The Mata Hari Institute of Culinary Excellence

[Pleater]

The Saltire lingered in the valley of the Don, the Saltires seeking out the last of the Sheffield cutlers and having blades of various types of steel made for them and set into hilts and handles then moved to the Midlands to obtain suitable sheaths and scabbards.

During this time I fed different mixtures, I read the Narnian notebook again and again, went through the Encyclopedia culinaria and even searched all the folders of different researchers into the culinary arts. I even walked along the corridors with stained glass windows showing game, domestic animals and all that the field and garden can provide for the table.

Eventually I realised that there was something so obvious that I had entirely overlooked it. In the centre of each window there was a table laid out, and on the table amid the dishes stood flagons of ale and bottles of wine.

I went to see Bronwen. She would remember when the library was locked away.
'You want to cure a mad man?'
'I am not certain that it is madness as such. I think it is just a reaction to some deeply felt loss - it is grief. I think that he requires something more than we have at present to help him come to terms with it.'
'Well - we could have a look.'
'What at?'
The books in the sealed vault.'
'How?'
She smiled mischievously, then led me to a cupboard.
'Always leave the door open.' She said sternly. 'That is why I have not been able to retire. Coming in here and shutting the door so no one knew where they were, not until it was too late.'

There was an ornate brass wheel which opened a metal plate in the floor.
'Always put this in place.'
Bronwen took an ornate device from a hook in the wall and placed it between the plate and the wheel, joining them so the wheel could not rotate nor the plate descend.
'Now lets go down and see what there is to see.'
I was surprised to see that there was a desk and writing materials, an old leather topped desk and a swivel chair of antique design. on the desk was a book shelf and perhaps ten or a dozen books rested there, almost covered by piece of chamois leather. I looked around. There were no other books.
'This is next to the cold room - I think.' I decided.
'Yes, it is. Viagra Hughes had it made.'
'Viagra?'
'Yes - who else would they name it after?'
'So few books?'
'And the one you want is the smallest. Its the end one.'
I put on the white cotton gloves which lay on the desk as if placed there just hours before, and picked up the book.
'So when was the last time anyone was down here?'
The year you were appointed.'
I turned on the desk lamp and began to examine the book. Unlike many of the items we have there was an index. I read the chapter, and sighed.
'It is out of date by fifty years. the vintages used are long gone, or locked away in private cellars.'
'Like ours, perhaps?'
'We have a wine cellar?'
'Oh yes, it is just that no one has needed to use it for a long time.'
'When was the last time?'
'It was for Queen Victoria, after Albert died she had no heart to go on. Unfortunately it was impossible to bring her here with her consent, she knew about us. it had to be arranged - a slight problem with a train, a little trouble with the carriage, and here she ate and drank and slept the night before going on her way, returning to her beloved subjects.'

I took the pen, flipped up the cover and dipped it into the inkwell. I carefully copied the instructions from the book, then blotted the paper and placed it in my notebook. I wiped the pen placed it in the holder and closed the inkwell. We ascended, closed the plate and left the cupboard.
'But it is supposed to be sealed.'
'It is - you get closed in there and you have a very short future.'
'I see - so it is entirely true, a sealed vault - just that it can be opened any time.'
'Exactly. We only open it when it seems necessary. When we can find someone else to come here you might have time for some research.'
'How long have you been looking?'
'Since you came.'
'Oh.'
'Well - there are a lot more people than you'd think who would take over the world if given the chance.'
She had led me to a low archway filled with door. It required a large key to unlock it, and beyond lay serried ranks of bottles dozing in cool darkness.
It took some time to locate the bottle I required. I carried it carefully up to my kitchen to meet its destiny.

The prisoner looked up eagerly when I went in. It had been a pity to waste such an eager subject trying out special foods which did not really do much good.
'Try this.' I said, and cautiously passed the wine glass through the bars. He sniffed and sipped, then sipped twice more.
'Its a bit thin. But not bad. Is it French?'
'Sort of.'
'How can it be sort of?'
'Well - France has changed.'
'Not recently.'
'No not recently.'
He ate the meal, sipping the wine which I knew was a perfect compliment, and then he returned the glass and retired to the bunk with a sigh.