To get to Whitehall, Chas walked past the Houses of Parliament. There was a protest happening outside, just a small one. The protesters were marching round and round in circles chatting quietly to themselves, carrying placards over their shoulders that were all completely blank.
The receptionist at Whitehall had taken one look at Chas' t-shirt and jeans and had sniffily packed him off to the National Library. Chas just grinned at her, and that seemed to upset her very narrow sense of order even more.
As he walked to the National Library, he was passed by another man in grey overalls carrying a flamingo shape, wrapped in brown paper and packing tape. A seagull, perched on a convenient railing, watched the removals man go past with one hard and beady eye.
A librarian who looked like an owl showed Chas the section on military history. Spanning several centuries, and covering many yards of bookshelf space, it took him a while to find the section on World War Two, and even longer to locate a book which had the relevant drawings of insignias.
Eventually, he gave up in disgust, and went back to find the librarian, in the hopes that he could help.
Chas walked down many aisles between the bookcases, looking for the librarian's desk. He didn't find it immediately, but his eye was caught by the sight of a very large blonde woman wearing a horned Viking helmet standing in one of the alcoves. She had her mouth wide open, looking like an opera singer in the middle of her final aria, but not a single sound came from her mouth. Chas could see the flesh of her throat wobbling.
A small distance away from her was an audience, arranged on chairs in a semi-circle around the soprano. It consisted of people carrying miniature sound recorders and notepads. One woman wore a trilby with a card saying "Press" shoved into the hatband.
On the other side of the soprano was a greying man in a dirty lab coat with a pair of full ear headphones clamped over his ears. He was staring very intensely at a particularly Victorian looking piece of machinery that stood the size of a small writing desk in front of him, all knobs, dials and levers.
The aria finished, and Chas could see the audience applauding, standing up and shouting bravo, and throwing carnations like darts at the soprano. She bowed, a smug grin on her face, milking the audience reaction for all it was worth. But at the same time, Chas heard nothing at all.
He shook his head, wondering if perhaps his ears had got blocked, or he'd suddenly gone deaf, and walked away from the scene. But he could definitely hear his footsteps on the tile of the floor.
He suddenly spotted the librarian, disappearing behind one of the many stacks of books ahead. Forgetting the silent opera, he rushed after him.
It took them a good three hours to conclude that there was no record of any of the insignia or identifying marks on the locket woman's uniform. The librarian, who had started the search with good grace, grew more and more sour over the course of the few hours.
Eventually, he shut the book he was looking in with what might have been roughness, for someone so used to venerating the tomes in his charge.
"I'm sorry sir," he said. "But I'm afraid I can't help you with your search any more. Perhaps sir would like to try talking to some of the military history experts that reside in our universities."
And he stood up, frowning.
"I don't understand," said Chas. "How come there isn't any record of that insignia. Surely it can't be that hard to find references..."
"Perhaps," said the librarian over his shoulder as he strode away in a huff. "Perhaps the lady in question was a spy."
And he vanished round the corner, deep into the recesses of another stack of books.
Chas looked at his watch. Time to go and meet Nics. He sighed, he really had been hoping to find something to tell her that would shed a bit of light on their little mystery.
On his way out the door, the woman with the trilby and press ticket called to him.
"Excuse me, this may seem a strange question to ask," she said with a disarming grin. "But you didn't happen to hear any strange noises in the library at all while you were in there?"
Chas shook his head.
"Like, say, an operatic soprano singing excerpts from Wagner's 'The Ring Cycle'?" she pressed.
"No," said Chas. "I saw it alright, but I didn't hear a note. Thought I'd gone deaf for a minute."
"Thank you very much," she said, standing back and making a note in her notebook.
Chas hurried out the door. Any more distractions and he was going to be late. He just managed to squeeze out the door before the man in the lab coat and his arcane apparatus blocked it completely, necessitating lots of loud discussion and the use of a fire axe.
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