"Lord, I'll go with you," said Blade. "I'm responsible for your safety."
"And your car, sir?"
"My colleagues will retrieve it and escort us."
"Let's go."
Richard took a seat in the back beside the unconscious house-elf. Alex settled into the front passenger seat.
No sooner had the Bentley left the farm grounds than a black Range Rover pulled in ahead of them, with Blade's Jaguar falling in behind.
Richard flipped open the top of the armrest and pulled out the phone handset. He dialed his father's radiophone number.
"Richie, is that you?" Gerald answered.
"Yeah, Dad. Everything's fine. I'm bringing a surprise, so you've got half an hour to dismiss the staff early."
"We'll talk at home," Gerald replied in a displeased tone.
Returning the handset to its place, Richard addressed his escort.
"Mr. Blade, does your service have any special needs? For instance, do you require a plane capable of turning invisible and flying at four and a half thousand miles per hour? Or perhaps a flying car?"
"Hmm…" Mr. Blade looked thoughtful. "That sort of equipment wouldn't go amiss. Nor would cloaking robes that render a fighter invisible—and quite a few other things. Why do you ask?"
"I believe we could discuss the possibility of supplying bespoke items... I'm not afraid to use the word — exclusives. Naturally, provided we reach an agreement on the price."
"I'll pass your proposal on to management, Lord."
"Excellent. But it's a risk, so the price, as you understand, will be indecently high. Still, in about eleven years, I might be able to assist from my side with lobbying in the House of Lords to increase funding for Her Majesty's Secret Service."
"I'll pass that along as well, Lord."
Richard began calculating how much he could earn from selling artifacts to the intelligence services. The figure came out to at least seven digits—quite impressive. The main thing was keeping the deals secret to avoid the crushing weight of magical legislation, and MI6 handled secrecy very well. One simply couldn't find a better buyer for artifacts. If everything worked out, the investments in their creation would pay for themselves many times over.
"Mr. Blade."
"Yes, Lord?"
"I need a radar. Small, compact—one might say laboratory-grade. Its purpose would be testing anti-radar invisibility for aerial vehicles."
"A radar?"
"Yes. A radar."
"Very well. Anything else?"
"A powerful wind turbine, installed in Scotland by mid-June."
"Lord Grosvenor, we haven't even reached an agreement—"
"And three airplanes of your choosing," Richard continued imperturbably, pretending not to hear the objection. "I confess I know absolutely nothing about aviation. The only condition is that the planes be small enough to fit inside a fifty-meter hangar, fairly fast, and relatively easy to operate. And a pair of Squib pilots."
"That's outrageous, Lord!" the intelligence agent protested.
"All right, all right—fine. I'll buy the cars myself."
"And what do you need airplanes for, Lord?"
"I'll hand them over to the wizards for upgrades."
"Why three?" Alex asked curiously.
"As is customary, sir—one will be broken, another lost. So it's best to buy with a margin."
"I'll pass your wishes along to management."
"And we'll also need specialists to explain to the mages how the equipment and instruments work. And one more thing—"
"That's enough!" Alex said.
"Then a joke. The Scots are the most strong-willed people in the world… They keep their moonshine in barrels for ten years and don't drink a drop!"
The driver and Alex burst out laughing simultaneously.
"Ha-ha-ha! That's true!" Mr. Blade exclaimed.
"Can you imagine what Mr. Creevey would've done with the 'alien' if we hadn't shown up?" Richard asked.
"I can't even begin to imagine," Mr. Blade said, shaking his head.
"I'm sure a farmer would smack an alien over the head with a shovel handle and make him collect Colorado beetles off the potato plants."
"He doesn't grow potatoes," Alex smirked.
"I'm certain that wouldn't have stopped Mr. Creevey. He'd have planted potatoes just for the alien. And he'd strut around proudly in front of his neighbors, saying, 'Look at the alien I've got! Ha! You go catch your own.' And within a year the county would witness a spectacle: hundreds of farmers crawling across their fields with shovels, hunting for their very own 'alien'…"
"Lord Grosvenor, please, stop," Mr. Blade gasped through laughter. Tears welled at the corners of his eyes. "Oh-ho-ho! The last thing we need is crowds of farmer-ufologists with hundreds of 'aliens' in their fields catching Colorado potato beetles."
Soon the entrance to Eaton Hall came into view. The conversation inside the car fell silent.
One had to see the elder Grosvenor's eyes when Steve and Alex carried into the house the house-elf—now free of ropes but still unconscious.
To the duke's credit, aside from his twitching right eye, nothing betrayed his astonishment and shock.
"What is that?" Gerald asked.
"A house-elf."
"A house-elf?"
The duke's raised brows conveyed his utter amazement.
"A house-elf!"
"Is it dead?"
"Not yet."
"Richie, I asked you to solve the problem—not drag a half-dead creature into the house!"
(End of Chapter)
Hey! Don't forget, your support is very important.
Please donate power stones, write reviews, and leave comments. It will be a huge help!
🎁 Bonus chapter at 50 power stones!