The Mata Hari Institute of Culinary Excellence

[Pleater]

Oups - I hope I didn't offend by introducing military personnel into the narration.

They are a bit ordinary around here. We are close to Bovington Camp, where the Tank Museum is, and there are other forces stationed and training around the area. Poole harbour is a good place for racing around in small boats if you are military - no one is going to ask them to observe the speed limit.

No one sensible.

I just wanted Mister Brown returned with attitude. RMCs have attitude in spades - probably shovels too.

[starbkjrus]

Doing good so far, Pleater. A little different from Jamie and Dave in that you are making us think more I like it, keep up the good work.

Yup what he said. Keep it up.

[Pleater]

A man stands before a bank of screens, each one shows a single person. Some stand, some sit, some lounge. All appear to be immaculately or exquisitely dressed in the latest fashion of some metropolis, and where a background is visible it can only be described as requiring money to have it there.

The more cautious individuals have chosen to have drawn curtains or blank walls behind them.

'So - is this failure?'
'Not at all, it was just one of many possibilities. There are other places where the results are far more promising.'
'Name one.' came the challenge.
'Britain.' came the confident assertion. 'At two of the Globo fashion events free magazines were distributed. The covers were impregnated with chemicals similar to the Truth Serum - they are absorbed easily through the skin or by breathing them in. They simply make the reader more suggestible. In the south of England the magazines showed kilts and tartans as the latest thing, in the north of Scotland they showed black trousers with everything. That was thought to be one of the easiest changes to spot and map.
The effects do not last more than a few weeks, but that is all to the good. Every time the chemical is administered there will be a new style suggested, and everyone will want it.'
There was a silence as that information was considered.
'Very good.' said one, though without real enthusiasm. 'I look forward to further reports on this effect.'
'Isn't it a rather expensive method of persuasion? How much do the magazines cost to make and distribute?'
'At the moment, too much,'
There was a small but complex 'aaah' of disappointment.

Ephan Moore-Naste cursed inwardly that someone should have realised the greatest problem of the plan. Realised or perhaps had known already - it was impossible to guard against spies when the stakes were this high. Outwardly he remained unmoved.

'However - the means of delivery can be refined if it can be shown that the fashion sense of a nation can be guided by such methods.'
Another pause.
'It is all taking a very long time.'
'We need to be certain. We must not show our hand too soon.'
'Then shouldn't you have chosen something rather more discrete - shoe colour perhaps?'
'With such a small sample - just 2 thousand magazines in each location, it was thought that something unmistakable should be chosen. Even if anyone notices, how could it be linked to us? And by Christmas it will have been forgotten entirely.'
'Let us hope so.'
'It is taking too long!'
'Patience, please! At least something is being done, and if it takes months or even years to perfect some way of controlling clothing sales, it will be worth it - surely?' Ephan Moore-Naste noted down those who were making him plead. They would, he decided eventually come to regret their intransigence.
'We will be watching.'
One screen went blank, and the others followed in rapid succession.

Ephan Moore-Naste turned away, his features hard and angry.
'That went well,' sneered a woman who had been observing from beyond camera range. 'They did not believe you, and you have yet to convince me.'
'You always want to inflict pain. My way is better.'
She looked at him coldly but offered her perfectly manicured hand so he could assist her to rise onto the rather dangerously high heels she wore.
'We shall see.' she purred and then pouted her glossy lips before taking her hand from his and walking away.

He rubbed his hand where her nails had left imprints, but his face was still unreadable, though his gaze never left her until she swayed out of sight.

[Pleater]

Next morning began as normally as the previous day, I saw that the rabbits and hens were tended, recorded the number and size of eggs, weighed the chicken and rabbit carcases as I took them from the cooling cupboard and looked over the rabbit pelts being preserved.

Technicians from the kitchens brought food for the rabbits and hens, they would carry the food for Humans back to the pantry and sort it, plus other items either from the garden or our suppliers further afield, for the various meals and classes in the House.

I showered and changed into my white dress and gown, slipped on the white shoes, then made my way to the south dining room. It is customary to have several prepared dishes available for those who do not cook, and there are such things a yogurts and cereals. I spent a few minutes constructing a soufflé omelet with Leicester cheese and an orange and yellow striped tomato - the tomatoes were unusually large this year, whilst the coffee maker gurgled a cup of hot water through lightly roasted mocha and Mysore grounds.

Everything was unusually quiet, but in a good way, I felt.

Today I would be able to sort things out.

