Pretty, her heart replied with a sigh.
“I’m afraid this was sabotage,” Devon explained to the workers. “There’s a race for a special bird, a caladrius—”
“Ahh, so that’s what those blasted orthonogogists were going on about,” the engineer said, nodding with belated comprehension. “I thought a caladrius was some kind of kitchen utensil. Couldn’t understand why they were in such a tizzy about it.”
“They actually demanded the use of our staff vehicles!” the clerk added. “Didn’t even line up in a proper queue!”
“You have vehicles?” Beth said hopefully. “Carriages?”
“Bicycles. Or we did. The ornologists wanted them all. Offered enough money that we could get a new portrait of Her Majesty for the waiting room, so of course I said yes. I brought out the Special Transactions form (3A), the Purchaser Identification form (2F), the form for—”
“You gave them all necessary papers,” Devon interrupted.
“Yes! But they ignored that and just took the bicycles!”
“You mean theystolethem?” Beth gasped.
“No, they paid money,” the clerk said.“But they didn’t fill out the proper paperwork!”
“Oh dear,” Devon murmured.
The engineer peered suspiciously at Beth. “You’re one of them, aren’t you?”
His tone was so sharp, she leaned back. Devon took a small, gliding side step closer to her—an act she’d observed a horned blackbird making in defense of his mate—and she went all steamy inside. Not even admonishing herself thatsteamywas a highly unscientific term could seem to stop it.
“Of course she isn’t,” Devon said, smiling with such languid charisma that both clerk and engineer blushed. “We’re innocent, mild-mannered geologists. Entirely down to earth.”
He nudged Beth with his elbow, but she hesitated. While an ornithologist should be able to lie on the spot—for example,No, sir, I did not see the bright-red sign saying “private land, no trespassing” beside the gate, which was definitely already open—she had never mastered the ability. Just then, however, she glimpsed a figure lurking by the entrance to the station and recognized it as Oberhufter’s secretary, Schreib. Immediately she gave the clerk and engineer a brisk nod.
“We are indeed geologists! Rock-solid characters, honest to a fault.”
“But you knew about the magic bird,” the clerk pointed out.
“Didn’t you as well? I thought it was obvious.”
He squirmed and shrugged in the beam of her polite smile.
“We’ve got a lot on our plates right now,” she continued, “so we’d very much appreciate a timely furnishment of intelligence as to any means of locomotion that might be available nearby, for which we will offer commensurate recompense, of course.”
The two men gave her a stunned look, then turned to Devon.
“Tell us where in town to find horses,” he said. Then, with a sidelong wink at Beth: “Please.”
The steaminess began to form a sauna in the pit of her stomach.
“If you’re not orgthologists, why are you so desperate to get horses?” the engineer asked suspiciously.
“We have a rock emergency.”
“Oh. Well, that makes sense. But look you, there’s no point running around Dover. Those maniacs will have been through it like a plague already.”
“We have to try,” Beth said. “It’s a matter of—”
“Life and death?” the clerk interjected with a doubting smirk.
“Worse! Tenure! And surely with a bit of door knocking, some cash on offer, we’ll find a kind, good-hearted person willing to help. This is Britain, after all.”
Chapter Seven
