Not my characters (duh) Enjoy, hope y'all like it!

Chapter 1

Nathaniel, known to the world as John Mandrake, minister of Internal Affairs, walked with a slightly contrived attitude of blasé, casual nonchalance. To passerby on the Whitehall lawns he smiled or nodded. To people of higher status he greeted in a forced monotone. His demeanour was almost impenetrable. Except… perhaps his gait was a little too quick, his fingers a tad too fidgety. With annoyance, Nathaniel tried to calm these quirks, to avoid the impression, albeit the truthful impression, of being eager.

The pillared halls of Whitehall made no impression on Nathaniel today as he tripped lightly up the steps and into a small recess where gilded elevators ascended to the offices above. Nathaniel entered one, pressed the third floor button, and watched as the doors closed in front of him. Being it was an early morning, Nathaniel had the elevator to himself. Taking advantage of the solitude, he checked himself in the reflective surface of the silver elevator doors. He adjusted his handkerchief, (canary yellow, on this occasion), and flicked back a couple strands of his unruly, long black hair. With annoyance, he noticed a smudge on the pointy tip of his shoe. Wetting a finger he bent to remove it.

Ping! The elevators doors slid open with a rush. Abandoning his attempt, Nathaniel jerked violently upright, hair and handkerchief flailing, and made to exit the elevator.

"You got my memo I see."

Jane Farrar had been crossing the atrium and had now paused, one hand carrying a wad of files and the other on her hip. Nathaniel stepped forward in as much of an elegant manner as he could muster. In irritation, he felt himself blushing, and worrying about the condition of his appearance.

"I did indeed. With what did you need my help?"

"Oh my, John, you are eagerness itself! Come. I'm on my way to my office, I'll tell you there. It's not exactly information one discloses in a public location."

Turning to go she glanced back over her shoulder, waiting for Nathaniel to fall into step beside her. They set off down the hall.

"By the way," Farrar remarked, "You have dirt. On your shoe."

Once they reached Farrar's office Farrar threw the folders on her large desk and settled into a chair behind it. She motioned for Nathaniel to take the chaise next to her.

"Like the office?" asked Farrar.

Nathaniel had been making a cursory examination of the office space. It was a very large office, bright with whitewash walls. The desk was made out of a dark walnut and the windows gave an expansive view of the Thames.

"I'm just settling in. This is the police chief's office."

"Didn't come with the title, too?"

Nathaniel smiled slyly to himself. Backhanded compliments were a highlight of company with Farrar.

Despite being the defacto head of the Night Police, Jane Farrar was still only by name the deputy chief of police. This was a sign of the prime minister's paranoid megalomania, adopting the title of 'Chief of the Night Police' himself.

"Oh I certainly couldn't compare with an important minister like you , John." Farrar replied, tilting her head, lips smiling, catlike, "Internal Affairs is an impressive mantle. Just think; you're following in the footsteps of great magicians, like Underwood. And Tallow."

"Hmm." Nathaniel gave a non-committal groan.

"Well. Let me tell you what this is all about. Two nights ago, there was a murder in Kensington-"

"A murder? How exactly does this involve Internal Affairs?"

Farrar blinked, "The murder victim was the Persian Ambassador, Arsalan Nazari"

"Well that's interesting, and unusual. How was he murdered?"

"A high level magical attack; presumably an inferno. Half the embassy was burnt."

Nathaniel frowned, "He was murdered in the embassy? Forgive me, but the embassy is technically Persian territory. It's hardly a matter for Internal Affairs."

"You haven't heard the whole story,

"As you know, Persia is not an overtly hostile country but neither is it friendly to Britain. We could say that it is a neutralized nation. We trade for their oil and various curios, such as that Persian carpet used in Heddleham Hall. Needless to say the British interfered heavily in Iraq, and the Persians have hated us ever since. Anyway, it would not be unexpected for them to subtly sabotage the British government by supporting our enemies."

"How would they be able to? Persia, by no means is a threat to British power."

"Perhaps not, Mandrake. But Persia in its day was a mighty empire. And certainly there are relics from those old days that must exist within the ruins of Persepolis and Ctesiphon today. Some of them have been unearthed, and protected with everything the Persian government could devise. Some of these artefacts may have been smuggled via the Persian embassy to rogues here in London."

"I have not heard of this."

Farrar adopted a consoling face, "Oh I quite understand John, Internal affairs can't be expected to keep an eye on all internal affairs, can they?"

Mandrake smirked, "Well, we do manage the ones that are actually important. It's a relief we have the police to pick up the mundane extras."

"I'm telling you John. This particular case is interesting. We've kept an eye on certain questionable members of society, including Mr. Nazari. He engaged a certain carrier service to deliver his official mail. The carrier is a djinni in police employ. The day of the murder, Mr. Nazari was intended to receive a certain envelope. This envelope posted no return address, which naturally piqued our curiosity. We appropriated that letter. That night, the news-lacking ambassador was murdered."

"You didn't return the letter to him?"

"We would have. His carrier service delivers to him every morning. The letter, having no date posted anywhere upon it, would arouse less suspicions by being delivered a day late rather than at an altogether unorthodox time later in the morning. Here it is."

From a drawer, Jane Farrar drew forth a small white envelope. On the front side was scrawled the name of the ambassador and the embassy's address. On the back side was a blood red wax seal, now broken in two. Nathaniel slipped his hand inside the envelope and removed a small piece of unadorned paper. It read:

Mr. Nazari:

This week's arrangements are behind schedule. Further delay is unacceptable.

Moesia

Nathaniel leaned back and raised his eyebrows at Farrar, "Very secretive."

"Isn't it though? Whatever these people wanted, they don't seem to have gotten it. And as a result the ambassador is dead."

"And I suppose nothing is known about the origin of this envelope?"

"No. The carrier was approached by a messenger imp. The imp has undoubtedly been dismissed or eaten in the interim. So, the envelope seems to be untraceable."

"Any luck tracking down Moesia?"

"Likely a code word, rather than an actual name, I think. Moesia… its historical references seem to have no bearing,

"The other angle is that the Ambassador's wife seems to have disappeared. From the embassy we recovered two bodies, that of the ambassador and of his secretary. But his wife was not found, nor has she been present these past two days. Possibly, this was a case of blackmail."

Nathaniel nodded, "So no tangible leads, then? I can see, truly, why the police would request my department's help on this case. Yet I still feel it isn't a matter that concerns Internal Affairs."

"Perhaps not, John. But what if it were?" Farrar pried, "If you had enough wit to see it, you'd see that I'm doing you a favour. And besides, you know," Farrar practically purred, "I actually like working with you."

Farrar caught Mandrake in a sidelong glance, then. Her eyes fluttered becomingly.

Baloney, thought Nathaniel. Quite patently, the truth was that this case was overwhelming and carried an inherent risk of failure. In which case, Jane Farrar needed another department to foist blame upon.

But strangely, this fact didn't repulse Nathaniel. He found himself not caring, wanting to accept the potential risks. All that was necessary was to work hard and succeed. And it meant he could work alongside Jane Farrar. A hint of her fruity perfume caught his attention. Yes, there was definitely an attraction to working with her. Nathaniel couldn't ignore that he felt a certain pleasure at the prospect of adopting this case.

Jane Farrar smiled at him, "I'll leave this folder with you. It's a copy of the case files." She adopted an innocent expression, "Tell me if you get anything."