Princess Fedelmid marched up to the front desk at Scotland Yard and screamed at the desk sergeant. It took him completely by surprise and he dropped a mug of tea onto the keyboard of his computer.
“I must speak with the Master of the Black Museum, right now!”
Sergeant Bond didn’t know whether to reach for the wet wipes or reach over the desk and lift the woman from the ground by her neck. He chose to count to ten instead.
“The Master of the Black Museum, now!”
The veins in the woman’s neck were standing out and she was gripping the edge of the wooden counter so tightly that it began to splinter. Bond was one of the experienced old heads that knew of the DCI on the 7th floor and reached for the phone.
“Sir, we’ve got a young woman down here that looks like she might explode if she does
