The Mata Hari Institute of Culinary Excellence

[Pleater]

Thanks Livingston.

It has made the waiting for further episodes of Dave's naration more bearable - and I think I have just thought of a resolution of the plot..

Did I just claim to have a 'plot'?

I can now reveal I did not have one, was just sort of free wheeling along putting in whatever came to mind.

I think I can round it off though with what I have already written. I'll just read through and check that everything is coherent.

[davedove]

Thanks Livingston.

It has made the waiting for further episodes of Dave's naration more bearable - and I think I have just thought of a resolution of the plot..

Did I just claim to have a 'plot'?

I can now reveal I did not have one, was just sort of free wheeling along putting in whatever came to mind.

I think I can round it off though with what I have already written. I'll just read through and check that everything is coherent.

Well, you can see that my story has now been completed. Do keep up with yours though. It is certainly different than either Jaime's or my own.

[Pleater]

One of the stewards stepped forward.
'Is it alright if we go back to the Rotunda now? The dancing was getting a bit boisterous and there's only three in there now and that's not enough really.'
I had one of those fey moments which always catch me unawares.
'It's not usually rowdy, is it?'
'Well, a bit - usually its just dancing and chatting, and handing round the drinks, but tonight it's sort of - different.'
'Was there something to eat?' I asked.
'I didn't see anything - usually after classes in the kitchen no one wants anything to eat.'
'Ian had something to eat. One of the girls brought a plate of little biscuits and some dip.' said Mister Brown.
'Which girl?'
'I'm not sure.'
'Matron - excuse me but I need to speak to Mister McGreagor urgently.'
She stepped back, but drew herself up indignantly.
'Ian - who gave you the snack at the disco?'
'I don't know' he slurred, still rather confused.
'We need to find out - it is important.'
'Don't know.' he said, rather plaintively.
I turned to the stewards 'Don't go - I will need your help to get Mister McGreagor back to the disco once I find him some cooler clothing.'
'He's going nowhere!' the matron snapped.
'This might be a matter of national security, or international diplomacy - The Joy of Snacks must not be released upon an unsuspecting and unprepared world.'
She stared, but already I was hurrying out of the cubicle, I had to get to my apartment quickly.

[herminator]

I admit I have Nanny Ogg´s Cookbook at home and





yes, I have made pink wobblers!

[Pleater]

Ah - but the MHICE has the original manuscript - the one with the expurgated ingredients still included.

Plus there is the twelve volume encyclopaedia culinaria, written on temperature sensitive sheets which, if allowed to get to room heat, will liquify.

Also in the miles of greenhouses grow the carefully tended herbs and spices required, selected for their potency and effectiveness. Steam pipes and sun lamps encourage their growth, until the time comes for them to be put to use in the service of their adopted country.

Only experienced ladies of a certain age are allowed to make the Strawberry Wobbler with active ingredients, and even then they snigger.

[Pleater]

As I reached the stairway I realised that Mister Brown had followed me.
'Let me help.' he said, and without waiting for my consent he siezed my arm and half carried me up the stairs.
'Who do you think took the books?'
'It has to be one of the students. I should have realised. I saw the girls in the dance studio - and really - well - I should have realised, and then later, I saw the young men going to the disco and indulging in horseplay - usually this far into the term they are rather more relaxed. Then Ian gets dressed up and goes to a disco where he exhausts himself dancing - he is called the McGeek - someone is probably handing round the little cheese bisuits with innocent looking dip with green bits in.'
'Why does he have to go back?'
'Well - whoever it is might decide to give him seconds - if they do we'll nab them, or rather the stewards and you will. It has to be the right one or there could be a diplomatic incident.'