[Pleater]

I had just set my breakfast tray on the table when I was hailed, and turning I saw Mister McGreagor approaching, carrying the items of clothing he had worn to the disco. He was once again wearing the long denim kilt and his dreadful knitted cardigan.
'I put these in the wash last night, and I ironed them for you,' he declared grinning geekily.
I saw Mister Brown come in, and fleetingly aknowledged his presence before my gaze was dragged to my Eight yards of Darkness peached black cotton kilt - which was now strangely deformed.
A red mist fogged my brain, and I found myself in Mister Brown's arms, being spoken to gently despite his grip on my wrists.
'I'm back.' I declared. 'Did I kill him?'
'No - I stopped you.'
'He pressed my kilt into a flare. Its all gone - trapezoid - ' I began and then gasped as I saw that the shirt, once immaculate and glowingly white was now distitnctly Brand X and the unfortunate hose were now of a size and shape to fit an Oriental Lotus foot.
I murmured some words which caused Mister Brown to laugh, but he did not slacken his grip.
'I'm afraid Ian seems to have no sense of laundry. So you are Navy - that was decidedly salty. Odd how - ' he stopped and smiled.
'You may safely let go now.' I said coldly, and he helped me to my feet, retrieved my garments from the floor and handed them to me with a rather spaniel look, then went to where Mister McGreagor was rubbing his neck and looking rather stunned.

I left the dining room and carried the clothing to my apartment, where I did what I could to recover them. I realised that it was time for the nine thirty soviet with my fellow directors just in time, and hurried along to the board room.

[Pleater]

The Board Room was empty for the first time in my experience. It was actually a minute after the appointed time, and Bronwen and Daphne were not there. This was quite upsetting.

I had already run through the possibilities as having done damage to Mister McGreagor they might send me away, or return me to the dreary employment from which I had been rescued by my transfer to the ICE.

I looked around the room. Everything was just as normal, the tea tray was set ready, the adgendas placed in folders before each chair. I resisted the temptation to waste time in reading what was to have been discussed.

The chairs usually occupied by the other directors were slightly out of place, closer together. I went closer to see if I could discover why that should be.

On the floor between the chairs was a presentation bag, with holographic tartans shining from the words printed upon it. Globo-Fashion, it spelt, a free gift from the visit on the last outing the students had been on. A plastic cover had been left on the table, like those used when posting magazines. I used the tip of my knife to flip it over in order to read the blurb about it being a free gift - the name of the venue had been printed on it too.

I left the room and went towards the private apartments, looking in on the secretary at the offices and enquiring for the other directors.

'They went down to the Board Room, about five, maybe ten minutes ago.' she said briskly. I moved on towards the more private rooms. I checked them, and discovered that both dresing rooms were in considerable confusion, as though they had been searched.

I continued on along the corridor - the ICE was once a much larger organisation and had shrunk, leaving unused accomodation.

I heard giggling, and discovered my two fellow directors standing before a large wardrobe. Both were dressed in white blouses and tartan skirts, but contrary to their normal good taste, they had added accessories of other tartans, waistcoats, scarves - tied around a waists or twisted into a turban, and there were all sorts of items strewn over the bed, all plaid or chequered.

For a few seconds I watched undetected, then they must have seen me in the large mirrors on the wardrobe doors, and they turned to face me.

'Come and help us choose - you know about kilts and things - they're the latest fashion you know.'

It seemed that strange things were still happening, but there did appear to be a reason for them now.

[Pleater]

I aquainted the two ladies with my suspicions about the magazine, and rather bravely they offered to handle the magazine again and see if I could persuade them that the contents of the magazine were not what they wanted.
After an hour of indoctrination the excentric costumes had been discarded and they had placed matching scarves as plaids and would not have looked out of place anywhere. We returned to the board room and the magazine and its wrapper were placed in the flashy bag and then into a sealed plastic bag.

We then discussed the security of the House.

The gels were to be more closely supervised, Amber was to be given an official warning about her behaviour, security in the kitchens was to be tightened. The last item on the agenda was my behaviour.

'You seem to be doing quite well, we expected to have a lot more trouble.' said Daphne.
My astonishment must have shown.
'Mister McGreagor really should have left the laundering of the clothes to one of the household staff, it is what they are there for.'
'We understand your reaction was due to the clothes being spoilt.'
I nodded. 'Though it isn't as bad as I first thought, at least, I hope not.'
'Good. Now it is rather late, we must adjourn until tomorrow.'
'I hope to go home tonight.'
Daphne made a note, and I rose.
'We must let the minister know, and I am sure there are people who will be interested in the magazine. We must speak to James.'
'Are you certain that you can trust him?'
They hesitated. 'Well, he is not the most reliable of men - but he'll do'