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The Golden Key: From the Casebook of Nigel Spenser (Updated 9/16)
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<blockquote data-quote="Kid Charlemagne" data-source="post: 2574666" data-attributes="member: 93"><p>Thomas Peabody whistled a jaunty tune to himself, sitting at his desk in his posh office in Lloyd's of London's offices at the Royal Exchange on a fine, sunny, winter morning. He was balancing ledgers, and he found doing so to be immensely relaxing, especially when he was using the black ink to mark payments and amounts owed to Lloyd's. Being exceptionally miserly with Lloyd's accounts, he invariably used far more black ink than red. He turned a page and continued on his merry task.</p><p></p><p>A knock came at the door, and his secretary leaned into the office.</p><p></p><p>"Orla Taoiseach here to see you, sir," he explained, unnecessarily, as Orla strode into the room neither needing or waiting for an introduction. Nigel Spenser waited just outside the door, leaning on the door frame as Orla presented herself before Peabody.</p><p></p><p>Peabody scarcely looked up, dipping his quill in ink and making notations and hardly acknowledging the fencing instructor's presence.</p><p></p><p>"Yes, Miss Taoiseach? Is there something I can help you with?"</p><p></p><p>He could hardly have sounded less helpful if he had tried. Orla smiled, and pulled out a small notebook of her own.</p><p></p><p>"Actually, yes," she replied. "This matter of the golden key has begun to become rather expensive. I've had to use up a number of mystical ointments, salves, and potions, and I think Lloyd's of London should reimburse me for those expenses. An expense account, to be blunt."</p><p></p><p>Peabody didn't even look up. "If I recall correctly, and I almost always do, we came to an agreement on the amount you were to be paid. It is not my business if your budgets do not add up, Miss Taoiseach."</p><p></p><p>Orla's eyes narrowed. Nigel stepped in before she could respond.</p><p></p><p>"Let me ask you this, Mister Peabody," he began. "Does Lloyd's have any accounts with the British Museum?"</p><p></p><p>"Yes, yes, of course," Peabody answered, still not looking up from his books.</p><p></p><p>"It is possible that the matter of the key may be related to another matter, that of an old manuscript stolen from the British Museum at around the same time. <em>The History of John Uskglass</em>."</p><p></p><p>Peabody looked up at Nigel and Orla. He looked past them to his secretary, and gave him a nod. The young man vanished down the hall, and soon returned with an account folder. Peabody looked through the folder, and a scowl crossed his face.</p><p></p><p>Orla grinned. "Since the two cases are apparently related, it would make sense to fold them into one team's responsibilities. For a suitably increased fee."</p><p></p><p>Peabody squinted at her over his spectacles.</p><p></p><p>"Perhaps. Three hundred pounds more."</p><p></p><p>"Four hundred."</p><p></p><p>Peabody groaned.</p><p></p><p>"In advance, of course. Plus an expense allowance. I assume that Lloyd's has accounts with the Artificer's Guild?"</p><p></p><p>Peabody took his head in his hands. "How much?"</p><p></p><p>"Oh, I think around five hundred should do."</p><p></p><p>"Each."</p><p></p><p>Peabody glared at Orla. He simply nodded his assent.</p><p></p><p>"Oh, and also.."</p><p></p><p>Peabody twitched slightly. Nigel stepped up and took Orla's elbow.</p><p></p><p>"Declare victory and move on, Orla," he whispered in her ear, as they left.</p><p></p><p>Peabody composed himself, and opened the top right drawer of his desk, pulling out a fresh bottle of red ink.</p><p></p><p>He hated winter in London.</p></blockquote><p></p>
[QUOTE="Kid Charlemagne, post: 2574666, member: 93"] Thomas Peabody whistled a jaunty tune to himself, sitting at his desk in his posh office in Lloyd's of London's offices at the Royal Exchange on a fine, sunny, winter morning. He was balancing ledgers, and he found doing so to be immensely relaxing, especially when he was using the black ink to mark payments and amounts owed to Lloyd's. Being exceptionally miserly with Lloyd's accounts, he invariably used far more black ink than red. He turned a page and continued on his merry task. A knock came at the door, and his secretary leaned into the office. "Orla Taoiseach here to see you, sir," he explained, unnecessarily, as Orla strode into the room neither needing or waiting for an introduction. Nigel Spenser waited just outside the door, leaning on the door frame as Orla presented herself before Peabody. Peabody scarcely looked up, dipping his quill in ink and making notations and hardly acknowledging the fencing instructor's presence. "Yes, Miss Taoiseach? Is there something I can help you with?" He could hardly have sounded less helpful if he had tried. Orla smiled, and pulled out a small notebook of her own. "Actually, yes," she replied. "This matter of the golden key has begun to become rather expensive. I've had to use up a number of mystical ointments, salves, and potions, and I think Lloyd's of London should reimburse me for those expenses. An expense account, to be blunt." Peabody didn't even look up. "If I recall correctly, and I almost always do, we came to an agreement on the amount you were to be paid. It is not my business if your budgets do not add up, Miss Taoiseach." Orla's eyes narrowed. Nigel stepped in before she could respond. "Let me ask you this, Mister Peabody," he began. "Does Lloyd's have any accounts with the British Museum?" "Yes, yes, of course," Peabody answered, still not looking up from his books. "It is possible that the matter of the key may be related to another matter, that of an old manuscript stolen from the British Museum at around the same time. [i]The History of John Uskglass[/i]." Peabody looked up at Nigel and Orla. He looked past them to his secretary, and gave him a nod. The young man vanished down the hall, and soon returned with an account folder. Peabody looked through the folder, and a scowl crossed his face. Orla grinned. "Since the two cases are apparently related, it would make sense to fold them into one team's responsibilities. For a suitably increased fee." Peabody squinted at her over his spectacles. "Perhaps. Three hundred pounds more." "Four hundred." Peabody groaned. "In advance, of course. Plus an expense allowance. I assume that Lloyd's has accounts with the Artificer's Guild?" Peabody took his head in his hands. "How much?" "Oh, I think around five hundred should do." "Each." Peabody glared at Orla. He simply nodded his assent. "Oh, and also.." Peabody twitched slightly. Nigel stepped up and took Orla's elbow. "Declare victory and move on, Orla," he whispered in her ear, as they left. Peabody composed himself, and opened the top right drawer of his desk, pulling out a fresh bottle of red ink. He hated winter in London. [/QUOTE]
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