'I'll be sure to ask if they made it themselves, or if someone gave it to them and suggested they bring it to Ian.'
'Good thinking.' I wheezed.
I grabbed my black kilt, a white shirt, and a grey belt from the wardrobe, then went to the drawers and pulled out the fawn socks which had had the accident with the blue things in the washer. They were going to be close enough to grey in the dark.
'Who are they for?'
'Ian.'
'Will they fit him?'
'Oh yes.'
Rather to my surprise they did. The stewards took an arm each and we all sallied forth into the Autumn night.
It was very cold now, and before we reached the Rotunda Ian was feeling much better. The music was still pounding away inside, and there was rather a lot of shouting and shrieking going on.
I waited in the corridor outside of the main hall, and ten minutes later the stewards appeared with Amber, and a tray. I sniffed the bowl.
'Where did you get this?'
Messrs Brown and McGreagor emerged behind them.
'Did you make this?' I persisted.
'I - thought it looked nice.'
'But the recipe - where did you get the recipe?'
'I - I..'
Her lower lip trembled.
'From the safe? Just nod if you did.' said Mister Brown.
She nodded.
'Can you hear all the noise in there?'
Her perfect brow furrowed. 'Surely you don't think that this could have caused it - it must be the punch - someone must have added something to the punch.'
'I rather think it was you and this.'
'But - Uncle Grant said that was just silly.'
'When was this?'
'In the summer, I made some desserts for him, and he liked them - he liked them very much and he said that I should let him have the recipes - he phoned every week, because somehow the recipes won't go in an email, and then when we started main courses I had no more recipes and he started to get nasty. He had some of his friends phone too. I thought that if I could send him copies of the books he's stop. He was like a crazy person.'
I nodded.
'Is there any more of this?'
She shook her head, her long golden hair shimmered.
'It's all been eaten. I saved that for Ian - Mister McGreagor. I think he likes it when I bring him things to eat.'
'I bet.'
'He talked to Uncle Grant, and his friends - when he was there and they phoned.'
'About desserts?'
'No, about kilts.'
'I think I am beginning to understand how it happened - but what is it about pink?'
'Oh yes, pink - Uncle Grant hates pink - he says it reminds him of pink punish, whatever that is - he gets really strange about anything pink.'
'But everyone is avoiding pink - even pink porridge.'
'Only children put jam in their porridge.'
'Really?'
'Everyone knows that, surely?'
'I think you better go back to the dance and encourage everyone to dance - until they are really tired.'
'But - what about the recipes?'
'That can probably wait until morning.'
Amber adjusted her strips of clashing tartan and returned to the hall, followed by the stewards.
'You look rather dashing, Mister McGreagor - how do you like the kilt?'
'I'm not sure. I like how it goes - ' he swayed from side to side to make the pleats dance.
'There's an inch under eight yards in it - though of course for this weather you really need wool - that is cotton - to cool you down quickly.'
'I think I'll go back and dance too.'
'If you are feeling up to it.'
'Oh yes - I feel quite alright now.'
I looked at Mister Brown.
'I believe there will be some dinner available in the south dining room if you care to eat.'
His eyebrows rose.
'Perfectly ordi - well not perfectly ordinary - rather good in fact.'
'I'd be delighted.'
'Then afterwards, I'm sure I have a cd of Under Siege - its about a cook.'
'I think I've seen it.'
'There was a sequel, I believe.'
'I've seen that as well.'
'I think we have Sky.'
'I'd settle for coffee.'
I thought about that.
'That is a very American expression.'
'Could be.' he admitted.

[Pleater]

Before retiring I altered the menus for the next week to be lots of plain omelets, unadorned vegetables and nourishing soups and simple grilled meats and fish.

I removed all the more exotic items from the work stations in the kitchen and placed them in the racks of the walk in spice cupboard, which I locked, along with the herb racks and I disturbed the head gardener in order to have the security codes on the greenhouses altered.

This did not remove all the things which could cause trouble but it reduced their availability to those who might not yet believe in their effects.

When Mister McGreagor returned from the disco I gave him a sherbet which would help to clear his mind and restore his judgment so he might get on with restoring our computer network controller which refuses to send off any email where the letters o and z appear next to eachother. American recipes where everything is measured in cups are unaffected, so he'll probably not find much help online.

Despite the lateness of the hour he at once set about restoring the security systems which he had allowed to become vulnerable thanks to Amber's attentions. I reflected on the wisdom of the original founders of the Institute who had offered employment to those wounded soldiers and sailors who had become eunuchs in the service of their country.

It was some time before the students settled down, but matron put something in their cocoa to enforce the curfew and a sudden silence fell.

I walked through the hushed building, chatting with Mister McGreagor over the intercom as we checked the door and window sensors were active. Someone had made quite a good job of replacing the panel in the wine cellar door, but I reminded myself to do something about battery powered hand tool availability within the Institute.

There was a caller at the front door. I opened it to find a group of Marine Commandos and Mister Brown. I claimed him from them and they vanished into the night. He seemed rather shocked.
'You can tell me about it in the morning - if you want to.' I told him, and escorted him to the entrance to the corridor of men's apartments. Mister McGreagor reminded me of which one had been allocated to Mister Brown, and I reminded him.

At last I was able to declare the House secure and return to my own apartment where I found that I had neglected to close the windows, so the rooms were rather cold. I closed them now, and opened the oak chest at the foot of the bed. It was black with age and shone with the gloss that only several hundred years of beeswax and effort can give. I lifted out one of the rabbit skin lined covers. It was one of the older ones, from when the rabbits were smaller and their fur was a light blond. The pelts had been quilted to a piece of ancient linen embroidered with a peacock and his hens, the colours still vibrant. I spread it over the bed, then checked my white uniform was ready for the morning, checked that my dark clothes were where I could find them without light, then prepared for sleep.
Before I laid down I put on the mask and started the air pump which would probably ensure I would wake in the morning. I resolved that today I would leave work at seventeen fourty at the latest and go home.

[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.