Section F: Fairy Tales & Physicists

Chapter 8

"Why can't I sit in the front?"

From the driver's seat, Peregrine turned and regarded her partner. "C'mon, Fields—you don't honestly expect a princess to sit in the back, do you?"

That was exactly what Fields expected. Didn't royals usually sit in the back when they were getting their regal butts chauffeured around the place? He was sure he'd seen that on TV. However, given his recent experiences in agency-royalty diplomacy—and the resultant bruising—he was a little hesitant to press the matter. "Well..."

"Plus, do you really want to put Embers back there with the prince? Given the outcome of their last encounter?"

Fields glanced uneasily at the lifeless figure of the caped, chiselled and comatose young man, belted into the seat alongside him. "I guess not. Although I still don't really see why we're bringing him with us."

Peregrine shrugged. "He's evidence. Plus, it just didn't feel right to leave him there."

"Honestly, Eel." From the coveted shotgun position, Embers turned and gave Fields a look of intense disapproval. "Of course we couldn't leave the poor fellow. For shame."

Fields slid a little further over to his own side. "I suspect I could have coped," he muttered. "Listen, how about if I drive then?"

Peregrine's face, usually so open and cheerful, instantly darkened. "Fields, pay very close attention to what I'm about to tell you, because I'm only going to say it once. I drive this car. Nobody else. Nobody. Not now, not ever. Never gonna happen. Never ever. Never has, never will. Ever. Are we clear?"

Briefly taken aback by the seriousness of her expression, it took a moment for Fields to realise this must be another of his strange new partner's attempts at humour. Grinning weakly, he pondered how best to respond. "Tell you what. How about—?"

"Are—we—CLEAR?" Peregrine barked, making him jump. Somehow, her face became even more intimidating.

He shifted uneasily in his seat. "Um, yeah. I guess."

As rapidly as it had disappeared, Peregrine's smile returned. "Excellent. I knew you'd understand, partner. Nothing personal. It's just this car and I go back a ways."

Given the car in question was an azure-blue 1973 Jaguar XJ12, Fields wasn't particularly surprised to hear it. He glanced over at his own stock-standard, agency-issue, steel-grey fridge-mobile, sitting forlornly in Featherstone's driveway. Peregrine had suggested they all ride together, so as to be able to brainstorm the case, and there had been no question—or discussion—as to whose car they would take. "I didn't think the Agency allowed the use of personal cars on the job."

Peregrine turned the ignition, and twelve cylinders of the finest in British engineering rumbled to life. "Just one of the perks of assignment to Section F, Fields. The, ah...unconventional nature of our work inclines head office to give us a little more latitude than the average agent. Plus, from time to time, it pays to have a car that's not quite average, either."

So far unimpressed with his time in his new role, Fields was somewhat encouraged to hear there may actually be some benefits. Not that he had any desire to drive his crappy Toyota on the job, but a man could certainly dream of better things. Things such as the immaculately preserved classic vehicle, upon whose plush leather seats his tenderised nether regions currently reposed.

"Very nice, Peregrine. Must cost you a bomb in fuel, though."

"Yeah, you'd think so," she replied, as they pulled away from the kerb. "It's been a while since I had to fill the old girl up, though."

"Yeah, right," scoffed Fields, as the big V12's acceleration pressed him back into his seat. "Like, what—half an hour?"

"Nah. It's more like seven years, actually,