have an office here - or maybe in the Rotunda. Somewhere you can take a shower, keep a spare set of clothes and anything else you might need.'
'The problem is that I can't seem to get here directly.'
'Does your thing use post codes?'
He nodded.
'We aren't a post code - there is one for the gate house, but not here. Actually, though - we do have a post office box number. Some of the guests require secrecy. You could try that.'
'Ha - going postal. I'll give it a try. And in return?'
'I'll let you know - though another Director would be good. There is too much to do.'
'I'll see what I can do.'
I picked up my clipboard to take to the nine thirty soviet, he rose and went out leaving only a ruined cushion and a used glass with a sooty handprint.
I followed him a few seconds later, but the corridor was empty. I went along to the board room, Carla was already pouring out tea, and Stephanie was setting up the projector screen, whilst Daphne was offering the basket of scones to Bronwen.
'Good morning, Ladies.' I greeted them.
'Ah - great news - the funding for the research program has come through.' Bronwen beamed. 'We have a slide show of the new building they want to put up for us.'
'That was items two and three.' Daphne tutted with mock severity, tapping the printed agenda.
I sighed, and sat down in my usual place half way along the table.
'It's about time,' I said.