Amanderella and the Mystery of the Crystal Aviary. Chapter 2

Chapter 2.

 

A Delicate Task.

 

“The snuffbox?”

“It was a gift from a foreign leader of some importance. It currently contains a very specific medicinal blend of indigestion tablets,” replied Sir Peristal.

Amanderella blinked. “Indigestion tablets.”

“Quite so. They are indispensable. Unfortunately, the snuffbox has vanished.”

She waited for the inevitable mention of spies, conspiracies, or sinister foreign agents.

It did not come.

Sir Peristal cleared his throat. “It was not stolen by spies.”

“Ah.”

“It was snatched from a table on the pavilion terrace by a passing bird.”

Amanderella stared at him. “A bird?”

“A large one,” he said gravely. “With a regrettable interest in shiny objects.”

She pressed her lips together. “And where is this snuffbox‑snatching bird now?”

“Deep within the structure,” Sir Peristal said, with a faint shudder. “As I mentioned, the place has been closed for years, but the heating pipes are still maintained for the tropical specimens. A sprawling, steam‑heated iron jungle on the outskirts of the capital. It was precisely the sort of overgrown privacy the Royal Personage was seeking with his… friend.”

Amanderella let that pass without comment.

“So,” she said, “you want me to retrieve a snuffbox from a bird inside a vast, overheated aviary.”

“Yes.”

“Without revealing the identity of the Royal Personage. Or his friend.”

“Precisely.”

“And without revealing that the snuffbox contains indigestion tablets.”

“Absolutely.”

Amanderella folded her arms. “Then to be perfectly clear: I am to conduct an entirely clandestine recovery operation involving a closed conservatory, an acquisitive bird, and a tin of digestive lozenges. No questions asked, and no official assistance provided?”

Sir Peristal inclined his head. “Lady Amanderella, I would not insult you by pretending it is anything else.”

Amanderella regarded him steadily. “Why me?”

Sir Peristal gave a small, elegant sigh, as though the answer ought to have been obvious.

“Because of the things you have done, Miss Amanderella. Quite extraordinary things, I might add.”

She waited.

“You have visited the Amazon,” he began, ticking the points off on gloved fingers. “You found the Bangolin Tree, an achievement the Government was extremely pleased about. Rose‑tinted spectacles are, as you know, very necessary to politicians.”

Amanderella blinked. “I didn’t realise the tree had such an effect.”

“Oh, indeed. Entire departments are now looking at the world through a much more agreeable shade of pink.”

He moved to the next finger.

“Then there is the Moor. The one in the Home Secretary’s constituency. Tourism has increased by thirty‑seven per cent since your involvement. He is delighted. Positively glowing.”

Amanderella tried not to smile.

“And the Ppockingstulls treasure,” Sir Peristal continued. “I am fully aware of that little episode. Maudline Ppockingstull is a teacher at my daughter’s school. She speaks of you with something approaching reverence.”

He paused, then added, “The Dowager Viscountess, madam. Lady Honoria Pimm Ducket.”

“Of Lower Widdersham,” said Amanderella.

“Yes, that one. Well known to half the House of Lords. They are all extremely grateful to you, even if they cannot quite agree on why.”

Amanderella folded her arms. “So, you chose me because I have been… useful.”

Sir Peristal inclined his head. “Precisely. You have a talent for resolving unusual situations with dignity, discretion, and, if I may say so, remarkable calm. A bird with a stolen snuffbox is, I fear, exactly your sort of problem.”

He straightened his cuffs.

“And, Miss Amanderella, when the Royal Family requires assistance, one does not simply hire anyone. One asks the person who has already survived leeches, moors, treasures, and Lady Honoria Pimm Ducket.”

Amanderella considered this. The empty theatre seemed to lean in, waiting.

“You have explained why you chose me,” she said. “But surely the Secret Service could retrieve a snuffbox from a bird.”

Sir Peristal gave a delicate wince, as though she had suggested hiring a troupe of jugglers.

“Oh, Lady Amanderella. No. Absolutely not.”

“No?”

“Certainly not.” He leaned in, lowering his voice to a conspiratorial murmur. “It is well known, universally known, that the Secret Service is totally incapable of keeping a secret. They have more leaks than a pair of boots with holes.”

Amanderella blinked. “That seems… unfortunate.”

“Disastrous,” Sir Peristal agreed. “They cannot keep a secret between themselves, let alone from the newspapers. If they so much as heard the words ‘Royal Family’ and ‘snuffbox’ in the same sentence, the entire capital would know by breakfast.”

He smoothed his gloves.

“Worse,” he said. “If you whisper a secret to one end of the organisation, it comes whistling out of the other before you’ve finished the sentence. Last month they attempted a confidential operation in the post office. By lunchtime, every clerk knew the code name, the objective, and the colour of the agent’s socks. The year before that, they tried to shadow a foreign dignitary. They lost him, but somehow managed to follow each other in a perfect circle for three hours.”

Amanderella pressed her lips together. “I see.”

“So, you see, Miss Amanderella, we cannot possibly involve them. We require someone who can keep her head, her silence, and her dignity while retrieving a snuffbox from a large, dishonest bird.”

“And that is me.”

“That,” he said, bowing his head, “is unquestionably you.”

Amanderella regarded him thoughtfully. “You still haven’t explained why this must be done now.”

Sir Peristal drew himself up, as though preparing to announce a national emergency.

“The urgency,” he said, “is due to the fact that, in a few days’ time, the donor of the snuffbox is arriving on a state visit.”

Amanderella nodded slowly. “I see.”

“And,” Sir Peristal continued, “protocol dictates that any gifts from foreign heads of state must be on display when they visit. Prominently. Under a glass dome. With a small brass plaque.”

Amanderella folded her arms. “And at present, the snuffbox is in the possession of a large bird.”

“Correct.”

“In a giant, steam‑heated aviary.”

“Regrettably so.”

“And containing the Royal Personage’s indigestion tablets.”

Sir Peristal winced. “Yes. Which he will require during the state banquet. The menu is… ambitious.”

Amanderella let out a slow breath. “So, if the snuffbox is not recovered, the Royal Personage will be both embarrassed and uncomfortable.”

“Precisely.”

“And the visiting head of state will notice its absence.”

“Immediately.”

“And the newspapers—”

“Would have a field day,” Sir Peristal said, shuddering. “Which is why we cannot involve the Secret Service. Or, for that matter, the police.”

Amanderella gave a small, resigned nod. “Very well. I understand the urgency.”

Sir Peristal brightened, just a fraction. “Then you will undertake the task.”

She paused, letting him wait.