The Derring-Do Club and the Year of the Chrononauts Read Online Free PDF Page A

before nine,” Earnestine replied. “My letter is from Major Dan.”
    The man blinked, wrinkled his nose and then he glanced up and down the street with his beady eyes.
    “Major Dan, eh?”
    “Yes, Sir.”
    “You’d better come in.”
    “Thank you, most kind.”
    The passageway beyond was musty and dark, the gas turned very low and it shimmered as the flame stuttered for breath. The old man waved his hand along the corridor and Earnestine made her way to the far end. A heavy door opened into an office, study or library that was utterly packed with papers. There were shelves of them, piles on chairs, stacks on the floor like rectangular stalagmites and in pride of place, a huge conglomeration of documents that might have been supported internally by a stout desk. The only exception was a section of the far wall that had a single, neat row of books and seemed Spartan in comparison.
    “My,” said Earnestine.
    “Yes, yes, welcome… I’d better see this letter.”
    Earnestine took the envelope from her bag and proffered it to the gentleman.
    He examined it – tutting – and when he’d finished reading the contents, he slipped the letter back into the envelope before looking around… this way and that… frowning… until he decided to place the item precariously on top of the nearest stack. At the deepest foundations of this tower was a wooden tray that bore the legend ‘sundries’. The tower next to that was called ‘miscellaneous’ and the next one along had collapsed.
    “I suppose you’ll be wanting a tour.”
    “That would be an excellent second step.”
    “Second step?”
    “We haven’t been introduced.”
    The man looked around again, up and down this time, before shrugging.
    “There’s no–one here to introduce us,” he said. “And I know who you are.”
    “You do?”
    “Major Dan was quite efficacious.”
    “Good.”
    Earnestine waited patiently as she had been taught, because patience was a virtue, she knew, and–
    “Sir,” she said. “You are?”
    “Boothroyd.”
    Earnestine offered her hand. Boothroyd looked at it, then glanced around as if he were wondering where to put it. Earnestine took it back just in case.
    “I’m looking forward to assisting in the patent application process,” Earnestine began. “I think that the work here is important to the Empire as our industry is dependent upon cultivating innovation and invention. Perhaps you could tell me how many patents you award?”
    “Patents we award?”
    “Per calendar month or whatever is most appropriate.”
    “We don’t award patents here.”
    “You don’t?”
    “Not a one.” Boothroyd smoothed his white hair, parted upon one side, before continuing: “You’re confusing us with the Patents Office.”
    “I am?”
    “Yes, the Patents Office deals with Patent applications, awards and wotnot. We’re the Patents Pending Office.”
    “I see,” Earnestine said, meaning she didn’t.
    “Tea?”
    “Lovely.”
    There was a small kitchen area to one side, hidden of course, and Boothroyd brewed some Earl Grey. There were papers here too and none of the cups and saucers matched, but at least they were fine china. He served the tea, swilling the pot before pouring, and added milk for them both. Earnestine almost had to bite her lip to stop herself from correcting him and instead she meekly carried the two cups back into the office.
    “I’d better explain,” said Boothroyd.
    Boothroyd, after looking around, took a stack of papers off a chair and indicated that Earnestine should sit. She did so. He then perched precariously on an edge of the hidden desk to sip his tea.
    Earnestine did the same, enjoying the reviving taste.
    “Well, my dear,” he said. “The Patents Office takes applications, checks that they are original, or at least not patented, and then awards a patent number.”
    “I see.”
    “We do none of that. Does that make it clear?”
    “I’m afraid not.”
    “Well, let me try again, certain patents